Pullin’ ‘Tubes: Shut It Edition

I’m gonna be a little mean again, like the time I made fun of the girl that looked like Ron Jeremy in that picture with Trey and the two blonde chicks. Sorry.

By the time I graduated college we had about six or seven separate, unaffiliated A cappella bands operating on campus. The school was only about 7,000 students, and about 100 of them were somehow in competing vocal choirs. I thought it was a bit much, especially for an occasionally enjoyable genre that’s really hit or miss. The problem is, like anything with over-expansive properties, the quality becomes diluted. Look at the NHL: Same thing, only worse, and much more limp-wristed.

So let it be known when I type Bruce Hornsby into the YouTube search engine, I’d rather not be distracted by the “Shabadoo-doo-doo” skat abilities of a barely mediocre, harmonizing group of college dudes in trendy bowling shirts with a cliché moniker bent on slandering the name of my alma mater. I’d much rather enjoy the virtuoso stylings of Bruce himself and suggest to you gents that if the first four groups didn’t want you, it’s probably wise not to “branch out” and start your own club. Frankly, this rendition makes me want to have children without vocal chords.

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For a taste of the real Hornsby, here’s a recent (and quite excellent) version of End of the Innocence, a song he actually co-wrote with his friend Don Henley, who obviously made the tune famous.
As the blog world continues to justifiably gush over all the reunion news, I feel as if we should prepare ourselves for the coming onslaught of rock. No time like the present — let’s hit Van Halen on Runnin’ With the Devil.
And from the World of Genesis, let’s ramp up with a little Abacab.
From the Newly Added To YouTube file, here are a couple from a user called Zodiac Productions: Pearl Jam playing Once at NYC’s Limelight in 1992 and God Street Wine ripping Nightengale at the Wetlands in 1999.
I’ve been trying to keep this space relatively clear of the old standbys, but I keep failing miserably. The problem is that great shit keeps flooding the tubes and clogging the pipes, and I gotta play the role of Town Crier (or Jon Cryer) as best I can. Here’s an incredible clip of a Phish Ghost jam from July 6, 1998 that finds Trey just ripping the ever-loving shit out of this thing, so much excellent shit-ripping that there’s no more shit inside when he’s done with it.