24 ELEVATOR +++ GIRRAFTERBIRTH [061809]

Muzak!

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Going to switch up the format a bit and try to have some fun with the writing part for once. I feel like I have been spending a lot of time trying to fill in space under headings rather than writing good stuff and adding the headings later. But I like the headings, so they will stay. This is sure to fail. Here goes:

I cribbed Aerosmith because Giraffterbirth was in the studio and I needed lyrics

You'll notice that my old friend Giraffterbirth (check his contrbutions here, here, here, and here) has blessed yet another one of my tracks with his ridiculously low voice. I had planned for this session with all the foresight of a goldfish, foolishly hoping that the last two couplets of the chorus would reveal themselves to me in a moment of artistic lucidity. Didn't happen. I had already rhymed "high" with "high" and "low" with "floor," (brilliant!), so my choices were to diverge from the directional theme or go somewhere completely different. For a moment, the third couplet was:

Over there now/
You take the stairs now

Thank Jesus I didn't put that in.

Then it occurred to me that British people call trash cans "dustbins."

Then it occured to me that British people call elevators "lifts."

Then it occured to me that Aerosmith had once made a song called "Dude Looks Like a Lady."

Then I blacked out, and when I woke up the session had been cleaned up and sent to Phil, and my Christmas shopping was done, complete with a gift addressed to someone named Doug, who I don't even know yet. Doug.

Should there be a swear edit for "I keep my dick Cheney"?

Because there is. I don't even know what it means, really. I wanted to use the idea of "going rogue" (cheating on significant other vs. definition 2 here) so I tried to mash an idea in there. Fail.

For the record, however, I feel like I murdered the verse, and I'm going to start saying when I feel good about my vocal performances, because Lord knows I heap the self-criticism high. I'm getting more and more comfortable with writing songs about women/love/sex. For a long, long while, I fancied myself above such songs, but they're hideously fun to write, they most likely resonate with people better than songs about underwater adventure, and maybe - just maybe - I'm growing up a little.

The "literally/literally" joke is nerdy but I cannot process statements that involve the incorrect use of that word.

I know that the car "literally" just missed you by inches. Literal inches are the same as normal inches. You would have been literally dead, whereas now you are only figuratively dead, and just to me.

New Crack Swing

Have to credit my friends at Bad Rabbits with bringing this turn of phrase to my attention. They are a Boston-based rock band that pulls heavily from the New Jack Swing era. I'll be chopping up one of their demo tracks soon for 52pickup. Salim, the group's guitarist, introduced me to the wonders of the Alesis HR16 drum machine, which I use extensively on this song. Although not quite as ubiquitous as the Roland 808, it was the backdrop for most of Teddy Riley's work. No diggity. Yo Dre drop the verse. Also note the vocals on the upbeats. That's a New Jack thing, too.

HR16s are also hackable. Check this out. Might have linked this already. COVET.

Anyway, if I had any money to put on a local band, I would put a few bucks on these guys. Since I don't have money, I'm familiarizing myself with the HR16 and other various New Jack sounds because that's how someone like me plays the futures.

re: Methadone

Apparently much of Central Square's insanity comes from a host of methadone clinics in the area. I have long been proud of Central Square for resisting Cantabridgian gentrification (and Harvard and MIT on either side) with unmatched fervor. It just stays crazy, which is possibly why my health was threatened by a fellow who practically reached into my wallet at the Central Square Wendy's while I was making an ill-advised trip to get a Coffee Toffee Twisted Frosty (TV gets me sometimes). The Frosty itself, priced at a garish $2.79, was far out of my price range for a snack that isn't actual coffee, so I ordered a regular Frosty, which sucked, because that's what fast food does, and I should know better.

Anyway, I turned around, and the guy had practically picked out which two of my dollars he wanted. In my astonishment, I blurted out a pretty unsubtle "no" that cut him off mid-sentence. That's when the awkwardness started. We had undoubtedly gotten off on the wrong foot. I wanted to mention that every individual item of clothing that he was wearing was most likely worth more than all of my items of clothing combined, and that he looked fairly capable of purchasing his own food. I also wanted to mention that I'm not averse to charity, but I'm not a mark. I also wanted to tell him to fuck off and let me bask in the shame of my plastic spoonfuls of horribleness. But things escalated quickly and we were never able to carry out any sort of meaningful exchange. It ended with him instructing me not to come around these parts any more, because I something was going to happen to me courtesy of him and his friends, to which I responded "I fucking live here," which I think sounded pretty self-assured, although I'm still not sure whether I am supposed to avoid Central Sqaure or just that particular Wendy's location.

Then he went to the counter and ordered some food.

Someone blogged me, again.

Website is called Squeegie Sounds. Here's the link. Nice little review. This emailing bloggers shit is lonely. It's like taking an hour out of every weekday to reaffirm your smallness in relation to the world. Other people do that, too. They call it "living in the mountains," and for them it is therapeutic.

Song credits:

Chorus vox by Girrafterbirth. Mixed by Phil Gorey. Mastered by Nick Zampiello at New Alliance East, Cambridge MA.