First of all, let’s make one thing clear- John Mayer is not racist. Just a talent squandering douchebag. Before we go further, I must fully disclose that his music ruined a summer weekend vacation for me, and I’m still bitter about it. I went to stay at a hotel resort in Palm Desert that was offering a fantastic rate. I’d stayed there a couple times before and enjoyed it. But seeing that the economy is riding the proverbial porcelain bus these days, the hotel appeared to do everything in its power to fill rooms, including offering the aforementioned rate and bringing in an aerobics convention for middle aged menopausals. I’m not making this up. One day at the pool, in addition to all these bitties, some college aged youngsters were also hanging out at the pool. That would’ve been fine except they brought a cooler to the pool to keep their cans of Keystone Light chilled. Suddenly the vibe went from resort to motel. My serenity was drowned out by visors on backwards and flipped upside down, tipsy girls and their feather-haired Jane Fonda worshiping ancestors. And the music being played on the PA system by the pool just loud enough to make it nearly impossible to drown out on my headphones? John Mayer. Lots and lots of Mayer. Just like how getting sick from screwdrivers will establish a taste aversion to orange juice, getting my weekend getaway ruined by Mayer established a taste aversion to everything about him, from his music to his pretty boy looks to the sleeve of tattoos he apparently got in one sitting.

Yesterday, Playboy posted its John Mayer interview, a long and winding journey made even longer by this writer’s frequent breaks to check out naked photos of Playboy’s Cybergirl of the month/day/hour/minute. I mean, here I am, trying for the first time in my life to actually check out Playboy for the articles and every corner of the screen is practically begging me to look and nudie shots of ladies instead.

In a nutshell, the article spends approximately 40% talking about women/sex/masturbating, 15% on the paparazzi, 15% discussing music, 20% on whether he’s a douchebag (note: if 20% of an interview directly addresses the question of if you are a douchebag, then YES, you ARE a douchebag), and about 10% on miscellaneous topics. Some of these miscellaneous quotes made about as much sense as that homeless dude who hangs out near your apartment, proclaiming the apocalypse. Compared to this doozie from Mayerbates, your homeless friend is probably on to something, relatively speaking.

MAYER: Someone asked me the other day, “What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?” And by the way, it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, “I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’”

The context is a discussion about how the hip-hop community loves him, based on collaborations with Kanye West, Common etc. Why do MCs gravitate towards him? Perhaps they’re looking for a white dude to make their track more crossover friendly. Maybe they do it to increase their chances to perform at the Grammys. Maybe they think he’ll introduce them to some hot white girls (like the ones seductively eyeing me while I read this interview). Hip-hop’s love of John Mayer is about as necessary as using the N word to describe the phenomena. Why not just say “yeah, the hip-hop community has really embraced me. I don’t know why, seeing that I’m so fucking white”.

If John Mayer were a basketball player, he’d be Stephon Marbury, a guy pushing his cheap product and utilizing the internet to express himself in ways that no one, not even himself, truly needs to see. The difference is that Stephon wore out his welcome in the US and has to play in China to earn a living (under the guise of “expanding his brand globally”). We’re stuck with Mayer. He’s like John Wayne in The Searchers- wherever there’s a pool with lots of white people who have no taste in music, I’ll be there. Whenever a starlet needs a rock dude on her arm to attract the paparazzi, I’m your man. And if there’s a stage full of blues legends in need of someone under 60 to appeal to the Facebook generation, I’ll be there with a Fender and my O Face.

John, do me a favor. Jack off all you want but stop tweeting about it. Fuck hot actresses all you want but stop talking about it in magazines. Write all the songs you want, just stop recording them. None of these requests are likely to happen, but a guy’s gotta have a dream.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a Playboy video entitled “Big Boob Aerobics” with my name all over it…

Every year there are a couple bands that emerge, seemingly out of nowhere, that get the music blogs all hot and borthered like an un-neutered spaniel in the springtime. Tracks go viral, clumsy diatribes are composed, and all the band can do is ride the wave, make the best album they can, and release it with perfect timing. The cool thing about the internet is the band can truly come from anywhere, it has nothing to do with what record label they’re on, or if alternative radio spun their music incessantly. It’s rare form of good art reaching it’s audience without too many filters or obstructions. The main obstruction in fact is other bands- hard to tell in those early days, based on one or two songs, whether a band has the goods or if their lead singer happened to share a dorm room with someone who writes for Pitchfork now.

It’s early in ‘10, but one of those bands for this year appears to be Local Natives. Perhaps they are on my radar a little strongly because I remember getting tipped to them about 9 months ago and had an early eye on them. I am going to keep the frothing to the other animals in the blogosphere. I will simply mark my appreciation that their first video still maintains some mystery about the band. In marketing bands these days, everyone decides that artists need to open their closets and expose themselves in all their Flipcam glory, but just like you don’t need to see Stephon Marbury chow down on Vaseline, you don’t need to know every gory detail about your favorite new band’s proclivity to eating spicy Cheetos while pissing out of their van. So kudos to LN for making a video that doesn’t reveal much about the band. Mystique is a good thing. Ultimately it comes down to the song, and in this case they appear to have a natural feel for a good, unique hook. This is also a good thing.

So here’s the video, check it out and decide for yourself if you like the song without relying on other opinions (except mine, of course).

Chicago-based quartet OK Go doesn’t disappoint with their latest music video, This Too Shall Pass, from their new record Of the Blue Colour of the Sky. Directed by Brian L. Perkins with a helping hand from the Notre Dame Fighting Irish marching band.  Up yours Charlie Weis!  Click the photo to travel down the rabbit hole.

UPDATE: Embedded for your pleasure.