Super Sunday Hamster Blender Blog

09 February 2006

In the Death Throes of Love

Our songs demonstrate a consistent trend of melancholy and hopelessness. Borderline violent at times. Even death, as evidenced by song titles such as Dead Principle Souvenirs, If I Wake I Might Die, Idealism of My Suicide (to be released), and The Warmth that Died (also to be released).

Vehemence is in the titles of I Can’t Be Beneath You, Coffee and a Punch in the Face, God Hates the Blues, and Ray Never Leaves.

Even Al Dean begins with a chant of the phrase “Al Dean” 3 times, and if you notice, there are 6 letters in “Al Dean.” 6 repeated 3 times, or 666. You don’t have to play our records backwards to get the full Satanic experience.

Or if you simply know Al, then you have met Beelzebub. Plus he’s got that devil-beard thing going on. Spooky.

And if anyone has taken the time to listen to the lyrics, then you’ve noticed a wave of despondency that seeps and ripples in every melody. Are we that dark and brutal? Is this Hamster-Goth or Hamster-Hardcore or Emo-Hamster? What kind of Blackened Chainsaw Death Cult Rising from the Charred Armpit of Wal-Mart Hell are we endorsing?

In our defense, we take offense to being called an Armpit, as that term is the exclusive trademark of The Eagles (who also have the rights to “dickweeds”). And, no, the adorable hamster is certainly not being misrepresented by Super Sunday Hamster Blender. Hamsters are cute and cuddly. As we are. Hamsters are lovable imps. I think we have proven that. Hamsters poop wherever they desire. We could not agree more.

(Editor’s note – some of our more liberal band members are very conflicted by this poop-at-will behavior, as it mimics the same behavior at the Republican National Convention)

We also know that hamsters are deeply truthful, cynical, and shadowy. They sleep the day away and run rampant at night. They hoard and store their food and trinkets. Beady eyes and sharp teeth. Posters of Heavy Metal Death Bands from Scandinavia. Memorizing lines from the Evil Dead series. Voting for Ralph Nader.

If you were kept in a Habitrail - or worse, stuck in one of those plastic balls that let you roll about the floor in some sort of Sisyphus-ian nightmare – you would be a tad contemptuous as well.

Which brings us to the topic of love.

As recorded by many Greek scribes and philosophers and senators (most notably Snapius, Cracklius, & Popius) who are long dead and their works destroyed by the volcanoes and tidal waves and sun spots so don’t bother looking this shit up, long ago proved through great debate, mathematical proofs, and rock-scissors-paper that love is all about violent behavior, negativity, and copious sneering.

(Editor’s note - Did you notice the pattern of “threes” in that last paragraph? There were 6 sets of 3’s, which is 33-33-33, which is additive Satanic, or worse yet, Al Gore’s measurements)

Yes, love breeds impaling darkness. Love brings on the bad. Love of our ego, love of our faith, love of our ability to control others and manipulate. We are a soggy lot, waving our middle fingers in traffic, back-stabbing friends and co-workers, lying on our tax forms, cheating on our loved ones, stealing pens from work, sneaking out the back door, chiding and goading to create our own self-worth, erecting soap boxes of hypocrisy and pomposity (as I am doing at this moment)…

We even kill, all for the love of God.

And those obnoxious billboards, the ones that say “Don’t Make Me Come Down There,” and it is signed “God” – besides the fact that someone has the self-imposed, self-serving, self-fucked-up audacity to give themselves the ultimate signing authority – that take God’s Love and turn it into threats and fear.

Love and hate, love and hate.

You go to work. You are timed, whether by time clock or the sniping eye of imaginary leadership. You are not trusted, proven by attendance policies, the finger-pointing threat of being fired, of the totally illogical and irrelevant and insulting and controlling Performance Review. We live and breathe in a world every single day where someone is casting a devious glance at you. You feel it, you know it, you live with it, it breeds within you; it’s confirmed by television and politicians and terrorists. Fed platitudes and slogans. Fear planted. Competition reigns. Money matters.

We are vampires, sucking the life blood out of each other, to make amends, to stay ahead, to impress and undress. Unlike vampires, though, we kind of die pretty quickly.

It is increasingly difficult to Hang in There, or Have a Nice Day, or Walk on Sunshine when God is threatening us, when we go to work and we are kept in our self-contained plastic ball, when we marry Dracula.

All in the name of love, right?

Is it any wonder why our songs – as many songs – are wrought with negativity; with anger and discouragement?

Give the hamster a sunflower seed, and he will take it and cherish it. Pick him up, and he may bite your hand. A cage is a cage.

Happy Valendeath’s Day.