Oh Angie…
Angie Angie Angie Angie
Oh Angie Angie Angie
Angie Angie Angie Angie Angie
Oh Angie Angie Angie oh.
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This is a song I wrote for Angie. It’s called Angie - and it’s possibly not as good as the other song called Angie, but at least it’s original, in a slightly repetative sort of way.
Back in in the 70s before anything was invented, instead of having proper videos on top of the pops, they used to get this dance troupe called Pans People to “interpret” the hits… with what were usually depressingly literal translations…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7xHyKyoEh5Q
They were incredibly popular. I hated them.
I’m not going to make a proper link because it upsets me too much.
And now, a similar sort of thing is happening again. Sortof. If you go drunkenly digging through the dead-letter-office of your memories for fav songs on youtube… you can’t always find what you’re looking for because lets face it, no one else likes the sort of music you do. “Oh yes, I was into them before they went all commercial” you say. And in certain respects you’re right, though possibly not for the right reasons.
Anyway, what you get instead is… once again, depressingly literal translations by budding film editors who “interpret” said songs by cutting their favourite TV programs to them.
Item 1: Azure Ray.
Cosmic - if you don’t like it, you can fuck off and go fucking fuck yourself… but here it’s been turned into the backing track from a montage of the soppy bits from Dr WHO. WTF? Why?
Item 2: Dream Brother.
This is possibly the best song (of its type) ever written. It’s like Paradise Lost compressed into about 3 minutes. It does that raga thing like The End or Set The Controls For The Heart of the Sun… but that chorus… comes out of fucking nowhere man. Gives me the chills.
Anyway, here it is turned into a backing track for a montage of various bits from Lost, in which a load of self-obssessed people glare stubblily at each other with dirty faces.
Still.
The best song ever written ever, is Vancouver, also by Jeff Buckley - and the only version of that on youtube has someone playing bass over the top of it so perhaps I ought not complain. Perhaps I ought to start joining in etc.
Yea. Like fuck etc.
“are you lost?” said the man.
“meep” I said.
“where’s your mum”…
“meep” I said.
I was lost in Farmers department store - around the time of the Vietnam war. I was in unfamiliar territory and I was three.
… some time passes…
I’m back in the same department store… it’s been converted into a posh hotel… and I’m like… posh (possibly a little too posh), so that’s where I stay… anyway I’m naked in a service elevator. It’s 7am. I shouldn’t be there.
I have no idea where I am (who I am), or how I got there… these people keep coming in dressed as butlers with silver trays etc, and I’m like “where am I?” They ignore me.
You need a staff card to operate the lift - without it the buttons don’t work. Fuck knows how I got in there in the first place - it takes about 15 minutes for me to remember where I am. Eventually I escape, and (suddenly naked and self-aware) negotiate the corridors and stairways etc back where I came from.
By some miracle, there’s a locksmith dude opening the room next to mine - so I get him to let me in.
Later on the hotel moustache guy comes to ask me wtf I was doing.
This was a couple of years ago. According to this article, sleepwalking in hotels has gone up by 700% in the last couple of years.
I blame myself.
PS: Angie… please don’t be put off by this.
It’s never happened since, and even if it does - if you play your cards right you could have a child as musical and well-dressed as the one pictured…. it’s got to be worth it.
Here’s a picture of a girl from the internet that I fell in love with once.
I have no idea who she is… and for all I know she probably has a really irritating squeaky voice and seriously, teeth-grindingly bad taste in music etc (you know the sort of thing), and does nothing except sit on the sofa and eat jaffa-cakes and watch TV all day - but that’s ok. She’s the woman I love, and I want to protect her.
I know this photo is like, 4 years old - and that’s a long time in chick years, so she’s probably turned into a moth or something by now, but true love can rise above such earthly concerns. These things are eternal.
Anyway. I think her name’s Angie. She’s from California, which is pretty much on another planet… but when I look up at the stars at night, I know… that even though she does come from another planet or some odd dimension where everyone kindof looks like a cartoon, she sometimes looks up… and upon us both, the same stars shine down.
If she wants to get in touch, I am the most excellent bloke - everything about me is more or less greatish, and I my family (who have disowned me) have vast estates in Scotland and still own this
and this
which are in England and are owned by a family known locally as The Howards… who will claim never to have heard of me, and who won’t allow me through the door. There’s something wrong with them.
Anyway, If you’re out there Angie, I love you, and everything I have is yours… if you send me some (quite a lot of) stamps I’ll post it all to you. You can sell it on ebay.
There was this one time I got drunk - came home and ate an entire packet of fortune cookies at a single sitting.
Man did I have a busy week that week.
I sat by the window, she lay on the bed…. in a hotel in Bergen, Norway. She was arguing, I was sitting, looking out the window into the half-light of a never ending evening. I wanted to get drunk.
So I did. When I came back, she was still there, still arguing. She hadn’t realised I’d gone.
Anyway Gril… this one’s for you, wherever you are.
Ok… I’ve just signed up to Amazon book-selling thing, and I’m still trying to figure out how to get the fucking thing to go.
Ok - try that. There’s a book… If you buy it, I get 10%… which is about 39 cents… or about £.19 in proper money.
If you don’t buy it I’m definately going to kill myself. Right here, right now. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience would you?
No.
ps: I think I’m pregnant.
