Far be it from me to step into Aimster’s territory (that is to say, blogging about music while wearing a snazzy bikini top that shows my smooth, albeit slightly convex, belly–normally I blog about other things while similarly attired), but Rob, I have got to tell you I am not buying the new album from Matchbox Twenty, or matchbox twenty, or Matchbox 20, or MaTcHbOx 20, or however your keyboard fluctuates this week. The album, More Than You Think You Are. More than I think I am? I don’t doubt it. I thought I was a music fan, but obviously I am your therapist, and I am not a good one, because we’re not making progress.
Rob, you have been coming to me for almost seven years now since Yourself or Someone Like You came out in 1996. On that album, we covered your bad relationships (“Push“), your lack of connection to reality (“Real World”, a wonderful exercise in free-association, don’t get me wrong), and apathy (“Hang“). I listened to that album and I really connected to you, man. I was 24 years old and enjoying some late adolescent angst as well. We were commensurating with experience, bub.
Four years later, in 2000, you came back and described a similar set of misery with Mad Season by matchbox twenty. Your relationships remained co-dependent or self-destructive (“Crutch“), your relationships had gone bad (“Rest Stop“) and you were in denial (“Angry“), which understandably led you to a sense that something’s not right (“Bent“) that you want to project to lunar cycles or something (“Mad Season“). Okay, I listened, and I felt bad for you.
But dude, it’s 2003. I haven’t bought your latest album, and I probably won’t. I mean, you’re telling me via the radio about your same old girl problems (“Disease“) and how that still makes you feel “Unwell“, but listen, Rob, I have grown up, gotten a job, and bought a house whose lawn I procrastinate mowing. I have a lovely wife and several cats to take care of. I cannot keep spending long nights in bars and coffeeshops listening to you mumble into your beer or caffe su da.
I mean, come on, life’s not so pathological as you make it out. Maybe if you revealed a more playful or optimistic side more frequently (remember “Smooth“?). I mean, yeah, it’s an existential world out there, but why not describe a sincere love ballad every once in a while. Even Trent Reznor, the Dark Lord of NIN, explained the depth of his love for his significant other in “Closer”. Why can’t you capture more of that spirit in your work?
That’s just what I am saying, man. Listen, I am going to finish up this Moosehead lager and then I am going to head out. You’ll be all right? Good. See you.