Strange new sensations for songwriters no. 42 - writing a personal song and dealing with everyone knowing it's personal.
First time I had that experience, really had it, was last night.
Fric Drums said "this one's a bit more cheerful." "Ah ha! That's what you think, it is in fact deeply sad." And I explained what it was about.
The reaction to this minor revelation was inconsequential, but the sensation that spread through my body as I said it was deeply unpleasant. As a reaction to this sensation I tried to deflect attention away from it and tried reflect the general nature of the thing. Probably didn't work. Probably not important anyway. Curse this English reserve!
40 comments:
Have you tried rubbing cream on it?
I fully understand and sympathise with the uncomfortable feelings that you describe; when you express something more personal than you usually do, you can really put yourself on the line because you are so much more deeply affected by it and people's reaction to it. The risk of your work being misunderstood, disliked or, worse, dismissed can cut deep. I find it best to deflect attention by doing a little dance at the same time, or perhaps hiring some juggling wallet monkeys to sit on my shoulders.
I suppose it is better to be full of English reserve than English conserve.
Too much jam is bad for you.
I myself avoid the embarrassment of deeply personal revelations by ensuring that I never experience any form of deep emotion. To this end I have had my soul surgically removed and buried in quick lime for protection.
Shouldn't have buried it in quick lime if you want to protect it...
I have misconstrued you in the most deliberate way, and I make no apologies. Jesus made me do it!
I wonder why there have been no posts from 'Satori something pod something or other' lately. Maybe his wife's got the keys to the computer.
Maybe he is tired of words and is now communicating exclusively through the medium of dance.
I have failed to comment on the excellent suggestion of doing a dance in order to distract attention from what I am saying. I am quite a skilled dancer so I will perfect a special Distraction Dance that will fulfill all my distraction needs.
I can't help imagining you looking something like a bee.
Something like a bee, yes.....
A wasp? Do you look like a wasp? If you did you may not need to worry about that dance.
Well, as the song goes, "There is nothing like a bee....".
I'll go as far as saying this: I do not not look like a wasp. Good enough?
Good enough. How about a hover fly?
I've just been to check on my soul. You were right; it's f**ked now. Should have buried it in soft pete instead. Or shit.
Ironically (given the content of my earlier posting) I now feel that I have to fill the gaping hole that was once filled by my soul with something and have chosen to use jam.
It's almost as sticky as the soul and has the added benefit of coming in many fruity flavours (again, much like a real soul).
I am now full of English conserve.
Buried in soft pete? I know a Pete, and I imagine he is flaccid at the moment. He'd probably have obliged.
I still think the song sounds happy.
I just knew that you'd come up with some homoerotic innuendo based on the comment about burying something in soft pete. Thinking about it, that's why I chose quick lime instead of soft pete in the first place... If only I was more comfortable about insinuations of homosexuality, perhaps my soul wouldn't have been burned away.
Curse this English reserve.
(Could this turn into a running gag? or a walking choke? or a staggering cough?)
Fric Drums, it does sound quite jolly doesn't it? Your assessment of it's sonic joviality is a good one.
I was convicted of running gags in 1843 during the Eccles-Scunthorpe S&M embargo. I escaped being hanged by disguising myself as a chamber-pot and hiding under my prison bed, where I remain to this day....
You've been hiding in a piss-pot since 17 minutes to 7 last night?
And there was an S&M embargo? Why did no-one tell me?
Maybe they did... this gimp mask makes it so hard to hear properly.
Hiding as a piss-pot. It requires a considerable amount of agility. And a not inconsiderable amount of poise.
Quite right; hiding AS a piss-pot, not IN one. A very important distinction. My apologies.
Cum on Feel the Poize as Noddy Holder would no doubt screech in an annoying Brummie sort of way.
...By the way, thank you for putting a link on your blog to The Big Grey Nothing; I have of course returned the compliment.
I once disguised myself as the Michelin Man in order to evade The Law (on a trumped up charge of Actual Milk Flattering) and lived, unnoticed for several months, in a tyre factory. I sustained myself by sucking the life-juice out of tyre leeches and bumper huggers, and passed the time by playing 'tyre solitaire' on a board fashioned from untreated rubber. By substituting letters of the alphabet for different tyre types (tyre size, speed index, category and tread - for example, 'k' was a reinforced 195/65-r15), I was able to write love letters to my airborne paramour.
Um. What was the question?
Considering I'm supposed to be a singer and songwriter you'd think it would be easier wouldn't you? But it is easier to sing something than say it, for me at least. Then you can always hide behind some artistic defence concocted on the hoof.
Semantic connection is the way to go, it can only be benificial for the other people in the band to know what I'm bellowing about.
Bah humbug... Feelings? Never had them in my day. Sounds decidedly like the sort of trashy talk you'd get from lefties, artists, layabouts and late-night Channel 4 chutney ferrets.
I'll stick to having no soul and an excess of jam, thanks very much.
If you have to sing about something, sing about the weather.
Raindrops keep fallin' on my head.
I nipped that problem in the bud by taking the preventative measures of buying a hat and avoiding temperate zones off peak season. Now, more accurately, raindrops don't keep fallin' on my head, unless I have forgotten my hat or am in a temperate zone off peak season.
You presumably have the same issue over 'Singing in the rain' then?
"Singin' in the rain, just singin' in the rain, because I have forgotten my hat or am in a temperate zone off peak season... I'm ha-ha-happy again"
etc.
Quite!
Similarly, as Tom Jones once famously said, 'I had that Shirley Bassie in the back of my cab the other day, and she was a right dirty slut'. Then, after he'd said that (to disapproving glances from the congregation) he sang 'baby, it's cold outside'. To which I replied "then make sure you wrap up warm, Tom. Oh, and use the bathroom before you leave; the bladder constricts in the cold".
"Aren't you a minefield of knowledge?" He exlaimed, clipping me affectionately around the ear and throwing his head back with a hearty guffaw.
"Why yes," I replied. "Yes. I am."
I hope that answers your question.
I might not know much about art, except that I do (know a lot about art) but I also know what I like (although Morriston Burns would disagree because he thinks I only like things when other people have stopped liking them). I know that I like monkeychops'use of the semi colon which is rarely seen today and may provide some clue to her identity (unless, of course, she has grown a willy or maybe have been born with one originally). I am so tired that I am having a (brackets) overload tonight.
You should never EVER write anything autobiographical into your songs because they will eventually bite you on the bum (the autobiographical details not some mystery force known as "they"). I made the mistake of writing "Happy when I shop" which lead to my credit card being confiscated by my wife (along with the keys to the computer and some stuff I left in the fridge).
Speaking of "Happy When I Shop", was the "da-dum, da da da da dadadadee" bit before the chorus actually a bit wanky?
Semi-colons provide clues to identities? Quality thatching at rock bottom prices? The wrath of ancient gods played out with the fate of mortals? Drudgery and degradation amongst the Hanging Gardens of Babylon? You have solved the riddle now claim your free tube of Anisol?
I'm lost. Truly lost.
You don't like brackets! Someone told me so.
You should see my ampazans.
Waaaay Haaay!
I have a sturdy tilde. It is 3~7 Foofs on the Horst-Bentham-Booby scale.
I've never heard 'Happy When I Shop'; I can't comment on the wankiness (or otherwise) of the "da-dum, da da da da dadadadee bit before the chorus", I'm afraid.
Note: semi-colonic irrigation can result in a painful vwl movement.
Oh, here they are: 'o', 'e'.
I would like to point out that I use semi-colons all the bloody time and I never had such a verbal cock-sucking as Monkey Chops; take a look back at my previous posts, there are semi-colons all over the place. Don't forget, Monkey Chops, I put you where you are today and I can bring you straight back down too.. (don't....don't you want me?)
Welcome back, Satori Doo-Da. I don't think you can profess to 'know' a lot about art, apart from the dates that artists were born, made their work and died. Apart from that, you 'know' nothing; it is an illusion.
I've never given anyone a verbal cocksucking (oral sex, presumably?) In fact I've never given anyone any kind of cocksucking at all. Nor do I want to.
On the other subject, all knowledge is ephemeral; even empirical evidence cannot be trusted, for how can we trust the senses that transmit the data to our minds? One inevitably ends up in a solipsistic feedback loop whether one believes 'knowledge' to be derived either empirically or from rationalised philosophical thought or through didactic reasoning.
However, the word knowledge as we use it in every day language can effectively be replaced with the word faith - a force that is every bit as powerful and meaningful as knowledge in all important senses. I have faith that when I drop a heavy weight on my foot it will bloody hurt; therefore I don't do it.
For the purposes of getting on with life without getting bogged down in philosophical bullshit I simply "know" that dropping a heavy weight on my foot will bloody hurt. All our knowledge is like this and it isn't any poorer as a result. It may be an illusion, but the illusion is all we have so we might as well just get on with it...
The big benefit of course is that faith allows us to 'know' things that simply couldn't possibly be true if we were simply relying on rationalism or empiricism, so you have the highly comedic sight of all these stupid human beings going around believing all kinds of crap (for example, that Chis Evans is employable, that Chris Moyles is funny, that George Dubya Bush has a brain, that God exists... you know, stupid stuff like that!)
Ooh life's a jolly good laugh!
The sound of one hand clapping? Screaming in space? If pain is truly of the mind then why does this hurt? And THIS? and THIS? and THIS? (What you couldn't see, just then, was me giving myself a right good man-bitch-slapping)
I know I have no faith, Mister Booze, may God be my witness.
I once set out to prove that 'sentience', all we know, are, can be, experience, have experienced, will experience and can experience is the product of a mischievous demon, as canny prankster Ronny Descartes once posited.*
And I succeeded.
*as a point of interest, his less famous brother Reggy invented his 'wooden hitting sound generator' a full ten years before Bob Glockenspiel was even born
Boo hoo! Why does no-one understand me? I used the expression 'verbal cocksucking' to describe the amount of praise being heaped onto Monkey Chops for his semi-colons.
Also, I am well aware of the can of philosophical worm bollocks that is opened by questioning the definition of knowledge; rest assured I was only saying it to piss 'Satori whatsit' off. You see, what you did there was take me seriously, and you know you should never ever do that (unless I tell you to!) Nothing I say should be taken seriously except for, "don't put that hot poker up my bum", and, "please remove that hot poker from my bum".
Hang on Mr Booze, I think I just dicovered the secret to eternal happiness within your text; no need for religion, simply invest in a stout pair of steel toe-capped boots and you need never wonder about the mysteries of the universe again! Brilliant!
Hey, I've got two pairs already, I'm sorted!
I was a sickly child, and every day my mother made me take two spoonfuls of milk of amnesia. As a result, I have no short term memory and am incapable of a two-way challenge and response conversation. Therefore, everything that I say is purely self-referencing, bearing only superficial or fortuitous connections to anything else. Neither do I have any long term memory.
One thing's for sure, though; my use of the semi-colon is exemplary.
Hold! MonkeyChops, I hear you cry. If you have no short-term memory how do you remember how to write, speak or breath? How do you construct these arguments from inception to conclusion when, by rights, you should be unable?
Now that is a question I'd like answered.
Mr Burns, worry not old chap; I never take anything seriously (except the employment of steel toe-capped boots, a stout stick and the removal of hot pokers from good amigo's anal passageways - not to mention being fairly resistent to them being inserted there in the first place). I was, of course, misunderstanding you and going OTT with my answer for the now-legendary "cheap comic effect".
Mr Monkeychops, memory is a multilayered beast whose true mysterious depths have not yet been fully plumbed by psychologists. It is thought that language and certain other skills (playing a musical instrument, driving a car etc) may become so deeply ingrained that they actually get encoded deep within the hypothalamus (where, some people believe, the seat of 'race memory' resides). As such you can have no short term memory and still be able to do many of the things you describe. The fact that you can construct any arguments from inception to conclusion, however, is a bally mystery and no mistake.
Have you tried looking down the back of the sofa? When I've lost something (coins, marbles, my mind, the lost treasure of the Sierre Madre etc) it's usually down there... Maybe your memory is there too?
Thanks! Wish I could remember what you just said.
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