Making Music with Michael McCormack Part Two

So, me and and Charles Manson went to a pawn shop to see what rediculous prices they were asking for their third rate stereo/tv/musical equipment, which is always a hoot and a holler. What Manson and I weren't expecting was them to go in the completely wrong direction with their moronic pricing.

What we found was a Danelectro longhorn bass, which brand new should go for $350 to $400 because they're kind of a rarity in this state. A used one in working condition (as it is, a little dirty, but nothing functionally wrong) shouldn't really be sold for any less then $250 or $200.

I'm getting mine for $145.

My new bass. Mwa ha ha!

So, in between drinking, eating and finding bargains on musical gear, me and Charlie Manson were recording (or at least making a decent attempt at recording) a real, honest to goshness instrument version of the song I wrote and showcased here. The results weren't too shabby for two numbskulls with only a rudimentary grasp on the nuances of musical production. You'll hear it soon enough. But first, here comes another Guitar Pro demo.

Now, the impetus behind this song was Charles urging me to make what he called "Sparkle Music", needless to say I slapped him across the face and called him a homosexual.

 Pictured: Homosexual

So, what Charlie described as sparkle music sounded like "high reverb, treble heavy and atmospheric" to me, so that's what I went for. I don't know if it qualifies as "sparkly" enough, but at least I tried.

Now, just so you know, if you're going to sing lyrics badly to my music, do it in the right spots. The first and second verses are sung over the bass lines when there's no guitar after the first guitar part, the one you could call a chorus. If you were so inclined.

The last two are in the heavy parts. 

She puts on her lipstick and her white coat

puts her notebook in her tweed tote

her life is full of the analytical

in her thirties she's grown cynical

but on the borders, behind the the dark hall past

the bathroom door, drawn on the foggy glass

the shape of a heart, and a smiley face

break down the flow of that late night pace

all she ever wanted, was a man to stay

not to be afraid, not to go away

she's been oh so lonely, especially at work

her job is boring, not much in the way of perks

she sees a man for once, his lips look just like the sky

his eyes are cold, they ask her why

why they had to meet like this, couldn't they have known

each other when he felt, when he had clothes

all she ever wanted was a man to stay still

not to ever talk, to obey her will

to be ready for her, to fill her well

a love so cheap, it couldn't sell

And he's ready for her, as hard as rock

his hips are cold, so is his cock

her panties, pull down her thighs

when he's in her she lets out a sigh

"Oh I love you" she says as she grabs his jaw

pushing open closed, his stubborn maw

its cold and distant, but she comes just the same

she just climbs off, no number, no name

lights a cigarette and begins to cry

looking those pale eyes she asks "why?"

"why did we have to be like this? couldn't we have met?"

but she really knows, death is the only thing that makes her wet.

Or, you know, you can wait until I sing them. Whatever, it's cool either way.

On a very much related note, we've got a new writer, a prophet of the biochemical persuasion, I want you all the welcome him with your hands, mouths and moistened private parts.  

Especially you, fellas. He likes to be K.O'd and K.Y'd.

Love Big Mike.