My buddy and loyal open mic companion Geoff suspects that I am the first songwriter to incorporate the “uncanny valley” in my lyrics. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I did quite enjoy publicly debuting the song Robots at the Thirsty Soul last Thursday. Also featuring Cloth Mother (first song about experiment on monkeys?) and Humiliation Compost Heap (the boogie woogie).
Playing the real piano gets my heart racing, so the Thirsty Soul’s acquisition of one is a fantastic event I have been celebrating for the past few weeks. This is my first performance on it. Featuring Fred Jones Part 2 (Ben Folds), This Heart of Mine, and Humiliation Compost Heap (the boogie woogie).
Being the enforcer of speech codes can be lonely in my not-yet-fully-imagined futuristic Orwellian musical. In this song, I assume the role of a police officer charged with finding and eradicating non-state-sponsored materials littering the landscape of communication. Enthusiasm in the first half turns to gripes about the daily grind of destroying samizdat. Thanks to my daughter for lending her voice talent by uttering on of her favorite phrases, “Shut up!”
There is an uneasy freedom when nobody else shows at an open mic. It will likely cause urges to play songs long since forgotten, or that you always wanted to play but never even tried. Such was the case on May 2. A couple of old originals with a pinch of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot.
I skipped open mic last week to work on my forthcoming song, Thought Cop 2084. That’s in good shape and will be mixed within the next few days. I am going back tonight to see what’s up. If nothing else, I’ll pick some tunes and devour some pretzel-pecan french toast while pontificating about how to incorporate my newer body of work into my act. It’s either plug in the iPad, or arrange stuff on the guitar.