King Henry VIII?

Warning:

I wrote this after getting injured shitfaced in performance of my duties.

I haven’t actually read it. I’m going to try to salvage it and edit it into something that will do. If I recall correctly, and I probably do not, it’s pretty long.

I have no idea how this is actually going to turn out, as I meander into editing mode and try to turn this into something you might be interested in reading.

I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. If I were sorry, I’d have not done it in the first place!

Let’s give this a shot…


Gonna be completely upfront about this.

I’m kinda intoxicated. I am going to get more intoxicated.

They are currently tearing shit down to load the truck. This is called a ‘load out’ in our lingo. I don’t think any of us actually calls it ‘load out.’ No, we say stuff like, “Fuck. Time to load the fucking truck.” There’s no ‘load out’ in that sentence.

Side note: I usually try to avoid much jargon. ‘Snot fair to you and it’s not consistent.

Not me! I’m not lugging a damned thing. I made one trip to the car and I’m supervising while I type on a laptop. Pretty soon, I’m headed to a hotel. I’ll make one more trip to the car and that’s to carry my gear bag, one suitcase, and this here delicious beer.

For the record, I call this “supervising.” I ain’t actually paying attention to a damned thing. They know what they’re doing. That’s why they get paid! I do provide moral support and crack jokes – I also fetch beer!

Tonight’s show was lovely and, once again, the people are always way too good to us. Thank you, people!

Seriously… That’s truly the magic of it – and it’s not universally true, but it’s true more often than not. For all the pissing and moaning I do, I’m pretty sure I’ve at least partially deserved it whenever groups of people pelted the stage with objects.

Yes. Some venues are so horrible that they have that cliché chicken wire barrier. I haven’t played one of them in years – and you can’t make me. I’ve made my way to much nicer stages and audiences.

It’s for good reason that I like venues that provide security! (Ed Note: This article doesn’t actually improve.)

But, for the most part, our audiences are too kind to us. Sometimes, they stand outside in shitty weather, risk OIUs – and harming other people, drive long distances, spend money they can’t really afford, and things like that.

You know, alcoholics!

Sometimes, they even fight with their spouses and argue just to come see us. I suspect a few of them shirk their duties to their community, family, and job – just to come see us!

But, come to see us they do. And, for just a time that’s altogether too short, they invite us to give them an escape. They give us permission to help them emote and for them to forget about the stresses of life.

They generally want to hear two types of music.

They either want to hear stuff that’s modern, the same stuff they hear when they turn on their radio station, or they want to hear the music that helped shape them into adults. They want us to remind them of those youthful years, between 15 and 25.

We concentrate on the latter. We concentrate on the music that they remember mostly from their formative years.

I’m old. I’m tired. I’m not keeping up with Top 40 Hard Rock, Rock, Metal, or the umpteen other genres that get changed more often than I change hairstyles. I’m not adding the extra time that goes into keeping up with what is currently popular.

We, of course, have our own opinions about what we play and what we’d like to play. You can actually tell us what you want us to play when you hire us. If we don’t know it, we may consider learning it.

We reserve the right to refuse. There is shit that I refuse to play. There’s actually quite a long list of shit that the whole band won’t play – simply because one or more of us refuses to fucking play it. Even hookers have standards, or at least a sliding fee.

It’s at this point that I’m forced to admit that I’ve forgotten what it was that I was going to write next. (Ed Note: I’m pretty sure that’s obvious. Less obvious is I still have no idea what I was going to write about next.)

Once upon a time, there lived an old man named TheBuddha. He had a topic, and even a point, but he sometimes likes to drink.

Hotels…

That wasn’t actually what my subject was, but I’m gonna tell you about hotels next.

Universally, hotels suck. No, fancy five-star resort hotels suck worse. If there’s one place they won’t leave you the fuck alone, it’s a fancy hotel. They’re also far more likely to get suspicious if you’re dragging in hookers, obvious drug dealers, and leave the “Do Not Disturb/No Room Service” sign up for a week straight.

Econo Lodge, in the US, is pretty much as good as it gets, assuming you don’t mind transsexual hookers knocking on your door to ask if you want to smoke some crack with them.

I don’t mind that at all!

It’s a damned sight better than some idiot making jokes as he smashes that wheeled dolly with your precious instruments and curated collection of illicit substances into the elevator. Why no, no Mr. Bellhop! You may not take my bags out of my sight, thanks!

Bring on the crack whores!

Unfortunately, there are no Econo Lodges here. Instead, we’ll be going to some pretty normal looking, generic, hotel with a whimsical name and a very nice older gentleman behind the counter. Well, I don’t know if he’s still there. I already have the keys – so if the hotel is any good then I won’t actually need to see the old gentlemen again. In fact, that’d be ideal!

Also, I’m pretty sure if he sees us again tonight, he’s not gonna be very happy about that.

I did tell ‘em why we were there and that I’d do my best to keep it to a dull roar. He happily told me he didn’t much give a shit (though he used more polite vocabulary) ‘cause the place is pretty much empty. That is for the best.

It’s pretty awesome, but it’s still a hotel. Hotels suck, remember?

I like my bed. That’s why I bought it. I’m pretty partial to my house. I like my shower. I picked it out, just for that reason. I also really like poopin’ on my own toilet.

There’s just something weird about poopin’ on hotel toilets.

I like being able to go to my studio. I like being able to go to my study. I love being able to go pee off the front porch.

Which is why hotels suck. Even if you stay in it for months, it’s never home.

Huh… You’ve made it this far through the article? Weirdo.

This article isn’t going to get better.

No, it’s going to get much, much worse. (Ed Note: Truth.)

Today, we’re gonna talk about a little fella known as Henry, from the House of Tudor. You might know him better as King Henry VIII, the prick.

I warned you way up at the top that I’m getting shitfaced. You knew damned well what you were getting into when you opted to keep reading! I’m pretty sure you can’t place all the blame on me.

Henry VIII?

Damned right.

Side note: I have spectators and am in a hotel now. They are not actually helpful. No, no they are not.

A long time ago, in the merry old land of England, was a bunch of unimportant stuff. We’re gonna skip some details, ‘cause they don’t matter. We’re also going to cover a lot of stuff that does matter.

There were people. Like, a surprising amount of them. For a bunch of reasons, they decided that someone should be in charge. That someone was sometimes an asshole.

They actually had the power to oust the rulers, though it’d take some effort and dedication, to chuck that fucker right out of office. Sometimes they did just that. But, most of the time they pretty much let it happen – so long as the royals largely kept their idiocy to themselves.

They made up and believed a bunch of silly things, like “Divine Right.”

This worked pretty well, the people tolerated it, and it wasn’t always outright terrible. Life was pretty brutal and short, but that was pretty normal everywhere.

Those people, called peasants, absolutely had merry tunes to keep them company.

Some jackass named Richard (who probably wasn’t really a hunchback) stuffed some kids in a tower and, just like magic, they disappeared.

That actually pissed some people off. This even pissed off the peasants.

A fella named Henry – but not VIII, was hanging out in France, ‘cause his family sucked and his lineage was actually from someone who once washed someone’s ass and that ass belonged to someone who was important. That line of succession came into a bit of power and Henry VII was the end of that line of heredity.

Still with me?

Meanwhile…

Even Richard’s friends and supporters were kinda pissy about that whole magically disappearing children thing – and it didn’t help that Richard also decided that was a good time to call himself the king.

Which was actually kinda the end (or at least close to it) for a whole series of events that are way too detailed to discuss here.

So, the Henry that was alive – VIII had not yet been born – was told that Richard’s defecting supporters would support his claim to the throne, but only if he married some chick named Betty.

Henry thought that was a grand idea. Off he went to do some kingly rampaging.

Henry sneaked into Wales, gathered some supporters, and led Richard on a merry chase. Finally Richard caught up to Henry and Henry decided he should stand and fight.

Henry was not doing very well when one of Richard’s friends came into the battle on Henry’s side. Henry’s side won and someone stabbed Richard in the ass and paraded him around nude on horseback.

This was deemed to be pretty good and people had themselves a pretty good party.

Henry married Betty and they produced an heir to the throne!

They also performed a brilliant propaganda feat, where Henry used a (probably invented) royal symbol of a red rose and matched that with the white rose from the House of York heraldry. (Ed. Note: That’s not actually important, but here we are.)

This was considered the end of the Wars of the Roses – sorta and more or less.

See, the heir to the throne isn’t probably who readers are currently thinking it is. Henry VIII is not yet even important.

No, the original heir’s name was Arthur. You know, like King Arthur? Except, the legendary King Arthur had nothing to do with this particular King Arthur, that was just his name. He also never made it to be king. He died after marrying a chick named Cathy. (Henry VIII would later marry Cathy and then divorce her, ’cause he wanted to stick his dick in a chick named Ann.)

In what must be the most baffling display of historian ineptitude, we only know that Arthur died – possibly of tuberculosis and possibly of testicular cancer…

I’m not that kinda doctor, but how exactly do you get those two things confused?

Really, that’s not my domain – but your nuts rotting off sounds pretty symptomatically different than death by consumption – where you hack out your lungs.

Henry VII, seeing this, knocked up Betty again and she died during childbirth. That’s pretty typical. They needed an heir to the throne!

Fortunately, they had already had a second son! (He’d previously been considered pretty unimportant, in the grand scale of things.)

His name was, coincidentally enough, Henry.

Henry VIII, to be exact!

It’s good that he had an heir, ‘cause elder Henry went around being a pretty big dick to everyone and then he died. He was such a dick that they didn’t even tell people he’d died until a couple of days later – after finding some people they could blame his bad behavior on. (I’m pretty sure these scapegoats were drawn and quartered, but that’s not actually important.)

Moving on! (Ed. Note: I am amazed you’re still reading!)

If the younger Henry, the VIII to be exact, is known for anything, it’s pretty much killing his spouses, being fat, being an asshole, having a lot of spouses, and a wee little, mostly unimportant event, known as the Act of Supremacy.

That last little bit was so Henry could give the Pope the finger and resulted in something you might know of as the English Reformation – which might make you think of a little something called The Church Of England. (Notably, they have bells!)

So, I’m pretty sure the vast majority of people only know Henry VIII as an asshole. Those that do know anything more about him, are only given a very limited picture of the person that Henry was.


I know damned well that you already know I have a point.

Today, we’re gonna fix that perspective. Come, join me! It’s gonna be a fun article to write! (Ed. Note: I did have fun writing it.)

No… I’m not going to tell you that Henry wasn’t an asshole. He was. He did some pretty fucking horrible things and was really creative at having people killed.

After a revolt, he pretty much tortured and creatively killed like 5% of the population.

I can’t make that kind of behavior seem palpable, nor is it my intent to do so.

On the other hand, I can tell you about it!

He had, for wont of a better word, reasons. They weren’t very good reasons, but he had them. (Also, those filthy peasants had revolted and challenged both his authority and his new religion. He was now God’s Intermediary and kinda liked that role.)

In one instance, a more famous fella was due to be drawn and quartered. He sent ol’ Henry a letter from the Tower. In that letter, he asked if he could maybe be killed completely before they did that whole quartering thing. He indicated that he didn’t want to be chopped up and ripped apart while he was still alive.

Henry, in his great wisdom, decided that he’d agree to that request…

Instead, he had him hung – and hung in chains. His death took many, many hours – people gleefully spent like a full day watching this. Given that there was a rope tightly around his neck, history doesn’t tell us if he regretted his choice and would have preferred the quicker death of being drawn and quartered.

So, I’m not gonna tell you that Henry VIII was a good person. He wasn’t.

He was a fucking rock star.


See, I wrote that giant fucking wall of text just ‘cause I’m trying to paint you a picture. Well, more like color a picture in with a few broken crayons and mysterious doodles that look suspiciously like monster trucks. But, I’m doing the best I can and the circumstances aren’t easy!

To truly understand Henry is to truly understand where he came from, how he got there, and why he ended up there.

His dad was pretty much a fucking paranoid dick with way too much power. Henry was surrounded by shitty people. Given the handwriting examples, we can conclude that he lost his only meaningful parental relationship with his mother when she died while trying to make a suitable alternative to the throne. She died while trying to build someone else to ensure the line of inheritance. Brutal.

For the longest time, Henry wasn’t actually planning on being a king. He was going to be a knight in shining armor.

No, Henry didn’t even really want to be king. Henry wanted to do shit like jousting. Sadly, they wouldn’t let Henry joust – ‘cause it’s dangerous as all fuck.

Side note: I’d have let my son take up jousting. However, that’s because I’m both an asshole and an inept parent. Shit, if he takes it up as an adult today – I’ll not only buy him his first suit of armor, I’ll watch that shit. I’m gonna laugh my ass off when he gets knocked off the horse.

They made Henry do stupid shit – like learn a bunch of languages, memorize a bunch of prayers in Latin, learn to sing, and even learn how to make music. Nobody ever taught him how to be a king. Let’s also just agree that his father wasn’t actually a very good example of good kingly attributes.

Wait… Go back a couple of sentences. (I warned you I was intoxicated.)

You read that right.

Ol’ Henry VIII played bitchin’ solos. Being a king, he even made other people play bitchin’ solos for him. You’ll see!

Remember that jousting thing?

I’m not sure what sort of notions you have about jousting, but you can bet your ass it wasn’t a damned thing like what you see on television today.

Jousting was done by big men who were in their physical prime (usually, some old folks sometimes did it).

If you’ve got jousting, you know damned well there’s chicks and beer.

If there’s chicks and beer, you’ve got music.

If you’ve got music, someone’s eventually going to get the notion to play a bitchin’ solo.

This time, I have evidence on my side! I’ll show you!

That’s right! This isn’t Ook and Ogg banging out drum solos on mastodon skulls. This here is historical fact!

I ain’t even making this shit up!

Well, I may be filling in some blanks – but I’m pretty confident in my theory!

Look at history. Where you see both alcohol and young people who are sexually attracted to each other, and when such isn’t actually being actively oppressed, you get music. If you combine all three of those, someone’s gonna try to play a goddamned bitchin’ solo – seemingly across every conceivable instrument.

“Bitchin’ solo” is a pretty subjective thing. It’s shaped by era, cultural norms, genre, etc…

It should also be noted that not all solos are bitchin’ solos and sometimes they suck.

Side note, but I feel obligated to share this – while on the topic of sucking:

It seems they’ve convinced the Eldest Hoodlum that Freebird is easy and they’re trying to teach her. Earlier, she told the drummer he sucked. He took it well. He was, in fact, sucking. He was having technical difficulties and we had to wait for him – several times. As she cues us up, she told him he sucked – over all our earpieces.

She said he sucked – we all heard it, as clear as can be. She also controls his mic. If he had any protestations about being told he sucked, he was unable to articulate them loud enough for her to care. If you give her too much shit, she can just push a button. She has access to lots of buttons – and she seems to have learned how to use them.

I’d have laughed my ass off if she’d hit the wrong switch and sent it out over the amps.

I seriously probably would have had to mute my mic.

If you’ve ever been in a band that meshed well and kinda had its shit together, you’d understand! She was having none of his nonsense tonight. None of it. (He usually gives her a whole ration of shit.)

The missus mostly stands there, looks grumpy, and drinks coffee. The kid does most of the work. The missus actually wants to be fired. She’s right sick of this. Whoever replaces her is going to have to drive me – ‘cause I tend get pretty inebriated after performing. (I suppose that’s more a note to myself.)

I realize that hasn’t got a damned thing to do with Henry VIII, I just kinda had to tell you that, seeing as the topic was sucking.

I actually consider it pretty good that I remembered I was writing about Henry!

Where were we? Oh, yes…

Henry had a pretty shitty childhood and one of the things he had for comfort was music.

He even composed some music. Much of it is lost to history, but we do have some examples that have survived through the ages.

And, it’s okay if you say Henry’s compositions sucked – they kinda did. They are full of mistakes – like real mistakes and not really matters of opinion. They’re just stupid things like parallel 5ths and no, I don’t care that one weird artist made it work once, it’s just wrong. Furthermore, it’s wrong for the period. He sucked at composing.

I said Henry was a fucking rock star.

I did not say Henry was good.

I said he tried to compose a bitchin’ solo.

I did not say he succeeded.

By most accounts, Henry was pretty terrible at composing.

But…

Henry could replicate and play along. He could even offer some helpful advice to legitimate composers. He even wrote choirs stuff! Like five part choral works!

It was pretty terrible – and you can bet your ass I’m gonna link to some examples!

Importantly, people spoke about Henry. We have contemporary accounts, authored by people who are reasonably objective.

By the way, much of what we know about these old famous people comes from other people’s records. If you want to know about Tudor family, look no further than the Spanish or Italian archives from their royalty of the period.

It’s probably not a good idea to check the period French archives for Henry VIII stuff. I’m sure they’ve got stuff about his dad, but ol’ Henry went to war with ‘em (for a brief period) ‘cause France was raping the Italian city-states.

France ran away from Henry and just kept pillaging Italy and history largely pretends the Battle of the Spurs didn’t happen. (Henry left a giant fucking castle there – but it was too expensive to run.) Either way, the point is that France probably isn’t very unbiased about this sort of thing.

No, it was other people who wrote about Henry’s singing and musicianship.

A Gentleman of the Privy Chamber (which is not actually a bathroom – though he might have been an ass-wiper) had this to say about him:

‘much delighted to sing’

Some dude said this shit:

‘were song oftentimes in hys chapel, and afterwardes in diverse other places’

And, for quantity, we know at least 33 songs as being credited with:

the kyng h.viii

(Spelling was not their strong suit.)

My point is that Henry VIII sucked balls at composing – but could play a merry tune. He played a number of instruments and was pretty damned pleased with this fact. But, he tried. He also made people listen to ’em.

This might be a difficult leap – I’m not sure and judging leaps while drinking is notoriously foolish.

Like I said, he’s a rock star.

Hear me out.

Let’s say you were a rock star.

Let’s also say you were made king.

After you party it up, maybe burn a bunch of shit down, have lots of sex, get wasted, and wrestle with your friends…

What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?

You’re gonna make them listen to you play a bitchin’ solo.

And, he did… Boy, did he!

He placed music into the center of the court culture!

He’d kinda tried being pretty good, way back early on. He did try. He’d been knighted, at a very early age (and as a means of propaganda) and that was significant to him. He was a true believer and actually wrote a book condemning the reformation of the Catholic Church.

So, by his definitions, he was doing pretty good for a while – for a while.

Which is pretty much when he went full rock star.

He filled the courts with people playing bitchin’ solos. And…

Wait…

Most of my audience is American.

He also started three of the greatest musical institutions on the planet.

They still exist.

Christ Church, at Oxford and Trinity, at Cambridge. Those are two of the best Colleges of Music on the entire planet.

I don’t suppose the Americans are gonna know about King’s College Chapel? He finished that – it’s where some of the best (subjective) music is performed, including some of the best (subjective) choir work is done on the planet.

Speaking of calling him a rock star, and knowing even just a little about Henry, he wrote shit like this:

‘I hurt no man, I do no wrong; I love true where I did marry.’

I suspect that’s where the name for the candy bar came from. It makes me want to say, “Oh, Henry!”

(I’m so leaving that last paragraph in there!)

His actual compositions aren’t any better than his lyrics. I’ve heard people claim that his compositions are good, but they’re not even good for the era. I’m also really skeptical of how much of what is credited to him is actually really entirely his vs. how much he was helped because he surrounded himself with hundreds of people who could play bitchin’ solos.

I do think that we can also safely conclude that Henry knew he wasn’t very good. Didn’t matter. He was gonna make you listen anyhow.

What, are you going to tell the king to get off the stage?

Me either. I’m going to applaud enthusiastically.

Like I said, “Fuck you. I’m a rock star.”

But, it’s safe to conclude that he knew his own limits – to some extent. After all, he surrounded himself with music and, more importantly, he set people to the task of formally figuring out how to make a damned good bitchin’ solo.

He set up two giant institutions just for it!

I interpret that as knowing you suck. If he thought he knew what the hell he was doing, he’d have approached in in his usual style of either sticking his penis in it or killing it – sometimes both!

Seriously…

When Henry believed that what he was doing was the right thing, that is that he felt he knew what he was doing, Ol’ Henry wasn’t fond of taking no as an answer or asking for help. There’s a whole lot of supporting evidence for this.

Thus, it can be logically concluded that Henry was not, in fact, able to compose a bitchin’ solo AND that he knew he sucked. (Not all rock stars are actually good musicians, and many don’t compose their own music.)

By the way, the jury is still out on if he could actually play a bitchin’ solo, as composed by someone else. I like to believe he could – or at least made people listen to him try. He was a rock star. It’s what they do.

Side note: Editing this tomorrow is going to be either fun or mortifying.

While I’m here… I’ll give you an update!

The missus has meandered off to another room to sleep. I have five empty beers beside me.

They’ve given up on trying to teach her Freebird. She says it will take her two weeks to learn it.

I tried to bet her $10 that she couldn’t do it, to her own level of satisfaction and confidence, in just two weeks. She responded by telling me that she just got paid. No respect, that kid. None…

I can’t really argue with her logic.

By the way, we are keeping it at a dull roar. A number of them are outside grilling in the parking lot. Sometimes, it’s best if I don’t ask questions. I don’t actually know where this grill came from, or where they got the meat. They’re being surprisingly quiet – almost too quiet.

I do notice the drummer is giving the hoodlum less shit and the rest of the band seems to be more accepting of her. That could just be the beer talking. I suspect that her telling him that he sucked was a watershed moment.

I still haven’t actually found out if she killed his mic. I’m not sure I’ll complain if she did. I only know that he did not respond.

It should be noted that we give each other shit – all the time. If someone fucks up and isn’t actually set up on time, I might actually tell you that you suck – into a live microphone, for the entire audience to hear.

It’s all in how you do it – and how the band works together. See…

The appropriate response is, “And you’re not making things easier!” (Or some variation. Some of ‘em are pretty funny.)

It changes a negative into a positive, if it’s done right. The audience also enjoys it. They appreciate our banter and get to see that we’re real people and just people who happen to be on the stage.

Example:

“Don’t mind the bassist. He’s been drinking since noon.” (Deadpan that.)

To which an appropriate response from the bassist might be, “Hell, I’ll still be drinking at noon tomorrow. Line forms to the right, ladies!”

If he’s still fucking up, you can always keep the gag running with innuendo.

When he finishes, you say something like, “Well, he eventually finds the hole and we know he can count to four. Line forms to the right, ladies.”

People give us money for this!

Either way, I figured I should make it clear that her telling him that he sucked is in no way entirely unexpected. It was bound to pop out, eventually. If I were fucking up like the drummer was, someone would have told me I sucked – or worse. Quite probably worse.

She gets paid, just like everybody else. If they can say she sucks (and they have) then she’s free to reciprocate if they do, in fact, suck. The only reason you should have technical difficulties is if you didn’t do your job properly. If you didn’t do your job properly, you suck. No excuses. Get better.

Yeah, half of this is getting edited out when I sober up. Maybe not… I did warn you, after all.

Back to King Henry VIII!

If you look at his life, you’ll almost certainly agree he was a terrible person – in many, many ways.

Seriously, he was an asshole.

But, what do you expect?

Imagine a young Keith Richards.

Give young Keith a kingdom and absolute rule over England – and all the intoxicating substances he can cram into him. Surround him with his other young friends. Make it so that your very life depends on his momentary whim.

Of course Keith would be an asshole! “Fuck you. I’m a rock star!” It only stands to reason that he’d be a prick under those circumstances.

Later in life, he got blasted off a horse while jousting and broke a bone. This festered and killed him many years later – but it was agonizing and he dealt with it for many years, turning into the fat fella you may recall from paintings.

He was right pissed off and, given the social status of jousting at the time, that seriously hampered his rock star lifestyle. Eventually, they had to wheel his fat ass around a castle in a cart. It was too painful to walk.

An old rock star, past his prime, and with only marginal ability to write a bitchin’ solo? Damned right, he was an asshole.

And I think that really defines King Henry VIII.

None of this justifies his behavior – it explains it. None of this is meant to make you think he wasn’t a dick. He was, in fact, a dick. He was a colossal dick.

I’m not suggesting that we should think of him as awesome (I think “impressive” is a better word, ‘cause he was that). I’m not saying that we should forget that whole head-removal thing he was fond of.

I’m saying that he can be seen in a different light and better understood. If there’s anything noble to say about him, it’s that he spent a life questing to write a bitchin’ solo. It’s a quest he never completed.

No, seriously… He wrote shit – anybody who disagrees is probably lying. (No, he didn’t write Greensleeves. Let’s just get that stupid myth right out of the way.)

But, he tried like hell. His quest for the most bitchin’est of solos continues to this very day, in those same institutions.

He also set in motion some things that have a lasting impact, felt even today. Those institutions that I mentioned above still exist and, without them, a little something called the English Renaissance probably wouldn’t have happened.

You don’t think only the continent had a renaissance? No! England had its own, distinct, renaissance and though it was short-lived (stamped out by Puritans or Protestants, but I can’t recall which one), it was a vibrant time and those bits of music still reach down to us through the ages.

Maybe sometime I’ll tell you about that? Dunno… But, yeah… England had a distinct renaissance of her own and I haven’t looked deep enough to find a bitchin’ solo in it, but I’m willing to bet $10 that there’s quite a few in there. Everywhere I look, history is full of bitchin’ solos. I see no reason to expect that to be any different.

Henry was pretty fucking bad. He just wasn’t all bad. His badness is explained best by just imagining him as a rock star put into that same situation.

I have to wonder…

If Henry could have composed a better bitchin’ solo – would he have been less of an asshole?

I’m pretty sure no serious historian will entertain that question.

As it stands, he was pretty terrible. His compositions aren’t worse than his behavior, but they’re close!

Wanna hear some! (Note the lack of a question mark.)

Here’s King Henry VIII writing songs with lyrics pretty much like I’d expect from @crazy_eyes – ’bout getting shitfaced with friends and living like a rock star!

I strongly suspect that’s been cleaned up a bit, to make it more harmonic than his initial efforts – but that’s okay. Music is often a collaborative effort and refined by time and interpretation.

King Henry VIII was a rock star with a quest to write the perfect bitchin’ solo. Sure, he was also a prick – but he left us with a legacy and an influence that we’re able to examine and be grateful for.

In what might be the only example of such in modern history, I’d like to express my thanks for his contributions to music. “Thank you, Henry. You’re still a prick, but I’m pretty grateful for the music.”

And, on that note, with half the folks here having moved to slumber, I shall take your leave and drink heartily! Until next time…

Shut up and play us a song!


Final note: I don’t have enough pride to be ashamed of this article. I’m so publishing this! Sure, you deserve better – but that’s what I have. Henry was a rock star.

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