The eleventh son

I would like to begin by saying how glad I am to have been offered the opportunity to write for Man of Errors.  Things have been a bit quiet for me since I was hit by tram in 1929, and being invited back into the public eye is a real breath of fresh air.

Man of Errors warned me that quite a lot has changed in Wellington and around the world since 1929, and suggested I update myself a little.  Having greatly enjoyed popular music in my day I thought I would start by casting an eye across the popular songs of today. 

According to Man of Errors a young lady called Rihanna is very popular at the moment.  He played me one of her songs called We Found Love.  From the lyrics I dared to presume that the song might be about God.  Not at all my cup of tea.  In fact, after a rather nice introduction the most awful, jerky pulsating sort of sound started emanating from the speakers.  Is this where jazz took us? Give me a waltz any day.

I could see that Man of Errors was enjoying himself, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so when it finished I said the song was quite good.  I shouldn’t have said that because he immediately played me another song called You Da One. Da? I had noticed the woman’s accent in the first song but hadn’t commented.  Again, I felt that this woman was singing about God,

You’re the one that I dream about all day

You’re the one that I think about always

You’re the one so I make sure that I behave

My love is your love, your love is my love

I tried to imagine the song with a light piano accompaniment, and sung properly.  It could be quite a nice song.  Some of the lyrics troubled me… “ain’t no other niggers like you…”.  Ain’t?  Surely “there are no” is better?  Unfortunately Man of Errors then introduced me to something called the music video. 

Clearly neither song is about God.  In fact both seemed to be cries for help.  In the first video this poor girl is led into a sordid life of excess and sexual pleasure with some young delinquent

Which leads inevitably in the second video to some kind of serious gynecological problem where she can’t stop touching herself.

Which certainly seems to prove the theory right that masturbation is the doorway to sin and damnation.

I asked Man of Errors what had happened to this poor girl, and he seemed confused.  I assumed she had either been arrested or put into care in an appropriate institution.  He said she was enormously wealthy and successful.  I asked him if she was considered an exotic dancer of the sort you might purchase postcards of in certain disreputable shops, and he said no, she was what is known as a “recording artist”.

I presume that when the suffragettes made so much noise about getting the vote that they hadn’t imagined Rihanna.  I can only assume that their powerful and vigorous movement is out on the streets protesting this kind of degradation. 

Man of Errors has offered to show me some of the work of the curiously named LMFAO.  It will be interesting to see what male “recording artists” have been up to.  It was a sad day when Caruso passed away in 1921.

I may take up this offer about LMFAO shortly, but I would also like to get on with my work and visit some old haunts around Wellington.  As we have just been watching this wretched girl Rihanna, I think it might be appropriate to start my tour in one of the more disreputable parts of Wellington.

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