Friday, February 7, 2014

Chocolate Synthesizer

Reaching deep into her nose and pulling hard, Lemtata produced every member of Hawkwind's1975 lineup except Simon House, instruments in hand. They looked a bit disgusted and... nasal, but also relieved to no longer be imprisoned in her nose. Staring hard at Lemmy, Lemata boredly and distantly declared, "Nothing personal... I just hate you, man."

Joe finally defeated the speck of dust on his thumb piano using the awesome power of thought, and so had some attention to spare for Hawkwind. "Hey, you guys look like you need some synths!"

"Synths? Syn - synthesizers? Oh yeah man, Simon H isn't here, man, yeah. He was out scoring when - whahh, you have a Moog?" answered Lemmy absentmindedly. The rest of the band had gone upstairs to take a collective shower (- "Faggoty shit"! - "What maaaan, you got a snot fetish maaaan?" - "Oh fuck it!"), but Lemmy's broken methdar had gone off, and he was happily raiding Jose's cocaine supply. Naturally Jose didn't notice at all. The cocaine gave Lemmy a stern glance, intoning "I am NOT methamphetamine."

"I am NOT Police," blurted out Sting self-importantly seconds later.

"I am NOT Mario," emphatically singsang the now Mario-shaped Trans-Pac Man, now plunging into the Palace of Light in a from-behind 3-D view, with his prominent plumber's butt taking the limelight.

"I aaaaaammm noooot Katryyyn Noooorse", wailed Lemtata spookily.

Somehow Joe found this more offensive than any of the other nonsense he'd experienced in the last 5 minutes. "You... you nincodilyoop, Lemtata! Of course you're not some Katryn Norse! Who the fuck is Katryn Norse! Gawd, why do I love you people so much?" and he went around giving everyone in the room hugs. Now covered in Lemmy's Lemtatasnot, he sighed, went up and joined the hot, clean group-shower action upstairs.

"Love your music dudes!" scrubadubba WAKAWAKA damn, that Pac-man is getting loud

"That's great mate!" replied Michael Moorcock. Many dimensions away, one co-creator grumbled in frustration as he utterly failed at faking a British accent. "Hey, you gotta guy what can play the Moog? And the Moog itself too of course. Oh, and where are we?" scrubbaWAKAWAKAWAKA

"You're in Ottawa, Ohio. Oh, and it's 2005. Or what the hell, maybe I'm in your pipe dreams in 1975. I don't know what to think anymore!"

"Moog?" repeated Michael pointedly.

Joe pondered, mulling over the events of the long, long last ten minutes. "I think that can be arranged."

Not much later downstairs, absolutely no-one was surprised when Joe assumed a synth-playing stance and then smoothly progressed from playing air-synth to playing a chocolate synthesizer - a genuine 1975 Micromoog in every detail except for its being made of chocolate. (Milk chocolate, yet extremely durable.) Trans-Pac Man respectfully dropped off WAKA-ing as Joe filled the room with buttery, silky, spooky, psychedelic tones. 

The improv came together surprisingly fast; apparently it's true what they say about cold showers and a cool head. Dave Brock took the mic on this one (Michael lay outstretched next to Sting, staring into his own mind) and tried, in his words, to reflect the action on the Pac-Man screen, which for his convenience was now mirrored on a big projection on the wall opposite the stairs.

"Palace of light, halls of ghosts
Eternal chase for the meaningless
Trapped outside time, no rhyme or rhythm,
I flee banality, devour banality!"

"Ba-na-na," Jose "corrected" him irritably, as TPM swallowed a strawberry. "Or is that your limey way to say ba-na-na?" he taunted.

The basement had melted away, the back wall projection now replaced with a huge projector screen on the grass. A happy, tripped-out crowd was assembling in the pleasant summer heat. Many of the visitors were raving with delight at the unique, almost chocolatey analog sound of this new retro-futurist band with the weird hippy act. Lemtata was charging admission, and with her sharp sense for marketing she set it at $3.50 and shouted to all passersby "Step, right, up for the hippy freaky show! Only one 1975 dollar an entry! It's a steal, and I'm not just pulling that out of my nose!"

"Pursued by ghosts of many colors -"

"Four. Four colors."

"- Swimming in black corridors
For a moment we have powers,
We have rhyme and then it's lost lostlostlostlostlostlostlostlostlos..."




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