I have this thing that I like to do anytime I meet someone who talks just a little too much about how great Foo Fighters are or who can't help but show off the "FF" logo on their forearm.
I simply slap a big, sticky strip of "Hello Kitty" duct tape across their piehole, handcuff them to their own lack of imagination, and blast "Boy Destroyers" by Hey Mercedes.
Sometimes, just for shits and giggles, I tell 'em its the new Foo Fighters album just to mess with them. Obviously, by the time Bob Nanna's vocals come in, anyone with ears can tell this isn't Dave Grohl, but 75% of the time, these Foo-loving chotes can't tell the difference.
As a result, I've accidentally made Hey Mercedes a lot of new fans. I know this because I ran into many of them when Hey Mercedes reunited in 2016 after a thirteen-year "hiatus", during which time Dave Grohl completely hijacked their schtick.
Just before Hey Mercedes kicked off their reunion tour at the intimate Subterranean, one such convert ran up to me and declared, "Wow, I've never seen a concert in a shoe box." Another introduced me to their wife (well, hello...) by excitedly declaring, "Honey I want you to meet the dude who plastered my hipster beard with 'Hello Kitty' duct tape and turned me on to Hey Mercedes!" before asking, "So, where are the video screens?"
Hey Mercedes then proceeded to rip the roof off the joint, having not lost a single step in the fifteen years they were gone, thereby reinvigorating my adoration for the band and their complete lack of contempt for the machine that spat them out or the fans that never came.
That Foo Fighters continue to appease millions of fans by releasing the same album over and over while the members of Hey Mercedes (singer/guitarist Bob Nanna, Todd Bell on bass/vocals, Mark Duwarsk on guitar/vocals, and drummer Damon Atkinson) toil in technicolor obscurity for having the solid gold clackers to give the hornet's nest that is emo the gut punch it has long deserved, it seems I'm the one taking it hardest of all.
When my girlfriend accuses me of being a bitter musician who never made it big just because I left the toilet seat up again, I'll remind her once again that I'm not bitter about me not making it, but about bands like Hey Mercedes not getting to tool around the world in private jets and date supermodels.
I was joking when I wrote that, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how true the statement is and how I have to be reminded from time to time of my own commercial misfortune. And to put the toilet seat down.