It is no secret that I like radios and often sleep with a pair of headphones.
While I have never taken the time (it would be too embarrassing) to count how many radios I have, they must number in the dozens, ranging from hand built crystal sets, a '27 Rogers batterlyless, a Revox bruiser and my latest acquisition a Wi Fi set.
Who else can you name who owns three Tivolis? But I digress.
One of the great things you can do with radios is listen to them.
However, the quality of programming that we have from our national broadcaster is becoming increasingly repulsive.
Case in point: the CBC just spent 30 minutes waxing in an almost orgiastic state about how great the Leonard Cohen's last concert in New York City was. I nearly threw up on my desk.
Why do I continue to listen to the CBC? Well, for one thing there are no commercials which for me counts for a lot. And for another, like the gambler that continued to play craps at a rigged game even though he knew it was rigged because it was the only game in town, I still listen to the CBC, because, well, it is our public broadcaster and used to be good.
Today, however, I might as well just hit my head with a two by four with a rusty nail hanging on it for all the pleasure I derive from it.
Posts
The CBC's going down for sure, but what's wrong with dear Leonard C?
ReplyDeleteI can't really put my finger on it.
ReplyDeleteI think I went off him when I read his novel Beautiful Losers. There was just something so revolting and cutsy about the last scene when they make the angels in the snow.
Ode to Lennie Cohen, almost deceased.
ReplyDeleteThere’s money owin’
And my age it is showin’
My legs are a’bowin
Metabolism’s slowing
Piles are a growin’
But there’s no way of knowin’
From the façade
That I’m showin’
I’ll feather my nest
As I make you depressed
It’s a matter of taste
No time to waste
I’m past wild-oat sewin’
And money is owin’
It’s a downright crime
But now is the time
To get you all goin’
With my meaningful rhyme
From ol’ Lenny Cohen
I got this young chick
She’s sexy but thick
She ignores my bald spot
And thinks I’m real hot
There’s money owin’
And my age it is showin’
But there’s no time to waste
To wheel out ol’ Lenny Cohen
No voice, little talent and taste
But there’s no time to waste
There’s money I’m needin’
So my heart is still bleedin’
And my bullshit you’re needin’
Sometimes life can poo ya’
But along comes Hallelujah
And Jeff Buckley might have died
And it could be suicide
I’m sorry and all
But what a windfall.
So I’ll come back and do ya
And sing hallelujah
As I said young men can
Predecease ya’, kid
And your accountant he’ll fleece ya’
Well my accountant did
So when it turns to manure
Just sing hallelujah
And let ol’ Lennie do ya
So I’m still a goin’
It’s me, ol’ Lennie Cohen
Cos this girl is expensive
So it’s time to be pensive
When the money is owin’
Time to wheel out ol’ Lennie Cohen
With poetic gifts I’m cursed
I’ll dance with you till the love runs out
Or perhaps till the money runs out
Whichever comes first
And I’ll give you doggerel rhymes
So full of doubt
That you’ll be so impressed
I guarantee you’ll be depressed
And the times can’t be rougher
But I’ll go out and suffer
And without being pedantic
I’ll get all romantic and woo ya’
We’ll sing hallelujah
And it aint no great crime
To flog a maudlin old rhyme
And it fills up the coffers
And I’m still getting offers
To come back and screw ya’
And sing Hallelujah.
Dear Humbert, I like your bio. Stumbled on here accidentally... never been able to get into Leonard Cohen and I really really tried and wanted to like him...
ReplyDeleteYup. I agree!
ReplyDelete(From my lyrics site) www.SunMoonScars.com
© 2008 By Gunther Trout
Now I’ve heard there was a putrid wind
That makes you smile a secret grin
But you don’t really care for nose hairs, do you?
It hums like this
The stench the whiff
The minor whiz, the major sniff
My ol-fact-or-y’s sensing I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell-e-e-ell ya...
Her wind was strong much more than a poof
You saw her eat the ultimate proof
The beans and beer, the methane overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke her wind without a care
And from your lips she drew the “I can smell ya”
I can smell ya, I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya
There was a time you'd not let it go
The ping the pong the stinky flow
But now you sneak them out in silence do you?
I remember when they moved in you
Your rancid bowels were moving too
And every breath I took was I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya…
You know I sniffed your rotting rank
You thought it was a funny prank
And as I wretched, your colon put it to you
There’s a blaze a spark in every fart
You did it like a skillful art
The holy crap! The breaking I-Can-Smell-Ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya
I can smell ya, I can smell ya…
I did my best to hold my breath
I couldn’t breathe, I had to wretch
You snuck one in, I won’t be fooled by you
And even though
It reeked so wrong
I’ll stand before your special song
With nothing on my nose
But I can small ya…