Southpaw and Abercrombie

Will the real blogger please stand up?

Will the real blogger please stand up?

Looks like we’re gonna have a problem here. This guy can’t come up with anything original. Yeah. He says he’s not musically inclined–whatever the hell that means. I can be musically inclined whenever it pleases me, just walk up a hill of trombones and tubas….eh, you get what I mean?

Sure, they get what you mean. Now scoot over and let me have my place at the microphone. There we are…yep, go on back to the techs. I think they need you to wash off the keyboards or something. Okay. Yeah, I hate you too. Oh, what a guy, that Abercrombie.

‘S happening, folks? I am pleased once again to be your deejay for tonight, this special night of March the twenty-third. You can call me Southpaw, or just plain Southie. Whatever works for you cool cats.

While we are in a lull of songs, and while you are stuck listening to me drone unless you change the station, let’s talk about music. I know a bit, never played an instrument in my life; but I know a bit. Let’s put it this way, I have learned how to rock the piano up to London Bridge–and that’s stepping into Ray Charles territory.

Good music is a hard to find commodity these days, at least I think it is.

Says the man who listens to the same two radio stations everyday.

Shuddup, Abercrombie! I thought you were mopping up vomit back there?

This job sucks. You never let me spin the records.

It’s because we don’t use records, you idiot! It’s the twenty-first century!

Yeah, well…I still have a record player. 

Big whoop. So do I. Think that makes you unique? You and your tiny ass My Little Pony record player?

It’s not My Little Pony. It’s…It’s Carebears.

Abercrombie, would you leave, please? You’re making my head hurt.

It’s Carebears.

We get it, pal. Is he gone? Thank the musical gods. I can never really finish a talk when he’s barging into the studio. But we were talking about music, good music and how it’s hard to find.

With most bands, I tend to appreciate a live version of a song, over a studio version. I have been recently listening to a lot of Nirvana to find that their band sounds truer, more authentic, when they play such songs as Smells Like Teen Spirit or About A Girl. When Kurt Cobain, especially, is singing on the Unplugged album–

I like Nirvana too. 

Abercrombie! How long have you been standing there? It’s like you’re stalking me!

Can I talk on the microphone? 


Just three seconds?


Two seconds?

What did I tell you?

One second?

Abercrombie, that’s impossible.

Fine. I guess I’ll leave then. 

O-kaaay. Good, he’s gone this time, walked straight out the studio door. I got four minutes left. As I was saying, when Kurt Cobain, especially, is singing on the Unplugged album, it sounds as if he’s singing from inside, from his soul, as compared to the studio versions they play on the radio, where a man with a much deeper voice throws Kurt off the microphone and ties him up in the back roo–

Do you want something from the diner?

Good lord! I’m going to die of fright.

It’s just that…well, my tummy keeps growling. I didn’t want to seem selfish. 

That’s it. I’m ending early. Good night. Enjoy your new-age music.

Think daily,

A Southpaw





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