Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Oh Lord, Trouble My Spleen
The surgeon has been round, the incision has been made and finally the Talent in a Previous Life Spleen is ready, waiting and eager to answer your pop questions, so without further ado, lets invite our first questioner up to the stand.
Dear TiaPL Spleen,
I was wondering if you could help me with this question.
Why does it always rain on me?
Thank you,
BestWorst
Well, this is quite obvious really, especially if you're a spleen of immense brain, like what I am, except that I don't actually have a brain, being a completely different organ, but this is all besides the point. Don't distract me. Shut up and stop staring!
Ahem. The reason it always rains on you is because you're a singer songwriter who has made a not inconsiderable fortune by performing dull as ditchwater songs of vaguely sad and miserable melody with lyrics that can only honestly be described as banal. Unfortunately, now that you're quite well off you find it hard to tap in to the well of slight depression that had made your name. To put it simply, you're feeling rather chipper.
This is a problem though, as the record buying public doesn't want to buy your records when you tell them how great and sunny the world is. Indeed, the record company flatly turned you down when you suggested a concept album entitled "I've Got Loads of Money (And You've Not, Ha, Ha, Ha)". This wasn't originally a problem, as you were still rather well off. Alas though, you spunked most of your money on a gigantic swimming pool in the shape of a dodecahedron, with a mosaic on the bottom based on a Little House on the Prairie cast photo. You need more cash, but you're still comfortable enough to not feel in any way downbeat. How to solve this problem? With the clarity that only comes because all your other mental processes are still pondering whether it would have been better to have had the mosaic done using The Waltons instead, you decide to employ a gentleman to walk behind you everywhere you go, carrying a watering can which he pours over you every time the merest hint of a smile passes across your face. With your exisitence now made soggy, you can return to your career of fleecing the British public with half-hearted musings on why life can sometimes be a bit shit.
Or maybe you told an untruth as a teenager. But that's hardly very likely, is it?
The Spleen
Thank you Spleen! His time is up now as he has to be returned into the body cavity so he can get on with doing essential spleen based work. Don't worry if your question hasn't been answered yet, as The Spleen is very busy keeping us aliveand besides, we don't want to use up all the questions in one go, we want this feature to run and run but will be back next week with more wisdom. If you have a question for the Spleen, then e-mail us at talentinapreviouslife@hotmail.com or leave it in the comment box. Oh, and please note that the TiaPL Spleen is highly trained, your spleen may not be as well versed in pop knowledge as ours is, so attempting to remove your own and firing pop questions at it is highly discouraged. Your gall bladder is likely to be better informed.
Dear TiaPL Spleen,
I was wondering if you could help me with this question.
Why does it always rain on me?
Thank you,
BestWorst
Well, this is quite obvious really, especially if you're a spleen of immense brain, like what I am, except that I don't actually have a brain, being a completely different organ, but this is all besides the point. Don't distract me. Shut up and stop staring!
Ahem. The reason it always rains on you is because you're a singer songwriter who has made a not inconsiderable fortune by performing dull as ditchwater songs of vaguely sad and miserable melody with lyrics that can only honestly be described as banal. Unfortunately, now that you're quite well off you find it hard to tap in to the well of slight depression that had made your name. To put it simply, you're feeling rather chipper.
This is a problem though, as the record buying public doesn't want to buy your records when you tell them how great and sunny the world is. Indeed, the record company flatly turned you down when you suggested a concept album entitled "I've Got Loads of Money (And You've Not, Ha, Ha, Ha)". This wasn't originally a problem, as you were still rather well off. Alas though, you spunked most of your money on a gigantic swimming pool in the shape of a dodecahedron, with a mosaic on the bottom based on a Little House on the Prairie cast photo. You need more cash, but you're still comfortable enough to not feel in any way downbeat. How to solve this problem? With the clarity that only comes because all your other mental processes are still pondering whether it would have been better to have had the mosaic done using The Waltons instead, you decide to employ a gentleman to walk behind you everywhere you go, carrying a watering can which he pours over you every time the merest hint of a smile passes across your face. With your exisitence now made soggy, you can return to your career of fleecing the British public with half-hearted musings on why life can sometimes be a bit shit.
Or maybe you told an untruth as a teenager. But that's hardly very likely, is it?
The Spleen
Thank you Spleen! His time is up now as he has to be returned into the body cavity so he can get on with doing essential spleen based work. Don't worry if your question hasn't been answered yet, as The Spleen is very busy keeping us alive
