Also I have been watching the new season of P. Diddy’s Making The Band. Normally i am not suprised if tv is ass.but if the premise of your show is "Let’s torture R&B singers" and it is STILL boring. . . that is just a mind-boggling fuckup. how is that even possible? Let’s face it, R&B singers need to be tortured all the time, ever. but, because of the way music is totally denuded of anything like creativity, emotion, and life, the show still was dull. It’s all, do this dance step, sing these lyrics, hit that note, faster faster! Basically it has turned into a job, albeit one where nobody gets paid. So it’s got that going on too!
actually what would be REALLY amazing would be a r and b version of fucking DIAMANDA GALAS. One of her trademark shrieking avant-garde feedback greek dirges about aids. basically she makes Yoko Ono look like Patsy Cline. Can you imagine that? "Hi Puffy, thank you for this wonderful opportunity to show our EEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIEII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Failing that, what if they did that thing that crazy Indian tabla drummers do where they do a whole drum solo with their mouth, complete with hyperspeed polyrhythms and like going from 6/13 to 5/9 and back while just staring at each other from 3 inches away and yelling "Dha Dha te te dha dha tuna tunA" in perfect fucking unison. Actually I am not making this up. It’s apparently called "saying the bols."
But in the final analysis, I think the worst thing about Puff Deedily’s MTB is that most of the kids looked stone sober. Frankly, if they were so drunk they could barely stand, I would be watching it every night. Plus, now that I think about it, MK-ULTRA’S MAKING THE BAND would be fucking awesome. In order to get more young people to sign up, the CIA sposors a band audition, then secretly doses the contestants with toxic amounts of lsd and dimethyltryptamine. At first, they think the nausea is just their nervousness, but when was the last time people got so nervous their pores all opened up and started screaming? And the screaming WAS OFF KEY! AND HAD NO PIZAZZ!! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO LOSE FOR SURE!!! And then right in the middle of the song from Titanic, they start to actually drown, and suddenly eels are coming up out of the ocean and sliding under their skin. Medics are waiting with stretchers, four-point restraints and rubber tubes to stick in the mouth to prevent anyone from biting her own tongue off.
Ok, here is another one – PUNK MAKING THE BAND. Get like 100 punks and tell them, "Look, we don’t care if you can sing or play guitar good. Talent is very mainstream. and besides, how can we be sure you really mean it about smashing the system? We hate posers here! That’s why instead of auditioning on stage, I’m sending you out into the city. By this time tomorrow, anyone who has not punched a cop or burned down a bank will be cut. Any questions?" again, this is classic tv. Way more interesting to watch than my other idea, TECHNO MAKING THE BAND, which is basically some overweight flamboyantly gay nerd with a too-tight, stained tshirt lecturing the contestants, who are all inanimate drum machines and Protools. But, this being a Making The Band, he’s super drill-seargant about it : "you call that sequencing? You call that quantizing? Excuse me, honey, I have quantized better stools than that!" "Ok, who wants to make some technooooo!! I can’t hear you! I STILL CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! Ok, guys, if you are not going to take this seriously we can just stop right now."
also, I would like to do a ROCK version of Making The Band, which I assume would be called Making The Band Rock. IT would still have the same boot-camp atmosphere as the MTV one, except in my show, there would at no time be any actual music. You would have a few totally haggard burnouts like Ace Frehley or Phil Spector or Rick James, or one of the less famous, embittered Halens, marching around with riding crops, yelling, "snort this whole pile! If you overdose you will be cut! none of that wishy-washy, talent-show popularity-contest bullshit. Just, whoever lives is the winner. You can go back to your mama or go to the emergency room, but either way you are OUT OF HERE." "WHAT?? YOU CALL THAT SNORTING?? I’LL SHOW YOU SNORTING, MOTHERFUCKER!!"
Whoever survived the first round snort-off would go on to the next contest – Playing A Small Very Conservative Redneck Town In Mississippi And Getting Arrested For Indecent Exposure. Anyone who did not get sent to jail would be cut. Again, no music would be necessessary for this scene, but I have the feeling that the winning contestant would go that extra mile and write a special song, such as "Exposing My Gay Penis To Stem Cells Of An Athiest Abortion. . .Which Is Evolving."
There would also, needless to say, be Whammy Bar consultants and Guitar Face therapists. The remaining contestants would be told, "Ok, you pussies! Let’s face it, most rock stars have vast vast amounts of STDs from years of sex with people they cannot remember. To do what we do day in and day out requires absolutely ignoring the huge pain emanating from our grotesque loins 24/7. to see if you can handle this, we will be making you perform live tonight for one hour, while wearing chastity belts wired to deliver constant 100 volt shocks."
And, if anyone survives that (plus the Paternity Suit segment, the Creative Differences segment and the Plane Crash), the final challenge is, Who Can Do The Best Live On-Stage Total Freak-out, Screaming And Cursing The Audience, Until The Promoters Have To Cancel The Show. Points would be awarded based on the amount, in dollars, of damage done by the ensuing riot. Also for passing out in your own piss. Points deducted for every song actually finished before the freak-out. "YOU DON’T KNOW MAH DADDY! YAH COCKSHUCKERSH! GUG YEW. . AH MEAN, FUG YEW, YOU DON’T .. .. YOU DON’T (BGLLLEAAHHHH) KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HEY WHAT? YOU GOT SHOMETHING TO SHAY? TOUGH GUY? WELL, GET DOWN HERE, PUSSY! IT’S THE JEWSH, MAN! THE JEWSH ARE DOING IT TO. . .(sobbing) I got a paternity suit, plus alimony. . WHAT ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING HERE? YOU FUGGERS!! DON’T LOOK AT ME!! FON’T DON’T LOOG AT MEEEEIEEEEEEEIEEE!!!" (dragged off stage by bouncers)
The winner I mean, how cool would that be?? And the people who finally won and got to Be The Band. . . as soon as they win, they are all sued by their new record label for all the costs of making the tv show, plus the costs of lawsuits filed by the families of the deceased losers, plus all their master tapes are stolen and sold on the internet via Napster. Yes yes yes mmmm tv.
So, about Reverend Run’s new reality tv show, RUN’S HOUSE. . . um, he has one. As with most TV, it is only interesting if you imagine how amazing it COULD have been.
For instance, one of his daughters brings her boyfriend home to meet Run, and the conversation went something like:
DAUGHTER Hey Daddy, here is my boyfriend Tim
BOYFRIEND Hello, I–
RUN Who are you? What do you want with my daughter? What are you doing with your life? Do you play football or basketball?
BOYFRIEND Uh bas-
RUN because she said football. Why are you lying to me? You don’t look like no football player. Too skinny. Why do you say one thing and do another? What is your plan for life? Are you going somewhere? You just going to sit around here all day going uh um uh um for the rest of your life? Is that it?
Anyway it was an amazing conversation. But I think it would have been better if the guy had said something like this.
Sir, achivement is my top priority. I already have not one but two career lifestyle plans!
Plan number one, of course, is to become the first Black President of the United States. If elected, my first act will be to pass a law requiring all entertainers to use a special type of microphone, which will be shaped like a 2 meter high skeleton with fully articulated joints, whose crotch is at mouth height, and the microphone is built into the very tip of his enormous bone penis. While this might make it look like the vocalist is performing oral sex on the undead, this would be offset by the fact that the skeleton will be completely cool and maybe have horns or sneakers. We will produce these by the thousands. By the tens of thousands. Tom DeLay addressing Congress? Skeleton mic. Celine Dion singing ballad? Skeleton mic. Angelina Joile announcing Grammy for Best Actor? Skeleton mic. Anyone who objects will be thrown in prison for at least ten years. Mandatory minimum. One strike, you’re out. It is basically a fatwa, as I am envisioning it. I assume that this will give me the support of all American Muslims, whose votes are so crucial to being elected.
Now, even though I am very confident that with skill and determination that I can make my dream come true, if for some reason it just is not my time to regulate the Presidential skeleton penis fatwa situation, I have also developed a backup plan, which involves me becoming a multimillionaire tv show producer by the age of 20. Not for the money or even the fame, although of course they will at some point become unavoidable. No, the goal is to make a version of American idol that does not suck. I can do this.
See, first I will get a conductor in there. Tux, tails, big white hair, the whole nine, totally legit. But instead of a baton he has flash cards. And on the flash cards are the names of singers with distinctive voices — your Bruce Dickensons or Napalm Deaths; your Frank Sinatras, jello biafras, or I dunno. .. Danzigs. Yes, yes, of course; your Danzigs. As the generic pop ballad plays, the contestant will have to sing in the voice of whoever is on the cue card at that moment. As the game goes on, the conductor will start changing the cue cards faster and faster. . . in the middle of a verse, in the middle of a word, even! (sings) “Iiii will GUURRHHHZZwayaaass Loovee youEEEEIIIEEEII Lookout!” Well, I can’t do it, but you know! And if they can’t keep up, they get cut. The finale, as I see it, will involve the two remaining contenders singing. . . the Star Spangled Banner. I am telling you this in confidence, Reverend Run. You have been such an influence on me and I love all your songs, but you can’t steal this. As much as I respect you, I have to keep this idea for myself.
And of course, if for some reason I can’t be a millionaire tv producer, . . . I hear that Circle K is hiring. Which is really not so bad. I mean I know you want a successful man for your daughter, but what does “successful” mean? Does it always mean money? Or the ability to issue fatwas? Or high social status? Or could it maybe mean “Successful at laying eggs in the flesh of the still-living, so that they might succeed in gnawing their way out of the host bodies when they hatch, and breed the next generation of circle k clerks successfully?” I believe that it does. This completes my three-point program to ultimate life success, which I share with you now in the hopes that together with your daughter, we can make a brighter future.
In fact, now that I think about it. . . I am SO proud of this three point program to success for young people, that I might just take a break from my circle k clerk / egg-laying insect zombie career arc and instead tour around the country selling my three point program, in the context of motivational speeches with power point presentations and trust building exercises. Even though I might have to leave your daughter for months at a time, I can’t wait to spread my life-transforming message to youth, using a microphone in the shape of a 2 meter incredibly cool skeleton penis.
However, there is a small but significant chance that my motivational speaking program will work SO well, that one of my students might become President or tv producer before I do! In which case, all the millions of dollars and worshipful, borderline stalk-y midnight phone calls from Tony Robbins will be for nothing. I have to stay focused on the true goals, which i have briefly touched on in talking-points one and two. After all, fatwas and flashcards will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no fatwas and flashcards, as my mother always said. Also there is the risk that the clerks at circle k are in fact humans, which would turn my 3-point life-success seminar into a puny 2-point seminar?worse than nothing!! A tiny risk, but nonetheless, what if it happens?
If all four of my backup careers somehow wash out, then . . . destitute and wrecked, my dreams in tatters, I will have to resort to . . (sigh) . . . being a rapper. No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. Just, like, you know, it is shameful to be a rapper who is not as good as RUN DMC, is what I meant. Um.. I will move to vegas and (sigh) do another 3 hour lounge-rap opera . . . based on the decline and fall of actor Tom Sizemore. Think of the triumph and tragedy! From Saving Private Ryan and Black Hawk Down, to seedy hotel rooms full of hookers and crack. I’m talking about the downward spiral of self-destruction. I’m talking about the spiral. . . set to rhyme! With beats!
but this won’t be just any run-of-the-mill Vegas-style lounge-rap opera about the deline and fall of Tom Sizemore, with the requisite inflatable showgirls and grotesque crack-pipe candelabras and laser-powered Heidi Fleiss-Seeking missles and with reverb and a velvet dinner jacket with coke stains made of white satin, all sewn on the lapels. Oh no, no, no. And I won’t just play it for laughs, either. Sure, anyone can depict a coke-addled whoremonger as a buffoon. . . but I am going to take the high road. The more difficult road ? to make people identify with him. The road that leads to people coming out of the casino thinking, “Wow, that could be me if I do not mend my ways.”
That’s right, I want to connect with people. I want to make a difference. “ay, yo, yo! / blow my knot / on coke and pot / smoking hot when I um I oh damn it, .. . smoke some pot/ with my ‘titutes which are all prost / now I got fuzzy spots / on the crotch / plus it makes a little sound when it rots/ like “eeeeeeeiiiieeeee”/ take my advice/ stay away from heidi fleiss / can you dig it / like a midget/ with a shovel, digging inside a bubble / because he has an immune system disorder / so he has to live inside a bubble and it is kind of sad / um, but I didn’t do it / in Black Hawk Down I played a new re-cru-it / but now I just, uh, oh crap. . I just moo it / like a cow / take the cow fat and turn it into suet/ for a candle / so I can flame up this cocaine sample / yeahh!/ too much abuse and washed up / and I alone am to blame / like corey haim / and threaten to / make a um uh fluffy mitten to / pick up snow / or the coe / caine / because private ryan was lame/ except the one part where um, uh. . .god DAMN it.”
Well you know that is just a freestyle but you get the idea I guess. The finished product will be much smoother. Plus when I sing it into the skeleton mic it will sound just completely awesome, . I guess what I am trying to say, is, will you grant me your daughter’s hand in marriage?
see, now THAT is good tv.