I’m
a Joel Man. Okay? Is that okay with you guys?
Look,
everybody has an artist who they liked, then joke liked, then joke loved, then
real loved. I’m a Joel Man. To me there’s not a better album A-side than the
murderer’s row of “Big Shot” “Honesty” “My Life” and “Zanzibar” to lead
off 52nd
Street. That is a real opinion that I have really thought of before, and
probably will again the next time I listen to 52nd
Street, which I DO SOMETIMES. Do I have your permission to be this way? The
way that I AM? Good, because I don’t care. I do not care, okay?
Billy
Joel is, essentially, horrific. I know this. My brain knows this. I’ve heard “A
Matter of Trust.” I’ve been subjected to “Uptown Girl.” I can watch footage of
80’s Billy Joel prancing around in a grey sharkskin suit with enormous white
high tops and excessive hair gel with no sideburns, sweating cocaine, and have
the same impulse to laugh and roll my eyes as the next human. But no matter how
awful it gets I can’t bring myself to dislike what is happening. I’m a Joel
Man.
I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve had “I Go To Extremes” pop in my head as a
soothing personal mantra during a fight with my girlfriend. I DO go to
extremes. Too high or too low, there ain’t no in betweens. Billy Joel
understands me. He’s not going to sling around a bunch of fancy talk about
“manic depression” and “you need to see a therapist about this problem, it is
destroying all of your relationships.” He just tells it like it is. I don’t
know why I go to extremes either, Billy. You and I are the same.
I
was at the record store the other day, and they had a copy of River of Dreams
on vinyl for $30. They didn’t press many vinyl copies of major label releases
back in the 90’s. River
of Dreams is a rare find. All the people who bought the LP haven’t died
yet. It is probably the last great Billy Joel album, by which I mean it is the
most recent Billy Joel pop album. I don’t know how to explain to you people how
tempted I was to spend $30 on this thing despite knowing that it has River of Dreams
on it. I’m a Joel Man. Let me repeat this: I was TEMPTED to spend $30 for a
vinyl copy of BILLY JOEL’S 1993 album RIVER OF DREAMS.
I
did not buy it. I knew I would put it on and hear the title track and think
“WHY.” WHY AM I A JOEL MAN. Couldn’t I be a Boss Guy, or a Mellencamper, or a
Petty Dude? Any of those would carry less social stigma than Joel Man. Being a
Joel Man is often a burden. I’m not proud of it. I’m not even glad there are
other Joel Men and Joel Sisters out there for me to commiserate with. There
shouldn’t be a Joel Anybody. But that’s naïve. I exist. I’m a Joel Man, okay? I
share a collective struggle with others. Our community gives us strength, even
though it springs from shame. Like an AA meeting. You don’t want to have to be
there, but since you do, this is the best place for you to be. My name is Ben,
and I’m a Joel Man. I almost bought River of Dreams
for $30 the other day.
"Hello,
Ben."
Hello,
you guys.
Today
is Billy Joel's birthday. Happy birthday, Billy Joel. You sweet, sweet corny
bastard. You irritatingly perfect songsmith. You tastelessly talent-blasting
piano bar toodler of delectable truths. You unwitting author of millions of
memorized singing-in-the-shower hymn books. You major league music business
professional. I wish I wasn’t sometimes, but I’m a Joel Man.
EDIT: WAIT! Today is also Ghostface's birthday? Fuck Billy Joel. Happy Birthday Ghostface Killah.
@itisbenjo
@itisbenjo
