Category Archives: clubbing

Let’s Get Lyrical #22 – Jon Jon Bon Bon

Now, I love Bon Jovi just as much as the next over-inebriated person at a grotty rock club in the Cowgate of an evening.  But you have to wonder how/why/whether they take themselves seriously.  I mean, Wanted Dead or Alive is a bit wanky, isn’t it?

It’s all the same, only the names will change

Ever heard of context, Jon?  I mean, whilst I appreciate it’s seen as good writing technique to jump straight into the story to pique the reader’s interest, in this scenario a little bit of context wouldn’t hurt.

Everyday it seems we’re wasting away

Sure, yeah, why not.  The entire world has chronic wasting disease.  Right on!  You tell it like it is!

Another place where the faces are so cold
I’d drive all night just to get back home

Touring Alaska’s stadium circuit can take a heavy toll, I’ve heard.
[Chorus:]
I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride

Good metaphor there, Jon.  Did you think of that all by your onesie?

I’m wanted dead or alive

Mostly dead though, am I right?

Wanted dead or alive

Oh for goodness sake, no you aren’t.  Pretending to be a cowboy isn’t cool, either.  You might think you’re Clint Eastwood, but you are definitely Kevin Costner in that interminable version of Wyatt Earp.  The one that makes most people want to chew off their own face rather than watch.

Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it’s not for days

Well maybe you need to get yourself into a better routine.  Stop roaming around the countryside at random hoping a mean lookin’ cowboy will engage you in a stand off and I dunno, take up running.  Eat some vegetables.

And the people I meet always go their separate ways

Wow.  That’s profound.  Or, alternatively, that’s LIFE.

Sometimes you tell the day
By the bottle that you drink

Oh yeah, who doesn’t.  Tuesday is Malibu day, Wednesday it’s maybe a bottle of port, Thursday detox with some cherryade…

And times when you’re alone all you do is think

Yeah right.  Think about whether you have time to make another toastie before the next episode of Diagnosis Murder comes on TV.

[Chorus]

I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back

Ugh.  Shut up.

I play for keeps, ’cause I might not make it back

Might not make it back from WHAT?  A dangerous day of busking?  The most dangerous occupation in the West, apparently.

I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall

Dirty stop out.

I’ve seen a million faces and I’ve rocked them all

Excuse me while I blow my own trumpet, won’t you.

I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride
I’m wanted dead or alive

Saying it in a slightly modulated key doesn’t make it any more true.

I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side

Sure, yes, because of course everybody knows that cowboys are NOCTURNAL.  Glad to see I’m not the only one who carries out the bulk of my research on wikipedia…

I’m wanted dead or alive
And I ride, dead or alive

That’s ridiculous.  If you’re dead, you can’t ride a motorbike.  Even the cast of Dirty Sanchez wouldn’t try that.  Probably.

I still drive, dead or alive
Dead or alive [x4]

Alright, alright, have it your way.  You’re a super cool, nocturnal cowboy who was apparently killed in a freak busking accident.  Probably decapitated with your own six string.  Now please, go away, and don’t come back til you’ve come up with another You Give Love A Bad Name.

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Filed under antics, clubbing, cowgate, Edinburgh, letsgetlyrical, music, noise

Let’s Get Lyrical #12 – Snap

90s dance music (the sort of thing you get on those rickety rides at travelling shows) is the only dance music worth listening to.  I dare you to put on Rhythm Is A Dancer without spinning round the room like a toddler with a packet of party rings.  Lyrically, though… well.  It’s not really that kind of track.

Rhythm is a dancer,

As in “ooh, ya dancer!”

It’s a soul’s companion

When everyone else goes to the pub without you, or has no money and wants to stay in, or dies or whatever, rhythm does not let you down.  That’s SCIENCE.

You can feel it everywhere

EVERYWHERE. Like in that song The Rhythm of Life.

Lift your hands and voices
Free your mind and join us
You can feel it in the air

This is presumably why it’s used in the shows…  It’s totally lyrically in-keeping with all the “scream if you wanna go faster” stuff.

Oo-oh, it’s a passion

True.  Nobody is in the music industry for money, after all. (Har. Bit of satire for you there.)

Oo-oh, you can feel it in the air!
Oo-oh, it’s a passion, Oo-oh, oo-oo-ooh…

Rhythm is a dancer,

Like Natalie Portman in Black Swan!

It’s a soul’s companion

That and chocolate…

You can feel it everywhere

Except Dundee. Trufax.

Lift your hands and voices
Free your mind and join us
You can feel it in the air

It hangs there like freezing fog or some other irritating weather feature.

Oo-oh, it’s a passion!
Oo-oh, you can feel it in the air
Oo-oh, it’s a passion, Ooh, oo-oo-ooh

Is it just me or have we been here before?

RHYTHM! You can feel it! You will feel it!
Rhythm is a dancer
Rhythm, Rhythm is a dancer

It’s OK, Snap, calm down! We all agree that rhythm is pretty important. You are preaching to the converted.  In quite an aggressive manner.

Rhythm is a dancer, it’s a soul’s companion, you can feel it everywhere…

This repeats until the end of time.  Yeah.  As discussed, lyrics aren’t really the point of this song.  But we had fun though, right?  Right.

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Let’s Get Lyrical #0

No lyrics today, as I am very busy with my 12 Books in 12 Months project.

This article for The Edinburgh Reporter explains more.

However, I thought I would share this video instead, as it shows you the lyricism of movement.  Normal service will be resumed tomorrow!

 

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Let’s Get Lyrical #9 – Gwen Stefani

Twas during the noughties that lovely Gwen Stefani went solo, and whilst many annoyingly catchy tunes resulted, some of the lyrics were a little dubious.  Take the title track of 2006 LP The Sweet Escape.

If I could escape I would but
First of all, let me say
I must apologize for acting stank & treating you this way

OK, that’s fair enough, she’s taking responsibility for her mistakes which is pretty cool of her.  Acting stank, in case you don’t already know, refers to the phrase ‘stank bitch’ which means a female who bitches a lot – possibly a slaggy one with a smelly woo woo.  I say.

Cause I’ve been acting like sour milk all on the floor

As similes go, it’s certainly an original one… not sure if I’d ever use it myself, but top marks for effort.

It’s your fault you didn’t shut the refrigerator –
Maybe that’s the reason I’ve been acting so cold?

How cold is your fridge, Gwen?  Is it actually cold enough to affect your actual relationship with your actual partner?  THAT’S TOO COLD, Gwen.  Your cheese must be like ICE.  Not ideal for when you get in from work and want to make a toastie, is it.

If I could escape, and recreate a place that’s my own world

You’d be Penny Crayon, which would be AWESOME.

And I could be your favourite girl,

Yeah sure, if you draw me a unicorn that turns real, and a pile of cupcakes, and some sort of employment contract with a broadsheet newspaper, you can totally be my favourite girl.  I’m materialistic in that way.

Perfectly together, tell me boy now wouldn’t that be sweet?

Damn.  Not talking to me, then.  She’s probably on about Gavin Rossdale or something.  Just because he’s her husband.  Lame.

If I could be sweet, I know I’ve been a real bad girl (I’ll try to change)
I didn’t mean for you to get hurt (whatsoever)
We can make it better, tell me boy wouldn’t that be sweet? (sweet escape)

Whatevs Stefani, I’ve still not forgiven you for leading me on so callously.  You probably do not have the capacity to change, on account of the fickle nature of your sex.  Ask Andy Gray, he knows all about it.

You held me down, I’m at my lowest boiling point

What is the lowest boiling point of Gwen Stefani?  To find this out I googled ‘boiling point of human beings’ (of which she is one), because I like to conduct the most stringent of research when writing blog posts.  Interestingly one of the first things to come up was the WikiAnswers entry ‘what is the boiling point of the human soul?’  Apparently, if you’re asking in a spiritual sense, “it varies greatly from person to person, because each person has a different threshold for anger, love, understanding and forgiveness.”  So now we know.

Come help me out, I need to get me out of this joint
Come on let’s bounce, counting on you to turn me around

In theory, as a strong independent woman with a scary entourage of Japanese minions, she ought to be able to sort out her own bouncing arrangements.  But apparently the viscosity of her contrition is so great that she needs a bit of help.

Instead of clowning around, let’s look for some common ground

Perhaps a right of way or local park?

So baby, times get a little crazy

Yep, there’s a lot of cider down that park.

I’ve been gettin’ a little lazy, waitin’ on you to come save me

Aw, I like it when an artist can take a little bit of constructive criticism.

I can see that you’re angry by the way that you treat me
Hopefully you don’t leave me, wanna take you with me

I’m sure the combination of this apology and your sweet magic drawings will do the trick.  Rossdale would be mad to give that up.

Then it’s the chorus again, followed by the squeaky bit that goes

WOOHOO!  YEEHOO!

a load of times.  That’s a fun bit to sing along with, isn’t it?  Yeah.  Then there’s the milk bit again, followed by more woohoos and yeehoos to fade.  An excellent conclusion, to what was already a pretty persuasive argument.  If you know a better apology song, I’d be moderately interested to hear it.

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Let’s Get Lyrical #5 – Sisqó

For those people who are in Edinburgh (would that this included me) the Let’s Get Lyrical team and the Scottish Poetry Library are organising a flashmob tomorrow (Tuesday 25th) – if you’re around, head along to St Giles cathedral for 1pm to join in a rousing rendition of A Man’s A Man in honour of Burns Night.

Meanwhile here on the internet, this week I’ll mostly be sharing my thoughts on a few choice lyrics that appeared during the last decade – or the noughties, as some people apparently called it.  Nobody knows who they were, though.  To kick us off, 2000 was the year we were properly introduced to the lyrical genius of Sisqo.  ‘Ah yes,’ I hear you smile, ‘who could forget the multi faceted poetical odyssey that was Thong Song?’  Apparently it has featured in Glee, so even the youth of today will be able to relate.

This thing right here

(I believe he is referring to the song he is about to sing)

Is lettin’ all the ladies know
What guys talk about
You know
The finer things in life
Hahaha – check it out

Finer things, you say?  You mean like cigars and brandy?  Perhaps a game of chess in a leather-bound library with an open fire?

Ooh dat dress so scandalous
And ya know another nigga couldn’t handle it
See ya shakin that thang like who’s da ish
With a look in ya eye so devilish

Oh.  Maybe he wasn’t thinking of cigars and brandy after all.

Ya like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And ya cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban she likes the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca

She sounds fun.

She had dumps like a truck truck truck

Is this a reference to the lady’s habits regarding the WC?  That seems in poor taste, to me.
Thighs like what what what

Well, what?  They’re worthier of note, than the average thigh – why?  What are they like?  Geese?
Baby move your butt butt butt

Rude.  A simple ‘excuse me’ would have sufficed.

Uh
I think to sing it again –
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
All night long
Let me see that thong.

You have to hand it to the man, it takes a special level of concentration / empty headedness to be able to spend an entire night looking at one thong.  Obviously I do not condone this type of behaviour as it objectifies the woman, her ‘dumps’, and even her undercrackers.  But at the same time, he’s very focussed.

I like it when the beat goes da na da na

Aw.  Bless.  It is nice when the beat goes da na da na.
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th-thong thong thong

Hm.  Really though?  This is beginning to sound like a date rape defense from a True Movie.  “But judge, she totally wanted to show her da na da na!  I could tell on account of the fact I stared at her arse for an entire evening and when she stood in a certain way I was able to detect the outline of her thong.  A THONG, your honour, the underwear of the consensual partner.”

He then repeats all of the above in a slightly different order, almost as though trying to convince himself that his actions are OK.  The lady doth protest too much, Mr Qó?

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Adulthood

I wrote a thing about the dangers of going clubbing as someone over 17.  It appears  heavily edited here in Brikolage, alongside some other lovely words and pictures on the subject of adulthood.  Alternatively you can read my original version below.  Or do both.  I won’t judge.

Twenty-somethings!  Want to check how adult you are?  Why not try a trip to Antics?

For those of you not in the know, Antics is a club night held at The Hive in Edinburgh every Tuesday.  They play only ‘alternative anthems’, which translates as the Kerrang! TV playlist circa ten years back, with the odd rock classic or arbitrary Pendulum track chucked in.

Antics is frequented by a heady cocktail of kids who look like extras from a Harry Potter movie, and dodgy looking guys who are nearing middle age faster than they’d care to admit (I look after Mother and work in the local supermarket; it’s a big responsibility for a thirty-four year old!). Then there’s the middle tier of 22-25 year olds, and this is where the confusion starts to creep in.

At 25, you remember these ‘anthems’ from the first time round.  You were only doing standard grades, that was barely any time ago!  However, at 22, you probably just missed the nu-metal phase, and it’s possible that along with Cho Chang and the rest of these kids you genuinely think that ‘I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor’ is retro.

It isn’t.

Anyway, you’ve got to the Cowgate, you’ve shown ID and pointedly ignored the withering glances of the bouncers on entry.  Once there, make a beeline for the front of the dance floor, preferably wearing glo-sticks your much more inebriated mate produced on leaving the flat.  Then, wait to see if they instantly increase the volume of dry ice to mask your embarrassingly elderly face, before retreating to the bar to take advantage of the liver destroying drinks deals.

Stand around awkwardly for a while, watching the 17-year-old in the ‘Pop Punk Is Not Dead’ shirt strawpedo a pitcher of tennents whilst thinking ‘Oh, but it is mate. It is.’

Read Gropey McFeelyouup the riot act because you’re sober enough to work out which of the creepy old men it was who grabbed you from behind.  If you are not yet an adult, you’re more like to elbow the nearest person instead, who will probably be one of your friends, or failing that a total hottie.  Like, how embarrassing.

If you think that the best song of the night is ‘Everybody Needs Somebody To Love’ from The Blues Brothers, you might just be a proper grown up.  But now Blink 182 are on, and as the only adult present it’s up to you to teach these naive kids how to pogo.  Good luck.

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