Back to School
No, neither Paul nor I will be taking classes or otherwise seek formal edumacations any time soon. And, no, I haven't purchased one of those little plastic pencil boxes or a cartoon-themed lunch box (though I do have a mighty fine "Krofft Supershow" thermos, vintage 1976).
It's just that each Thursday, when we put together our "News of the Week" segment for Bob & Tom, I'm reminded of certain school-days experiences. More specifically, coming up with an original and (hopefully) funny song every week feels like the night before a paper is due, or cramming for a big exam.
In our case, the text book is whatever is happening in the news, which completely dictates the approach we take and what kind of song we do. We've only been at it for three weeks so far, but our system is starting to take shape.
Here's how it works:
Step 1: Culling. On Wednesday, we gab a bit over the phone about what the major news items seem to be, and try to guess what will still be remembered on Friday. Sometimes, the prominent news item is self-evident; usually, though, we have to rattle around a lot of possible different news bits. Of that news, we sift through to try and identify items that are innately funny. Our soldiers fighting and dying in Iraq? No so funny. Dick Cheney blasting a lawyer friend in the face? Unfortunate for the human skeet, but unquestionably funny. It's a fine line, really.
Step 2: Framing. By Wednesday night we decide what kind of song we'll write. The genre we gravitate towards depends on how deep and dense the news is. The more notable items there are, the better chance there is of coming up with a tight, rhyme-filled nugget of joy. Whereas a slow news week is more likely to produce a song about how slow the news week was*.
Step 3: Stewing. All day Thursday, we put together little building blocks that will come together, Voltron-like, later that evening. Musical framework is fleshed out, key phrases crafted. Household responsibilities fall by the wayside.
Step 4: All-niter!: Sitting down at our respective cockpit-like recording command posts, we start putting the beast together. We work with machine-like precision, a model of efficiency that would have made Henry Ford as green as a toad accidentally dropped into a bushel of snow peas. It's tough work, but the cocaine helps**.
Step 5: Collapse: By the time we finish at three or four in the morning, we no longer care if the reverb should be "plate" or "small room", and the song more or less lets us know when it's done.
Step 6: Wake up and putter around, nervously hoping that B&T play it, and that it gets laughs. Through the miracle of modern technology, we can listen in despite the fact that the show isn't available in either of our cities (Philly and DC), if we happen to be awake. If not, they have an archive that has a synopsis of what they did that day, downloadable hour by hour.
Step 7: Revel in triumph and pat each other on the back, or mope around all day thinking about how much we suck. You'd think after more than a dozen years, we'd have really thick skins when it comes to feedback. And I suppose we do. But when something you worked really hard on doesn't get the reaction you hoped for, or isn't played it all, that first moment is tough. Of course, the victories are more abundant than the flops, and the successes tend to breed more of the same.
Step 8: Lather, rinse, repeat. Win or lose, the new week starts fresh again, and we hope that the news will be even more "not-strange-funny-but-ha-ha-funny" than the week before.
Hoping that someone will do or say something really, really stupid at the Oscars,
Storm
*duh!
**not really. We've been using it for so long*** that it has no effect on us anymore.
***not really. Paul only started three years ago, and I took it up several months after him, after he assured me that I'd be a "better cocksman" if I took it****.
****not really. He actually said it might make me "less of a dork", but the real reason I took it was to try and get him to stop*****.
*****not really. I'd been dying to experiment with it ever since I saw "Scarface" in college. I used to run around my dorm with bags of baking soda, slurring profanity at my roommates and inviting them to say hello to my little friend******.
******not really. I lived in an on-campus apartment, where I fell asleep every night dreaming about the day when I'd get to try cocaine*******.
*******not really. Neither Paul******** nor I have ever tried cocaine, and I imagine we never will.
********to the best of my knowledge.
No, neither Paul nor I will be taking classes or otherwise seek formal edumacations any time soon. And, no, I haven't purchased one of those little plastic pencil boxes or a cartoon-themed lunch box (though I do have a mighty fine "Krofft Supershow" thermos, vintage 1976).
It's just that each Thursday, when we put together our "News of the Week" segment for Bob & Tom, I'm reminded of certain school-days experiences. More specifically, coming up with an original and (hopefully) funny song every week feels like the night before a paper is due, or cramming for a big exam.
In our case, the text book is whatever is happening in the news, which completely dictates the approach we take and what kind of song we do. We've only been at it for three weeks so far, but our system is starting to take shape.
Here's how it works:
Step 1: Culling. On Wednesday, we gab a bit over the phone about what the major news items seem to be, and try to guess what will still be remembered on Friday. Sometimes, the prominent news item is self-evident; usually, though, we have to rattle around a lot of possible different news bits. Of that news, we sift through to try and identify items that are innately funny. Our soldiers fighting and dying in Iraq? No so funny. Dick Cheney blasting a lawyer friend in the face? Unfortunate for the human skeet, but unquestionably funny. It's a fine line, really.
Step 2: Framing. By Wednesday night we decide what kind of song we'll write. The genre we gravitate towards depends on how deep and dense the news is. The more notable items there are, the better chance there is of coming up with a tight, rhyme-filled nugget of joy. Whereas a slow news week is more likely to produce a song about how slow the news week was*.
Step 3: Stewing. All day Thursday, we put together little building blocks that will come together, Voltron-like, later that evening. Musical framework is fleshed out, key phrases crafted. Household responsibilities fall by the wayside.
Step 4: All-niter!: Sitting down at our respective cockpit-like recording command posts, we start putting the beast together. We work with machine-like precision, a model of efficiency that would have made Henry Ford as green as a toad accidentally dropped into a bushel of snow peas. It's tough work, but the cocaine helps**.
Step 5: Collapse: By the time we finish at three or four in the morning, we no longer care if the reverb should be "plate" or "small room", and the song more or less lets us know when it's done.
Step 6: Wake up and putter around, nervously hoping that B&T play it, and that it gets laughs. Through the miracle of modern technology, we can listen in despite the fact that the show isn't available in either of our cities (Philly and DC), if we happen to be awake. If not, they have an archive that has a synopsis of what they did that day, downloadable hour by hour.
Step 7: Revel in triumph and pat each other on the back, or mope around all day thinking about how much we suck. You'd think after more than a dozen years, we'd have really thick skins when it comes to feedback. And I suppose we do. But when something you worked really hard on doesn't get the reaction you hoped for, or isn't played it all, that first moment is tough. Of course, the victories are more abundant than the flops, and the successes tend to breed more of the same.
Step 8: Lather, rinse, repeat. Win or lose, the new week starts fresh again, and we hope that the news will be even more "not-strange-funny-but-ha-ha-funny" than the week before.
Hoping that someone will do or say something really, really stupid at the Oscars,
Storm
*duh!
**not really. We've been using it for so long*** that it has no effect on us anymore.
***not really. Paul only started three years ago, and I took it up several months after him, after he assured me that I'd be a "better cocksman" if I took it****.
****not really. He actually said it might make me "less of a dork", but the real reason I took it was to try and get him to stop*****.
*****not really. I'd been dying to experiment with it ever since I saw "Scarface" in college. I used to run around my dorm with bags of baking soda, slurring profanity at my roommates and inviting them to say hello to my little friend******.
******not really. I lived in an on-campus apartment, where I fell asleep every night dreaming about the day when I'd get to try cocaine*******.
*******not really. Neither Paul******** nor I have ever tried cocaine, and I imagine we never will.
********to the best of my knowledge.
3 Comments:
Oooh can we suggest news items? :)
~Lena
My husband played one of your cd's for me...loved the "opening band" song.
Jon Riley thinks cursive writing is stupid too! I may or may not have killed a hobo with a hammer though...
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