Got a few things done today.
Recorded a song that will probably end up on THE CHICKEN ANGEL WOMAN WITH A TRIANGLE. I think that album will have a lot of stomping, clapping, and “found percussion” in place of drums. It just seems to make sense that way. Also recorded one of the “dream songs”, which was an interesting experience. It’s always a little surreal playing and singing something that came from a dream. Wrestled a bit with a song called “You Dream Like We’ve Seen Each Other Before”, which is mostly done but still needs a little something extra and a few vocal overdubs. Some of the singing I added today was completely bizarre and doesn’t work at all in the context of the song, but it was fun to do. Played around with an untitled song that began life as a potential Papa Ghostface tune some years back. Thinking about adding electric guitar and percussion, but I’m not sure if it fits.
Still need to tune my toms to reinstate their sex appeal. Still need to mix about thirty songs for the out-takes collection thing, a few of which need drums and other touch-ups. Still need to use that rock-hard little bun they gave me at Tim Hortons as a weapon on someone. That thing could cause some serious damage…it could probably break a window without too much effort. Still need to synthesize a drug that induces permanent vocal cord paralysis to prevent Ashley Dupré (aka Spitzer-Licker) from embarking upon a “singing career”.
It’s pretty sad when all you have to do to sell albums and make a ton of money now is sleep with someone fairly high up on the social/political food chain, and have your name tossed around in the news when the scandal hits. It’s even worse when your music makes Britney Spears sound like a talented jazz songstress. What the hell is wrong with people?
THE MEDIA: In an increasingly desperate attempt to bring you news that is outrageous enough to hold your attention, now that you have a collective attention span of about three seconds — in part because of your dedication to the bullshit we spew endlessly — here’s a story about a prostitute who lubricated the penis of Elliott Spitzer, until he got caught. It was a sad day for him, but more so for Little Elliott, who had never felt so loved. This young lady makes an absurd amount of money having sex with people who perhaps would never otherwise get any action, or at least not from anyone as young and attractive as her. Also, she sings, and it’s possible that everything she says about herself on her Myspace page is a lie.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Whoa. She’s got, like, breasts! And a face!
THE MEDIA: Yes. She is a woman, and a homo sapien. They tend to have those things.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Ooh…sex! Embarrassment! Resignation stuff! This is better than that time that one celebrity got her nose ring caught in her scarf, accidentally ripped it out, and had to have reconstructive surgery, so she took the opportunity to have a few slight refinements and enhancements done and left the hospital with a nose that was 0.2% different in structure than the one she previously had. And we could tell the difference because we compared 569 different photographs taken over a period of three days. That was, like, so riveting!
THE MEDIA: This one isn’t just a prostitute who’s absurdly overpaid. She sings.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Fuckshitwhat?! Must hear music! Must buy music!
THE MEDIA: Be warned — it’s pretty bad.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: We stopped actually listening to music around 1975, remember? Since then, for most of us it’s just been wallpaper, and we have no concept of what constitutes “talent” or “good” or “authentic” anymore. Bring on the banal, insipid, horrifically derivative ear candy!
THE MEDIA: This actually makes said ear candy sound pretty good in comparison.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Who cares? BUY BUY BUY BUY BUY!
ASHLEY DUPRÉ: Wow. I just became a millionaire practically overnight from all the digital sales of my two unbelievably horrible songs. Cool. Maybe I don’t need to have sex with people for money anymore. I’m famous! But, you know, I’m real. Just like J. Lo. Everyone shed a tear for me. It’s a mean world, but I’m getting by, just barely, with my millions of dollars and offers to pose nude with various food items pouring in.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Who else did she have sex with? Which magazines is she going to be posing nude in? Charlie Sheen? Hugh Grant? Penthouse? House and Garden? When’s she gonna make a music video? When what why where how whawhawha?
THE MEDIA: All in good time, dears. We’ll give you little pieces of the story, scattering crumbs gradually, feeding you just enough to keep you alive, like the junkies you are.
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Yessss…preciousssss…
(Five weeks later)
THE MEDIA: Breaking news about Ashley Dupré’s failed music career! Pictures! Profanity!
THE WORLD AS A WHOLE: Ashley who? We’re back to trying to figure out how many nipples Angelina Jolie has and documenting whatever it is that Paris Hilton does, one soul-destroying detail at a time.
(The world explodes from an overload of stupidity and materialistic blah)
That was fun.
Me? Bitter? Never.