Wednesday, March 3, 2010

The drug dependant albatross

Song lyrics are funny things. For those of you not left-brained enough to understand them, here’s a mathematical hint: the amount of sense a song makes is inversely proportionate to how hip it is. This may seem like a very modern idea, but anyone who has studied poetry on at least a high school level knows full well the art of passing off Mad Libs as works of art has been around for centuries. Some day, when I get to heaven, I am going to find William Blake and he’ll admit to me that when he penned the words “Tyger, tyger, burning bright,” he was actually writing about a tiger. At that point I will laugh triumphantly in the faces of all the English teachers who gave me bad grades on my poetry analyses over the years when I said things like “The author wrote that flowers were pretty, so I’d say the underlying message of the poem is… she thinks flowers are pretty.” And then I will probably get kicked out of heaven. Maybe I should refine this plan. I sometimes wonder if a hundred years from now our great great grandchildren will be analyzing the words of bands like Cake and Nirvana (since, let’s face it, who writes actual poetry anymore?). Their teachers will try to tell them that “You can dress up like a sultan in your onion head hat” is a three-level metaphor for transcendentalists challenging coporate greed in a materialistic world, even though the words were actually picked randomly out of a hat by a bunch of drunk guys in a garage. To illustrate my point, I have arranged some of the lines of five Owl City songs into a new song (Yes, I got REALLY bored with studying), and I dare you to tell me it doesn’t make the same amount of sense as the individual songs did by themselves:
Hello Seattle, I am an albatross
And that's why I don't drink and drive
I will disguise myself as a sleeping pill
'Cause I just don't foresee myself getting drowsy
At a church rummage sale
Cough and alcohol don't mix
So if my resolve goes south I swallow my pride with asprin and shut my mouth
'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar
Mixed with stale gasoline
I've been to the dentist a thousand times
I'm hooked so toss me over
Down your dark basement stairs
I'll keep my helmet on just in case my head caves in
I brush my teeth and look in the mirror,
When I'm far too tired to fall asleep
'Cause I feel like such an insomniac
I know the part, it's such a bummer,
Oh throw a party and greet my undersea friends
With friends like these well, who needs enemies?
I call it “The drug-dependant albatross,” and trust me, it’s going to be a smash hit some day when they sing it on their reunion tour, complete with weird lighting and albatross dancers. I feel a career coming on… and if it doesn’t work out, I can always sell my garbage can to an art museum for millions of dollars. I call it “Receptacle of Rubbish,” and some day some poor guy will write his master’s thesis on how the Snicker’s wrapper near the top represents the fraility of human nature.

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