Alright. All this talk of Dook's and my musical past has really gotten me nostalgic. I Force pulled out the old albums yesterday. Good times, good times.
I do owe my old Master an apology though.
Our roots were very humble. He was my Master, and I his Padawan. He would harmonise while meditating, and as I learned, I followed suit. We both enjoyed the contemporary musics of the Twi'lek Temptations, HuKchuba OooOtha (the Gentle Huttsmen), the Beagles and of course, Elvis. After coming across my journal, Dooku found out that I was a songwriter. We collaborated on a lot of fresh material and produced out first album, A Hard Day's Knight.
It was met with less than success, as it sold no copies. We did give Master Yoda a pressing, and he said that it was cliche, sounded as if it were recorded in the mens toilets, and the art looked to have been done at one something in the morning on photoshop by an amature. "Do, or do not. There is no try. Next time, do not."
Though a bit discouraged, we ignored the grumpus that is Master Yoda, and started on more music. After our first big hit, "Some Jedi to Love," we were untouchable. There were groupies on every planet in the Republic. We lived wild and fast, touring everywhere we could. We had stopped in Kessel to play the Kesselstock concert and things changed. We were introduced to spice and that became a driving force behind our music. We went from thoughtful lyrics to insane trippy nonsense. We went from (Padawans Train) Eight Days A Week to Funky Mr. Moonpants, the Cosmic Jester Holding A Pint of Orange Sorbet (which was 3 1/2 hours of impromptu jamming and giggling).
From that came Quiggy Starlust.
I changed my image from a young mop-topped padawan to a cross-dressing glam rocker. I spent most of my days in a spicy haze. All I can really recall from that time was flirting with some guy called Mick and how bad lipstick tasted. I do believe, as I was going through my own freaky trip, Dooku had joined Hoth's Angels, a swoop club, wore a lot of leather and chains, and nicknamed himself Lord von Kikaz.
After that, the band broke apart and Master Dooku went to the Dark Side. For all of that, I am sorry, man.
The moral of this story, kids, is don't do spice in such quantities that you begin to think you would look good in PVC pants and a boa.