What will I do?
I'm all f***ed off today because I had to sell my PlayStation. Where is the justice in this world? Nowhere, that's where. The world has gone to pot and here's me without my escape mechanism. Now I suppose I'll have to look to all those papery flippy things with the words in them for my entertainment. How depressing. I mean reading a book is so much WORK. I sold my TV as well. Notice, I didn't sell my computer. Well, I'll eat that before I sell it. I used to say I would use my Beatle CDs for shelter, eat my Beck CDs, and use my Blur CDs to wipe my arse before I would part with them. But the Beatle CDs went last week, the Beck ones about a month ago, and the Blur ones (all cleaned off, mind you) went last week. So, I'm down to the bare minimum of posessions I will part with to survive. Damn you, Portland job market! I've been butting my head against this town for too long!
Anyway, now that I'm not tooling around San Andreas I'm going to say a few words about the death of snootiness. Snootiness must die. I know I'm supposed to be all uppity like all my contemporaries about McCartney songs like No More Lonely Nights and Say, Say, Say, and Silly Love Songs, but, truly, those are his best songs. And they are THEE best songs. The ones that instantly grab you and hold on. Those are the best songs. And I maintain that they are also the hardest to write. The simplest, catchiest, most together, tight, melodious music is the most difficult to write. So here I am, trying to pair down all of the crap I've written in the last two weeks, that gaggle of congealed pap that has become the Sailor's Cat song, into a cohesive, simple, well put together little tune. I mean, this song is like some kind of hydra. Every time I try to simplify a thread of melody, tighten up a bass line, or fill in a harmony, another problem pops up somewhere else. I suppose I should be happy that the construction of the song is so tight that each little change ripples throughout the piece and that each piece is dependent on the other pieces for the total cohesiveness of the song. But it sure is frustrating. I feel like I'm trying to bake a cake from scratch. Just a wee bit too little egg, and the whole thing goes.
Anyway, tonight I have promised myself that I will get the song to a point where I can stop and come back to it, if not get it perfect by tonight. I'll keep you updated. In the meantime, if you wander into a store in SE Portland called Stuff, please give my regards to my PlayStation. Tell her I'll be back soon to buy her back. I promise!
Anyway, now that I'm not tooling around San Andreas I'm going to say a few words about the death of snootiness. Snootiness must die. I know I'm supposed to be all uppity like all my contemporaries about McCartney songs like No More Lonely Nights and Say, Say, Say, and Silly Love Songs, but, truly, those are his best songs. And they are THEE best songs. The ones that instantly grab you and hold on. Those are the best songs. And I maintain that they are also the hardest to write. The simplest, catchiest, most together, tight, melodious music is the most difficult to write. So here I am, trying to pair down all of the crap I've written in the last two weeks, that gaggle of congealed pap that has become the Sailor's Cat song, into a cohesive, simple, well put together little tune. I mean, this song is like some kind of hydra. Every time I try to simplify a thread of melody, tighten up a bass line, or fill in a harmony, another problem pops up somewhere else. I suppose I should be happy that the construction of the song is so tight that each little change ripples throughout the piece and that each piece is dependent on the other pieces for the total cohesiveness of the song. But it sure is frustrating. I feel like I'm trying to bake a cake from scratch. Just a wee bit too little egg, and the whole thing goes.
Anyway, tonight I have promised myself that I will get the song to a point where I can stop and come back to it, if not get it perfect by tonight. I'll keep you updated. In the meantime, if you wander into a store in SE Portland called Stuff, please give my regards to my PlayStation. Tell her I'll be back soon to buy her back. I promise!