Mommy Goes Back To Metal: A Surly Middle-Aged Woman’s Review Of Ozzfest/Knotfest 2016

I digressed a bit from my usual interview kind of format to do a review of Knotfest/Ozzfest. It’s pretty funny. You can read it here. I have another article that I will post tomorrow that is truer to my usual format.

The fam relaxes on a grassy knoll away from the insanity.

The fam relaxes on a grassy knoll away from the insanity.

The Audition

I told them we were gonna be
The biggest thing alive
And that they’d have to be between
18 and 25

We’re set to take the world by storm
When we go out on tour
With music sounding nothing like
Whatever came before

Must have gear and attitude
Prepared to sell your soul
For the gods of sex and drugs
And of course rock n’ roll

Looking for a six string slinger
With a pretty face
A monster drummer, heavy thumper
Down to play the bass

Must have chops, cool amps and wear
some awesome leather clothes
And remember I’m the boss
Whatever I say goes

I can’t afford to pay you but
We’re sure to achieve greatness
And you will not be sorry when
We all are rich and famous

So come on down tomorrow, make it
Between 8 and 10
Be impressive and for sure
I’ll see you losers then!

And so I waited there at 8
And I was pretty sure
That there would be line of people
Snaking out the door

All who worshipped gods of rock
And goth and heavy metal
But instead just a tumbleweed
I sat to watch dust settle

And hoped someone would come in soon
That had the moves like Jagger
Instead I got a man who dragged
With him a balailaka

Clearly he would have had to be
Bout 90 if a day
And soused he offered me a swig
Off his opened Claret

An older bloke behind him came
As our triangle player
I told him he could have the job
If he knew any Slayer

A man mutt’ring obscenties
Said he would play the trumpet
A chick brought in some bongos looking
Every bit a strumpet

Fore I knew it, at the door
Another ancient fellow
Who said he heard we needed someone
Who could play the cello

And to round our line up out
There was a rather cute
Girl dressed up like a geisha who
Said she’d play the flute

And of course in order to
Enhance the balailaka
We got some chick named Gill who said
She played some mean maracas

And though this isn’t quite the band
On which I had been set
I just figured “oh what the hell
I’lll take what I can get”

There aren’t many groupies and
We rarely will get paid
But we really don’t sound bad if they
Turn up their hearing aids

We play funerals and bingo games
Nursing homes and more
So catch us at a gig on our
Lock Up Your Grandma’s Tour

But just in between you and I
I’ve a sneaking suspicion
My band mates erred that day and they
Came for the wrong audition

They made a right ‘stead of a left
But don’t you dare to tell them
That this is not in fact the back up
Band for Willie Nelson.

Over the weekend, my friend and fellow blogger Inchcock made this graphic for his blog Marissa’s New Band, which in turn inspired this poem. Pictured are fellow bloggers Shirley Blamey on lingerie and congas, Rachel Carrera on geisha dress and flute, Danny Soz on trumpet, Mike Steeden on balailaka, Duncan on cello, Inchcock on triangle and Gill on maracas.

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To My Son On His Bar Mitzvah

Son today does mark the day
According to God’s plan
That a babe you are no more
You have become a man

So words of wisdom are your gift
And take it from none other
Because who would know better than
Your dear old Jewish mother

Go ahead eat pork and ham
Look at me, I’m plotzing
But never pick your nose in shul
Cause you know God is watching

And celebrate the joys in life
Like schmears and matzoh balls
And getting a good parking spot
On Sundays at the mall

(Cousin Sherry always thought
It was a mitzvah omen
If she got found an open space
Somewhere near the Loehmann’s)

And travel far and travel wide
And travel the world over
(And be sure to drop by at your
Aunt Minnie’s down in Boca)

But one word in all languages
You must know without fail
More so than bathroom, water, money
Son, that word is ‘sale’.

I know you’ll meet some ladies when
You’re traveling the world
But when you fin’lly settle down
With a nice Jewish girl

I’lll have to just accept the fact
I’m not the only one
And who could blame her if she loves
My handsome doctor son

So maybe one day you’ll stop by
Probably when you feel
Like you really need to eat
A home cooked decent meal

And when I’m sure that your won’t starve
You’ll come sit on the couch
Take off the plastic cov’ring, wipe
The schmootz off of your mouth

And then after a bit you’ll say
You should get back to her
But you know you’ll always be
My little bubbeleh.

Happy Birthday Jesse!

Here’s a video of my son performing Slayer’s South of Heaven. Something tells me the doctor thing just ain’t gonna happen.

What Would You Do?

I’d tell the pope a dirty joke
Blow raspberries at a nun
Hold up the New York Federal reserve
With a rubber tommy water gun

I’d put my face into the ground
And lick up worms and dirt
Go to a gangsta rap concert
Wearing a Slayer shirt

I would take the neighbor’s dog
Out on a dinner date
Go streaking naked at next year’s
Presidential debate

Ride through the desert backwards on
A quite ill tempered llama
I’d wear a garbage bag to work
I’d French kiss your mama

I’d jump a double decker bus
In a high end sports car
And that my friend is what I’d do
For a Klondike bar….

Especially if it was Reese’s.

I’d like to thank my son Jesse Bergen for the inspiration for this one.

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Damn Kids! Get Off My Lawn

I just don’t understand kids today,
They really are a disaster,
They don’t brag about sex or drugs,
But volunteering in Alaska.

They don’t talk about music videos,
But analyze ‘Agents of Shield’,
They say the meek shall inherit the earth,
But this is downright weird.

The neighbors threw a party this weekend,
And they camped out in the yard,
It was not them throwing bottles I feared,
But busting out with ‘Kumbaya’.

And as I heard them talking,
I thought something not quite right,
As one girl raised a discussion,
Regarding Board Game Night!

I should be happy they’re so responsible,
Yet I say I prayer,
That maybe they will go away,
If I blast some Slayer.

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