OMG, I Heart John Mayer


These are trying times for little sisters. Gone are the heady days of 1997, a mythical time when boy bands roamed the earth, and Carson still hosted TRL. Our unsinkable economy has tanked, as has the pop market that banks on kids with 20 bucks to blow. These days, Justin’s rocking a fedora and a starlet, Britney’s been Dursted and then twice-betrothed, and Backstreet’s back--back at the theme parks and burger joints that spawned them. So what’s a little sister to do? Certainly not dig into her older brother’s record collection, a shining pillar of taste and refinement; no, that’d be too easy. My guess? Your little sister’s been listening to the wonder-bread stylings of John Mayer and Jason Mraz.

John Mayer wears white button-downs, and he bats his eyelashes just so. His videos feature audience shots of girls shrieking and swooning, even though you know they just had their braces tightened and they’ve got a quiz first period. One of his songs has the lyric “We’ll swim in a deep sea / of blankets”; if that wasn’t a line written during study hall, I don’t know what is. And how would a deep sea of blankets work anyway? Seems like you’d get all tangled up. Maybe that’s part of the metaphor! (Right now, little sisters everywhere are rolling their eyes and huffing: “Whatever, you just don’t understand his poetry,” they’re saying. “He’s totally sensitive.”).

Whenever people describe his voice, they use words like “husky” or “smoky”. I’m surprised they don’t use words like “lukewarm” or “painfully blatant Dave Matthews rip”—which, by the way, is about as lukewarm as it gets (lukewarm squared? Law of diminishing returns much?) Maybe ‘02 was a slow year for music, because his debut was nominated for an assload of Grammy’s; amazingly enough, he lost to Norah Jones (lukewarm to the lukewarmth power). Better luck next year, Johnny.

Jason Mraz is one mellow homeboy, a boogie-boarder on the great wave of life. I know this because of the totally carefree angle of his trucker cap. When he tells me in his single, “I won’t worry my life away!”, it’s like, “Hey Jason! Why you gotta point out the obvious?” Jason just wants to kick back on the porch, crack open a brewski, and listen to Ben Harper songs on repeat. And what’s so criminal about that? Christ. Jason is that guy, that miserable guy at the party who always brings his acoustic guitar. You know that guy? The one who comes in and turns off all the music, and then makes you listen to him butcher “Wish You Were Here”? After the fifth time he sings the chorus, you want to bash his fucking guitar and put the Digital Underground back on, but you don’t because he’s Jenny’s little brother, and Jenny’s a stone fox. Right?

I think the thing I hate most about this kid is that he named his single “The Remedy”. The remedy? After listening to it a few times, I’m pretty sure the remedy involves taking time to appreciate your pals, and the good times and stuff, just maxing and relaxing. Thanks, brah. If you’ve got the remedy, then may I have the plague from now until eternity.

It’s really not that I have anything against these guys, per se. They play mind-blowingly mediocre music, and they angle for the sensitive suburban high-school crowd. There’s nothing wrong with that, I guess, it’s just not my thing. Mraz is just a harmless little troll, Opie with a guitar and a record deal. That’s fine--his discs will line bargain bins for years to come. Johnny Mayer, on the other hand, seems to have real talent, and so my actual beef is probably with him. He went to the Berklee School of Music, is articulate and charming in interviews, and is in the position to put out some really good stuff; why then must we suffer through these awful teen-crush ditties? Every song he puts out is like watercress on matzoh. Can you throw me a dollop of mayo to spice shit up here?

Maybe it’ll take him time, and maybe his next album will be closer to Jeff Buckley than Richard Marx. The sensitive white-boy thing can be done well, but it can’t be pandering, and it can’t be safe. It seems like the guy’s so worried about mass appeal that he’s turned into the dreaded Radio-Friendly Unit Shifter, and that’s a fate worse than death.

It is possible too that, like the little sisters say, I just don’t get it. After all, this music wasn’t made for me, so who am I to criticize? My little sister thinks it’s the bomb-diggity, and maybe I should just defer to her wisdom. She’s got the albums, she’s got the posters, and I’m pretty sure I found a big heart drawn on her notebook, with E.G. + J.M. 4 EVA written inside it. Fuck it then. If it’s good enough for my little sister, it’s good enough for me. Jason Mraz and John Mayer are more than OK in my book.

JK, I still totally H8 them! LOL!