Last night I dreamed of a nightmare gig. As I got my things together backstage, the promoter came in and said I was not allowed to use words. NO LYRICS. As a slight concession, she allowed that one song during the set could contain a few... no more.
The first act of the evening went on. A pale lovely blonde with a swan lake tutu and red satin toe shoes. She played the piano from the side, reaching over the edge and mugging to the audience. She was using words. Then she slithered up and over the edge of the piano, into the body of the strings which then became pliant, like a trampoline. She started performing tricks and flips while she plucked the piano strings from inside.
I looked at the program. I was scheduled last. I hate going last. I ran through some kind of set list in my head that would be interesting enough musically without any words...maybe the piano part for "love is more thicker than forget" maybe the guitar part from "paris." "In the Gloaming?"
This dream bled into one where I was sure I was writing a hit song. Usually I just can't bring myself to get up and turn on the light to write it down, or find the m-audio machine.
I must have done it in my sleep. When I woke up, there it was, my hit song - a little unintelligible mumble into my digital recorder that, for once, I had left by the bed. All I can make out is "it's up to you, are you finished yet? you have such a lovely rainbow, such a lovely rainbow."
Maybe the promoter had a point.