Indie music enthusiast David Dennisson reluctantly admitted today that his love of the genre has left him completely out of touch with current pop culture trends, celebrities, and events.
“What initially began as a brief innocent flirtation in college has developed into a decades-long perverted dalliance; like irrational and hyperbolic praise and hype for the indie band du jour that two years from now will once again be stocking shelves at Target, it’s difficult to stop now. I’ve also experienced a burning sensation in my groin region since I first began this affair,” Dennisson stated.
Dennisson has also discovered that his rejection of all things mainstream has led to some embarrassing moments. “I heard ‘Float On’ on the radio years ago, and confidently told my wife it sucked since it was on commercial radio. When I found it was a Modest Mouse song and that the band was experiencing a minor bit of mainstream airplay, I was floored. My Lonesome Crowded West mind couldn’t stomach it.”
Dennisson also acknowledges that a borderline psychotic knowledge of indie rock doesn’t lend itself well in social situations. “Think being able to alphabetically recite the songs in 69 Love Songs will impress your friends and coworkers? Well it won’t; it will just get you a lot of sideways glances and quickly locked car doors.”
The admission is a major victory for Dennisson’s long-suffering wife, Janelle, who views it as the first step in her husband coming to terms with his addiction, which she adds “trumps his previous fixation with Spanish Inquisition torture devices by a long shot.
“Plus, that music he listens to is way more disturbing and destructive than one of the darkest chapters in the depths of man’s depravity towards his fellow man.”
Even so, Janelle does acknowledge a modicum of complicity on her part. “When he’d sing Jesus Lizard songs in the shower, I found it endearing. When he cribbed the lyrics to a Dismemberment Plan song for our wedding vows, I found it romantic. And when he insisted that we dress up as Vic and Tina Chesnutt for Halloween, I enjoyed it, and even managed to play the bass pretty well at the party.
“But the fact that he thinks Beyonce is a type of ferret and that Rihanna is a rare and lethal Amazonian venereal disease is inexcusable. He couldn’t identify a Jonas Brother to save his life. He needs help.”
Janelle has developed a three-phased plan to bring her husband back into the 21st century of mainstream American culture. The first phase will consist of behavior modification, in which she will attempt to curb his tendency to answer everyone’s questions in a poor imitation of Tom Waits’ rough voice. The second phase will attempt to expand her husband’s musical horizons, in which every hour of indie music listened to must be matched by an hour of mainstream pop radio.
Yet the final phase promises to be the most difficult. This will require Dennison to be strapped into an inflatable Hannah Montana chair for an entire 48-hour period, where he’ll be forced to watch American Idol reruns, The Hills, and E! News Daily until he can sing his own overwrought karaoke version of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be,” identify each Hills character according to their petty, innocuous dilemma, and concisely explain why it’s completely rational for magazines to pay ungodly sums of money for pictures of the Jolie-Pitt children.”
Janelle is quick to point out she’s not seeking to fully eliminate her husband’s indie leanings. “If he wants to spend his time trying to find discernible differences between My Morning Jacket and Fleet Foxes, that’s perfectly fine. But when I ask him what happened on the season premier of Sunset Tan, he’d better damn well know.”