I was strolling through the bookstore the other day when I noticed a book called, “How To Write Hit Songs: 101 Tips From the Pros.” It was stuck between “The One Minute Manager,” and “The Five Minute Massage.” I figured the book was worth at least four minutes of my time, since my manager had left me alone for a minute, and I wasn’t due for my daily massage for another five, so I sat down and began thumbing though it. There were sections containing everything from “The Idea,” “Collaboration,” “Radio Play,” to “Demos,” “Rhyming,” and “Writer’s Block.” There were a bunch of pictures of long-haired people with plaid shirts hanging around musical instruments, and tips such as on page thirty-six which read, “Be true to your inner self. You are a songwriter just waiting for a song.”
I thought that was pretty funny, and particularly appropriate, since I was at that very moment struggling with a major songwriting block. Total creative constipation. I hadn’t written a song in a couple of months, and I needed some serious prunage in order to release my inner self. In my case I wasn’t just a songwriter waiting for a song, but a songwriter with a whole bunch of people waiting for me to hurry up and stop waiting for that damned song. Deadlines were coming up, record companies were calling, another album needed to be written, and artists needed more material to work with. Where was the song?
So I flipped over to page forty-eight under “Writer’s Block.” There was a picture of some poor guy trying to drive a pencil through his ear. I could feel for him. My ear still hurt from the time the doctor removed the last pencil. “Pick something that irritates you, and derive a theme from it,” it said in nice helvetica type. “Your boss, your wife, your house payment, these are all good themes to develop from.” Yeah right, I’m a freelancer, I love my wife, and I rent my apartment. So much for that stupid idea.
Just as I closed the book, a song came over the radio by that new Chinese pop group, The Rice Girls, and I listened on while they tried to sing in unison. I’m one of the few foreigners living in Taiwan who actually likes Chinese songs, but this was horrible. I felt embarrassed to be standing there, like the RCA Victor dog, ear cocked up towards the ceiling speaker. It was so bad that I wanted to pee. I don’t even know how to describe it. Sort of a cross between Puffy and an out of tune Bananarama singing through their pierced noses. Then “The Rice Girls” leaped into the chorus, and all hell broke loose. “Oh yeah baby, I will love you UNTIL END OF THE TIME!……Oh yeah baby, UNTIL END OF THE TIME!…..” and again…oh my god, “UNTIL END OF THE TIME! YEAH YEAH! UNTIL END OF THE TIME!”
I looked down at “How To Write Hit Songs: 101 Tips From the Pros,” and thumbed back frantically to page forty-eight, “Pick something that irritates you, and derive a theme from it.” Yes! Of course! That was it! I hated it when Chinese pop singers suddenly stuck English lyrics into a song, especially when the English was wrong. “UNTIL END OF THE TIME….” What was the producer thinking? Was he some failed ex-bushibon owner suddenly reincarnated into a pop songwriter? Even more disturbing was that this trend seems to be spreading like a bad flu. Nearly half the Chinese songs you hear on the radio slip in some form of bad English or another. “Pick something that irritates you, and derive a theme from it.”
I ran out of the store, and back to my studio. Forget the manager, forget the massage. The muse had struck! Irritation was swelling up inside of me. My inner self was about to cut loose. An unbelievable idea. I would take the half dozen words I knew in Japanese, mix them randomly with some ridiculous English lyrics, and give it to a Chinese singer who couldn’t speak either. That way no one would understand what the lyrics meant, and no one would care. It would be the perfect Taiwan pop song!
Café Latte, Chotto Mate
Ka ki ku ke ko, I’ll never let you go…
Aa ii oo eh oh, I know you love me so…
Do you want me? Totemo oiishi…
Do you need me? Moshi moshi…
Then drink café latte, chotto mate with me!
Please Please Please…
Don’t say sayonara
Please Please Please
At least not ‘till tomorrow
Ka ki ku ke ko, so desu I love you so
Aa ii oo eh oh, in the morning, ohio!
Do you want me? Totemo oiishi…
Do you need me? Moshi moshi…
Then drink café latte, chotto mate with me!
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