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paradisa2012-11-19 09:41 pm
hard_talker) wrote in paradisa2012-11-19 09:41 pm
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104.5 - there goes the last human voice
[ten o'clock on Monday night arrives with its usual slow fanfare: the pulse and gravel of Leonard Cohen's music sliding over the airwaves and the journals. this week, Mark lets the whole song play out, then chuckles softly as he lifts the needle off the vinyl]
God, I tell ya, guys, it's good to be back, as strange as it sounds. We had a nice little listener turnout last week, let's see if we can keep the ball rollin', huh? Hard Harry likes talkin' to you folks, and hopes you feel the same. ... Not a whole lotta fresh meat this week, but everyone get on board the welcome wagon anyway for Cimorene, Marceline, Zoe, Shego, and Thamuris. Maybe there ain't many of 'em, but strength doesn' hafta come in numbers. I'm willin' to bet that at least one of you is really somethin' else in some way or another.
[there's a pause, the crinkle of cellophane and the snap of a lighter as he takes a slow drag off a cigarette, and lets it out with the briefest clearing of his throat before he launches into his weekly editorial]
Yanno, I been doin' some thinking while I was looking through this crazy magic book we all call our lifeline to Castle Wonderfuck, our way-too-near and not-so-dear home sweet home ... and it looks like eeeeeverybody's gettin' introspective, lately. Maybe it's all the people gettin' their boarding passes to whatever passes for a flight home, their walkin' papers, their discharge notice, whatever you wanna call it. Maybe it's that so much shit just keeps slowly goin' on as usual, but there's somethin' under the surface. This place is - the attitude goin' around, it's like that bruise you wake up, find, and don't know where the fuck it came from. You've all gotten one, you what I mean! You get up, you take your shower, you've got a towel around the bits you don't want anyone to see, maybe one on your head, and as you're goin' for your socks or your shorts or your over-the-shoulder boulder holder, you spot it, and sure as shit, you all say the same thing:
"How the hell did I get this stupid thing?"
No idea, guys. Even I don't have a clue. Maybe an hour or so from now, or a month, we'll remember what the fuck we all banged our collective shins on. S'pretty likely we'll never know. But even so, you guys all got me thinkin': it's not really about who comes and who goes, even though every single one'a those people is important. It's what they make, or do, or say while they're here that gets remembered. There's a gorgeous damn mural down in the clinic. Do I know who made it? No, but I sure as hell like lookin' at it every time I go see the people I know that work down there. And for that, I thank Random Mural Guy. Those of you who like the lemonade tap in the kitchen, you can thank one of at least a few guys who've been here and gone by "The Doctor". You're all gonna be remembered for somethin', each and every one of you out there. The question you gotta ask yourselves is: what?
Me, I dunno. Probably my big mouth. Or maybe the music. Whichever one it is, I've already exercised one pretty well tonight, so lemme give you the other. This week's dose of decibels comes from some close personal friends of mine, The Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'm gonna kick it off with a song that they loved enough to want to put on one of their first albums - but their producers hated the damn thing and shitcanned it for a good five years before they let it see the light of day. By the time it finally hit the airwaves, it got all the way to lucky number seven on the charts... which just goes to show you that record producers don't know shit, and they should just listen to the goddamn musicians. Without further ado, I give you "Behind The Sun", and other refinements: some of which haven't even been written yet, for me, which is still one hell of a mind-fuck, even after almost two years.
[and with that, on goes the stereo. enjoy your RCHP, Paradisa]
God, I tell ya, guys, it's good to be back, as strange as it sounds. We had a nice little listener turnout last week, let's see if we can keep the ball rollin', huh? Hard Harry likes talkin' to you folks, and hopes you feel the same. ... Not a whole lotta fresh meat this week, but everyone get on board the welcome wagon anyway for Cimorene, Marceline, Zoe, Shego, and Thamuris. Maybe there ain't many of 'em, but strength doesn' hafta come in numbers. I'm willin' to bet that at least one of you is really somethin' else in some way or another.
[there's a pause, the crinkle of cellophane and the snap of a lighter as he takes a slow drag off a cigarette, and lets it out with the briefest clearing of his throat before he launches into his weekly editorial]
Yanno, I been doin' some thinking while I was looking through this crazy magic book we all call our lifeline to Castle Wonderfuck, our way-too-near and not-so-dear home sweet home ... and it looks like eeeeeverybody's gettin' introspective, lately. Maybe it's all the people gettin' their boarding passes to whatever passes for a flight home, their walkin' papers, their discharge notice, whatever you wanna call it. Maybe it's that so much shit just keeps slowly goin' on as usual, but there's somethin' under the surface. This place is - the attitude goin' around, it's like that bruise you wake up, find, and don't know where the fuck it came from. You've all gotten one, you what I mean! You get up, you take your shower, you've got a towel around the bits you don't want anyone to see, maybe one on your head, and as you're goin' for your socks or your shorts or your over-the-shoulder boulder holder, you spot it, and sure as shit, you all say the same thing:
"How the hell did I get this stupid thing?"
No idea, guys. Even I don't have a clue. Maybe an hour or so from now, or a month, we'll remember what the fuck we all banged our collective shins on. S'pretty likely we'll never know. But even so, you guys all got me thinkin': it's not really about who comes and who goes, even though every single one'a those people is important. It's what they make, or do, or say while they're here that gets remembered. There's a gorgeous damn mural down in the clinic. Do I know who made it? No, but I sure as hell like lookin' at it every time I go see the people I know that work down there. And for that, I thank Random Mural Guy. Those of you who like the lemonade tap in the kitchen, you can thank one of at least a few guys who've been here and gone by "The Doctor". You're all gonna be remembered for somethin', each and every one of you out there. The question you gotta ask yourselves is: what?
Me, I dunno. Probably my big mouth. Or maybe the music. Whichever one it is, I've already exercised one pretty well tonight, so lemme give you the other. This week's dose of decibels comes from some close personal friends of mine, The Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'm gonna kick it off with a song that they loved enough to want to put on one of their first albums - but their producers hated the damn thing and shitcanned it for a good five years before they let it see the light of day. By the time it finally hit the airwaves, it got all the way to lucky number seven on the charts... which just goes to show you that record producers don't know shit, and they should just listen to the goddamn musicians. Without further ado, I give you "Behind The Sun", and other refinements: some of which haven't even been written yet, for me, which is still one hell of a mind-fuck, even after almost two years.
[and with that, on goes the stereo. enjoy your RCHP, Paradisa]