I had a terrible nightmare. And I cannot possibly find words to express my relief that it wasn’t real.
Here’s what happened:
Last evening she-human and I had a lengthy discussion (no yelling, just plain talking) about different tastes in music and she told me about her fancying a boy group when she was a teenager. I had no idea what she meant so she showed me pictures and videoclips of several groups of young humans (presumably male, though I’m not so sure, and neither were they, obviously) in very colourful clothes and of questionable musical talent.
So far so good (or bad).
Continue reading Thrakbog, the boy band
I’ve been going through she-human’s tin-music (everything human comes in tins, remember?) and laughed my ass off (not really, as it is massive and it would need more laughter than any lung could possibly hold in order to laugh it off), when I came upon something called ‘Flower Power’. I mean, really?
What kind of power should a flower have? Could you hit me on the head with a rose? Of course you could (if you dare to face the consequences) but to what effect? That I should laugh myself to death (see problem above)? That I shall faint due to the penetrating sweet fragrance? (Might actually work, orcs have a very sensitive nose that needs a certain amount of stink.) And even if it were poisoned, might I remind you that I am an orc? (Please, don’t tell me you haven’t grasped that fact by now). We digest rusty nails and old shoes.
Where I come from, there grows some nasty fungus and there actually might be a flower that is gigantic and could (and would) swallow you whole. But in this world?
She-human insists that the term refers to a time when people wore flowers in their hair as a form of protest against war. That was the moment when I almost suffocated from laughing so hard (which was perhaps her cunning plan to get rid of me. Hm). Only drug-meddled humans could come up with such an idea.
Anyway, we listened to that flowery music and I also had a good look at the names of those who once played these tunes and were now captured forever in those round tins. I wonder if there’s a way to release them in order to smack them in the face with a flower, hehe.
The names, I mean, can anyone honestly hope to be taken seriously when your name is ‘who’? Who ‘who’? Or ‘The Byrds’, obviously with a spelling problem? Besides the drugs. Really. The constant yelling that someone’s fire should be lighted was getting on my nerves rather quickly, but what made me really angry about that tune was the never-ending organ. Almost made me kick the playing device out of the window. She-human and I for once agreed that it’s possibly one of the most horrid songs ever composed. And it was definitely the reason someone invented the skip-button on the device. On the other hand it might prove useful as a battle song, annoying the hell out of your enemy. But only if your own army wears ear plugs.
But there were obviously some highlights as well. To be called ‘Steppenwolf” seems quite alright and to sing something like ‘Born to be wild’ shows good spirit.
Only the gods know (at least I hope they do, someone should) what ‘Do Wah Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Do’ could possibly mean. It certainly irritates the listener but has no resemblance with a battle song in any possible way.
But my absolute favourite definitely is a similarly confusing song called ‘In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida’ and the band’s name is so incredibly orcish that it actually made me wonder about their origin: Iron Butterfly. What’s not to like about that, right? I dearly hope, they didn’t wear flowers in their hair.