Talk to me, friends, this is getting wackadoodle. Ever since the recent ice capades on the balcony, my life has had a sound track! That might make me happy except that it’s the lamest, most insipid music on the planet — somebody’s inside my head playing a big honkin’ Wurlitzer, an organ I didn’t even know was on my personal parts list. It’s been droning on for weeks now, virtually nonstop until I fall asleep. A B3 would be fabulous, but no, this is old-school swirly-wurly all the way. The sedate tempo never varies, the glisses and runs are utterly predictable, the plummy bass notes swell and rumble, every ending abides by a schmaltzy-sounding template. It’s all tediously drama-infused, and just as I reach the edge of madness the tune changes, always transitioning directly from one song to the next, some of which I recognize but most of it painfully generic, although yesterday’s selection was Desperado on ‘ludes and endless loop.
It’s like I’m living in a mortuary or I wandered onto the soundstage of a Gaither Reunion in full-on veneration mode, and very little external input has the power to punch the mute button. This is new territory but it doesn’t feel creepy … yet. My head did thump the ice and concrete fairly aggressively, so there’s that. And there’s all this better living through chemistry that’s been going down for the past month, giving me reason to hope that once my friends morphine, oxycodone, hydrocodone, cyclobenzaprine, et.al. go back into the closet the music will find a hidey-hole of its own and go there to die. Not all of it (!!), just this mawkish, never-ending recital of every trite melody ever devised. Bizarre, fascinating, and some of the chord progressions are precious, but I’m so over it — can’t I please go back to the sounds of silence up top now? That would be nice.
Meanwhile I’m nothing if not pragmatic, so … ALLLL SKATE!!