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It Isn’t Worth The Paper That It’s Written On

November 25, 2011

Friday Friday
So cruel to me
Friday Friday
No hits I see.

Okay, another day, another post, and the problem is, I’ve been up for hours and the sun has not gotten up with me. That’s right, you’re reading this around noon, but I am writing it around 7 AM, after having gotten up around 4 AM and tinkered with lyric sheets all morning. I need caffeine in the worst way, but I’m trying not to excite the cats, who are just waiting for me to make the mistake of setting foot in the kitchen so they can ambush me. My agent is, as far as I can tell, sound asleep after having had trouble getting to sleep herself. Something about being over-caffeinated, an occupational hazard of agents everywhere. As such, I have no one to talk to and a desperate need to talk to keep myself going. That’s where you come in, faithful reader.

I’m listening to honest-to-goodness indie music through my headphones as I type. I was listening to a one-man band called The James Rocket, and now I’m listening to Thesis, a band I’m on speaking terms with. A lot of rough recordings, but amusing in small doses.

Ah, Here Comes The Sun, and the water for my tea will soon be boiling. The small mouthful of turkey and stuff seems to have largely staved off starvation, but I’m snacking on Ragin’ Ranch chips, the breakfast of marathon novelists.

Speaking o marathon novels, I didn’t take part in National Novel Writer’s Month (NaNoWriMo) this year, but I’m sending out my best wishes for those who are taking part this year. You’ve got less than a week to go; I hope your novels are coming together by now. Good luck crossing the finish line, and remember, just taking part makes you a winner.

Maybe it used to be too easy
And you lost the feel for it
You could have been someone else
If you hadn’t climbed down
Into the thick of it.
If you really think about the way
You see the whole world now
You can see a ball of hurt
Covered in scabs that you can’t heal
Cuz you don’t know how.

That’s the middle eight from a tune called I Want Someone Close To Me, which sounds like white boys playing Reggae. It’s fun. The ending sounds like the Police, at least to my ears.

You don’t hear flute in pop music much anymore. Shame, really. If you think back to thirty, forty years ago, you could scarcely turn around without bumping into a song with a flute part. It tends to bring out the melancholy or nostalgic in a song, but still, a lovely sound.

Motown needs a careful hand at the soundboard to make all those instruments sound clear. Too easy to wind up with a wall of mud.

I like punky bass lines to be very bouncy, to counteract what tends to be some very bratty sounding guitar parts.

I’m probably driving you nuts talking about songs you can’t hear. My apologies. You could consider it a sort of informal record review, but then I’d have to go back and edit the whole thing to make it read more like a review. Maybe I’ll so exactly that later today, just for a chuckle.

Time to make the donuts. Thanks for reading.

Eddie.

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