Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Monday, June 22, 2015

WALKING IN A LAKE

The first time I heard the song "Walking in L.A." (1984, Missing Persons) I thought they were saying,

"Walking in a lake / Nobody walks in a lake"

And I found that puzzling. No one walks in the bottom of a lake, but if you go to the beach, you have to walk out to where it is deep enough to swim, usually, if it is a public access beach.

So it seemed inaccurate.

Also, did you know that the lead singer from Missing Persons also played the "Mary" character in Frank Zappa's album, "Joe's Garage?"

Saturday, June 06, 2015

AN AMAZING DISCOVERY!

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS!

I was just listening to the 1973 Steve Miller Band song, "The Joker," and I think I've stumbled across something in the lyrics.

I suspect that the line, "really love your peaches / wanna shake your tree" may have NOTHING to do with the peach tree (prunus persica), or the harvesting of the fruit from that tree, but something altogether different.  (I think it is a reference to sex stuff.)

I'm going to investigate this further, and keep you posted.


Just thought you'd want to know. 

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

#44 PSA POEM: ANOTHER REASON TO BE NICE.

All the little kids,
Out on the playground
Are learning to play together!

Running and jumping,
Laughing and learning!
They're all getting along!

(Except for Pete K,
From Mrs. R's class,
That kid is an asshole!
He pushes and shoves!)

But everyone else,
Is getting along!
Standing in line
They file into the school!

(Except for Pete K,
He's a little bully.
Whispering horrible things
Into Jacob's L's ear!)

The kids are in class,
Learning their lessons,
Learning to read
And to write and to add!

(Except for Pete K,
This kid is obnoxious,
He's making fart noises
And kicking Anne's chair)

The kids get together,
They're making a plan,
They whisper together
And look at Pete K!

The following morning,
Pete K's not at school,
And everyone's happy
And everything's cool!

All names in this story
Are fictional names,
If they sound like someone
Well that's just a shame.

So don't be the asshole,
At work or at school,
Your colleagues might
Be forced to do things un-cool,

Like poison your coffee,
Or follow you home,
So try to be nice,
And leave each other alone!

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I'm too sexy for this post

I'm too sexy for this post, too sexy for this post
This post is the most.

I'm on Blogger, you know what I mean
And I type my little words in the textbox
Yeah in the textbox, in the textbox yeah
I type my tiny thoughts in the textbox

I'm too sexy for this update.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!

I was having my midnight snack, at eleven, as is my usual habit, of that great Ambrosia, peanut butter and crackers, when this song sprang into my noggin', fully formed, like an epiphany. My apologies to Dolly Parton.

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him just because you can
Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair
With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green

Your smile is like a breath of spring
Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you, Saltines

He talks about you in his sleep
There's nothing I can do to keep
From crying when he calls your name, Saltines

And I can easily understand
How you could easily take my man
But you don't know what he means to me, Saltines

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him just because you can

You could have your choice of men
But I could never love again
He's the only one for me, Saltines

I had to have this talk with you
My happiness depends on you
And whatever you decide to do, Saltines

Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
I'm begging of you please don't take my man
Saltines, Saltines, Saltines, Saltines!
Please don't take him even though you can
Saltines, Saltines

Saturday, October 04, 2014

#93 THE GREATEST TOAST OF ALL

Be-cause the great-est
Toast of all,
Is easy to achieeeeeeeeeve,
Learn how to maaaake French toast,
It's the greatest, toaaast of all.

Crack two eggs into some milk,
And mix it up with any utensil,
Add some bread, a frying pan,
You can't take away my dignity!

Be-cause the great-est
Toast of all,
Is easy to achieeeeeeeeeve,
Learn how to maaaake French toast,
It's the greatest, toaaast of all.

Tuesday, September 02, 2014

"Can you change the temp to 78 and did phil colins die?"

Think how it must be for me, with the horrifying 1986 hit, "Invisible Touch" stuck in my head. It has reached in, and grabbed "right hold" of my mind. It crawls under my skin. It is taking control of me, and slowly tearing me apart. I know other people are dealing with real issues right now, and this seems like a minor thing, but I can't escape it. It echoes through my mind. It casts a cheesy pallor on everything I do and everything I see. It is there; it will not go away. I've looked at the lyrics. This song is f**king terrible. But I can't get that scrap of tune out of my head. This piece of shit was the first #1 single in the US for the band Genesis.

Why? Why you ask? Because I received this ACTUAL text this morning: "Can you change the temp to 78 and did phil colins die?"

I changed the thermostat and I checked the news for "Phil Collins."

I responded, "I changed the temperature, and I find no evidence that Phil Collins is dead. He seems very much alive."

But then, a few minutes later, it started:  "duh duh duh an invisible touch yeah, duh duh duh duh... slowly tears you apart...."

And it's still there. I wouldn't want to pass this on to anyone. I wouldn't want anyone to read this and go, "Oh shit, now it has infected me!"

I don't want that on my conscience. I don't want you walking around all day, "duh duh duh an invisible touch yeah, duh duh duh duh... slowly tears you apart...."

Sunday, June 08, 2014

#89 DON'T FEAR THE KEEBLER


Snacking time has come,
All the snacks are gone,
Children don't fear the Keebler,
Although he's small and he's kinda weird,
{He can fill the cookie jar}

Make some cookies...
Don't fear the Keebler,
{He's just makin' some snacks}
Don't fear the Keebler,
{Makes his home in a tree}
Don't fear the Keebler
{wears a little red hat}

La, la la, la la
La, la la, la la

Tuesday, August 07, 2012

#85 THE PISSED OFF WITH GUNS SONG

Pissed off white guys with guns,
Pissed off white guys with guns,
Pissed off white guys with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Oh yeah Oh yeah.

Pissed off police with guns,
Pissed off police with guns,
Pissed off police with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off humans with guns,
Pissed off humans with guns,
Pissed off humans with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

{repeat, ad infinitum}

Sunday, April 03, 2011

REBECCA BLACK'S "FRIDAY" AS AN EXAMINATION OF THE EXISTENTIAL YOKE OF TIME ON MODERN MAN.

by

Dan Manning

In this essay, I will demonstrate the deeper meaning of the lyrics of Rebecca Black's widely panned "Friday." Much has been said about this young woman's debut single, much of it negative. I propose that this is not a shallow, poorly produced bubble-gum pop tune, but a deep analysis of man's existential conundrum, addressing the relentless passing of time, cultural pressures on modern man, and the nihilistic existence that is modern life.

Let us examine the first line of the song:
7am, waking up in the morning
Here Miss Black points out the inexorable grind of modern life. Why does she have to wake up so early? What demands force us to be awake so early in the morning, when you should sleep late? Throughout the world, mankind is on an endless, relentless treadmill of activity and toil. Everyone must get up in the morning and be a "useful" part of society. Rest and idleness is frowned upon. School for children, work for adults. Everyone is expected to be up in the morning. Only the idle rich and the unemployed get to sleep in; both groups have nothing to offer society, so they are cast off. So Miss Black must get up in the morning, although, as everyone knows, it is better to sleep late, as the Beastie Boys explained in "Mark On The Bus" on their 1992 album Check Your Head:
"...you should sleep late man, it's much easier on your constitution..."
But Miss Black cannot sleep late, man, and the stress of social pressures is already pressing in, as she states in the very next line:

Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Why does she "gotta" go downstairs? Through her offhand, almost throw-away line, she reveals much. She does not want to go downstairs and face another day, but she must, and not only must she "go downstairs," she has to "be fresh" while she does it. What demand is there that she be fresh? For whom must she be fresh? She must be fresh for a society that demands not only freshness, but also a "positive attitude". Despite all the decay around us, declining standards of living, greed and corruption in our social institutions, high unemployment, and a bleak future for young people, she is still expected to be "fresh". No one is allowed to look sad or be grumpy. Everyone must be "upbeat." Read Brave New World for a deeper examination of this social norm.

The next line is very revealing:

Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal

Like an animal to the trough, she must scoop her bowl of chemicals into her face. There is no time for a real breakfast. There is no time to interact with her family, which is not mentioned in the song at all. Where are her parents? They too are on the treadmill of getting and spending, too busy to sit with their daughter even for a few minutes to talk. Perhaps they will text each other during the day. Miss Black must be educated so that someday she too can ignore her offspring. "Gotta have my bowl" could also be a subliminal reference to drug use. Does she need to have a "bowl" of marijuana to help her cope with the stresses of modern life? We may never know. Either way, her breakfast is brief, and here we come to the crux of the song, the most damning lyrics of all:

Seein’ everything, the time is goin’
Tickin’ on and on, everybody’s rushin’
The crushing drumbeat of time is relentless. Here Rebecca Black says a great deal about society in just a few concise words. Everybody is rushing. Everyone today is in a hurry to be somewhere, to do something, to communicate some idea. We expect instant gratification, we expect instant communications, and we have no patience for anything that might slow us down. Her family is yoked with the burden of the clock, constantly rushing them to the next thing, to the next meeting, to the next class, to the next job interview, to the next stoplight. Look how we drive: on the freeway we race to be in the front of a pack, and if we get in front of that pack, we accelerate to run down the next pack of cars, as though there is some "front" of everything. Miss Black's family, in this song anyway, is simply described as "everybody." Our families seem like "everybody" sometimes, but as soon as Miss Black leaves the house, she joins the throng, the family of mankind, to rush to her next appointment:

Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
I had to consult the video to understand what happens in these two lines. Miss Black reluctantly goes to the bus stop, where the institutional system will swallow her up. Had she taken her place on the bus, her individualism would have immediately been diminished as she is forced to conform to rules and regulations, schedules and seating charts. It is only the arrival of her friends in a convertible that saves her from having to enter the dark maw of the bus's interior, where in the dim light she would be seated next to the random bits of humanity that makes up a student body. School is an artificial social situation, where individuals are thrown together in ways that they would normally never accept.

But the arrival of her smaller circle of friends, with a means of transportation to the school, relieves her of this burden, and she joins them, but not before making a serious decision: Which seat should she take?
Kickin’ in the front seat
Sittin’ in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
This is a puzzling stanza, because really, what difference does it make? Just get in the car. At least you're not on the bus next to the runny-nosed kid with the Pokemon cards, right? But after further consideration, her conundrum seems important. Even within her small circle of friends, there is a pecking order of some sort. We all favor some friends over others. Should she sit next to the boy in the back, possibly leading to some sort of romantic encounter? Her question, in context of the video, seems more baffling because there are only two bucket seats in the front, and the front passenger seat is already occupied. Does the girl in the front seat have such low self-esteem that she would let someone kick her out and make her sit in the back? I will defer such arguments, and take the lyrics without the context of the video. Her choice, or her need to think about the choice of what seat to take also speaks to the love affair American culture has with cars. To ride in the front is "cooler" by far than riding in the back, and riding "bitch" (in the middle seat) is no fun at all. So her choice is relevant in today's society. But whatever choice she makes, she'd better make it quick, or she will be late for school.

It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
This stanza is the heart of the song, and it speaks to the grind that is the other four days of the workweek. It speaks to the eternal alternation of labor and rest that is our American system. But how does one even know it is "Friday"? The arbitrary naming of the days of the week, the division of years into months, and months into weeks, and weeks into days is completely artificial. How does one "know" the name of the day? All of society must agree to these arbitrary conventions. We are trapped by an artificial division of time, a schedule that everyone must follow. And how does the "weekend" come about? It was only through the labor movement in the 1920s that we enjoy our weekends, and it wasn't recognized nationwide until 1940. But why is everybody "lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend?" Was this not already covered by Loverboy in their 1981 treatise, "Working for The Weekend" off of their smash hit album Get Lucky?

The lyrics that follow are more puzzling:
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin’ forward to the weekend
The ancient craving for the bacchanal is no less prevalent today than when it was prohibited by the Roman Senate in 186 BC. Miss Black expresses man's craving for release from the stresses and banality of modern life, a need to be exalted, to be carefree and surrounded by trusted companions and accepted by one's peers in a spirit of friendship and celebration. Here she expresses the same sentiment found in countless country and western songs. The repetition of the word "fun" has been mocked by countless Internet kibitzers, but is it not an expression of man's universal search for happiness, even a moment's respite from the stresses of survival and acceptance in a world increasingly uncertain, where all of our pillars of civilization look less stalwart than they were in the past, and where strife and war seems on the verge of tearing civilization itself apart? Can Miss Black be blamed for her cries of adulation for the bacchanal?

Less than thirteen hours later, Miss Black's dream is made reality. The school day is completely skipped in her narrative, and she is with her friends:

7:45, we’re drivin’ on the highway
Cruisin’ so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is
I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right
I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Again the nod to America's car culture. We identify with cars. The linear movement through space over time gives us a sense of power and clear purpose. She reaffirms her confidence in herself ("I got this") and her confidence in her companions ("you got this"), but what is the "this" that they have control of? Is she expressing her confidence that she and her friend can make manifest the "fun" they are so intent on having? Does it not throw a question about the certainty of the fun they are going to have? Is there a risk that they won't have fun?

There is an apparent contradiction in the above stanza that must be addressed: Why would she want time to fly? If she is having fun, if her abandon is complete, if she is enjoying mindless frivolities with her close circle of friends, one of which is seated at her right hand, as the Son of God is seated at the right hand of the biblical God, then why would she want time to pass even more quickly? The answer is clear. She speaks to the fact that even in our celebrations, we are thinking about the next thing, the next appointment. We are always mindful of time. There was a time before mankind divided the day into hours. There was a time before clocks, when men lived in harmony with nature. Miss Black points out that we are all slaves to time, even in our moments of abandon and joy.

Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after...wards
I don’t want this weekend to end
Again Miss Black examines even more deeply the trap that is arbitrarily divided time. She cannot escape the measured movement of time. The stresses of Thursday are still in the back of our minds; the failures and triumphs follow us into the weekend. The loose ends of the workweek bedevil us, even as we seek joy in our abandon. Why are the revelers so excited? Because their time of celebration is fleeting. The weekdays have encroached so close upon Friday, and there are only two days left before the workweek starts again. Monday lurks like a specter on all of their frivolity and joy. Her determination to "have a ball" today underscores just how little time she has. Everyone must schedule their fun around the immovable Monday that follows all weekend activities. The weekend can be unpredictable; the weekend is an open canvas of unknown possibility. The work week is so predictable, so soul-crushing in its predictability, one has to rush, one has to hurry to get as much fun as possible packed into three days (or two, if you have to go to church!) that we run about, we scurry about hurly-burley, trying as we might to capture as much unpredictable fun as we can, but there is never enough time! How succinctly Miss Black has put it! From the mouth of children, there is Wisdom! The above stanza has been universally mocked. Why does she rattle off the days of the week? It is so obvious! But is it? How often do we consider how we are all cruelly bound to the Wheel of Time? When do we examine the short span of time we have here on this earth? She expresses her wish that the weekend would never end. Have we not all thought that at one time or another? Have we not all looked on Monday as a kind of dread?

Despite the deep, meaningful lyrics, this is a horrible, horrible song. I watched as much of the video as I could stand to get an idea of what everyone was complaining about, and indeed, there is much to complain about. But even in this atrocity that is the video "Friday," there is much that can be learned.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Kanye West Was Right!

Holy Crap! I just say the "single ladies" video for the first time, and Kanye West was right: Beyonce DID make the best music video of all time!

Monday, February 16, 2009

JOINING THE JONAS BROTHERS

My daughters are embarrassed by my new career choice. Oh, it is kind of late for me to make a major career change, but this is a great opportunity for me to make big money. Sure, I'm 42, my back isn't what it used to be, but I, Dan Manning, intend to join the boy-band The Jonas Brothers.

In order to make sure the band knows I'm sincere, I wear my Jonas Brothers tee-shirt everywhere. You don't know how hard these are to find in XL. I'm not sure why this embarrasses my daughters.

"Dad, that's totally gay," they tell me.

People tell me it won't work out. They say I'm a dreamer. They say I'll stand out, but I don't think so. That one kid is kind of tall. And if I grow my hair out, I'll probably fit in, despite weighing 210 pounds and being six foot tall. I tell you it can work.

They say just because my last name doesn’t happen to be "Jonas", I can't join.

I've sent in about a hundred audition audio and video tapes, mp3s and video files to the recording company, and despite their cease and desist order I intend to continue sending them in until they see reason. (N'Sync's lawyers tried that same crap on me back in the nineties, and it didn't work then either. The lead singers are all just threatened of me. Suck it Timberlake! Same goes for you Simon Le Bon!)

Oh sure, a music background would help. A singing voice would help. A time machine would help. I have none of these things, but I’m not going to let a little thing called reality come between me and my unattainable dreams.

My daughters hate it when I wear my Jonas Brothers wig. What's wrong with a full grown man walking around with adorable curly locks? Nothing, that's what.

"Daaad! Gawd!" my youngest one will say.

So what if I have the Jonas Brothers cranked on the minivan stereo when I pick them up after school?

What's the big deal?

I can't understand the boss

So I'm at the bookstore having coffee and sitting in a comfortable chair by the fireplace reading "The Stuff of Thought" by Pinker. Everything would have been perfect, except they have Willie Nelson on the speakers, playing at a reasonable volume. Nice jazz stuff, he's in a duet with some female vocalist. Not complaining about the music choice.

Problem is, if I'm trying to read and there is music with lyrics playing, sometimes it distracts me from reading, and the words in the song and the words on the page get all mixed up. I focused on the words on the page and managed to continue reading. The next CD was classical, which was fine, because there were no lyrics.

The NEXT CD was "the boss", Bruce Springsteen. No problem there either. He is completely unintelligible. Can't understand a thing he says. When he sings it sounds like they're strangling a chimp.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

honky tonk badonkadonk

So I'm taking Deb's van to gas it up, and what comes on the Radio? Trace Adkins' "Honkey Tonk Badonkadonk." I kid you not. Why does this exist? Why, if this exists, does the very fabric of the universe not slice open revealing the howling void beyond and suck this pathetic planet and all of the pathetic primates known as "humanity" with it? "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk?" Really? That is so fractally wrong, I don't even know where to begin.

Don't get me wrong, I don't blame Trace Adkins. He is a performer, and he's giving the people what they want. The problem is: people want this crap.

He gets paid MONEY to write (or at least sing) the following, and I quote:
It's so hard not to stare
At that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin' perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin' on
Like Donkey Kong
Got it goin' on "Like Donkey Kong"? Really? Oh my Sweet Baby Jesus Christ, how does this exist? I mean, how come they don't write songs like they used to? As in:
I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung
Wanna pull up tough
Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed
See? Now that's poetry. What was Sir Mix-A-Lot trying to tell us here? He was talking about Truth. He is talking about his respect for women. He is declaring his love of big butts.

I think Trace Adkins can learn a few things from Sir Mix-A-Lot. Where is the poetry? Where is the creativity? What is this world coming to?

If this is what passes as "country" music, I'm sure Merle Haggard is rolling in his grave. What's that? Merle Haggard isn't dead yet? Well then I'm sure Merle Haggard, if he hears this abomination, this "New Country", he will strangle himself just so he can be buried and thus twirl around in his grave like a lathe set on high.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Can't wait for GeekAid!

Everyone within the sound of this blog should come to GeekAid! details are here and I guarantee a good time will be had by all. Music, beer, and a relaxed small-town atmosphere. Check out the bands this August 16th

GeekAid 2008
Saturday, August 16th, 12pm – 8pm
Riverside Park, Grand Rapids, MI

Friday, May 09, 2008

something I heard on the radio

The lead guitarist for Queen, that's right, the super-rock group from a million years ago, is now an astrophysicist. I kid you not.

Here's the Article

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Sunday: The day of Easter Bla Bla

The sky is clear, but the air is cold. And that cold air busted me up when I tried to run today. Friggin' winter, go away already. It hangs around like a visitor that has overstayed its welcome. Deb was in Flint Friday and Saturday. We held the fort down reasonably well. Today she got home. It's Easter, so we went out to eat at Johnny Carino's. I had spaghetti.

I finished reading On Writing, by Stephen King. Damn good book. It gave clear advice from a guy who has made a boat-load of money writing books.

I bought a new machine for work. I'm starting to get SATA drives, and my 400MHZ Gateway with the IDE controllers can't cut the mustard. I have a converter that works half the time but the transfer rate is for shit and it takes forever to rescue a client's first season of "Desperate Housewives" iTunes files. So I got a new machine.

My March Madness bracket is in the can already, but as of this writing, Brian is on top by three points.

I keep telling myself, spring warm-up is just around the corner, but I'm starting to have my doubts.

I'm still working on my newest bestseller. I'm 90 typewritten pages in and counting.

Rush's "The Fountain of Lamneth" from "Caress of Steel" is a mere 19:58 minutes of geeky fantasy-rock goofiness, but it is still pretty good. I got the iTunes on shuffle.

Well, if you've read this far, I've got to give you credit for hanging in there. This is a hefty blog post, and I appreciate you reading this last sentence.

Oh yeah, Billy Thorp's "Children of the Sun" just came on. I must stop typing now and commence air-guitar. There is nothing more pathetic than a 41 year old man doing air-guitar in his tiny office.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

About Me

My photo
I am the author of 5 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, The Cubicles of Madness, Robot Stories, and most recently, Various Meats and Cheeses. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at danmanning.com