Greetings, Glancers! Cold, innit? It is here, on the North Coast of the North of Ireland where the price of oil, coal, the bodies of slaughtered heathens, or whatever else you choose to burn to keep your home toasty, has been skyrocketing since silly Mr Putin decided to flick his microscopic shlong South without consent. Luckily, Christmas is around the corner and we’ll be briefly distracted from these and other woes as we partake in the grand old tradition of giving, and more importantly, receiving gifts. There will be booze, TV, and lots of sitting about not worrying about work. Tis truly the most wonderful time of the year.
Here is my gift to you; A sporadic collection of AI generated art featuring some of my favourite movie icons celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior, Santa F’n Claus. I hope it brings you some festive cheer, and that you huddle around your smartphone or laptop with your loved ones to enjoy some lovely, memory-building laughs.
Darth FurderThumbs up – knobs outDr NopeShaken, stirred, and highly disturbedSome Like It HotMerry Christmas, Mr PresidentSome Like It NotHo Ho NoRockin Around The Zuul TreeWAAAAY HAAAAAYYY!Your Foster Parents Are DeadMemetic Poly Alloy Ho HoI Know Now Why You CryAnyone not wearing 2 million sunblock is gonna have a real bad day, get it?Dead or alive, you’re coming with meCOME QUIETY OF THERE WILL BEEEE… TROUBLECan you cry, Bobby?If it sings, we can kill itI’m gonna have me some funSproutsYou’re a mean one, Mr GrinchIT’S CHRIIIIIIISSSSSTMAAAAAAASSSS!Have Yourself A Very Phallic ChristmasMeanwhile…Just You…..And I….So I Was Like… ‘sometimes my arms bend back’So much as, you know, disembowel childrenThe hardest thing in this world, is to live in it. While looking like this.That thing you do with your mouth that boys likeHow sweet, fresh meatWanna suck faceWelcome to prime time, bitch!O Holy Night, BatmanPure…. West…This time next year, Rodney, we’ll be millionairesThe Seven Days Of ChristmasFrolic in brine, goblins be thine… and a Sadako in a pear tree
Greetings, Glancers! I continue my romp through the laughter and boke-provoking world of AI creations. by passing a globby, pixelated eye over musical artwork. Album artwork is a glorious art form – one which doesn’t get enough credit from cravat wearing Art types. Probably. I didn’t bother checking. But a good piece of album artwork can tease the musical and thematic treats inside, like a goblin waving his codpiece while beckoning you into his candy covered hovel. Artists and bands spend weeks and months deciding upon what works and what doesn’t before slapping a big breasted leather clad woman straddling a tiger on the front and confidently nodding their heads – yes, that’s the one.
In this era of AI witchcraft, the artist has every right to shiver in the foreboding knowledge that they will soon be out of a job like the rest of us. Why spend thousands of dollars on a commission from some dick who dropped out of school with no qualifications and likely has a social media picture of them holding a cup of coffee and looking wistfully off to the left, when you can type a few prompts into an app and get something unique and nightmarish for free?
For this post, I typed the name of every studio album by Wales’ finest Rockers into one such app and have specially curated the results for your bemusement. From start to finish, may I present, The Manic Street Preachers – AI style.
The Manic Street Preachers have been around for so long now that they’re reliably labelled as Dad Rock by people who don’t know any better. After their run of hits towards the arse end of the 90s, and the fact that they’re no longer as energetic as they once were, it’s a term which easily fits when you can’t be arsed actually looking into the band. The AI bot has seemingly fallen for this trap too, with a collection of harmless dinner jacket clad images proclaiming ‘we sing songs and play guitar, but not too loudly’.
What’s interesting about the App is that a slight change in keywords can garner such different results. For example, when I remove the band name from the search we get something much closer to what the band were like in their younger days – angry, vitriolic, cross-dressing punk boys who would just as soon plant a bomb in your pants as rip them off with their teeth.
Sadly, the App became too confused when I kept the band name out and would return complete nonsense. For this sophomore album, the band embraced all thing riff and rock in the hope of capturing bigger audiences. It didn’t work, but it’s an excellent album with a flawless five tracks and a middling five. The App cares for none of this and instead latched on to the word GOLD.
The band’s third album is famously one of the greatest albums ever made, and certainly one of the darkest, most uncompromising pieces of art you’re likely to encounter. Its album artwork is a shocking glimpse into what’s inside. The AI bot gets some of the colouring right, and it at least attempts to nod its head towards the albums many, many literary influences and allusions, but it unfortunately makes the band look like if Keane was crossed with PJ & Duncan.
The band’s first success coincided with the loss of their heart, their lyricist Richey Edwards. Continuing as a 3 piece, everyone was shocked when they found themselves topping the charts and courting the Britpop obsessed music bothering public of the 90s. The bot seems confused if they are a 3 piece, a 4 piece, a duo, or just James with a dog’s nose.
Continuing with this trend of uncertainty and rather than adopting the new, bland visuals of the band once famed for their outlandish appearance, the AI bot presents the band as one of warped faces, splayed legs, and very long guitars.
The band’s clusterfuck moment – pissed off with being famous they elected to do whatever they could to alienate every part of their fanbase with 16 songs of fuzzy experimentalism. Curiously, this is the first time the app consistently gets close to actually looking like the band. It has also decided it’s a live album.
By the time Lifeblood came around, no-one cared anymore. The world had moved on to shitty angular indie rock like The Strokes and The Killers, and had no time for Welsh upstarts unsure of their musical direction. The band is a synthpop slice of cold abandonment, and it just as wonderful as everything else they’ve done. Shame no-one else thinks so. The App has gone with a blue sheen, which suspiciously apt.
With Send Away The Tigers, The Manics tried to recapture some of their old punk energy making an album of mostly uneventful and repetitive snappy songs. 80s punk and metal bands liked tigers. The App likes tigers.
Postcards From A Young Man was famously the band’s attempt at mass communication – they thought the best way to communicate was with an overly produced Motown album. What’s interesting about the bot’s cover is the approximation of both Richey, and of Sean Moore who deserves his own pic above. Not sure why he has an electronic bug blaster for his eye, but there you go.
Journal For Plague Lovers was a stonking return to form, even if the tracks feel a little unfinished. The bot has gone for some sort of Industrial-Black-Doom Metal thing with one picture looking like a mermaid drooping out of a moon.
Not sure why I got the order of the last two albums mixed up, but I’m not changing it now. Rewind The Film is the dullest of albums – it’s like the second half of This Is My Truth, played twice. But less good. iTs BeTteR WHen yOU’re OlD! Sure it is, boomer. This blandness has rubbed off on the bot, aside from placing Cristina Ricci front and centre.
Futurology is the much more interesting cousin of Rewind The Film, coming out less than a year later. Much like the album, the bot’s artwork is a mish-mash of ideas, from men in suits showing off their toy soldier collections between their feet, to James’ amazing Matt Bellamy inspired banana guitar.
Unfairly dismissed by idiots as uninteresting, Resistance Is Futile is a fantastic blend of the band’s most mainstream sentiments and their latter day experimentalism. It may not go hard in either direction, but it’s accessible as fuck. The bot believes that obese emo Thom Yorke is now a member and that Wales is a turgid wasteland.
The band’s most recent release saw them grab the number 1 spot in the UK charts. Of course, you only need to sell 300 copies to earn that coveted award, but it’s the principle of the thing. It’s not too different from Resistance Is Futile – there’s still too many special guests, the inspiration is now ABBA rather than Bowie, but even with its pop sensibilities it veers into progressive territory more frequently than they have before. I fully expect a Concept album next. The bot’s attempt at creating something unique fell on its arse.
Let us know in the comments what you think of any of this shite.
Greetings, Glancers! Like every other twat, I’ve been farting about with these funny AI Apps to avoid real life responsibilities. Carlos, you haven’t called your mother in two months! Carlos, put yourself on mute if you’re not talking! Carlos, I told you to pay the mortgage! Carlos, I told you not to leave the baby in the car by herself! Carlos, I’m leaving you! It’s great.
I’ve always had a love/please stop doing this to me relationship with AI and merging tools. I’ve created hundreds of hilarious pictures where I’ve merged myself with friends, celebs etc, and in work I’ve inexplicably received positive feedback on my celebrity face merge quizzes where I use an actual online tool to do the job for me. There was a certain demented charm in my own creations because I set myself a rule of only using the worst possible tool to generate severely limited results – a combination of Microsoft Paint and Fast Stone Capture was all I used.
We’re in a much more technologically advanced world now, one where AI bots are able to predict our desires and tell us what we need to purchase before we even soil our pants and they need to be replaced. A world where human run jobs are steadily being taken over by cheap robot labour. A world where it will soon be unclear if the person you’re speaking to on the internet, or on the bus, is actually human or a mangled collection of ones and zeroes plotting the downfall of your species.
But until that inevitable eventuality, we shall treat these bots with misguided innocent delight for whimsical means rather than formulating an actionable doomsday response. So here are some amusing mixings of famous people, using the infamous Craiyon.com (formerly DALL.E mini).
JESUS SCHWARZENEGGER CHRIST
If you ever wanted a man to wash away your iniquities and ‘take you to heaven’ as long as you ‘believe in him’, then it’s this Herculean hunk of plasticine and tan.
THE ARTIST FORMERLY KNOWN AS PRINCE WILLIAM
Prince is the greatest guitarist of all time! No, Prince is the greatest musician of all time! No, Prince is neither of those things – he’s just some dead guy who was fine at writing songs which other artists performed better than he ever could. He’s also the unwanted offspring of that unlawful criminal hive of warmongering pedo-protectors known as The British Royal family. Here’s the shocking proof.
DAVID BOWIE KNIFE
Most of the attempts at generating these images ended up as pictures of knives with signatures beside them. By adding two extra words, we yield significantly more pleasing results.
JOHN KAREN CARPENTER
Soothing songstress Karen Carpenter may have died decades ago, but through the power of AI – THEY LIVE (get it?)!
MICHAEL DJ FOX
The app must not know who sort of famous UK DJ, DJ Fox is, and therefore generated a pile of muck instead. See:
Instead, if I simply search for Michael J Fox and DJ Fox, we are treated to starched skin Ant & Dec. Great Scott!
BEN & JERRY’S SHAPIRO
Famous racist Ben Shapiro probably hates these delicious yet over-priced tubs of frozen cream ever since they started introducing other flavours and diverse colours. VANILLA ONLY, ALL THE TIME! Such weak minded hatred only leads to a withered, monstrous visage like thus.
SIMON LE BON JOVI
Two of the 1980s biggest stars and sexy idols met once upon a time, in Rio I believe. They ‘fiddled’ each other, and out slithered the grotesque progeny of their regretful congress.
RANDY MICHAEL JACKSON
Whether or not Michael Jackson was ever Randy, and who with, is a subject people will talk about for the rest of time without ever coming to a definitive answer. He sure loved grabbing his crotch, though. The question of whether Randy Jackson was ever Michael, doesn’t really make sense. Neither does this picture.
WILL.I.AM SHAKESPEARE
What do you get when you cross one of history’s greatest writers with one of history’s worst dressers (I’ll let you work out which is which)? This, obvs.
STEPHEN KINGSLEY AMIS
No matter which choice of words I went for with this miserable combo, the result was always purely King or purely Amis. You may say something went ‘amis’ with the AI. If you were an idiot. Which you are.
SARAH MICHELLE ROSS GELLAR
A Buffy and Friends crossover would never have worked because Chandler and Xander are basically the same person. Buffy and Ross too, apparently. At least, the plan was to see what Ross and Buffy looked like with their bodies smooshed together in a non-sexy way, but the AI bot instead interpreted my wishes as ‘insert Buffy into Friends episodes’.
DEL BOY GEORGE
Most of you Americans reading this probably know who Boy George is – of Karma Chameleon fame. You maybe don’t know who Del Boy is, infamous geezer, father of The Antichrist and fan of luvvly jubbly money. Slapped into a single body and it’s neither, fools, horses, nor chameleons.
DAVID JANE LYNCH
There’s something comforting about listening to David Lynch’s meanderings – like the stories of a well-travelled uncle who always brings the best presents. Less comforting is the thought of his cavorting body writhing all up in the innards of ‘that women from Glee’.
NEVE BRUCE CAMPBELL
I tried Neve Campbell soup, but that just made me horny and I had to go away for a while. There are lots of famous Campbells out there, and none of the mergings were to my satisfaction (especially not after the soup relief), so in the end I went for old chinny legs himself, Bruce ‘Hail To The B-Movie’ Campbell. They make for a cute couple. IN HELL.
THOM YORKIE BAR
No matter what you search for, if you include Thom Yorke in the search, then the result is Thom Yorke as he normally looks. It seems reasonable to conclude therefore that Thom has been a bot since some point in the late 90s, steadily weaselling his nebulous limbs into every USB port and server farm he gets with a Terabyte of.
Who is your favourite A-List couple? Let us know in the comments, and be certain that I’ll have plenty more of these AI shit posts to come!
This week, one of the longest running loves of my life comes to an end. Neighbours has been selling me the ups and downs of Australia’s favourite suburb since I was the size of a shoe, and while I remember very little of those early episodes, once we reached the late 80s it was a regular daily fixture in my life as I fell for the antics of its buxom, sun-kissed stars.
While Neighbours has regularly traded in nostalgia, bringing back old characters, constantly referencing Miss Mangle, or holding one off celebratory episodes with many knowing nods to the past, these past few years have felt like a drawn out, bittersweet goodbye; a summation of everything which came before, careening towards an end nobody seems to want. From the return of Dee Bliss to various original stars making their ways back into the main cast, and into this final week of celebrations, us fans have been reminiscing. We’ve been looking back with misty eyes, we’ve been excitedly trawling the web for rumours on which big stars would be making a comeback and how the stories could possibly wrap up, and we’ve been wondering what the hell we’re going to do with this extra 30 minutes in our schedule. The dream for an eccentric billionaire fan to come in and save the show has failed. I still firmly believe that the show will return in a few years time, with a new and sexy lick of paint, one which will piss off old fans and not engage new viewers and inevitably fail. Until then, in my own childish fashion, I’ve been remembering the good times, those moments we’ll never forget, in AI form.
HARRROOOLLLLLD!
Remember when Harold and Madge went for a walk and Harold fell into the sea? Remember Madge’s gravelly wailing? Remember Harold being off our screens for years, only to return as the Salvation Army’s premier Amnesiac? This should jog your memory.
It’s more artistic than I remember
CODY WILLIS GETS SHOT
Everyone remembers when Kerry Mangle got shot while playing Duck Hunt on the Australian version of the Nintendo Entertainment System. As everyone knows, Australia is more dangerous than everywhere else and the Australian version involved running through a swamp being rifled down by the Oz equivalent of the Tory Party. Or something, I don’t remember it much. I do remember Cody Willis being shot in her own home though. I remember because she was my favourite character at the time. It was sad. I was sad. Trigger warning for any other Cody fans. Actually, the app seems to be somewhat confused by who Cody Willis is. Or what Neighbours is.
Who’s this spiggin huffter?
SCOTT AND CHARLENE’S WEDDING
Arguably the most famous moment in the history of the show, it was one of those rare soap weddings where everything went right; nobody ran screaming from the altar, a jilted ex didn’t show up to say they’d been having an affair with one of the betrothed, nobody was exploded by a barbeque. The only tears were of happiness, and below’s image will surely make you shed a few more of those, even though the bride has apparently lost a hand and is posing alongside a fan with a deformed peanut for a head.
Jim?
TOADIE AND DEE DRIVING OFF A CLIFF
Toadie and Dee’s blossoming relationship and nuptials was one of the stories I was deeply invested in back in the day. Toadie was everyone’s favourite loser turned hero even back then, and seeing him winning the attention of the hottest woman on the street was something the rest of us nerds could get behind. Unfortunately, inevitably, reality would strike and Toadie and Dee went soaring off the side of a cliff into the ocean, leaving Toadie a widower (for the first time) and the fans bereaved of one of our favourite couples. Relive those traumatic events below.
To be honest, it looks like fun
HELEN DIES IN HER SLEEP
Even more than Miss Mangle and Madge, Helen Daniels was the first and last true matriarch of the street, the legendary Anne Haddy struggling with real life health issues as she filmed her final scenes. I don’t want to suggest that it was living with Julie and Debbie Martin which finished Helen off, but few could survive more than a few weeks of that pair without lasting scars. Even Hannah cut her hair afterwards in an attempt to reinvent herself. She was one of the few characters to get her own special end credits. Will the AI be respectful in honouring her memory?
No
SUSAN SLAPS KARL
It was the slap which chilled the testicles of every hot-blooded male across the land, a slap that said ‘if I catch you with your pants down I’ll make sure you won’t feel your jaw till the next ice age’. Karl and Susan have had more affairs over the years than I’ve had Blog views, but this was the one which garnered the most attention, with Karl bending over backwards to avoid being caught for bending Sarah over forwards. The AI app has deigned to present some Anne Robinson lookalikes and a selection of random shots of random other soaps.
You are the weakest lookalike, goodbye
DREW CRASHES CAR
Keeping it Kennedy (kind of) for now, Drew and Libby were another favourite couple of mine. Libby was my favourite Neighbours character and, lets be honest, nobody was going to be good enough for her, but Drew came pretty damn close. He was handsome, stalwart, true, and good with his hands (matron), which meant he liked to tinker with cars. Because he liked tinkering with cars, he liked to drive and race cars, and this unfortunately led to one of the more amusing stunts in the show’s history as Drew’s car sailed skyward. He survived, no worries, mate. As much as I have Googled for this event, I can’t find anything about it, so maybe it never even happened. Here’s how it looks in my dreams.
They never had the biggest visual effects budget
DREW FALLS OFF HORSE
Not happy with one near death experience, Mr Kirk needed to finish the deed. And so, he and Libby headed off to Oakey (read: The Wild West) and within seconds Drew was flung from a horse in one of the more amusing, least impressive stunts in the show’s history. What looked like it would have tickled a toddler in fact did catastrophic damage to Drew’s innards, and he succumbed to his injury’s shortly after. It’s like football – the most innocuous tackles always lead to season-long injuries. Here’s a picture of their fateful meeting.
But why is it Billy?
DREW IS A ZOMBIE
Neighbours rarely took itself too seriously over the years, and frequently featured cast members coming back from the dead as ghosts, long lost twins, or Christmas decorations. They went one further and had an entire spin-off online series called Neighbours Vs Zombies in which many old and new favourites were gobbled by hordes of the undead (read West Waratah residents). Drew was one of the characters to be resurrected, and the poor fella didn’t even know he’d been dead.
To Boldly Go
STINGRAY STEALS A BABY
Stingray was a breath of fresh air in a time of transition for the show, a time when old families were being written out. He was the new burst of comedy and action the show needed, bringing a monkey sack of new and inexplicable catchphrases to Erinsborough. After a series of tragedies he became dependent on booze and everything came to a head when he kidnapped his Ex’s baby, the new Kerry Mangle/Bishop/Timmins. He’s what our AI bot made of it all.
They got over it quickly
THE FULL MONTY
Not happy with simply having pretty ladies for the blokes to fawn over, the show has had its fair share of male goodness over the years, from Silver foxes like Lou Carpenter to rugged Dingo charmers like Joe Scully. Nothing could prepare the nether regions of the female populace for Drew, Toadie, Billy, Joel, and Karl whipped out the wee lads. For the sake of our eyes, I’m only posting the clean version of the AI’s artwork below.
A random shot of the cast from the first episode, for some reason
RAMSEY STREET SIGN
We wrap up this post, and a huge chapter in our lives with the most icomic shot of them all. That of the Ramsey street sign. Roxy may have nicked it recently when she headed off with Kyle for her happy ending, but the sign lives on in our hearts. Here is is, for one last time, accurately drawn up by our soon to be AI Overlords. Thanks Neighbours. Theighbours.
Continuing this silly series, we make the inevitable leap to rock super-stardom. We all want to be rock stars, but to get there you need to have an exciting, game changing name. Like ‘Bob Dylan’ or ‘The Band’. For those future stars more interested in money and cars and boobs and who lack the creativity to come up with a name more addictive than a heroin flavoured puppy, I offer you a variety of hilarious options to choose from.
By way of example, Carlos Rudiger Nightman becomes Pueblo Friendly Twats, a sure fire rocket to the top spot after they release their first single ‘Fiery Turds’. Let us know what you come up with in the comments!
Last time it was Orks, so obviously this time it’s Dwarfs. Or Dwarves. Whichever you prefer – that’s a whole thing. Just a bit of a giggle, nothing more. You can tell I made it again because it looks like a piece of shit. Remember those double-barreled names. If you’re ever under the mountain, just call for Drum Steel-Fierce and I’ll come a running.
I thought I’d try something different today. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with an absurd and usually absurdist creative streak. In my half-awake state I’ll latch on to some ludicrous premise and spin off a hundred ideas, laughing my head off before slipping off into unconsciousness again. Of course, when I wake up in the morning, ready to write down all of the game-changing thoughts, I’ve forgotten 80% of them and what’s left doesn’t seem as clever or funny any more. It happens me every so often and I try to jot down in a wordpress draft what I remember. Last night (at time of writing not posting) I was in one of these jumbled half-delirious, half-lucid states and a batch of such silly imaginings were tormenting my blighted mind. This time it was more premise after premise after premise rather than me giggling and listing examples for one single concept. Here is the result of one such scheme.
I know there are things like this out there already – I have seen many of these over the years for a variety of topics, and I know there is likely an example of an Ork Name Generator online too. I promise I didn’t go and check any of those out when coming up with my A-Zs, though I fully expect there to be some crossover. That’s just the way these things go. Plus,you can tell this is mine by how shoddy it looks. Remember, most good Ork names should have a double-barreled surname, that’s why the middle names have a hyphen at the end. Sadly, my fevered sleeplorn brain can devise much more impressive adjectives than my woke mind can and I didn’t put a lot of effort into this. Still, you might enjoy it. Share it with your friends. Stick your results in the comments. Actually, Fevered Sleeplorn isn’t a bad name….
For reference, lets say my full name is Carlos Rudiger Nightman. That means I am The Almighty Hymen Nasty-Stench! Who are you!?
I’ll be honest, and proud, at the outset to say that I’ve never actually heard this song. I’ve heard pieces of it, and I’ve caught snippets of the video, and those crumbs have been enough for me to know that it’s terrible. Any song with a title like that is already off to a bad start because nothing is ever about bass. Insert bass beer pic with ‘except this’. Also, all those pastel colours and smiling and dancing makes me want to whip out the old hockey mask and go Voorhies on them all. But maybe it’s all ironic… irony still exists in pop music, right? Surely not everything glossy in the top 40 is shallow and pretty and about humps and booty and swag – note to self – contact Michael Mann and see if he would entertain the idea of a movie featuring a bank heist perpetuated by a sinister group of Dromedary and Bactrian camels.
EVERYBODY ON THE FLOOR NOW, HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACKS! HOOOOONNNK!
I am aware that Trainor has made some other song with a similar video, so I assume these colours and dresses and smiles are just her thing, or the thing which her publicity team tells her should be her thing. Not to be a complete testicle, lets give the lass the old college try and read through the lyrics to see if we can gleam any insight into what it means to be a successful young woman in the entertainment industry in the Genesis of our 21st Century. Maybe I’ll even listen to the song!
The Original
Because you know I’m all about that bass, ‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble. I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass
Yeah it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two, But I can shake it, shake it like I’m supposed to do
‘Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase. All the right junk in all the right places
I see the magazines working that Photoshop, We know that shit ain’t real, Come on now, make it stop
If you got beauty beauty just raise ’em up, ‘Cause every inch of you is perfect From the bottom to the top
Yeah, my momma she told me don’t worry about your size, She says, boys they like a little more booty to hold at night
You know I won’t be no stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll,
So, if that’s what’s you’re into, Then go ahead and move along
Because you know I’m all about that bass, ‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass
I’m bringing booty back Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches Hey
No, I’m just playing I know you think you’re fat, But I’m here to tell you that, Every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top Yeah, my momma she told me don’t worry about your size She says, boys they like a little more booty to hold at night You know I won’t be no stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll, So, if that’s what’s you’re into Then go ahead and move along
Because you know I’m all about that bass, ‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass
Because you know I’m all about that bass, ‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass
Because you know I’m all about that bass, ‘Bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass, no treble
I’m all ’bout that bass, ’bout that bass
The Translation
Because you know I’m around the bass, ‘Bout the bass, treble, I’m all’ bout the bass, ’bout the bass, treble.
I’m all ’bout the bass,’ bout no bass, treble, I’m all ’bout the bass,’
Yeah, it’s pretty clear bout the bass, I is not size two, but I can do it, shake it, shake like I ‘and m ‘Cause I boom boom all boys chases.
Because you know I’m bout that base, “I’m all about the base, there is no treble
I base that bout, ’bout the base’ bout all that bass’, the bass bout, “I’m more treble, but not all, there is no treble
That bout base ‘, the bass bout’ all I
Hey, I’m going to get the loot back to their skinny bitches
No, my mom told me not to worry about her, I just know I’m playing I think you fat, but I tell you that I am your size here perfectly all of you from the bottom to the top. Yeah, she inches The boys are a little more loot what’s next move if you go with him, you know I can not hold a night stick figure more silicon Barbie dolls, like so says
Because you know I’m bout that base, “I’m all about the base, there is no treble
I base that bout, ’bout the base’ bout all that bass’, the bass bout, “I’m more treble, but not all, there is no treble
That bout base ‘, the bass bout’ all I
Because you know I’m bout that base, “I’m all about the base, there is no treble
I base that bout, ’bout the base’ bout all that bass’, the bass bout, “I’m more treble, but not all, there is no treble
That bout base ‘, the bass bout’ all I
Because you know I’m bout that base, “I’m all about the base, there is no treble
I base that bout, ’bout the base’ bout all that bass’, the bass bout, “I’m more treble, but not all, there is no treble
That bout base ‘, the bass bout’ all I
The WTF
The human body is inherently disgusting. I know we can’t all be Adonis-like, but even at our most pure and fit, we’re still little more than flesh held together by oozing, bacteria covered cellophane with more damp, dark unmentionable places than on the face of the planet. I understand that this is yet another song proclaiming love for yourself no matter how you look, and how there is so much emphasis placed on image in any business these days, but particularly within the performing arts. That’s all well and good, and I applaud that part of the message, but I can’t applaud celebrating the fact – we’re all simply skeletons waiting to break free of our fleshy prison. The song also suggests than being bigger is better than skinny, so any message of self-respect goes out the window. It’s terrible that we think these things are important, but at the end of the day we like to look at things that our pretty so that our minds don’t implode at the horror of the truth.
Enough ranting, lets examine the lyrics. The original is typically modern pop poor pap with the shocking revelation that when she is talking about bass, she’s really talking about ass, which is ironic as that’s where you’d typically expect such crappy lyrics to come from. With the translation, it almost sounds as if someone who heard the song once, got drunk and angry, then began to sing and mock the song by randomly shouting bass and treble every few words. That, or a child trying to singalong and both failing and being better than the original. With the chorus being repeated so many times, you’d expect a lot of repetition, but oh no, my friends, that isn’t how online translation works. First, we get the standard ’bout that base, no treble’, but soon it changes to ‘treble, no bass’, until finally we get confused to the point that ‘bass’ becomes ‘base’ and the world folds in upon itself. The main verse hints at more thievery (caIl me, Michael Mann) as there appears to be some sort of robbery by a bunch of thin, unsavoury women, involving human trafficking and assorted toys. At least we know what this year’s top Christmas gift will be – Night Stick Figure Silicon Barbie! I have no wish to listen to the song now.
Go To Hell
Alice Cooper is a God amongst men; Between Quickenings and Gatherings, in the eternal battle of immortality he is currently on top, his blade cutting ever deeper in Keith Richards who appears now to be more dust than man. Cooper, for those who don’t know him, or know anything about him beyond Poison is the stage persona of Vincent Furnier. Furnier was the singer for the old Alice Cooper band who started in the 60s, before deciding to take the name for himself and disband the group. For six decades now he’s transcended genres and had a hand in the creation and success of psychedelia, heavy rock, heavy metal, prog, punk etc etc. When I hit shuffle on my iPod, the live version of this came up front he Brutal Planet tour, but the song comes from the 70s record Alice Cooper Goes To Hell. It’s the title track and first track from that album, not a great song but a decent concept album. A semi-autobigraphical track, but based around the antics of the Steven character, the lyrics are essentially a list of crimes followed by the punishment refrain of ‘you can go to hell’. I’m sure there will be something hilarious once we do the old English-to Korean-to English translation.
The Original
For criminal acts and violence on the stage. For being a brat, Refusing to act your age
For all of the decent citizens you’ve enraged, You can go to Hell
For gambling and drinking alcohol constantly. For making us doubt our parents authority
For choosing to be a living obscenity, You can go to Hell
You’re something that never should have happened, You even make your Grandma sick
You’d poison a blind man’s dog and steal his cane
You’d gift wrap a leper, And mail him to your Aunt Jane
You’d even force-feed a diabetic a candy cane, You can go to Hell
You’re something that never should have happened, You even make your Grandma sick
For criminal acts and violence on the stage. For being a brat, Refusing to act your age
For all of the decent citizens you’ve enraged. You can go to Hell
The Translation
Please violence and criminal behavior on stage. If the guys, refuse to act your age
For all you raging decent citizen, you can go to hell
For gambling, drinking alcohol constantly. We doubt the authority of our parents for a decision
Choosing to live obscenity, you can go to hell
There’s something you should not have happened, you are hurting your grandmother
You will poison a dog of a blind man and steal his wand
Gift wrap is going to leprosy, and aunt Jane-mail him
You will even force a diabetic candy cane supply, you can go to hell
There’s something you should not have happened, you are hurting your grandmother
Please violence and criminal behavior on stage. If the guys, refuse to act your age
You have anger for all decent citizens. You can go to hell
The WTF
Ah ha, now this is interesting. It’s another example of the translation tool completely flipping a song’s meaning on its head; with the original, some outside force is judging Cooper (or us) for our actions, but with the translation it is Cooper (and us) throwing judgements back at the accusers. It’s almost like a lost Sex Pistols song – a manifsto before they came to their senses and did God Save The Queen instead. It advocates violence, crime, and disobeying social norms, it points the finger at the obscene lives of untrustworthy parents, and says that the birth of the parent was an affront to the grandparent. Ha, take that mum and dad!
Unfortunately, the second verse treads into risky territory and shows a remarkable amount of ignorance, claiming that blind people are magic and encouraging others, like an Aunt, to get in on the act. The final line is vague, seemingly damning everyone to an eternity of torment, fire, and brimstone – who has anger for all decent citizens? You? Me? Is decent a false concept? Please discuss.
The Spac Hole 
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