"Engineering the Venom," Production Journal. Pt. 2: Spec (v0.1)
Last updated: June 29th 2021
Since I'm a big nerd, I use "specification"-type documents to indicate where I want the music work to go.
Note: This document is written by myself, for myself, in 2021. But, if you're reading this in the future, and you're some metal band, I want to believe that by this point I've stopped being the artist myself, and am content with using these type of specifications to produce metal bands like you, Backstreet Boys-style. I want to die being a dictatorial "This is what you will sing about, and how you will sing it. The end."-type of producer. (Don't worry, if you're lucky, I may let you compose one riff for your record. But you're probably not lucky.)
Back to 2021.
Production Spec (v0.1) #
The characters in the story, expected vocal styles, and draft lyrics.
Omniscient. He refers to "you" and "them." Should be mostly spoken vocals. May scream sometimes. (Normal scream. Not monster-like.)
They speak to the audience. Refer to "you" and "us." Hostile to the audience. Should be Black Metal-style demonic shrieks in some cases, Death metal growls in others, with many variations. Often coming from the sides. The mix should give the sense that they are many.
Introducing the invaders.
They depend on you but only serve themselves.
Thriving on your disconnection from material roots.
Inserting themselves as nodes to sabotage your network of abstract thoughts.
In a civilized world.
After a day of maximum discontent.
Feeding on your indignity.
This is the moment they seek.
Your eyes are closing down, but you will lie awake tonight.
"Keeping us alive."
Bound together by the energy of modernity.
They take the reigns.
Replace real external input with their psychopatic imagery.
Mental eye goes blind.
And your thoughts become venom.
Your body becomes a vessel.
The venom makes information meaningless.
It renders all psychology powerless.
The nodes that process reality are overpowered by the venom.
As a vessel for the usurpers.
You desperately crawl to a psychologist's couch.
As they laugh victorious.
You can't pull yourself out of yourself.
Shrink can't do anything. You're sent to the pharmacy. Before you throw yourself to the flames.
Navigating medication. You couldn't think positive thoughts.
But at least you'll starve them for a night.
"What is this pathetic, chemical insolence?"
"We are kings, you are our palace."
"We will exploit every weakness in you."
"We need each other."
"We are in this together."
"This solution is a giant farce."
"You will bow to us again."
And so the parasitical invaders go back to hibernation.
Letting you be yourself, for a moment. How will you prepare for the next time they wake up?