We'll sing this song all night long
While dicking around on my geetar the other night I came across a chord progression and a chorus that will be the perfect new Bunker Brothers' song. It'll be a classic up there with Granville's Pants and Evil Antique Lady. This song is called 'Wendell is a Pussy.' All we need to do now is to have Chris run through the vocals again while listening to the music instead of racing it and I will add a hot solo and we might need to tack on some extra back up vocals and voile, master-fucking-piece. I think this song needs Martin, I really do. That'll shake up the music world, baby.
Friday night the boys and I went to Mojo's to see the good reverend David Childers. He rocked the house, as usual. If you have never seen David Childers, who is a local musician and plays in Charlotte all the fucking time, then you are missing a world-class performer who pours more soul into one song than you can hear on an hour of commercial radio. Of course there's almost as much soul in 'Wendell is a Pussy' as there is in an hour of commercial radio but I think my point has been made.
One of the highlights of Friday evening was hanging out with the band out back of the club by the dumpster. Nothing says 'rock and roll show' like chilling with musicians by a dumpster on a cold-ass windy night.
All giving me the eye
Diana and I went to lunch yesterday. I counted three seperate times that a woman, not some homeless pig, but a real professional woman with a job and clean pits, looked me in the eye with unbridalled lust. Now, if I had been strolling down the street alone, each of these women not only would not have looked at me with such obvious animal lust but they would have tried to poke out my eyes with their eyeliner brushes. What is it with womenfolk that they eye the guy with a lady by his side? I need to find a lesbian that wants to hang out and go to get coffee, lunch and go see live music. I will have to fight the chicks off then, baby.
Listened to on duh bus: Asleep in the Back by Elbow.
Read on duh bus: End of Days by Gershom Gorenberg.