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Amy May's Paris Motel: Lost Transcript Found at Sea:
- by Nick Tucker
We first stumbled across Amy May riding a broken down steed across the numinous plains of the forgotten cities, looking for new parts of the world to dominate. And compose hauntingly ethereal music for. And maybe freshen up a bit - a number of these forgotten cities had fallen into disrepair and Amy was concerned. We tried to get closer to her but Amy was flanked at all times by a shifting band of musicians. Sometimes five. Sometimes fifty. They came and went. She called these musicians, Paris Motel. If you wanted to talk to Amy you had to get past Paris Motel. Not because they were overly protective of her but because there could be so many of them, and only one of her. (As you know, it's been rumoured for some time that there is more than one Amy May. But this is not true. We took the opportunity to count and verify her.) Still, you have to wonder how one person can arrange music for a mutating band of five to fifty musicians and still have time to wear pretty dresses AND play the viola, guitar, piano, melodica and accordion
We shouted to her over the top of her many musicians. We said, "Amy how do you manage to compose individual music for each show? And how is it you can be a string quartet one minute and a fifty piece orchestra the next? And do you really orchestrate for all those instruments? And also, who designs your dresses for you?" (The last question was more for the tabloids, really. You don't come across Amy May's Paris Motel touring the numinous plains of the forgotten cities very often. We were hoping to sell the story around the world through syndication.) Amy leant forward over the neck of her horse and said, "What? I can't hear over all these musicians. Especially the tabla. Joseph," she said, "stop playing the tabla a minute will you." Joseph stopped playing for a minute and we asked our question again. "Because I've been playing since I was five", Amy said. We didn't think this really answered our question, but we pushed on, worried that the musicians were about to start up again. "And how would you describe your music?" we asked, wishing we had a microphone on us. We said, "It has been described as 'ethereal music for a spectral hoe-down'. What exactly does that mean?" (We were aware that the string section was growing restless and had started to warm up.) "Does it mean that your music, even when it's modern, even when you're playing your own compositions or covering the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, for example, does it mean that it sounds as if it's being played by ghosts, in a field, across the delta, and that the sound floats over you in drifts and swells? Haunting and yet accessible by boat?" Amy steadied herself on the rickety steed with its poor spavined knees and said "_________________"
History cannot record her answers here, only her gestures, which were expansive, because just then the drums, bass, guitars and French horns joined in with the string section and Joseph started up again on the tabla.
NB. A Note About This Transcript. This transcript was lost, then found, then lost again, then finally found after a panicked patting down of many pockets. One missing full stop was never properly recovered and has since been replaced with a new full stop -- but honestly, you can hardly tell the difference. We swear. If you can find the new full stop and are not entirely happy with it, Amy will compose a piece for a string quartet especially for you and play it from the top of an elephant, wearing a pretty dress. Amy, not the elephant. Amy May and the music of Paris Motel would like to note at this point that it neither endorses nor in any way condones the anthropomorphic humiliation of wild animals. Thank you.