The RBA Took My Baby Away...

OK, so he's back now. Can I help it if it takes me almost two months to think of an amusing title??

Anyway, the point of this 2nd all-filler-no-killer post is to make you aware that Saturday the 28th of January is my anniversary! Yes, Quasi Boho Alterna-Whatnot is now a year old. And despite the fact that I only average 2 and 3/4 posts per month; it's still kicking on, which I find to be something of an achievement. So, yay for me and yay for my little blog.

Now, on to a public service announcement:
OK, so what is it with people naming their bands after songs by the Smiths?? It seems pretty pretentious to do it once, but more than once borders on the absurd. First there was Pretty Girls Make Graves, and now it has come to my attention that there is a band out there called Death Of A Disco Dancer. Please, people, stop the madness now! I mean, seriously, That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore...

Filler is not a dirty word.

Well, here's just some miscellaneous crap until I can get my arse in gear to get Svet to take some pictures of me "pretending" to be a wanky Arts' student. Because I'm not one already, or anything like that. *coughs sheepishly*

Anyway, the other day I decided to surf myspace in order to see if there were any pictures in emo kid blogs that looked like ones that Svet had taken of me for this entry. I laughed out loud when I came across this:
In case you need a refresher, I had a picture in the entry of me that looked like this:
And I promise you, dear reader, that I didn't find the picture of the emo lass before Svet and I devised the above shot. For serious, man. Anyway, I don't mean to mock the girl that much. Actually, I feel pretty bad putting a picture of a complete stranger on my blog without asking, but oh well. She sounds nice enough, and she's very pretty... But I just couldn't let comedy gold like that pass without comment!

Speaking of emo, I was on the train the other night and I overheard, (ie. eavesdropped on), a conversation between some young men of that very subculture.

Emo boy 1: "I was one of the original emo kids... from three years ago! No one can surpass me!!"
When I related this quote to a dear friend, he questioned me as to whether the lad was being ironic. I replied that this young man was being completely genuine, and in fact was trying to boast his seniority to a friend. In any case, who knew that emo only started three years ago?! Man, I thought it started ages before that; I'm so clueless! (That there would be irony, folks... Or at least sarcasm.)

His friend later said, apropos of nothing:
Emo boy 2: "Let's throw a bottle in the river, man!"

These guys were seriously advanced life-forms.

Egad, I'm being so condescending. Oh, well; perhaps now I have embraced the true spirit of the blogger! Speaking of the the true spirit of bloggerness, let me take this opportunity to try to force you to comment in my last post! I want you to tell me your favourite bad lyrics. For some reason, that subject fascinates me.

Anyway, before I dash off, I thought I might right a great wrong. The other day Svet complained that the only photo I had used with her in it as my emo pal was bad. I didn't think so, but what do I know?! So, here's a cuter one:
The karmic balance has hereby been restored. Check back later this week for my send-up of myself, *ahem*, I mean, pretentious Arts' students.

You know I’m bad… I’m bad… You know it.

If you have a look at my blogger profile, and skim through these entries, you will notice that I like a lot of dodgy music. And it’s not just what some people would perceive as sonically dodgy music, generally owing to my addiction with synthesizers. Oh, no. There’s also some just plain terrible lyrics in the collective works of these bands. Sometimes when I listen to their songs, even songs I really love, I find it hard to believe that they’re actually getting paid money to come up with this stuff. Like enough to buy Lamborghinis, swimming pools full of cocaine, and Calvin Klein models to snort said cocaine off whilst driving around in said Lambourghinis. Anyway, without further ado, here are some bad lyrics from some musicians I dig.

Prince is prime example. Now, I don’t want to diss him too much, because he’s an excellent musician, great showman, plays every instrument under the sun, dances like a motherfucker, and has managed to write an amazing amount of successful songs, not only for himself but for others. But that doesn’t stop me marveling over some of his lyrics. In fact, most of his lyrics. Something like this, for instance:

“If I'm workin' at my jobba,
I'm the victim, u're the robba,
No matter how much I try 2 stoppa,
I can't help thinkin' about cha”
Lemon Crush
>>This song has, in my opinion, some of the worst Prince lyrics ever. But I still love it! (Listen to it and you'll see why.) I have no clue about what this part of the song is about, or how it relates to the film ‘Batman’ (it was on the soundtrack). In fact, the whole concept of the song, (a comparison between the object of his desire and a “lemon crush”), is baffling. I really have tried to understand that metaphor, but I just can’t. I can’t help thinking of a Slurpee. (Maybe she gives him brain freeze?) Also, anyone who tries to force the words “job”, “robber”, “stop”, and “you” to rhyme ought to be shot.

New Order are another strong candidate for worst lyricists among my favourite musicians. I fucking LOVE them with a passion that will not soon die. I mean, I enjoy New Order MORE THAN Joy Division, (when I tell people their faces generally contort into little grimaces of pity. Did yours?) But, dear Lord, they have written some really bad lyrics. Some examples:

“I got thirsty for a beer,
That I had to go to sea.
The sea was very rough,
It made me feel sick,
But I like that kind of stuff,
It beats arithmetic”
Slow Jam
>>This song is proof that their lyric writing skills didn’t improve over time, as this song was on their second most recent album. It’s embarrassingly nonsensical, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you that absurdity and inanity are the band’s specialties. Kind of endearing, really.

“Your country is a wonderful place,
It pales my England into disgrace.
To buy a drink that is so much more reasonable,
I think I'll go there when it gets seasonable”
Sooner Than You Think
>>How fucking trite is it to remark in a song that buying a drink in a certain country is “so much more reasonable”?? That gets my goat. Memo to NO: You can’t use the word “seasonable” in a song… EVER. I don’t care if you’re English; you just can’t. OK?

Martika is a singer who, after only having released two proper albums, managed to release not one but two greatest hits albums! Perhaps that is a sign not to take her too seriously, as the lyrics below suggest! (With that said, I’ve got to admit I love her, even if she is a Madonna wannabe…)

“I wanna swing on your vine”
If You’re Tarzan, I’m Jane
>>This line really comes out of nowhere in this song. Looking at it by itself, you’d expect the rest of the song to be littered with other half-baked, Tarzan-related sexual euphemisms, but that’s the only one! It sticks out like a sore thumb (or perhaps, an erect “vine”).

“Wooo, here we go
The table's set baby
Wooo, ahh here we go
My oven is hot
…
I don't care, I've got the chair
If you think your butt'll fit it
You turn me all the way up, I admit it”
Martika’s Kitchen
>>No prizes for guessing where one might find Martika’s “kitchen”. Yes, it’s meant to be a part of the female anatomy. I keep having bizarre visions of vines snaking into kitchens… I think she may have permanently ruined sex for me.

“Your license to my heart has met its expiration date”
Alibis
>>Yikes, that’s tacky. Looking at these examples of bad Martika lyrics, I have a little message for whoever it is who wrote them: stay the hell away from metaphors. PLEASE!

Anyone else out there have some favourite bad lyrics they’d like to share with the class?