Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons.
A highly respected band with lyrics that have depth and a sound similar to Bruce Springsteen.A band with its finger on the pulse of American music or what American music should be . . . yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda.
I've never seen 'em.
I was supposed to go to the Hog Wallow pub where they played Tuesday night, but I didn't.
I didn't feel like it!
I didn't want to!
Sure, Jerry Joseph is popular with Widespread Panic, Woody Harrelson and Oregonians, but I don't care!
I dunno. I am all for free speech, self-expression and for rising up against hypocrisy and oppression, but Jerry has a chip on his shoulder.
A giant slab of cement!
According to his oh-so-helpful bio, the man lived here for three years after growing up in California and migrating north to Montana. He hated it. (He's now in Oregon.)
Now all his songs revolve around his miserable experience.
OK! Great. I understand how someone could strongly dislike living in a city where a certain religion dominates the culture. I admit that we can be an odd, tightly wound, baffling group, with our own style, vocabulary and logic.
But, hey! History lesson!
Why is Utah a state in the first place? Work with me here.
Back to Jerry.
His lyrics are fine.
His voice is fine.
His guitar is clear.
I dunno, kids -- some people love the guy and his Jackmormons, but the music bores me.
I guess I want more than the "I-lived-in-Utah-and-was-oppressed" thing.
How down on something can you be before the entire topic grows dull, then dead?
Utah didn't rub him the right way, if you know what I mean.
Ah, well. I guess his three years in Zion inspired him to write the most potent, hard-edged music of his career.
Yeah, whatever.
Potent? Watered-down is more like it.
I was inspired as well.
I went and watched the hit Australian show, "The Dame Edna Experience!" A talk show hosted by drag queen Dame Edna.
Now that's what I call a program.
I watched 10-year-old reruns of interviews with Australian and English personalities.
I gleaned many things from Dame Edna.
I now know how to get the grit out of parsnips.
My grandmother Campbell would grow the stuff, and my father just refused to eat it.
Evidently it has a bizarre taste.
The Welsh love it, though.
If you ask me, Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons are popular because of the band's name.
Hey, Jer! Where you gonna be when the name wears out?