This Friday at 328 Performance Hall, you have an opportunity to witness one of the most intriguing success stories of 2001. Record companies have spent millions this year on flashy videos, television appearances, and advertising campaigns promoting artists whose names you’ll never remember. Meanwhile, Flickerstick, a small-time Dallas bar band making the club rounds every year, have seen their popularity explode in a matter of months. At recent dates where they’ve been opening for other groups, the audience has been packing in for their set and then leaving before the headliner. Promoters at 328 say they’ve been getting calls from out of state requesting tickets.

The irony here is that most of the people so anxious to see Flickerstick would probably struggle to name one of the band’s songs or to hum one of their tunes. That’s because Flickerstick’s popularity is purely a result of their having emerged as the stars of VH1’s surprise reality-TV hit Bands on the Run. Many viewers most likely assumed that this bastardization of Survivor and Star Search would be more painful than either of those two shows. The surprise is that, despite the contest setup, the show has turned out to be more like a documentary of life on the road for the fledgling rocker circa 2001. It’s like a Hoop Dreams for wannabe rock stars; each episode perfectly encapsulates the pain, pleasure, boredom, and thrills of trying to transform from a nobody into a major somebody.

Despite the fact that there are only a few episodes left in the program, Flickerstick have clearly won this thing. Their stage show is far and away the most vibrant. It’s hard to say just how good their music is, though, given that VH1 never plays more than a snippet of each song. But that doesn’t even matter. Viewers like Flickerstick because—unlike Harlow, who are sweet and funny but need to come up with an original look and sound, and Soulcracker, who appear to be true corporate whores—they act like a real rock ’n’ roll band. They drink too much; they cheat on their girlfriends; they have inane arguments; they’re lazy as hell.

In other words, they’re utterly human. Yet when they talk about their music or hit the stage, they go at it like it’s the only thing worth living for. Take the rhythm guitarist, Rex: Whenever he has a few too many, he transforms into the crazy rock god his bandmates have nicknamed El Dangeroso, which is pretty much the antithesis of his personality when he’s sober.

It reminds me of The Replacements. Noble savages with the right amount of talent, the ’Mats were critical heroes who never sold much but became legends nonetheless, thanks to tales of their drunken rock ’n’ roll exploits. Those stories were just as much a part of what made them great as their music was.

Which brings me to a suggestion for VH1. I noticed on the network’s Web site that it’s fielding applicants for the next season of Bands on the Run, which I think is great. Out of a sea of reality-based swill, it’s good to see one show that gives people with actual talent a chance to succeed on television. But what I’d like to suggest is a companion show, perhaps called Veterans on the Run. Take groups that, like The Replacements, have been championed by critics and have earned a loyal fan base, but have never achieved the wide audience they deserve. Rocket From the Crypt (who’s playing 328 at the end of the month), Spoon, Fountains of Wayne, Superchunk, Superdrag—there are hundreds that’ve fallen through the cracks. Finally give them the chance to show all of America their charming personalities and rock ’n’ roll hearts—the kinds of attributes that make a band not just a flavor of the month, but inspiring, entertaining, and endearing. Like Flickerstick.

Foot-in-mouth disease

Meanwhile, in the world of celebrity mega-success, where having a heart or brain is frequently a liability, we’ve got to deal with the likes of Fred Durst and Puff Daddy. Both are virtually devoid of talent and personality, but somehow they manage to thrive anyway. They are entertaining, though, because they act and talk as if they were underappreciated geniuses. The effect is a mixture of hilarity and that embarrassment you feel for somebody who’s too dim to realize just how lame they are.

Durst particularly loves to display his ineptitude through postings on Limp Bizkit’s Web site. In a recent and lovely rant, he railed against the recent Bizkit backlash by asserting that there “is so much Hateorade being drunk out there.”

What is Hateorade, you ask? Well, obviously, it’s the bile generated by a deep contempt for overpaid, talent-free, balding white guys who can’t rap and treat women like shit. Apparently, it’s this excessive Hateorade that’s inspiring Limp during the writing of their fourth crapterpiece. “Every magazine, paper, band, etc. is on a Limp hating rampage and it is really giving us the fire,” Durst writes. “We have so much built up inside and we wanna let it all out on the new album.” He goes on to confirm that the recorded experience will be “post-nuclear.”

I hope his predictions are right on—that, like a nuclear attack, the new album will completely decimate whatever fan base they still have and send the group, tails between their legs, back to Florida. (A small side note about Florida: Limp Bizkit, Creed, Backstreet Boys, the 2000 presidential election debacle, Disneyworld—how many affronts does a nation have to put up with before it finally kicks a state out of the union?)

Puff Daddy, meanwhile, is even better at this sort of unintentional self-immolation, if only because he does it very publicly instead of on the Internet. First there was the announcement after his acquittal in March that he was changing his name to P. Diddy. The new name alone was hysterical enough, but then Puffy compounded the blunder by announcing that it had been a joke.

Now comes his revelation in a recent interview with Access Hollywood that his new acting career will lead to him winning not one, but two Oscars. This is, of course, coming from the man who was cut loose from the lead role in Oliver Stone’s Any Given Sunday when it became clear to all involved he could not act. Oh well, you’ve got to admire his persistence in not letting reality get in the way of his dreams.

Programming note

This Thursday marks the beginning of the inexplicable and unnecessary second season of CBS’ reality disaster Big Brother. For those who don’t recall last summer’s first run, it found 12 of the dullest people on Earth locked inside a complex where their every move was monitored. CBS promises that this year will be more interesting due to several changes, among them co-ed rooms, an outdoor shower, and a cast of mostly unmarried and uninhibited contestants.

Basically, CBS has rounded up a bunch of exhibitionists in hopes that they’ll all screw like rabbits for our entertainment. If this entices you in any way, I plead with you go to your Internet browser and type the word “amateur” into a search engine. Because if you really want to watch everyday strangers have sex, there are already plenty of outlets for that.

Quotidian Challenge

“Between thought and expression lies a lifetime.”

Be the first to e-mail the origin of this useless bit of trivia to poplife the shame of your name printed in the paper and some free useless crap from the Nashville Scene!

Previous week’s answer: “Don’t you think that idea is a little half-baked?”

“Oh no, Dad, it’s completely baked.”—William Daniels and Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate.

Winner: Ron McNutt.