Not good of an idea

I'd tried the stove trick twice before, once burning my elbow and again incinerating most of my dishrags which had been left carelessly nearby by someone who will remain nameless for the sake of anonymity (me).
"It really not very good of an idea," my landlord reprimanded me when he arrived with the fire extinguisher. "Make a fire but not to cook with. Just fire for fire. Not good of an idea."
He had no discernable accent but seemed to have a serious syntax and grammar issue of some sort.
"You don't to just play music and make a fire with a reason out!" he insisted again.
"A reason out?"
"Yes! Yes!" He doused the flames with expert shots of the white powder and waved an angry hand at me. "You're not needing any fire to play music just! Not needing at all!"
I stomped out an falling ember and considered his mangled argument.
"But I do need it... It changes the vibe. Changes the atmosphere."
"How?!" he yelped, getting upset now. "How does it the vibe changing?! Play a song in winter! Play a song in Caribbean! Still just a song!"
The Caribbean? He'd lost me. I tried to explain more carefully.
"The conditions under which I play a song will change the song."
He still seemed lost, so I tried again. "Conditions I play song in which under the change..."
"I understand!" he shouted, but was suddenly distracted. He leaned intently to the left, drew a finger to his mouth to silence me, then hustled down the hallway to throw the door to my bathroom open.
The sink was stopped up with towels and water was running onto the floor. The bathtub was in similar condition and too overflowing. A thin ocean of frothy water lapped lazily across the linoleum.
He shot me an irate look.
"I was writing a ballad," I explained, motioning to the water-logged room. "It adds a certain edge to the music. A certain ambiance."
I shrugged.

I didn't end up living in that apartment too long.