By Artie Capshaw

Sonny of the New Blats Blits Blots, or whatever they’re calling themselves these days, blasted into a new song Tuesday at the Bull. A bunch of us drank about it later, and we all had seriously different takes on the tortured tune.

Bonnie of the Bonny Joes (you’ll be hearing about them another time) thought it was dumb.

James of Felix Phooey thought it was self-indulgent.

Yoost thought it would never sell.

Janie of the Pippa Pipkins thought it wasn’t about anything.

Millie of the Model Marvels thought it was about everything.

And W.G. Harvest thought it was making fun of Mexican-Americans.

As for your humble reporter, we don’t suspect that Barry has the skill or consciousness to do something that provokes so subtly and yet so broadly. We could easily have elicited his opinion, but we like our quorum better.

 

The offensive and/or indulgent and/or worthless and/or all-encompassing lyrics?

“I.” Just the one letter. Repeated ad nauseam. But with a rhythm, thus:

“I/I-I/I-I-I/I-I-I-I…”

(Or would that last line be “IV”?)

Sing it to yourself. Make up your own melody. Consider the groupings. “I” alone sounds ego-driven. “I-I” sounds like something a sailor would say. “I-I-I” sounds like a worried cartoon character. “I-I-I-I” sounds like that sombrero dance that party bands play in between the dirty jokes.

The evil “I” will get you if you let it stare too long. We could write a book about this song. We can’t wait to hear it again. And that’s the first time we’ve ever said that about a Blats songs.