They took a song and they threw it into the sea.
“It had been dogging us for years, that submit tune. We used to jam on it, then it destroyed us. We tried to turn it into like a dozen different songs. It was the theme for some idiot rock opera we tried to write.
“This thing consumed us. It was ‘our song,’ the way couples in love have a song. It grew until it was bigger than all of us. And it nearly destroyed us.”
The only recourse for the band was to divorce the song, erase it, evaporate it, put out a hit on it. They couldn’t give it away—bad luck for all.
So in a van on a three-show tour of one-state-over, they scientifically eviscerated and disembowelled the song. They declared key parts of it off limits forever. Then they each wrote separate parts of it down.
Then they ripped the pieces, put them all in a bag, tied a rock to the bag, and tossed it the ocean.
When they got back to town, they felt a curse had been lifted.
We’re not mentioning the band, or the song, because our readers are cretins who like nothing more than to shout out a request for this devil song the next time the band plays. Part of us wants to protect the world from inevitable doom by keeping the specifics to ourself. Another part of us wants to shout out the request ourself.
Coming to the Bullfinch within 40 hours of now: Horn of the Hunter, I Didn’t Know It was Loaded (with former members of Use Enough Gun) and The Old Man’s Boy Grows Older… At Hamilton’s: The Lost Classics, One for the Road and Something of Value… At D’ollaire’s: an indie incursion of The Honey Badger and the not-as-metal-as-they-sound Grenadine’s Spawan…