I never thought I would produce reggaeton versions of one of my song lyrics, given that the genre annoys the hell out of me whenever people of certain backgrounds blast it out of their cars, or when I’m forced to listen to it in many neighborhood grocery stores. But these two songs fit the vibe and lyrics very well, in part because it doesn’t sound entirely like traditional reggaeton.
Tag: short story
Covers of “Tricera Girl” from Odes to My Triceratops, Vol. 1
A couple of weeks ago or so, I uploaded a YouTube video that contained four covers of this song, from the middle-school period of William Griffin’s life. He’s the protagonist of the Odes to My Triceratops song cycle. But I found issues with the audio quality, caused by a faulty pipeline. Although that’s now fixed, I’ve needed to fix the songs involved, and I also created two more for good measure, so the new video has six covers.
“Tricera Girl” is one of my favorite songs of the first album. It embodies very well the wonder and desire of an early teenager who realizes he’s found the love of his life and doesn’t quite know how to handle it.
New song “Eternal Diner” from Odes to My Triceratops, Vol. 4
I originally intended a gentle rocksteady vibe for this song, but throughout my sweep for alternative genres, I tried Nashville sound, and it clicked perfectly. This song has become the closest feeling I’ve ever produced to inhabiting the 70s, as far as I think of them.
Covers of “Burying the Beast” from Odes to My Triceratops, Vol. 3
The original is one of my favorite songs of the third album. Suno showed its limitations covering it. No amount of restructuring made Suno understand the peculiar drums build-up that the original song had towards the end, but I’m still happy with these two covers.
William Griffin (Poetry)
Driving through a desert town,
I pass a roadside bar.
Board out front: “Open mic night.”
I pull over, grab my guitar.
Handful of locals at the tables.
Young couple at the counter.
Stage in the corner, a list the host holds.
I give my name when asked.
Wooden stool under one light,
Microphone in front of me.
I made these songs for you,
So you can sing along
From deep down somewhere
In a dark room.
A burning heart inside your throat.
Bold and brave like a triceratops.
The last chord rings.
Warm light on my face,
My hands still on the strings.
People talk, glasses clink.
I don’t know what they think,
And I don’t look up.
Up the mountain in that old garage,
Gasoline smell, rust and decay,
Where the valley ran to the edge of sight,
Two people heard me play.
Some say we’re here for a reason,
And yours is clear to see:
A bird like you was born to sing.
THE END
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