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Take out a piece of paper some time. Write down a list of things that makes you
angry, stuff that can really grind your gears.

If the words “music video” appears any higher than no. 987 on your list, then you
likely have a problem.

Well … guess who has a problem.

Innocently enough, I was channel surfing with breakfast one morning, and,
mistakenly crossing MTV, I came across a song so gloriously bad, I couldn’t
believe my eyes. It was beyond mediocre; it was filled with every awful video
cliché, every trite note, just every tiny thing that gives rock music after 1980 a bad
name. Bad hair, bad clothes, bad vocals, bad guitars, bad drums… and very, very
bad lyrics:
Worst. Band. Ever.
Nov. 7, 2006
E-mail Nick Tavares at
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It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
It was like watching O.J. running away from a train wreck. A perfect storm of putrid
music had been laid out before me. I couldn’t look away. It was awful.

Finally, as I regrouped, I reached for the remote, clicked one channel up… AND
THERE IT WAS AGAIN ON VH-1! What are the odds? I mean, I know that both
channels are happy with their 20-video rotations, but… come on!

On the second viewing, I caught the band’s name. They go by the moniker of
“Hinder,” their single is the cleverly-titled “
Lips of an Angel,” and they, my friends,
are sitting pretty as the worst band in the world. Put the ballots away, because we
have the unquestioned kings of crap in our midst.

There are so many things awful about these guys that it’s hard to know where to
begin. Austin Winkler is their frontman, and his turn-ons apparently include
wearing ties without collared shirts, post-1990s Aerosmith and Nickleback cover
bands. For starters, he can’t sing. Now, great voices aren’t necessarily a
pre-requisite in rock — take a glance at Bob Dylan or Bonn Scott some time  —
but you have to at least have a clue. Don’t just shriek, make sad faces and call it a
night. Better yet, Mr. Winkler, stop singing. Because you make me want to shove a
fork in my eye and twist.

The rest of the band are, predictably, metal geeks and jocks who probably can’t
believe their good fortune at having hooked up in a band as gloriously forgettable
(in the grand scheme of things) as Hinder. The rhythm section? A bass player
who looks like the bass player from Nickleback, Puddle of Mudd, Limp Bizkit and
anyone else you can think of, and a fat drummer with a bad beard and bad hair.

The guitarists, however, are my favorite. Their unnaturally-styled dos aside, Slash
really should be banging down their door to confiscate what little royalties their
label has paid out thus far. What sounded cool and dangerous 20 years ago in
Guns N’ Roses is now rendered so flat that it’s actually impressive in a way  —
they could not possibly have learned to play more generically than this.  It’s
impossible. Short of writing a computer program to compose guitar solos and
setting it to “Wuss Metal,” these fellas have taken the cake. Or their professional
songwriter has. Whoever’s responsible, way to go.

The point of all this is that it’s not worth it to get riled up about these guys. Soon
enough, Hinder will be the subject of “where are they now” programs, their one hit
parceled out to moves, TV shows and, finally, some “Best Crap Rock of the
2000s” double CD sold via late-night commercials. These guys and their excuse
for music are not worth a dime.

But, as long as their here, they might as well get used to uppity folks like me
calling them out.

Congratulations, Hinder. You’re the worst band in the world. Now don’t let the door
hit you on your long walk to oblivion.