Ok. So I hauled out an old record I never really gave much of a thorough perusal today. I mean, I have a deep, undying love for the work of a one Matt Mahaffey. And you should, too, since you probably own something he’s appeared on, written, or put together. God forbid you actually own a Self record (watch out if you’re female). Anyhow, I decided it was time to really get into his self-released Feels Like Breakin’ Shit (1998) which is a somewhat thrown together collection of home recorded (home recorded for Matt is way above and beyond what comes to mind for most) b-sides and covers/humorous renditions of popular/overblown tunes.

It’s no wonder to me Mahaffey hails LA as his home town, just the idea behind the record has enough spit and snarl to send any over-pierced West Hollywood gutter punk running back to Brixton (or their uninformed perception of Brixton) and indeed brings me back to when I thought it was necessary to drink till I vomited and stick safety pins through my eyebrows for fun. Funnily enough, it’s pop NOT punk, but Matt’s got a way around that, too. He makes sure that his songs agitate like his idol Prince, keep the gummy-pop ears satisfactorily candied, but incorporates plenty of crushing buzzsaw synth and metal blade guitar lines to ignite the inner aggression that never goes away, unless it’s to wave signs at the nearest politikal rally. In effect Mahaffey repeatedly says, “Look, I’m louder, punchier, and just plain better than you. So fuck off.” And unfortunately for him, it’s this very nonchalant egoism in his music that simultaneously attracts and repels the listener, and has probably been the deciding factor in keeping him from the true widespread appeal and success he so desperately seeks.

Mahaffey may be one of the greatest pop composers of our time, there’s no doubt about that. He’s one of the most quintessentially under-appreciated musicians around. But his overbearing cynicism and glaring lack of humility hurt more than help his cause. Which is that we all pull our heads out of our respective bums and get with his scene. But does putting forth a mockingly perfected rendition of songs written by artists with sizeably smaller egos really deserve more than an honorable mention and coupon for tomorrow’s brunch?

But it’s good for a laugh, and that’s precisely as far as we should really take it.
As a huge fan of Mahaffey’s work I cannot wait for the day when he swallows his pride and finally delivers on the masterpiece his skills have always promised.

Songs:
“Titanic”
“Glued to the Girl”