MP3 The Parody Brothers - GOLF ROCK: Shooting in the 70s
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12 MP3 Songs
ROCK: Classic Rock, ROCK: 70's Rock
MAMAS, DON'T LET YOUR BABIES GROW UP TO BE PARODY ARTISTS
A brief word from the bandâs manager, Dick Swizzle, on their sad, sordid history...
JJ Parody â Vocals, Bass
DJ Parody â Guitar
AJ Parody â Drums
CJ Parody - Guitar, Keyboards
The history of the band known as The Parody Brothers is a textbook warning against the hideous, wretched excess of a life in rock and roll. How does a band of four brothers climb the mountain of success again and again, only to have their fingers stepped on each time they crest the peak? How does a group of accomplished musicians go from the riches and glamour of rocking on the road in places like Melbourne, Florida, Ft. Smith, Arkansas, and Shreveport, Louisiana, to making pitiful cover songs about golf and football and baseball and politics and whatever else in a last-gasp cash grab?
This disgusting tale of near-misses, minor success, major failure, debauchery, pain, and loss spans nearly the lifespan of rock itself. You can read for yourself the entire, brutal tale of woe at https://www.tradebit.com. After all, the band only made this record because their record company made them, so we donât want to expend too much effort in actual work at any given time. Instead, letâs get right to the point. And that point is: BUY THE RECORD.
After lengthy and brutally honest meetings with every major and minor record company in the United States, The Parody Brothersâ management was forced to have a come-to-Jesus sit-down with the boys. After much cussing, they have reluctantly accepted the cold hard facts: They are NOT going to be signed to a new seven-album deal, they are NOT going to be offered the opening slot on this yearâs KISS or Rolling Stones stadium tour, they are NOT going to be featured on Behind the Music â hell, they are not even going to be invited to be guest judges on Making the Band any time soon. Their last and only hope to make money doing what they love to do â indeed, the only thing they know how to do â was to sign with the only record company left willing to take chance on them, Jones Ink Records, and DO WHAT THEYâRE TOLD.
And thus, Golf Rock: Shooting in the 70s was born. Recorded in the sprawling, luxurious Apple Jack Studios, which JJ had built on his ranch in the bands headier days, this first step in the rest of the bandâs life faithfully recreates some of their favorite classic rock hits from the glorious, over-the-top seventies, and spices them up with totally ridiculous lyrics lovingly aimed at the boysâ other favorite pastime, playing golf.
The Parody Brothers are available for custom parody music, executed to your specifications. Just drop by https://www.tradebit.com or drop them a line at [email protected]://www.tradebit.com, and let us know what you have in mind. They are truly musical whores, and will at least consider most anything. Please help us save them from themselves.
Dick Swizzle, Bandâ¨Manager
TRACK-BY-TRACK WITH THE PARODY BROTHERS
IâM A LOAD
Our riff of the Doobie Brothersâ classic, âChina Grove,â which Old Man Parody would give us a quarter to play on the juke box when the family unit went out for pizza. Thatâs right, kids, Americans used to go out for pizza. Dad would also have us play Edgar Winterâs âFree Rideâ and ZZ Topâs âJust Got Paid,â so maybe theyâll turn up on future PB long-playing record albums. Anyway, one guy who never gets slighted on his pizza is our favorite golfer, good olâ John Daly. We love JD because there is absolutely no pretense to the guy. Heâs the one golfer all us regular Joeâs can relate to, puffing on a cigarette as he steps up to tee off, driving that huge rig around the country to all the tourneys, and being in and out of rehab so many times heâs lost count. We wanted to make sure we got the echoes in the opening guitar riff just right, but after a long night of laying down tracks it just wasnât happening. Then JJ had a brilliant idea â we opened the double doors to the top-secret, ultra-posh, sprawling Apple Jack Studios complex, and it really made the main recording roomâs ambient mics come alive.
210 WITH AN UPHILL LIE
(Parody of Eddie Moneyâs Two Tickets to Paradise)
We always loved Two Tickets to Paradise, and all of Eddie Moneyâs early hits, because he still had that fire and enthusiasm that his later material lacked. This song is about every guy who talked big on the practice tee or putting green, got into a friendly wager, and then found his swing unable to back up his mouth when the strokes started counting. You know youâve been there.
PRISTINE SINGH SWING
(Parody of KISSâs Christine Sixteen)
JJâs nod to the unwavering persistence and drive to succeed of not one, but two of his heroes, Vijay Singh and the Bat Demon hissownself, Gene Simmons. Both of these men were born in a far-off land (Fiji and Israel, respectively), and eventually found their way to the land of opportunity. Once here, they took advantage of God-given freedom and their own never-say-die work ethics to achieve dominance in their chosen professions. Can you imagine a world without heroes?
I PLAYED WITH ELS
(Parody of AC/DCâs Highway to Hell)
This little ditty is about the weekend dufferâs dream come true: getting permission from the wife to drop several thousand dollars to play in the pro-am when the PGA Tour comes through his town. And not only getting to tee it up with the big boys, but with his favorite golfer on tour, in this case The Big Easy, Ernie Els. Four dopey Americans covering a song by a legendary Australian band in tribute to a great golfer from South Africa â The Parody Brothers are the United Nations of RAWK!
TIGER WOODSâS WIFE
(Parody of REO Speedwagonâs Time For Me To Fly)
For nearly a decade, it seemed that Tiger Woods could do no wrong. He had most of the rest of the tour completely psyched out with his double-digit runaway wins, the Tiger Slam, whisperings of challenging Jack Nicklausâs 18 majors, and generally puting the world of golf on his Sunday-red shoulders and carrying it for awhile. Then came Jesper Parnevikâs nanny, Elin Nordegren, and things changed. His unbelievable string of cuts-made came to an end in 2005, and many fans complain that, since he got married, their man just doesnât have the old eye of the Tiger, if you know what we mean. (Hmmm, a Survivor parody?) Anyway, we decided to put the plight of Tigerâs legions of fans to music, and chose an old REO favorite to do the job. In fact, Gary Richrath might be said to be rockâs John Daly â smokinâ, drinkinâ, self-destructive, and just getting bigger and bigger over the years.
(Parody of Aerosmithâs Sweet Emotion)
A classic from the days when Aerosmith was a rock band, rather than a brand name. There are a lot of similarities to the way true golf fans see the USGA and what theyâve done to the US Open, and the way true Aerosmith fans see what used to be a great American band now lip-syncing at Super Bowls and doing movie soundtracks. Both were legendary and pioneering, and have degenerated into old and bloated slaves to the dollar, with an arrogant, condescending attitude toward their fans. Golf fans want competitive events, not five-inch rough, slippery-as-ice greens, and four-putts. Aerosmith fans want to hear âLast Child,â not âDonât Want to Miss a Thing.â And they donât want to see you with Brittney Spears. Got it? Thanks.
I PUTT FOR DOUGH
(Parody of Tom Pettyâs I Need to Know)
Golf and gambling go together like Mick and Keith, Paul and Gene, Elton and John. We chose the Tom Petty classic âI Need to Knowâ as the backdrop to celebrate this unholy marriage of green and green. A true golf hustler can spot you coming a mile away, and could make many of the guys on tour call their mommies crying. And the louder youâre talking about how much youâre going to take them for, the better they like it. Youâve been warned. Who knew at the time that this would end up being Pettyâs rocking-est tune?
SULTANS OF SWINGS
(Parody of Dire Straitsâ Sultans of Swing)
The Harmons have given more to American golf than just about any other family the Parody Brothers can think of, and this is our tribute to them. Their father won the freaking Masters, and theyâre always working with this pro or that, along with being perennially counted among the top 100 golf instructors in the country. And then you have Butch becoming a celebrity with his tenure with Tiger, golfâs version of a soap opera. Plus DJ went to high school with Butchâs daughter, Michael, so thatâs another good reason to dedicate a song to them.
GOOD GOLFINâ GONE BAD
(Parody of Bad Companyâs Good Lovinâ Gone Bad)
This one says it all: struggling is one thing, but sucking is another. Words to live by, or â in the case of poor saps like David Duval and Ian Baker-Finch in the golf world, Rick Ankiel from baseball, Kurt Warner in football, and countless others â words to kill a career by. Sometimes, with no explanation and no warning whatsoever, guys just lose it. I mean, these guys won the British Freaking Open. They wake up one morning and can no longer do what they did the day before quite the same way. Itâs sad, but itâs also fascinating, truth be told. Itâs like a car wreck; we as fans cannot look away. Who knows the cause? Maybe they started thinking, âWow, what I do is really hard,â or something. Maybe they donât trust their bodies anymore. Whatever the cause, there comes a point when itâs time for the athlete to say, âEnough is enough.â (Hmmmm, perhaps an April Wine parody in the future?) We used 17 mics in various spots around the customized percussion room at Apple Jack Studios to capture the drum sound on this particular track. AJ did a great job on the skins on this one, nailing the drum track live in only a few takes. After that, the song came together as quickly as these guysâ careers fell apart. This was Bad Companyâs best song, by the way.
(Parody of Cheap Trickâs Dream Police)
Whereas the USGA just come across as arrogant idiots who know good and well that the playersâ and fansâ complaints are justified, Augusta National, led by the Master of Disaster, Hootie Johnson, come across as some of the most heavy metal dudes in all of golfdom. The result is that the Masters absolutely kicks bootay, and the US Open has lost much of its luster. Hootie has shown that he, his club, his azaleas, and his tournament will simply not be f***ed with. When the NAGs and Martha Burke tried to label him and Augusta National as racist, sexist bigots, he calmly crushed them in the palm of his hand. âWhat? Boycott our advertisers to try to get them not to sponsor the Masters telecast? Screw it, weâll do it without sponsors. We do things our way around here. We donât even show the front nine. What else ya got?â Now that, ladies and germs, is heavy metal. The same with his reaction to Gary McCord (who also rules, by the way) saying the greens were like âbikini waxâ on a telecast. The fact is, itâs Hootieâs way or the highway. He is true to his principles, as are Cheap Trick. They are a rock band in its simplest and more pure form. They will play anytime and, quite literally, anywhere, and not be at all bashful about it. And has there ever been a finer singer than Robin Zander? Let us ponder that question for the ages, fellow rockers. AJ did an excellent Bun E. Carlos imitation on this one, and CJ nailed the demented break near the end on the keys. Nice job, boys.
DIRTY WHITE BALL
(Parody of Foreignerâs Dirty White Boy)
This Foreigner classic is simple and straightforward, as is our message here. Golf is hard.
LEARNINâ HOW TO PLAY
(Parody of Joe Walshâs Rocky Mountain Way)
The last song on the record was actually the first to be recorded when these sessions got underway at the plush Apple Jack Studios complex. DJ was screwing around with the solo section one day at rehearsal, when JJ stepped up to the mic and launched into his âWhere is my ballâ schtick out of the blue. The rest is rawk history. Just a little ditty about something we can all relate to: seems no matter how much we spend on lessons, we still suck. Perhaps we should call one of the Harmon brothers.
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