POP METAL BALLADS: I Won’t Forget You by Poison - I realized that I had an entire week highlighting pop metal classic without having a real deal hair band in the mix. Some decent tunes I had already posted previously. Others have been banned for life on this blog like Skid Row. And then there are some acts that simply put are too awful to post even as a joke.
I have to give respect though to Poison. Despite their vapidness and penchant for too much makeup, they were the classic working class pop metal party band. They moved from Pennsylvania to Hollywood to give the band a chance, worked the club circuit hard, and broke big time on the heels of their surprise hit debut, a bare bones production financed largely by themselves and their family.
Some might expect to see Every Rose Has Its Thorn here, but that tune’s overwrought seriousness will just not do. I am looking for something that works for the beach, and I Won’t Forget You pretty much owned the summer of 1987. Just don’t hate me if you find yourself playing this in your head this weekend.
ODD TRIVIA NOTE: Slash auditioned for the lead guitar spot, but was passed on for C.C. DeVille, who had more “fire”.
When she glanced back over her shoulder, he was watching her with that pained look on his face that meant he was thinking. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be letting m’lady go stealing food. Arya just knew he was going to be stupid now. (ACOK)
She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills, half a heartbeat behind the lightning. (…) A mailed hand closed hard around her arm. “You’re hurting me,” she said, twisting in his grasp. “Let go, I was going to go back, I … “ “Back?” Sandor Clegane’s laughter was iron scraping over stone. “Bugger that, wolf girl. You’re mine.” He needed only one hand to yank her off her feet and drag her kicking toward his waiting horse. The cold rain lashed them both and washed away her shouts, and all that Arya could think of was the question he had asked her. Do you know what dogs do to wolves? (ASOS)
Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses. For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day. An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling. Gendry saw it too. “Him.” (AFFC)
They were never my pack. If they had been, they wouldn’t leave me. She splashed through a puddle of muddy water. Someone was shouting her name, Harwin probably, or Gendry, but the thunder drowned them out as it rolled across the hills, half a heartbeat behind the lightning.
He handed the boy the sword, hilt first, and walked over to Arya, but it was the Bull he spoke to. “Queen wants you bad, boy.” Arya was lost. “Why should she want him?” The Bull scowled at her. “Why should she want you? You’re nothing but a little gutter rat!” “Well, you’re nothing but a bastard boy!” Or maybe he was only pretending to be a bastard boy. “What’s your true name?” “Gendry,” he said, like he wasn’t quite sure. “Don’t see why no one wants neither o’ you,” Yoren said, “but they can’t have you regardless. You ride them two coursers. First sight of a gold cloak, make for the Wall like a dragon’s on your tail. The rest o’ us don’t mean spit to them.”
One day I’ll ride away on Craven, and he won’t be able to catch me, she thought, but she never did that either. Where would she go? Winterfell was gone. Her grandfather’s brother was at Riverrun, but he didn’t know her, no more than she knew him. Maybe Lady Smallwood would take her in at Acorn Hall, but maybe she wouldn’t. Besides, Arya wasn’t even sure she could find Acorn Hall again. Sometimes she thought she might go back to Shama’s inn, if the floods hadn’t washed it away. She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs. But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream. Hot Pie and Gendry had left her just as soon as they could, and Lord Beric and the outlaws only wanted to ransom her, just like the Hound.
Poor Ned seemed to grow more miserable with every mile. “When I wear my helm, the rain beats against the steel and gives me headaches,” he complained. “But when I take it off, my hair gets soaked and sticks to my face and in my mouth.” “You have a knife,” Gendry suggested. “If your hair annoys you so much, shave your bloody head.” He doesn’t like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured. She had always heard that Dornishmen were small and swarthy, with black hair and small black eyes, but Ned had big blue eyes, so dark that they looked almost purple. And his hair was a pale blond, more ash than honey. (…) Behind them, Gendry groaned. “Lords and ladies,” he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off his thick bull head. “Ow,” he said. “That hurt.” He felt the skin above his eye. “What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?” “The bad kind,” said Arya, suddenly contrite. She turned back to Ned. “I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were. My lord.” “The fault is mine, my lady.” He was very polite. Ned looked wary. Maybe he was afraid that she was going to throw something at him. “Your lord father never spoke of her?” he said. “The Lady Ashara Dayne, of Starfall?” (…) “He must have found that bastard under a cabbage leaf, then,” Gendry said behind them. Arya wished she had another crabapple to bounce off his face. “My father had honor,” she said angrily. “And we weren’t talking to you anyway. Why don’t you go back to Stoney Sept and ring that girl’s stupid bells? “ Gendry ignored that. “At least your father raised his bastard, not like mine. I don’t even know my father’s name. Some smelly drunk, I’d wager, like the others my mother dragged home from the alehouse. Whenever she got mad at me, she’d say, ‘If your father was here, he’d beat you bloody.’ That’s all I know of him.” He spat. “Well, if he was here now, might be I’d beat him bloody. But he’s dead, I figure, and your father’s dead too, so what does it matter who he lay with?”
Look at us, it’s 6 in the mornin’ If time was money, then we’d be worth a fortune I swear, you may think you’re rich You can have a million euros but you can’t buy this
And the band was on, playin’ our song We messed up the lyrics as we sang along But we didn’t care, cos it felt like we were the only ones there Our feet were sore, our throats were raw They’re turnin’ out the lights but we’re shoutin’ more, we’re shoutin’ more
The comet was splendid and scary all at once. “The Red Sword,” the Bull named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the blade still red-hot from the forge. When Arya squinted the right way she could see the sword too, only it wasn’t a new sword, it was Ice, her father’s greatsword, all ripply Valyrian steel, and the red was Lord Eddard’s blood.
They lay quietly as the grass stirs around them, following the wind.
“Imagine, if we died right here, right now. Peacefully, like we’d just fallen asleep. The moss would be our pillow and the grass would fold over us like furs. And the worms would come out of the dirt and wriggle across our skin, making new homes…
I don’t know how people die peaceful, though, I’ve never seen it. I bet we’d feel it for a while - the worms and later the insects that hover and bite. And we would want to swat them, but we’d be laying tired, so we’d let them. Heartbeats going slow as we lay for hours and hours… We’d become flowers, scare all the farmer’s sheep come to eat our grass. We’d see every sunset, every sunrise, and we wouldn’t move until someone comes to work the land. How long would it take, do you think, for us to be found?”
“Couple of minutes? Soon as suppers cooked.”
“I think they’d cry if they found us (…) And what if we weren’t with the Brotherhood? What if it was just us. How long?”
“I don’t know. How long does it take for a corpse to smell?”
“Probably a week, if this weather keeps up. We would bake in the sun, but our dead skin would stay pale and cold, and all matter of life would come and smell and lick and taste us. The insects and the foxes and the wolves- And once the ravens got real loud fighting over us, someone would come see what’d died. But if we were to freeze - I mean, there’s always the possibility that a shadow cat would come gnaw an arm off - but if the snow fell and we turned to ice, how long would it take? Ten years? Thirty years? Till winter ends and the snow melts and our great grandchildren find us here?
I think it would be nice. Just to lay together forever. If I were to die and be buried somewhere, I’d want you to be buried nearby.”
“If you were to die, though, and that’s very unlikely. I’d want to be buried nearby, too.” Though he’d seen a crypt tomb before, of a lady and her knight, carved out in stone, hands linked and loving for all ever; and he thinks it wouldn’t be terrible.
11/?- “Aye, that’s so,” said Jack-Be-Lucky cheerfully. “The crows await us all M’lord, the boy seems brave enough, and we do have need of what he brings us. Take him.” “And quick,” suggested Harwin, chuckling, “before the fever passes and he comes back to his senses.”