Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Three Notes to Riches

Back in the mid-eighties, an acquaintance stated that "Hall and Oates are the biggest threat to the future of mankind." I didn’t necessarily agree with the bold generalization of the statement, but it stuck with me and pops up from time to time when I reflect on music.

As easy as it is to imagine Hall and Oates ready to turn the keys on mass destruction of earth (or Lionel Ritchie or Christopher Cross or Chris Deburgh, remember this was the eighties), the bigger problem was the spawning copycat artists signed to record deals to further pollute the airwaves. Finally, some years ago I realized that Dave Matthews had seized the title of "biggest threat to mankind" followed by Coldplay because of the numerous bands that sounded the same. At that point I had stopped listening to the radio anyway, and I was saved (like the cockroach who will survive nuclear war).

But recently I have been forced to listen to the Delilah radio show which plays the latest adult contemporary music between listener pleas for unrequited love, tough time rants and dedications to the best husbands/boyfriends in the history of the world. (Surprisingly, I have not received such a dedication.) However, it has opened my eyes to the latest trend in music, the three note piano pounding dirge. It started out with Sara Bareilles ("I'm not gonna write you a love song", yeah, now it's stuck in your head!), followed by Colbie Caillat, and then Michael Bublé. But who’s next? I am. Yes, I want on that gravy train.

So here’s my song; it goes to the tune of any 3 pounding piano chords something like

Producers, record company executives, video directors, talent agents can contact me here.

Three Notes to Riches

I have mastered text messaging
So how hard is a piano?
Just like a cell phone keypad
Except bigger and louder

I have loved and lost
I know girls that hate me
Wouldn’t date me
Filed restraining orders

But I’m super sensitive
You can change my last name
To something French Canadian
Cause chicks dig that

So I wrote you a 3 note song
Mr. Record Company exec
It doesn’t have a fourth verse yet
But I feel one coming, so hold on

It’s about a guy that’ll never see the girl again
You know, the one who never really liked him
Didn’t even notice him
Maybe he was stalking her

But it’s a sad song
Cause she’s gone, like to Parsippany
But wait, there’s another one
Coming down the street, he waves
But she’s got pepper spray

So now he’s crying
And the tears are big and real
For the girl he’ll never have
And the pepper spray

Make the check out to Dexter (with one X)
Or Direct Deposit
Gimme an I-Phone commercial
And a video shoot, with slutty leather girls
With Double D Knockers
Check ‘em for pepper spray

I’m trying to end it now
But it won’t stop,
Cause those three chords
Just keep going on
And on and on
Like a pounding migraine

So that guy’s just lying in bed
Thinking ‘bout her in those tight jeans
Leather mini-skirt
Tank top sundress, stiletto heels
Not the girl in the bleachers
In the white keds

He can’t sleep, he flicks the tv on
There’s Dick Vitale and college b-ball
Yeah, it’s Kentucky
But they’ll probably show Ashley Judd
And UK blond cheerleaders
He forgets the girl
And lives happily after

So I wrote you a 3 note song
We’re approaching 4 minutes
Barely radio friendly
Can go straight to itunes
Make the check out to Dexter

1 comment:

  1. Love this song! I think a blues riff could be worked into the mix. Found your blog through your wife's Absolute Write postings. Love your profile bio--small town Texas here, also.