I wrote a new Funkapella song yesterday. Temporary name: "No Piano". The chorus was nudging me for several weeks now, and I even scribbled some of it upon a piece of paper, but nothing happened after that until the day before yesterday, when I found the correct form of said chorus and prompty recorded it on Joliet, my internet/editing/story-writing computer, using a cheap microphone and Nothing Else. Since this computer is never turned off, it's quite useful in case I've some musical idea which I want to record quickly, before I forget it (my memory is usually rather good, especially regarding music, but with this one deadly exception: when I compose something myself, I tend to forget it very quickly. Many times I had to sing and re-sing a song which popped in my mind when I was driving, sometimes for hours, till I got home and could record the bloody thing. Here's another reason to hate traffic jams).
I was rather satisfied with the result (I usually am), and so yesterday I sat down to write and record the verses. Verses, I'll have you know, are almost always more difficult to write than a chorus. At least for me. Being the rough and manly person that I am, I stood to the task. I then had a complete, if horribly-recorded, version of the song.
I then turned on Mir, the mightly studio computer, plus a considerable amount of electronics, and quickly recorded everything again, this time in a reasonable quality and without being off-key, and with two more accompanying voices and a different version of the chorus and several other things which pop to one's mind when he's recording and can actually hear what he's doing, for a change.
And then Keren arrived.
I let her (some would say made her) listen to it. She liked it, but had some constructive criticism:
"It is mostly in straight lines, and not rounded enough," she said.
"Ah," said I. "Is that so?"
"Is this the part in which I ask for a hint?"
"Also," she said, "the first verse sounds like hip-hop, and the second one like reggae."
"How can this be? They have the exact same melody and accompaniment!"
"No, look. The first verse makes me do this," she shaked her butt at me, "while the second one makes me do this -" more of the same.
"Baby, not now. I still want to work in the studio a bit. Maybe later?"
"I meant the dancing!"
"Well, it looked the same to me."
The amazing fact is that, after listening carefully to both verses, I did find a slight difference between them.
It is rather frightening.
12 תגובות בנושא “Butt Shaker”
You sound like Heinlein.
I was reminded specifically of the bit in "Time Enough for Love" (ugh) where what's his face and Dora are in the wilderness and afraid of wolves and she says if they come near she'll charm her way out by wiggling her hips at them. Because women are so cute, you know, with their sweet, useless little brains!
I (shamefully?) admit that I don't remember that one. That book was slightly too longish to my taste. Not as horrible as "To Sail Beyond the Sunset", but still.
Though my conclusion is somewhat different, y'know – Keren DID hear something that I didn't.
Heinlein never thought less of women. if anything, he thought *more* of them. see many strong, inteligent women characters, e.g. here and here.
The fact that they were not afraid to use their sexuallity to get what they want does not mean they have feable brains.
Heinlein thought of women as very bright, talented and fuckable pets. They can do anything they want theoretically, but at some point they always choose to follow a man and do whatever he says; their owned-ness is built in.
And you always shoot yourself in the leg by mentioning that he "thinks more of women," because that, invariably, throughout history, means that the guy doesn't think of women as human beings. They're something else — perhaps prettier — definitely there to be looked at/acted upon/coveted/enjoyed by real human beings (men).
And that's why Heinlein's heroines are hyper-sexual: because men are the center of the world, and women are their objects of desire.
But since you seem unable to see all that, I have a nice bridge in New York to sell you.
Yeah yeah. I didn't say you suck like Heinlein. Just tread carefully, that's all. You don't want to come off as an asshole unintentionally. 😉
I WISH I DIDN'T REMEMBER TIME ENOUGH FOR LOVE.
I can't believe I got into this journal in the midst of THIS.
Of course Heinlein thought less of women, and I say this as a Heinlein fan. Women in his books were always superhuman (men too, so I can more-or-less forgive him for this one), incredible beauties and invariably chose to do their macho's bidding, for all sorts of stupid reasons.
I'll say the most incredible sentence of all: Dora is right.
Well, it so happens that yesterday arrived issue 16 of THJ which had two articles about this very subject (one titled "female characters in Heinlein's juveniles – a view by a feminist". Can't remmeber the other one's title now.)
I might translate them and send over to Nir or Rami, so we can have more fun argueing this.
In the mean time let me just say: you are not completely wrong 🙂
Oh, and welcome to LJ.
Oh, and welcome to LJ.
Thanks, dear. I'm still cursing myself for it.
I'm typing this as a ghost because I just had a heart attack and died. It's hard to type without fingers, people.
Success, at last. 😛