A Voice That Would Scarcely Reach The Second Story Of A Dollhouse
My MP3 player freaked out at some digital outrage, probably visited on my Fronkenshteen pixelbox by my inquisitive son, and I had to press the big button that goes all Carthage on its ass. I lazily swept the dustbin of songs on my desktop back into it, and the juxtapositions are jarring, to say the least. My wife says if she hears “Freddie’s Dead” one more time, Freddie’s going to have company.
I don’t need a lot of entertainment while I’m working because I never hear much of it. The machines and the earmuffs drown it out, so I can listen to the same old stuff over and over.
Blossom Dearie appeared during a ceasefire, and I actually stopped for a moment and listened to it. It’s like applause, except she’s dead and I just glued something instead of clapping. But the sentiment was there for a fleeting moment. Hope it carries her another furlong through the hearafter… er, hereafter.
I like the mistake better.
The Curse
Seems To Me I’ve Seen The Most Popular Act In Great Britain Before
Just sayin’
Adele:
Lulu:
“To Sir With Love” is a much more sophisticated song, but then again, it was written by two pros.
“Music to eat ice cream right out of the tub by, while weeping” never goes out of style, I guess.
The Most Popular Song I Ever Played
The Heir is already a better guitar player than I ever was. No one has to tell him to practice. You have to tell him to stop, mostly.
Once, about four or five years ago, I sat The Spare down on my lap at the drum set, and held his hands while he held the sticks and played a few drumbeats. Little kids are stubborn and he tried it himself. His feet didn’t reach the floor, and he’d get down from the drum throne, step on the bass drum pedal, clamber back up on the seat, and hit the snare. It led to a … languid tempo. That was it. I thought that was the end of his interest in it, but you never know with these things. We think it’s better to offer encouragement than micromanage our children’s interests.
Last week, out of nowhere he announced he wanted to play the drums with his brother. He sat down at the drum set and played a perfect backbeat. 1 and 3 on the bass drum, 2 and 4 on the snare, eighth notes on the ride symbol. He tells his brother, “Play Jenny, Jenny,” and sings 867-5309 on the refrain while he’s playing. Amazing.
My wife teaches him at home, and suggested I start giving him a drum lesson after I eat my lunch. Okey Dokey.
First day, he sits down behind the drums and asks, “How do you spin the sticks?”
You’ll go far, my son.
Month: May 2011
sippicancottage
Find Stuff:
Recent Comments