Jesus Fucking Christ, Thank God for Punk.
Oh, my fucking god. Just look at this psycho ASSHOLE. Jaco Fucking Pastorius. IMAGINE trying to have a conversation with this pus bag about anything but HIMFUCKINGSELF. What a ass.I say let's take up a collection for th' Angel Of Merciful Death that descended on this Ruiner in Miami that fateful night and shivved him betwixt his crummy shoulderblades. Was it the same Samaritan that rid th' world of Dimebag Darryl once 'n' for all? I suspect strongly that it was.
Look, I know this fucking shit ain't a hill of beans right now what with the Rapture comin' down from those squinty little sandmonkeys and Hymies out there in th' Godless Mideast. But in a way it is important. Why? Well, because as far as I'm concerned Jaco Pastorius stands as guilty of Ruining Everything as six fucking Sam Waltons and a Rove 'r' two. What a fucking tosser.
I'm going to say this right now and put it to rest. I sincerely hope to fuck that this little muddier of musical waters isn't in Heaven's Rock Band because if he is right now he's stepping on some poor musician's toes. It's BASS, Jaco! It's BASS. IF YOU REALLY NEEDED TO TAKE TH' HEAD SO FUCKING BAD WHY DIDN'T YOU PICK UP ONE OF THOSE STUPID "SOLO" INSTRUMENTS LIKE THAT KENNY G SHIT THAT YOU BLOW INTO AND YOUR EGO COMES OUT ALL FLOWERY?
God damn it I don't have TIME for this. I'm in the middle of a fucking million-night run with God DAMN Soulfinger and I have to be in another fucking TIME ZONE in like six minutes. Fuck! Sic Semper Egotismus, baby.
It's BASS, Jacoff. It's BASS. Fucking WEATHER REPORT, MAN. Oh, my GOD. yeah, the fucking SPYROGIRO! The god damn YELLOWJACKETS. Oh, they're MINDBLOWING. MINDBLOWING.
Yeah, if you've got a LOT OF FUCKING COCAINE AND YOU NEED THAT ITCH SCRATCHED BECAUSE YOU CAN'T SPANK OFF BECAUSE YOUR COCK HAS TURNED INTO A LI'L VESTIGIAL FUCKING CASHEW.
Team sport, Jaco. Team sport, Stankey Clarke. Fucking jackoffs. I'll tell ya what's good- the first Eminem album. I shit you not. Trust me. Listen to it. Why? It's funnier than SHIT. It's like The Mothers. I shit you not. I can NOT take it outta the cassette in m'car. I keep trying. I'm like, hmmmmm...maybe some nice White Album. Hmmm...maybe some nice Roxy.
Nah. I'm going to listen to Th' Marshall Mathers LP again. I surprise myself. But I thought about it and came up with this- here is a guy who is actually as angry as me. And he puts it through the Bullshit Grinder and comes out with yucks for you and me. Yucks.
How many yucks are you going to get from listening to fucking JACO PASTORIUS FRETLESS IT UP FOR THE DOZENS OF PEOPLE WHO THINK HE'S COOL?
Fucking weather report. Jesus. Fucking Zawinul. What an idiot. Jesus Christ. I can't figure it out- I LOVE King Crimson. I can't figure it out. Is it attitude? Is it taste? I can't put my finger on it. My calloused finger from twennyfour years of using the fucking bass for what it's MEANT FOR.
I've had people motion to me before to take a bass solo. First time I shake my head. They keep it up I UNPLUG THAT MOTHERFUCKER AND I GO TAKE A PISS AND GET A FUCKING DRINK. NOBODY AND I MEAN NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR THAT SHIT. yeah, fire me. Please fire me.
I don't want to wind up with a blade between my shoulders from the Righteous Avenging Angel of Music. I don't need it. Now I have to go.
Fucking Jaco. Little dead squid.
posted by Bobby Lightfoot at 14:43
4 Comments:
A LI'L VESTIGIAL FUCKING CASHEW
Well, Bobby, you gave me my yucks today.
I'm with ya, man. Self-important polesmokin' musicians can take the fun out of anything.
Ouch.
With you on the bass solos tho...
A guy arrives at a tropical airport. Along with the heat and the sea breezes, and the aroma of spice, he hears the incessant beating of drums. BOOM boom boom boom. BOOM boom boom boom.
He asks the baggage handler, "So, what's up with the drums?"
The sloe-eyed darkey quickly looked left, then right. "The drums, mon, dey very important. Nothing must stop the drums."
Puzzled, our traveller hailed a taxi. The rhythm of the native drums was incessant.
He asked the cabbie, "Yo, bro, what up with the drums?"
The cabbie sucked on a spliff the size of a cheroot and gasped, "Oh, mon. We love the drums. If they ever stop, it will be a great catastrophe. Jah has written it."
The visitor disembarked at his luxury hotel. Despite the grand marble and gold surroundings, the throbbing of the drums was even louder. An obsequious bellhop sidled up to assist the guest with his bags. Wanting to get full value for his tip, the visitor brandished a $20 dollar bill and said to the bellboy, "There's another one just like this for you if you can do me a favor."
Quick like a bunny, the double sawbuck was palmed. "What is it you wish, meester? Dope? Girls? Boys?"
"Nothing like that, said the wealthy Americano. I just want to know about the drums."
"Ohhh, senor has noticed the urgent tropical rhythm of the drums. They are very special. Nothing must stop the drums."
Frustrated with curiousity, ur hero caould hold back no longer.
"What happens if the drums stop?"
The bellboy bared his palm, waiting for the other $20. "If the drums stop, it will be terrible.......after the drums stop.....comes the bass solo!"
as told to me by Kelly Keagy of Night Ranger, fwiw.
Bobby:
Your worst nightmare revealed.
-X
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