|Warrant, with Unnamed Daughter of Some Poor Bastard.|
I found myself less concerned with how I was going to respond to this claim (probably something to the tune of "Whatever, old man, Tarantino is tight.") than with the model of creative production my dad had laid forth. I realized that no matter what I listen to, in my songwriting there is a certain Jon Mann filter that tends to produce a relatively recognizable "Jon Mann" product. You can sometimes pick out the influences, sure, but at the end of the day you're getting Jon Mann songs. Huh. Touché, old man.
So I asked myself, what sort of music do I want to play? Well, rock and roll, of course.
And I asked myself, what do I want my music to be? Fun, of course.
And who, in the history of rock and roll, had the most fun? Who was going crazy? It's all going to come out sounding like Jon Mann anyway; where can I harvest the energy, the riffing, the over-the-top, pleasure-seeking joie de vivre?
It hit me like a bottle of Nightrain: I needed to excavate hair metal's hidden gems.