So I want to get out of my funk and into the funk. Maybe I should record some songs and put them up on the web after all. I registered a couple of weeks ago on garageband, the music website run by such minds as Sir George Martin, who produced the Beatles while they were producing the music industry as we know it, and Jerry Harrison of Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club. Apple makes a recording software package called garageband too, but Sir George and Jerry were there first, and the name is to be shared amicably. Anyhow, before I can post my own songs for other listeners to review, I pay about twenty bucks a tune or review a couple dozen songs.

The highest rated songs are as good as half the stuff on radio, and the bad songs are as bad as an amateur with access to a computer can make them. You can give extra points for production, instruments, and some more subjective categories such as great soundtrack and most danceable.

At the very top of the 25 stupidests songs ever, as rated by garageband.com listeners, is this cry of help from a young rake’s nervous system. Like Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, it will mark you forever. But as it was recorded at 3:30 am in a house full of passed-out partygoers by a man who can’t remember making it, having drunk a fifth of stupidity, there are no witnesses who can tell us what happened in that cellar near the turn of the millennium.

There are no witnesses.

Only an audio track, recovered like the black box from a party that flew too close to the sun that night, from which we must mentally construct a mind image in our heads.

Ic an feel it making me stupif er jsut writ ing about it.

Everyone who heard it has wept bitter tears of laiguther laughert pissed themselves over listening to sunbabies inc’s lyrical abomination,  drunk alphabet outtake!