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Write in the middle of it all

Get Music Here

Okay, so, what rhymes with Klondike? No, that’s two words. I’m looking for one, man. Why am I so exacting? Well, let me tell you, fool … you don’t get to where I got without applying a little exactitude in all the right places. Take it from Mr. Nobody. You heard it here first!

Well, hello, cybernauts, and welcome to the home of Big Green. We’ve been around so long, we seem like a square. Ain’t that the way with popular music groups … particularly the ones that aren’t so popular. Why, we’ve been making noises under the name Big Green since Matt wore skinny ties and I rolled my jacket sleeves up to the elbow. Yes, we lived in the eighties. It wasn’t easy, kids, no matter what they tell you. There were no hover crafts, no jet packs – none of the things you young’uns are used to these days.

Putting the tune in cartoons

Like most bands, our biggest challenge is developing new material. Mind you, we stand on a mountain of older songs, thanks largely to the relentless songwriting machine known as the right honorable Matthew Perry, esq. He has an enormous catalog of numbers covering a range of topics, from bad t.v. shows to disease to space Nazis. (No, not THOSE space Nazis … other ones.) Why, we could spend the rest of our lives making decent recordings of songs that he demoed in a rush thirty years ago, and never run out of material.

But man was not meant for that! One must never rest upon one’s laurels, even if you’ve been ceremoniously presented with a laurel and hardy handshake. No, sir – music is about the new, the now, the WOW. Ask any cartoon character on Saturday morning television. Did the Archies play old songs? Did Josey and the Pussycats hash out retreads of other people’s material? Of course they didn’t. If they had, they would have been laughed out of the cartooniverse. I think we can all take a lesson from that.

Scraping around for subject matter

Right, so as you probably know, we resort to some unorthodox methods of songwriting, particularly when under time pressure. Sometimes I go for plucking random words out of a dictionary. Matt prefers old cookbooks, but hell, they’re all the same words, just in different orders. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Joe! Why don’t you wait until you hear from a major record label before you start writing? Just sit with your pen at the ready, until the phone rings with that eight figure offer.” That was it, wasn’t it? Just call me Kreskin. Or Criswell. Even though I’m not.

See? I'm not Criswell. How much more proof do you need?

Hey man – we don’t sit around the hammer mill waiting for someone to make us work. Hell, we’ve been sitting around this place for years, and nothing remotely like that has ever happened. Not sure where I was going with that, but anyway … we have always been self starters. I like to think that we work circles around other bands when it comes to living in a hammer mill. Top that, Captured by Robots!

Anything we can do

You know how the song goes, right? Anything we can do, you can do better … or something like that. Well, fuck that song. I’m getting out my scratch pad and freestyling some song lyrics. It’s that or do the dishes. Decisions, decisions.

Usual Rubbish

Want to hear a song? That makes four of us.

2000 Years to Christmas

What man can stand the stress of being torn asunder then thrust back together? Who amongst us can quarter him/herself like a piece of fruit for the sake of a single song? What fool would throw his lot in with a madman who finds joy only in the fulfillment of his twisted vision? This guy, folks. This guy right here.

Yeah, I think it’s fair to say I’ve gotten the itch to perform. What can you expect after years of being cooped up in this abandoned hammer mill, miles from civilization? Not a living hell, I will admit, but clearly a living heck. It’s been years since we struck out on tour. (I blame all that striking out.) But we live in an age of miracles, my friends. Musicians now perform from the comfort of their own homes, thanks to the advent of the internet machine.

Labor action at the abandoned mill

Trouble is, when I raised the question of Big Green virtual performances, the response was less than encouraging. Yes, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) was game. Antimatter Lincoln offered to play gut bucket (though frankly very few of our songs call for that rustic instrument). The mansized tuber volunteered a few of his smaller shoots to the enterprise. As for the actual band members, well …. not so much.

Can’t blame them, really. This is the busy time of year. Matt is taken up with his Peregrine Falcon project. (He’s gone big this time around, watching them from the deck of the star ship U.S.S. Enterprise.) John is doing his thing (if he didn’t have that, he’d have to get another thing). So that leaves me in kind of a spot. I mean, I can’t play four parts at once …. or CAN I?

Hell, this band looks damned familiar.

Crypto cloning to the rescue

It seems that our mad science advisor has been working on a little experiment of late. I thought I heard some strange noises coming from the north end of the mill. (That was just before it exploded, too. Coincidence, that.) Anyway, Mitch developed something he calls “crypto cloning.” The “crypto” piece is strictly about marketing – Mitch is keen to monetize this new technology.

Here’s how it works: A subject steps into the cloning device, and s/he is cloned four ways. That’s a big step up from making two of the same thing, Mitch tells me. (Twice as good.) The thing is, the cloning only lasts a couple of hours. At that point, your quadruplegangers hustle back into the protoplasmic host from which they sprang. It’s a kind of reverse-amoeba effect, if you know what I mean.

The quadruplegangers ride again

Before you ask, yes, I did let him test it on me. But only just long enough for the four of me to record one of Matt’s songs – a classic number called Going To Andromeda. Check it out on our YouTube channel or our new Instagram account. (Note: one of my clones came out with a mustache. Strange mutation.)

Usual Rubbish

Put it all in the basket, if it fits

2000 Years to Christmas

Well, now, I’m not sure we need that. At least, not in that quantity. And for god’s sake, none of those. What are we, made of money? Budget, my little friend, budget!

Oh … hi, everybody. Allow me to pretend that I didn’t know you were there. (Thank you for that indulgence.) You just caught us in the midst of a semi-monthly shopping trip. We go to the big market in the middle of this very humble little town and wheel a cart around. Then, once we’ve realized that we don’t have enough money to fill the cart, we push that aside and pick up a shopping basket.

No trouble like money trouble

You know what they say. There’s no reek that beats ass, and there’s no trouble that beats broke. (Is that really what they say? Well …. someone says it somewhere, I’ll wager.) Shopping trips always remind us of how little capital we have to work with. And before you crypto currency freaks start jumping all over my shit with investment opportunities and NFTs, let me emphasize that NO, WE DO NOT HAVE ANY MONEY. WE CAN’T EVEN FILL A SHOPPING CART.

Now that I’ve said that, let me contradict myself. We can afford small things. Not small diamonds, mind you, or little bits of gold. No, things like leeks, individual walnuts, an apple or two. (If we keep going with this, we could end up with a waldorf salad.) In any case, I don’t want to paint too grim a picture. We don’t want any pity – no pity, no thank you. No THANK you. (For more about the significance of this phrase, see Rod Steiger in In The Heat Of The Night.)

Just forget it, Abe. We ain't got the scratch.

Shameless plea for help

Okay, now I’m going to contradict myself again. The thing is, with prices on the rise (and I know you’re heard all about it), we’re getting less and less into that little shopping basket. For instance, instead of five leeks, we’re down to three. We even have to ask the nut monger to cut a walnut in half for us. Can’t imagine the dirty looks we get when we make these requests. It’s humiliating …. JUST HUMILIATING.

The thing is, you can help … and it won’t cost you a dime. Let me ‘splain. There’s a little thing out there called the internets. Turns out, you can listen to music over the internets through a variety of means. Maybe you have Spotify, or Apple Music, or Amazon Music, or whatever the fuck. Okay, so go to one of these services and look up Big Green – particularly our albums, 2000 Years To Christmas or International House – and play any one (or several) of the tracks. In fact, just build a playlist of both albums and run them on a loop while you cook dinner (and perhaps listen to something else on another device).

Mother lode of sorts

Now, if you’re subscribed to one of these services, the fee for playing our songs is zilch. But we get valuable revenue. It’s an astronomical return. By that I mean, like with a distant star, you need a telescope to see it. I think we get $0.000978 per play on our tracks, but I may be exaggerating. That’s the miracle of the digital marketplace at work, my friends.

Of course, that adds up over the centuries. Who knows – there may come a time in the distant future when we can afford maybe six or seven leeks in out shopping basket.