Man, I, like, got your CD in the mail today and dude, it just isn't you. Having More Fun simply reminded me that I wasn't having any listening to you. White Boy Blues? Somebody somewhere at sometime in your career should have told you that white boys cannot sing the blues. Her Heart's in Alabama had me thinking that playing the CD was my One Mistake. If only I could be someone else in Another Place far far away. Oh, I wish I could go there Straightaway.

When are the musicians of the country gonna perk up and smell the coffee? Remember the days when rock was real, when it meant something deep down inside? Rock had guts, and it made you think! Of course, I'm talking about Pearl Jam. Your songs are nothing more than watered-down Pearl Jam wanna bes. You're nothing but a wanna-Pearl-Jam-be-type person. Eddie Vedder went for the glory, and you're just robbing his emotional larder, man. Has it been so long since "Jeremy" came out? Have we forgotten that the tragedy at Columbine High School was predicted with the haunting line: "Jeremy spoke in class today. Oh-oooh-oh-yeah-ah-ah!" Eddie Vedder, thy name is prophet. When he sings you can feel the sorrow of the downtrodden whom his ragged grundge plaid outfits came to symbolize.

I don't know why I even bothered sending you this e-mail, perhaps because I care. I still believe that rock is about idol-worship, not hacks like you plunking out pieces of their ordinary lives. When you write, think of Grand Funk Railroad. Pray to the Grand Funk to guide you along on the wings of their railroad tracks. Soar to the sun. "We're an American band. We're coming to your town. We'll help you party down. We're an American band." Who could guess that such lofty and noble lyrics could relate to the common man? To the soldier in the field. To the farmer in the field. To Old Man Johnson wailing away with his pitch fork in the prison chain gang. To Rosey riveting at her rivet station!

From one dude to another,
Dudley Cartwright
Casino Operator
Lake Charles, Louisiana