Monday, February 28, 2005

Music criticism, lyrics, and an apology

First, the apology:
To my dear friend Rachael -- I am sorry that I told you, and only you, that everyone who was going to the Anderson's Oscar viewing party last night was supposed to dress fancy, as if they were walking the red carpet themselves. And I am sorry for laughing my head off when you were the only one there decked to the nines. You looked very pretty, old sport. Hold your head up high. I behaved as a cad, and I most humbly beg you to accept my public apology.
Second:
Tomorrow, Jive To The Monkey will present another piece of music criticism. We will be analyzing Bob Dylan's "Shelter From The Storm," from his classic record "Blood On The Tracks." Look for it. And if you're into this sort of thing, make sure you don't miss last week's column, a review of "Face Down," the latest worship album by Matt Redman.
Third:
Some would say, "Who does B-dog think he is to offer music criticism? Is this a case of Those who can't, teach?
Ha! To disspell such talk, I offer you lyrics to my groundbreaking song that explored the dynamics of regret and longing, "Give Me Some Ketchup":

Smooth, tangy ketchup provides so much fun.
But how come the last of the ketchup is on the other guy's bun?
Oh, Mr., I ain't jealous of your buns! But won't somebody please

Give me some ketchup, here on my plate?
My burger is bland, can this be my fate:
Sitting at the counter in a crowded, noisy diner,
Watching all the happy people plopping their fries --
Into the ketchup?

It's always been like this, even when I was young.
The last cool drop of ketchup, end up on someone else's tongue.
No lady, I ain't checking out your tongue! Don't call me a creep.

Just give me some ketchup, here on my plate.
My burger is bland, can this be my fate:
Sitting at the counter in a crowded noisy diner,
Watching all the happy people plopping their fries --
Into the ketchup?

Get angry, all you other losers ...
Stand up and shake your fist with me --

Say "Give us some ketchup, here on our plates.
Our burgers are bland, this can't be our fate.
Busting up the counter of a crowded, noisy diner,
Hope all you people choke on your
Salty, Salty fries ....
Then we'll take your ketchup.
Yeah, we'll take your ketchup.
You won't share your ketchup.
So we're coming for the ketchup."

(fade out)

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Look Ma, I'm Bellydancing

So I'm a belly dancer now. B-dog the Belly Dancer.
I went with a group of friends to celebrate Stacey's (aka "Pinhead") birthday. Her boyfriend Jason found the place -- it's a Meditteranean restaurant called "Nick's" on Blankenbaker (one exit east of Hurstbourne Lane). Not only does Nick's feature great cuisine, they had live music (keyboardist and bazouki player/ singer) and a belly dancer. After we'd finished our meal, the dancer called out the birthday girl to bust out some Mid-East moves. Stacey is one of the greatest hams I've ever known, so she was happy to oblige.
Afterwards, the entire table of 15 started chanting for me to do it. Now people, B-dog isn't a dancer. But the lady came over to my chair and led me out, so, being as I am a pleasing, accomodating sort, I took to the floor and followed her lead on a belly-jiggly dance move, then a shoulder/chest thing, and then, yes, I did the booty-shake. I backed up that bus and got jiggy with it.
Fortunately, everyone at the table with a camera had used up their film on Stacey's dancing and present-opening, so no footage exists. I cannot be blackmailed or embarrassed over this. My booty is officially retired from shaking it like a polaroid, Egyptian-style. (Well, at least until the next time I'm at Nick's ....)

Friday, February 25, 2005

Bobby Answers The Mail

Time to answer my fan mail, people. I've been holding it all week because I wanted to wait until I had at least three interesting questions/ thoughts. I get so many letters that are just "Bobby, you're so hot ... Bobby, you're such a genius ... Bobby, how do you manage to be so cool all the time."
Trust me, people, flattery is okay but it wears thin after awhile. If you would like for me to answer your fan mail in this forum, you're going to have to be interesting. This site is generating more traffic than Foxx news; I can't afford to let the audience down with anything mundane. Now, onto the mail:

Dear B-dog:
I am Ms. Hoboken, New Jersey, 2003. I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime.

XOXOXO,
Cindy Ramatuzzi

Dear Hoboken Ramatuzzi:
No.


Dear Bobby:
I'm a long-time fan. Love the show. I notice that you distrust Frenchies. Why is that? It makes me feel bad that you don't like Frenchies because I am one -- I majored in French studies, and I even lived in Paris for a year. It is a beautiful city. Perhaps you are being too hard on me and my kind? We really aren't that bad.

Truly,
Elmer Smith

Dear Frenchie:
Whoa. I never said I dislike you people. I just said I don't trust you.
If the French were so smart they'd speak English. You folks -- you Frenchies, as I've said before, were brought up to speak English. You're not even really French. You're Americans like me, yet you always like to run around with your strange foreign words. It's like you're secretly plotting with each other in a code that the rest of us don't understand. What are you plotting? Do you want to steal my gold? Do you? Is that what you're all about?
The French language sounds sneaky. Spanish doesn't. German doesn't (of course, German sounds incredibly aggressive, but not sneaky). Why don't you people speak Spanish? Or for those of you with a lot of pent-up aggression, German?
I've got my eye on all you Frenchies. All of you.


Dear Bobby:
Jive to the monkey has changed my life. No more do I live in a jumble of confusion and despair. How did you discover such a great philosophical system?

Keep Up The Good Work,
Monica Nesbitt

I'm so glad you've stepped into the light, Monica. I'll tell you, it took many years of fighting "the man" before I became jive. I wish I could get those years back, but that's another story. Just spilled milk, really.
I let the monkey weigh me down for a long time, Monica. He was really heavy. I was going to the chiropractor all the time for adjustments, which were almost impossible because the monkey wouldn't get off my back enough for the chiropractor to work his magic hands on my spine. The monkey actually ended up receiving most of the adjustments meant for me. My chiropractor didn't even realize he was adjusting the monkey on my back. He just thought I had a really hairy back.
One day I was watching "American Dreams" on NBC. The girls were dancing on American Bandstand. I started to dance along, there in my living room. I noticed that my monkey started getting sick. It was all he could do to hang on. He seemed much lighter while I was dancing.
It dawned on me, "Why not dance all the time? This monkey will be forever off-balance that way." So that's just what I started to do, and I've been doing it ever since.


That's enough mail for now folks. Have a great day, and keep the cards and letters coming. If I use your mail on this forum, you could win a can of beets. One letter-writer per week will win the beets. This week's winner was Cindy Ramatuzzi, because I feel bad for totally shutting her down.

Peace Out,
B-dog, the Sweet Daddy Howl.



Thursday, February 24, 2005

CELEBRATION

BACK STORY:

There was once a test tube embryo experiment. Alone one night, a drunken scientist spilled the contents of two test tubes on a table. Quickly, before the janitor showed up, the scientist collected as much of the contents as he could into separate beakers. Of course, after flowing out of their original test tubes, these beginning particles of life were mixed together. Our daffy scientist didn't think about that, but he was able to cover his tracks well enough so no one knew.
The contents of those tubes eventually were birthed, and they grew up to be dapper, yet slightly macabre, adults. One of them is writing to you now -- I, Bobby Gilles, founder of the Jive To The Monkey System of Successful Living. The other is a young lady named Stacey. Today, yes today, is Stacey's birthday.
Happy birthday, fellow experiment!
Stacey is one of the most caring, compassionate, and goofy people in the annals of history. I couldn't say enough good things about her, even though she doesn't like to read, she never bothers to visit my blog, and her taste in music is highly suspect. Despite all that, I am such a proud big brother! I hope you have the best birthday ever, Tiny Dancer.

Last year Stacey went on a mission trip to Romania. Here are the lyrics to a song I wrote to settle her nerves, since she was a bit apprehensive about the dangers inherent in travel. Enjoy!

Stacey's going away to Romania. I've been thinking 'bout how she could
screw the trip up.
She is not normal, not average, or plain.
She's really fun but most likely insane.
So Stacey, here's a list of things that could happen to you:

You might get lost. You might get shot.
You might get forgot by your own team,
As they sail on the wind in a plane coming back to America....

Little girl lost, left at the gate. I hate to think of you left behind --

Stacey's European adventure. I'd venture to say she'll shake the place up.
But how will you do it, pinhead? We'll just wait and see.

Earthquakes and landslides are common on Romanian trails.
But if only the good die young, she'll prob'ly just break a nail.
Corrupt politicians could launch a new plot -- throw American girls
Into jail till they rot.
Oh Stacey, there's so many things that could happen to you.

You might break a nail. You might go to jail.
No one will post bail on your own team,
As they say, "This is finally our chance for some peace and quiet."

Little girl left behind in her cell,
She'd start to smell before too long.

Stacey's European adventure. I'd venture to say she'll shake the place up.
But how will you do it, pinhead? We'll just wait and see.

You could be bit by a snake. And if you don't have a stake
A vampire will take you to the dark side.
And if he does, what will you do, 'cause we both know how you
love garlic.

Stacey's European adventure. I'd venture to say she'll shake the place up.
But how will you do it, dogcheese? We'll just wait and see!!!

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Out Of The Office

To Whom It May Concern:

The Great One, Bobby Gilles, is out of the office today. He is, among other things, purchasing a new shirt and coloring his hair, so he can continue to be as much of a metrosexual as Will Wyman, Nathan Redd, Jason Hall, and Joel Anderson.

He will return tomorrow with new tales to tell. Until then, this is Kelly Clarkson, his personal assistant, signing out. B-Dog wishes you well (that's what I call him. You people should probably stick with "Mr. Gilles").

Love and Kisses,
Kelly

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Music Review #1: Matt Redman "Face Down"

Matt Redman is one of the top Worship leaders and writers in evangelical Christianity, having penned modern classics like "The Heart Of Worship," "Better Is One Day," "Blessed Be Your Name," and "Let Everything That Has Breath."
His latest live worship CD, "Face Down," is the first on Sixsteps Records, the EMI CMG label that boasts a stable of fellow Worship leaders: Chris Tomlin, the David Crowder Band, and Charlie Hall.
Redman recorded "Face Down" live at North Point Community Church in Alphareta, Georgia during the January 2004 Facedown Songwriters Gathering.The duo known as Watermark, Nathan and Christy Nockels, each contributed: Nathan produced, as well as played keys and guitars, while Christy sang backing vocals. Tom Laune (Passion, Michael W. Smith, Nichole Nordeman) mixed the final product in Nashville.
Impressive credentials, but does it work? For criteria, let's look at Dylanographer Michael Gray's assessment of the Bob Dylan gospel song, "Pressing On."
"Pressing On" seems an instant classic of a gospel song, one you can readily imagine being sung in black churches.
And why not white? Whatever Bob Dylan aficionados might feel about his Christian songs, the best of them surely comprise a body of work that brings to contemporary religious song something fresh yet well-grounded in traditional strengths, something passionate and full of an authentic saturation in biblical teaching. Anyone can hear that it wipes the floor with all that awful Pat Boonery ... and those gruesome Age of Aquarius lasers-and-love productions offered to white worshippers over the last thirty years. Dylan's religious work has gravitas."

Gray has given us a strong formula: fresh yet well-grounded in traditional strengths + something passionate + full of an authentic saturation in biblical teaching = gravitas. Few would doubt that the best of Redman's songs over the last several years adhere to these guidelines. Let's apply them to this latest record.

"Facedown" begins with the rollicking "Praise Awaits You," an effective and typical introductory song for a worship set. What makes it stand out is the unusual chords underlying the simple melody. Redman is good at providing a delightful musical twist underneath a melody that meets the worship music requirement that it be easily sung by the average person. (This is something that Jeremy Quillo is becoming adept at as well on songs such as "From The Depths": listen to the unexpected note underneath the lyric in the chorus). Fresh yet well-grounded in traditional strengths? I'd say so.

Cut 2, "Nothing But The Blood" is Redman's ode to the classic Robert Lowry Sunday school hymn, "Nothing But The Blood" (1876). Comparisons are inevitable. Redman is up to it because he isn't afraid to be different in ways that he must be. Lowry's classic was full of perfect rhymes that, in 1876, did not sound trite (flow/ snow/ know) but which would fall into cliche now. Redman starts with a couplet that uses assonant, rather than perfect, rhyme:
Your blood speaks a better word / than all the empty claims I've heard upon this earth.
A captivating line. Surely if he had made himself the slave of perfect rhyme he would have cast aside the truism of this line in search of a closer match for either "word" or "earth," but he is a confident craftsman who knows what must be said.
He does it again in the chorus:
What can wash us pure as snow / welcomed as the friends of God
and he doesn't bother end-rhyming at all in the first couplet of the second verse:
Your cross testifies in grace / Tells of the Father's heart to make a way for us.
Of course, there is an internal assonant rhyme with "grace", "make," and "way."
The song works. It praises God while it teaches us (which is another form of praise to God, since His word instructs us to teach and admonish each other with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs).
This same praise/ instruction is evident on "Seeing You"," "Gifted Response," and "Dancing Generation." This is not "Theology Lite," this is authentic saturation in biblical teaching.

"Worthy, You Are Worthy" was cowritten with fellow Worship leader and songwriter extraordinaire Chris Tomlin, who also sings it with Redman on the disc. As such, standards are high.
It is a catchy tune, with three well-crafted verses.
The chorus begins with the simple but effective:
You're worthy / You're worthy / You're worthy / You're worthy to be praised
And then comes:
Forever and a day.
Wow. Did two of the Church's best contemporary songwriters just give us, as the closing line to their collaboration, the ultimate teeny-bopper cliche? Forever and a day? Like, totally.
Now, I'd imagine the songwriting session that produced this went down in a spirit of ironic truth. After all, praising God really is the one thing for which the phrase "forever and a day" makes sense. I can see them deciding that this cliche, used as it is, has been made "fresh" and has the ring of truth to it. It does, but the problem is, they don't sing it with any sense of irony -- it's just full blown, caution-to-the-wind, naked admiration of God. They mean it, which is only bad in the sense that they sing it as if they have no idea how over-used and trite this phrase is.
In spite of my critical outlook, "Worthy, You Are Worthy" swept me away. I listened to it three times in a row while driving yesterday, praising God -- and I, too, lost all sense of kitsch or irony, singing "forever and a day" for all it was worth. Then again, I am a Christian, a continuous outpourer, who, when not divided from God by my own sin, directs his outpouring Godward, as worship. And maybe the hectoring that I could imagine a secular critic, or any thinking nonChristian, would do upon hearing these lyrics, is simply due to "ways of the world" posturing. I could say that the reason we Christians can revel in this kind of lyric is because "God has chosen the foolish things of this world to confound the wise."
But though there is truth to that, we are, at all times, to be evangelistic -- even in our corporate expressions of worship. As such, this line is an unfortunate choice. The Jesusfreakhideout.com review of this disc contains the following opinion: "If you dig modern worship, this is your cup o' tea. If not, Matt Redman is certainly not for you ... only those into the modern worship scene need apply. 'Facedown' is a great, albeit exclusive, piece of work." I'm not sure that's a fair assessment of Redman in general, but it certainly fits "Worthy, You Are Worthy." (Of course, even Redman would say that his calling is to the Church, so to call his work exlusive is not really an insult; I would only offer the defence that, in most of his songs, there is a deep theological underpinning that even Christians who aren't into stereotypical modern worship, because of its light theology, would appreciate.)

One great spontaneous chorus and three compelling songs follow, including the title cut, "Face Down." Another strong effort in this trio is "Breathing The Breath," which contains a distillation of an over-riding theme of the album, the doctrine of prevenient grace, which says "before a man can seek God, God must first have sought the man." (Tozer, "The Pursuit of God")
The lyric runs:
Every good, perfect gift comes from your kind and gracious heart /
And all we do is give back to you what always has been yours.
Redman hammers this theme home again and again on "Face Down," to penetrating effect. Remember, Redman isn't one of those generic, lesser worship writers who churn out The Gospel Of Good Times, dumbed down to sitcom-level. He's teaching us.

Another strong point on the album is "Mission's Flame." It is so easy to sing praise songs that are really all about us: "God, thank you for giving me stuff. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for blessing me. You are worthy to be praised because of how you've served me." Nothing inherently wrong with these themes, but the church needs more songs like "Mission's Flame," which, along with giving God glory in a direct way, actually inspire the Body of Christ to do the work of Christ:
Let worship be the heart of mission's aim / We're going with a passion for your name
We're going for we care about your praise / Send us out ....

The disc closes with a forgetable Redman song, "If I Have Not Love." The chorus begins:
This is a love song / this is a love song / Jesus a love song to you ....
He's breaking the cardinal rule of creative writing: "Show, don't tell."
Write a love song to Jesus, not just something that says "This is a love song to Jesus." We'll know it when we hear it, and more so, Jesus will. No need to explain what you're trying to do with your lyrics, just do it. Redman isn't the first Christian writer to fall into the "use the lyrics to tell what I want the lyrics to accomplish" pitfall ... far from it. Here's Bruce Carroll, a CCM darling of the mid-to-late 80's:
This is a song for You / just to try and show You how I feel.
Thank you for showing me that Your's is the love that is real.
In fact, writers of all styles and persuasions have done this on occasion. It's one of those clever tricks that works if it is rarely used, but not when everybody does it. Kind of like when Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd began addressing the viewer directly on "Moonlighting," or those infamous gun-dodges in The Matrix. Tons of imitations followed, and now the effect is cliched.

Nevertheless, "Face Down" succeeds in its aim to provide a true expression of worship. There are no "bad" songs, and the good far outweighs the mundane. There are certainly several examples of the kind of writing that has "gravitas," and fulfills the formula for doing so that Gray recommends. This collection is not a leap forward for Redman, but it is a steady journey along the path that is bringing the Church new music that will last, music that matters.

Monday, February 21, 2005

CURSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No new column today because I have spent every bit of my free time trying to figure out how to have a "links" column underneath my "articles" column so I can provide links to other cool bloggers and some of my favorite web sites. See, I am always thinking of your viewing enjoyment.
Alas, my research has proven unfruitful. I am a techno-loser. In fact, I am so despondent about it that when I get off work I am going to jump right off the street-curb in front of my building (when no cars are coming). I could sprain my ankle.
I'll do it. I'll really do it.

Stay tuned tomorrow for my critical analysis of Matt Redman's latest worship CD, "Face Down," part of a weekly series of record reviews. These reviews will cover new records as well as classics. In the next few weeks, look for reviews of records by the likes of Bob Dylan, Nickel Creek, Delirious, Alison Krauss and Union Station, U2, Caedmon's Call, and more.

Here's something to ponder. Is this true?

"Never explain. Your friends don't need it, and your enemies won't believe you anyway."

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Friends in Paris -- And I Still Distrust Frenchies

Several friends of the Jive To The Monkey brigade are vacationing in Paris this week, including Chris and Christy Davis, Lorie "Spelling Police" King, and "Random" Cheryl Rupp.
This leaves me with far less Frenchies to deal with. I won't have to look over my shoulder quite so much (for newcomers -- Bobby Gilles distrusts Americans who like to speak French, whom he has dubbed "Frenchies." Besides the afore-mentioned King and Rupp, Frenchies who have lurked around the corridors of Jive To The Monkey include Sarah Meador and Dr. Tom Branch. Mark them. Don't leave them alone with Grannie's silverware).
Ms. King has already signed on for an exclusive Jive To The Monkey interview when she returns, so look for an in-depth account of the Paris trip sometime next week. We hope to secure a commitment from the Davis's and Ms. Rupp as well, so we can demonstrate how often Frenchies distort things and fail to get their stories straight.
Looking in my Crystal Ball, I will now tell you what fate will befall this foursome in Paris this week:

Lorie -- let's just call her "Most Likely To Travel Half-way Around The World Only To Shop At The Gap." If they have Gaps in Paris. I am predicting that the Little King will return with nary a memory of the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, or the Bastille, but if you want the low down on where to get a good pair of shoes in Paris, or a sweater or something, King is your girl.

Chris will probably not be darkening any hallowed doors in France either, but smart money says he will return with an encyclopedic knowledge of the top indie bands in the Paris underground music scene. He'll probably return with 30 CD's, too, and will play them nonstop until Christy has enough of it and decides to unhook and dismantle their home sound system. Chris will be unable to hook it back up, unless he can persuade one of his girls to do it.

Cheryl will get lost. She's probably already lost. The rest of the group will spend at least 15 hours frantically searching the environs of Paris, with nary a glimpse of The Queen Of Random. Finally, while our heroes are filling out a report at the police station (and while Lorie flirts with some Muskateers), an elderly couple will lead Cheryl in by the arm, saying "We don't know what happened, but we found this girl wandering aimlessly in our garden, muttering something about misplacing her shoes."
Indeed, Cheryl will be barefoot. The shoes will never be found, nor will Cheryl remember why, where, or when she took them off. But of course Lorie will know just where to find a new pair, on sale for 30% off.

Friday, February 18, 2005

From Out Of The Mouths Of Babes ....

My son Logan just turned six. Wednesday, I sat next to him as he practiced violin. He seemed frustrated, which I took to mean he was struggling to learn the notes on his new song, "When The Saints Go Marching In."
Suddenly he let out an anguished howl and began sweeping the bow back-and-forth across one of the strings, as if he were punishing it.
I said, "Logan, what's wrong?"
He shouted, "There's something wrong with my G-string!"

My son.

Thursday, February 17, 2005

True Stories #1: Achy Breaky Heart and Jesus

I felt like The Man. Only a year or so out of high school, and I had quickly gone from being a backup dj at a southern gospel radio station to permanent morning drive-time status, with the station's highest ratings ever, a national gospel award nomination, and ... I had recently become the music director, which meant I got to determine our play list (of course, we'll ignore the fact that, as a low-wattage, AM, religious station, we probably had less than 20,000 listeners, most of whom were old enough to be my parents or grandparents. I still thought I was cool).

Drunk with power -- oh yes, I was, though I wouldn't have admitted it then. You see, record companies routinely sent me their artist's singles, and I alone had the power to decide whether my station would play them, and if they would become hits on our chart, which would then be reported to the national charting organizations (we'll discuss the hilarious and bogus nature of "hit music charts" another day).

But on this particular day, I was about to encounter the full weight of CCM (Cheesy Christian Music). After the secretary delivered my mail, I opened up a package to receive a new single from a gospel family group (we'll call them "The Andersons"). I looked at the title of their single -- it was called "Jesus Will Heal Your Achy Breaky Heart". Yes, people this was when Billy Ray Cyrus was riding high with the ultimate country-pop aural cotton candy experience. So with the grim fascination of witnessing a train wreck, I slid the CD into my office player, wondering if they were really, really, going to do what I thought they were going to do.

They did. Loud and clear, in that already too-familiar melody:
Jesus can heal your achy breaky heart
I just want you to understand ....

Whoa boy. Two dj's ran to my office, eager to hear -- even eager to play it on the air! As a witnessing tool! I had to get rough ... and believe me, when I left the station that day, I left with the disc. Didn't want anyone to dig for it in my trash and play it on the air while the cat was away.

Two days later I got a call from "Paul" the radio promotions guy at "Morningbutter Records" in Nashville. "Did you get 'Achy Breaky Heart' yet?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "Dude, I can't play that."

"Why? It's already in the Top 10 of at least 20 other stations."

"It's corny."

"Aw, come on, man. You're in Louisville. I thought Kentucky was big on country music."

"Country, yes. But corn grows in Illinois."

We went back-and-forth, and it was a mighty tussle. Radio guys don't like to mess with record company guys -- they have the power to cut us off from all the comp tickets and freebee CD's, t-shirts, and "I love Jesus" key chains we're used to getting, not to mention access to their bands for interviews, tag lines, and other niceties. But I drew a line in the sand. Yes, I became a man.

He called me back the next month. 'Achy Breaky Heart' was already the #14 song in the national southern gospel chart -- a very impressive first-month feat on a chart that is notoriously slow and backward. But I held my ground, with the full knowledge that, no doubt, countless souls would forever reject the gospel of Jesus Christ because I, Bobby Gilles, had refused to allow "Jesus Can Heal Your Achy Breaky Heart" on my station. It still keeps me up at nights.

The next month, sanity took control. The achy breaky song had fallen to #37. A month later, it was gone from the chart, and those music directors who had been responsible for its meteoric rise were hiding in the shadows, like two people who kiss in front of a room full of people, only to discover later that they're cousins.

As an aside, let me add that, in no wise do I think that all Christian bands are a part of the Cheesy Christian Music genre, and I would also say that many southern gospel groups have a commitment to quality that far eclipses most of what is heard on secular radio. Nevertheless, "Jesus Can Heal Your Achy Breaky Heart" was not the first, and would not be the last, substandard, cheesy rip-off of a substandard, cheesy secular song, band, book, movie, or t-shirt. But it was my nemesis, and I dealt it a fatal blow, at least in Louisville. Where is Mayor Abramson with my merit badge?

Stay tuned next week for another edition of True Stories (#2 perhaps? Am I linear? Am I chronological?)

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

What's all this "jive" talk?

"Jive to the monkey?" you ask. "What are you talking about?"
It's simple, really. "Jive to the monkey" is a philosophy of life, a way for you to carry your heavy burden, smiling all the while. Follow me:

The "monkey" is whatever ails you. You know, like "I have a monkey on my back." The monkey claws your shoulders, he breaths his banana-scented breath right in your face, he weighs you down. In short, the monkey is an insecure job, a tough class, a mean ex ... whatever.

So what do you do? Do you let that monkey drag you down? No ... you dance! You are JIVE to that chimp! Oh yes, you are jive.

"Look at me, monkey; I'm dancing! How do you like me now, monkey? Are you getting dizzy, monkey? What, you say you're scared? You want me to stop? Oh no, little monkey ... you wanted on, remember? You like mambo, monkey? How 'bout some breakdancing? Here we go, monkey, ring around the rosey ...."

So now, you people, I have prepared you for a new way of dealing with stress. You jive? Yes, you're jive. We're all jive. Jive to the monkeys that oppress us. Now, together, let us press on. And whenever that monkey starts to wear you down, just swing by the Jive To The Monkey Blog. Take your shoes off (not so much for your comfort -- I don't want you to get my rug dirty), let me get you some coffee. Listen to me ruminate on life, love, art, and whatever else pops into my head, and feel free to comment.

We'll have plenty of great features in this forum. Poetry, yarns, interviews with Cool Friends Of Mine (including some of you people reading this now), skits, Q & A sessions where I will answer your questions, and all manner of little tidbits. And by the way, no foreign language comments allowed. I've got my eye on all you Frenchies. I don't trust you, not one little bit.

P.S. There will be no pictures on this blog until I figure out how to do it. And that could take a while. Stupid Technology Monkey.