Connect A Song

Connection: The kids are disco dancing

Also on Empire Records :)

self explanatory

Connection: What someone wants.

Bonus Connection: Both heavily featured in the seminal 90's masterpiece Empire Records

Connection - Blood and people that drink it

vampires like blood

Connection: Hoorays!

Connection to last song: BEER

Connection: the Steve Vai song is from an album called The 7th Son

Connection: Another very famous masterpiece from one year earlier. Also very long and with many melodic parts. Both talk about driving fast on the highway.

Connection, as mentioned Steve Vai played with David Lee Roth for two albums, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to share my favorite Vai song. :)

son -> sun

Connection - Satriani taught Steve Vai, Vai played for Roth on two albums before moving on to Whitesnake

Music begins at 1:33

Connection: Artist Golden Earring

Connection: Sandwiches.

Spam is commonly eaten in sandwiches and in this song a six foot dude gives the man a Vegemite sandwich.

Well I'll see your 1,000 feet and I'll raise you 500 miles and then I'll raise 500 more.

(Don't worry, it comes around again)

i see your six and raise you... a thousand feet!

Connection: just a few miles more

"I'll be honest, fellas, it was sounding great; but, I coulda used a little more cowbell."

obligatory

Connection: Down Under

Six Feet Under

conection is alot of lot

Connection: People meeting the reaper

Lyrics:
Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe.
Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
but I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe.

Woke up by the pool again.
Must have played the fool again.
Wonder what them hooligans put on the grill that stinks
kind of like burnt fur and regurg’ed drinks
with an undertone of the acorn
and leather that’s laid on
thick like Liz Claiborne.
Step over with big trepidation,
lift up the top off the meat cooking station
to discover my homie Todd!
I said “Oh my God,
what grim façade
do you meet me with in my wakefulness?”
I had too many Stellas and they all was crisp;
must I rise up in the morning with my squirrel desisted
from the world? Insisted, as I did
this instant, that
him up in heaven again is premature?
If only reality would concur!
Poke him with the tongs. Dude won’t wake up.
Put him on the lawn; Ray’s about to cook a steak up
and this ain’t no kind of mausoleum.
Got to get the high degree on.
Todd’s onomatopoeia
got already all used up — I mean he sizzled —
ain’t nothing left but char, bone, and gristle.
My heart is fissile: I mean it could break
like crystal; he never learned to whistle. Don’t rake
his cadaver up, wassamadda with your mind?
He ain’t a lawn clipping. We been knuckleheads since old times.
Dig out the batting helmet and the bat
‘cause we’re all about to have a funeral, and that’s that.
We’ll do it after breakfast. We’ll do it up proper.
We’ll drop all his ashes out the Airwolf copter,
all singing up dirges, all spreading out blossoms,
and it’s gonna b-b-b-be frikkin’ awesome!

Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe.
Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
but I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe.

Six bong rips later: we ain’t going to the helipad,
standin’ ‘round hella sad,
wonder where them Stellas at.
All these dudes ain’t huge on sentiment,
still they want to say a little something to the benefit
of layin’ Todd’s soul to rest.
I cold regressed, contemplated old regrets
and said, “Man why he even got to do a thing
like pass out on the Bar-B-King?”
I’m tryin’ to bring from like recesses in my mind
a word or two that wouldn’t prove unkind.
Aligned as he was with the less-than-angelic,
trafficking black tar smack & psychedelics
in that little-ass van of his, and drunk doing it,
knowing what the right thing to do was but eschewing it,
it’d seem pretty probable
flames are audible:
that’s the duty that Todd’ll pull,
not just in death, but in after-that,
like the bat out the h-e-double-vertical-slat
but inbound in the case of this rodent,
like when he got peeled-out on and ‘sploded,
or indeed when he got shanked in the joint —
hella causing me to wonder if there’s even a point
to our shepherdly tending of his life’s ending.
Bet he’s chilling at Friendly’s
and gonna be back in the neighborhood shortly,
discussing how awesome it is to be portly,
reporting the slant he just got on with Blister
(drank till his wrists hurt,
boned the ghost of your sister).
The dude’s a bucket kickster when he has to be
and this one wasn’t like a masterpiece
so yes we’re depressed but not drastically...
livin’ at the corner of dude and catastrophe.

Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
wasting my time at the corner of dude and catastrophe.
Where I’m livin’, it’s hard to say,
but I feel fine at the corner of dude and catastrophe.
I’ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time.
I’ll just wait, waving goodbye until the next time.

jeez, are we done working yet?