Tag Archives: john mayer

Whose Ab Situation Do You Prefer?

I’ll be honest. I’d rather my hypothetical boyfriend have a slight gut like John Mayer‘s than the overly cut washboard abs of Mike “The Situation.” I like a little something to lay my head on, you know? [Towleroad] Keep reading »

Summer Heat Brings On Tour Cancellation Fever

There is a dangerous outbreak on the loose. Lucky for us, it only affects musicians. A rash of bands and performers have been canceling dates or entire tours for a variety of reasons, with scheduled dates in the U.S. suffering the most terminations. U2 has called off the North American leg of their tour to give lead singer Bono time to recover from emergency back surgery. Rock band Muse has axed and postponed several dates in the United States to allow the drummer of the band to be home for the birth of his child. When it comes to health and family, tour cancellations are understandable, especially when both bands are promising refunds and make up dates. A little less forgivable was Christina Aguilera erasing her entire North American tour because she didn’t feel ready and her people wanted the concerts to be closer to the release of her film “Burlesque.” This means if you want to see Christina get “Bionic” you will have until 2011.

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In Defense Of John Mayer

John Mayer has a bad rep. Once a soulful crooner with a baby face, he’s morphed into a cocky megastar making his way around the proverbial Hollywood block. In 2006, he used his relationship with ex Jennifer Love Hewitt as material for his stand-up and he went on to date (and ditch) Jessica Simpson, Cameron Diaz and Jennifer Aniston. In January, he hit a new low when he appeared to be macking on America’s sweetheart, 20-year-old Taylor Swift. A few weeks later, an interview he did with Playboy came out. The quote that reverberated around the interwebs: “Yeah, [Jessica Simpson] is like crack cocaine to me … Sexually it was crazy. It was like napalm, sexual napalm …”

After that, John became persona non grata. Even this video he posted this month, called “A Life In the Day,” couldn’t redeem him.

But here’s the thing. Even after all the bonkers tweets and swarmy quotes,

I’ve given up trying to reconcile John Mayer’s social sewage with his art. I won’t claim to know his soul, but I will say that during the past eight years, it seems like sometimes he knows my own. Mayer, in music, has been nothing but good to me.

See, I have spent countless nights falling asleep to John Mayer’s voice whispering from my speakers. I was a senior in high school when Room for Squares debuted. Before that, I had no point of reference in music. A good jam could get me dancing, but there was no musical artist who activated my soul and left an ineffaceable mark on it. Mayer unbuckled my musical chastity belt. I felt every song, as his lyrics took on a sweet synchronicity with my life and with my thoughts. Listening to his albums was like finishing a long run. Where at the crest of a hill, short of breath, I look at the view and think, “This is me. At least for now.”

I am not the type of fan to paste pictures of him on my wall, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an inclination for the schmaltzy. I’ve never been to one of his concerts because I am holding out for my boyfriend to take me. I don’t need a concert, though, to celebrate Mayer’s music. It is the places I take his words with me that matter. As a student, with Mayer echoing from my dashboard, I started my five-hour drives between home and school. Despite the long highway, his melodies made me feel like I was home, back in a familiar rhythm. In 2006, when I was living in Paris, I took long walks, tuning out to the song “3×5.” It was during one of these strolls, when I was relishing the Belleville neighborhood I now miss, that I realized the name Mayer sounds like meilleur, the French word for “better.”

Back in the States, over a year later, I found out how much John Mayer’s fame had blown up. I was listening to “Gravity” in the dentist’s office while high-speed drills buzzed as if they were singing backup. Or in the grocery store, Mayer played as the intercom interrupted to announce specials on Country Crock margarine. Then, he himself transformed, going from a shaggy fluff hairdo to luscious locks and round cheeks to a chiseled jawbone. Hunky and borderline pretty, he became a bona fide rock star with a proclivity for high-profile relationships and kissing and telling. Maybe he’s not bothered by the reaction his behavior begets. Yet, for a man who creates original compositions, it seems like he’s stuck on repeat.

Picking up a 2009 magazine interview, I didn’t make it to the third paragraph before his Porsche Cayenne and Land Rover Defender got as many mentions as his manager. Mayer, it seemed, was making the transition from a man of music and depth to a man of acquisition and status. This set a glum and insincere tone to his art of melody for me from then on.

The dichotomy of John Mayer’s image and his tunes left me a confused fan. I wrestled with this for over a year, feeling silly for taking it too seriously, yet not silly enough to throw him back on my dream-time playlist.

When his latest album, Battle Studies, came out I waited months before buying it. I tiptoed past it in the record store and then would look back, unsure which part of the musician I’d be getting, the contrived rock star or the lyrical wunderkind. In order to avoid last-moment register retreat, I took standing in line out of the equation and bought the album on iTunes by simply pressing “enter.” Alone in my room I played the album once, twice, three times, and afterward I kept thinking, Damn John, you did it again. His music peeled away emotional layers that weigh me down, leaving me lucid and light.

I’ve given up trying to reconcile John Mayer’s social sewage with his art. I won’t claim to know his soul, but I will say that during the past eight years, it seems like sometimes he knows my own. Mayer, in music, has been nothing but good to me.

I now know that is more than I could ever ask for in a musician. Yes, the fame is there. But the music came first; it always does.

Quotable: Billy Corgan Says John Mayer Should Have Kept His Mouth Shut On Jessica Simpson

“As far as it pertains to her [Jessica Simpson]. I think for any person who has celebrity to sort of drop rocks at somebody else’s feet like that — there’s things you should really just keep your mouths shut on. There’s things that should just be left alone.”

Billy Corgan on John Mayer‘s blabbermouth interview with Playboy, in which he called ex Simpson (a friend and rumored paramour of Corgan’s) “sexual napalm.” Keep reading »

Jessica Simpson Dishes About Her Exes On “Letterman”

A flirty Jessica Simpson visited Letterman last night where she dished about two of her famous exes, Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo and professional musician John Mayer. Confirming the rumor that Romo dumped her on her birthday last fall, Simpson said she’ll always care deeply for the football star and that she still likes watching his games and admiring his “cute butt” in his uniform. Of Mayer, she was less enthusiastic, saying she was “very disappointed” in his Playboy article where he called Simpson “sexual napalm,” and said she was upset he “gave away her game.” Clip above. [via YouTube] Keep reading »

Girl Talk: How Much Is Too Much When It Comes To Blogging About Boyfriends?

When John Mayer’s supremely ignorant Playboy interview hit the wires, I, like most people, was appalled. Not just by his idiotic racism, but by the way he spoke about his exes. I mean, the dude compared Jessica Simpson to crack! Said she was like “sexual napalm!” What a jerk! I mean, how indiscreet!

I watched Jessica Simpson tell Oprah that no, she hadn’t forgiven him for his big fat mouth and was disappointed that he’d sunk so low. I harrumphed, “You go, Jessica!” as I high-fived my TV screen.

Then I recalled how many times I’d blabbed about exes. I’ve been writing about relationships, often my own, for the past 10 years. In that time, I’ve done some serious dishing—and dissing. The truth is, most of my recountings were far less flattering than what John had to say about Jessica.

My name is Judy and I am a hypocrite. Keep reading »

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