So the Monk alerted me to what may be one of the most important questions of our time. If you could only listen to one musical artist for the rest of your life, which would you choose?
That is, by any stretch, an awesome question and one that I don't even know how to begin to answer. Okay, that's a lie. I know one way to begin and that is this. I'll start with a list of five finalists and hopefully by the time I'm finished listing those, a winner will emerge pretty clearly in my mind.
So then, Top 5 Finalists in the Only Musical Artist I Can Ever Listen to Again Contest:
Nina Simone
Starflyer 59
John Coltrane
Ennio Morricone
The Flaming Lips
See, there're several things to look for here. Range, mood, breadth of catalogue, talent, and the ability to not drive me insane. If an artist has one style and sticks to it doggedly, it's very possible that one could tired of said artist somewhat immediately. So here we knock out Diana Krall, any kind of punk, The Decemberists, etc. If an artist's mood is too excited, then they are only appropriate some of the time. Pixies suffer here, for while they're easily one of my favourite bands, their unique brand of musical love is not, for instance, something you can study to or have a romantic dinner to. If a band is phenomenal but only has an album or two under their belts, they'll get old really fast. Jefferson Airplane is great when they're great, but they've only got a couple albums of usable material. Same with Cream.
Of the five artists I mentioned, I think the semifinals bring us to:
Nina Simone
Starflyer 59
Ennio Morricone
Ennio Morricone, having composed nearly 5oo films, certainly has a catalogue one wouldn't quickly zip through. Style of music would also very dramatically from film to film. Nina Simone, however, holds forth with a soul that is indelible and just cannot be found in Morricone's work (or in 99% of music for that matter). Listening to her over and over, one would discover deep veins of emotion to be mined for a long, long time. She also has an extensive catalogue. Starflyer may seem a funny addition here, but because of their dream-pop style, Starflyer has a tendency to be there when you're looking for it and to fade into the background when you're not. Plus, it's awesome make-out music.
Man, I am absolutely torn. I guess it's down to Nina Simone or Starflyer 59. And I honestly can't choose. Nina would garner me more respect from those who care about music, but Starflyer is just so easy to listen to. Plus with Starflyer, Jason Martin is still alive so I could bank on him adding more to his musical repetoir and even evolving into other styles and tastes. Grr. How can one choose! Hmm, having a bit of the gamer gene, I will roll a d20, even odds. 1–10 going to Nina and 11–20 going to Starflyer.
And it's a 3. I will listen to Nina Simone only. For the rest of my life. Wow.
That a new Weezer album is in the works and I'm not excited about it is a strange feeling. I think I just felt betrayed by Red. Maybe Weezer's entering their Starship phase...?
Two amusing stories: to illustrate the absence of simple comprehension skills in some of my friends-slash-acquaintances.
Story One:
ME [talking to a discussion group who had just finished Casablanca]: So, what did you guys think of the movie?
HER [blurting out before anyone else can even raise their hands]: I didn't like it!
ME: Okay, what didn't you like about it?
HER: I didn't think it was right that she was with Rick while her husband was in a concentration camp.
ME: But she thought he was dead.
HER: I didn't think it was right for her to be seeing someone else while her husband was still alive.
ME: But she couldn't have known he was still alive. She was told that he had been killed. So to her mind, her husband had died and she was just moving on.
HER: If I were her husband and I were stuck in a concentration camp, I wouldn't want my wife seeing another guy. Plus, why didn't she tell him she was married.
ME: Well, because she wasn't anymore. At least that's what she believed. When your husband dies, you're no longer married. It's okay for you to date other guys.
HER: I still didn't like the movie. I think it was wrong.
ME: ...
Story Two:
HER [a different her]: I still don't see how a Christian could write a song like [Havalina's "Proportion Thing."]
ME: Really? What makes it hard to believe?
HER: It's just so sad and mean.
ME: Well, the singer is just describing why his girl left him and he's understandably heartbroken about the whole thing.
HER: Yeah, but the reason is just so bad. She says that she's tired and she's got to leave. That's not right. You shouldn't break up with someone just because you're tired.
ME: That's true. You probably shouldn't. But that's not the guy singing who is doing that. That's what happened to him.
HER: Yeah, that's so sad. I don't see how a Christian could sing a song like that.
ME: ...
Here are Havalina's lyrics for "Proportion Thing," just in case you don't remember the song.
My baby left me
Just the other day
With a letter
And my bad eyesight.
I felt like Hannibal,
That poor old sick elephant—
Well not so much like Hannibal,
But out of proportion.
The point is she left me
Because I must be out of proportion.
That night it rained.
It rained on my house.
It rained on my head.
It rained cats and dogs
All that night I was in bed.
And it rained on the letter,
Because this is what it said:
I'm going away,
Just got to see.
It's not a thing about your looks
Or the way you treated me.
I'm just tired.
And I've got to leave.
By the way,
I loved you.
It all came down
To this proportion thing.
She never said it,
but that don't mean a thing.
As a kid my feet
Just grew so large.
My lips just like
A big ol' barge.
Now my baby's left.
Gone on her way.
What's a guy like me
Supposed to do or say?
So in reading a recent post by Rich on Christ and Pop-Culture, I was reminded of a problem I have with medium-differentiation as regards the communication arts. Rich mentioned that various media (e.g., television, film, music, literature) "are drastically different in what their primary uses are, how they are received, the amount of influence they can have, and their conditioning effects on our culture."
While I think he's overstating a bit* to say that they are drastically different, it is true that we retain a special set of vocabulary to discuss film and another to discuss literature and another for music. One will often talk about mis-en-scene when referring to film, rarely when speaking of literature, and almost never when discussing music. A musical work may be noted as being syncopated, but any use of the term to refer to literature is just a critic blowing air up your skirt. One might refer to gutter width in reference to comic books, but would never use the terminology to describe television shows.
So yeah, there are differences. I guess. We have these broad categories, but really, how helpful are they when so much of what is produced crosses boundaries?
Isn't television really just the same medium as film? Motion pictures and all that. We have theatrically released film, direct-to-video film, film on dvd, film as televised on cable, television miniseries (e.g., Pride and Prejudice), serial television (e.g., Lost), episodic television (e.g., The Office), and hundreds of other nooks and crannies. Are cinema and television different media? Probably only in the way that Cinemascope and Cinerama and IMAX are different.
And then there's animation. Animation is clearly different in certain respects to its live-action cousin, but Wikipedia borders on imbecilic in referring to animation as a film genre. Is animation drawing and painting, sequential art, or motion picture? Or all three? And how much does it matter?
And then there's the question of comics. I come across the occasional article in which a writer hopes to identify the examples from the body of comic work that elevate to the level of literature. Elevate? Is there really such a hierachry of media? And what are comics anyway? The format is that of a book or periodical, but the visual storytelling is at least as important as the visual storytelling. I've even read people who suggest that "reading" is the inappropriate terminology for the absorption of comic storytelling for the same reason that one does not read a film or watch a song. So clearly (?), comics are their own medium, but there is so much overlap with other media that one is forced to wonder what the point is of categorizing.
My suspicion is that such categorization is less a matter of distinct and "drastic" differences (as Rich mentions), but more a case of lazy critics needing an easy way to pigeonhole their stuff. In reality, so much of what we engage from the creative community is akin to what we often see in art galleries: mixed media. And in the end, is the way we interact with these things really all that different? Sure, some formats of creative communication are more engaging to the senses while others rely more upon other centers of brain function, but in the end, there doesn't seem to be any differences beyond the superficial between things like television, film, comics, music, painting, sculpture, dance, poetry, animation, literature, and oratory. And the mechanism by which we interpret each seems to be the same: after the barriers of translation are removed, doesn't it just take simple, thoughtful reflect to engage the product?
So talking about song lyrics the other day got me to thinking about what song lyrics mean to me. That answer should not be surprising: they mean very precious little to me.
To explain, generally, when listening to music, my mind treats vocals as little more than another instrument. And the "litttle more" that my mind gives to the vocal is simply the nod that I am hearing the Prince of Instruments, the musical tool that boasts the greatest range and variety, and is the most difficult to master.
One of the most common refrains for kids with moralistic and worried mothers—kids who don't want to be deprived of that cherished album of Metallica, Nirvana, Limp Bizquik, Public Enemy, or whatever slightly inapprorpiate pop band they fear to be deprived of—runs along the lines of, "But mom, I don't know what he's singing about! I don't even hear the lyrics! I listen for the music!!"
Now, how much truth there is to this claim probably varies from kid to kid. As for myself, it would be, for the largest part, an accurate description of how I experience music. The fact is: it's actually very difficult for me to make heads or tails about a song's content unless I pull out a lyricsheet for the simple reason that I'm not actually hearing intelligible communication through the sung vocals. Instead, I'm hearing just another instrument. A human instrument, for sure, but still just an instrument.
I hear the notes sung. I hear the quality and vibrations of the voice. I even hear the special flavour that one word can give that another word couldn't. But though I can't potentially gather an aural mood, I simply do not hear semantic meaning.
For a long time, in my childhood, I presumed that this was normal. That no one else was hearing these kinds of communications through song. Then, as I grew older, I met people who held intensely to certain songs and garnered great meaning from them and placed great importance on what they were "saying." Even though I can accept that this is the case with some, the experience is entirely foreign to me. Generally, even singing songs in church is a vain activity for me, as I rarely know what I'm singing. Even if I know and appreciate the lyrics of a song (having read and studied them at some other point), there is rarely any connection for me to their musical recitation.
Songs whose lyrics I know well enough to sing are slender in number, with a scarcity that should make them quite valuable. Wendy should be able to attest to this with ample examples and anecdotes, all featuring me singing a few words of a chorus and rapidly devolving into some scat-like approximation of the vocal melody (or butchering the lyric entirely). If I have a particular fondness for a particular song and find it within the range of things I might find myself singing, I might hazard to learn the words in order to better facillitate my singing enjoyment. But doesn't this help me to understand the song I'm singing? Not necessarily.
I can sing, from start to finish, nearly the entirety of Weezer's "El Scorcho" (from their Pinkerton album). It's a fun song to sing. Jaunty. Lively. With fun sound combinations. I've known the words for years. Not once did I really consider the content. The other day, I was talking with Wendy and she mentioned how she had a new appreciation for the song and talked about how Rivers (songwriter, singer, and presumable narrator) is all creepy and interesting because he's the kind of guy who would find a girl's diary and read it. Now I've sung the lines hundreds of times (or more!): "I asked you to go to the Green Day concert. You said you never heard of them. How cool is that! So I went to your room and read your diary." And in all those times, nothing ever struck me as interesting or odd. I had absolutely no sense of the storytelling going on there (or that there even was storytelling going on!).
My mind just goes into full-blown right-brain operation where music is involved.
One thing that has an opportunity to aid my conception of a song as semantic communication is the addition of appropriate video. Besides the wonderful quality of sound in Jonathan Coulton's music, I've grown to love the storytelling in his songs. And the only reason that I ever realized that was going on? The WoW machinima videos Spiff created for several of his songs (viewable on YouTubes). Now I've grown to appreciate and adore Coulton's lyrical genius and storytelling abilities in a way inaccessible to me without the videos. Thing is: when I sing Coulton's songs while meandering through my day or riding home from work, I am once again divorced from the story (save for very particular and abbreviated passages that will always stick with me).
I think it is for this reason that PJ's implication that a Christian life that is without a robust experience of the singing of Psalms is a deeply impoverished Christian life really grates on me. In reality, the addition of the singing of Psalms would likely add little to my experience of the gospel. In all likelihood, it would be further exercise of vanity. Don't get me wrong. I love the Psalms and the experience of the level of devotion found there. They are a great comfort to the people of God (the reason that they are, in fact, the most popular reading material in Scripture for the bulk of the church). I want to learn them and commit their truths to my heart.
But really, and put yourself in my shoes, what has singing to do with that goal?
Emeth recently linked to an article by Peej on something or other. I think it was one of those ones that points out how much useless stuff you know and how much quote-unquote valuable stuff you don't know and then tries to make you feel bad for that. It might not have been that at all. I confess that once I got that flavour from the article, I had little interest in seeing where he was going with it (having been there and done that numerous times in the past).
So I just skimmed it, reading a paragraph here. A sentence there. All pretty divorced from context and any sense of thought-progression. All this is to simply say that I'll be interacting with a specific portion of the article without concern for the rest.
Psalms v. popular music: God gave us a song book in order to sing it, but how many Psalms do you know by heart? If you were to tally up the number of pop songs you can sing along to, and then the number of Psalms you can sing along to, which list would be longer? And, given the power and importance of music in education (something known to the Bible as much as to Plato and Aristotle), how much of a Christian education do you have if you can't sing the Psalms? You need the church to do that, a church that will surround you with Psalm-singing, and will make those Psalms more a part of you than any other music.
Now this paragraph doesn't exactly strike me as being in any way a fair treatment of people and the songs they do know. Personally, I can't single along with more than a few words of the choruses of many songs. The one's I can sing along with are such because I do sing along with them. And the reason I do sing along has, generally, little to do with lyrical content and far more to do with my enjoyment of the music itself and the degree of enjoyment I get out of the kind of singing I'm doing to keep up with the song in question.
Fact: I don't sing along with songs I don't enjoy. Fact: my enjoyment of a song stems directly from the degree to which I enjoy the music. Fact: if I don't enjoy the music, I will not sing a song (save from social duress). Fact: if I don't sing a song, it's pretty rare that I'll be able to tell you what the lyrics are.
So what does this have to do with my judgment that psalms vs. popular music is an unfair comparison? Well, everything actually.
The fact of the matter is that I have heard very few psalms put to music that I find listenable or enjoyable. Therefore psalms and popular music (for the sake of argument, we'll just call this the music I like, the music that is popular within my community of one) are not really comparable. A far more apt comparison would be something like:
Psalms vs. Country Western!!
I don't like country western music. Therefore I don't sing along with country western music. Therefore I don't know any country western lyrics. I couldn't quote anything beyond "All my exes live in Texas"—which I may not have ever actually heard bu have simply acquired through a broad cultural consciousness. The fact is, though I don't sing either country western songs or psalms, I know far more words to Psalms than I do country western songs (though they be popular in some sub-cultures).
Should I feel at all bad about being able to sing most of the lyrics to "Re Your Brains" or "El Scorcho" but could not sing even a few bars of Psalm 119 or 76 or 138 or 2? I don't think so. Peej asks how much of a Christian education I can have if I can't sing the Psalms. I know he's asking rhetorically, hoping that we'll shrug our shoulders, sigh deeply, realize that we know nothing, and humbly submit to the conviction that dadgummit we needs to be a-singing more of dem Psalms... but I think the question actually deserves an answer rather than the perhaps-expected silence of consent.
So then, question: How much of a Christian education I can have if I can't sing the Psalms?
Answer: A heckuva great Christian eduaction! I find myself to be continually fortunate in that the grace of God in educating my soul to the way of everlasting is gratuitous in its sufficiency, never ceasing to teach me and cause my wisdom and understanding to fall apart and be reshapen into a wisdom and understanding that ever closer resembles that which he would have me to be. I would be overjoyed to be introduced to some music that would make the singing of Psalms more than an academic exercise while I concentrate so greatly on the words in order to blot out the musical offense being perpetrated upon my ears. That would be wonderful. But what kind of screwed up law would I have to place myself under to believe that such singing would actually govern the education of faith rather than simply compliment it?
One of the memes that's been going around for the past whenever is that one where you set your iTunes/winAmp/Windows Media Player (?) to random and hit play. You write down the first seventeen songs to play, and in the order they came up in, you fill out the details of your life's soundtrack. I don't really put much stock into most memes and certainly not the ones that have you do random things like read the second sentence of the third paragraph on page forty-five of the book closest to you in a given moment.
Now if you were to write a story based off of that sentence, that might be worthwhile to pursue.
But really, the random stuff seems kind of boring. But with this particular one, I tried it and was struck with the serendipity of several of the choices. It may be one of those fortune cookie things where songs are generally vague enough to be suitable for a number of lives and circumstances. Be that as it may, I've done one better than just list the songs in the vain hope that they might mean something to people. No, I've decided to let you dip your ear into my life's soundtrack. The only caveat is that I have no idea how long it'll take for a song to load for you. It works fine from my desktop, but from what I've heard, loading times differ somewhat between straight from desktop and over the interthing. Whatever, if you're patient, it will come.
Oh yeah, and if you want to do it yourself, here are the rules that I ripped from the guy Calvin Pitt got it from. (Calvin Pitt is the fellow who reminded me of this meme by participating in it himself.)
1. Open your music library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc).
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question, type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool.
And with that, my life's soundtrack:
I'm pretty impressed that my iTunes knew how rad I think Amelie Poulain's life soundtrack is and allowed me to homage hers in my opening credits. I suppose I should put strawberries on my fingertips and take pictures of my nude self while I go through the gestative stages of pregnancy. You know, for solidarity's sake. The straight up fact of the matter is that I love this song and think it an entirely fitting intro to my life.
The fact of the matter is: there will never be another me. For I am a unique and beatiful snowflake, Durden be damned. This also strikes me as a great choice. Scene: Morning. The bathroom. Our hero stares groggily into the mirror at himself. And begins to sing. Cue song.
At this point there was supposed to be a song for 1st Day of School, but for some reason it was gumming up and I couldn't play it for you. In any case, that song was "Angry Situation" by Save Ferris.
I think it's entirely appropriate that Starflyer 59 should be the song choice here - as I've always maintained that SF59 is that perfect kind of heavy, make-out music. Hm, maybe it would make a better track for the Sex Scene. But... this meme did not offer that choice, so Falling in Love it is.
While I'm sure Ella Fitzgerald is probably the right choice for 1st Love Song, I wasn't really sure that "mellow" was any sort of realistic adjective to describe my first love. Still, if one reads a certain desperation into the lyrics, I think it really does work. "Everything's okay." *nervous shivers* "With this mellow song I can't go wrong." *crosses fingers*
I've got to say that I'm pretty impressed with how well randomocity chooses soundtracks. This is better than some movies I've seen. Fiona Apple is exactly the right choice for break-up music. She's bitter, thoughtful, cynical, and uncertain. Wow, I say. Wow.
Okay, so on the surface, They Might Be Giants is probably the last band you'd want to associate with a romantic evening of promming, driving the coast under cover of a full moon, and whatever sundry things kids do these days after prom *ahem*. But. For those of you who remember (and those of us who can't forget), some of us do not have the typical prom experience (see Part I,
Part II, and
Part III). And so something surreal and curious like "Whislting in the Dark" actually comes off as the a pretty solid choice to offer musical commentary on the gross mischeviousness of an evening of fear, trembling, and gnashing of teeth and other parts. Plus, to say that "I'm having a wonderful time - but I'd rather be whistling in the dark" is probably, in retrospect, the most applicable thing to be said for the whole thing.
I knew my ill-fated expiriment in buying an industrial (?) disc would finally bear fruit after more than fifteen years. It's true. Argyle Park almost gave me a mental breakdown when I realize both a) I had purchased this cd at some point and b) it's in my iTunes.
And here, under the category of Driving, is another song that couldn't make the cut, Joy Flying's "In the Midnight."
Hearing this song brings me flashbacks, so I suppose it's pretty fitting. Throwing Copper, you were a good friend for that summer. Thanks for the times. At least this wasn't the one about placentas.
Huh. Bummer. I wish this was "Woah! She rocks in my bed!" But it's not. Lumpy and bumpy.
I really don't know what to think of this one. The lyrics supposedly translate out to:
when the things of the heart
just can't understand
what the mind doesn't question
and doesn't have the strength to follow
how many dreams i already destroyed
and let slip out of my hands
and if the future this permits
i won't live in "vao"?
my love we aren't alone
there is a world waiting for us
from the infinite blue sky
there can be life on mars
so come here
give me your tongue
so come
i want to hold you
your power comes from the sun
my measure
so come
let's live life
so come
or else i'm going to lose who i am
i'm going to want to change
for a life on mars
I do know that any song combining "give me your tongue" and "your power comes from the sun" are pretty rad for a wedding song. I just don't know if they're rad for my wedding song.
Not only is this great because it actually mentions a little girl (unless I give birth to a son), but it basically foreshadows how trying a time she'll have living under the Curse. My feeling is: best to get that out of the way up front. No pussyfooting around, y'know? Mope when you're too young to really know how to mope. get it out of your system.
Hm, it seems that my final battle will be a romantic conquest. I'm not saying I mind, really. But it's kind of sad that that battle ultimately leads me to my inevitible death in the next scene...
I can honestly tell you that had any other song come up here, I probably wouldn't have been tempted to display my glorious life's soundtrack for you. I can't get over how perfectly incredible it is that this is the song that plays over my death scene. Yes! And yes.
At first I was kinda bummed that a slightly dorky song from my youth (besides "Agony") wormed its way into the soundtrack, but as ham-fisted as the lyrics are, the sentiment is both accurate and a little eerie (since it's describing how life can be wonderful while untold thousands mourn at my funeral). All in all, a nice juxtaposition - as it's generally at funerals that people become particularly introspective and concerned with their mortality.
I guess there really is no better time to say that you were wrong than after one has shuffled off this mortal coil(ed up snake ready to pounce! pounce? do snakes pounce? awesome!).
Special notes: 1) I did not cheat (as Argyle Park should attest. 2) I shuffled randomly between nearly 4000 songs loaded onto my iTunes at the office.
It being Easter week, I was looking back over an old post from a few years back when me and Brandon went with the whole office down to Irvine Meadows Verizon Amphitheater for "Easter in the Amphi Meadows." One of the featured singers (this guy named Santos), belted out an old, familiar tune,
"Were You There"
Hm, I should restate: An old, unfortunately familiar tune.
Seriously, I'm trying to think of a worse Easter song and I'm stuck. I'm certain there's worse out there (after all, people like the Black Eyed Peas so it stands to reason that such a dearth of taste would probably transfer over to the population of the redeemed), but nothing worse comes to mind.
"Were You There" is perfectly indicative of that contentless, sentimental pap that developed out of the 19th century church. The song says nothing as it rumbles and trudges along. Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Nope, you? Nah, me neither. Huh. I guess it stands to reason. Were you there when they nailed him to a tree? Can't say that I was, you? No, I didn't think so. Was that a weird question? Were you there when they laid him in the ground? I'm only 33. Sometimes it causes me to tremble. That you weren't there? Tremble. Like you're mad? Or you just got the morning shivers? Tremble. Huh, alright. If you say so.
Ugh. Another reason why I prefer Halloween to Easter. No dumb songs. Well, except for the How to Spell Halloween song. But at least that one's kind of jaunty.
Foiled by a number of things. Time. Distance. Sanity. You know, the usual suspects.
In any case, what I am missing is Jonathan Coulton's show tonight up in L.A. I had thought to myself that it would be rad to speed up to Hollywood tonight after I finish helping with the juniour high group and settle myself in for an evening of ponies, monkeys, and destitute sea horses.
But eventually, reality came a-calling and reminded me the show didn't start 'til 11:oo. Which means not getting home 'til after 1:oo - as Hollywood is a good hour-long drive. I also read how his San Francisco show was entirely sold out and really didn't have the desire to drive all the way up to some hole in Hollywood only to be turned back at the door.
*sigh* 'Twas not meant to be. Here's hoping that his next visit out to the West Coast will include an Orange County show.
For those unaware, Jonathan Coulton is a male songstress who is eminently worthwhile (as far as listening to his songs goes). He's funny, creative, and dare I say, snappy? I dare. Here, then, is a brief introduction to the works of the man who I will not hear singing live tonight.
Jonathan Coulton was born to a pack of roaming gypsies in the arid wastelands of Coulchester, Connecticut back in the '40s. As a young man in his mid-to-ambiguous-twenties, he developed a taste for application programming using VB .NET. Sensibly, he found such tastes to be soul-sucking and through pale, hollowed eyes, he glimpsed a dream. A dream that included occasionally playing soul-crushing (in an inspiring way) music at venues that prohibit my attendance via difficulties with time and space. It should also be noted that as yet, he has no entry on the Encyclopedia Mythic. Further, he would like to stick it to the RIAA and does so by "successfully" employing a Creative Commons license on his product.
Essential Coulton Links:
• His Website
• The Mike Spiff Videos - Mike Spiff's WoW machinima are fun productions that bring life to Coulton's songs. Uhm, not that his songs don't already have life... nevermind (p.s. his First of May video is definitely NSFWOPHOAEMYLRGLSSFIABUWHAMYL*
• Re Your Brains (was hugely popular a while back)
• Skullcrusher Mountain
• Code Monkey Jammy Dance - "Code Monkey" is anthemic. Jammy dances are rad. In theory.
• Code Monkey vs. The Uke
*Not Safe For Work Or Probably Home Or Anywhere Except Maybe Your Lame Roommate's Girlfriends Laptop So She'll Find It And Break Up With Him And Make You Laugh
That little drumming hooligan. Why is it that one of the worst Christmas songs ever penned plays several times an hour in any tune-playing restaurant you go to? How did such a stilted, painfully composed march ever become so joyously greeted that it found a home on EVERY Christmas album ever produced (thereby ensuring that every Christmas album has at least one wholly unlistenable track on it)? How do things like this happen? Yet another argument, I suppose, against postmillennialism.
"What's that Mr. North? You have an argument to forward on the behalf of your eschatalogy? No, please. no need to get up. No need to actually present your argument. For you see, it will do you no good. Allow me to introduce you to the bane of your ideology: Mr. Little Drummer Boy. Oh, look what you did Mr. Little Drummer Boy. You just made Mr. North weep."
Jonathan Coulton was born to a pack of roaming gypsies in the arid wastelands of Coulchester, Connecticut back in the '40s. As a young man in his mid-to-ambiguous-twenties, he developed a taste for application programming using VB .NET. Sensibly, he found such tastes to be soul-sucking and through pale, hollowed eyes, he glimpsed a dream. A dream that included occasionally playing soul-crushing (in an inspiring way) music at venues that prohibit my attendance via difficulties with time and space. It should also be noted that as yet, he has no entry on the 
"
