...it's back to work Bob goes!
Yes, the wonderful news from the Swipe household is that Bob is feeling three million per cent his old self and is gearing up for yet another assault on the pop charts! That's right; a mere week and a half since he collapsed in his attic studio under the combined influences of airtex, the new Kesha video and a genetic predisposition to chronic heart disease, Bob's been back to work doing pre-production on his next album! Unbelievable!
I don't know where he gets his energy from - well, I do...it's most likely the diet pills washed down with strong German wheat beer he's been living on since 1974. But for a 59 and three quarter year old fella, he puts a lot of the so-called younger generation to shame. Why, they're probably still in bed dreaming of their next ASBO when Bob's up with the larks and paying a visit to the local gymnasium (I don't know what the attraction is myself, but it seems to keep him happy being surrounded by huge, athletic black men in tight-fitting lycra. And they obviously relish his visits because Bob says they're only too pleased to park his wheelchair ring-side so he can get a really good view of the sparring....)
As is standard industry practice, Bob's already started work on the most important aspect of the record production process - the sleeve. (Well, how else are the execs going to come up with all those snappy taglines and storyboards for videos featuring scantily-clad gothic numpties jigging around in a haze of dry ice and bacofoil? Exactly). Bob's working on a range of visual ideas as usual but this time he has a significant problem - he's got no less than *three* really strong working titles for the as yet uncompleted (well, he hasn't even written the ruddy songs yet, so cut the guy some slack...) project.
It's a painful sight, watching him glued to the PC, agonising over images and frantically tugging at his crotch in confusion as he wrestles with the finer points of his aesthetic persona. (He should worry - how that lass in the picture is going to get herself off that donkey seems to be a *much* trickier proposition than whether Bob's bum looks too big in a pair of sequinned hot pants if you ask me...) It's almost as sad as watching him disappear into the kitchen for 20 minutes only to re-emerge without so much as a clue as to why he went in there in the first place and leaving it for muggins here to take the bananas off the top of his head and shake the parmesan out of his waistcoat.
So, in a rare moment of collaboration,. I suggested to Bob that if he couldn't decide on the title and cover for his LP, why didn't he post the candidates up here and let his reader(s) decide for him - after all, not only is it *excellent* pre-publicity for the LP but also, where else was he going to be able to get 5 saddoes from Norfolk in one place at the same time to discuss the minutaie of his under garments? (Carrow Road excepted, obviously!) And, to my great surprise, Bob not only agreed, but also let me borrow his diamante bustier to do the hoovering in by way of a thank you - he's all heart, really!
I'll be posting up the artwork over the next few weeks, once Bob's finished photoshopping out his warts/third nipples/belly button fluff etc., so I hope you'll all keep an eye out and share your views on the different concepts and looks Bob's been working on. Besides, it's the nearest thing you'll get to a working democracy this side of Halloween, so use it or lose it I say! After all without you, his audience, what is Bob but the most deservedly obscure, gender-confused Emo/funk-fusion rock legend in the whole of Christendom.
See - there's nothing like a bit of realism to spoil the fun, is there?