I wanted to see what AI could do in terms of writing a song. Here is the prompt and the result. (The first one is AI. The second one is me. It’s probably a tie.)
Prompt: Write a classic rock song about a retiree’s narrow life in a universe that expands infinitely.
Verse 1: Woke up one morning, feeling so darn old Got aches in my bones, my story’s been told Been livin’ life in the slow lane, same old song Watching the world fly by, feels like I don’t belong
Chorus: In a universe that’s ever expanding My life seems so narrow, suffocating Gotta find a way to break free, to fly Before my time’s up and the whole world passes by
Verse 2: I’ve been stuck in this rut for far too long Wasting my days in a routine floatin’ on But the universe out there is vast and grand And life’s too short not to make a stand
Chorus:
Bridge: I may be getting old, but my spirit’s still young With the fire in my soul, I can’t be outdone Gonna take that leap of faith, spread my wings and fly In the face of a universe that refuses to die
Chorus:
Then I watched Monty Python’s video The Galaxy Song and this happened.
Banging and Crunching (Since You’ve Been Gone)
Verse: I’m a 73 year old retiree. I spend my day primarily making tea (and pee) Though there’s no one here with whom I converse, I’m the center of the expanding universe. We’re a hundred miles apart since that day Three years ago when you went away, (far away) Like drinking good cognac,and hiking up a track, Getting gone takes less time than getting back.(that’s a fact)
Bridge: The math is undeniable, Sweetheart. Since you left we’ve drifted far too far apart
Verse: Einstein’s Relativity cleared the path. Hubble marked the signposts in his math. (so much math) It’s not that everything flies away. It’s the space itself expanding every way. From right to left to up to down to back You are speeding out away into the black. From my front to to your front, however, dear, A red shift is apparent, seen from here. (It’s clear.)
Bridge: My only hope is to see the start of the Big Crunch In a 100 million years or so we can shout and wave a bunch
Verse: I’ve done some calculations on the cuff (off the cuff!) To see if this distance is enough At 42 miles a second per megaparsec, And under this much gravity—double check— (what the heck) The father away, the faster you recede The longer gone, the greater is your speed. Like raisins in the rising raisin dough, We’re sitting still all while we’re on the go. (Sooooooooo)
Bridge: I’m rooting for the Big Crunch I’ll wait right here for you And in a billion years or so, you’ll be right here with me too. Until the Big Crunch I’ll wait right here for you And in a billion years or so, you’ll be right here with me too.
Yesterday, I confessed how, in a fantasy, I wished I could go back in time and do whatever was necessary to join Dr. Hook and The Medicine Show. This is my audition tape, based on that famous line of theirs.
You make my pants want to get up and dance, You make my socks rock and roll. You make my shirt want to stand up and blurt How much I love your voice and soul. You make my belt feel all it felt You make my hair fall down You make my face, beam into space And all my other parts run around.
I’ve been feeling down, since you’re not around. No happy smiles are on my lips. I wander through town, wearing a frown. There ain’t no swing in my hips. When you come back home and I’m not alone My heart just beats like a band. I’m not the same when I whisper your name. Honey child, I’m your biggest fan.
You make my pants want to get up and dance, You make my socks rock and roll. You make my shirt want to stand up and blurt How much I love your voice and soul. You make my belt feel all it felt You make my hair fall down You make my face, beam into space And all my other parts run around.
See, the thing is, Weird Al said not to do this and I’m not even the first. But here’s my version…and a link to the original. But feel free to sing along with my lyrics below. Very 13 year old boy brain stuff.
UPDATE: Friend, Ken Cormier, honored me with this: Please listen.
Oh my little bitty one, bitty bug.
Are you gonna live in some grime, Corona?
Ooh, you make my sneezer run, my sneezer run.
Blow a Kleenex full of slime, Corona
Never gonna stop, give it up.
Such a dirty hand. Always get it up for the touch
of the viral kind. My my my i yi woo.
M M M My Corona
Come a little closer, huh, ah will ya, huh.
Close enough to sneeze in my eyes, Corona.
Keeping you so far away gets to me
Licking down the length my fries, Corona.
Never gonna stop, give it up. Such a dirty hand.
Always get it up for the touch
of the virus guys. My my my i yi woo.
M M M My Corona
M M M My Corona
When you gonna give it to me, give it to me?
It is just a matter of time, Corona ?
Is it just destiny, destiny?
Or is it just a game in my mind, Corona?
Never gonna stop, give it up.
Such a dirty hand. Always get it up for the touch
of the viral kind. My my my i yi woo.
My my my i yi woo.
M M M My Corona
M M M My Corona
M M M My Corona
M M M My Corona
I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna raise a holler
About a-workin’ all summer just to end up with the Donald.
Every time I call my baby, and ask him for a date
“No dice,” Trumpster said, “you need a lady mate.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.
Well my mom and poppa told me, “Son, you gotta make some money,
“Cuz there’s no pensions left, now ain’t that funny?”
Well I didn’t go to work, I was too damned sick.
“You’re fired!” Trumpster said, “You’re a rapist spic.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues
I’m gonna take two weeks, gonna learn me some knowledge
‘Bout the kinda damn fools in the ‘Lectoral College.
Well, I called my congressman and he said “Whoa!
“I’d like to help you son but you’re too broke to vote.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.
Speculation on my FaceBook page is that the Trumpster is thinking of pre Voting Rights Act, Pre Civil Rights Act when he thinks of the America he wants to take us back to. I tend to think it might specifically be the years 1956-1964. Those would have been very formative years for The Donald. Pre-civil rights, pre-womens’ liberation, pre-Vietnam War protests. you know, back when it was a White man’s world.
Consequently, I believe we should try to communicate with him and his Trumpsters via those images and appeals. They aren’t very good at doing the 21st Century. So, here’s my first appeal.
Eddie Cochran co-wrote and performed this song, originally released in August of 1958. I have only changed a little of it so as to not shock his system too drastically. Think of me as a pacemaker. He has been a little erratic lately, so I’m the pacemaker. Bzzt! Straighten up, Donald.
Feel free to play the Eddie Cochran video below and substitute the lyrics below. Kind of karaoke-style. If you play the guitar, make a video and I’ll link to it too.
I give you, Ain’t No Cure for the Trumpertime Blues.
I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna raise a holler
About a-workin’ all summer just to end up with the Donald.
Every time I call my baby, and ask him for a date
“No dice,” Trumpster said, “you need a lady mate.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.
Well my mom and poppa told me, “Son, you gotta make some money,
“Cuz there’s no pensions left, now ain’t that funny?”
Well I didn’t go to work, I was too damned sick
“You’re fired!” Trumpster said, “cuz you didn’t work a lick.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues
I’m gonna take two weeks, gonna learn me some knowledge
‘Bout the kinda damn fools in the ‘Lectoral College.
Well, I called my congressman and he said “Whoa!
“I’d like to help you son but you’re too broke to vote.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.
