All your moves, all your notes, all the sounds

September 22nd, 2006

Deprecated: preg_replace(): The /e modifier is deprecated, use preg_replace_callback instead in /home/flimshaw/ on line 76


My heart swells with…. something…. to know that you are, indeed, OK. I usually spell it “okay” not just capital O capital K. Why the change today? Why the abbreviation? Because it’s the last day of summer! Even though I’m pretty sure there was a little fog on my breath this morning as I walked out of the house and listened to Domino by Van Morrison all the way in. So, OK I don’t have time for the whole thing. I’ve gotta cherish all the summer we have left. Which will be about 14 hours by the time this is posted.

Practice last night was loose, but taut. True, but false. CBS, but also somehow UPN. We sort of have a setlist down. Like pretty much everything, being in a band is nothing you’d expect, but everything you secretly wanted. We’re getting a good vibe going. We’re jiving. Learning eachother’s moves etc. But, my instrument still isn’t finished (god, another one, you haven’t alley-ooped any of these) so we’re playing a different kind of set from what I imagine we eventually will.

Music is hard. Go ahead, Ben, I dare you. Pick a song you really like and just write the lyrics down on paper and we’ll both see that they are kinda stupid. It’s the music and lyrics in combination that fuse into solid beauty. In fact, here’s a perfect example, right over here on page 2:

An Excerpt from Rock Lobster

We were at a party
His ear lobe fell in the deep
Someone reached in and grabbed it
It was a rock lobster

We were at the beach
Everybody had matching towels
Somebody went under a dock
And there they saw a rock
It wasn’t a rock
It was a rock lobster

Motion in the ocean
His air hose broke
Lots of trouble
Lots of bubble
He was in a jam
He’s in a giant clam

See? If you were a music exec with a baseball-bat-sized cigar hanging out of your mouth, you’ll laugh these jerks out of the office. But add one guitar, like maybe two drums, and some chicks impersonating sea life, and bada-bing, bada-bang, betty-boop, you’re a big fat, big titted hit.

I’m hoping that most of rock and roll is making sure all your moves, all your notes, all the sounds coming out of your lamentable pipes are 100% intentional, or at least come off that way. It’s like, anything is art if you put a frame around it, stick it in a gallery and have a nicely printed little name card next to it. The setting and context lend 80% of the weight to it. What if the first time you saw the Mona Lisa was at Ikea? Or look at Damien Hirst. He put a dead shark in formaldehyde. That’s an aquarium exhibit. But then he put it in a gallery and named it, “The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living”. Now it’s amazing. Do you know what I’m getting at?