ECW legend, Axl Rotten once said “All wrestlers wanna be rock stars, and all rock stars wanna be wrestlers.” I think that’s a fair assessment which brings us to the topic of my post on drawing some similarities between professional wrestling and Pop music.

In a very personal sense, 2010 has been a wonderful year for music. When I’m not slaving away at a 9-5 or burning the midnight oil as a freelance music journalist, I’m a pro wrestling manager. I’ve done this for nearly a decade, which means that I really love it, and also given that I’m writing this and not on national television, will be content to spend a career working elementary schools, carnivals, VFW halls and festivals for small paydays and the fleeting glory of D-List celebrity. This also means that I have spent many hours studying and observing this fantastic carny business, and much of the way that I understand the world is colored by understanding why people like Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Goldberg, “Superstar” Billy Graham, Ric Flair and “Macho Man” Randy Savage were superstars and are eternally part of the pop cultural lexicon, why other stars are close, and why many will get close, or never get there at all.

Many in the blogosphere and beyond appear especially shocked, angsty and appalled by the latest stream of pop idols, especially in their over-gimmicked, pre-packaged nature as the recording industry attempts to combat low record sales with a new phalanx of hitmakers who mirror proven concepts in music and society. Given that this is true, there are many lessons and parallels now that can now be drawn from the world of pro wrestling to pop music. Much of why 2010 has been so successful and entertaining to me can be understood by pulling back the curtain a tiny bit to pro wrestling, and giving you, the reader certain tenets of our industry that have yet again been applied to pop domination.

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1. Pro Wrestling is 90% Presentation and 10% Ability

In the early 1970′s professional wrestling was a business that was doing well, but not doing the tremendous box office numbers of the “WWF Attitude Era” of the late 1990s. However, literally based on physique and look alone, “Superstar” Billy Graham changed everything. Billy Graham was a supremely tanned, bleach blonde  who wore tie dye and rose colored shades at all times, and cut promos for his upcoming matches by using a palaver culled largely from Muhammad Ali, Gorgeous George, pimps and street corner hustlers.

There was nothing original at all about him, except this was the first time pro wrestling had ever seen it used as a drawing tool. Graham’s success was also based off of a physique enhanced by anabolic steroids which, of course, in the 1970s, society didn’t realize the inherent problems in this, but man, did he look great.

Ke$ha: All sizzle, no steak. But you can’t turn your eyes away.

At no point have I spoken a word about his matches. They were presentable, but not technical masterpieces of great agility and skill. However, based on his presence, presentation and ability to cause a stir, he got you in the door, and was a solid draw and money earner for the WWF, AWA and other major territories in the 1970s.

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2. If You Must Have a Gimmick, Make it Believable, Believe In It, and the People Will Believe In You

Terry Bollea is one of the greatest liars of my lifetime. This man, in the guise of Hulk Hogan told me that if I merely trained, said my prayers and took my vitamins, I could bodyslam Andre the Giant, ward off terrorism, racism, sexism, communism, imperialism, elitism and yes, the Canadian Earthquake and Akeem the African Dream, whatever they represented (fear of 400 pound men squashing democracy and the American way with splashes? I’m still not sure about that one…).

Of course, outside the ring, we learned that prayers, training and vitamins were really a code name for water based steroid Winstrol, and that eventually, you have to become evil and become an angry street thug, spray paint tags on people and championship belts, and embrace gang culture. But that’s besides the point.

If you look the part, play the role and mirror something society desperately needs to believe in, people will absolutely follow.

We’re all waiting for this kid to get a heroin or coke addiction. Admit it. Then we can all admit our love for him, right?

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3. Wrestling Is Cyclical

What was old is always new again. Hulk Hogan, meet John Cena. Hogan waved a flag, Cena salutes the people. Both blonde, square jawed, barrel chested and presented as the All-American ideal. The Rock, meet The Miz. The Rock, a cool, charismatic customer and movie star with mega hip appeal and a unique blend of style and culture.

The Miz is Mike Mizanin from MTV’s Real World  and Road Rules, presented as a cool, charismatic customer with mega hip appeal and a unique blend of style and culture. Goldberg, a tattooed brooder, Steve Austin, an anti-hero. Today, there’s Randy Orton, tattooed, brooding anti-hero. Cyclical.

I don’t know about all of you, but would they not make the greatest Tag Team pair of all time?

Wrestlers always want to be rock stars, and rock stars always want to be wrestlers. Sometimes if we look at a bodyslam and a catchphrase as more than just a bodyslam and a catchphrase, the world can make so much more sense.

Hi. I’m Marcus, and I’m new here. I’m 32, from DC, and I’m a three time elementary school spelling bee champion and a pro wrestling manager. I enjoy insomnia, music, sociology, doing cardio, grilling steaks and writing. For the last two years, I’ve been writing about music for my own site True Genius Requires Insanity, DC cultural megablog Brightest Young Things, and leading East coast urban alternative site The Couch Sessions.

Now, I bring my rants on music and culture to the Bloglin. There is a method to my madness, and I hope you find what I have to say as provocative as it is entertaining.  My first post is actually something I wrote last week for TGRI, but felt was a great icebreaker between myself and The Bloglin. For more about me, follow me on the Twitters. Thanks and enjoy.

They say we can’t be livin’ like this for the rest of our lives
Well, we gon’ be livin’ like this for the rest of tonight
And you know they gon’ be bangin’ this shit for rest of our lives
So live fast and die young, live fast and die young, live fast and die young
- Kanye West, “Live Fast and Die Young”

All beings so far have created something beyond themselves; and do you want to be the ebb of this great flood and even go back to the beasts rather than overcome man? What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassment…
- George Bernard Shaw

Like all great black men, Kanye West has a God complex. As the most innovative man in hip hop since Afrika Bambaataa, Kanye West as a producer transcended the genre. As an artist, his persistence in resolving the multitude of issues with his own life and with understanding the nature of how unfairly the universe operates in sound and rhyme transcended music. And in boldly declaring that Taylor Swift didn’t deserve to win a 2009 MTV Video Music Award, he transcended justice. Now, in the prelude to his forthcoming release Dark Twisted Fantasy, Mr. West is on a mission to not just transcend hip hop, all of music, and the nature of justice, but he is instead on a very culturally necessary mission to become culture itself. You may find ignorance and audacity in such a claim, but it is absolutely true.

Nearly three weeks ago, Kanye West joined Twitter. The 140 character immediate update of instantaneous snatches of the universe is the first time that news, culture and opinion have been blended and mashed in such a unique format. Everyday life and life altering events coexist on the same timeline, birth meeting death, joy meeting pain, love meeting hate, all with corresponding opinions. In order to make Twitter stop internationally and focus on a singular event happens for even the most culturally significant people once a month or so. Let’s compare this to Yeezy. Yeezy joined Twitter and in less than 30 days has nearly 800,000 followers. By comparison, Jack Dorsey, Twitter’s founder has nearly 1.6 million followers and he’s been on for almost five years. Kanye has singlehandedly made Clydesdale horses, re-visiting the idea of Kobe Bryant as as a rapper, gold goblets, partying in Sweden and a passion for fashion not just hot in the streets, but pushing ahead the groupthink of universal culture. Just last Sunday as well, he singlehandedly and successfully built bridges to new audiences for artists struggling to find them in hipster degenerate punk hop disciples Ninjasonik, ebullient pop masterpieces Matt and Kim, the oft assailed M.I.A. and the popped by bottles Justin Bieber, who now has become the world’s most important 16 year old as the only person followed by the force of culture itself, the Louis Vuitton Don.

Kanye West has set the new cultural shift. Live fast. Die young. This is different than the hipster idea of do blow and die fast or the recessionary ode of live cheap and die sad. Kanye West is happy to be alive, and wants us to echo his sentiment. If I were him I’d be too and want the same. A noted and proud mama’s boy, his mom died. He then released a Depeche Mode album that people forcibly tried to like and many succeeded in liking to deal with what his life became after that. From there he decides it to be a great idea to make Taylor Swift a cultural icon by merely showing his ass on international television in an epic and comic manner. He does this while dating a bodacious and bald German supermodel rebound chick who left him for a football star. If this were your life, and you survived? You’d be Tweeting your ass off about getting to watch Batman on a thirteen foot wall projection TV as well.

For his first single from his new release, “Power,” he filmed a video with him under a halo surrounded by cherubs, angels and seraphim while bathed in a golden hue. The video is directed by Marco Brambilla, a director and graphic artist in the moving portrait realm. Obsessed by imagery straight out of the Hieronymus Bosch genre contrasting and discussing the nature of the necessary contrast of good and evil, “Power” doesn’t just ask “what can a man do with all this power,” over a stadium rap track that sounds like it’s meant to be played at the Parthenon and not your car speakers, but will instead be a 40 minute film that will address the nature of man’s quest for glory and iconic status.

Kanye West drives culture because he can. Deny him his goal of being a cultural identifier or culture itself, and you’re likely to hear about it. On a track, in a blog post, or now, on Twitter. He’s sucking the marrow out of the most dramatically creative forces in the world. From emotional synthesized sounds to Takeshi Murakami to live orchestral backgrounds for Unplugged performances, and so many more examples, Kanye West lives only for the extremes of this universe, and in doing so is one of the most polarizing figures of this, or any generation. He perpetually lives and dies for the public, his emotional well-being decided as a public referendum. As we head into a new generation informed by the instantaneous shifts of culture being reflected by technology, life has reached a point where man can be culture and culture can be man. Let’s not be angry about this proclamation, but accept it as a statement of the degenerative nature of society that has led us to this point. 9/11 ruined our generation’s faith in good people. A pointless war ruined our faith in good government. Our faith in good religion has been shaken by a plethora of horrific acts of nature that have proven many things true, including Kanye stating that “George Bush doesn’t care about black people.”

Hieronymus Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights.” What man did with all that power in portrait form.

We are a culture with nothing left to believe in. The underground hipster development was more about dancing to Nero fiddling while Rome burned than any sort of forward thinking cultural development. It was the lack of rules and lack of adherence to any standards of decency, sincerity, or much of anything else. We’re at a point now where in the mainstream, on the underground, in the streets, and in our minds, all that we know as hope, all that we know as fantasy, all that we know as reality, is gone, and everything in its place is frightening, unusual, terrifying, altogether too frank, honest, open and new. Nobody truly knows what to do in a socially and culturally lawless and wide open environment.

“What does a man do with all that power?” The question of the moment. Kanye West, as culture itself, and having more of all than all of us combined, is about to find out.

I was out last night at the Faith No More reunion show on the Williamsburg waterfront. While not a perfect show (mostly because “Small Victory” and “Falling to Pieces” weren’t played but they did cover Michael Jackson’s “Ben”) it was a great show, amazing sound and a crowd that looked like one gigantic class of 1993 high school reunion. But this post really isn’t about the show as much as it was something I realized while enjoying it… that guitar sound, where the fuck had it gone!?

Faith No More like many 90s alternative bands had this distinct guitar sound that’s just nonexistent in today’s music scene… well the music scene as covered by the blogs and in small scale TV and radio. I’m sure there are dudes out there that live and breathe Guitar Center and whose idea of new music ended with Tool’s Ænima and are probably rocking that shit hard. However, I’m talking about bands & musicians with actual potential to make meaningful music and not just nostalgic revelry. Maybe there’s something to do with the sound itself… no knock on most modern indie bands technical playing abilities, but maybe being able to really rock a funkdafied metal groove just really requires you to have been sitting at your axe 5 hours a day for 10 years. Somehow I think the internet has eaten into that time over the past decade, who knows?

If you don’t know what this “sound” I’m talking about is, it’s that metallic mid-range funk that sometimes has a Wah on it. It’s in Faith No More’s “Falling to Pieces” (video above) and boy is it ever there in Alice in Chains “Man in the Box” (video below).

Faith No More, Alice in Chains, Rage Against the Machine and White Zombie were clearly the masters of funkdafying a metal guitar but to a lesser extant Jane’s Addiction, Soundgarden, Red Hot Chili Peppers and even Pantera (sometimes) all used “that guitar sound” regularly in their careers. So what the hell is my point? I don’t know if I have one, I just really, really miss that goddamn guitar sound and it’s a shame it’s fallen so out of favor.

The only band worth a shit that I can think of that seems to be sort of bringing it back is Torche. All I’m saying is I want more!

I’ve been packratting Star Wars shit for a while now. I’ve had an email sitting open on my desktop with a few links, a few ideas, and, well, just miscellaneous Star Wars stuff. This probably has to do with the fact that Super 7—just this weekend, actually—recently released they’re long-actualizing Stormtrooper Super Shogun Warrior and I received mine last Friday. It is awesome. I love it; Everything I had hoped it would be and more.

Of course, I’m about 4 years too young to really ‘get’ the Super Shogun part of it. All I really know is that it’s a HUGE Stormtrooper with a Rocket Punch fist. I’m happy at that. Oh ya and it’s got wheels on it’s feet. Tasty.

But, aside from being a sweet raddition to my toy/stuff collection, it’s got me thinking: When’s the last time you heard about a totally cool Star Wars thing that was JUST about Star Wars? It seems like—at least in my recent experience—everything I hear about Star Wars is like a crazy crossover or flip of the pure stuff.

Which, don’t get me wrong: I’m totally into. But it’s weird, no? Like, Star Wars is such old news to us that we need to find ways to make it interesting. Like asking your wife to (please) make dinner using some other dude’s wife’s recipe. Or putting a sparkly case on you cellphone so you feel like it’s new. Neither of those are awesome examples, but you get what I mean.

In sort of a bizarro move, I think I might even have more ‘evidence’ to substantiate this claim than I have actual claim. That probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve been on back-to-back conference calls all day, but then again, it might not. Either way, Check out the following (super rad) stuff, and see if you can think of the last time something that was JUST Star Wars caught your attention.

Really incredible star wars-themed faux-propaganda by Brooklyn artist Cliff Chiang. See more on ufunk (all in French).

(Way more after the jump to hyperspace).

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Dave and some other dude in younger/happier/drunker days.

I’m a reactionary. Go figure. Ever since I saw Crook’s post from this weekend about Alex Jones’ interview with Dave Mustaine, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the man. Mustaine…not Jones. Or Crook (OK maybe just a little bit Crook). Ironically, even, I haven’t had time to sit and really watch those particular links (with the sound on)—this is just the shallow depths of my hypocrisy—but I HAVE been replaying some of my favorite Megadeth albums on repeat, and I figured I’d share some of my (re-)findings with you-all and see how they shake out.

Before I do, however, maybe I’ll just wax poetic for a second. I have to admit to being one of those kids. One of those kids who, in 1992-93, approached everything the same way: “OK, how does this relate to Metallica?” It seemed that—especially at that time—you could more or less always answer that question pretty clearly, but certainly for Megadeth, the answer was clearer than the rest.

And I have to say, I feel really, really lucky. I’m old enough to have been exposed to Megadeth’s music even a TINY bit before Symphony of Destruction came out, and I’m young enough that I missed a lot of the huge, bloodthirsty rivalry between the two M’s: I didn’t feel like there was anything wrong with liking both bands. I didn’t feel like either was any bigger a sellout than the other…I don’t know why I mention this last point, but, well, there you go. A lot of dudes even a year or two older than me had to pick…one or the other. Which is a shit sandwich.

Dave Mustaine, Taekwondo ambassador!

Anyway. Mustaine is a very talented guy (see above). I think it’s safe to say that the guy knows his way around a goddamn riff, but—and here’s where I get ready to eat my words—I’m just winging it here…steering by feeeeel—he’s a pretty complex great clever awesome interesting lyricist, no? Obviously there are some choice hesher moments, but I’m always really struck by how sharp his couplets can be…how engaging his little verse-long story arcs are. I don’t know…it feels like he’s more than meets the eye.

Which is—absolutely—what I like about the man. I won’t lie to you: ‘Some Kind of Monster’ is one of those movies that I can watch any day, any time. I don’t exactly LOVE it, but—like a few other choice gems that, for whatever reason, i can watch whenever—it’s just always sitting on top of my DVD player. Super-sap and over-engineered emotions aside, Mustaine’s segment of that movie is really captivating. This dude is a dude! I’ve caught a few ‘Behind the Music’-type shows about Megadeth (and Metallica), too, and for whatever reason, whenever Mustaine is on-screen, or someone is talking about him or his antics, I’m completely fascinated.

And so. Here are five of my favorite Megadeth songs (After the jump).  Nothing would delight me more than to hear what yours are…you can see my predilection to a particular era here…I have no defense, other than that I’m a slave to production value. Crook: thank you very much for your post this weekend. I can’t wait to sit down and listen to the dude being a crackpot.

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I have an awful habit of going to see a movie every couple of weeks even if there is absolutely nothing to see. Well, I’ve got to admit that my habit led me to the lowest depths of desperation when we actually paid to see a Kevin Smith movie last night. Fuck.

I hate Kevin Smith so fucking much. I’m surprised shit like this doesn’t happen to him more often with the number of people in the world that probably hate his fucking guts.

Anyway, Cop Out has Tracy Morgan in it and he’s my achilles heel. I will watch anything with Tracy Morgan in it with eager anticipation. I should have known better that Kevin Smith would make him deliver a bunch of garbage punch lines instead of just letting him do what he does best: show up drunk and take his shirt off. Pause.

I initially thought this movie looked awful but I was given an ounce of hope when the red band trailer dropped. Let me save you the grief I went through and recommend you watch the trailer because it’s the only pleasure you’re going to get out of Cop Out. I understand that this movie is supposed to be a parody of 80′s cop flicks and that all the corn is supposed to be taken with a grain of irony but I don’t care. Kevin Smith blows a million dicks. I’m just sorry Tracy had to be there…and Jason Lee I suppose.

I’ll see you in hell Kevin Smith you fat, un-flight-worthy fuck.

(I’m sorry for swearing so much.)

Has anyone tried watching The WWE recently? Is it me or has it slowly mutated into recruitment propaganda for the Marines? It’s amazing that this thing is still going on! Why are they even trying? There’s nothing in the world that could touch the golden era of the WWF (circa 1985-1990) — not movies, not cartoons, music, comic books, NADA. We fell into a bit of a renaissance with The Rock, Goldberg, Triple H, Stone Cold, et al. But man, the spectacle of the golden age was our generation’s Vaudeville. This was EPIC drama with Meth-addled Barbers, Loud mouthed Scotsmen, Weasels, Pimps, Hitmen, Giants, Hacksaws, Hammers, Commies and Snakes! Now that the best is behind us from the House McMahon, it’s evident that one Swatch sunglassed, sequened robe rockin’, feathered haired man stands as the Greatest Wrestler of All Time.

MACHO MAN Randy Savage.

Come join me in this retrospective in OH YEAH!

Early Years – You can see the impetus of a schtick which will eventually explode into the luminous nebula of Macho Madness!

In my pre-teens, I was partial to Hogan and later Ultimate Warrior — the former being a horrible wrestler with inspiring charisma, the latter being just what a young hessian needed. I loathed Macho Man back in the day!!! That sleazy, scary, abusive, arrogant, rude and crude cretin!!! It would be years until I realized that these very same qualities are what add to his legend of the WWF’s G.O.A.T. Savage owned it all! The charisma, the acrobatics, the gimmick, catch phrase, overall steez, and man oh man, could that dude improv in a promo!

I like to fantasize about Macho snorting a huge rail of coke in the Gold’s Gym locker room with Hogan when he came up with his infamous “OH YEAH!” catchphrase. His Intercontinental Champion era was his finest if you ask me. He jumped the shark as the Macho King with Scary Sheri!

A Goldmine of Macho

It’s no revelation to speak of his rivalry with Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat yielding the most amazing WWF match in history. Now, if you were like me you were down with Team Steamboat and those Chinese Stars and Tiger Claws stuck in your backyard tree were indicative of that. But looking back, Steamboat is such a herb!

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I’ll be upfront in saying I have not read Axolotl Roadkill by Helene Hegemann, and the mere thought of reading a 17 year old author’s debut  on clubbing and drugs, makes me cringe… I don’t care how highly praised it is.

But that isn’t the point of this post. The New York Times had a great article today about the controversy young Helene’s book has stirred. You see, while initially released to glowing praise, certain passages and chunks of Axotol Roadkill have since been accused of being lifted from a variety of sources. Helene Hegemann’s reponse to these allegations has simply been this:

I myself don’t feel it is stealing, because I put all the material into a completely different and unique context and from the outset consistently promoted the fact that none of that is actually by me

The problem is that Helene never at any point cited in her book the original source material nor stated from the outset that she would be “sampling” existing prose. Her excuse was that she didn’t understand she needed to (oh how 17 of her!). She says her “sampling” of text was just a byproduct of her generation and the youth culture, comparing it to DJing.

I honestly think it’s a pretty intriguing concept that, if done correctly, could be giving new perspective and purpose to old ideas. Our modern Pop Culture says sampling is OK, and so sampling back from itself to create something “new” should in theory be acceptable, or shouldn’t it? How is it really all that different from countless generations looking to and appropriating religious ideas, archetypes, and text in creating their own works? Of course those never actually lifted whole passages and pages, but that was then and this is now. Sure some may poo-poo the idea and impact of Pop Culture as inspiration, but like it or not, it’s quickly becoming the dogma of choice for each incoming generation.

Now in regards to Helene Hegemann, I feel she should have always been upfront about her intentions and use of material not her own while constructing this story… but my question is how do you all feel about the concept of sampling for works of literature?

It’s already been a sad morning with the death of Alexander McQueen, but now Google lands a blow which is surely only the opening salvo in a failing Music Industry’s last ditch effort to find a place in modern society. Google has gone and shut down a bunch of sites that were hosted on their blogspot and blogger arms with out any warning or back-up with the below letter to the host sites.

We’d like to inform you that we’ve received another complaint regarding your blog,” begins the cheerful letter received by each of the owners of Pop Tarts, Masala, I Rock Cleveland, To Die By Your Side, It’s a Rap and Living Ears. All of these are music-blogs – sites that write about music and post MP3s of what they are discussing. “Upon review of your account, we’ve noted that your blog has repeatedly violated Blogger’s Terms of Service … [and] we’ve been forced to remove your blog. Thank you for your understanding.

This will I’m sure shape up to be one of the most over-arching stories in the music world for 2010.

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This isn’t meant to generalize ALL Hot Wheels collectors. It just concerns a small group of them I used to encounter. Unless they are all like this. Then fuck em.

Last night I was thinking about how I haven’t set foot in a Toys R Us for a good three years. There’s a Target about a half mile from my place, so I always head there if I feel like some cold-call toy shopping. Just popping into a department store for toys isn’t as suspenseful as it used to be. Since the internet, we just gather; there’s no hunting really.

Anyways, I used to go to the Toys R Us in Rockaway, NJ about twice a week. New shit came in on Wednesdays, so I’d always go that day after school. Give them underpaid kids time to stock my shelves, gnomesayin’? But Saturdays were always my jam. I would get up around 7:00 and drive my Chevy Celebrity to Toys R Us. Once there, I would have to stand outside with the other collectors until opening. I never knew if they had any new Star Wars shit in, but that was part of the fun.

Outside there would always be a handful of dudes, usually Star Wars heads. We’d shoot the shit, maybe talk about trading…and stay far away from the huddle of Hot Wheels collectors. They’d be standing in a circle right up against the door, chain smoking, eyeballing us, and looking over their checklists. They were older than us – maybe in their forties – and always reeked of shadiness. I swear they wore the same clothes every weekend.

A wary employee would finally come over and open the doors, and the Hot Wheels crew would bum rush the poor kid. They’d charge up to their aisle, where the employees would have cases of new stock just sitting there. They wouldn’t even bother putting the cars on the fucking shelf; they knew there was no point. These fools would just tear through like locusts and leave die-cast cars scattered all over the floor.

I’ve been to midnight Star Wars toy releases: Episode 1, 2, and Clone Wars. Each time, everyone showed respect for the store, employees, and other collectors. And there were hundreds of us in there at once. But this small amount of Hot Wheels collectors were a band of cutthroat, obnoxious, douchebags that left that small area of Toys R Us looking like Baghdad. They’d dig through the cases and just leave what they didn’t need on the floor. Then they’d ask the employees if there was any more stock in the back. “Everything is out here,” would be the answer but these dudes would still throw them dagger eyes. Why the store ever put up with these dicks is beyond me.

Maybe I’m just bitter Mattel never made a Hot Wheels Chevy Celebrity.