Sunday, July 17, 2011

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.


  1. For almost five minutes there it was like having a flashback to Zebes if Super Metroid were directed by David Fincher.

    Pardon me I must go write some crossover fan-fiction now.