If you were Colin’s neighbor, who would you be?
A) A chilean sea bass
B) That one skeevy perv who keeps the blinds closed all day
C) A completely different chilean sea bass
D) Boom Diddles McBaggersons
If you answered “A” or “C”, go eat. If you answered “B”, I already called the cops and there’s an Amber Alert pointing right to your apartment. If you answered “D”, you actually read the title of the post. Boom Diddles (working title) moved in recently. And let me tell you. DJ Diddles knows when it’s time to party. That time is 2002. Don’t know what to play at 8:30 A.M. Tuesday morning at a f ission-inducing decibel? Say hello to “Sandstorm” by Darude (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSYxT9GM0fQ). Worried what mood to set at that dinner with the mother-in-law? Fire up “Believe” by Cher, crank it to 11 and snap the knob off (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5xsiKBJGW4).
There’s only one way to get down with Baggy Bags. And that’s at Musical Hiroshima: Ground Zero.
Alright, so the hand has been tipped. Clubster-bag has moved in next door to me, and aside from being every bit the schwantz that his attire would suggest, the guy has an obsession with playing dance music at all hours of the day and night. And, by some tragic collision of coincidence and shoddy craftsmanship, the wall dividing our apartments suppresses virtually everything but the bass line. That oh so clever bass line rarely found outside of dance music. That bass line that says: “You can’t hit that 10,000 bpm 8th note bass drum enough.” And just when you think it may actually approach enough, guess what…
16th note bass drum shows up to impose aural waterboarding not seen this side of George Michael.
Never have so few danced so much to so little.
I’m no musical snob, but let’s be real here. Dance music belongs in one place, and one place only: The club you go to on Friday night because you told that one girl you love dance music. So you go, get plowed, and limp tragically around the dancefloor like a leper with parkinsons disease and a club foot. And what a perfect visual metaphor for the kind of poorly developed mess that this music invariably ends up being.
You want to dance? Put on Justin Timberlake.
You want to make your neighbors seriously consider slicing you to ribbons with the spool from a Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch tape? Put on trance music tomorrow morning at 7:30.
I dare you.
In the meantime, if you want to listen to some decent tunes… my esteemed colleague, Earlimus Kraminster the XIIth, will soon (if he has not already) be posting a recent recording that will damage your internal functions with joy in a way you previously thought the queso dip at Chili’s could. And with considerably fewer lower G.I. ramifications (No guarantees, recordings still in clinical trials. Listeners take full responsibility).
So if it’s there, check it out. If it isn’t, wait with bated breath. It will be there shortly.
Lime Colony is coming back full swing. There will be shows. There will be CDs.
There will be Boom Diddles McBaggersons.
I leave you with this final thought:
“Entertainment Tonight… ba-ba bah bah bha”
That crap is going to be stuck in your head ALL DAY.