Category: Music

@scottlynch78 @jenphalian Let us all ooze germs on the internet.

— Elizabeth Bear (@matociquala) April 8, 2015

Introductory note from Jen, who isn’t sure why she’s cleaning up this post and embedding tweets for skzb when he’s doing something like this to us: I DID NOT make him do this. I went OUT OF MY WAY to keep him from seeing this song idea. I want to blame Elizabeth Bear for saying it in the first place and Kelly Hills for making him see it, but let’s be honest with ourselves: THIS IS TOTALLY STEVE’S VERY OWN FAULT.

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Introduction: (Stately)

If it’s gamergating assholes who really piss you off,
Or self rightous SJWs who make you choke and cough,
Or the half-wits being witty ’cause they feel the need to type,
Or the bot accounts spamming you to buy into their hype,
Social media is made to make annoyance and frustration,
Our only choice is bring it all to final termination.

 

(Bouncy)

Let’s all ooze germs on the internet!
Bring virtual viruses to life,
So whatever tweet you make,
Will bring out each pain and ache,
And a throat that feels it’s cut with a knife.
And a throat that feels it’s cut with a knife.

Let’s all ooze germs on the internet!
So all would rather die than post.
So the cutsie kitty pics,
And snark about our favorite flicks,
At last will all give up the ghost,
At last will all give up the ghost.

Let’s all ooze germs on the internet!
Let them read our posts in hell.
So whether him or me or you,
We all will gag and spew,
Make it toxic literally as well.
Make it toxic literally as well.

In 1994, Cats Laughing, with Frank Runyon on rhythm guitar, played a show in the basement of the Irish Well.  Boiled In Lead drummer Robin “Adnan” Anders–my drum teacher–sat in with us for most of the show.  It was just about as much fun as I’ve ever had.

This MP4 clip has fairly bad sound, and worse video–not much could be done in ’94 without money.  But Corwin did as good a job at rendering it as could be done.  The song is called “The Eagle and the Hummingbird” and was written by Lojo to lyrics by Jane Yolen.

Fucking Meow

 

I love playing songs. I pick up the guitar or banjo and sing something, and when everyone is enjoying it, it just sort of lights me up. I love being the center of attention, and the feeling that those who are giving me their attention are finding it worthwhile.

But music. Music is different. I first discovered that with a band called the Albany Free Traders–the pleasure of sublimating myself into a music machine, where the pleasure coming back from the audience was multiplied by each one of us in the band, and sent back out again. AFT gave me a taste for it. And then came Cats Laughing.

Emma Bull, Bill Colsher, Lojo Russo, Adam Stemple, and me. We played a sort of Grateful-Dead-influenced improvisational rock with folk elements, and with a lot of blues because Lojo and Adam. All of my efforts to describe what it was like–magical, amazing, all that stuff–sound weak and stupid. But the thing is, people seemed to like us. We had a kind of following. We made a couple of tapes/CDs that were fairly well received, and, well, like that. I can still recall being lost in the playing–the sensation I called “an ear and a grin,” because it felt like that was all I was.

I miss that band painfully. I have since we stopped playing together.

Thanks to my son Corwin, my amazing daughter-in-law Dee, and David Dyer-Bennet, there’s a good chance of us getting together at this years’ Minicon, Easter Weekend, and doing an acoustic show from which we hope to produce a CD, and maybe even some sort of video thing. We’ve launched a Kickstarter, and, as I write these lines, we made our tier 1 goal, and are on the way to the next.

If you’re interested in being a part of it, here’s the link.

Lyrics by Steven Brust, Music by Nate Bucklin

Demons and imps are all around
Screaming and chipping are the only sounds
I work so hard it gives me fits
Just to fool those stupid biologists.

Chorus:

It’s calcium and marrow and mix ’em fine
I’m on the job from nine to nine.
Oh lord, won’t somebody set me free
From the Devil’s fossil factory.

Add a little carbon and start the decay
Inject some mitochondrial DNA.
Gotta carve them bones so they look right
Then plant ’em in the strata in the dark of night.

Chorus

Work all week for nineteen cents
Building evolutionary evidence.
You got no chance to organize
When the chairman of the board is the prince of lies

Chorus