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Lady, I Wrote That Song
The best story I ever heard from a junkie
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (9)
A1 (Short Stories) Machines file into a room...what could go wrong? [853 words] [Science Fiction]
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Atu Ep.2 (Short Stories) the second episode of Alpha Terran Unit [10,782 words] [Action]
Atu Ep.3 (Short Stories) Alpha Terran Unit episode 3 [9,516 words]
Illusion And Elysium (Essays) An essay about how our primitive religious/spiritual beliefs are shaped by our egos' desire for immortality and power. [8,911 words] [Scientific]
It's That Time Of The Year (Again) (Songs) - [173 words]
The Illusion Of Self (Essays) My philosophy of the self [367 words] [Spiritual]
The Thing(S) (Non-Fiction) They're everywhere [164 words]
Why Must I Still Be In Love With You? (Songs) - [331 words]
Lady, I Wrote That Song
There was this guy who owned a really nice restaurant up on Broadway. Nice food, good location, brass fittings, the works. Everything was perfect but for some reason the place just wasn’t attracting any customers. One night after yet another dismal cash-up he went downtown to get drunk and forget his problems.
He took a cab to Soho and walked into the first bar he saw, sat down and ordered a drink.
While he sat there something caught his attention – this music – he turned around and saw a man playing the piano on a small stage. His hair was a mess and his suit looked unwashed and worn but how he played – it was amazing.
“Who is this guy? I’ve never heard anything like it.” He says to the barman when he comes over with his drink. The song finishes and the pianist leans forward to the microphone.
“Thank you. That was a song called ‘anal sex on mescaline with a toothless hooker from Mexico’. I wrote that last week. Thank you.”
“This next one is called ‘I got a dildo up my ass, cocaine in my face and two whores askin’ me for money.”
“Oh what the fuck?” He shook his head. Horrified but intrigued, he listened on.
Then the man started playing. It started slowly and began to take form. The restaurant owner sat at the bar drinking, listening. It didn’t take long. After a few seconds he had to admit that the music at least was beautiful: Genius in fact. The basic form was simple, elegant and devastating: cascading Fifths and Major 7ths cycling downwards through permutations of minor 3rds and 6ths, finally resolving to the tonal centre momentarily recalling the ‘recursion’ as a resolution with a short Phyrigian motif at the end.
And his improvisation was spectacular – once the piece got going he effortlessly created landscapes of meaning and emotion. He played for fifteen minutes and everyone listened completely mesmerised.
“Thank you, thank you.” He said when the song was finished and the few people in the bar were clapping, “The next one is an old one called ‘shit my pants in a taxi-cab and got arrested for indecent exposure to a minor on the same night’.”
“Man, these titles just keep getting worse and worse.” The restaurant owner said to himself.
Again the musician began playing the piano, this time is was more intense, like Coltrane, frenetic, a sheet of notes, a bit like Michel Camilo. It was truly awesome music, better than the song before. It was almost unbelievable that a person could make a piano sound so beautiful. The restaurant owner decided to talk to the musician when his set was over.
As the set went on, the songs got better and better while the titles only got worse.
When the gig was over the musician came over to the bar and the restaurant owner spoke to the musician.
“Hey listen, I think you’re the best musician I’ve ever heard. I have a restaurant with a piano and I want you to play 5 days a week there, Wednesday to Sunday. I’ll pay you $120 a night with a meal and drinks.”
“Wow, that’s great!”
“But I have one condition.”
“You can’t ever, ever tell anyone the names of your songs. Ever.”
“Oh. That’s okay I guess. Well, since we’re speaking terms I actually also have a condition.”
“Really. And that is?”
“Well…it’s a bit weird…you see, before I play I have to do a sort of ‘ritual’. See, before I can really play I have to screw a hooker, drink two bottles of whiskey, do about three grams of coke and masturbate six or seven times while stimulating my anus with a dildo.”
“Christ! Really? How long does that take?”
“A while. An hour or two.”
“Well, okay. If you can fit that in before your set then I’m okay with that. Come over tomorrow and we’ll see how it works.”
The musician goes over the next day – he turns up early for his ‘ritual’ and is ready at 7:00pm for the gig. It all goes well; the customers love it. That night he and the restaurant owner agree to him playing 5 nights a week at the restaurant. The plan surpasses expectations: A few days after he starts playing there people start flocking to the restaurant. His music is a great hit with the patrons and more and more people start hearing about the place - over a few weeks the restaurateur doubles his profit.
Then one night the pianist doesn’t show up on time. A lot of the people are here to see the maestro perform and are getting impatient. The restaurant owner gets nervous. Twenty minutes go by, thirty, an hour passes. After two hours the musician shows up in a mess.
“Where the fuck have you been?!”
“Sorry, I got held up!”
“You have to get on stage now!”
“I have to do my ritual first!”
“Jesus Christ!” The bar owner throws his hands up in the air. “Well do it quickly! You’re two hours late for fuck’s sake!”
The musician rushes backstage and begins drinking whiskey from the bottle, rolling up bank-notes frantically snorting line after line of cocaine while masturbating furiously. After half an hour of feverish work, the musician finally emerges from his changing room and walks up to the stage.
As he is about to get up on to the stage a woman customer walking to one of the tables passes near him and calls his attention urgently.
“Excuse me, do you know you’ve got white powder all over your nose, there’s a dildo sticking out your ass and your dick is hanging out your pants?”
The musician stops and turns to the woman, then says “Know it? Lady I wrote that song.”
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© 2011 Rube
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