FUCK does the New Shit beat the Old Shit!
So I was listening to some of our new shit the other day--even before it had undergone the analog conversion process. Yep, that's right--did the old fucking Beach Boys ever even THINK about recording at a bit rate depth of more than .0000000000000000001/khz? No fucking way. Not a fucking chance in hell. Totally "caveman" back in those days. Which is one reason that old stuff sounds like shit.
Anyway, I'm listening to this primo new track, still pristine in its digital domain, with me singing and Stamos doing this killer bongo overdub, and I'm wetting myself. Weeping. Shitting myself. I'm fucking leaking out of every fucking organ's orifice I've still got--it's THAT good.
And I says to myself, Mikey old boy, let's have a little contest, shall we? Let's put this New Shit back-to-back, mano y mano, face-to-face with some of the old shit. Let's "A/B" this shit right the fuck now and be done with it. Hmmm, let's see, what does EVERYBODY fucking LOVE SOOOO MUCH? Oooooh, I don't know--howzabout a little "God Only Knows" from the Superlative Pet Droppings Fucking Whoopdedoo Masterpiece?
Heh heh.
So I fucking have to go to the garage, get out the step ladder--nearly break my back doing this--climb up into the garage "attic," step gingerly around the fiberglass between the joists to a pile of old boxes where I keep all the shit I should have thrown out, oh, say, 40 years ago? After some digging I finally find it. Ah, here it is! The Holy Grail. Music As it Had Never Been Heard Before. The Unparalleled Aural Phenomenon of Sonic Ecstacy.The Greatest Album Ever Made. The Teenage Symphonies to God!
I almost faint. Not because I'm so overwhelmed by the "auditory majesty" on the Brian-Wilson-Shit-on-a-Shingle in my hand but because, hello, it's fucking hot as fuck in a garage crawl space in So Cal in late August. Plus I shouldn't have stood up so fast but I was in a hurry big time to get this little old vs. new "shoot-out" happening.
Ah, Pet Droppings , you don't even know what's coming, do you? Helpless as the little lamb on the cover (cha, that nearly fucking gave me rabies when I tried to shoo it away from my new candystriped shirt). It felt a little like flying over Hiroshima in early August 1945. (No, asshole, I did not do that (I wish!); I'm old but not that old! It's a fucking metaphor. Turn off the fucking Smile reissue for a second, crack a book, and be somebody for once in your life.)
Did I call this a "contest?" More like an "ambush."
I head back to my media room, put on the fucking song, and let me just say this: God Only Knows why anyone listens to this shit. At all. Hell, God only knows why He allows shit like this to exist in the first place. Part of His "plan," and all that? OK, whatever (I say this as a Christian .)
After about 2 seconds of boring myself to tears with "God Only Knows" my shoe involuntarily lifts from the floor, and faster than I can move to stop it, kicks the CD player right off the component shelf. Fucking Jap piece-of-shit breaks into like 100 pieces. Back in the 50s I used to have an old U.S.-made turntable that kept playing during some 7.4 on-the-Richter, city-levelling shit. This namby pamby rice burner can't even handle a little "tapshoe?"
Oh well. I'm rich.*
Anyway I have to go to another room to find a working CD player. There is none. Yes, I, multi-gazillionaire musician and voice of a generation, only have one CD player in my house. Fuck.
So, I'm sulking in the kitchen for a bit, since I can't continue the contest, when I suddenly remember: DVD players can play CDs, too! (actually Stamos showed me this. That guy's always up on all the latest "gadgets.") So I charge back into my media room, open the DVD player, take out whatever was in there and pop in The New Shit.
Guess what?
The New Shit beat the Old Shit, hands-motherfucking-down. No question. Nolo contendre, amigo. And guess what else? I sat there and listened to it 50 more times, just to be sure. I only stopped for bathroom breaks and to eat an energy bar.
*Also my stock response when some asshole/nobody/"fan" tells me he "liked our set but really loved us back in the day."
Anyway, I'm listening to this primo new track, still pristine in its digital domain, with me singing and Stamos doing this killer bongo overdub, and I'm wetting myself. Weeping. Shitting myself. I'm fucking leaking out of every fucking organ's orifice I've still got--it's THAT good.
And I says to myself, Mikey old boy, let's have a little contest, shall we? Let's put this New Shit back-to-back, mano y mano, face-to-face with some of the old shit. Let's "A/B" this shit right the fuck now and be done with it. Hmmm, let's see, what does EVERYBODY fucking LOVE SOOOO MUCH? Oooooh, I don't know--howzabout a little "God Only Knows" from the Superlative Pet Droppings Fucking Whoopdedoo Masterpiece?
Heh heh.
So I fucking have to go to the garage, get out the step ladder--nearly break my back doing this--climb up into the garage "attic," step gingerly around the fiberglass between the joists to a pile of old boxes where I keep all the shit I should have thrown out, oh, say, 40 years ago? After some digging I finally find it. Ah, here it is! The Holy Grail. Music As it Had Never Been Heard Before. The Unparalleled Aural Phenomenon of Sonic Ecstacy.The Greatest Album Ever Made. The Teenage Symphonies to God!
I almost faint. Not because I'm so overwhelmed by the "auditory majesty" on the Brian-Wilson-Shit-on-a-Shingle in my hand but because, hello, it's fucking hot as fuck in a garage crawl space in So Cal in late August. Plus I shouldn't have stood up so fast but I was in a hurry big time to get this little old vs. new "shoot-out" happening.
Ah, Pet Droppings , you don't even know what's coming, do you? Helpless as the little lamb on the cover (cha, that nearly fucking gave me rabies when I tried to shoo it away from my new candystriped shirt). It felt a little like flying over Hiroshima in early August 1945. (No, asshole, I did not do that (I wish!); I'm old but not that old! It's a fucking metaphor. Turn off the fucking Smile reissue for a second, crack a book, and be somebody for once in your life.)
Did I call this a "contest?" More like an "ambush."
I head back to my media room, put on the fucking song, and let me just say this: God Only Knows why anyone listens to this shit. At all. Hell, God only knows why He allows shit like this to exist in the first place. Part of His "plan," and all that? OK, whatever (I say this as a Christian .)
After about 2 seconds of boring myself to tears with "God Only Knows" my shoe involuntarily lifts from the floor, and faster than I can move to stop it, kicks the CD player right off the component shelf. Fucking Jap piece-of-shit breaks into like 100 pieces. Back in the 50s I used to have an old U.S.-made turntable that kept playing during some 7.4 on-the-Richter, city-levelling shit. This namby pamby rice burner can't even handle a little "tapshoe?"
Oh well. I'm rich.*
Anyway I have to go to another room to find a working CD player. There is none. Yes, I, multi-gazillionaire musician and voice of a generation, only have one CD player in my house. Fuck.
So, I'm sulking in the kitchen for a bit, since I can't continue the contest, when I suddenly remember: DVD players can play CDs, too! (actually Stamos showed me this. That guy's always up on all the latest "gadgets.") So I charge back into my media room, open the DVD player, take out whatever was in there and pop in The New Shit.
Guess what?
The New Shit beat the Old Shit, hands-motherfucking-down. No question. Nolo contendre, amigo. And guess what else? I sat there and listened to it 50 more times, just to be sure. I only stopped for bathroom breaks and to eat an energy bar.
*Also my stock response when some asshole/nobody/"fan" tells me he "liked our set but really loved us back in the day."
posted by norm chompski at 11:27 AM
1 Comments:
I can tell you ate the energy bar Mr. Love. New shit will always beat old...just like rock paper scissors...good ole rock, nothing beats that.
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