Fat cats get dirty after every bath.
There are ancient pianos in the belly of the arts building that one can play anytime. I spent years in elementary, junior high and high school band never knowing what the notes were called but being able to play them by sight, because I couldn't see where all that memorization was going to help me out. Music is slowly turning into a magical code that runs in fingers and circles and waves. Fat Cats Get Dirty...G gets F. D gets F and C. The C stands alone. Hi Ho the Dairy-O the C stands alone.
At work I experiment with what music makes the people do. The people love to sing along -out loud- with Squeeze. The people will sit through Bowie, U2 and Tom Petty together, but when you drop any of those into a set of pop-punk, the tables clear. People ask about the following every single time: The Weakerthans, April March, Mates of State. 1959 R&B singles somehow make for bad tips. Some of my friends bands are good enough for the shop, and some seemed good enough at home, but their weaknesses are terribly apparent in combination with the din of the grinder and steam wand.
You should write a book, "What Music Makes People Do!" I also sing along to Squeeze. It's very sing-a-long able!
Posted by: Em at April 14, 2005 06:37 PMAre you sure you didn't accidentally play "Don't Tip That Server!" from the "R&B Cheapskate Classics 1964-69" collection?
It wouldn't be a problem if that song weren't so damn catchy.
Posted by: flamingbanjo at April 15, 2005 12:21 PMTry Blonde Redhead - I think they'd be good cafe music.
Posted by: dayment at April 15, 2005 04:41 PM