When “Cybeline” had its world premiere last March in Los Angeles at the Walt Disney Hall
concert complex, I offered a rundown about its authors, a
couple of friends of mine — composer-musicologist-technical-wizard Bill Osborne and
singer-actress-artist-lyricist-musician Abbie Conant. The premiere, a multimedia music-theater
performance, was part of the cutting-edge REDCAT Musical Exploration Series.
According to Osborne’s program notes:
Cybeline is about a cyborg trying to be a talk show host to prove she is
human. It is about nature, virtual reality, biotechnology, and the mass media — and about finding
the heart and poetry in technology as it also contemplates its horrors. What does a fifty-year-old
structure of silicon have to teach a five-billion-year-old structure of carbon?
The reply is a mixed-media message involving:
Schubert Lieder, the Egyptian Goddess Maat, Native American poetry,
dismemberment, trombone playing, a cyborg talkshow host, a talking hand, sacred cartoons, a
vengeful opera singer, a martyred math geek, Hildegard von Bingen, fighter jets, commercials for
synthetic flesh, cyborgian attack dogs, and personality-enhancement chips, psalms, a country
western song, Mother Nature, and a tribute to Joni Mitchell . . . all integrated into a 45-minute,
surround-sound, mini opera with computer-generated accompaniment, video and live
electronics.
This morning it is a pleasure to bring you the
country-western song from “Cybeline” called “Number-Crunchin’ Cowboy.“ The lyrics and cartoons are by Conant, who also does the
singing. The music, video and sound design are by Osborne.
(Turn up the sound level on your computer, click on the song title, follow the lyrics, and
enjoy.)
Just the other day I was surfin’ on the bay
When a big roan horse came a gallopin’
my way
The cowboy on his back had a rhinestone power mac
And I could clearly hear
he was callin’ out my number
He’s a number crunchin’ cowboy,
And if I calculate just right
He’ll be workin’ at
my keyboard
His arms around me tight.
He’s a number crunchin’ cowboy,
He’s the man up on my screen,
He’s the best of
all statistics,
He’s the email of my dreams.
He’s no Microsoft when we
head up to the loft.
He’s the best programmer out of greater Albuquerque.
Exchangin’
gigabytes on his laptop late at night,
He’s got my heart on-line and I’m learnin’ some
trigonometry.
He’s a number crunchin’ cowboy,
And if I calculate just
right
He’ll be workin’ at my keyboard
His arms around me tight.
Back
next week after the Thanksgiving weekend.
