Jeanny is the image of every abused child, abused woman, every kid who gets blown up by a mine left behind in a non-war, or anyone bullied by a savage world which has no care other than what it needs for itself and the consequences be damned. When you've got a prevailing attitude of there is no problem unless I'm feeling it, you've got terminal cancer. You don't feel it when you've got cancer of the guttywuts as apparently there are no pain transmitters in those parts. Once it metastasizes, you won't need your precious nuclear bombs to kill everyone as you'll be gone already.
Speaking of which ... (so I'm stoned ... bite me) ... some have told me 'the bum is an exit-only portal to the body' and that sounds clever but probably won't sound so funny when you're making a call to an oncologist. It's not for me to understand why some doctors find it really interesting to stick a metal thing in me bum but there's one salient aspect to this, one feature that has my sincere and highly-focused interest, one aspect that retains my attention for longer than any such act possibly might ... it may keep me in my present status of being non-deceased.
I don't care if you're gay, straight, or like to fuck birds as that doesn't matter in the context of remaining non-deceased. And so what if your doctor is gay, straight, or likes to fuck birds as what pleasure is there for anyone if you're looking at body parts all day and they're not the body parts you want to be seeing.
Geez, be a fookin' man about it. Ask the doctor if he can help you find some things you lost in there. Think about it as this guy hears the same whiny bullshit all the time so give him a laugh but do keep in mind he still has a long weird metal thing in yer bum.
The specific interest in "Jeanny" is in the delivery of the lyrics in German but with extraordinary tenderness made all the more remarkable by the fact of a murderer singing them.
Part of the reason for doing "Ich Wird Nie Fragen" in German is I loathe the hackneyed portrayals of every German as a little Hitler with a harsh, grating voice and and an evil disposition. I have no crusade, it's simply a tiresome image and I think the metre of the poem would be served well and perhaps better by doing it in German. The biggest reason is the metre will be more clear to Cat when she hears it in German because then she doesn't have to translate anything.
Cat's first thought is the music before the words and the words can have no song if they have no metre unless you're doing some ultra-hip jazz but it may be tough to find an ultra-hip audience. You probably need beatniks drinking gallons of espresso, smoking five packs of unfiltered Pall Malls a night, reading outrageously good poetry, snapping their fingers instead of clapping, and loving jazz like it's the blood of life ... which, of course, it is.
Note: America invented that. Yep, nowhere else. That crazy fucked-up music that people don't understand and usually makes them nervous. Yep, America made that. And it's the coolest damn thing the country ever did. Well, except for some other cool stuff but 50's jazz ... whew. You can make grown men weep telling them it will never come back.
Irrelevant cynical side-note: even R&B is jazz these days, don'tcha know, and anything played on a piano is classical. And Taylor Swift is fine with not being overtly interesting. I bet she fucks like a demon, tho. Good for her. She's still boring and I don't care if she takes good care of her dogs. You're supposed to take good care of your dogs, that's why they like us. She's become symbolic of the cake icing that comes in AmerEnglo music these days. Take a dip with your finger and it's all you'll need for a week until the sugar wears off. Sticking your finger in it will screw up the cake but, wtf, it wasn't a very good cake.
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