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Dallas Observer Leaves Wake Of Destruction Behind This Scathing Florida-Georgia Line Concert Review

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The state of country music in America is a polarizing issue. The hardcore, old school fans of Merle, Willie and Hank are purists, and would probably say that any country song made after 1982 sucks. Then you have the fans of country music created by Brooks and Dunn, Garth Brooks, Allan Jackson, Kenny Chesney, etc, who love firing up the stereo in the Sun Tracker and tossing back a few Steveweisers in Party Cove. Today, you have some sort of sick, twisted mix of wannabe cowboys and cowgirls who absolutely lose their shit over tired acts like Florida-Georgia Line, Luke Bryan and Jason Aldean.

No more was the disdain for the current affairs of country music apparent than in this scorching hot, brilliantly crafted takedown review of a Florida-Georgia Line/Jason Aldean show in the Dallas Observer, titled “Jason Aldean and Florida Georgia Line Danced on the Grave of Country at Gexa on Saturday” written by Jaime-Paul Falcon.

It’s fantastic.

Ebola causes you to leak fluids from your body’s orifices and bleed internally until your body starts to slowly shut down. Then you die from a combination of low blood-pressure and organ failure. If you have the misfortune of being an American who catches this vile disease, the media will ruthlessly invade your privacy and reveal every minute detail of your life to the public. This is a horrid fate for anyone unfortunate enough to catch this terrible malady.

And I would gladly endure it all so long as I never again have to suffer the experience of sitting seven rows back from the stage while Florida-Georgia Line and Jason Aldean gleefully danced on the grave of one of the most purely American forms of art to the tune of cheers from 9,999 very intoxicated people.

That was the LEDE. JP comes out, guns blazing. He didn’t stop there. He then described the large and economically diverse crowd that attended the concert.

I approached Saturday night’s show with an open mind, but one glance at the insanely packed parking lot and I realized maybe the stereotype of the modern country music fan (privileged, a little slow, boisterous and in love with terrible music and terrible beer) was completely dead on. In this scene chaos reigned: Michelob Ultra was chugged as if it was a life-extending elixir of the gods, mini-barbecues raged and Florida-Georgia Line’s “Dirt” was blasted at tornado siren levels. There are SEC tailgates that don’t get this wild. A sea of scantily clad women in cut-off shorts and fashionista cowboy boots swarmed around trading jello shots and dancing on any man who offered a beer. Ass is abundant and of low value at bro-country shows.

Okay, JP. That’s not really fair. Have you ever been to an SEC tailgate? I once saw one of my pledge brothers throw an completely full, unopened can of Natty Light at the forehead of a visiting Ole Miss fan, only to see the beer can explode upon impact, leading to one of the most impressive all out brawls I’ve ever seen. I digress. Continue with your surgical takedown piece, sir.

Next came the Limp Bizkit comparison, which is probably the most accurate comparison for anything I can think of. The first time I heard “Cruise,” I thought my ears might start bleeding. When I heard the Nelly remix, I felt my penis rescind into my body.

Tyler Hubbard of Florida Georgia Line looks like country music’s take on Scott Stapp, with his flowing hair and affinity for bare skin and crosses. While on stage he and Brian Kelley and the rest of the band all sported one of their own band’s T-shirts. Yes, they’re an entire band of “that guys.” Hubbard also handled most of the band’s singing duties, including occasionally dropping into a rap-like cadence while Kelley stood around playfully strumming an acoustic guitar that’s nowhere to be heard in the mix. Congrats bro-country, you have your Limp Bizkit.

An underage kid offered him $40 dollars to buy beer for him. Two beers, more specifically. Gotta love those Dallas suburb minors. The kid did it in front of a cop.

In between sets a DJ works tirelessly to keep the sold out crowd hyped by playing Johnny Cash mixed with Aerosmith, Lil’ Jon mixed with some random bro-country and Miley Cyrus thrown in to keep things turnt up. While watching the cream of the Dallas sorority crop get herded backstage (the guy in charge of getting groupies might have been the only one with legitimate ranch/farm skills in the building) a drunk teenager walked up to me and handed me $40. He said I can keep the change if I grab him a Coors Lite and a Michelob Ultra. Unfortunately for the kid, a passing cop walked by while he slurred the request, and took the kid aside. I tried to give him the $40 back, but the cop was too busy reading him the riot act. The kid’s luck was doubly bad: The concession stands had already run out of Ultra.

In fairness, it sounds like JP gets a little jealous of FGL getting a taste of “the cream of the Dallas sorority crop,” but outside of that, this is an outstanding review of a musical genre that has been stripped of its soul and has been repackaged to appeal to the lowest common denominator.

You can read the full piece HERE.

[via Dallas Observer]

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Brian McGannon

What do I love? I love happy hour, a good golf tan, and getting moderately drunk during dinner.

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