Erm, so. This is going to be more of a Twitter update than a blog post, but I just want to toss this out there into the open:
I'm going to post some partially written lyrics here next time---maybe---but I just want to go through the whole 'blahblahblah copyright blahblahblah' speech. These upcoming lyrics/songs, although unpublished and unedited, are original works that are COPYRIGHTED to us, so... blahblahblah, you know, don't copy or try to publish our work, blahblahblah plagiarism, you know the drill.
But look out for our lyrics. They'll be fawesome. :)
Tune in next time, folks.
<3,
Roo
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The Woes of Songwriting
Here's a secret: I haven't actually, um, told my fellow "band mates" about this blog yet. Weird, huh? That's because the whole band thing is super out there, and I'm fairly certain that the idea is going to crash and scream and burn and die soon. That's why Bug and Shug and Spot don't BLOG IT UP! on here with me. For now, if you're sick of me, then A) you're reading this blog, yes! B) deal with it and C) If They Fight works out, then you'll get some visits from them, if it doesn't... then I'll have to delete this delicious blog o'mine. (sad face)
SPOILER: Part two of this post revolves around me complaining about songwriting, me failing at songwriting, and also high-fives and some tasty-sounding (but not tasty tasting, I assume) vanilla vodka called Absolut. If you have a weak heart or cannot touch your toes, sit this round out.
Yesterday was Labor Day: Labor Day = no school = party, right? = not that party. But there was a fair amount of driving done, so I was left in the backseat with an iPod, a notebook, and my musings all to myself. Here's what happens when you're trying to think of a good melody to hum along to those lyrics you wrote on Sunday in the car with three other people: your brother gets annoyed at you humming the same line overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover at varying pitches and sometimes with some festive little pop licks thrown in to surprise everyone, and he tells you to 'shaddup!' and then you feel hurt in your heart, so you do shaddup, but then you're looking at those lyrics and you think you've got this great melody starting to form inside your head and then you sing it once and you think Viola! that's the one! but then for some reason you can't sing it the same way again, no matter how many times you try it overandoverandoverandoverandover and then the whole thing repeats itself, and you wipe at the tears in the corners of your eyes, in order not to get your Maybelline Lash Stiletto mascara all over your face, the end. Obviously, it was a traumatic experience for one with such a tender heart as mine, and so I had to move my humming to a more appropriate venue (bedroom) where I was very productive (no) and finished a lot of 'Wet Cement Serenade' (one line, two possibly). On the plus side, I hi-5'ed a crazy guy at the park (then swiftly hand-sanitized) and also hungered (thirsted, is more correct) after a delicious-looking bottle labeled 'European Vanilla'. I had almost convinced my mother to buy me some (not really), when it turned out it was vodka, and vodka is bad for a growing girl. Oh well.
This concludes my September 8th chapter of the They Fight Paris Falls online diary. Stay spiffy.
<3,
Roo
P.S. Like the new font? Trebuchet MS was getting ollllllld.
SPOILER: Part two of this post revolves around me complaining about songwriting, me failing at songwriting, and also high-fives and some tasty-sounding (but not tasty tasting, I assume) vanilla vodka called Absolut. If you have a weak heart or cannot touch your toes, sit this round out.
Yesterday was Labor Day: Labor Day = no school = party, right? = not that party. But there was a fair amount of driving done, so I was left in the backseat with an iPod, a notebook, and my musings all to myself. Here's what happens when you're trying to think of a good melody to hum along to those lyrics you wrote on Sunday in the car with three other people: your brother gets annoyed at you humming the same line overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover at varying pitches and sometimes with some festive little pop licks thrown in to surprise everyone, and he tells you to 'shaddup!' and then you feel hurt in your heart, so you do shaddup, but then you're looking at those lyrics and you think you've got this great melody starting to form inside your head and then you sing it once and you think Viola! that's the one! but then for some reason you can't sing it the same way again, no matter how many times you try it overandoverandoverandoverandover and then the whole thing repeats itself, and you wipe at the tears in the corners of your eyes, in order not to get your Maybelline Lash Stiletto mascara all over your face, the end. Obviously, it was a traumatic experience for one with such a tender heart as mine, and so I had to move my humming to a more appropriate venue (bedroom) where I was very productive (no) and finished a lot of 'Wet Cement Serenade' (one line, two possibly). On the plus side, I hi-5'ed a crazy guy at the park (then swiftly hand-sanitized) and also hungered (thirsted, is more correct) after a delicious-looking bottle labeled 'European Vanilla'. I had almost convinced my mother to buy me some (not really), when it turned out it was vodka, and vodka is bad for a growing girl. Oh well.
This concludes my September 8th chapter of the They Fight Paris Falls online diary. Stay spiffy.
<3,
Roo
P.S. Like the new font? Trebuchet MS was getting ollllllld.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Upon writing music....
That's been my task this week, you know, writing actual music. Here's my dilemma as I see it: I am bad at those circles with sticks... you know what I'm talking about?... Music notes, ah yes, I'm bad at musical notes.
I'm handling lyrics, those are the fun/easy/doable part. They're just another chapter of my poetry-writing fetish. Even the tune and melody isn't so bad, it's just figuring out what notes on a keyboard are the ones in my head...
I think I need Shug to help, but she has pneumonia and they won't let her play with me. But we, um, like sort of need some music to play if this is going to be a band, eh? Maybe I should stop shooting so high, pick up some sheet music and tabs for covers off the Net, and work up to original songs to play... Aw well.
Here's all I have to say for now: Watch out, because the lyrics to 'Wet Cement Serenade' are killer... (or don't watch out, because all you'll ever have are lyrics, no music, HA!)
<3,
Roo
I'm handling lyrics, those are the fun/easy/doable part. They're just another chapter of my poetry-writing fetish. Even the tune and melody isn't so bad, it's just figuring out what notes on a keyboard are the ones in my head...
I think I need Shug to help, but she has pneumonia and they won't let her play with me. But we, um, like sort of need some music to play if this is going to be a band, eh? Maybe I should stop shooting so high, pick up some sheet music and tabs for covers off the Net, and work up to original songs to play... Aw well.
Here's all I have to say for now: Watch out, because the lyrics to 'Wet Cement Serenade' are killer... (or don't watch out, because all you'll ever have are lyrics, no music, HA!)
<3,
Roo
Friday, September 4, 2009
Something... Unexpected.
We are They Fight, Paris Falls. Or, we sort of hope we are.
But if you're reading this, then I suppose we're famous already.
If you're reading this, then I suppose it's eons in the future when we've got a hold of our instruments and our songs and we were actually serious about this thing. If you are reading this, and if all of that's true, then (and not to brag) we rock. We've come sooooo far, guys.
Here's us---as of right now, September 4th, '09---me, Roo, with my eye on several intriguing instruments at the moment and a kind-of inclination toward vocals; Shug, she's the only one with a solid musical background of piano; Bug, on guitar perhaps, if she learns it (learn it, dagnabit!); and Spot, with... with whatever she chooses to play, I guess. So you see, as of now, we're a fairly starry-eyed and unimpressive "band" with nothing but a shaky goal and an awwwwwesome name.
Maybe this'll go nowhere (probably), maybe we'll never get a drummer or a bassist (who needs 'em?), maybe we really won't master our instruments (likely), maybe this'll be humiliating (very likely), maybe we'll suck (awwwww), maybe we'll fight (not really guys, love you), maybe no one will be there to read this (my guess is 'yes!'), but maybe... maybe it will take us somewhere and maybe it'll be grand (risky, improbable, dangerous, exciting, doubtful, lovely, far away, sparkly). That's all for now, I s'pose.
I love you, whoever you are.
<3,
Roo
But if you're reading this, then I suppose we're famous already.
If you're reading this, then I suppose it's eons in the future when we've got a hold of our instruments and our songs and we were actually serious about this thing. If you are reading this, and if all of that's true, then (and not to brag) we rock. We've come sooooo far, guys.
Here's us---as of right now, September 4th, '09---me, Roo, with my eye on several intriguing instruments at the moment and a kind-of inclination toward vocals; Shug, she's the only one with a solid musical background of piano; Bug, on guitar perhaps, if she learns it (learn it, dagnabit!); and Spot, with... with whatever she chooses to play, I guess. So you see, as of now, we're a fairly starry-eyed and unimpressive "band" with nothing but a shaky goal and an awwwwwesome name.
Maybe this'll go nowhere (probably), maybe we'll never get a drummer or a bassist (who needs 'em?), maybe we really won't master our instruments (likely), maybe this'll be humiliating (very likely), maybe we'll suck (awwwww), maybe we'll fight (not really guys, love you), maybe no one will be there to read this (my guess is 'yes!'), but maybe... maybe it will take us somewhere and maybe it'll be grand (risky, improbable, dangerous, exciting, doubtful, lovely, far away, sparkly). That's all for now, I s'pose.
I love you, whoever you are.
<3,
Roo
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