Point is, MTV, you brought the world of music into my living room in a way that radio never could. And I loved you like a toddler loves cotton candy. I loved Adam Curry and his perfectly highlighted and curled hair, I had a crush on Pauly Shore, was willing to overlook Downtown Julie Brown. I suffered through the SPRING BREAK reruns you aired nearly through Christmas. I watched Singled Out, the puerile game show that unfortunately gave birth to Jenny McCarthy's television career and still, like a fat lady to cake, I was drawn to you.
You helped blow the lid off the rap scene developing in The Bronx by inviting the greats (Grandmaster Flash and the Furious 5, Kurtis Blow, Sugar Hill Gang, Funky 4 Plus One More, Run DMC and the Beastie Boys) onto the network, going so far as to feature them on a show created specifically for rap music.
YO MTV RAPS! played a major role in bringing the sounds, the fashion, the slang, the politics and the controversy to the suburbs of America. Would the Beastie Boys have been able to take over the world without the (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party) video?
Now rap music has done gone and lost it's mind.. Fo' shizzle. Video budgets in the millions, glorifying gangsta life, bling, 'grills' and crime. Videos featuring women as party accessories, no better tha the Kristal they're dumping down their rock hard breasts as they shake it like a polaroid picture.
Still, I'm okay with that aspect. Some gal wanna shake her booty for the masses, that's her bizness, yo. So despite the bloated lifestyle revered in rap, it is after all, still music.. That's the key though... MUSIC. The M, does stand for MUSIC. Doesn't it? Or is it M for money?
Recently, I turned to you.. just to check in, you know.. see what The Kids are up to, make sure I can still be considered reasonably cool. I waited patiently through your ten minute commercial break and was rewarded not with a music video but The Hills. The Hills, your new "reality" show based on a bunch of snotty teens with silver spoons firmly entrenched up their asses. Speaking of silver spoons, one episode of The Hills had me pining for the good ol' days when that adorable Ricky Schroeder epitomized a rich kid. He may have had a train in his living room, but he didn't come close to the train wreck that is MTV.
So, just when I thought I might have to shoot my television Elvis-style if I watched another episode of the abomination that is My Super Sweet Sixteen , Money Television brings me The Hills. This small screen horror features teens grappling with highly scripted situations. The abject humiliation of Daddy buying one of the teens, like omigod, a Mustang instead of a Mercedes, like gross! Or the tragedy of being offered a full-time job when the tanned, fake-breasted, bleached blonde little gal just wants to live off Daddy's dime and like, party. And stuff.
After The Hills I was lucky enough to catch Cheyenne... another "reality" show based on yet ANOTHER (yawn) generic, blonde pop star. As if Jessica and Ashlee aren't enough. After Cheyenne you aired The Hills: Behind The Scenes and I was privileged to catch those same wealthy teens giving me a tour of the enormous condo they call home. Like, this is my closet and these are my shoes.. I have, like, two hundred, I think. And here is the hot tub and, like, this is my bathroom which I think is, like, totally cool because it has three sinks and a plasma T.V. and a sauna which is, like, TOTALLY awesome for unwinding after a stressful day of pretending for the cameras!!
When I returned from rinsing out the sick I accidentally threw up in my mouth, MTV you aired five hours of The Real World. FIVE HOURS! The 'Real' World has morphed from a somewhat interesting concept that was, let's admit it, never reality, (a giant rent-free apartment in the coolest cities in the world) into a platform for obscenely good looking young adults to drink, fuck, ultimately try for acting careers and eventually end up on The Surreal Life before checking into rehab, getting knocked up and moving back to their small town in Nebraska.
I went to bed disappointed but not broken. I got up early (well, 10am) in hopes of catching some legitimate music videos. Guess what? You're airing Ashlee Simpson (who, surprise, surprise, has her own "reality" show on your network) and a bunch of bands who all sound the same and are probably managed by a subsidiary of Viacom. Or Ashlee's dad. I powered through the Simpson disaster only to be rewarded with a Fall Out Boy video. This is the band whose guitarist just happened to co-host The MTV Movie Awards from the red carpet. I know this because I've been able to catch most of the show in bits and pieces as you've aired it roughly 800 times this week alone. I get it, Jessica Alba is the new 'It Girl' because you say so. She's probably got a reality television show in the works and is hammering out the final bit of her recording contract with Joe Simpson.
MTV, America's children are marionettes and you are lurking in the satellites above pulling their strings or more accurately, yanking their chain. The marionettes have become so tangled in your strings they will never know the joys of discovering the hundreds of genius musicians that span the decades. That is of course, unless Ashlee covers a Replacements tune or Puffy samples Marah.
The moral of this tale... MTV, I think we should see other people. You've changed. You aren't who you used to be and just watching you for ten minutes makes me feel like more of a tool than your silly 'VJays'. The celebrity ass-licking, telling me what's hot and what's not, shoving everything BUT good music down my throat... I don't need you, I've got In Touch and US Weekly and Star and People and Entertainment Tonight and The Insider and The NY Post and and and for that. I just wanted some good music. If you get your act together, maybe, just maybe we can start dating again.. But we'll have to take it slow. I just don't trust you anymore.