Meet Me At My Window

So, I snagged myself a copy of the latest Jack's Mannequin's song tonight, and I listened to it in the silence of my unshared bedroom. And I have to say...I dunno how I feel about it. My first impression is that Andrew sold out, and that I hate the sound, but I'm hoping that I just need a few more listens before I love it. Maybe? Hopefully. And maybe I never will love it. After all, no amount of listening can make me like "Lonely For Her," so no need to panic, right?

Except I have this feeling that now that their songs are being played on the radio and being TRL'ed and Fude'd and music list-ed all over the place, they've gotten too inflated with self-importance. When an artist starts taking himself too seriously, then he starts, well, sucking. I don't even think that Oscar Wilde, with his grandiose sense of self, took himself too seriously (not even with the "The only thing I have to declare is my genius" comment). And even if he did? Hello, he's Oscar-frickin'-Wilde, not too many people out there can claim that.

I just hate when a good thing goes sour because an ego gets in the way.

I'm looking at you, M. Night. Your next movie better not blow it, because I have a terribly high opinion of you right now.