How Bauhaus Stunk Up My Brain With Terrible Music
by Chris Veinot, übergenius
First off, let me just say that these guys stink. Think what you want, but your opinion is wrong. Bauhaus stinks. Second, I will not let the fact that Bela rules over everything affect my judgement of this song.
As I write, I have only actually heard about thirty seconds of their song "Bela Lugosi's Dead" off of the preview section of CDNow.com. But boy, does it ever suck. I think I'm gonna go and listen to it again.
Oh wait, no I'm not, because it sucks.
I'm downloading the entire NINE MINUTE song right now. Hopefully I'll be able to not throw up long enough to listen to it all. I'll get back to you on that, but for now, you can peruse the song's awful lyrics:
White on white translucent black capes
Back on the rack
Bela Lugosi's dead
The bats have left the bell tower
The victims have been bled
Red velvet lines the black box
Bela Lugosi's dead
Undead undead undead
The virginal brides file past his tomb
Strewn with time's dead flowers
Bereft in deathly bloom
Alone in a darkened room
The count
Bela Logosi's dead
Undead undead undead
Could those possibly be any worse? Even I could write better lyrics than that. "Bereft in deathly bloom"? The guy who wrote these would be best suited as an eternal art student here at the university I attend, where nearly everyone seems wrapped up in their ridiculous pretentiousnessosity (all right so I don't know what the noun form of "pretentious" is). "Bereft in deathly bloom," gimme a break. In one of my film classes our professor showed us one of his [awful] student films. It was about a couple in a car, and they argue over the female being late. The car has a tire blowout, and the guy can't fix it. It ends with a shot of the pair ignoring each other, and one of my idiot fellow students pointed out, among other things, the poignance of scene as the two "stagnate in their own emotional mire." She seems the type who would also describe black as "translucent" when obviously it's just there for extra syllables and affected intelligence, when in fact it doesn't even make sense. Metaphor, imagery, whatever... it's just stupid.
I'm gonna write some lyrics now. They'll be about Boris Karloff being dead.
Big fat eyebrows
Funny lisp
I guess you weren't that awful
Or as ugly as Quentin Crisp
It seems you're also dead
That kinda stinks, eh?
I hope if there's a hell
You didn't go there
'Cause while Bela kicks
Your quite-dead ass
You were pretty good in
The Body Snatchers
Snatched snatched snatched
Now I don't mean to toot my own horn (yes I do), but aren't my lyrics more fun to read than Bauhaus'? One second, I have to pee.
Back to that song. Notice how I kind of accidentally stole Bauhaus' completely original and moving technique of repeating something at the end of the song. I did a little research, and here are the endings of some of their songs:
Those Indians wank on his bones (repeat)
Oh to be the cream (repeat)
Fishcakes (repeat)
And I'll walk away, away, walk away (repeat)
We're dancing to the dark side of this tune X4
Now I am silly / Now I am silly / Silly, silly, silly, silly / Silly
Hair of the dog (repeat about four bajillion times)
Lalalalalalalalalalala la X4 (I swear I didn't even make that one up)
Hollow hills X8
Honestly, I've gotten so bored of copying and pasting that crap, so I'll stop. I think the song's finished downloading, so hold on as I give it a listen.
Nope, it's still going, so I'll listen to some Sex Pistols instead. While we're waiting, is anyone else as excited as me about Herschell Gordon Lewis' glorious return to directing feature films with Blood Feast 2? Probably not. Oh well.
Oh right, Bauhaus. I learned about the real Bauhaus in my unbelievably boring art history class. That Bauhaus wasn't too exciting either, except for when I wrote an awesome essay on it for the exam and got an A+. I should point out that no matter what anyone thinks, art sucks. So do art students, except for me, because even though I'm an art student, I'm not a real art student. I love the Rush Hour movies and punk rock, so I don't count. Okay, for real now, I promise I'll shut up about me. But don't forget I'm probably cooler than everyone else, ever.
Yikes, saved by the download. Gonna listen to the song now. Oh my crap, it's 9 minutes and 34 seconds long.
Thirty seconds in and nothing's happened. Well, there's drums or something and three notes have been played. We've got some pick scrapes, some weird noises, but this is all just filler. One minute and thirty seconds, still nothing. Oh, a few more weird guitar effects. Maybe it'll get better? Yeah right, I decided beforehand I wasn't gonna like it.
I dunno how much more of this I can take, folks. This was a "hit?" Hoo boy, and I thought the lyrics were bad enough. There's still 5 minutes to go.
This song sucks hard; I don't even want to write about it anymore. It's really really really bad, and there's not much else to say.
I'm sorry.
Talk about anticlimax.
Oh wait, I've got something interesting: I used the name "Quentin Crisp" to rhyme with "lisp" in my Boris Karloff song. It was completely random; his name was on the cast list for today's Movie of the Day (Orlando, based on Virgina Wolf's novel, which I was forced to read in the aforementioned terrible art history class) from my Page-a-Day calendar. So what? Well, Crisp was born with the name of Denis Pratt. Boris was born William Henry Pratt. Coincidence? Or am I just an übergenius?
I think the latter.
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