The following articles are all speculative, hearsay, satirical, hyperbolic, counterfactual, contextual, abstract, ironic (worked for Alanis) and any other adjective that makes a lawyer not sue you for false claims.

The First Listen

“Weird Bits,” the new album by Eaten By Clowns has just finished playing and the room is in a stunned silence. First one editor begins to weep, then an admin. Slowly a trickle becomes a flood as the staff of Rolling Stone Magazine goes from being rendered speechless, to emotionally weeping. Eight people resigned on the spot in order to re-examine their lives and possibly join a Buddhist Monastery for lifelong reflection. Every one of them thanked me before they left. This album had changed lives in a way that I had never witnessed before and the repercussions were just beginning. Most of the people in the Rolling Stone offices still sat there in a stunned, emotional ball singing various parts of the album that has connected with them. None of them were making eye contact. Did I dare play it again?

I had heard the album, I knew what they were going through. Knowing that the only cure was more, I hit play again.

Five Times and Counting

As the first notes of “Perhaps This is for You” begins, the staff starts to gather their wits and they begin to focus on “Weird Bits” again. The lights go off and everyone gathers into a circle around the speakers, crossing their legs and leaning into the sound. Occasionally someone is overwhelmed and they reach out to hug their neighbor for support. The neighbor returns the hug with a desperate acknowledgment of what everyone is experiencing before they both let go and lean back into the music. They laughed, they cried, some of them started making out, but everyone listened.

After the fifth listen, I suggested that I was getting tired and should probably head back to my hotel.

The Blacklist

As I reached for the laptop that I had brought to plug into the office sound system, I found myself blocked out. Several bodies wedged themselves between me and my laptop as a dozen extended arms slowly and forcibly backed me toward the door. When I protested and mentioned that it was my laptop being left behind, they piled every laptop between me and the door into my arms and told me to keep them as trade. It was a frantic, collective effort that eventually pushed me back out onto the street.

For weeks my calls went unanswered, and every message I left felt ignored. Two months later when I found myself near the Rolling Stone Magazine offices, I decided to drop by to see for myself, why I had seemingly been blacklisted. When I opened the doors to the offices, the security team went into full panic mode and refused to let me enter the building. No one could explain why, just that I wasn’t allowed to enter. They even went on to say how strange it was because no one except Ozzy had even been banned from the building before. I grudgingly withdrew from the building, but I didn’t go far. I lay in wait for a P.A. to make the inevitable coffee run, and was soon rewarded. I followed him until we were out of eyesight from the building and cornered him while he waited for the office’s order. The poor guy was torn between running away and returning to the office without coffee, and certain death or explaining why I had been banned.

He motioned me toward the speakers playing “coffee shop rocks lightest hits” or something equally lame, in hopes that the loud volume would cover our conversation.

Things Happened

Even then he would only whisper the answer into my ear, but apparently things had happened. Things that no one is allowed to speak of, but they happened. Things. No more elaboration was offered no matter how much I pressed the issue. When the order for the office was ready, he grabbed the tray and ran as fast as he could without spilling everything. It was the last I’ve heard from anyone at Rolling Stone, and the album was never mentioned in the magazine. Whatever “things” happened, it was enough. “Weird Bits” is still one of my favorite albums, but I always think of “things” when I listen to it now. And unfortunately, I have a very good imagination.