If you’re a hammer, the world might look like a nail. And if you’ve spent the better part of the past five decades fighting— Shotokan, boxing, wrestling, Japanese jujitsu, kenpo, Muay Thai, and Brazilian jujitsu—it might seem that all of your oh-so-insoluble emotional difficulties can be handled the only way you’ve learned how: violently.

Which is why, despite me having given up my four-decade one-sided beef with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I’ve had a good think on the bands whose prospects could be much improved by swift kicks in the ass.

That dance card is already jam-packed with people and personalities who have actually done a lot more than offend my sensibilities, and have paid into bank accounts that I will pay them out of later (in literary terms we call this “foreshadowing"). Jack Black, David Cross, Jamie Foxx, Matt Groening, and Spike Lee, though well-loved in a generalized way by the public, have crossed a world-class grudge holder in me, but this is not about that. This is about my own tribe: folks in bands.

So forthwith, a walk through slights—some petty, some significant, all deserving of some sort of old-school adjustment, submitted here for your amusement.