power metal, since my personality kind of exudes that. While I greatly appreciate that genre, it's not me -- at least not the real me. The songs in my heart have always sounded like Benjamin Orr.
I always loved the purity of tone that only synth can provide, but coming-of-age in the afterbirth of grunge, synth was a rare commodity. While I had limitless opportunities to prepare me with the skills I would need to be a synth player, I could only do similar-but-unrelated things. I could never feel passionate about those other things -- and to me, it just seemed like the grinding of a poorly-designed JRPG (see Figure 1), and that depletes my willpower faster than anything. I opted to try to express myself through writing instead. Granted, writing takes a lot of grinding, but it is easily flavored to one's personal taste.
In short, I would have loved to have been in marching band, had there been keytars.
If I found a genie's lamp, and I could have any three wishes, then I'd ask to become immortal, invincible, and Superman, because I am smart. If I lived an extra-charmed life and found a second genie's lamp, I'd ask for fantastic keytar skills; a DeLorean; and a three-piece suit with fringed sleeves, made entirely out of black snakeskin. The suit, along with a little guyliner and greasepaint, will unlock that Huey Lewis/Alice Cooper combination which is my true inner self. So then I would drive around in my DeLorean, in this ascended form, until I chance upon some fine-foxy ladies, at which point I would leap out, jump onto the roof of my DeLorean, and belt out some wycked lyxx on my keytar, complemented with gratuitous pelvic thrusting.
Then, I will have sex.
Don't give me that look -- it would be a mathematical certainty at that point, as I would have met all of the necessary prerequisites.
Still, even in this best of all possible worlds, I would still never create anything of merit, because I have an incredibly limited vocal range. My voice is horrible. I sound like an autistic guy taking your drive-thru order. It's badly bad, of badness.
Maybe I'll take up the synthesizer/keytar and record an instrumental album someday, who knows. Maybe I'll join a band, and have someone else sing -- but I can't do that with someone from a newspaper ad or a friend-of-a-friend from a coffee shop. I'd need a real synergy before I could even try, because I know me, and most of the people capable of that have moved on with their lives or outgrown me; such is the way of things -- but those are stories for another time.
In the mean time, I keep thinking up all kinds of great names for bands, that I can do nothing with. It'd be a shame to let them go to waste, so I figured I'd share them with the world, in case of any readers who can't think of a name for their band. Wonderful names like:
|FIG 2. "The truth is neither black nor white..."|
- Fundamental Theorem.
- Suspicious Persons.
- Quantum Suicide.
- Shades of Grey. Their logo would be a yin-yang where both sides are shaded the same color of grey, as shown in Figure 2.
- Serious Inquiries Only.
- Lesbian Tendencies.
- Anubis Remembers.
- Octodeath Crab. Rising from the sea, he'll kill you eight different ways.
- Consumer Lifestyle.
- Fake Smiles and Form Letters.
- Autoerotic Knifeplay.
- Ginger Cream Pie. Naturally, their album covers would feature seductive redheads with desserts.
- Puppet Show of the Damned.
- Intermix Ratio. This would be a TNG-themed band, so the title track of their first album would naturally be The Line Must Be Drawn... Here!
- The Magic Bullet Theory. Their first album would be Up and to the Left, with a cover featuring the band members photoshopped into the Zapruder film.
- The Human Shields.
- Extreme Chess Luau.
- Bionic Foreskin.
- Bukkake Pantomime.
- Quantum Singularity Trebuchet.
- The Cumfarts. Their first album being the non-Euclidian Let Me Vomit into My Own Mouth.
- Menstruating Lava.
- Üterüs Coökie. Please note those are not metal umlauts; the name is legitimately pronounced "ueterues cooekie," that way they can say it on the radio, angering Christian mothers and people named Helen.
- The Hassidic Leprechauns.
- Pubic Hair Macramé. As a gimmick, they could setup some bogus "Locks of Love"-like charity where people mail in their bush clippings with the intent of the band shipping them all en masse to people they do not like. (Ideally, in the form of a decorative owl.)
- ...and Strat-O-Matic Cybersex.
Feel free to make use of these names; I just ask for acknowledgement in your album's liner notes (though merch and backstage passes would be nice, too).