That song again.
Never fails. No matter what pop music station I listen too, at some point a-ha comes on. With their eighties’ one-hit wonder of course, Take on me.
Hope not to make too many enemies, but…I cannot stand the music of the eighties. There, I said it. I believe it was a dark period in American musical history, one that needs to be deleted. Apparently, I’m one of a few. Most radio stations will – constantly!- promote ‘eighties weekends’, and one appalling song after the other will assault my ears. That’s when I switch to Nash FM.
That said, I will admit that I actually love Take on me, and, in those dark ages of music, I was actually delighted by their clever video, impressive in the early days of computer animation. (Take a look at it, worth it. Just try to ignore that God-awful eighties hair).
But the first thing that comes to my mind, every single time I hear that piece, is Why didn’t I write this damn song? Or co-wrote it, performed it, recorded. Just once. Because that is all this lovely Norwegian band needed to do.
One song, one lifetime of serious income.
A movie I loved, About a Boy. Remember the plot? Yep, that concept. Write one bloody hit song, enjoy the rest of your life, my dear.
I’ve tried a couple of times (though not with excessive enthusiasm) to write lyrics. Okay, I don’t play any instrument, nor can I sing, so I would definitely need a team of experts who could take care of everything else. But, you know, writing love songs? I’m way too pragmatic (bordering on full-on cynical) at this point of my life, so couldn’t squeeze any romantic words out of my brain without gagging a little bit, and also not a big fan of rhyming (as you know, I write prose, not poetry).
Another project quickly put aside. Too bad, this is the one that could have made me rich. With very little sweat. Which is the way I’d like it. Sort of slightly more effort than buying a ‘Cash4Life’ ticket. Two bland sentences, repeated four-five times, some remarkable falsetto performing (awfully good, I admit), and cha-ching!
I’m not chasing fame and applause. Just regularly send me checks, decorated with numerous zeros, and I will be blessing that one song till the day I die. So will my offspring, and those after them forever on.
Don’t mean to sound greedy, I’m not. Just exhausted, anxious, yet still a tad of a dreamer.
The hit song that would offer peace. Remove the insecurities and fears, restore restful sleep to those tortured nights, ease the daily struggle, the never-ending hurdles, that steep hill that just leads to another (and another), the tunnel that will never proffer relief at the end. Because some seem to be destined to an existence that lacks even the dimmest light.
Mistakes that will reveal catastrophic. It happens. And cancel the word peace from your life.
Gotta write that hit song.
Back to work.