Occasionally, when I’m sitting with my guitar, I manage to concoct a tune that I believe I could record along with some lyrics and eventually convert that into a song – my own song. With my own lyrics, composition and maybe even my own solo. I think my Mac can take care of the rest of it. Then I sit down to write some lyrics. After some time, I have some lyrics scribbled on a piece of paper and it brings out the emotions that I believe that the song/tune represents. But then I think, “I’m sure I can write deeper, better and more powerful lyrics that actually is worthy of my composition.” So I throw away these lyrics.
There have been many such episodes. As a result, I do not have any song of my own. Just a bunch of undocumented compositions sitting at the back of my mind. And I do not want to record some instrumental stuff right now – I am of the opinion that an instrumental comes after a person has proved his/her worth as a lyricist and composer. Exceptions do exist, of course.
But when I turn on the TV and listen to some of the most popular songs on MTV, the lyrics have me stymied. The lyrics are horrible. Utter bull-shit, I dare-say. Yeah, the beat might be fun and energetic, but the lyrics might as well have been written by a three year old. No offense. Some of these songs are:
1. Sexy Bitch (David Guetta ft. Akon):
She’s nothing like a girl you’ve ever seen before
Nothing you can compare to your neighbourhood hoe (pointless line)
I’m tryna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful
The way that booty movin I can’t take no more (what happened to not being disrespectful?)
Have to stop what i’m doin so I can pull up close
I’m tryna find the words to describe this girl without being disrespectful
(Might I add here that beat is awesome. DJDG is a dude.)
2. Replay (Sean Kingston):
Shawty´s like a melody in my head (What? “Shawty” is the new hip lingo? What kind of euphemism is that?)
That I can´t keep out
Got me singin´ like
Na na na na everyday
It´s like my iPod stuck on replay replay-ay-ay-ay (Cheeeeeeesy!)
3. Lollipop (Lil Wayne)
Ow… Uh Huh…
Young Mula Baby (let it not be said that I didn’t try to comment on this line. I’m just at a loss of words, that’s all!)
I say he so sweet
Make her wanna lick the rapper (cheesy pun on wrapper/rapper…. or maybe a mistake gone unnoticed)
So I let her lick the rapper
She she lick me
Like a lollipop (x4)
Shawty wanna thug (Usage of “Shawty”, I’m sure has a direct causal link with the song’s success)
Bottles in the club (Umm… what is the relevance of this line, in a para that otherwise only talks about sex?)
Shawty wanna hump
You know I’d like to touch
Ya lovely lady lumps
I know the beat and bass is very cool, but the lyrics have the same effect as being constipated after a long night of eating shells of prawns and no water.
Now I don’t get the lyrics of all songs when I first hear them, but the tune sometimes is so catchy that you can’t help but get your “booty-a-movin’”. Well, these guys are very talented musicians and producers. And very very successful too. Can’t take that away from them, can you? Especially when Shawty is fire burning the dance floor at every self-respecting nightclub. I LOVE these songs when I’m out there – they’re so high in energy and the msuic is so funky. But it kinda makes me feel like, “What the hell! Why did I not carry on with the lyrics I had written for my song? They might not have been so colourful, but maybe the people would have liked my tune too….
But then I think about great people, inspirational people like Bono, John Mayer, and Brandon Boyd (Incubus) whose lyrics are as soulful as their melodies. This is what makes them or will eventually make them classics – timeless. People will always have a copy of “The Joshua Tree” somewhere in their closets. They will always remember Drive and Daughters. It these lyrics (and of course the musical composition) that define the longevity of a song’s popularity. One is as important as the other, and maybe everyone realises that at heart.
It is with that inspiration that I will have a song someday that people will sing with me, and not just break dance to.
Before anything is said, let me state that the following piece of writing, and only this one, is NOT my own creation. I found it while stumbling around on the internet. But the write-up represents some of my beliefs, and I have, on occasion, shared similar ideas with my friends and whoever cares to listen. This article lies at the core of some relationships, whether romantic or platonic. It’s about nice guys – the guys who have to settle for the peck on the cheek, and dance with the other cousin at parties (not the girl of their choice). The original article is from here.
This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.
This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.
This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.
The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.
So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.
The End.
An epitome of contradiction, isn’t it?
All the unneeded and unnecessary drama on TV shows has touched a nerve somewhere within me. And this is not the drama that you expect to see on shows such The Hills, or The OC, or some of the sob-stories that have infested the TV-watcher’s afternoons, evenings, and leisure. This is the useless drama created in a show just to publicize it, and to increase the TRP ratings – the mechanism by which certain slots of channels become popular, and media buying in these “prime-time” slots increases – hence directly leading to undeserved increased earnings for the TV channels. And since people are always on the lookout for drama, they zip to these channels and watch it unfold while the producers backstage are having a nice laugh (and rubbing their bellies, depending on their levels of physical fitness – fit people usually don’t rub their bellies, but the heavier people do – as if it is a sign of prosperity…. however, I digress…).
Some of you might have read about the pretty high profile case of Wallace Souza – the host of Brazilian crime show, Canal Livre, and state legislator who was expelled from the legislative assembly earlier this month. He was accused of commissioning real-life murders to bring in more viewership to his TV-show, which was all about crimes in Brazil. If you want to read more, I have found an article here. While most of the other stuff that is really happening is not serious and not tantamount to murder, they’re still pretty interesting. While some of these “staged acts” are work of genius, some other are so poorly executed that you can help but talk about it. In both cases, the business objective is fulfilled.
Of course, in India, we have our own thing going on. A long time ago, there used to be events called Swayamvars (meaning: choosing your own husband), where men would come from far away places and take part in competitions of brain and brawn to win the hand of princesses in marriage. Thats where the idea of being able to choose your own husband and the tests came in. But these stories, like those of many other civilizations, have become a thing of the past. Yet, one of India’s drama queens (also a cleavage queen)- Rakhi Sawant decided to bring this back – by having a Swayamvar on national TV, in the format of a reality not very different from Big Brother.
Some dude from Canada (I think) called Elesh won this shindig. So then, Rakhi and Elesh were bethrothed. And then Rakhi (who has a history of such stupid behaviour) started her drama on how Elesh wasn’t the kind of person she was looking for, and she even had her doubts whether he had the financial means to support Rakhi’s supposedly glamorous and luxurious lifestyle. No doubt, this attracted more people to watch the show, and whatever shows came after it. Of course, there was a spin-off show starring Elesh and Rakhi (to see how compatible they were – why they would do this on national telly beats me) called Pati, Patni aur Woh (meaning: Husband, wife and the other one). I mean, really? Seems they lost more while gaining viewership – their dignity.
Well, Rakhi is a class act, and you’ll probably hear of me talking about her at other times too, but wonder why she dragged the poor bloke into this. Is he smitten? Or is he too, a ‘playa’?
While this is an example of only one show, there are so many more. For example, there’s is an Indian version of “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!” called “Mujhe Iss Jungle Se Bachao” (meaning: Save me from this jungle). Seriously, wtf? Anyway, they have a bunch of Indian celebs from the small and big screens as the participants. One of the female actors, who portrays a traditional and innocent saree-clad Indian girl in a very famous saga (Shweta Tiwari, how is better known as Prerna from Kasauti Zindagi Ki) with hopes of leaving an impression on society, are flashing their bikinis. Mind you, I’m a guy, and didn’t mind this at all. However, the contradictions never cease, do they? Bikini-clad hottie taking a waterfall shower and traditional housewife seem to be perfectly harmonious. I think its perfectly normal for a person to wear or do anything that they feel comfortable with (If you have it, flaunt it eh?). But, all of India wanted to see this for real, with their own eyes. I’m sure the effect on TRPs was more than palpable.
And there are another couple of shows – MTV Splitsvilla and Channel V Roadies – another few of those shows where a bunch of youngsters are thrown into some confined space and all the drama, gossip, etc is captured on TV. Now, obviously, this show is meant to instigate the interpersonal dynamics between people, to see who’s the stud and who’s the slut, who’s the bitch, and who’s Mr. Nice Guy. Drama is inevitable. As contestants of shows like Splitsvilla and Roadies have confirmed in the past that they can do anything to be in the limelight, channels seem to have no qualms exploiting the situation.
In other shows, people talk about extramarital affairs, murderous thoughts, plans of revenge, and generally spicy stuff that is fun to watch but the worst thing if it happened to any one of us. I obviously have no complaints here – I like watching this stuff too – its entertainment! It exactly what these artists want to do. Its just that sometimes, the scripted aspect becomes so obvious that it becomes difficult to swallow. Then, it takes away from the entertainment and becomes an effort to push people into seeing things that they, honestly, didn’t sign up for.
Enough writing. I don’t wanna be on the computer missing out on some slap scene, or some bitching-fest. I wanna see the scene where everyone is so pally with each other outside, but has such sweet nothings to say about them when alone.
