I have some drums that I programmed for this album and when Kevin and I were playing the song today, he looked at me and said, "Wow. That drummer's pretty fucking arrogant." And I blinked. Come again? I re-played the song and listened to the drums more closely.
God, he was right.
I programmed these drums so only an octopus could perform them...a whiskey slugging, tattooed, bare chested octopus drummer. Maybe his name is Spike (though his mother calls him Billy). He probably has a gorgeous, if not somewhat slurred, British accent. And he likes to flick cigarettes at the audience, but usually sets fire to something on stage instead. The girls love him. The guys want to BE him. It's rumored he's dating a supermodel, but he ain't got time for that shit.
So musical bloggers write entries about him, wishing he existed, because then they wouldn't have to go back to the drawing board and re-program those fucking drums.
T.
