Sarah, Is that You?

I’m a big fan of the singer Sarah McLachlan so I follow her official Facebook page where she posts song links, pictures and sometimes inspirational quotes. Last evening I found the quote she posted to be very meaningful so I liked it and then shared it. As I continued perusing FB, maybe 20 minutes later, I get a notification that I’ve received a friend request from Sarah McLachlan.

Hmmm.

That’s odd.

Internationally famous singer/songwriter Sarah McLachlan wants to be friends on FB with me, who, she’s not only never met, but has never interacted with in her life. Literally doesn’t know I exist. If you said my name to her she would tilt her head like a dog who wonders why the cat is eating his food.

Hmmm.

I went to the page and there were 2 pictures of Sarah, both taken directly from her website or FB fan page. And nothing else.

There was no information, no other pictures, no posts and no friends.

How stupid does someone think I am? I mean this is just insulting. I get friend requests all the time from obviously fake FB accounts but they usually have dozens of “friends”, a couple of pictures, maybe an innocuous post or two. And most importantly none were ever from someone who has started their own summer music festival.

I got a request once from a guy in an eastern European country. The entire page was in his own language and all his “friends” were eastern European, but he did not have 7 Billboard top 100 songs.

Being a man, I used to get a lot of requests from women in bikinis or lingerie advertising their web sites. But I’ve never gotten one from a woman who has appeared on David Letterman, the Tonight Show, SNL and has her own ASPCA commercial.

I don’t know who really sent the friend request or what their purpose was but I didn’t fall for it.

Now, having said that, if Sarah McLachlan created a new page just to be friends with me on FB and I rejected the friend request, then I’m probably out of the fan club.

Game Show of the Future

It's 2:30 p.m.; do you know where your Chihuahua is?

Hi, I'm Dan Filibuster, host of "You're Too Old to Remember Shit". Our opening line tonight came from a famous sitcom. OK, contestants, ring in if you know the answer.

Yes, Judy, you got in first.

Judy: That line is from Whiskey Pete and the Dipsy Doodle Twins.

That's right! 100 points for Judy Spermatozoa from Belair Maryland. Whiskey Pete was of course played by lovable curmudgeon Howard Thudbaum who sadly died of extreme boredom 6 months after the show was cancelled.

Our other contestants tonight are Larry Finley of Hamster Crack Iowa and our returning champion with a 61 day prize total of $543 and 16 55-gallon drums of Turtle Wax; please welcome Marge Merge from a small cave in Arkansas!

All right contestants, our next golden oldie is from a song:

I gave you my heart
but all you did was fart

Marge!

Marge: That is from "Your Love is Like a Gas Fire" by Hank Hurlyburly.

Correct! 100 points. Ironically Hank was killed when he held in a fart too long during a blind date and his colon exploded. The other patrons at the restaurant were covered in feces but because it belonged to the legendary country singer they refused to bathe.

Our next category is News. Who said this?

"If I knew I was going to lose I wouldn't have spent my tater money on the campaign."

Larry!

Larry: That was 1932 presidential candidate Elmer "Mr. Potato Head" Tubbs

Correct, 100 points! Elmer spent all of the money used to work his potato farm to run for president where he finished a disappointing 67th in the Republican primary. He ran again in 1936 on the platform "Give me back my tater money."

Now for 300 points and the game, what movie is this from?

"I believe I can fly now that I have bionic elbows!"

Marge!

Marge: Danny Twilight said that in the movie "Robots, Robots, Everyone is a Robot"

Yes! Marge remains our champion.

Now for the Bonus question for Marge to win the grand prize of $36.28 and a claw-foot tub filled with scrap plywood: What TV show is this from:

"Bunnies, bunnies, bunnies, bunnies, bunnies, bunnies.”

Marge: Oh my God, I loved that show. It’s from Farmer Larry’s Festival of Frolic and Fun!

Yes! Marge is a winner again.

Thanks for watching everyone, join us next week for another edition of “You’re Too Old to Remember Shit ".

Give Music back to the Musicians

I wish record companies would let bands be who they are instead of trying to change them. There are many examples of this but I ran into one recently that reminded me that creating music and the music business are two separate entities that should probably never interact.

I am a fan of a fairly obscure heavy metal band from the 80s called Raven. I wore out my cassette tape of their album All For One. Recently I was at a flea market and found this vinyl copy of their The Pack is Back album. I wasn’t familiar with this one and the cover is . . . disturbing, but it was the 80s and metal bands were wearing . . . well let’s forget what they wore in the 80s. Being a fan of the band and still having a vinyl collection I bought this for a few dollars. I was excited to get home and put it on my turntable. Yes, I’m old. I still like hearing the needle drop onto the grooves of a record.

The first song played while I cleaned up a bit and I wasn’t thrilled with it. It wasn’t horrible but there was something wrong. It didn’t sound like Raven. Second song, not much better. It was a cover of Gimme Some Lovin’ by the Spencer Davis Group. By the time side one was over I had heard a horn section and way too many catchy melodies for this to be a heavy metal record.

After using Google to dig up some information I discovered that the record company wanted the band to make their sound more “commercial”. The result? A bad record followed by bad reviews and bad sales. Good job Atlantic Records.

Raven was not a pop band so why did you try to make them into one?  If you worked for Vertigo in the 70s would you have said to Black Sabbath, “You know lads, your records aren’t selling as well as they used to. We’d like you to do a cover of the Partridge Family’s I Think I Love You. You know, be a bit more commercial.” What if Columbia had said to Judas Priest, “Could you write a song about falling in love under a waterfall while holding a puppy? Three puppies would be even better.”

Let musicians be who they are. If they progress naturally into different genres they can make it work, but forcing them to play songs that aren’t their style never works. In this case, the pack was not back and Atlantic Records should refund my $4. Betty at customer relations said that’s not going to happen.

The Anti-Dylan

You often see lyrics to classic songs analyzed to glean their every meaning. We want to know what the musical poets were trying to say with their words as much as feeling the notes of the music.

But what about bad song lyrics? No one ever analyzes those. Until now.

This is the chorus to "Everybody Wants Some" by Van Halen

Everybody wants some
I want some too
Everybody needs some
how 'bout you

Judging by the first verse what everyone wants is a sexual encounter on a subway and I don't think it means sloppy kisses between bites of a six inch sweet onion chicken teriyaki sub either. Why you'd want your junk touching bacteria-infested subway seats I don't know but in Van Halen's alcohol-induced haze it must be like a room at the Ritz Carlton. The narrator says "everybody" wants some, but follows it up with telling us he wants it also. The collective "everybody" would encompass the narrator as well so the entire second line is superfluous. He proceeds to tell us "everybody" needs some, but follows by asking us, the listeners, if we want some as well. Again, we would be included in the "everybody" of the previous line so why ask us? The answer of course is the band had the music written and then needed some words that rhymed to call them "lyrics". A few minutes later the song is done and David Lee Roth is combing his chest hair.

This is the chorus to "Working for the Weekend" by Loverboy

Everybody's working for the weekend
Everybody needs a new romance
Everybody's going off the deep end
Everybody needs a second chance
You want a piece of my heart
You better start from the start
You want to be in the show
Come on baby let's go

I can't argue with the first line since I spend most work-days wool gathering about anything and everything. The second line uses the collective "everybody" but this discounts people who are happily married as well as those in common law marriages, long term relationships, civil unions or just blissfully "shacking up". None of these people are looking for a new romance. The next line is specious at best again because of the use of the collective "everybody". I know plenty of people who are losing it at any given time, but I also know many who are stable so don't lump them all in together like a Freud-Jung bouillabaisse. I won't argue with the ‘second chance’ line in general terms although what it has to do with working for the weekend, I don't know. A second chance to say no to overtime? Another shot at asking out the girl in accounting?

'You want a piece of my heart'? Is this literal or figurative? I need more context on whether the band is singing to a young lady or a serial killer with an internal organ fetish. 'You better start from the start'. Sorry, but where else would you start from except the 'start', which grammatically should be 'beginning'. Then some mythical show is mentioned and apparently all you have to do to be in it is 'go'. The take-away from all of this is much like Van Halen, Loverboy had written the music but needed lyrics so the singer had something to do. They threw darts at a dictionary and wound up with this hit song.

So there you have installment 1 of a 1,287 part series of bad song lyrics interpreted pedantically.

Put Me in Coach

The rock band KISS has recently bought themselves an Arena Football league team and named them after themselves, the LA Kiss. I did some research and found out they aren’t the only musicians getting into the sports ownership business:

Lady Gaga and members of the Goo Goo Dolls worked together to purchase a minor league soccer team based out of Washington State. The Walla Walla Ga Ga Goo Goos are playing in their first season but struggling. Many fans are blaming their uniforms. The Gaga designed ensemble includes a loin cloth over a pair of metallic Speedos, blue and silver body paint in lieu of a shirt, cleats with six inch heals and pinched toes, and atop their heads a cap with a 3 foot replica of the space needle.

Boston bad boy Steven Tyler purchased an independent league baseball team: The Plymouth Ak-Ak-Ak-Ows. Some of their promotional attempts to attract fans have had poor results: A free ounce of marijuana to the first 100 ticket holders ended with 100 arrests by Plymouth police and “Lost in a Barbiturate Haze Night” sent 27 people to the local hospital. On the field, the team itself took a cue from its owner by tying multi-colored scarves to the end of their bats while hitting and there is 31% more crotch grabbing in an Ak-Ak-Ak-Ow game than in any other.

Pop songstress Taylor Swift bought a majority stake in a minor league basketball team, the Nashville Exes. The team started out strong, winning their first 8 games. Since then, however, Taylor has dated the entire starting five and an assistant coach causing a lot of hurt feelings and bad publicity. “I knew something was wrong on our third date,” said point guard Web “The Comet” Jordan. “All during dinner I was telling her about my favorite movies and she was writing a song chorus rhyming comet with vomit.” The team is currently riding a 13 game losing streak but Taylor has another number 1 CD with “Songs from Half Court”.

Canadian rockers Rush have become the owners of a minor league hockey team, the Yukon Snowdogs. As lifelong fans of the sport, this was a dream come true for Geddy Lee, Neil Peart and Alex Lifeson. To help gain attendance the band wrote a team song that’s played before every game. The tune, titled “Epithet for a Dying Sport: Suite Bobby Orr, Opus 243 (Drop the Puck)” has caused consternation among fans however, as it is 23 minutes long with lyrics in three different languages as well as references to Tolkien’s The Silmarillion and ancient Indian myths. Hockey is never mentioned.

These are just a few of the examples I found. Bruce Springsteen has bought himself a professional dodge ball team, U2 own a third tier tetherball franchise and rapper Flo Rida has a jai alai team called the Or Lando Playas. The list goes on and on thanks to KISS.

I Was Over There, Now I'm Over Here

I went away for a while, but now I’m back.

Please, please, the applause isn’t necessary. I’m glad to return . . . a standing ovation? That’s a bit much. Sit down.

Is that music? You hired a band to play for my return? Wow. I don’t know what to say. Yeah, they’re good, sounds a little like Aerosmith.

My God, champagne? Really, I don’t drink. Ok, to be polite I’ll have one glass.

Who’s that talking? The Mayor of the Internet? I didn’t even know there was such a person. He’s giving a speech about me? I don’t think that’s at all necessary, although, did he just use the word “aplomb”? Nice.

Well, I’m going to  . . . what? A gift? You didn’t have to buy me anything. Yes, the wrapping is lovely. Ok, ok, I’ll open it. It’s a book, great, I love to read. Let’s see “Blogging for Complete Idiots”. Uh . . . thanks, I guess.

This was nice but now I have to . . . what now. A parade? That’s absolutely too much. Good God are those giraffes? Oh no, clowns. You know how I feel about clowns, get them out of here. What are they juggling? Live cobras? Are you insane? Well, yes, I admit they are putting on quite a show and the tall one is striking with his orange/blue Mohawk but, holy shit one of them just got bitten! He dropped the snake, someone stop the band! Tell them to back off, please. Stop the tuba players. Stop! You’re going to run into the clowns, look out. Shit! The snakes are loose! Cobras! Run! Someone help the French horn player, she’s stuck in a bass drum. Two more clowns are down, get the snake handlers!

Oh my God, where did that car come from? It’s running down the woodwinds and . . .  yep, there goes the last of the clowns. Who’s driving that thing? After party entertainment and it’s not just a car, but a time machine? Holy crap it’s a DeLorean. How did you . . . wait, someone is getting out, who is it?

Bill Hicks, Stevie Ray Vaughn and the Hee Haw Honeys.

It’s good to be back.

Global Rocking

New from Hotter than Hell Records it’s the music collection for the global warming generation, Global Rocking! 2 CDs containing 23 songs of carbon dioxide emitting rock n’ roll.

The collection begins with a bang, “Climate Schmimate” by The Deniers.

Global warming?

It was freezing this winter

The only one who still believes

Is my baby sister

Punk rockers Titanic and the Icebergs contribute “I’m Melting!”

I’m melting, I’m melting

Holy shit it’s over

I’m melting, I’m melting

Everybody run for cover!

ARRRRRRRGH!

Only the biggest hits were included in this deluxe recording so it wouldn’t be complete without progressive metal heroes Permafrost and their song “Rise, Oceans, Rise”

Rise up

Oceans of our fathers

Rise from your slumber

Rise up

New ocean waters

Make your people humbler

CD number 2 will melt your face like an atomic bomb. The action starts with rap/rock super-group Al Gore’s Internet and their magnum opus “I Invented Global Warming”

Global warming is here

Instilling us with fear

I am the Gore man

I speak only truth man

We’re doomed unless we change here

You don’t understand we’re in danger

I invented this shit

I created my bit

Let’s come together and get lit

No need to throw damned fit

I invented this shit

And what music collection would be complete without a little reggae to dance to. Here’s 97% Agree with their chart topper “Who Cares, Let’s Get High”

The ice she is melting

Who cares

The water she is rising

Who cares

The Earth she is warming

Who cares

We are to blame?

Who Cares

Let’s get high

Global Rocking is available from Hotter Than Hell Records, produced by Rising Sea Level Productions and distributed by No Matter What Evidence You Present I Won’t Believe You Imports and Exports, Trenton New Jersey.

Shakespeare’s Lost Song Lyrics

I bought a box of junk at a yard sale and at the bottom I found a batch of parchment being held together by paper clips and rubber bands. When I unfolded them I discovered they were song lyrics written by the bard himself, William Shakespeare. It turns out Shakespeare was ahead of his time musically as well as with the written word. He wrote songs in many different genres. Check these lyrics out:

Heavy Metal

Devil, Steal My Life

Death, thy sting produces mortal wounds

upon my flesh.

Off this blackened coil I must flee,

a rose in my hand for you.

Where art thou, devil, a hoof for my soul,

and horn for my all-seeing eye.

Dost thou allow thyself humor at my expense,

for there is my might.

By another name blood still flows in ribbons.

Any other name bespoke is still blood.

Beyond my countenance, devil, steal my life.

Rap

What Dost Thou Say?

What dost thou say, woman of low quality?

What dost thou say?

What dost thou say, man of uncoupled birth?

What dost thou say?

These are my words arranged in a rhyme

I am a troubadour lost out of time

Say what name is thou low-formed female

I am a ram of power, bull of spirit, a high born he-male

Hear me, see me, allow me room to move

My especial dreams bring you to hove

Feel me, lest all the world break me down

My name is a taste on your tongue that I own

Blues

The Baying of the Hounds

I dost lost my hound today,

yea, and a woman too.

I dost lost my best hound today,

verily my woman has gone as well.

I rue this day and the sun that rose because of it.

Where have mine coins gone?

I am bereft.

Where, oh where, didst mine coins go?

I am lost.

I wish to return to whence I had value.

Keep these dogs of violent refrain.

I shout to the abraded heavens to

keep thou dogs for work of the devil’s hand

and leave me to mine own council.

Now if I could just get Patrick Stewart to record these songs . . .

An Admission of Guilt

I occasionally listen to a Journey song. There, I said it. I’m not proud but I felt I had to admit to my crime. This morning, on the way to work, “Stone in Love” came on the radio. I did my due diligence and changed to all my other preset stations but I was alone on an island. The other stations were all playing commercials so I had no choice, right?

In my defense, your honor, Journey was huge when I was in high school. You couldn’t turn on the radio without being assaulted by the strange mixture of Neal Schon’s crunchy guitar and the chirpy melodies of Steve Perry (it was rumored there were other members of the band but only anecdotal evidence exists). When I hear one of their tunes now I always feel like I’m 17 again.

I was usually listening to Aerosmith or Ted Nugent on my stereo. Maybe I was watching Men at Work or INXS videos on MTV. Eventually I listened to a lot of heavy metal: Black Sabbath, Metallica, Witchfinder General, etc. But  . . . and this is painful . . . I had at least one Journey album. Ahhh! My spleen! Oh, I didn’t think that admission would hurt so badly.

Yes, one of their albums was in my collection and, yes, I would sometimes, not often, but occasionally, every-now-and-then, when the moon was high and the demons urged me to, maybe once or twice every few months, not every day, at a time when no one else was around, when the mood struck me, now and again, when I was reaching for Jag Panzer and accidentally picked up the Journey sleeve, I would put the record on.

So that’s that. I sometimes listen to a Journey song. I realize that all the black metal in the world cannot erase this stain from my musical record, but hell, I also like Sade and Loverboy, so, whatever.

No Comment

I make the mistake of reading the comments section sometimes of articles I read online or of videos I watch on YouTube. I say it’s a mistake because it always makes me sad for the amount of ignorance that is displayed in these statements. Also defensiveness and vitriol. Comments sections sometimes resemble cesspools of nuclear waste.

At lunchtime at work I sometimes peruse a web site called Deadspin. It is in itself its own pond of sewage. Ostensibly a sports site, they run mostly stories that other sites don’t and then proceed to slag off the people involved. They also print rumors and conjecture. They admit up front of no proof for their post but write about it anyway as though their admission absolves them of guilt when the proverbial shit splatters the fan blades.

My favorite articles are the re-telling of supposedly bad behavior by sports commentators or journalists. Again, no fact checking is done, the stories could be true or complete fabrications, Deadspin doesn’t care. Usually in the comment section this will prompt people to write about their own supposed encounters with semi-famous people behaving badly. This will always be followed by someone commenting “I totally believe so-and-so would do something like that.” Really? Someone with a screen name that contains 3 expletives and has an avatar with a scene from a movie no one saw because that makes him ultra-cool and hip, writes a story and presents no proof beyond the phrase “I swear this is true” and you totally believe it? Of course, the next question is why I continue to read this kind of shit and I don’t have a good answer.

I like to watch videos on You Tube of heavy metal bands I’m not familiar with to see if I like their music. Reading the comments sections is an exercise in pedantry and juvenile behavior. There is always the inevitable argument over what sub-genre of metal the band is performing:

Metalhead #1: I love black metal!

Metalhead #2: This isn’t black metal. This is death metal.

Metalhead #3: No way. These guys aren’t metal enough to be death metal. This is pansy power metal.

Metalhead #4: You’re all idiots. This is funeral doom metal at its finest.

Metalhead #1: Funeral Doom?????? Are you out of your mind?????

Metalhead #3: Doom!!!!??? Justin Bieber is closer to doom metal than this band!!!!!!!!!

Metalhead #2: It’s DEATH METAL you $%%#$%

Metalhead #4: It’s clearly funeral doom. Maybe you could classify it as drone metal, but it’s not power, progressive, thrash, speed, dark, gothic, hardcore, emo, noise, nu, hair, punk, deathcore, Christian, emocore, powercore, screamo, symphonic, grindcore, experimental, stoner, industrial, sludge, melodic, technical, Viking, extreme, deathgrind, goregrind, neo-thrash, or post-thrash.

This conversation goes on for 8 pages worth of comments with the expletives flying fast and furious. Everyone is an idiot or a moron for having an opinion that differs from say, FatSam34 or IChokeOnMetal666. I’m an idiot for wasting my time reading the thread, but it makes me laugh.

If you decide to comment on this post about commenting on other people’s posts, be sure to call me an appropriate name, make up a new and colorful swear word and act like your opinion is superior to mine, even though that is pedantically not possible.

By the way, that video was totally German power pop glam metal. Morons. 

Radio Daze

Over the past month I’ve posted several comments on Facebook about my local radio stations. I’m starting to feel like a grouchy old man yelling “Hey you DJs, get off my lawn!” The thing is I don’t even listen to the radio much, only when I’m in the car going to and from work, so maybe an hour a day. And yet in that short time many things manage to irritate me.

I have 8 different stations programmed into my car stereo and yet can’t find a song to listen to:

Station 1: And now our 43^rd traffic update in the last 20 minutes. Of course we’re starting two counties over, 150 miles from wherever you are. We’ll get to the accident on your route only after you’ve gotten caught in the traffic jam it created. (On a side note it seems like at least twice a week in the Harrisburg area a vehicle fire is reported. Cars are just bursting into flames in the Pennsylvania capital city)

Station 2: Do you have warts? Hey, who doesn’t? Dr. Womp’s patented wart removal system is the only proven . . .

Station 3: Billy the Bozo here with your afternoon drive time joke of the day, taken directly from this month’s Reader’s Digest . . .

Station 4: That was Train finishing up a 32 song two hour commercial free jam here on 103.2 The Middle of the Road Light Rock Station. We’ll be back in about an hour after these messages.

Station 5: Come on down to the Bigtown Used Car Emporium and Carpeting Showcase for our semi-annual President’s Day sale . . .

Station 6: I’m Mitt Romney and I approve this message . . .

Station 7: I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message . . .

Station 8: That was Led Zeppelin and in a few minutes we’ll have some Red Hot Chili Peppers. You know last night I tried watching Dancing with the Stars, because, you know, my girlfriend loves that show. So I’m watching it, and tell me if you think this is weird by either calling 309-4567 or hitting me up on twitter @boringdjwon’tshutupaboutpersonallife, I was really taken by the dancing ability of that chick that stars on that one show on Fox. You know, the one that takes place in a city, can’t think of which one . . .

That’s what I get to listen to on my drive home. I just want a song or two to sing along to, let off some of the stress of the day. But all I get are commercials, traffic reports about roads I don’t travel and wacky DJ patter.

All right you hippy radio guys, get off my property. Andy Griffith is coming on and then I have to go to bed before the sun goes down. And play a song once in a while! Something young and hip, like Benny Goodman or Glenn Miller. Bah!

Mitt Sings the Body Politic

New from Capitalist Pig Records its Mitt Romney Sings the Body Politic. 2 CDs filled with the best of Mitt. There’s his number 1 hit, “Poor People”:

Poor People sung to the tune of Randy Newman’s “Short People”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uFmv22ghzQw

Poor People got no reason
Poor People got no reason
Poor People got no reason
To vote

They got dirty hands
Beady eyes
They walk around
not believin’ my lies
They got runny noses
And messed-up teeth
They wear worn-out shoes
On their socialized feet

Well, I don't want no poor People
Don't want no poor People
Don't want no poor People
`Round me

Also on CD number 1 there’s “It Ain’t Heavy, Its Foreign Policy”, “Place me Gently Jesus in the Soft Hands of Off-Shore Bank Accounts” and Mitt’s disco favorite “Stayin Alive (on Minimum Wage)”.

Leading off CD number 2 of this astounding collection is Mitt’s personal favorite, “47 Percent Freeloaders”.

47 Percent Freeloaders sung to the tune of Nena’s 99 Red Balloons

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14IRDDnEPR4

You and I, in a hedge fund shop
Buy some stocks with the money we've got
invest them ‘til the break of dawn
Now we’re rich, all the moochers are gone

Back at home, losers’ hands are out
Yell the message, "Give me what you got”
hot sun in the summer sky
47 percent freeloaders go by

47 percent freeloaders
encouraged by the do-gooders
red alert red alert
They’re trying to escape from the dirt

The socialism machine springs to life
trying to cause trouble and strife
no love or respect
47 percent freeloaders expect, expect, expect

When I’m the president of this country
the rich won’t have to worry
everything I do will be for them
Thank God I’m not a Dem

CD 2 is filled with dozens more like “Severely Conservative” , “Let’s Take the Dog on Vacation”, “I Want Money” and “Imbecile”:

Imbecile sung to the tune of Super Freak by Rick James

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYHxGBH6o4M

I’m a very stupid man, the kind you don't nominate for president
I will always let you down, once you get me in the spotlight
I like the boys on Wall street, they say I'm their all-time favorite
When I make my move to the White House
I’ll be impossible to please
I’m pretty boring now (I’m an imbecile)
The kind of man you read about (in the Wall Street Journal)
I’m stiff as a board (I’m an imbecile)
I’m a disappointment (to everyone I meet)
I’m all right, I’m all right, I’m all right with Ann, yeah, he-he-he
I’m an imbecile, imbecile, I’m super-dumb, yeow
Everybody sing, imbecile, imbecile

Mitt Sings the Body Politic, available now wherever fake recordings are sold!

3 Random Things

I don’t like the term “sweat equity”. I find it to be obnoxious. It’s the elitist version of “hard work”.

This project has taken months to pull together. I’ve got a lot of sweat equity invested so it needs to pay off.

Translation: I’ve spent weeks sitting on my ass in meetings, making phone calls and schmoozing with everyone I thought could do me a favor. I’d better get stock options or they’ll repossess my Lexus.

Meanwhile there’s the guy who helped construct the building all this business was conducted in.

Man this is hard work. I’m sweating my balls off.

Translation: Holy shit I’m tired. And it’s so hot my balls have literally fallen off and will need surgically reattached.

We all have different skill sets and do varied jobs. I sit in front of a computer all day. Sometimes I make phone calls or sit in a meeting. But I never say I’ve invested “sweat equity” because the only reason I’m sweating is the AC isn’t turned high enough.

****

I got an email this week which had the subject: Did your surgery require a vaginal mesh patch?

I was stunned. I didn’t even know I had had surgery, much less that I apparently needed a vaginal mesh patch. I went to my doctor and he promptly threw me out of his office. Turns out I didn’t have surgery after all and I don’t even have a vagina, which is a prerequisite for needing a mesh patch.

Actually I’m starting a band called Vaginal Mesh Patch. Our sound will be a mixture of Carol King, Judas Priest and a church choir. I’m calling the new style Gothic a cappella Pop.

*****

Another email I received this week is from a web site called eBusiness. I have repeatedly unsubscribed from this site and in fact don’t recall ever subscribing but the emails keep coming. In this one the subject read: A better Sarch Engine for Cosmic Overdrive.

I cannot tell you . . . how long I have looked for . . . a better . . . sarch engine. Sorry, I’m getting emotional, it’s just that it’s been years, YEARS, that I’ve turned over every rock to find a better sarch engine. When I typed it into Google it asked me “did you mean search engine?” NO! I need a SARCH engine!

Finally, in my darkest hour, eBusiness, has provided me with an engine that will run my Sarch. Now if I could just find where I put it.

Don't Play B-17

Noises come from the radio that sound sort of like a train whistle. They repeat several times before Paul McCartney starts to sing. It’s the beginning of “Silly Love Songs” and I am immediately taken back to age 9, sitting in our kitchen on Charles Street eating my sugar-laden cereal for breakfast, getting ready for school, listening to WSBA 910 am radio with the Morning Mayor, Hal Raymond. That memory floods over me every time I hear “Silly Love Songs”.

We all have these moments of time floating around our heads like bubbles just waiting for the right song to burst them and release the memory. Whenever I hear “Monster Mash” around Halloween I remember being about 5 years old, sleeping with the lights on and the radio playing low to help me go to sleep. The last thing I needed was Dr. Frankenstein singing me a song when I was still convinced the closet door creaked open after my eyes closed.

Sometimes the song and memory are lodged in our brains because it was a traumatic event. When I was in 8th grade, myself and two friends started re-writing the lyrics to rock songs, replacing certain parts with words we had learned from a Richard Pryor album. Kiss’s “Detroit Rock City” was our magnum opus. Take a guess as to what word we replaced “rock” with. Yes, our humor was very sophisticated. Anyway, these ditties were supposed to be just between the 3 of us to provide sophomoric chuckles for our inchoate little minds. But one of my pre-pubescent cohorts in crime decided to pass “Detroit %$#@ City” around the room culminating in the TEACHER FINDING IT! Thank you St. Clair for giving me a stroke at age 13. To this day I can’t listen to “Detroit Rock City” without my chest tightening.

The length of time the memory represents is fluid as well. It could be an event that was over in minutes or it could be an entire week taken as a whole. INXS’s “Kick” album came out in 1987. I liked it but my fiancé at the time loved it. When we went on vacation to Ocean City MD that September she popped it in every time we got in the car. Every time. By the end of our vacation I hated it, wanted to run over the cassette with the car until the plastic casing burst like an over-cooked sausage and the tape lay across the road like greasy intestines. Now every time I hear “Need You Tonight” I’m suddenly driving down Coastal Highway headed for the boardwalk screaming “Damn you Michael Hutchence!”

It’s an amazing power that music has on us: To be able to so easily replicate a moment in time even if it’s decades old or we were only children when it happened. The best part is you don’t even realize your mind is storing away that tune and memory tandem until years later when you’re in the grocery store and you recognize the muzak version of Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall”. Just like that I’m a high school freshman again and someone is playing the song during morning announcements. I have no idea why but I still remember.

A Rhyme, A Rhyme, My Kingdom for a Rhyme

I love music and over the past 30 years have expanded my interests to many different styles, but when I was in middle school I listened to only hard rock: Aerosmith, Kiss, Kansas, Foghat, REO Speedwagon, April Wine, AC DC, Ted Nugent, etc. The other day while listening to the radio, I was thinking that no matter how much I still revel in this music you can’t argue they wrote some horrid lyrics.

The song I heard on 98.5 The Peak was Kiss’s highly suggestive “Lick It Up”. Here are the lyrics:

Don't wanna wait 'til you know me better
Let's just be glad for the time together
Life's such a treat and it's time you taste it
There ain't a reason on earth to waste it
It ain't a crime to be good to yourself
Chorus: Lick it up, lick it up, oooh, (it's only right now)
Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah
Lick it up, lick it up, oooh, (come on, come on)
Lick it up, lick it up
Don't need to wait for an invitation
You gotta live like you're on vacation
There's something sweet you can't buy with money
lick it up, lick it up It's all you need, so believe me honey
It ain't a crime to be good to yourself
chorus
Come on - it's only right now (it's only right now)
Ooh yeah (ooh yeah) ooh yeah (ooh yeah), yeah yeah
chorus repeats

This is God-awful. Basically they came up with a sexual innuendo for a title and then rhymed a few words to create a song. There are 36 words in the chorus and 66% of them are “Lick it Up” and another 3 of them are “ooh”. The bridge is even better: 20 words, 4 of which are “ooh” and 6 are “yeah”. Well done boys. I’m sure the 8 minutes you spent writing this was very profitable.

Ted Nugent is a master of just abysmal lyrics. I could pick any of 2 dozen songs to mock but the one I chose is in honor of my sister. I listened to a lot of Steady Teddy growing up and if I had my stereo turned up loud, my sister was forced to listen as well against her will. There was one song she could never get her head around: “My Love is Like a Tire Iron”:

Oh, baby
it’s a catastrophe what you do to me
But that’s all right honey
I find it rather funny
sympathy is what you want from me
But I got news
You’re gonna lose
My love is like a tire iron
My love is like a tire iron
My love is like a tire iron
and I like it stiff as steel

Look at me
What do you see
A man on the run
A loaded gun
check me out
what I’m all about
I got some news
you don’t want to lose

chorus

This is gibberish. There is no point to anything being sung here: no context, no story, nothing but rhyming words. And then he sings the chorus which has nothing to do with the rest of the song nor does it ever explain how the hell love can be like a tire iron. This is one of Ted’s most pointless songs.

Tygers of Pan Tang are a late 70s, early 80s band from England named for something out of fantasy novel. They never made it big but my friend Rob and I always liked them a lot. They played great, simple guitar riffs and sang some of the dumbest lyrics you’ll ever hear, such as these from “Money”.

Walk a mile in my shoes
You won't know what hit you
Wasn't born with a silver spoon
Take no ride on a fat man's tomb
Babe I need the money too
Hey, come over here you
Now I've got money for you
Do you believe that's true?
Now I've got money in the bank
Ah well, that's a prank
And I've got money for two
Do you believe that's true?

Where can I even start? It’s hard to analyze something this bad. This is the epitome of merely rhyming words without trying to have any meaning. If I said Kiss spent 8 minutes on their song, the Tygers couldn’t have used more than 2 to write this mess of unrelated nouns and verbs.

Now that I’m done trashing these songs I will reiterate that I also like all of them. But it’s obviously not for the lyrics. I’m a sucker for a cool guitar riff and at least one finger-dancing solo. While I’m playing my air guitar with the song I’m trying to sing along but usually end up laughing and that’s my challenge to you. Try listening to the lyrics of a Kiss or Ted Nugent song and not guffawing, chortling or at least tittering. That’s a double dog dare.

The Music in my Head

Its 1982, I’m listening to FM 104 and these words come from the speakers:

Little ditty about Jack and Diane
Two American kids doing the best they can

Jack and Diane is a song by John Mellencamp or John Cougar or John Cougar Mellencamp or Johnny Cougar or whatever he was calling himself at the time (Johnny Cougar, was that the best you could do John? It sounds like the 10 year old brat down the street. “Who broke the window?” “It was that little Johnny Cougar again!”) The thing is I hated this song back then. It has a distinctive opening and I immediately knew what song it was. I couldn’t explain why, but Jack and Diane made spiders crawl out of my skin and slap me with tiny barbed clubs. The radio knob would become as elusive as sanity to Glenn Beck when I grabbed for it to change the station.

I can’t explain what it was that I hated so much just as I can’t explain why I don’t hate it anymore. I heard it on the way to work yesterday and happily sang along. Whatever made me sweat 25 years ago has dissipated with age. The same goes with Bruce Springsteen. Back in the 80s during his heyday as “the Boss” I couldn’t stand his music. Part of it I think was the moniker The Boss: The Boss of what exactly? And it seemed like everybody else in the entire world liked Springsteen. I was on an island. When I told someone I didn’t like Springsteen’s music I got stared at like rutabagas were growing out of my forehead or I had just shit in their salad and called it a burnt crouton.

Now, again for reasons I can’t explain, I like some of Bruce’s songs, especially Rosalita. I don’t like everything he does, but the stuff I don’t like I don’t hate anymore. Bruce must be so relieved.

The point of all this is that our minds are constantly screwing with us. One day I have no use for country music and a few years later I’m singing Folsom Prison Blues in the shower. In the early 90s I’m happily listening to Nirvana, smelling the teen spirit along with millions of others. A decade later they bore me to death. Why do our brains hate us so much that it will mess even with the music we listen to? I tried to have a nice friendly chat with my mind on the subject but it started playing the Bee Gees to distract me. Twenty years ago I would have resisted but now I just start screeching “Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive”.

I don’t know what changes in us that our likes and dislikes in music alter. Perhaps our minds continue to expand and become accepting of something that was previously distasteful. To make room it kicks to the curb the songs that don’t stimulate us any longer. I don’t know the exact answer. What I do know for sure is that I still hate The Talking Heads’ Burning Down the House. Hate it with a passion.

Trapped in the Highlands

I need help. There’s a great old Celtic song called Wild Mountain Thyme. Last Friday at work I listened to Enter the Haggis’s live version which is awesome. The problem is that now I can’t get the tune out of my head. I’ve been singing it for 4 days: morning, noon and night:

Will you go, lassie, go
And we’ll all go together
To pick wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will you go, lassie, go

I tried listening to Slayer’s War Ensemble thinking it would pummel the song out of my head:

Propaganda death ensemble
Burial to be
Corpses rotting through the night
In blood laced misery

But it didn’t work. I was shredding on my air guitar, banging my head and still felt like I was among the blooming heather.

To get music out of my mind altogether I tried to write a poem but this came out:

I knew a man who was a Scot
Who wanted to smoke some pot
He only had 3 dimes
So had to buy wild mountain thyme
Now he thinks he’s a knight in Camelot

Music wasn’t working, writing didn’t work, so I turned to TV. Up and down the dial I searched for help. I stopped on the History channel but they had a 2 hour history of Scotland. I went to the Food Network and Paula Dean was cooking thyme roasted chicken. Home and Garden had the winner of the Best Field of Heather contest and TV Land was showing a marathon of Lassie!

I went to my DVDs to grab Terminator 2. I figured Arnold Schwarzenegger and James Cameron could drive the song from my head. I put the disc in, pushed play and suddenly there was a swell of bagpipes. I had picked out Braveheart instead!

As I write this I am preparing my last ditch effort. I have a new blade in my jigsaw and I plan to cut off the top of my skull to remove my brain unless you have another idea. Help me.

The Waiting

I love music. The styles I listen to are wide ranging which is the main reason my CD collection has taken over my home like a kudzu vine. I don’t know the exact number, my estimate is between 1500 and 2000 which doesn’t include the hundreds I’ve traded in, given away or sold over the years. Of course, among the forest of sounds there are a few favorites that stand out as redwoods among the pines. But lately a few of my bellwethers have been disappointing in their lack of output and possible demises.

Aerosmith: My all time favorite band has been in the news recently for every reason except the release of a new CD. Their last recording was in 2004 and it was a CD of covers. Their last CD of original songs was in 2001, 9 years and counting. In the past year one member has had throat surgery, one has had knee surgery, one has had shoulder surgery, one has had surgery on his head after hitting it on his Ferrari and another has had multiple surgeries as well as multiple rehab stints. They’ve reached the point where Steven Tyler has quit the band on Monday, re-joined on Tuesday, been kicked out on Wednesday and invited back in on Thursday. You might as well rename them the Desperate Rock Stars and move them onto Wisteria Lane. The lawyers have gotten involved now so I’m convinced the original band will never record together again.

Sarah McLachlan: The Canadian songstress with the ethereal voice has recorded 1 CD of new material in 12 years. You heard me. 1 CD in a decade plus. Surfacing came out in 1998. Afterglow didn’t arrive until 2004 and since then nothing. Oh there have been live recordings, Christmas collections, remixes and unreleased rarities, but lets face it, these are cubic zirconia friendship rings when I’m looking for more of a commitment. My God woman, sea slugs move faster than you. I’m still enjoying your previous CDs: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy and Surfacing are practically worn out, but how about some new songs? These are the prime years of your career and your output is so low if you were a bauxite mine you would be abandoned.

System of a Down: There were rumors of trouble in the band after the Hypnotize/Mesmerize tour was over. The band members themselves didn’t help matters by saying one day they were breaking up and the next day saying they were just taking a break. Great. Another band that needs a marriage counselor. Didn’t I see this drama already on Friends? Singer Serj Tankian recorded a solo disc that sounded a lot like System of a Down without Daron Malakian’s great guitar playing. Daron and drummer John Dolmayan formed Scars on Broadway and released a CD that sounded a lot like System of a Down with keyboards. A few weeks before the tour, Daron announced its cancellation because of “his lack of enthusiasm” for the project and he didn’t feel like touring. Since then he has dropped out of the music scene so completely people began to worry about him. Serj Tankian on the other hand is now working on a jazz orchestra CD. Excuse me? A few years removed from headlining the Ozzfest and the singer suddenly wants to be Michael Buble? Sadly, I see this trial separation becoming a divorce as daddy hides out in his den drinking gin and tonics while mommy becomes who she was always meant to be.

I find new artists to listen to nearly every week. Recently I picked up on Shaman’s Harvest, Corinne Bailey Ray and The Heavy. But you always return to your favorites and I’m getting antsy waiting for new CDs from these people.

The Great Interrupter

The Great Interrupter
for Kanye West
sung to the tune of The Great Pretender

Oh yes, I’m the great interrupter
Interrupting because I’m a douche
My need is immense
I interrupt because I’m dense
I’m a narcissist on the loose

Oh yes, I’m the great interrupter
alone in a world of me, myself, and I
I play the game with no shame
dreaming of myself is the only time I cry

Too real is this feeling of how great I am
Too real when I must be the center of attention at all times

Oh yes, I’m the great interrupter
just braying and hee-hawing like a jackass
I’m in love with my reflection
In front of a mirror I must pass

Too real when I know I am all things to everyone

Oh yes, I’m the great interrupter
Just preening and posing like a wanker
Don’t fear, I’ll never go away
I’ll keep popping up like a canker
Interrupting you . . .
Interrupting you because I’m Kanye

The Power of Music

You’re in line at the supermarket waiting to pay for your new issue of Mad Magazine and a quart of low grade motor oil when the piped in music starts playing the song you lost your virginity to. Without realizing it you’ve been transported to the back of your dad’s ’78 station wagon. In the market line you’re gyrating in a way that has caused the other patrons to move slowly away from you and the music is interrupted by a page for security.

That’s the power of music. Songs enter our heads and become glued to a certain memory or event so every time we hear that song we are instantly in that moment.

A few examples from my own life: I’ve always loved the .38 Special song Hold on Loosely. The first time I heard it was on a bus to an away track meet in 10th grade. One of the upper classmen always had his boom box with him and being the early 80s it was the size of a Volkswagen Beetle with enough buttons and switches to land small aircraft on the football field. I remember the bus was just pulling away when he tuned the radio to FM 104 and they played Hold on Loosely. Every time I hear the song I’m taken back to that bus.

There’s a song I don’t hear often but it conjures up one specific memory each time. It’s The Battle of New Orleans by Johnny Horton. It starts like this:

In 1814 we took a little trip
along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans
and we caught he bloody British in the town of New Orleans

A few summers ago my brother and I played basketball after work a few days a week. During one game I asked what the score was. He replied “its 18 14”. He then proceeded to sing The Battle of New Orleans while doing a little dance. And he knew every effing word: The chorus, every verse, and every inflection that Johnny Horton used when he recorded it. More than his singing though, I’ve been traumatized by the dance.

My last example is actually an introduction to a song and not the song itself. It’s 1977 and I’m in 7th grade. Ted Nugent’s Double Live Gonzo has just come out. One of my classmates brought it to school and described the intro to all the jealous boys. We got to music class and lo and behold we had a substitute. Jim sweet talked the sub into letting him play some of the record because we were just having a study hall anyway. Jim put on the oh-so-subtle Wang Dang Sweet Poontang and we all listened to Ted:

Nobody out there came to me mellow tonight did ya?
Ain’t nobody out there that even wants to be a little bit mellow is there?
Anybody wants to get mellow you can turn around and get the fuck outta here all right?

Whenever I listen to Double Live Gonzo and that intro, I’m back in 7th grade in the music room under the withering stare of the hapless substitute who I think was wondering why she ever went into teaching in the first place.