Die Screaming (with Sharp Things in your head)

Well sometimes it’s good – sometimes it stinks. Last night it stunk.

The open mike I meant.

Last night the enemy below and I (or me? Any grammar experts out there?) Went to the usual coffee shop open mike – I’m not gonna name it cause well – I’m pissed and well there are reasons. Stupid reasons but reasons.

Anyway we went to the open mike last night – we figured we’d do a couple of songs and push the gig – we also weren’t sure what songs to play as some of our songs can be a little rough on non fans. And we burbled about bit about the play – and writing “I can’t stand these m-f sheep in this m-f town” as a kind of Nat King Cole piano balled (aided in this quest by the fabulous Spenser on keyboards – god will he hate being called that and it’s the kind of stupid irritating nickname that will stick, the Fabulous Spencer, yep it’s a keeper).

So we walked it – it didn’t seem like much of a crowd so we figured well good that will be nice – it’ll be an early evening, heck I was even planning to maybe do a solo number or two, show that I am indeed a sensitive artiste and not just some bizarre lunatic who sings about aliens and killer sheep. I was going to cover werewolves of London. (Pause) Okay it’s not that much of a departure but it’s somebody else’s song – that was the point. And I wanted to try Norwegian Wood – Love that song – it’s pretty, (just love the guitar fill in this) and cryptic and deals with not getting any – all good stuff in my book.

Well when I looked at the list my heart sank – it was full – but there were more names on the list than there were people in the shop – how the hell did that happen?

“People called in”

Shit – there is nothing and I mean nothing that drives you crazier when you are going to open mikes – at least maybe have someone come in and sign up for you but to call it in so you can have a few extra minutes with that new porno DVD you got at X-flicks or whatever the hell you are doing is just crazy.

So the Enemy Below and I settled in with a couple of beers for a long wait. I think we were 17 on the list. So we wait.

Maybe it was a full moon, maybe it was simply because I was tired, maybe it was just plain and awful bad fucking luck – but god in heaven everybody’s damn song went on and on and on and on. I remember taking a class in songwriting, the class wasn’t all that great really but I kept pushing during the class – and one thing he said still stays with me. “one emotion, one song” he said, “You have two emotions you have two songs” now like everything else in the creative world this isn’t a hard and fast rule it’s a pretty good guideline – when I’ve had trouble with songs I used that idea as analysis – like “does this fit with the rest? Why is this here?” and so on.

However I suspect that everybody last night was so in love with their rhymed couplets that they couldn’t bare no to share them with all of us. I was dying. Really there was long white tunnel and a man standing at the end of the tunnel dressed like Godzilla – he was waving or something. I was hearing voices then beautiful music, and then some nitwit on the stage starts tuning his guitar and the moment was lost. And we drift slowly ever so slowly into yet another song that doesn’t get to the point until the third verse – guys here’s a concept. It’s called editing.

“Drinking ginger ale on the beach”

In the cold light of day that doesn’t seem like much, but last night I was, in my stupor of bored agony, convinced that it was the stupidest line I have ever heard in a song – excepting McArthur Park “Sweet cream icing flowing down, someone left a cake out in the rain. I don’t think that I can take it cause it took too long to bake it ” ahahhhhhhhhh it burns! It burns!

The suffering was intense, it was like listening to Neil Diamond’s greatest hits while drinking codeine laced cough syrup – things got slow and made no sense. Except that I was getting angrier by the second.

Now not everybody was a self indulgent baboon, but there were enough of them to make the evening a complete living hell.

One of the things that kept happening – over and over and over again was that people kept screwing up – okay yeah it’s coffee shop open mike and it’s a laid back atmosphere but let me clue you into yet another concept. It’s called practice. (As in the punch line of the joke “Sir can you tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?” “Practice.” Ba-da- bumb, thank you folks I’m here all week try the veal. I know you’re out there I can hear you breathing.) It really helps trust me. Even with your own songs. I have from time to time forgotten my own lyrics or other lyrics – it’s a scary moment, for me when I draw a blank it’s like all of sudden I am looking at a grey featureless wall. Luckily for me it hasn’t happened to me a lot – I typically get it when dealing with questions like “so why would she be interested in you anyway?” or “Name the circumstances under which you would vote republican” not when performing. When I’m doing I’m own stuff I’m verbally slick enough to make up stuff on the spot but I don’t like doing that so again it comes down to practice. It helps with nerves as well you do something you know in your bones you can concentrate on actually performing it not remembering it.

And it bothered me – it said “I don’t think you people are important enough for me to know what I’m doing or even make a try at it”

And then there was this little twit with a beard.

All open mikes have a limit – some of them have 1 song, some have 2 and a lot of them also have a time limit – because the last thing you really want to do, especially when you have a lot of people who want to play, have one ego maniac do his version of Sad Eyed lady of the lowlands or In-a-gada-da-vida (which lasts at least a lifetime). The coffee shop doesn’t have that but I think they should think about it after last night.

This little tit went on and on and on – talking then kind of playing then kind of talking then just strumming his guitar like he was watching television or something, then starting to sing, dropping comments about how lame the song was as he was going on.

He took about 20 minutes all told – and it seemed much much longer. It was almost like Andy Kaufman doing a piece about a bad folk singer – however in Andy’s case it would have been done for a comedic or performance effect – in this case they guy was just being a dick.

He had some friends who found it wonderful – well the rest of us found it damned insulting and when we were called to play – we figured it was time for us to be insulting so the first song with did was People with Insect heads – cause if you don’t know us this song can be very off putting indeed. Mad props to the fabulous Spencer for doing the mandibles while we were singing. The Mandible dance coming your way soon.

We followed that up, after announcing that while we had, in keeping with the number of pointless, endless songs being played tonight planned on doing the entire 100 bottles of beer on the wall instead we were going to do Stacy.

Little git with the beard did not look happy – well I had insulted him to his face so I figured he shouldn’t look happy. He looks happy I haven’t done my job. I am, sorry to say, pretty damn mean when I get riled up and frankly I didn’t give a damn.

We typically get two responses to Stacy – either folks are laughing hysterically or they are going “Oh my god” and sit stone still looking like some has just hit them in the face with a whole fish (line borrowed from Puma Man on MST3K)

We got a lot of Fish slapped stares from the gnome and his friends. We didn’t care. We weren’t in the mood for yucks anyway. Actually had we rehearsed it we would have done this song:

Oh yeah I under Stand
You want another man
Before you go away
Here’s what I have to say

Die, screaming with sharp things in your head
Die , screaming with Sharp things in your head
Razor Blade or Marlin Spike
Any damn thing you like
Die screaming with sharp things in your head
Die screaming with Sharp things in your head
Die screaming with sharp things in your head. © Bob Muir and The enemy Below

There are a couple more verses but they exist only so I can then scream the chorus twice more. Only reason we didn’t do it was that we had not rehearsed this in a while and we – have a little respect for ourselves as performers and the people who are listing to us (unless they are total dicks - like these clowns) we may stick it back into the set.

With that the enemy below sang “Round here” by Counting Crows (and where did they go you wonder) and then we left figuring we’ll hit the comedy open mike next week Tuesday and while we’re there sign up for sign up for the open mike on Wednesday – hell we’re just earlier than the others.

Random Neural Firings

Keith Ellison, the first Muslim elected to the House caused a stir among the tiny brained knuckle draggers of the gop by announcing during the private photo session after his swearing in he would be pictured holding a Koran. Well off they went on how un-American it was how we were a Christian nation how Keith hated America, the real America and what not. Keith was called everything including a traitor for this. Then he announced that the Koran he was going to use was a copy that had belonged to Thomas Jefferson - yes the “we behold these truths to be self evident…” Thomas Jefferson, 3rd president of the United States and one of the most founding of the founding fathers. At first there was a huge silence in the right wing when this news came over the wire. Indeed the best they’ve been able to do is mutter things about how Tom owned slaves. (Which is a little weird for them to complain about, they seem to like the idea). Well done Mr. Ellison. In one swoop you manage not only to evoke Jefferson’s ideas of freedom of religion you also evoke Jefferson’s ideas about separation of church and state and reduce your enemies to spouting sputtering nonsense. The GOP has gone to lecturing the Democratic Party on the need to be civil.

Actually saw a good film the other night Princess Mononoke (an Anime) – not much to say really other than I liked the idea that things were a bit confused per bad guy good guy – The woman who runs the iron mill that in the US would be the absolute heavy uses the money she gets from the iron mill to buy women’s release from brothels (story is set in a mythical ancient Japan). All in all very good.

Been listening to the Kinks recently. Not sure why – maybe while I like to pretend that I’m this hard edged New Yorker – part of me this is the fey little sensitive whimp.

Later

Peace, Love, Practice