Category: Clint Bo Dean (page 3 of 5)

It’s about time someone spoke up about the appalling way in which CATS fans behave sometimes. I found the following advice on the wonderful Cats Musical website and I urge ALL fans of CATS to HEED it.

Bravo. We need more of this kind of advice in these troubled times.

Today I began work on what will, I am sure, eventually come to be known as the greatest album I will ever record. Its prospective title is “Never Go Ashtray”, a quite clever pun on “Never Go Astray”, a mantra I repeat to my hair in the mirror each morning. The album is in fact a concept album about my hair. For those of my fans who are unfamiliar with my early work, I first began writing songs about my facial features (including my divine Starlight Express style makeup) as a response to Enya’s classic album Watermark. Ever since its release back in the 1980s I have been engaged in a one-way dialogue with the gorgeous Ms Enya, a dialogue that has led me to the conclusion that one day we will collaborate on a record of mock-epic proportions. Indeed, I am so enamored of this talented songstress from Erin that I intend at least one of the songs on my album (perhaps an unlisted track at its conclusion) to be a tribute to her hair. Other ladies whose hair I wish was my own include Dame Judi Dench, Olivia Newton John and the girl in Run Lola Run. But enough about these divas of the stage and screen. My album will be a series of songs about every aspect of my hair: its Tina Turner style, its gorgeous concrete blonde colour and, most importantly, the difficulty I have keeping it all together. Enya, if only you knew how long it takes me to get my hair just right, you would perhaps respect me even more. As it is, I can’t get through the day without listening to “Orinoco Flow” at least once, in the hope that it will inspire in me greater things. So far, however, I have only got as far as a track listing for my album, a necessary first step you would agree, Enya. Soon enough it will be time to record the songs, choose the album cover artwork (I already have a fair idea of the portrait of myself I wish to use) and, of course, the film clips. I want to go ten singles deep on this one. Everyone talks about difficult third albums. Well, all I’ve got to say is that you people should try a first album sometimes. It’s not as easy as it looks, is it Enya? I of course admired your work in Clannad and that band did surely suffer from your decision to go solo. But I believe it was the right decision, Enya. Look at how your career has blossomed! I loved your song in The Lord of the Rings! My, my – I did have panda eyes after hearing that. Luckily for me I was in a darkened cinema and could use facial wipes to rid my complexion of my tear stains. I did, however, miss the rest of the movie in my attempt to recreate the look that had taken me so long to assemble that morning, as you know, Enya. Never mind, I told myself, I’ll just concentrate on getting the album finished in time for Christmas. There has to be a Christmas song on the album, don’t you think, Enya? Something about my hair, and about Christmas trees. I know: “I’m dreaming of a white bleach job, just like Tina Turner in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome …” Wow, that’s a terrific start. I feel it coming together. People will see me and cry.

I’d have grown a beard by now. As it is, my bum fluff couldn’t polish a midget’s toenail. I’d be rolled in dough, baked for fourty minutes then served sliced, with an assortment of sauces and marinades. As it is, I’ve got a migraine and my catarrh gives even some record producers curry. I’d be a millionaire, for a moment. As it is, I’m doomed to a lifetime of royalty checks that barely cover the cost of a local call in Laos. I’d be surrounded by girls, girls, girls. As it is, I’m often mistaken for a girl, and wherever I go I seem to attract monkeys and donkeys wearing jackets made of felt. I’d be laughing it up. As it is, floating upside down here in my custom=made koala-shaped jacuzzi, I can barely stop the drool from coming out of my mouth. I’d be famous, more famous even than the secretly famous. As it is, my notoriety precedes me like a drunk’s gut. I’d be thin, tanned and buffed. As it is, I can barely touch my hair net. I’d be happy. As it is I’m not. I’d be churning out hits like jatz cracker biscuits. As it is, I’m on the floor, searching for the crumbs of my adolescent cassingle period. I’d be sociable. As it is, I can’t be sociable. If rumours were true, you wouldn’t be reading this – instead, you’d have it stencilled on your eyelids, like that college girl in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. As it is, you have no eyelids. Did you just blink?