I grew up in Central Valley of California, much like John McCrea. When Cake was writing songs rich with sarcasm and the vibraslap, I was going to High School just across the causeway from them. For various reasons, most of which had to do with being afraid to see one of my favorite bands (something I’ve conquered twice this year, going to see The Killers and The Wallflowers) in concert, for fear that they wouldn’t live up to my expectations, I hadn’t ever seen them live in concert.

I now wish I hadn’t gone.

I could still enjoy their rapier wit and rockin’ guitar.

However, John McCrea stole that from the audience tonight, frequently pausing to sarcastically lecture the crowd that had paid close to $50 apiece to listen to him sing. We got the sarcastic holier than thou routine about how only 35% of the world has running water. We got the dripping with venom speech in the encore how if we only thought more about the paralyzed war veterans coming home from Iraq, we’d outlaw war. We got the “we’ve seized the means of production, now we’ll be crushed!” speech about how they’ve separated from their major label.

It was too much to fucking bear. I’m not overtly political in my day to day life, but it’s not like I don’t keep up. Cake is not Slayer, folks, nor are they Hootie and the Blowfish. And here in DC, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting someone who works in the political sphere, and by lecturing them from the stage tonight, John, you brought people back into work. Thanks, asshole. I didn’t need to pay for that, did I?

Especially not to someone who sells their morals with their pendant keychains.

Recognize that you’re a frivolity of a well-to-do world, an entertainment option for the erudite and educated, who likely give more to charity than they do to musicians.

Shut the fuck up and play guitar, John. That’s all I want.

This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs