Five Song Friday: My Fellow Americans
Episode #124: Flannel Heroes, Tiny Saxophones and Gas Station Hooligans
This week, I was recruited on a top secret mission to rescue democracy.
Or so I thought.
On Monday morning, my normally lukewarm email inbox was suddenly en fuego with a flurry of messages from celebrities and politicians.
Kamala. Doug. Barack. Michelle. Bill. Hillary. Tim. Tim’s wife.
The current real President of the United States, Joe Biden.
And one of our greatest fake Presidents of the United States, Julia Louis-Dreyfus.
The message was clear: they needed me.
Immediately.
Of course, if I’d taken the time to read past the first few lines, I would have realized that they were all asking just for money.
If I had taken the time to read past the first few lines, I could have saved myself a lot of wasted time and mild humiliation.
But I didn’t. And now here we are.
Let me tell you what happened…
I saw the emails and got super excited and nervous and thought I would pass out (I didn’t).
I immediately called the White House, where I figured they were all huddled around Kamala’s laptop, desperately hitting “refresh” on Gmail.
It went straight to voicemail, which was weird but whatever.
Then I rang my local Democratic Party Headquarters, who asked me to come down and make phone calls and lick envelopes and knock on strange people’s doors.
I said thanks, but no thanks, that sounds insane and not fun at all.
I considered getting in the car and driving straight to Chicago. I would dress like the Blues Brothers and tell people I was on a mission from God.
If I timed it right, I could arrive on stage just as Beyoncé (in a diamond-encrusted bodysuit) was lowered from the ceiling like some kind of disco ball superhero warrior queen angel.
Our mashup duet of “Rubber Biscuit” and “Single Ladies” would bring down the house.
That would be a pretty cool way to snatch the United States from the brink of destruction!
But all that driving? Plus the cost of gas, tolls and maybe two dozen tall boys of Red Bull?
It adds up quick.
I knew there had to be a better, cheaper way to help. A way that didn’t require any real effort on my part.
A way that tapped into my combined superpowers of laziness, intermittent snacking and middle-aged white male snark.
Then it hit me…
Words. I’ll give them WORDS.
Powerful, inspiring, American words.
I’ll send them one-liners, two-liners, snapbacks, clap backs, retorts and slogans that will reverberate through the halls and hearts of that crowded arena!
Monday night I told my family I’d see them in the morning.
Don’t wait up for me, I said.
I’m going up to my office to save this country and it will definitely take me all night long. I know what I have to do. I will make you so very proud.
They were like, what are you talking about?
I cupped my hands into a heart symbol and walked backwards out of the living room.
Daddy had work to do.
For hours I sat at the keyboard, full of patriotic fire and Starbucks French Roast. This was my chance to make history. My chance to be part of something bigger, something great, something… Maddow-worthy.
It did not go well.
I browsed YouTube to warm up with some of Kamala’s past speeches. I watched clips from Braveheart and Independence Day for inspiration.
The next thing I knew, I’d wandered down a rabbit hole of Russian dash-cam videos, Judd Apatow blooper reels and more 1970s TV commercial compilations than I care to admit.
By the time the morning sun was shining through my office blinds, I had exactly three sentences written on the screen.
“They may be anti-democracy… but this is AUNTIE DEMOCRACY!”
“Trump likes to talk about freedom? More like free-DUMB!”
And, sadly, the crowning achievement of my night’s work:
“Stupidtinyhandsmisogynistnarcissistdictatorweirdo says WHAT?”
Like I said, it did not go well.
I sent the email anyway, giving the Democrats full permission to use any and all of my work and ideas without attribution or compensation.
I held out hope until the very end that one of my lines (or performance suggestions) would make it to the podium.
No luck.
Kamala wisely chose to end with, “God Bless You and God Bless the United States of America!”
It’s hard to argue with a classic.
Name dropping the man upstairs is a solid choice. Everybody loves a blessing.
But to be honest? A little boring.
A bit TOO safe.
We are, after all, in a frantic race to save democracy. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Seems like the perfect time for bold words and even bolder actions.
Would I have liked to become a footnote in this chapter of American history? Sure.
Am I disappointed that everyone else I know got the exact same emails? Yes.
Do I think the conversation today would be completely different if Kamala had taken my advice and closed BIG with a choreographed “Freedom Rap” featuring Lin-Manuel Miranda, Deadpool, Wolverine and that Australian breakdancing lady?
You bet your sweet American ass.
Five Song Friday #124
“I Wish I Was Him” - Noise Addict, Ben Lee
We all had that one cool kid we aspired to be. Maybe they had the nicest clothes and the best hair and the most expensive car. Maybe they rode a motorcycle and could get free songs on the jukebox just by punching it. Maybe they were class president or valedictorian or head cheerleader. But for Ben Lee, the dude worthy of his youthful admiration is just some knucklehead ladies man who drinks Diet Coke, gets free records and owns six flannel shirts.
“Worthy” - Mavis Staples
Guys, we still have the legendary Mavis Staples around and she is giving us fresh new tunes this very year! This song is funky, positive and inspiring. I have nothing funny or weird to say about that, because sometimes you just need to take nice things and say thank you. So, “thank you.”
“Laughlines” - The Everywheres
There are some days that simply require 11-year-old Nova Scotia indie rock. Is today one of those days? I’ll leave that up to you.
“Save It For Later” - Eddie Vedder
I’m often accused of loving covers too much. But sometimes you get one that transcends time and space and triggers waves of delight and whole-body goosebumps. Come for the English Beat nostalgia. Stay for tiny saxophone solo and the epic, aching love song that Vedder stretches out like sad, beautiful salt water taffy.
“Texico Bitches” - Broken Social Scene
I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered a Texico Bitch, but they sound CRAZY! Texico Bitches be trippin! Am I right? Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been listening to this song for years and still have no idea what it’s about. I’m thinking that if I took the time to look into it, the answer would be much less satisfying than living with the mystery. So I’m going to leave this one alone. Use your own imagination. Mine involves a small town, Canadian gas station with a couple of ladies who stand around chain smoking blunts, looking like Furiosa dressed in Ed Hardy and catcalling men who just want to sit in the car and eat their egg salad sandwich in peace.
“To get your playing more forceful, hit the drums harder.” - Keith Moon (Born August 23, 1946)
Thanks for reading!
Sincerely,
DJ CrankyPete