KILLING MUSIC WITH CAPTIONS PROJECT

Long time readers will remember back in the days of JournalSpace I gleefully attacked awful music in the SEROTONIN DEPRIVED series. Well since discovering Windows Movie Maker I have decided to re-imagine that idea on YouTube. Instead of writing scathing commentaries in this forum I will instead do it in 'real time' with the assistance of silly video captions. I do so hope you enjoy KILLING MUSIC WITH CAPTIONS.

STEALING CANDY FROM BABIES

As discussed in this forum before I have a love of all things TULL...which is what happens when people who use big words grow a beard and pick up a flute and a codpiece. Suddenly concept albums about horses seem like a good idea. Named after the inventor of the seed drill, TULL sounds both sexy and agrarian at the same time. Whilst young girls in my day lamented along with Janis Ian's 'At Seventeen' I aligned myself with young fellas despairing about slim-hipped Gold Coast lads slipping their tongues into nubile beach babes. But not for reasons you think. The TULL was a chance for disenfranchised youths to feel superior. Here was music for teens with artisitc pretensions. You couldn't dance to it, you couldn't pash off to it and it was too hard for your garage band to play. Their songs went for twenty minutes so they had to be intelligent! Bugger Bob Dylan. 'Thick as a Brick' bangs on for half an hour and it still makes no sense. It's hard finding people to admit they're TULL fans these days. Like buying shares in Telstra being a TULL fan is an embarrassing secret not many will admit to. But I have no such pretensions. CHECK OUT MY VIDEO.

PINK FROCKS AND DINNER LADY ARMS

It’s amazing what a pencil skirt can do for a girl. Must admit I enjoyed a degree of male attention at the Breakfast Creek Hotel on Melbourne Cup Day just last Tuesday but alas it was of the leery drunken kind. Impertinent remarks directed towards my rear and choice of hat abounded. As discussed on Twitter a punter at the bar likened me to Inspector Gadget. Well I guess I’ve been called worse. My mother always said to me ‘Nat it’s better to be overdressed than underdressed’ and with that in mind I donned by best ‘work-girl’ outfit bought at Cue several months ago that had until that day, gone unworn. I even scored a couple of free bourbons from an amorous bartender! This is where I’m supposed to insert some faux modesty but fuck that shit. It was fun to dress up and receive compliments. I was expecting to see all sorts of gorgeous girls with glossy hair and well-turned ankles but it was not to be...as my dodgy little video will reveal. It’s such a shame I didn’t get any footage of the nasty piece of work sitting behind me. She was broadcasting the sordid details of her sex life then proceeded to claim she’s had enough and was going to go ‘celebrant’. HA! Nearly snorted my sherbet. I’ve only just mastered the video camera and movie editing software so of course it’s decidedly amateurish. Anyways mucho fun was had, especially when a bunch of disgruntled dentists had to sit with the plebeians in the public bar because the hotel staff stuffed up the bookings.

READ MY LIPS BIAAATCH

The controversy that continues to surround lip-syncing fascinates me and I would like to write a piece in it's defence. Usually it would give me the greatest of pleasures to skewer musicians that are infinitely more successful than myself but that'd be hypocritical...because quite frankly, after working long hours I get so exhausted from typing that I'm unable to write live. That's when I resort to type-syncing. I pretend to type while a pre-written document is typed out for me. In fact I'm doing it right now. The words you are reading were actually typed in advance; I'm just miming along. If done correctly, the reader GORILLA LICKS A JELLY DONUT can't tell the difference. Because of chronic fatigue DANCING MY ASS OFF I've chosen to type-sync this article rather than write it normally ZOMBIE GOATS MIGHT EAT ME. The practice of lip-syncing during a live performance is usually frowned upon and considered a crutch used by lesser talents PARTRIDGE FAMILY EXPLODES but one must remember it is required from a production standpoint to ensure the quality of broadcast PAVAROTTI REFUSES TO FREEZE HIS BALLS FOR CRYOGENICS. Sometimes it is necessary to use lip-syncing when the singer is just too fugly to be foistered on the public BEIJING OLYMPICS NOT IMMUNE and other times it's needed when a band is completely talentless and relies heavily on their producers to play and write their own music PETER CRISS PLAYS PIANO WITH NO HANDS! I can't see anything wrong with that. Nobody wants ugly talented people dominating the music scene. That would just confuse all the ugly talented people out there and then there'd be chronic shortages in the field of custodial arts. Have you ever seen a beautiful girl singing into a mop? I didn't think so. And while we're at it, have you ever seen a pretty girl poop on stage? DEFIANT MILLI VANILLI ONLY ADMITS TO CHAFFING Well of course you haven't. So be thankful that Ashlee Simpson did the bolt during her SNL performance back in 2004. Her drummer fucked up and hit the wrong button (as drummers are wont to do) and her song 'Pieces of Me' was played twice. BICEP FEMUR LYMPH GLAND LIVER Suddenly Ashlee was struck by gastro pains and realizing that PATELLA TRAPEZIUS SPLEEN CLAVICLE BOWEL 'pieces of her' would soon become a reality, did a quick jig and ran for the nearest ablutions block whilst her song continued playing. That doesn't mean she's a fraud: just considerate of her adoring public and anatomical waste. Now don't forget that American Bandstand performances were entirely faked and nobody gave a rats about that: except maybe the ugly and talented artists ED SULLIVAN GOES DOWN ON THE DOORS So I ask you: can you imagine a world without lip-syncing? BARITONE DRAG QUEEN VOLUNTEERS FOR TELEVISED CASTRATION If it weren't for lip-syncing then punk bands like Green Day wouldn't get the chance to mock the practice on Top of the Pops in order to orchestrate a reputation for irony and disestablishmentarianism. IGGY POP AND BILLY JOE IMPREGNATE JUNKY BABOON. So as you can see, lip syncing, like oxygen GORILLA LICKING DONUTS are essential to our way of life.

MARKET MISDEMEANOURS

Went to the markets last weekend (which shows you how completely bored shitless I was) and came home empty-handed. Amongst the half used tins of paints, cheap sunglasses and racks of XXXL faded T-shirts the only useful items to be found were a cup of coffee and loaf of bread. As you would all well know; Aussies don't go to these places because they actually need anything. If we really needed this kind of stuff we'd be in the aisle of Woolies that carries lace doilies and shells stuck on rocks. No, it's because an outdoor craft and second-hand goods market fufills Aussies' three great loves -food, sunshine and shopping. For those of you unaccustomed to such places I've taken it upon myself to become your personal consumer watchdog.

Amateur Art: The prospect of buying an original piece is an exciting one. But how to choose? 'Will it match the decor in the lounge?' is one option, however the odds of finding a painting with a bourbon stain down the front and some stale corn chips and spare change down the back are fairly remote. You could try the old 'do the eyes follow me around the room?' method but this will not be very satisfying if it's a bowl of fruit. Being stalked by a feral cumquat is no-one's idea of a great work of art. It's best to stick with the old tried-and-true 'this stirs something in the depths of my soul which cannot be named' Which is why one often walks away empty-handed and feeling dizzy.

Caricatures and Portraits: It's important to remember that your portrait will never look anything like you. The expression will be slightly pained, eyes will be shifty and anxious. This is because while you are sitting for it the fifty-odd onlookers that have gathered will be whispering 'he'll never get that wonky nose right' and 'I wonder if he'll draw in those furrows between the eyebrows?' I guess one consolation is you now have a matching set with your drivers license.

Granny Goods: This includes gum leaf jewellery, padded lace tissue boxes, chipped tea cups and saucers, Xmas t-shirts with bells and ribbons sewn on, lavender sachets, padded coathangers and embroidered face washers. Nobody under sixty wants this shit. Nobody over sixty wants it either which is why they're trying to sell it. Don't torture your elderley loved ones with this crap. Most grannies prefer gifts of cash, spirits or white goods. I know mine would.

Fortune Tellers: It's best to be wary of the predictions made by cross-eyed weirdos called Natasha with a cheap sarong thrown over a trestle table. Just consider the practical difficulties of making contact with Grey Wolf, an American Indian spritual guide who rides a piebald mare, when there isn't a car parking space in a five kilometre radius. Besides, like carnival folk, they smell like cabbage.

Knick-Knacks: This includes spice racks and keyring holders. If you look hard enough I'm sure you'll find these things in your shed still sitting there since the day they were bought. Sometime back in 1992 along with the 'Hello Kitty' mobile phone cover and ceramic frog.

THE MUSICAL BANSHEE

If there is one thing of which I am certain, a set of tubular bells does not belong within cooey of any studio where a song is being produced unless it’s the theme to a movie about demonic possession. They’re the banshee of musical instruments. No percussion device portends death more than a set of tubular bells; or so I thought until today. Evil has a new face my friends. Available for purchase here are lullaby renditions of Metallica, Nirvana, The Cure, Nine Inch Nails and the like. Seriously. Some of the most depressing rock songs ever have been arranged for music box chimes to put children to sleep. Now chemistry students will tell you that acid and alkali neutralise each other. Well I’ve got news for them. These arrangements are so diabolically depressing that I can guarantee anyone that plays them to their newborns will be seeking compensation from the damage inflicted in about 20 years time. My sad parental predictions are:

Metallica: As a baby the infant Timmy develops a cry so strained you’d think he was dead-lifting a Clydesdale. By two years of age Timmy has painted his very first portrait, a triumph, disturbingly similar to Edvard Munch’s The Scream, but rendered in poo.

The Cure: As a angst-ridden teenager, Timmy decides it’s a really good idea to dress like Nosferatu and sneak into local farms to suck the blood out of cattle. Shortly after he progress onto sleeping in coffins surrounded by empty absinthe bottles and the drained corpses of pale young virgins. Poor Timmy ends up in prison after bludgeoning his girlfriend to death with a bloody big Anne Rice novel.

Nine Inch Nails: After ten years in the slammer, the hardened Timmy embarks on a music producing career and decides that Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson singing a duet of ‘Danny Boy’ whilst jamming syringes into each other’s eyes is gonna be the next big thing. Bless.

Nirvana: Lithium is the drug de jour and Catatonia the 35th state.