Guitarsite Forums Guitar Discussion Guitar Band finds most band members can’t read

  • Creator
    Topic
  • #22991
    Michael
    Participant

    Had I not seen the types of press releases these guys put out before, I’d think it was a Christian-Poetry Spinal Tap.

    “Members of many bands don’t even read books, much less write them. But Poetry Band is far from your average rock band.

    As the name implies, Poetry Band is a thrilling blend of avant-garde poems combined with guitar-driven music.”

    Most band members… 🙄 avant-garde poems and thrilling in the same sentence? 🙄 How superior “reading skills” makes their music better I’ve yet to find out.

    I’ll take a dose of ratsack before I sit through one of their gigs.

Viewing 2 reply threads
  • Author
    Replies
    • #68568
      lee_UK
      Participant

      Unlike this:

      The Embarrassing Experience With The Parrot
      At the Cotswold Wild Life Park,
      In the merry month of May,
      I paid the man the money,
      And went in to spend the day,
      Straightway to the Pets Corner,
      I turned my eager feet,
      To go and see the rabbits,
      And give them something to eat.

      As I approached the hutches,
      I was alarmed to see,
      A crowd of little yobbos,
      ‘Ollerin’ with glee,
      I crept up close behind them
      And weighed the scene up quick,
      And saw them poke the rabbits
      Poke them! . . with a stick!

      ‘Get off you little buggers!”
      I shouted in their ear,
      ‘Don’t you poke them rabbits,
      That’s not why they are here.”
      I must have really scared them,
      In seconds they were gone,
      And feelin’ I had done some good,
      I carried on along.

      Till up beside the Parrots Cage,
      I stood to view the scene,
      They was lovely parrots,
      Beautiful blue and green,
      In and out the nestbox,
      They was really having fun,
      Squawking out and flying about,
      All except for one.

      One poor old puffed-up parrot,
      Clung grimly to his perch,
      And as the wind blew frontwards,
      Backwards he would lurch,
      One foot up in his feathers,
      Abandoned by the rest,
      He sat there, plainly dying,
      His head upon his chest.

      Well, I walked on down the pathway
      And I stroked a nanny goat,
      But the thought of parrots dyin’
      Brought a lump into me throat,
      I could no longer stand it,
      And to the office I fled,
      Politely I began: ‘Scuse me,
      Your parrot’s nearly dead.”

      So me and a curator,
      In urgent leaps and bounds,
      With a bottle of Parrot Cure,
      Dashed across the grounds,
      The dust flew up around us,
      As we reached the Parrots Pen,
      And the curator he turned to me
      Saying ‘Which one is it then?”

      You know what I am going to say,
      He was not there at all,
      At least, not where I left him,
      No, he flit from wall to wall,
      As brightly as a button,
      Did he squawk and jump and leap,
      The curator was very kind,
      Saying, “I expect he was asleep.”

      But I was humiliated,
      As I stood before the wire,
      The curator went back,
      To put his feet up by the fire,
      So I let the parrot settle,
      And after a short search,
      I found the stick the yobbos had,
      And poked him off his perch

      Pam Ayres…not very Rock ‘n’ Roll.

    • #68582
      lee_UK
      Participant

      One name pops up, The Beasley St. Bard
      John Cooper Clarke:
      “BEASLEY STREET”

      FAR FROM CRAZY PAVEMENTS
      …THE TASTE OF SILVER SPOONS
      A CLINICAL ARRANGEMENT
      …ON A DIRTY AFTERNOON
      WHERE THE FECAL GERMS OF MR. FREUD
      …ARE RENDERED OBSOLETE
      THE LEGAL TERM IS NULL AND VOID
      IN THE CASE OF… BEASLEY STREET

      IN THE CHEAP SEATS WHERE MURDER BREEDS
      SOMEBODY IS OUT OF BREATH
      SLEEP IS A LUXURY THEY DON’T NEED
      …A SNEAK PREVIEW OF DEATH
      BELLADONNA IS YOUR FLOWER
      MANSLAUGHTER YOUR MEAT
      SPEND A YEAR IN A COUPLE OF HOURS
      ON THE EDGE OF BEASLEY STREET

      WHERE THE ACTION ISN’T
      THAT’S WHERE IT IS
      STATE YOUR POSITION
      VACANCIES EXIST
      IN AN X-CERTIFICATE EXERCISE
      EX-SERVICEMEN EXCRETE
      KEITH JOSEPH SMILES AND A BABY DIES
      IN A BOX ON BEASLEY STREET

      FROM THE BOARDING HOUSES AND THE BEDSITS FULL OF
      …ACCIDENTS AND FLEAS
      SOMEBODY GETS IT
      WHERE THE MISSING PERSONS FREEZE
      WEARING DEAD MEN’S OVERCOATS
      YOU CAN’T SEE THEIR FEET
      A RIFF JOINT SHUTS – OPENS UP
      RIGHT DOWN ON BEASLEY STREET

      CARS COLLIDE, COLOURS CLASH
      DISASTER MOVIE STUFF
      FOR A MAN WITH THE FU MANCHU MOUSTACHE
      REVENGE IS NOT ENOUGH
      THERE’S A DEAD CANARY ON A SWIVEL SEAT
      THERE’S A RAINBOW IN THE ROAD
      MEANWHILE ON BEASLEY STREET
      SILENCE IS THE CODE

      HOT BENEATH THE COLLAR
      …AN INSPECTOR CALLS
      WHERE THE PERISHING STINK OF SQUALOR
      …IMPREGNATES THE WALLS
      THE RATS HAVE ALL GOT RICKETS
      THEY SPIT THROUGH BROKEN TEETH
      THE NAME OF THE GAME IS NOT CRICKET
      CAUGHT OUT ON …BEASLEY STREET

      THE HIPSTER AND HIS HIRED HAT
      DRIVE A BORROWED CAR
      YELLOW SOCKS AND A PINK CREVAT
      NOTHING LA-DI-DAH
      O-A-P
      MOTHER-TO-BE
      WATCH THE THREE-PIECE SUITE
      WHEN SHITSTOPPER DRAINS
      AND CROCODILE SKIS
      ARE SEEN ON …BEASLEY STREET

      THE KINGDOM OF THE BLIND
      …A ONE-EYED MAN IS KING
      BEAUTY PROBLEMS ARE REDEFINED
      …THE DOORBELLS DO NOT RING
      A LIGHT BULB BURST LIKE A BLISTER
      THE ONLY FORM OF HEAT
      WHERE A FELLOW SELLS HIS SISTER
      …DOWN THE RIVER ON BEASLEY STREET

      THE BOYS ARE ON THE WAGON
      THE GIRLS ARE ON THE SHELF
      THEIR COMMON PROBLEM IS
      …THAT THEY’RE NOT SOMEONE ELSE
      THE DIRT BLOWS OUT
      THE DUST BLOWS IN
      YOU CAN’T KEEP IT NEAT
      IT’S A FULLY FURNISHED DUSTBIN
      …SIXTEEN BEASLEY STREET

      VINCE THE AGEING SAVAGE
      BETRAYS NO KIND OF LIFE
      …BUT THE SMELL OF YESTERDAY’S CABBAGE
      AND THE GHOST OF LAST YEAR’S WIFE
      THROUGH A CONSTANT HAZE
      OF DEODORANT SPRAYS
      HE SAYS …RETREAT
      ALSATIANS DOG THE DIRTY DAYS
      DOWN THE MIDDLE OF BEASLEY STREET

      PEOPLE TURN TO POISON
      QUICK AS LAGER TURNS TO PISS
      SWEETHEARTS ARE PHYSICALLY SICK
      EVERY TIME THEY KISS
      IT’S A SOCIOLOGIST’S PARADISE
      EACH DAY REPEATS
      UNEASY, CHEASY, GREASY, QUEASY
      …BEASTLY, BEASLEY STREET

      EYES DEAD AS VICIOUS FISH
      LOOK AROUND FOR LAUGHS
      IF I COULD HAVE JUST ONE WISH
      I WOULD BE A PHOTOGRAPH
      ON A PERMANENT MONDAY MORNING
      GET LOST OR FALL ASLEEP
      WHEN THE YELLOW CATS ARE YAWNING
      AROUND THE BACK OF BEASLEY STREET

      Poetry does have a place on the ‘Rock’ stage, so long as its on
      a level with this.

    • #68576
      1bassleft
      Participant

      Could be my kind of music, but my text to speech program has sphinctred up. Mike, please read the written, typing stuff and let me know if they make sense. I’ll plug my hearing aid into the USB port but please don’t shout. I’m only a bass player 🙄

      Funnelly nuff (and I don’t broadcast this) we did use a poet in my previous band’s live show. Worked well. What we didn’t do was come up with an utterly crap moniker like Poetry Band which, as the name implies, has been formed by total drivelheads.

      Still, I’m auditioning for a new “project” called Crayon Band. As you know, many musicians don’t even draw; still less colour in. But Crayon Band will be different. We’re going to combine a thrilling mix of playing with Play-Doh and creativity with Crayola.

      Anybody wishing to contact me about this exciting project will find me buried deep, deep, up my own backside.

Viewing 2 reply threads
  • You must be logged in to reply to this topic.