You know how GirlTalk pieces together bits of songs and creates his own masterpieces of mixed-up wonder? Well, in honor of tomorrow's Westword Music Showcase, we thought we'd do the same -- only with lyrics. We crafted an open letter to music, comprised entirely of lines from different songs from various artists dating back to the '60s. If you can decipher the songs that we pulled from (hint: there's forty) and send us the correct answers before 2 p.m., we'll hook you up with a pair of tickets to the Westword Music Showcase tomorrow. Most correct answers will win the tickets. Have at it. We have five pairs up for grabs.
Dear Music --
Hey there, fancy pants, who shot ya? Come on, I'm talking to you. Rap is dead. Rock is dead. My music is dead. Apathy has rained on me; now I'm like a soggy dream so close to drowning, and I don't mind, but as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive. A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. I guess that's why they call it the blues. But, you know a dream is like a river: Ever changing as it flows, and I don't want to waste my time on simple little things.
The blind stares of a million pairs of eyes are looking hard, but won't realize that everybody's got a thing, but some don't know how to handle it. There was a time when my world was filled with darkness, but I've seen the light. Our brains are on fire with the feeling to kill, and it won't go away until our dreams are fulfilled.
This situation's gotten out of control and with all the stress the confrontation, I just might overload. While the DJs sweatin' out all the problems, we're more merciless than a statue of Ming, and that's not important; money's more important. I've got two tickets to paradise, an open mind for a different view, and nothing else matters. But still I see no changes.
I could've lied. The industry: Man, it's not the same. I need the bills that president's got their face on, but if you don't want to pay some more, and if that's what you're all about, then I'm movin' out. I just can't get enough, but every now and then I fall apart, and that's just the way it is because things will never be the same. I'll tell you what I want, and I don't ask for much, just be honest with me. Just get on the mic and spit it, because anything you've already done just won't do. And if that don't do, then I'll try something new.
As we go on, we remember all the times we had together. These abstract wordless moments remind of a girl that I once knew. It's running, running, running through my head, and if it keeps on raining, the levees going to break. Maybe you'll say you still want me. I got my brain on hype, and one or another I shall have deliverance. If you don't like the effect, don't produce the cause.
All entertainers: Come original.
Sincerely, Team Backbeat
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to Westword's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Denver's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
Follow Backbeat on Twitter: @westword_music