Over the years, I have often chanced upon conversations as I brought in cups of coffee to the boss and those with whom he had meetings. These conversations were usually legal advice about whether to plead guilty because the cops had a shitload of evidence and by pleading guilty you will get a less harsh penalty, or conversations about tactical legal manoeuvres. Not bad convos. I didn't butt in. The only time I ever gave my unsolicited advice was when we had a sexual assault trial pending, and I privately suggested to the boss that when the jury empanelling was underway, as many female potential female jurors should be challenged as practicable, because there was no way a normal female could look at our client and not shudder. The boss agreed.
So, where's this going, you're undoubtedly thinking. Let me just say if I was the assistant to a music producer, and was bringing in the coffee and heard them saying, 'Hey, here's an idea! For our next offering, let's get a really great classic song that nobody under twenty-five has probably heard of, and totally fuck it over like we're the toothless hillbillies in 'Deliverance'. Why, with a bit of digital upping of the tempo and maybe masking the vocals to make it sound tuneful, everyone will think it's brilliant, and we'll have a hit on our hands! I smell a cruise around the Bahamas with the moolah we'll make!', and saw much high-fiving and agreeing ensuring, do you know what I'd do? I'd slam the coffee tray on the boardroom table, paying no heed to the spilling coffee and clattering cups and saucers. I'd then grab the imbecile by the lapels, haul him/her to his/her feet, shake him/her until his/her veneered teeth (they can afford veneers from having fucked up other good songs) rattled, and his/her jewellery and bling had fallen off, and then shout, 'WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU INCONSIDERATE AND STUPID MORON? HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING FROM UB40'S CATALOGUE?'
Now, if you're reading this, your probably on the edge of your chair and wondering what's brought this bilious rant on. Today, I went to the gym. I work out at my local PCYC, which is about a block from my home. There is usually music being piped; our local FM radio station. I like music. I believe my taste in music is passable (but do like some naff 'uns). I sat at a machine, working my pectoral muscles and heard, well, something. But it had a familiarity to it. I was puzzled at the familiarity, because it's not my habit to listen to total shit if I can help it. I heard lyrics like 'colours to my dreams'. I know those words from somewhere, I thought to myself. And then I heard the line about the 'answer that makes my questions disappear'. I then realised someone had had the unholy temerity to do a re-imagining of 'Sugarman' by Rodriguez. Have you ever envisaged or heard of such audacious and unmitigated gall? Now, 'Sugarman' is a bloody brilliant song. I suspect it's about a guy waiting for his next hit of drug of choice, and Rodriguez delivers it with an evocative poignancy and ennui that not only reaches me, but takes over every fibre of my being. I can smell bong juice when I hear it, but maybe because I had a flatmate who was a chronic stoner and would suck on a bong fashioned from a shampoo bottle, and play Rodriguez. What I heard at the gym today totally felched a diarrhoetic camel. My research tells me it's from someone known as Yolanda B Cool (how about Yolanda Leave This Fucking Song Alone?).
With the upbeat sing-song tempo, and I suspect use of auto tune, there was absolutely no soul in the delivery, and the so-called song totally missed the point. You know what? It made UB40's loathsome interpretations listenable. That's how bad it was for me. The only way it could have been worse was for Yoko Ono to be have been performing it.
Once the shock wore away, I got up from the machine that works the pecs, and removed my towel from where I'd been sitting, and rubbed it around my neck and shoulders to mop up any blood that might have seeped from my poor, tortured ears.
I'm not a big one for petitions on Change.org, but I would be willing to endorse one beseeching these music industry types (I'm not going to call them 'creative types'; I write fiction, but that's stretching it beyond the laws of physics) to just not take marvellous classic songs and give them the 'squeal like a pig, boy' treatment.
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