Some of my fellow undergraduates followed the escapades of the Music Television Network a bit too closely back in 1998. Apparently the network felt viewers were not as attentive as they had been in the past (back in those Martha Quinn days) and decided that instead of letting the bigwigs behind the scenes hire the next round of talking heads that we Americans could do it for them. A contest! You know, for kids! Everyone who had given up on their MTV would return and collectively we could pluck some cool walking, hip talking schmuck out of obscurity and make him or her popular. By popular, that meant they got to by a Veejay on the cable network for a year. This appealed to the masses for some reason and boys and girls across the county submitted their résumés and their funniest home videos and applications so they could say proudly announce that they had – finally – gotten their MTV.
Closer to home, because some of the DJs needed something to talk about during their breaks, it should come then as little surprise then that this national contest of merit was an easy conversation piece. Some rooted for the blond, others chimed in for the surfer dude, and some liked to think this would all pass as quickly as possible. Oddly enough there were three or four student DJs who really went all out on this, following the statistics and votes and vying for their candidate in the same way they weren’t for the 1998 midterm elections. I mean, more people could name the scarecrow lookin’ kid than any governor or senator.
The scarecrow looking kid for those who have forgotten was Jesse Camp, the one with the ear ring and makeup (and yeah – that’s his own hair).
I’ll freely admit to sacrificing some moments of my life to watch some of the shenanigans unfold and I seem to recall there was some sort of collective “Huh?” from me and others at the radio station when it was announced that the “normal” looking guy (with a “normal” sounding name, no less: Dave) had lost out to...well, the other guy (the other guy who didn’t always appear to get “it,” the guy who seldom seemed to know where he was, the guy who probably was not the poster child example that the bigwigs originally had in mind). But so goes viewer voting. In the end, Jesse was America’s sweetheart, Dave was left scratching his head, MTV had found ratings gold, the radio station promptly forgot the entire ordeal, I prepared to graduate, and everyone who didn’t vote for Jesse learned they would have to put up with him for a year or so.It shouldn’t have been a surprise then when it was announced Jesse was releasing an album. By this time I was off to graduate school, but I know that during my year as station manager that radio station didn’t get a copy of Jesse & The 8th Street Kidz. Knowing some of the people I worked with, they would have probably sent the album back.
I would have agreed. Send it back, man, send it back.
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Wasted Youth
(Jesse Camp/Share Ross/Alex Kniepkamp/Bam Ross/Jo Almeida/Ric Browde)
Jesse Camp
From the album Jesse & The 8th Street Kidz
1999
Skunked out into the night
Splitting home to go dig on the street
Sick of all the same ole hassles + drills & copz on their bullshit beats
But with my virgin veins
And all my growing pains
The myths of street kid living
Didn't match the shit I was givin'
Ain't no noddin' off on dreams
Sleepin' in reality
Wasted youth
It ain't wasted on me
Set me free
You are my destiny
Taken in by all the older kidz
Who lived it all way before me
Some don't last for much too long
And some leave us tragically
Cause when you're gettin too old
And your habit takes hold
You start to lose your twinkling smile
You know it's all the same trap
I wanna hear your dumb rap
You live in the same shit as we do
I don't need your denial
Wasted youth
You ain't wasted on me
Set me free
You are my destiny
Feelin so slow
Feelin so small
Guess they were right
We were destined to fall
We're fallin' lower + lower + lower till we ain't nowhere at all
You know I think we lost our minds out there
Fallen face down into their dirt
Cause it's too easy too (sic) shut yourself on down
Succomb to all their pain and hurt
But I was born a free man
Won't slam no cuffz on my hands
And I ain't gonna turn on the kidz that helped me out
Cause we ain't your victims no more
Without your spike slammin sore
Wasted youth?
That ain't us thatz your own damn miss
Wasted youth
You ain't wasted on me
You ain't our destiny
Set us free
Flyin' high
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We’d like to acknowledge http://discog.fleetwoodmac.net/ as the source of this week’s album information and lyrics. Those details are usually easy to come by but this week’s entry proved a worthwhile chore. Thankfully, the site that bills itself as “Everything Fleetwood Mac” has a special place for the 8th Street Kidz, if only because Stevie Nicks contributes vocals on portions of the album.
Ouch.