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By *heWolf OP Man
over a year ago
warwickshire |
Right, I can't take any more – I'm starting a band and need some members (oo-er!)to conquer Cap D'Agde next season.
Requirements:
Be vaguely interested in music, but preferably in a “I'm shit at everything else, I need money and this is easier than burglary” sort of way, not in a “I'm a musical genius and eat,sleep and breathe music, it is my lifeblood” sort of way. We're having none of that talent nonsense, matey.
Own equipment is essential. Drums that have never been tuned, guitar processors that sound like an angry wasp in a bean can, a bass guitar that is ever so slightly intoned wrong. Vocals will be a massive part of our identity, so use any old shite microphone you can find, so long as it is shiny silver and has one of them ball thingies on the end. Better still, as you will be standing approximately no more than 10' from your kit, you'd better have a radio mic. Once again, any old Chinese shite will do, don't worry about quality – it's all about the volume, baby! If it will interfere with taxi radios, so much the better, it stops the audience making a getaway.
We'll be going for the “Broadmoor House Band” look, so shaved heads please, and goatees, even for any ladies thinking of applying. Leather-wear is good, nothing wrong with looking like you've just come from the Blue Oyster. On no account will anyone be allowed to smile, not until we get the purse from the bar boss.
Now, the important bit.
Audition piece will be “Je Ne Regrette Rien”. Applicants will be required to sing the title perfectly, but that's all. Just open your mouth and let any old bollocks emanate forth during the verses, it can be in Swahili, Serbo-Croat, whatever. On absolutely no account must you attempt to learn the words properly, especially to such transient vapid pop nonsense, your time will be better spent building some shitty light boxes that flash at a million miles per hour, no matter what song we play.
Successful applicants will then be required to similarly butcher “La Marseillaise” - don't worry too much, the lyrics aren't important, right?
(You'll know the tune, it is on one of them Beatles records. We won't be learning any Beatles stuff though. They've only been around 50-odd years, tomorrow no-one will have heard of them, nonsensical pop pap. I know there are groups of Japanese Imperial troops holed up on Pacific islands, still fighting WW2, who know the words to “Let It Be”, but I'm fucked if we're trying it)
Nothing will be sacred, we will assault, macerate and flush all the audience's favourites without a hint of irony. It would be asking too much for us to learn all those English language tunes loved the world over, but we will obviously have to learn thoroughly all those French-language classics that have topped the charts globally. Like...erm...that Plastic Bertrand song.l
And Blondie. Something about “Dennis”, I think. Meh.
In other news, my Beachware Emporium will be opening shortly for business. I have spent several weeks harvesting umbrellas abandoned on the beach, a bit like a Womble (Note: We need to do some Wombles numbers, everyone loves the Wombles. And they have a French one! Great Uncle Bulgaria, I think) it's amazing what people will discard without a care. The towels are a bit grim, so I tend to leave them behind. I have no time for cheap tat, I only buy the best fluffy towels made by child slaves on the sub-continent. A great afternoon's fun can be had beach-combing, the sea's treasures are plentiful and varied.
One word of warning though – take care not to assume something is abandoned just because no-one is nearby. The real owner (and 30 of his mates, with but a universal language – that of shameless self-pollution, binding them together like a sticky band of brothers)may be lying millimetres from someone else's towel, gurning and wanking furiously whilst staring intently at any hint of labia that might be visible. When he snaps backk into reality and sees that he's not alone with a a talking pussy on a beach built just for him, he'll wander around getting more and more frustrated. Unable to articulate himself in every language on the beach, he'll resort to the old favourite – scratching his head and shrugging his shoulders. That's half a stage from Full Rhino, so for pity's sake, don't be around when he realises it's gone forever (and is now for sale by me, haha)
Whoa, I think I'm getting delirious, must have been the orange juice that went fizzy, or perhaps my milk which is now cottage cheese. Perhaps I've been bitten on the bell-end by a mosquito, and need the poison sucking out. Yep, that's it.
I need a lie-down.
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