We are starting a band

Hilary, Miranda and I are starting a band, of sorts. We have our career planned out and I herein share the details with the curious. I believe one of the first coherent plans evolved from our discussion of a potential music video, prompted by Hilary's modern dance and soulful expressions whilst singing along to Lifehouse songs. I use the term "singing" loosely here. Just to avoid the confusion that may arise from the limitations of this medium--specifically the lack of a tone of voice with which to enhance understanding--I ask you, gentle readers, to imagine this being told in a highly ironic tone of voice. At times, if you wish, it may deviate into maniacally enthusiastic expressions. Variety is, after all, the spice of life, as ancient wisdom teaches us. But I do assure you most truly, gentle readers: we do not commit the sin of taking ourselves seriously, as the following details will make manifest.

To resume. Although the Lifehouse incident was A beginning, it was not THE beginning; this ambition was in our girlish hearts from an early age. I call to mind a photograph that hangs on our wall by the stairway, showing us three charming, musical sisters attempting to present the scene of a most exciting act. I regret to say the straining of my brain yet does not permit me to recall the details of what prompted this abortive foray into the music industry. What the picture and patches of memory reveal is this: Miranda had adorned our heads with hairdos of her own design, and I was using my sewing box and miscellaneous cloth as a guitar, Miranda had another guitar, this one made of pan pipes. Hilary was the vocalist. I am unable to determine what precisely she was using as a microphone, but I am fairly certain she was chewing on it.

Cute, no?

In any case, Alexisonfire further inspired us, giving Hilary the role of "the screamer." She shall, in a terribly hard-core manner, supplement delicate lyrical strains with the shrieking and yowling of delicate, introspective lyrics.

A recent development was prompted by our distaste of some Christmas carol covers, particularly a mellow, soulful version of "Jingle Bells." I decided an ideal Christmas song would be a heavy metal screaming cover version of "The Little Drummer Boy." PA RA PA PUM PUM!!! and so forth. Our music video will involve Christmas costumes; Santa (Miranda), Frosty (myself), and, of course, the drummer boy (Hilary). She is drums, I am bass guitar, Miranda is lead guitar. Being hardcore people, of course, these costumes must be suitably modified; black leather Santa and such. Our Frosty shall have a mohawk of carrot sticks, and all the unfortunate piercings such a medium (snow) shall allow for. There may also be an unfortunate yellow tattoo. And let us not forget the black leather. There will also be a Rudolph. As we destroy the set and instruments around us (because, of course, we must be destructive to be cool), Rudolph will lose his nose. Apparently Alanna is to knock it off. At this point in the brainstorm she has joined us to play the triangle, only she shall get distracted/flustered, depending on the tempo of the song, and hit it late at the ends of songs. Apparently she is lacking in the attention span department. (I, if I may say so, deeply sympathise, being a victim of my all-too-entertaining psyche myself. We must not judge.) The end of this song, in the video, will be her missing the triangle, and hitting the nose, half a beat late, and the final shot in the video will be his nose slowly rolling to a stop.Later discussions decided Rudolph as being a consistent element in our videos (a reference to the great success of our first single, perhaps). It is also at this point that we name ourselves "Olive The Other Reindeer." I am uncertain as to the nature of Alanna's Christmas costume; if she so desires, she is to make her preference known next time we discuss this.

Another song we shall do is "Rockabye Baby." It shall not be restful, as, indeed, the tale of a baby plummetting from a tree to its probable death should not be. (Incidentally, does anyone else remember being disturbed by that song? I recall spending much of my childhood being consistently traumatized by nursery rhymes and suchlike. Perhaps I shall expand further to the media later; fame does, after all, require a self-indulgent lack of privacy, especially with regards to traumatic incidents. (A distressing thought occurs to me: I do not think I have had enough such incidents in my past to be a proper celebrity. Perhaps I shall fabricate some. Maybe involving penguins.) I am sure you are all deeply interested in the workings of my psyche, but further revelations must wait, dear readers. Be patient; be strong.) In the video, Rudolph shall be the baby and Hilary shall be shaking the tree as she yells out her background "singing." As in "rockabye baby (ROCKABYE THAT DAMN BABY!) on the tree tops (THE FU*KING TREE TOPS!) and so forth.

(I here insert a minor digression. I am reminded, by the description of the last song, of Myystik Spyyral's version of "I've Been Working On the Railroad," which I here include:
> I've been working on the railroad
> EVERY POINTLESS DAY
> I've been working on the railroad
> WHILE MY LIFE GETS PISSED AWAY
> Can't you hear the something shouting?
> SHATTER MY DREAMS IN THE MORN
> Can't you hear the whistle's blowing?
> WISH I WAS NEVER BORN!
I recall finding that deeply amusing; indeed, I still do feel all warm and fuzzy inside upon recalling that musical interlude.)

(Can you tell I have recently (sort of recently) developed (or recovered, perhaps) a deep and pure love of parentheses?)

I here resume tales of our band, with a description of the last song we have discussed: the camp song beginning "there was a great big moose." Our video shall be a shocking tale of alcohol abuse (those who know the lyrics to this masterpiece should be unsurprised at this development: they would recall that, in the course of the song, it arises that the moose, much to his detriment, likes to drink a lot of juice). Lyrics of him spilling the so-called "juice" on his "teddy bear," as revealed by the video, are, in fact, metaphors for drunken debauchery and falling asleep in his own vomit, et cetera. The moose, of course, is Rudolph. Moreover, this song shall shock our loyal listeners, for in the verses, Hilary shall, in fact be mellow. Just singing. It is only when she gets to the chorus shall the echo part, once again, involve shrieking. "say whoa..SAY WHOA..." and so forth. It is imagined that such a return to normal will come as a relief to our listeners.

I'm not sure "normal" is the ideal word, but "usual" or "standard" don't really work either. I must trust you, gentle readers, to take from that last sentence the correct meaning; so distressing it is, that language is such an unreliable, limited medium! I am in tears at the thought! I feel my freedom is being constrained and torn and oh so misunderstood! Alas! Just think of all we could express were the resources of our vocabulary much expanded! For instance, there needs to be a better word for "strange."

My tale ends here, but more discussions may result in a sequel. I trust you are all agog in anticipation of further developments. I must counsel patience, dear readers. It is a worthy virtue, and I regret to insist that it must here be exercised, as conversations on this topic do not, distressingly, occur regularly. But, never fear! I hereby promise to keep you apprised of any further decisions on the future of Olive The Other Reindeer. Gentle readers, you have my word.