Track 4

Where did the groove go? 

I woke up naked on the beach of Ibiza in 1988.  I said don't do it that way, you'll never make a dime.  I was the first guy playing Daft Punk to the rock kids in CBGB's - they all thought it was crazy.

Ibiza is an island in the Mediterranean Sea off the east coast of Spain.  Further to the east is the larger island of Mallaorca and as the saying goes, "People from Mallorca play tennis; people from Ibiza dance."  Don't worry about who actually says this.  It's not important.

If you're American and you want to seem like a rich douche you drop that you vacation in Cabo.  If you're European and you want seem like a rich douche you drop that you vacation in Ibiza.  If you're American and you want to seem cool, you drop that you vacation in Ibiza.  If you're European and you want to seem cool, you drop that you vacation in Cabo.  I'm not sure who makes these rules.  I'm pretty sure George Clooney and Javier Bardem came to an agreement in 2008, as a means of not infringing on each other's territory.

Who exactly vacations in Ibiza?  From what I hear people who teach children of celebrities and people working for defense contractors who get bored of paying off student loans and want to indulge their aspirations of becoming of a DJ.  Where else would you go to take in olive skinned Mediterraneans wearing nothing and freely distributing their feel good candy while walking around with glow sticks and other glow-type accessories?

Somewhere in Ibiza there is an underground record store that vinyl of some obscure band that existed in 1985 for twelve minutes, but managed to create the most beautiful 12 minutes of music in the history of mankind.  If only the warring peoples of this world could hear this music, world peace would be declared, but they haven't, because it's only for the people of Ibiza and the 10 most famous DJ's in the world at any given time. And nobody owns a record player except for pretentious douches.

Oh really, you'll let me listen to it?  That's what it sounds like?  It's ok, I mean I was expecting some kind of spiritual experience.  I mean it kind of makes me want to dance, but I'm not really a dancer, so I don't really know how to resolve the inner conflict created by this song.  I mean, when a song really gets through to me, it gives me goosebumps, I can feel them on my arms and down the back of my neck.  Not sure the last time that happened, when I listened to something.  Maybe Los Campesinos?  The first track of Funeral by Arcade Fire always does that, from the first time I hear that first guitar note linger there.

To me, the amazing word that can be used to describe a song is cathartic.  You just listen to it and your troubles float away on the notes.  The amazing thing is that songs can be cathartic in so many ways.  A sad song can let you be sad and just let it out.  An Andrew W.K. can make you want to yell and jump and shed any excess energy you have built up.  Try being stressed out when you don't have any energy left.  Bob Dylan sings poems that sound beautiful, but when you try digest it as a whole, presents itself as impenetrable as a zen koan.  Ten minutes later you forgot what you were thinking about in the first place.

What do you mean, I'm not listening to you Ibiza music correctly?  Well, yes, I'm still wearing clothes.  No, I'm know wearing or holding anything that glows.  Spiritually centered?  What kind of new age hokum is that?  Feel good candy?  Sure, why not?  Are they skittles?  I always eat too many skittles and then I have a tummy ache and my jaw hurts.  I probably should be worried about becoming diabetic, but carpe diem, you know?  Even though Dead Poets Society is way overrated by teenagers and teachers.  Down the hatch then... oh, that tastes funny.  You know this music is starting sound pretty good.  Hey look my foot is moving.  Didn't really mean for that to happen.  What's going on in my hips?  I either feel the need to practice my putting or dance.  How many golf courses are there on Ibiza?  Just one, huh?  It closed?  That's a shame.  I guess I want to dance then.

My god...

I!

need!

to!

dance!

Ibiza is a place where the sun never sets.

Ibiza is a place where the sun never rises.

Ibiza is a place where global warming doesn't exist.

It is all things to all people.

The man tore his shirt off and ran off towards the glowing, pulsating crowd in the impromptu discotheque that had formed on the beach.  He was yelling and screaming like a madman.  Three days later he woke up in his hotel room to a ringing telephone.

"Hello?"

"It's time to go."

"What?"

"It's time to go home."

"I don't want to go back."

"We have to go back to the real world."

"Why?"

"It's just the way it is."

In the end someone always turns the lights out in Ibiza.  No one gets to stay there.  But it's a hell of a party while you're there.  Just lay off the blue ones, you dig?