Sounds from Sunday Afternoon

Okay, so this blog is supposed to be dedicated to fiction and philosophy, but I’m out of ideas on both fronts. So I’ve decided to throw a little randomness in here and do something I haven’t done since high school—record a song. For you. All of you. (This is where I hold my palm up to my brow and blink into the blinding spotlight.)

I used to write my own music when I was too young to have anything to say, and since then I’ve given up on those efforts. Now I content myself to mess up other people’s songs while I knock down a few beers. Here we go…

This is Ray LaMontagne’s You Are the Best Thing

NOW WAIT. Before you click on the “play” button, let me warn you…the sound is crap. I recorded this on my iPod with my head down while reading the music on my kitchen counter, so any time I move, the sound obviously moves with me. No mics, nothing.

NOW WAIT. It’s just an audio file because I didn’t want to be caught with the stank face:


NOW WAIT. My singing’s all pitchy. My guitar playing devolves into knuckle-scraping strumming because I cut my nails too short.

NOW WAIT. I also changed everything in the song. So it’s not really the same chords. It’s super simplified.

NOW WAIT WAIT WAIT…Don’t listen to it. I’m scerd.

Okay. Listen. But keep it at a low volume. Trust me on this.

12 thoughts on “Sounds from Sunday Afternoon

  1. You’re quite a woman aren’t you? Still, I’m not going to compliment you because that would be an insult. [An artist knows they are that, they don’t need non-artists (like me) telling them what they already know.]

    I used to work on the peripheries of the music industry and have friends who are session players/producers/composers, so I know full well what a couple of thousand dollars spent in a studio can do with raw talent (like you).

    Now, can we have an original? With Miss Minogue’s approval then I might suggest a title:

    ‘Kant get you out of my head’

    Hariod. ❤


    • HA! Apparently I really Kant get him out of my head.

      I’d love to give you an original, but I don’t have any. I can’t write song lyrics. That’s somewhere up there with poetry, this forever inaccessible realm. It took forever for me to work up the courage to start writing a novel.

      My friend found a tape of us playing back when we were in high school (she played the cello and, at my insistence, the harmonica and tambourine from time to time). After scrambling to find a tape player, we listened and had a good laugh. The sound, though done in a home spun ‘recording studio,’ was actually worse than this audio file. I was a much better guitarist back then, but the lyrics…oh lordy lordy…no wonder I got myself into philosophy. I’d post that if I could get my hands on it. It’s hilarious.


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