Bad Music. Bad Radio.

I'm not sure why Feel My Heat, the radio show hosted by Danny Masterson and Brent Bolthouse, exists.  Maybe people like feeling connected to an overhyped, overpriced Hollywood club scene where they have virtually no chance of crossing the red rope and they choose to live vicariously through the constant back-patting of this twosome.

Regardless, I catch the show every once in a while when I'm in the car and every time I am overcome by a sensation of disgust.  The last instance involved Bolthouse hyping up this live set from DJ AM as the "best ever."  Said set began with a lousy Rage Against the Machine remix and proceeded to slide downhill from there.

Tonight, I stumbled upon a few minutes of the show while on route to pick up some allergy pills.  Naturally, they were talking about themselves instead of playing music.  Then one of them, I believe it was Bolthouse, started yapping about how he was the first person to play 30 Seconds to Mars.

Who the hell brags about that?

I really try not to be hater.  It isn't easy because I am both passionate by nature and possess an extremely low tolerance for bullshit.  But, I try.  I tried to give 30 Seconds to Mars a fair shot, just like I tried to give the aforementioned radio program a chance.

Two years ago, I went to a 30 Seconds to Mars show.  I was actually there to cover the opening band, but Carlos and I stuck around for the main act just to see why there were so many kids dressed up in blood-and-guts costumes.  The band was at least a half-hour behind schedule.  I remember this because the Cure's Disintegration was playing on the house PA.  Then 30 Seconds to Mars had the nerve to come on stage during the album's title track, thus ruining the best song off the best album ever.  

And even though they committed that kind of sacrilege (you just don't stop Disintegration, it must play start to finish), I still gave them a shot.  But then, four songs into the set, Carlos and I couldn't take it anymore.  The songs, and I use that term lightly, were lacking in such necessities as rhythm and melody.  I do not believe this to be an exaggeration.  It was, essentially, noise to which Jared Leto could stand around looking like a blood-and-guts covered messiah.  

It was, I dare to say, the worst show I had ever seen (or, at least second to Mindless Self Indulgence, that's a really tough call).  Maybe then it's fitting that Feel My Heat would take the credit for it.