I want to start today's deep dive with a bit
of a cognitive dissonance test. Oh, okay. A test.
I'm in. What have you got? Okay, so I want you
to picture in your mind's eye the quintessential
1970s soft rock songwriter. Right. You know the
archetype I'm talking about. I do. I'm picturing
maybe a velvet tuxedo jacket sitting at a grand
piano, definitely. Yes. bathed in soft lighting.
And he's singing lyrics that are so tender, so
vulnerable. Heartbreakingly beautiful. So heartbreakingly
beautiful that they became the literal soundtrack
for a generation of weddings. Okay, I am with
you. I'm picturing a very sensitive soul, someone
who probably wears their heart on their sleeve
and sings a lot about, you know, rainy days and
Mondays. Exactly. Now, I want you to freeze that
image. Hold it right there. Got it frozen. And
right next to it, I want you to picture a villain
in a Batman cartoon. Okay, that's a sharp turn.
Or a shady cigar chomping arms dealer in an Edgar
Wright action movie. Right. Or, and I promise
I'm not making this up, an orangutan in Planet
of the Apes wearing a futuristic jumpsuit. It
feels like we are aggressively flipping channels
between a romance movie, a gritty crime thriller,
and like a Saturday morning cartoon. We are not
done yet. Picture that same person standing on
stage at the Grammys in 2014. Okay. Flanked by
Daft Punk, the French robots in chrome helmets,
accepting the award for album of the year. And
the punchline, which is... I mean, it is genuinely
hard to believe is that we are talking about
one single human being. We are talking about
one single, slightly shorter than average, absolutely
ubiquitous human being. Today, we are diving
deep into the life, the crash and the resurrection
of Paul Williams. This is such a rich topic because
Paul Williams isn't just a celebrity. He's a
paradox. He really is. Yeah. If you look at the
source stack we've gone through, the comprehensive
biography, the discography that spans decades,
the film archives. You realize he is woven into
the fabric of pop culture in a way that just
doesn't make sense on paper. It really doesn't.
He's the zealot of the music industry. He's just
everywhere. That is the mission for this deep
dive. We need to figure out how the same guy
who wrote We've Only Just Begun, which is pure.
innocent sentiment. Ended up being little Enos
in Smokey and the Bandit and a counselor for
recovering addicts. How does that Venn diagram
exist? How do you go from the Muppets to Phantom
of the Paradise? It's a Venn diagram of one.
And I think the key insight we're going to uncover
today is about this tension between adaptability
and authenticity. Williams managed to be a chameleon
changing from folk to disco to electronic while
maintaining this incredibly raw, authentic, emotional
core. Right. He's a guy who wore masks literally
and figuratively, to tell the truth. Let's peel
back the first mask. We have to start at the
beginning in Omaha, Nebraska, 1940. And looking
at his family tree, I honestly think there must
have been something in the water at the Williams
household because the talent concentration is
statistically improbable. It's a family of high
-functioning outliers, isn't it? Usually when
we do these deep dives on artists, you see a
family of musicians or maybe a family of actors.
You know, the apple doesn't fall far from the
tree. Right. But the Williams boys covered the
entire spectrum of human endeavor. It's wild.
You have Paul, the emotional architect, born
in 1940. Yep. You have his brother, Mentor Williams,
who was also a massive songwriter in his own
right. Oh, Mentor's a legend too. He wrote Drift
Away for Dobie Gray. Give me the beat, boys,
and free my soul. That song is a standard, an
absolute classic. So, okay, two brothers, both
successful songwriters. That tracks. That makes
sense. It does. But then you have the third brother,
John J. Williams. And this is where it goes off
the rails. This is my favorite fact in the entire
stack. While Paul is out in Los Angeles trying
to figure out rhymes for rainbow and love. John
is literally a rocket scientist for NASA. And
not just like an employee, not just a guy with
a pocket protector. No. John J. Williams was
deeply involved in the Mercury and Apollo programs.
He won the NASA Distinguished Service Medal in
1969. That is the highest honor NASA can bestow
on a civilian. So in 1969, think about this,
one brother is helping put humanity on the moon.
using physics and engineering. Right. The hardest
of hard sciences. And the other is in Los Angeles
trying to put humanity in touch with their feelings.
Using melody and lyrics. It's the ultimate right
brain versus left brain family. You've got the
emotional engineer versus the aerospace engineer.
It's perfect. And strangely, they both dealt
with space in a way, didn't they? John dealt
with outer space and Paul, as we'll see, became
a master of inner space. You know, the internal
landscape of loneliness and hope. But Paul didn't
launch like a rocket. His trajectory was a bit
more. Well, meandering. He didn't start out trying
to be the next Bob Dylan or the next Cole Porter.
He actually started in the comedy scene. That's
a crucial detail for understanding his later
career, especially the acting. It really is.
He didn't start as a brooding poet in a coffee
shop. He started as a guy trying to make people
laugh. He was working with a comedian named Biff
Rose in L .A. Right. They were doing a sort of
comedy slash folk routine. And out of that partnership
came a song called Fill Your Heart. Right. And
Feel Your Heart has a very vaudeville, almost
theatrical vibe to it. It's jaunty. It's not
the soft rock he's famous for yet. But it caught
the ear of arguably the most eclectic musician
of the time, Tiny Tim. The ukulele falsetto tiptoe
through the tulips. Tiny Tim. The very same.
Tiny Tim covered it as a B -side. Now, getting
a song cut by Tiny Tim is a win, for sure, but
it doesn't exactly scream serious songwriter.
No, not really. But here is the first pivot point
in Williams' career. That same song... Found
its way to David Bowie. The Finwhite Duke himself.
Bowie recorded a version of Fill Your Heart for
his album Hunky Dory in 1971. Wow. So think about
that range. Tiny Tin to David Bowie. That is
the polyam spectrum in a nutshell. It is. The
absurd and the artistic. The comedy and the glam
rock. All in one song. But while having Bowie
record your song is incredible street cred, it
wasn't the thing that paid the bills or made
him a household name. Not yet. The real ignition
point was a partnership. Biff Rose introduced
Williams to A &M Records, and there he met a
guy named Roger Nichols. Roger Nichols. Yeah.
If Paul Williams was the heart, Nichols was the
structure. Yeah. Nichols was a melody genius,
a technical wizard with chord progressions, and
together they essentially architected the sound
of 70s soft rock. They really did. But the story
of their breakout hit is my favorite business
case study in music history. It proves that inspiration
can come from the most boring places imaginable.
You're talking about the bank commercial. I'm
talking about the bank commercial. It's 1970.
Williams and Nichols are working songwriters,
meaning they are hustling. They're taking any
gig they can get. Right. And they get a gig to
write a jingle for the Crocker National Bank.
Crocker National Bank, which for our younger
listeners is not exactly a sexy brand. It's a
regional bank. It's about checking accounts and
mortgages. It is the least rock and roll thing
you can imagine. And the brief was simple but
specific. The commercial visuals featured a young
couple you know, casually dressed, getting married
and starting their life. It was Crocker trying
to appeal to the youth market, saying, we know
you're just starting out and we can help. A very
utilitarian premise. You need a loan for that
wedding. Yeah, exactly. Yeah. And most songwriters
would have phoned it in. They would have written,
come to Crocker. We have good rates. Sure. But
Williams and Nichols wrote, we've only just begun.
We've only just begun to live white lace and
promises. A kiss for luck and we're on our way.
I mean, it is a masterpiece of optimism. They
took a commercial assignment and treated it with
absolute sincerity. And that's the key, right?
They didn't write down to the assignment. They
didn't see it as just a jingle. No. And Richard
Carpenter of the Carpenters heard this commercial
on TV. Wow. He literally heard the jingle while
watching television and he realized that is a
hit song. That's an amazing year. He contacted
them, the Carpenters recorded it, and it became
the wedding song of the decade. It's fascinating
because it stripped away the commercial context
entirely. It became a universal anthem. Totally.
Millions of people had their first dance to a
song that was technically designed to sell banking
services. It speaks to the quality of the songwriting.
The emotion was so genuine that the commerce
just... It didn't matter. Yeah. And looking at
the charts from that era, once that door opened,
Williams and Nichols just flooded the radio.
It was an avalanche. It really was. Let's run
through the list because it is staggering. Yeah.
You had Three Dog Night. Williams wrote an old
-fashioned love song, The Family of Man, and
Out in the Country for Them. I want to pause
on an old -fashioned love song. The lyrics are,
just an old -fashioned love song playing on the
radio. It's meta -commentary. He's writing a
hit song about a hit song playing on the radio.
He was very aware of the medium. He was. He knew
he was crafting radio hits. But he also infused
them with this communal spirit. The Family of
Man is almost a gospel song. It really is. Yeah.
And then you go back to the Carpenters. Of course.
Rainy days and Mondays. I won't last a day without
you. And Helen Reddy's You and Me. Against the
World. I want to stop on Rainy Days and Mondays
because I think that song defines his secret
sauce and it explains why he became the voice
of the 70s. Okay. On the surface, it's easy listening.
It's soft. But look at the lyrics. Just really
listen to them. Talking to myself and feeling
old. Sometimes I'd like to quit. Nothing ever
fits. That is dark. That is clinical depression
wrapped in a velvet blanket. Sometimes I'd like
to quit. Yeah. He is talking about giving up.
in one of the biggest pop songs on the radio.
But the melody is so comforting. It's like a
warm hug. That is the paradox. That's the genius
of it. Paul Williams took very complex, adult,
slightly neurotic emotions, loneliness, alienation,
the feeling of not fitting in, and he packaged
them in these beautiful, accessible melodies.
Right. He made it safe for the mainstream to
sing along to their own sadness. It's a sad banger,
basically. Before that term existed, yes. Absolutely.
He validated that feeling of being down. And
he was doing this while looking. Well, let's
talk about the visual. He's five foot two. Yeah.
He has this very distinct, almost cherubic face.
He didn't look like a rock star. He wasn't Robert
Plant. Yeah. He wasn't Mick Jagger. Not even
close. And he didn't try to be. He leaned into
the Hollywood Renaissance man persona. He realized
that his uniqueness was an asset. And this moves
us into the mid -70s, which really was his golden
era. He really was. He transitioned from radio
to the silver screen, and he did it with a bang.
A huge bang. We have to talk about A Star is
Born. The 1976 version, Barbara Streisand and
Chris Christopherson. This was a massive production,
a huge movie. And Williams wasn't just a hired
gun on this. He was collaborating directly with
Streisand. Which is no small feat. I mean, Streisand
is a perfectionist. To say the least. Yeah. Williams
wrote the lyrics for the love theme, Evergreen,
and Streisand wrote the music. Evergreen. It's
a powerhouse. It's not just a hit. It's a standard.
Oh, absolutely. You hear it in elevators. You
hear it at weddings. You hear it on American
Idol. It's part of the cultural furniture now.
And the industry rewarded it. It won the Academy
Award for Best Original Song and the Grammy for
Song of the Year. That's the pinnacle. That is
the pinnacle. But if you look at the soundtrack,
Williams didn't just write the ballad. No. He
also wrote Watch Closely Now and Halacious Acres
for Christofferson's character. Which are rock
songs. Greedy. Hard driving rock. So within one
movie, he's writing the most tender ballad of
the year for Barbara and the arena rock anthems
for Christox. That's the versatility we talked
about. It is. He could channel different voices.
He could find the truth in each of them. But
if a star is born, won him the trophies. I feel
like his next collaboration won him immortality.
Ooh, I know where you're going. We have to talk
about the frog. The Muppets. This is the emotional
core of the Paul Williams legacy for anyone born
after 1970. It is, and it's almost strange that
a guy writing about feeling old and rainy days
connected so perfectly with Jim Henson's world.
I don't know. I think it makes perfect sense.
How so? They shared a worldview. It was a gentle,
slightly melancholy optimism. Yeah, that's a
good way to put it. They both understood that
the world could be a hard place, but that kindness
and connection were worth fighting for. Williams
worked with Kenny Asher on that soundtrack, and
they produced Rainbow Connection. It was inducted
into the National Recording Registry in 2020.
As it should be. The Library of Congress said,
this is culturally significant. Why? I mean,
on the surface, it's a frog on a log with a banjo.
It's simple. It's the I want song to end all
I want songs. Look at the lyrics, the lovers,
the dreamers and me. It's an invitation. It acknowledges
that the world tells you magic isn't real. Rainbows
are visions, but only illusions. That's the cynics
view. But the song rejects that. And rainbows
have nothing to hide. It chooses to believe anyway.
It's an act of faith. And Williams didn't stop
there with the Muppets. He did the soundtrack
for the Muppet Christmas Carol in 1992. When
Love is Gone is an absolute tearjerker in that
film. It is. I have to fast forward through it
sometimes. And we cannot skip Emmett Otter's
Jug Band Christmas. A cult classic. An absolute
gem. It's a staple in my house. The music in
that? It's authentic Americana. It's bluegrass.
It's folk. It doesn't sound like children's music.
That's because Williams never wrote down to kids.
He wrote about longing, poverty, and love. just
with puppets. Emmett Otter's a story about a
poor family trying to make Christmas special.
The songs like Barbecue and the Riverbottom Nightmare
Band, they're just genuinely great compositions.
Okay, so we have the soft rock, we have the Oscars,
we have the Muppets. If we stopped here, he's
a legend. Absolutely. Hall of Fame career, no
question. The Paul Williams had this whole other
side, the weird side, the cult classic side.
You were referring, of course, to Phantom of
the Paradise, 1974, directed by Brian De Palma.
This movie is... deranged in the best way possible.
It really is. It's a rock opera mashup of Phantom
of the Opera, Faust, and The Picture of Dorian
Gray. It's bonkers. And Williams didn't just
write the score, which was Oscar nominated, by
the way. Which is wild. He starred in it. He
played Swan, the evil record producer. And he
is terrifying. He's the small, soft -spoken tyrant
who sells his soul for eternal youth. It's such
a stark contrast to the Rainbow Connection guy.
It showed his willingness to be the villain.
to be unlikable. He plays Swan with this icy,
detached menace. He's wearing these flamboyant
outfits, but his eyes are just dead. It proved
he wasn't just a songwriter who could act. He
was a legitimate actor. He did it again in Bugsy
Malone in 1976, writing the score for a gangster
movie cast entirely with children. Which is such
a 70s concept, just an unbelievably strange idea.
Let's make a mob movie with kids and shoot whipped
cream instead of bullets. Williams wrote the
songs. They're perfect. And then there's Ishtar
in 1987. Ishtar, the punchline of Hollywood for
decades. A legendary flop. The movie flopped,
but the songs Williams wrote for Dustin Hoffman
and Warren Beatty to sing is a bad lounge act.
Yeah. They're actually comedic genius. That is
a high degree of difficulty. I mean, think about
that assignment. He had to write songs that were
intentionally bad, clunky lyrics, awkward rhymes,
but they still had to be catchy enough to work
in a movie. Dangerous business is a masterpiece
of bad songwriting. This leads us perfectly into
section three, the face on the screen. Yes. Because
he wasn't just acting in his own musicals. He
was a legitimate character actor. He was everywhere
in the 70s and 80s. Everywhere. Because of his
size and his wit, he was the perfect foil. He
could play the eccentric, the sidekick, or the
surprising threat. The most famous example has
to be Smokey and the Bandit. Little Eno's Burdette.
Yes. He's wearing these loud cowboy suits, standing
next to Big Eno's challenging Burt Reynolds.
He holds his own against Jackie Gleason. He understood
the visual comedy. He wasn't afraid to be the
butt of the joke, but his character was also
rich and powerful. He had status. Exactly. He
had status. He played little Enos in all three
movies. He was the catalyst for the entire plot.
But my absolute favorite acting story, and this
is one of those, wait, he did that moments, involves
a lot of latex. You're talking about Battle for
the Planet of the Apes. 1973. He played Virgil.
A genius orangutan. A genius orangutan. Now,
just being in the movie is funny enough. It is.
But the story isn't just that he took the role.
It's what he did to promote it. This is legendary.
February 9th, 1973. Paul Williams is booked on
The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson. Primetime.
The biggest stage in television. Now, usually
when a songwriter goes on Carson, you wear a
nice suit, you sit on the couch, you sing your
hit. Standard procedure. Williams spent hours
in the makeup chair beforehand. He came out onto
the stage in full movie quality orangutan prosthetics.
He didn't. Oh, he did. And he didn't break character.
He sat there and smoked a cigarette as an orangutan.
He bantered with Johnny Carson through the mask.
That is amazing. And then this is the kicker.
He sang Rainy Days and Mondays. As an ape. As
a sad, soulful orangutan. It was surreal. It
was performance art. It sums up his willingness
to be playful, to be weird, to subvert his own
image. Totally. He didn't take himself too seriously,
even though he took the work seriously. He really
was ubiquitous. I was scrolling through his IMDb
credits. The love boat. He wrote the lyrics to
the theme song, Love Exciting and New. That's
Paul Williams. I had no idea. And he guest starred
on the show multiple times. Of course he did.
And then there's Babylon 5. Season 2, he played
Tack, an alien aide to an ambassador. This one
feels like a deep cut. It is, but the source
material notes a hilarious detail. His character's
species had a very unique way of finalizing treaties.
Oh no, dare I ask. They finalized agreements
by having sex with the other signees. Only Paul
Williams. From White Lace and Promises to interspecies
treaty sex. It shows his range. And cartoons.
He voiced the penguin in Batman, the animated
series. Which is an iconic version of the penguin.
Very refined, aristocratic. But vicious. And
Professor Williams in Dexter's Laboratory. I
remember that. And recently he was the butcher
in Baby Driver, the Edgar Wright movie. That
role in Baby Driver was genuinely menacing. He's
an arms dealer. He's cold. He's staring down
Jon Hamm and Jamie Foxx. He is. It reminded me
that he can do dark just as well as he can do
light. But that darkness, it wasn't just acting.
And this brings us to the most difficult but
perhaps most important. chapter of the Paul Williams
story. Yeah. The fall. Yeah. We look at this
list of hits, Oscars, Grammys, fame, The Tonight
Show, and it looks perfect. But by the late 70s
and 80s, his personal life was collapsing. It
was the era of excess. And Williams was right
in the center of it. He struggled severely with
alcohol and substance abuse, specifically cocaine.
He has described his ego at the time as rampant.
He was living the rock star life, but it was
eating him alive. There's a quote from the source
material that actually scared me. He said, back
when I was drinking, I would imagine things that
weren't there and I'd get frightened. That is
the reality of addiction that the party stories
don't cover. Paranoia. Isolation. He was the
sad clown in real life. He was writing these
songs about connection, about the family of man,
but he was losing his connection to reality.
He said in one interview that he misplaced a
decade. He just lost the 80s. He became unreliable.
The hits stopped coming. The phone stopped ringing.
He went from being the guy everyone wanted to
the guy people were worried about. But, and this
is why we are talking about him today, he didn't
die. He didn't become a tragedy. He became a
survivor. The turning point came in 1990. He
finally got sober. But he didn't just stop drinking.
He reinvented his purpose. He did. He realized
that the high of fame was empty, so he went back
to school. Like university. He went to UCLA and
became a certified drug rehabilitation counselor.
Wait, so theoretically you could have gone to
rehab in the 90s and your counselor could have
been the guy who wrote Evergreen? Yes. And he
wasn't doing it for publicity. He wasn't doing
it for a reality show. He was doing the work.
He took the night shifts. He sat with people
in their darkest moments. That is incredible
humility. To go from the Oscars podium to a rehab
clinic in the middle of the night. It's amazing.
He co -authored a book called Gratitude and Trust.
Recovery is not just for addicts. He became active
with FacingAddiction .org. I saw a note here
about an event on the National Mall. That was
in 2015. He and bass player Kasim Sultan led
a crowdsourced anthem called Voice of Change.
He stood at the base of the Washington Monument
and led 10 ,000 people in recovery, families
of addicts in song. That is a different kind
of rock star moment. That's not about look at
me. It's about look at us. Exactly. He shifted
from being an entertainer to being a leader.
He used his platform to destigmatize addiction.
And honestly, if the story ended there, it would
be a beautiful redemption arc. It would. Former
star finds peace in service. A perfect ending.
But the universe had one more plot twist. And
it involved robots. Section 5. The Resurrection.
This is my favorite part of the timeline. It's
2013. Electronic music is dominating the world.
And the kings of that world are Daft Punk. The
French duo, The Robots. They are working on Random
Access Memories, which would go on to be one
of the most significant electronic albums ever
made. A modern classic. And they wanted to explore
the history of pop music. They didn't want samples.
They wanted the real thing. They wanted the soul
of the 70s. So they called Paul Williams. Williams
has the best quote about this. He said, Then
I got sober and two robots called and asked me
to make an album. It sounds like a hallucination
from his drinking days. It does. But it was real.
He went into the studio with them. He co -wrote
a song called Beyond. And he co -wrote and sang
lead vocals on a track called Touch. Touch. We
have to talk about this song. It is. It's a masterpiece.
It's eight minutes long. It's an odyssey. It
starts scary. It's discordant, robotic, almost
glitchy. That represents the isolation, the feeling
of being a machine. But then the clouds part,
and this beautiful, heartbreaking melody comes
in, and it's Paul Williams' voice. Touch, sweet
touch. You've given me too much to feel. It's
a song about a robot trying to understand human
emotion. And who better to sing that than Paul
Williams? A man who spent his life trying to
articulate emotions, who numbed them with drugs,
and then had to learn how to feel again in sobriety.
It's biographical. It brings me to tears every
time. It feels like his entire life story in
one song. The darkness, the confusion, and then
the clarity. The industry agreed. Dap punk won
album of the year at the 2014 Grammys. And because
Thomas and Guy Manuel, the robots, don't speak
in public. They sent Paul to the mic. Imagine
the scene. You have Pharrell Williams, Nile Rodgers,
and these two guys in chrome helmets. And then
73 -year -old Paul Williams steps up. The guy
from the Muppet movie. The guy who was little
Enos. And he delivers this incredible speech.
He said, Captain Kirk uses the Enterprise. They
daft pumps. He talked about the elegance and
class of the collaboration. It was the elder
statesman bridging the gap to the future. And
that moment seemed to unlock a whole new career
for him. cool again. He wasn't just oldies. He
was retro cool. He did. He collaborated with
the Scissor Sisters on their album Ta -Da. He
worked with Gustavo Santolala on the Book of
Life soundtrack. They wrote the Apology song.
And Community. He was on Community. The illegal
textbook dealer. It's such a niche joke, but
he played it perfectly. He refuses to buy a batch
of misprinted chemistry textbooks. It's a deep
cut for fans. And looking at the notes, he is
still at it. April 2025. This is the ultimate
fever dream sentence. He performed Rainbow Connection
at Yo Gabba Gabba Coachella. Excuse me. He was
on stage with Portugal, The Man, and Weird Al
Yankovic. No way. At Coachella singing with the
Yo Gabba Gabba characters. That proves he transcends
genre. He transcends generations. He is just.
Paul Williams. He also appeared in Yoga Bagadalan
in 2024. He loves working with kids programming.
It goes back to that purity of spirit we talked
about with the Muppets. He never lost that sense
of wonder. We've covered the fun stuff, but we
should mention that he's arguably one of the
most powerful people in the music industry, business
-wise, too. Yes. Since 2009, he has been the
president and chairman of ASCAP. Which is the
American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers.
It's a huge deal. In the age of Spotify, Apple
Music, and AI, he is the guy fighting to make
sure songwriters actually get paid. Right. He's
testifying before Congress. He's fighting for
copyright reform. He knows how hard the business
can be. And he's using his twilight years to
protect the next generation of Paul Williamses.
It's a serious legacy. Songwriters Hall of Fame,
National Recording Registry, ESCAP President.
And he frames it all with such humility. He talks
about his height, his recovery. He uses his vulnerability
as a superpower. He never pretends to be something
he isn't. Except when he's an orangutan. Except
when he's an orangutan. Exactly. So as we wrap
this up, how do we summarize? The man. How do
we tie all these threads together? I think we
look at the trajectory. He started as a comedy
writer who wanted to be loved. He became the
voice of love for a generation. He lost himself
in the success of it all. And then he found himself
again by being of service to others. It makes
you think about the rainbow connection differently.
Someday we'll find it. The rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers, and me. When he wrote
that, he was chasing the rainbow. He was chasing
the Oscar, the hit, the applause. And now? Now,
I think he realized the connection isn't the
award. It's the people. It's the 10 ,000 people
on the National Mall. It's the recovering addict
he counseled. It's the robots who just wanted
to make art. That's the real magic. He found
the connection by getting sober and waking up.
The rainbow connection might actually be clarity.
That is a beautiful thought. From the bank commercial
to the robots, Paul Williams has kept us dreaming.
Absolutely. Thanks for listening to this deep
dive. If you want a homework assignment, go listen
to Touched by Daft Punk. Then listen to We've
Only Just Begun. Marvel at the fact that they
came from the same mind. And maybe, just maybe,
watch Phantom of the Paradise if you're feeling
brave. We'll see you next time.