PERSPECTIVES (8/29)

What they didn't tell you in orientation

by Jody L. Slaughter
editor and publisher

As I walked the University of North Texas campus on Monday, I couldn't get Paul McCartney's "Band on the Run" out of my head. I'm now pushing 25, with the credit hours of a 19 year old, and sometimes I think that I truly never will get out of here.

Many of my high school classmates have already graduated and gone on to careers in animal husbandry, real estate or building death-rays for the United States government. Others are married, impregnated or incarcerated. Some dropped out to start music careers, sell drugs or simply get a real job.

So why am I still in college? It would be easy to blame myself for being lazy, not going to class or refusing to do homework; but I think there's got to be something the school is doing to impede my credit-hour-achieval. If they would simply move the campus closer to my apartment and ban homework, I would pass every class with ease. Now that I think about it, I seem to remember getting a notification in the mail that I have to make something like 12 A's this semester to keep my GPA high enough to even be allowed to stay in school. So that should be easy enough...

I always make a point to get to campus a little early on the first day of the fall semester so I can stroll around and inspect the new crop of incoming freshmen. This group was no different than all the rest--a bunch of excited and terribly frightened-looking 18 year olds running from building to building with schedule in hand, desperately trying to look like "mature college students" but generally failing to do so. I can spot them a mile away. Experienced academics know that college students are inherently immature so trying to look mature only makes you look like a youngling. That's a free tip, kiddos.

Then there's the girls. At this point, the freshman still have most of their dignity. This is a unique time in their lives, out from under their parents' protective umbrella but without the basic skills needed to survive alone in the real world. Folks back home are always amazed by the transformation that many young ladies undergo upon entering college--the good Christian girl from San Angelo becomes a pill-crazed dope fiend, the homecoming queen from Victoria becomes "Run-through Ruth."

I'm sure there are a few parents out there reading this and wondering "Jody, what can I do to save my sweet [fill in the blank] from this?" The answer: Nothing.

Almost instinctively, innocent young girls come to college, "fall in love" with some guy and become whatever he is. If he's a speed dealer your princess is now a junky, if he's a frat boy your princess is now a whore, etc. Though the two may eventually break-up and go their separate ways, she will remain a pitiful shell of her former self. She came to college hoping to climb that ivory tower of academia, but instead finds herself being kicked out of some fraternity bunk bed at 4 a.m. But don't worry yet dad, you still have two or three weeks to get her back home before this sets in permanently.

And while the frosh are running around in their Abercrombie shirts and shorts, the upperclasswomen participate in what should be formally named "UNT's annual Slut Off" where each tries to set a new low at how skanky one can dress for class. During my stroll around the campus, I encountered every combination imaginable of fishnet, clear heels, cleavage, visible thongs, short-shorts, shorter-shorts, shorts-that-shouldn't-even-be-considered-shorts, mid-drifts, sports bras, see-throughs and faux-leather in every variety imaginable. I even met a group of intrepid young men camped out at the bottom of the stairwell in the Foreign Language building hoping for a glimpse of the much sought-after short skirt/thong combination going up the stairs. They weren't disappointed.

As I continued my journey around campus looking for something else to criticize, I began to get the feeling that I was supposed to be somewhere, doing something important. Oh yeah, I'm missing my first class. Oh well.

PERSPECTIVES (8/22)

Why Mike Jones is everything that's wrong with music today

by Jody L. Slaughter
editor and publisher

I've noticed for the past several years that rock music is on the decline. With very few exceptions, mainstream rock music (bands carried by major labels who receive radio airplay) sucks. Plain and simple. There's really no one to blame but Clearchannel and the record companies who have choked every ounce of creativity and talent out of the genre, leaving only good-looking hacks who don't mind peddling the soft drink/potato chip of the moment as long as it means the record companies and radio stations will make sure they stay famous.

Now there's nothing wrong with a musician wanting fame-- I guess there's not really anything wrong with making a little extra money endorsing a product either--but what happened to actually having talent to back it up?

The only "groundbreaking" and "original" rock music out there today comes from bands like Jet and the Killers who happen to sound strikingly similar to bands from the 1970's and 1980s, respectively. This is the original music of our day? I guess Pete Townshend (and Spiro Agnew) were right. Rock is dead

I began to hear the death rattles several years ago and started shifting my music-listening time to more hip-hop. This, I thought, was the wave of the future--the music style that will define the 21st century. But sadly, rap music may have peaked as well.

Last week, I was able to attend a Mike Jones concert in Lubbock. Mike Jones--the dirtiest of the Dirty South. Diamonds in his teeth (teef), gold chains and wood grain; and fresh out on his first tour following his major label debut. Where better to find an example of rap's staying power? I couldn't have been more wrong.

The $25 admission charge was a little steep for my taste, but I paid it. This is after all Mike Jones. After enduring what seemed like three hours of horrible opening groups hoping for their big break, the time finally came for The Man himself to appear.

A couple of emcees came out to prep the crowd by performing covers of other rap songs They also led the crowd in a rousing chant of, "Who? Mike Jones!" By the time they started throwing chains and other bling into the crowd, the place
was going insane. Enter Mike Jones.

Mike and his crew all entered the stage wearing red Texas Tech hoodies, much to the delight of the college crowd. He played a number of songs off of his newest CD "Who is Mike Jones?" Crowd favorites were such songs as "Switchin' Lanes (Holdin' Wood Grains)" which details the fine points of manuevering through traffic while using a faux-wood steering wheel. Jones also performed numerous melodies lauding the wonders of "purple drink" which, according to my sources in the Fifth Ward, is a popular cocktail featuring Sprite mixed with promithyzene, a powerful narcotic.

Jones, who obviously had been no stranger to the purple drink and the reefer before the show. Rapidly went through his catalogue, performing one verse from each of his songs before moving onto the next. He left the stage less than 30 minutes after he began performing. That was it. It took us longer to get out of the parking lot than it took to watch Jones' entire performance.

It's things like this that will eventually kill rap music as well. A musician who does not respect his fans will not have fans for very long. And it's not just Mike Jones.

Arrogance is a plague that has so manifested itself in the hip-hop genre that now the two are almost indistinguishable. Once a rapper gets his "major deal" it's no longer about the music. It's now about partying, girls and purple drink and bling. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you still have to respect your fans.

So where do you go to find decent music? Well it's not easy. There are phenomenal bands out there from both the rock and hip-hop genres--It's just nobody you've ever heard of. There's always the Internet and satellite radio. I personally have found myself venturing towards the AM dial and its endless stream of bloviating conservative charlatans. Or--and I hesitate to even say it in print--NPR, where my coolness is violently ripped away minute-by-minute by monotone radio personalities interviewing people that I never wanted to meet, and teaching me things I never wanted to learn. But don't despair, the music revolution is coming and it won't be televised--at least not on MTV.