A little while ago, dear reader, we first got wind of the fact that Harry Connick Jr. is a featured performer in the American Airlines Theater production of The Pajama Game. Although we, like reasonable people everywhere, have absolutely no interest in taking in this show, we felt great relief upon hearing the news.
And why, you may be asking yourself, is Harry Connick Jr.’s role in The Pajama Game so fortuitous? Are we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” his collective agent? What gives?
Well, actually the answer to those queries is rather simple. Every time Harry Connick Jr. nabs a part as an actor, he has less time for his feculent music. If you ask us, that is reason to hope that Mr. Connick has a more successful career as a thespian than Lawrence Olivier.
For we are music fans, and thus we naturally loathe this dime-store also-ran Sinatra’s saccharine fluff. The guy’s the musical equivalent of Zima, and we can’t stand him.
Now, don’t get us wrong, dear reader: We don’t think Mr. Connick is really that much of an actor either. In fact, if we recall correctly, we seem to have taken in his performance in some lazy Sandra Bullock vehicle, and he was pretty lousy. We’ve seen better acting from Joran van der Sloot, for crying out loud.
Yet Mr. Connick the thespian has never made us pine to hit him over the head with a sledgehammer. The fellow’s acting chops haven’t inspired us to pistol-whip him. His theatrical skills may leave much to be desired, but they seem positively dreamy in comparison to his murderously bad pseudo-jazz.
Already we can hear the protests from pseudo-jazz fans everywhere. “I love Harry Connick Jr.,” say our aesthetically challenged friends, “he’s a great piano player.”
To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: You don’t know the first bloody thing about jazz, you dolt. If you did, you’d realize that this poor man’s Tony Bennett is pathetic.
He plays dull retreads of famous songs that were better when other people played them–50 years ago. He’s the guy people who have no culture fall in love with to make it seem as if they are cultured. Anyone who thinks he’s a great piano player has never heard Art Tatum, Bud Powell, Oscar Peterson, Cecil Taylor, Wynton Kelly, Red Garland, Andrew Hill, Bobby Timmons, Bill Evans, et al.
In fact, we find the popularity of Mr. Connick’s music so irksome that we have officially founded the “Keep Harry Connick Jr. Acting Foundation.” In order to aid our worthy cause, all you must do is write us a check. We assure you that all of the money you donate will be used to land Mr. Connick more roles in syrupy films and plays. With your help, we’ll keep this retarded Frank Sinatra out of the studio.
Our new foundation’s catchy slogan? The “Keep Harry Connick Jr. Acting Foundation”: Because His Music Blows Chunks.
(Note: The crack young staff usually “weblog” over at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” where they are currently burning Aaron Neville in effigy.)