They will not get it perfect, but this will be your only option. At this point you will get frustrated because there is no real piano sheet music for any of these songs, and you must rely on your musically inclined friends to listen to it and translate it for you. Perhaps also for career path, though maybe not, if you do not envision yourself taking drugs and becoming an alcoholic, getting blackout drunk, and hitting people you are supposed to love. PLAYLIST FOR LEARNING TO PLAY THE PIANO WITHOUT A TEACHER (OR, THE “I WISH I WERE THAT GOOD AT ANYTHING, ANYTHING AT ALL” PLAYLIST). If it’s good enough for Byron and Shelley and Keats (according to this musician), who are you to say it’s not heaven? You’ve only been there once. And when it does, I guess Texas is as good a place to find heaven as any other. But it’ll happen to us because the sun will explode. You know, like those human imprints at Pompeii. You think it will just stop, and that’s how we’ll know it’s the end, because we’ll be stuck where we are and we won’t be able to leave. “MmmHmmHmmMmmHmHmMmmmm MmmHmmHmmMmmHmHmMmmmm’ “My cock is sore’ (You don’t have one of those, either.) “Don Quixote had his windmills’ and you have Don Quixote, but what does that leave you with, really? “Hold me tight … let me go’ (Except you don’t even know how to play the piano…). PLAYLIST FOR TIMES YOU WANT TO WRITE BUT CANNOT FIND ANY WORDS THAT STICK TO THE PAGE AND SO LISTEN TO MUSIC INSTEAD. “He ain’t been right since Vietnam.’ Amen. Here, a chant of war, brutality, masculinity: “strength and muscle and jungle work, strength and muscle and jungle work, strength and muscle and jungle work…’ You don’t have any lawyers, guns, or money to get you out of a fix. The cute waiter at the resort kept giving you the eye, but you were afraid if you slept with him he would read the mean things you wrote about communism and human rights violations and report you to the government, like the waitress who’s with the Russians. This song opens with a chant of environmental ruination: “4-Aminobiphenyl, hexachlorobenzene dimethyl sulfate…’ “Everybody’s choking on monoxide fumes.’ And you’re choking on this music, the echoes of your thoughts. You wish you could speak that language, the language of buttery, flaky croissants covered in warm chocolate. Or, you miss the buttery, flaky croissants served with warm chocolate sauce you got at every hotel. “Je n’ suis pas le gibet / D’ Montfaucon:’ I’m not the gallows / of Mount Falcon. Also, you saw Vladivostok–“Can I go back to Vladivostok?’–on the flight map while flying from the United States to Tokyo, Japan, another country tangentially related to communism. This song is just about the Russians (aka communists) fighting with Afghanistan. PLAYLIST FOR WHEN YOU GO TO VIETNAM AND CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT WAR, COMMUNISM AND DYSTOPIAN NOVELS (EVEN THOUGH YOU HATE DYSTOPIAN NOVELS), AND YOU BECOME OBSESSED WITH THE CONCEPT OF JUNGLES AND THE ECOLOGICAL DESTRUCTION THEREOF. You can drive around, looking for your sentimental hygiene, while the numbness in your mouth wears off. If you spend your vacation getting your root canal, this is a good song to listen to. Also, driving, just driving around, windows down, helps a lot. Kids don’t even like clowns anymore, anyway. “It’s so hard to find it.’ Don’t be too sad about the clown. Maybe he was trying to tell you something else. “He used to honk his horn.’ Maybe he wasn’t trying to make you laugh. If someone tied you up to the railroad tracks and left you for dead, would someone come rescue you? Would someone care? Or is this the kind of story where the train doesn’t even run anymore? It’s illegal, it’s immoral, your neighbors don’t approve. All the good stuff that makes you feel better–sex, drugs, whatever–is out for one reason or another. People tell you you’re too young to be this way. Your body breaks down on you, betrays you. PLAYLIST FOR THOSE TIMES WHEN YOU WAKE UP WITH A MIGRAINE, HAVE AN ALL-DAY ASTHMA ATTACK, AND LEARN YOU NEED A ROOT CANAL.
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