I liked my ears...

Luke Leslie December 2006

Dear shitting christ what I'd give to be deaf right now, I've debated it over and over with myself and I'm sure it wouldn't be too much of a hindrance for my film career, i could still write, shoot, direct and edit. If anything Deaf people have a tendency to shout and that would probably be an asset to a director. But I digress, at this moment my whole apartment is currently being delighted and reintroduced yet again to the joys of badly played piano, nay piane the hollywood Western film equivalent. As i tap on my considerably quieter keyboard she taps her colorful melodies into my ceiling but it may as well be my skull and her foot may as well be a hammer, and not a novelty hammer thats filled with air, her hammers are filled with painey noisey death.

It's not so much that the piano is out of tune, though in tune would be nice, nor is it that the music is particularly bad, I do indeed quite like Ray Charles, but it's this particular lets say creative adaptation of these well known songs lets say that I don't have a particular affinity for. Several liberties have been taken with regard rhythm and melody, not particularly important musical practices I hear you say, but I'm knit picking.

I know I'm ridiculously lucky to have been given free reign of this flat, my parents could have just told me to shit off and find my own place, but they let me move into this potentially very lucrative apartment, the rent of which would probably make a young married working couple cry with shame - and yet here I the 19 year old student reside. So I mean, it's not like I've lost touch with how privileged I am to be living here. I just wish my home didn't come with a badly composed soundtrack - with no off button. I sometimes feel like this is some kind of battle, a battle for sanity I'd like to say, but it's more of a battle of music.

You see: it was not 3 months ago that my good friends Brian and Sam would come down near daily to record and compose a score for my film "Coup De Coeur" when they were quiet they were very very quiet, but when they were loud they were very thunderous. So this is sort of a way for my neighbor to get her own back...

"Oh yeah - lets see how you like some mother-fucking Charlotte Church Mother fucker"

I'm currently writing a dramatization of this whole situation with Samuel Jackson playing my musically challenged neighbor. I recall a funny incident in which we were discussing recording the theme song for the film, which has a quite dominant piano melody in it. Brian seemed to think my musical accomplice to the north would obligue, a theory that I contested as she had been inflicted with our recordings for just under 2 months at that stage, and I didn't much like A the idea of asking someone who was undeniably annoyed with the racket we were creating to join in and B listening to her Tone Deaf adaptation of a song she probably never heard before, and considering she hasn't much improved on the songs she started playing 2 years ago when she moved in (and probably was playing before that) I don't care to find out what she'd do to Sympatique. But my guess is it would sound something like this:

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