Cliffs Nodes

Dear Friends, 

Does anyone else find it hard to follow the plots of musicals? I usually enjoy musicals more if I read the Cliffs Notes ahead of time. Unless the musical is about ancient Egyptian runes, in which case I read the Glyphs Notes. 

This month's Hard Taco song is the second Act of the mini-rock opera, "Dark Star Origin," and I thought you might enjoy a quick plot summary to ease you in. 

But first, I want to point out that this second installment opens with a lovely acoustic guitar bit written and performed by Malcolm. I have been tracking our respective trajectories as guitar players, and calculated that on September 1, 2025, his abilities will surpass my own. I just set a phone alert for that date, and I plan to provide confirmatory evidence. With any luck, he'll then take over the family songwriting duties and put me in a nursing home. Hopefully one with comfortable rocking chairs. 

Here's that plot summary.

"Dark Star Origin" 

Act I

We meet Estella, a star in the Western sky whose purpose is to glow brightly enough to keep the people of Earth safe at night. (Part 1: Estella) But looking down at mankind night after night, she becomes obsessed with experiencing the wonders of the Earth firsthand. 

One night, she shines on a brilliant young sculptor whose works are particularly lifelike. She offers to grant him a wish in exchange for using his skills to transform her celestial form into that of a mortal woman. (Part Two: Chip Away) The sculptor is unmoved by her offers of magical trinkets and fantastical abilities, but he agrees to do the deed in exchange for any remnants of her starry essence that fall away as he sculpts.

It's a violent process (Part 3: Scour and Chisel), but he does a masterful job, and when the stardust clears, she is indistinguishable from an average woman. Overjoyed by her new shape (Part 4: Face and Form Maiden), she eagerly sets out in the world to indulge in human pleasures and endure the pains of mortal life.

Act II

For years, she revels in her experiment with humanity, grappling with the complexities of love and loss (Part 5: Fifty Years). She develops a profound appreciation for the fragile beauty and inherent unfairness of life. She realizes, however, that her absence from the Western sky has left the world in the dark every night, depriving humanity of the ability to appreciate their own beauty. 

She returns to the old sculptor, hoping he can help her reclaim at least some of her original shine (Part 6: That I May Be Restored). He beams with pride when he sees her, but is unable to fulfill her request. He admits that he used the stardust little by little to imbue his sculptures with a mystical radiance that garnered his works worldwide acclaim. With the dust long gone, he has now given up his chisels and retired to enjoy his wealth and fame. Outraged by what she feels was an abuse of her star magic, Estella lashes out at the sculptor and cuts off his hands.

Estella is instantly mortified by her violent outburst. She realizes that her purpose has always been to protect mankind, and she has now betrayed that purpose. She retreats to the sky, duty-bound to languish for eternity as a dark star. Blinded by remorse, she fails to recognize that a star with no light and a sculptor with no hands have left behind a legacy intertwined with the sculptor's creations (Part 7: Temples and Galleries). His statues, bathed in her celestial essence, are revered treasures in public spaces, museums, and religious sites that continue to inspire and illuminate the world. 

With warmest regards,

Zach

And Special Thanks to Douchebag Principal

Dear Friends,

After a hiatus and then a second hiatus, the Hard Taco rock opera is back! Thank you for patiently waiting for two hiatuses for "Dark Star Origin," an original fairy tale told through song. I'm excited to share the first half with you this month, with the conclusion set to release next month.

This whole Hard Taco project started because I had to write a rock opera, and that only happened because my high school principal was a douchebag. 

Let's step into the Bygone Days Machine and set the knobs to November 1992. I was a 16-year-old high school senior in Mr. Liska's AP English class, my voice was finally changing, and I had just received my early decision admission letter from Brown. My future college didn't recognize the AP English exam, rendering the second semester of Mr. Liska's class, which focused on AP exam prep, irrelevant for me. When I explained this to Mr. Liska, he greenlighted my request to transfer into a different English class, creative writing.

But evil forces were astir! A few days after winter break, the Douchebag Principal (DP) summoned me to his office. There had been a mistake, he told me. Students cannot change classes mid-year under any circumstances. Not only would have to return to AP English, but I would be forced to take (and pay for) the AP English exam that my college would not honor. My parents and I tried to fight it, but the Douchebag Principal (DP) stood his douchey-douchey ground. Did the school have quotas for student AP examinees? Or did he get personal financial incentives for lack of transparency and extraordinary douchebaggery? We'll never know.

Indignantly, I returned to Mr. Liska's AP English class, unaware of the blessing I had just been given.  Mr. Liska was an extraordinary teacher and a genuinely reasonable person. Rather than forcing me to prepare for the AP test, he encouraged me to spend the semester working on a creative project pertaining to the material we were reviewing. Half-jokingly, I offered to write a rock opera about Beowulf, a proposal he met with enthusiasm.

Reality check. I had never written a whole song before, and a few months earlier I threw myself into a creek to get out of what would have been my third guitar lesson. I knew nothing about music recording, could barely carry a tune, and had only made it through the first chapter of the Cliff's Notes for Beowulf. To summarize, I absolutely had no business taking on this project.

Enter Jon Greenlee, the guitarist and singer for the second most popular band at Nicolet High School. We had been solid second-tier friends since sixth grade.  Early in our friendship, he had fallen out of favor in the My Mom Demographic for being a risk taker. She gave him this title after he no-showed for my Bar Mitzvah luncheon after RSVPing that he would come. (Roberta London holds no other grudges but has never forgiven this transgression.) 

She was right, of course. Jon was a risk taker. Skipping a Bar Mitzvah luncheon is a huge risk if you're trying to expand your collection of sunglasses that inexplicably have... blinds?

These exist for some reason.

Jon and I ran in different circles in high school, but when I asked him to produce and record a Beowulf rock opera, he agreed. In the coming months he spent over 100 hours helping an idiot (me) who had ruined his only pair of jeans to avoid that third guitar lesson record an entire album of songs about an Old English poem that neither of us had read. He was a goddamn risk taker.

Many of my fondest high school memories came over the next three months of writing, plagiarizing, and recording these songs with the help of Jon and other would-be actors and musicians in our respective circles.  Our constant companion throughout this experiment was a Yamaha 4-Track cassette recorder, which I still think is one of the coolest pieces of tech ever invented. 

The final result was... almost entirely unlistenable! But the process sparked in me a deep love of songwriting, music recording, and the rock opera genre. After high school, I worked on rock operas based on the Icelandic Saga of Hrafnkel, the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and a half-finished original called The Hard Tack Medicine Show. And for a decade I planned and schemed to write a rock opera about Custer's Last Stand, but only finished one song. 

Ironically, it was the establishment of the monthly Hard Taco Digest that ended my rock opera composing. When you commit to releasing exactly one song every month, it's really hard to find space to plan for long-term projects.

But I've really missed the pretentious grandiosity of the rock opera genre. I don't see myself to doing a full-length one any time before I retire, but it was a huge treat to work on the mediocre mini version of it this month. So enjoy, and special thanks to Douchebag Principal (DP). I hope he was able to retire early because of the AP English Quota Kickbacks. 

With warmest regards,

Zach

The Macarena: An Explorer's Dance with History

February 1, 1892

My Dearest Eleanor,

As I repose beneath the azure skies of Spain, my pen finds its way to paper after a silence that has stretched too long. My heart swells with the hope that this letter finds you in good health and high spirits back in our cherished Cambridge. Your image, like a steadfast beacon, guides my spirit through the thrills and trials of these foreign lands.

Today, I chanced upon a most peculiar and enthralling local ceremony, which the natives referred to as "Macarena". I feel compelled to document this extraordinary spectacle, for it was unlike anything I've ever witnessed in my extensive explorations.

 

As the music commenced, a melody both foreign and intriguing to my English sensibilities, the participants began their ritual in unison. First, they extended their arms forward, one after the other, in a manner reminiscent of a soldier presenting arms. It was a deliberate and measured action, executed with a precision that spoke of practiced discipline.

 

Subsequently, they turned their palms skyward, each in sequence, as if beseeching the heavens for favor or perhaps in silent homage to the sun that beats relentlessly upon this passionate land. This gesture was imbued with a certain reverence, a silent prayer encapsulated in a simple turn of the wrist.

 

Each participant then placed their right hand upon their left shoulder and vice versa, in an astonishing manner evocative of a self-embrace. 

 

Following this, they placed their hands upon the very backs of their heads, one at a time. It was a gesture that, to my mind, suggested a casual nonchalance, a momentary abdication of the day's toils.

Eleanor, you would not hold true what then transpired had you seen it with your very eyes. The participants touched their opposite hips, once more in sequence, a gesture that appeared strangely playful and strategic, akin to a skilled swordsman sheathing his weapon.

 

This was followed by an even more shocking switch of hands to the other hip, performed with the same light-hearted finesse, each movement a brushstroke in this living canvas of cultural expression.

 

Then came a rather delightful, albeit completely unforeseen sequence in which they shook their hips. It was a vibrant circular motion, reminiscent of leaves swirling seductively in the Andalusian breeze.

My dearest, at this point I was convinced that this extraordinary dance had no surprises left for me, but I was swiftly proven wrong, as the Spaniards in unison leapt and turned their bodies a quarter turn to the left! It was as if each participant was a compass needle, momentarily pausing before orienting themselves towards Jerusalem or simply a new adventure.

 

This Macarena seems to encapsulate the very essence of the Spanish spirit. But Eleanor, amidst the laughter and the vivacious sway of strangers, I found myself adrift in a sea of memories, each one a cherished moment shared with you.

I was reminded of your last missive, in which you shared how your days and evenings in Bath, Somerset have been filled with lively company and spirited friends. How often you mentioned the charm and wit of our mutual acquaintances, Rupert and Alistair, whose fine characters and companionship you've always appreciated in my absence. 

Reading back the words that I have just written, I fear that I have been made the cuckold. But what were you supposed to do? I have been out of town and my two friends are so fine.

With warmest affection and a heart that beats only for you,

Archibald

P.S. The Hard Taco song for February is called "Solid Maybe." 

Fortress Party 2023 Retrospective

Dear Friends,

Welcome to another new year! The latest Hard Taco song, "Home Away from Home," is about wanting to make others feeling welcome no matter what and no matter when.

As per tradition, the January Hard Taco Digest is being replaced with a retrospective of the most recent Fortress Party. We estimated 358 guests this year, not counting interlopers who snuck past the checkpoint without their heads exploding. 

Traditionally, Scarlett leads the walkthrough tour, but she was stuck in California until the following weeks we asked Malcolm to give it a try. 

There's a lot of content that didn't show up in the walkthrough, so we made separate blog posting for most of the rooms. I'm also including a timestamp to the YouTube video above if you just want to check one of them rooms out without watching the whole thing. 

Rocky Horror (In walkthrough)

These Are the Voyages (In walkthrough)

Sign-In Sheet Maze (In walkthrough)

SNL Auditions (In walkthrough)

Googly Eyes (In walkthrough)

Foil Party (In walkthrough)

Cocaine Bear (In walkthrough)

Pelts (In walkthrough)

Vert Derk Verk (Swedish Chef's Kitchen) (In walkthrough)

The Boogiery (In walkthrough)

The Great Beyond (In walkthrough)

Styx (In walkthrough)

Hades (In walkthrough)

Afterlife Jam (In walkthrough)

With warmest regards,

Zach