Dear Santa: This year I’m hoping to get a lot accomplished with my X-mas list. I know, I know, normally I ask for the goopiest toys and the most fluorescent bike streamers on the market, but I’m a little bit older and wiser now; I’m in my late twenties, and it’s time to start making a difference. Goodbye Flaky Gumshoe Crust, hello Moist-but-Yielding Gumshoe Crust [new and improved!].
1. I’d like to start my list off with a simple request. It can’t be packaged, nor can it be toted down a chimney. Despite these inconveniences, I think you’ll agree my first list item is Important to us all. Hell, Direly Important considering the levity of the situation. But enough build-up: I’d like you to give my former boss AI-...er, well, a disease. [Leprosy would be nice, or maybe Yellow Fever, or maybe... let’s see – they’re all so tantalizing in their own way! – maybe a bucket of rickets? That’d be great.] Now I know you probably get requests like this all the time, but I implore you to consider this as a heartfelt and – yes – even charitable deed, mainly because of the sheer level of douche-ery involved.
2. Secondly, I’d like a hovercraft. A big one.
3. Finally, for my final request I want something I just haven’t experienced: An instrumental band along the lines of Ratatat – that isn’t instrumental. I want vocals, baby, and I want lots of ‘em. Female vox would be nice, but I’m not a gender warrior; anything will do. Oh, and the vocals absolutely can’t be all dippily-doodily like those of Tarwater and their ilk. I want these vocals to work with the songs, not against them; I want the vocals gliding across the surface smoothly rather than square-pegging their way into tracks they don’t belong in. I’d also appreciate a fresh, original approach to songwriting that includes anything and everything. Sound snippets? Great! Computer voices? All aboard! A few clunkers? Fine by me! It’d also be nice if this ‘something’ were a more eclectic indie varietal – we’re talking Sauvignon Blanc AND Syrah baby! While I’ve got your attention, I'd be happy if I could listen to this Wonder Band’s albums from start to finish. In these days of instant information and light-speed communication, I can’t afford to get caught with my pants down – or with my finger on the ‘skip’ button. Finally, one more thing: It’d be pretty freakin’ sweet if they could sound a teensy-tiny bit like Daft Punk and Underworld at completely random intervals.
Best,
Gumshoe
[Santa opens a letter from Gumshoe, that black sheep from the religious family. He carefully reads the first few items on the list. “Not even Rush Limbaugh’s requests are this sick,” he mutters, blowing, then sipping on a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and leaning back in his chair. He’s all ready to toss out Gumshoe’s letter when he happens upon the third-and-final gift request. His already rosy cheeks are suddenly flush with cherry-crimson color. He allows a haughty laugh to escape his fat, wet lips. Suddenly, he feels he can honor at least a-third of Gumshoe’s X-mas list. He grabs a CD he’s had in his furry mittens since November 6, takes a fleeting look at the excellent digi-pack art, and smiles until his dimples nearly pop. He’s done his job well...]
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