5² blips and other aural indecency
I fancy myself as the type that could have been a musician if things went different. This seems to rely on long gone nights spent in nasty basements, filled with instruments, jamming weird people, and mind altering substances. Some of this remains stuck in todays life, other parts have been with me from before that teenage riot thang. But let's elaborate on some of these tics:

One day, when i was but a young and in no way musically informed brat (think 90s Radio jabberwocky and my parents' folksy russian stuff), something in my head woke up. It was kind of a beat, went on to be a pattern for other stuff. Invaded by the ghost of an artsy, blasé, thin, dressed in black, cigarillo and ether smelly kind of thing. And i knew zilch of instruments - or even artists that even came close to make this plausible. Go figure.

This is how it goes with _for low and - for high:

-_--_ --_-_ --_-- _-_-- _--_- and spacing does not equal pause

And so the ten year old me went about, school, playground and everywhere, from time to time. beeboobeebeebooing away under my voice. It mostly started when i had to concentrate, or got nervous, or overly tired. So when the mind part for outside was powered down, after a few minuts this nifty little fiend tune pops up. At first playing in my head time after time, urging to squeeze out of any motoric orifice given, not unlike Kebab on a late sunday morning.

So i went humming, plopping lips, making squeaky kinds of noises, you name it. At times it happened to my walking, writing and whatnot. Would be happy to add rhytmic meat bashing here, to correspond with some of my favourite stories, but i was too young back then. And being thus rendered helpless to the inadequacy, while realizing what went on after a few seconds, i spent about a year, which was the high time, in constant fear of Ritalin wielding jazz musicians with propped up meaty ears. Kind of.

Will be glad if someone improvises on that, i tried it on some stuff but it won't come out in its true flavor. Will provide mumbling curses/porn audio to dub over.

Later exploits of the atonal kind involve the sensible matter of beatboxing. While i never regularly had a mic around, and come nowhere close to Beardyman and his likes, the lip farting bumpity spaz breath stuff is with me for good. Talking with it, throat singing, trumpet fake, the works. Now, with the scene discarded long since, i tend to snap into it on random occasions. With mostly no context of the surroundings, and high potential embarrassing ratio. Again, just outside of my circe of conscience, when it does do deed done. Including, not limited to:

- jazzy snares at someones birthday party, too much cheese in the actual "happy birthday" crank, also had residue of soggy chewy bits crawling out of mouth corners, imagine the contrast of grownup acting half posh bunch all friendly and socialite vs. mr. gurney face with slight convulsing arm motions, rather absorbed with gargling his bogey soup in the face of the birthday girl. No respect. Many Drinks Later Night.

- making a dumpster sized horde of punks flail to some massive jungle flava after a concert, with my then girl punching me discreetly, as another group started taking the piss with fart noises and beer belch. Which by the way fitted quite well. Any attention is worthy, i guess. Hey kids, that is what the DIY thing was about. No? The Shut Up Beer? Yes, please. Wet lips then though, so unnerved her and random folks the rest of the night, fueled by unexpected resultage. Popping a base at walkers-by from behind gives big fame, of dubitable nature.

- Remember the black dude from Police Academy upgrading his surroundings with noise fx, or Mario 64 jumping noises, or the Flintstones sounds? This happens firstly in my head, more so when intoxicated, and when i feel relatively unwatched, i play it out. Fighter plane crash ambience for arriving train, Level Up sounds when opening doors. Even watching people speak can make me mimic their voice.

So, birlike serial diarrhea of the noise gland. And i whistle both ways too, breathing in and out. From some classicky motif that i have let ferment for years, to totally off key jazzist moods that unnerve the shit out of anyone coming across. It has faded a bit since i am on the wrong side of being a twen, but at times it breaks out like dodgy farts on their pursuit of the skies. Queer looks. Pitiful grins. It is a bit above me to shut up though.
(funktrash soul = combustion engine, Fri 2 Jul 2010, 11:29, 1 reply)

That's very nearly a single paradiddle
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudiment
(sabre-tooth monkey, Fri 2 Jul 2010, 13:31, closed)