Tomato hurling grumpy old man and Brentford enthusiast Rick slugs it out with common corpse musician and eerily talented Vienna homeboy Wolf Man. The slight and mini Mr M gets all seven bells and all seven shades of shit kicked out of him. Wakeman forgets he is not mid keyboard solo and just keeps pounding Wolfgang's head in. An unedifying spectacle.
4 comments:
I must concur with this outcome. Wakeman rediscovers the inner junkie in him and beats the corpse of Mozart to a pulp, then ransacks his grave for monies to feed his unquenchable lust for the smack. Then he realises he is reformed and drops to his knees in a vain plea for forgiveness....too little too late
Indeed...Wakeman subsequently, in his remorse and shame, plays a gentle and moving solo of Fur Elise at the funeral. The audience take badly to his choice of composer (the deceased's great rival) and lynch him.
Never before has genius been so cruelly underestimated. Mozart, the supreme musical mastermind, had passion as his middle name. His melancholic music is indicative of a tumultous nature. His mischievous nature is surely equally legendary. Neither meak, mild nor mini (such audacity!), his talent and passion would make him a gargantuan and formidable opponent; more than a match for any mere grumpy rock star.
Beloved daughter of Zeus, mother of pius Aeneas, I must repsond. We should remember that the great Wolfgang is utterly naked: physical stature and prowess are king. For all his undisputed musical marksmanship, Amadeus (meaning 'God's love', not quite 'passion' itself) was described by the 18th century tenor M. Kelly in his 'Reminiscences' as a "small man, very thin and pale". However, perhaps the dark (macbre perhaps?) side to his music was an indication that he knew the deadly martial arts...? If so, the underestimation is beyond cruel: the humble pie is mine to eat.
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