Showing posts with label David Bowie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Bowie. Show all posts
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
I Have Mixed Feelings
1. I know it is just a glorified car commercial and that makes it demonstrably uncool
2. I think it is a kind of a giant mess, really; like everything in the world got put into a blender
3. It bugs how Beck is a scientologist, right?
4. Beck is cool
5. That much sound, that many instruments, it is sort of cosmic and transcendent
6. I got actual honest to goodness chills a couple of times
7. I'm entirely in favor of treating Bowie with religiosity
2. I think it is a kind of a giant mess, really; like everything in the world got put into a blender
3. It bugs how Beck is a scientologist, right?
4. Beck is cool
5. That much sound, that many instruments, it is sort of cosmic and transcendent
6. I got actual honest to goodness chills a couple of times
7. I'm entirely in favor of treating Bowie with religiosity
Friday, January 11, 2013
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The Hard Reset
Sometimes when the icebergs are being dicks and swallowing up everything so you can hardly get out of the house and all the buildings in all the cities in all the world have become Chick-Fil-A's, it is necessary to do a hard reset of the universe by opening the windows and playing this song very loud.
I must have had to do six such resets in the last four years or so and, what's worse, they're coming closer and closer together as the problem accelerates.
It used to be that, when you did a Queen Bitch Reset, you could go a few months before even a single Chick-Fil-A showed up, uninvited, and the icebergs started to creep into the streets and parking lots and shopping centers and bedrooms. Now, even though I just reset the universe a few hours ago, there are already literally thousands of Chick-Fil-A's clogging up the cities and towns.
Maybe I need bigger speakers or something; I dunno. Hopefully, we have our best David Bowie scientists working on this problem even now. Hopefully they remember the problem from when I reset the universe earlier. Hard to say.
Anyway, word to the wise.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Through the Gates of Ivory
In my dream, I was the camera, floating just in front of Ziggy-Era David Bowie while he sang (and played guitar) during some concert that never happened. His teeth were still the ragged lizard teeth of the early seventies, his hair the blond mop. He wore an electric blue one piece that clung to him without being painted on. The neckline plunged nearly to his navel.
And he is singing this SONG; a song that does not exist, but really ought to. It was a big glam ballad like those found on his earlier albums, full of melodic changes and that trick of his where his voice can suddenly swoop down into the baritone after yelping up in that higher register for half the song.
It was like 'The Bewlay Brothers', but crossed with 'Five Years' and even 'Moonage Daydream.'
I lamented not long ago that I never dreamt anything useful, that I never dreamt a plot for a novel or a pop song. This was my moment. Imagine if I could have carried that song through the Gates of Horn and it had turned out to be actually as great as it seemed in my dream.
Instead, during the bridge of the song, I was awoken with a shock as my phone rang; a telemarketer.
I didn't answer it even, but, by the time the ringing stopped I was too far in the world to get back to sleep and, worse yet, the song was gone. I lay in bed a long while this morning, trying desperately to summon the melody or the words of the song I'd seen and heard David Bowie sing to me in my dream, to no avail.
This is an inauspicious beginning to the day.
And he is singing this SONG; a song that does not exist, but really ought to. It was a big glam ballad like those found on his earlier albums, full of melodic changes and that trick of his where his voice can suddenly swoop down into the baritone after yelping up in that higher register for half the song.
It was like 'The Bewlay Brothers', but crossed with 'Five Years' and even 'Moonage Daydream.'
I lamented not long ago that I never dreamt anything useful, that I never dreamt a plot for a novel or a pop song. This was my moment. Imagine if I could have carried that song through the Gates of Horn and it had turned out to be actually as great as it seemed in my dream.
Instead, during the bridge of the song, I was awoken with a shock as my phone rang; a telemarketer.
I didn't answer it even, but, by the time the ringing stopped I was too far in the world to get back to sleep and, worse yet, the song was gone. I lay in bed a long while this morning, trying desperately to summon the melody or the words of the song I'd seen and heard David Bowie sing to me in my dream, to no avail.
This is an inauspicious beginning to the day.
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