Bird’s Eye Review ISSUE No. 2 0
“On A Bandana God Sends A John Too Worry”, An Easy Anagram to Remember the Band John Brown And Roses On A Good Day.
By: Ståphanie (Ståph) Birdman
“BANG BANG, YOU’RE ALIVE AND NO ONE HEARS A SOUND”. This is a quote from the first line of this review. What does this have in common with Jonathan Brown and Roses on a Good Day, a commonly used anagram to remember On A Bandana Godsends A John Too Worry, which is an acrostic for Onometer, Anometer, Barometer, Garometer, Altimeter, Jorgometer, Tomometer, and Wotometer…the commonality is spoken truth. Over the next hour and a half we will examine a jorgometer of my personal thoughts while I was both in preparation to listen and review this album…” – Ståphanie Birdman
The above quote is how I planned to start this review. Honestly, I’m totally fine with skipping this whole “I’m the only reviewer who is daring enough to just solely review myself”, thing. Even though it’s true. Musicians say I waste the artists’ time because:
“…he review and write about his own thought process while listening to my new album without making comment on the actual album. Don’t make sense.” –Musician
“Easy bud. I don’t think it’s me who “don’t make sense” and there’s always a review at the end”. –Ståph
With the unanticipated success of my last review entitled “A Whim Whim Situation”, I thought I would never review an album again. Honest, ya’ll. That last review was so successful. However, it showed me the darker side of being really smart and innovative. You guessed it, money. Dinero. Ya know, that green stuff stored in banks. I don’t know who invented money, but man it’s crazy. But back to me.
I became a recluse after my recent fame for being so smart. So you can imagine how I felt when the IUC manipulated my sounding device to “ring” via access to a privately listed telephone number (if you’re not good at imagining, I felt bothered when the phone rang). I reluctantly picked up the device and silently mouthed to myself, “Who’s there?” Silence. So I mouthed silently again “Who’s there?” This went on for hours, but it literally felt like years. HOWEVER, towards the end of it, me being both physically and emotion exhausted, but with presence of mind, it still seemed as if someone was still listening to me on the other end of the phone. “Can’t you see I’m sick?” I shouted silently inside myself. THEN! All of a sudden, as if out of nowhere like in a movie, a voice chimed across the other end of the audio device I held delicately in my pale palm “Hello? Is anybody there? I’m looking for Mr. Birdman”. I recognized who it was almost instantly. I think that if I wasn’t so drained from being silent and holding my phone for all that time I could have immediately registered who it was. Because HONESTLY I have never had a problem with that before. Recognizing someone’s voice, that is. I talked to my doctor about it and he agreed that’s probably what it was. “So not big pharma?”, I stated for clarification at the end of my doctor visit. To which he politely muffed, “No. Not Likely.” BUT back to my story, you’ll never guess who it was on the phone.
It was that fat cat charismatician named Phil Manilow. Ya know, A.K.A. the Executive Director of the IUC. Mr. Money Bags himself. I finally responded by shouting out loud, “Nobody is here! GO AWAY!” Phil responded, “Oh sorry to have bothered you. That would have been nice to know 2 hours ago. I’ve just been sitting here on the phone waiting to hear a response. I was calling to see if Mr. Birdman could write another review.” I said nothing, but grabbed my pen and silently scribbled onto a piece of yellow 5×7 blue lined paper the following sentences: “Sure. No problem, Phil. I really enjoyed writing the last one and appreciate your support for my vision. I will mail you this piece of paper stating I will do it, but will hand deliver the review. Do you still live at 202 Pine Tree Dr. Simpsonville, SC 29681?” But, that brain dead corporate mustang, Phil Manilow, was unable to see my handwritten response over that two-way FBI tracking device (I’m referring to my phone here) and so I think that is why he said, “Can you hang up? I’m trying to make another phone call.” I never did [hang up].
I’m not obsessed with big coffee, oil, and making the mullah like Phil. I’m an artist. Not artificial. I only communicate through handwritten letters. I literally have never used a computer. Well, as soon as Phil received my response in the mail he read it. Then tick tick boom, his meltdown started. First, a hot sweat, which turned into a teardrop, which then blossomed into tears that wrapped around his untouched chin and burgeoned into surrender. I know this because after sending the letter, I rode a horse (#cleanenergy) to Phil’s house and I stood outside of Phil’s window and spied on him. I saw the whole thing. “Anything for a buck, huh Manilow”, I thought to myself. At his lowest point I crawled through that same window and made this comment, “Why are you on the ground?” He looked up at me violently shaking on his tear soaked carpet decorated in outsourced labor and said, “iUNDERCONSTRUCTION (IUC)”. I mused and quipped, “iUNDERSTAND (IUD)”. And then went to his stupid computer, opened up my Comcast email account, found the email of my review of John Brown and Roses on a Good Day that I sent to myself prior to spying on him, printed it off using that zombie’s blood diamond printer, and tossed it at him like the dog he is. Then I squatted down to that mutt’s level and made this comment, “You belong in a museum.” End Section 1.
Section 2. The second review
“Composition is the first impression and thus, a lasting impression.” –Me. Artists who communicate efficiently as this ensemble does between each other, challenges any self-respecting listener to engage. Each song is composed of intense “many to many” communications. Whereby, the album is a complete conversation dependent on all of its integral parts (See diagram at the top of this article).
I found it interesting that the artists chose to paint the imagery of a closing scene to most sitcoms shot in the early 90’s, like “A Different World”, in the overtures written for “Good Times”, “Collapse”, “Not Your Fault” and “Jessica”. By pure classical definition of overture, it’s an introduction to something more substantial. This is the only band that can make that sound work. In all honesty, the driving force that makes this all work is Jonathan Brown. He plays the hardest instrument. The voice.
There is a beast in him that he understands and it’s his talents in lyrical composition, which allow him to bring this beast into an understandable form to listeners. This is hard to do and Jonathan does it well across the spectrum from whitty, as in “Last Drink”, to fight song mode, heard in “Murder Ballads”.
Jonathan obviously takes the message he wants to convey seriously. Each word seems to be chosen based on extensive calculation between the variables of: timing, rhythmic cadence, and narrative. A lot of times music in this genre will only have 1 or 2 of the 3. For example, a song may have a good flow, but its narrative is trash. Or a situation where there is a good narrative, but strains to fit with the music. It is without doubt that he has all three working for him. They are his weapons, they are loaded, and he has great aim.
Can we finally get to “Murder Ballads”? This is by far the best song on this album and serves as the inspiration for the image on the top of this review. It’s a perfectly balanced conversation between all members. I admire when artists can mold a dark theme into an inspirational fight song. There is something moving about confronting failure, accepting that something hideous is not beautiful, and you are still alive. Well done on this one boys…well done.
