It’s that time of year again: time for the annual (?) contest for readers whose aesthetic reach extends their technical grasp. Last year’s contest – best quip about the Bomb – was a resounding success. This time around, let’s combine wonkdom with music lyrics. Two competitions: the best lyric about the bomb, and the best stanza altered to become about the Bomb. Can you dip into your music collections to rise to this challenge? We shall see.
As before, the grand prize in each category will be an autographed copy with an inscription of your choice of a soon-to-be-remaindered book by yours truly. I have recruited my ACW co-conspirators, Jeffrey Lewis and Josh Pollack to help me with the judging. So as not to get too wonkbound on our panel of judges, I’ve wrangled the services of an external reviewer who has graciously waived his usual consulting fee. He is an avid concert-goer who knows his way around the dance floor, who introduced me to the Drive-By Truckers, My Morning Jacket, and the Black Keys, and who is helping our 15 month-old grand-daughter to polish her first dance moves. I speak of none other than The Total Package, Josh Krepon.
Oh, yes, the contest. Here’s how to play. First category: nuke-related lyric. Pick your favorite stanza from a song about the Bomb. For example, “Ape Man,” by the Kinks, a great band:
I’m a King Kong man, I’m a voo-doo man, I’m an ape man
I don’t feel safe in this world no more
I don’t want to die in a nuclear war
I want to sail away to a distant shore
And make like an ape man
ACW readers: I know you can top this. But not with “This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race” by Fall Out Boy which, it so happens, ain’t about the Bomb. A pity. The best stanza chosen by our panel of judges wins.
Second category: best altered lyric. Take the Kinks again. Celluloid Heroes is one of my all-time favorites. How might it be altered to become about the Bomb? Here’s the original lyric:
Everybody’s a dreamer and everybody’s a star,
And everybody’s in movies, it doesn’t matter who you are.
There are stars in every city,
In every house and on every street,
And if you walk down Hollywood Boulevard,
Their names are written in concrete.
Here’s my alteration:
Everybody’s a pundit, and everybody’s a star,
And everybody wants air time, it doesn’t matter who you are.
There are nukes in every bunker,
In every silo, near and far,
Write a book on Sound Bite Boulevard, and hitch
A ride in Jon Stewart’s town car.
I know, pretty lame. I’m counting on you, Dear Readers, to do better. Unwrap your creativity before you unwrap your presents. Please submit the original stanza as well as your adaptation. We’ll try this for two weeks (unless this contest bombs). Entries will be posted upon arrival.