"Hey shithead. You aren't trying to sneak any beats home again, are ya?"

I slog through the everyday song-and-dance with loss prevention. I quietly beatbox at them, half in protest, half from sheer musical compulsion. I made these beats. Why can't I take them home with me?

The largest of the crew whips me with a microphone cable on my way out. He cracked me good. I pull out my microcassette recorder hoping to sample the next crack, but it never comes. I guess I'm gonna have fiddle around in Reaktor until I luck into a convincing whip sound. My stomach drops as I realize that I had my electricity bill on autoplay, and my Splice account is already overdrawn.

 

All right guys. thats it. time to shut the forum down. no post will ever surpass this one. well done.

 

Your mom's spaghetti

 

how do we move on from here

 

North of James Crumley

 

Well we could take it further, speaking about @vladimir guerrero's mention of 'whip cracking' looking at his avatar and sticking a domme in front.. you actually get

Domm MS dos which as many people know, kills all known germs dead. And whilst it isn't necessarily relevant to making beats, killing germs is never a bad thing.

 

^^ lol, I didn't realize that. Learning and growing.

Like all of us, I try to keep a realistic perspective about my music. The highs? Three middle-aged men wearing matching North Face athletic suits once approached me at a club and asked if I wanted to be part of an Autechre for babies project. I told them I thought this was beyond my abilities. On a good day I could do Orb for babies, and that was only if the babies were suckers for squeaky Minnie Riperton vocals, and only if they couldn't call me out on some pretty shamefully static sample manipulations. The thing about making music for babies is that those goopy philistines eventually grow up, and soon they're a jaded, resentful toddler who won't even listen to Stockhausen when Dad is feeling overwhelmingly musical and slightly didactic.

And the lows? One time I had a landlord that extorted me for beats, and without realizing, I had contractually lost my best beats to his children, who were selling them to known sex criminals overseas for camgirl credits.

godspeed to you all

 

that is a slightly fascistic remark there, now ain't it.....I mean, you could bring to the table that they had it coming, but geez.....pretty drastic, this one.

 

That's some mighty fine prose.right there.

 

Yeah I see why you would say that, but the intent was never to denigrate anyone's views or beliefs, as those who know me will concur. It was just the only way I could fit MS DOS (his avatar) into domestos.
Honestly? I thought it was quite clever for me. Anyway, back to the drawing board!

 

Minnie Ripperton was my mom...lighten up! Her 5 octave range didn't squeak at the top, it shined!

 

I thought both of your comments funny.
It took me a little while to realize @seriousofficial is joking about the germans

 

You might appreciate this...

 

Cheers buddy. Also, I'd still be trying to work that out if it wasn't for you. I thought he worked for Unilever or something.

 

this is correct, and also, hi Maya Rudolph!

 

No soap radio.

 

One of the neighbor's dogs listens to my belt buckle much too closely. Easy boy. Another one listens to my beats much too detachedly. The fuck is up with that? I can't make reggae music. I'm sorry.

 

Nobody can make Reggae music anymore, you're not alone, the whole genre has gone to the dogs. I suggest giving up music entirely, and like I did become a bartender where you can without doubt find a belt in every shot glass. People WILL listen!

 

Last edited: Oct 15, 2024

I had a dream last night that I was a Ghostbuster except I was using a Dyson to catch them.