Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood. Something in my veins, bloodier than blood.
Every little thing is gonna tear you apart.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Holidaze
What's up blog, listen, I put a few songs on myspace, one from This Gun and the closing track from Autumn Rose. That was good to do. Anyway, the holidays are fast approaching, and I have nothing really finished for City is Dark, or Gladys Love (Torch Songs & the Charred Remains).
love, Matt
love, Matt
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Quick Message.
So, I can't use blogger at work anymore, so I've been reduced to blogging at purevolume.com/davidrelliott. Keep in mind that it still seems like I'm working on Don't Panic.
Monday, November 24, 2008
One More Day (to my work week)
"Prison guards are intense." That's how I'd open a short story about a music journalist going into a prison to interview a legendary singer/songwriter who's been imprisoned for killing his wife. It would have awesome dialogue because obviously both people would be me.
If I was in No Show Jones right now I would write a song called Kiss My Ass and the chorus line would be, 'She said, kiss my ass,I said darlin you mean kiss it goodbye,' and then a solo after every chorus.
Also, here is my ideal track list for City is Dark:
01: That's The Way Love Goes*
02: Cut You Down (Sad Girls & Cigarettes)*
03: Last November*
04: Blood On Blood
05: One More Day*
06: Summer of '69 (My Old Man)
07: Cheap Wine & Cigarettes*
08: Tears of Ice in the Chapel
09: Killed By Death
* indicates songs that actually exist.
Killed By Death is not a cover song.
NICE. My last customer was from Lincoln, Nebraska...with a sawed off 14 on my leg...
Interesting fact about David R. Elliott, my email for like 2 years was dirtyrottenrhymer@eminemworld.com. That just occurred to me for some reason. A break in the calls! NVM. False alarm it was a nobody. I love those.
If I was in No Show Jones right now I would write a song called Kiss My Ass and the chorus line would be, 'She said, kiss my ass,I said darlin you mean kiss it goodbye,' and then a solo after every chorus.
Also, here is my ideal track list for City is Dark:
01: That's The Way Love Goes*
02: Cut You Down (Sad Girls & Cigarettes)*
03: Last November*
04: Blood On Blood
05: One More Day*
06: Summer of '69 (My Old Man)
07: Cheap Wine & Cigarettes*
08: Tears of Ice in the Chapel
09: Killed By Death
* indicates songs that actually exist.
Killed By Death is not a cover song.
NICE. My last customer was from Lincoln, Nebraska...with a sawed off 14 on my leg...
Interesting fact about David R. Elliott, my email for like 2 years was dirtyrottenrhymer@eminemworld.com. That just occurred to me for some reason. A break in the calls! NVM. False alarm it was a nobody. I love those.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Living The Legend (it's an insider with no one who reads this)
1:30: I'm 20 minutes late today. I woke up at 10 this morning and I was gonna call someone and then didn't. I got up slowly and made coffee.Then I tidied the livingroom around JD's comatose body. Then I made bacon & eggs and woke up Al Pal, who was looking the worse for wear on account of his two and a half glasses of wine last night. Tsk. He wanted to know why there was pen on his fingers. So we leave the house way late and get a coffee and smokes. Then JD leaves to meethis stepdad, I go to work, and Al Pal goes home, I think. So I peel to work, chainsmoking and spilling coffee on my SPCA gloves. I get here very late, swipe in, fill my water bottle, exhange pleasantries with Anna and chug some water before I finally sign on the phone, 20 minutes late. My first few calls go well, in that I don't screw anythingup because unlike yesterday, I am sobre.
1:53: I'm already sick of this and want to go home, but not to the extreme to which I'll feel come 8 hours from now. I have to be hereuntil 11 o'clock, and this does not bode well with me, at all. I shouldn't be writing this at work because I'm going to be in shit. Not that I'm captain fantastic at work lately. The high school-esque aspectof the job has worn out it's novelty and now it just sucks.
2:08: I hate myself.
2:30: I wish I was brainstorming and researching and writing for Cityis Dark, but I am not. No one ever asks me why I'm constantly writingmy name in my own personal font, with various titles and creative underlinesthat aren't really that creative if you can see my tattoos. I need a lot more tattoos than I have, and the reason for that is that no oneis ever taken aback by how many tattoos I have. The best part of todayis how my hair looks. That is not ironic. I've listened to the song'Nebraska' at least 15 times already today. I'm sore everywhere includingmy eyeballs. For no reason at all. Every call makes me slightly dumber,which is why I should be reading Tom Wolfe right now instead of blogging.
3:02: I'm really anxious and shaky and my palms are sweating. This meansI need a cigarette, or I just can't handle everyday life. Who knows? Ihave a break in 18 minutes and right now I'm in wrap up for no good reason.(Sorry for the jargon.) I have Atlantic City stuck in my head even though every time it's come on my iPod today I've skipped to Johnny 99. Some girlsare too hot. Sorry. 11 minutes. There are two ways to know that your jobsucks: One was brought to my attention by Chris Rock, who said that if you are an adult and you have a half-hour lunch break, your job sucks. The otherI was talking about with JD last night, and that's if you find yourselflooking at the time 20 times an hour. The last call I took frustrated me morethan anything that's happened in like a week.
3:20: SMOKE.
3:41: How the fuck am I 6 minutes late? You know what, though, fuck a 15 minute break. If I had one smoke I could totally do it, but that's just nothappening, at least not if they don't want me to freak out and peel. Which would hurt me more than them.
4:04: This is going to be long, I guess. It is definitely winter now, and I know that because I was depressed for no reason all last night. Despite the wine and dessert. But on the plus side, I should be able to write a lot of thisalbum in the next two weeks. Maybe not, I can never tell. I wish I had some uppers. I'm msg-ing with Jamie Fagan right now, as I will be until he goes home, which apparently won't be long because he usually isn't here until 4:30.I just made this woman's life and all I had to do was put some letters in some places. This is not a rewarding job. My smoke break was pretty pleasant though, on account of Frank the Tank rushing to the smoke shack to see whassup. I hopeI don't get fired. Sort of. I am way too anxious right now. I bet I can getsome pills covered if I use my new medical coverage here. Hmm.
4:20: Yes, I did that on purpose. I always notice when it's 4:20, whether youthink that's lame or not. I definitely agree with you though. I want to make an old timer friendly country album with lots of references to where I grew upand the cruelty and compassion of the church. A little.
4:47: I was just monitered. Fortunately both calls went really well, so it's better than the monitorials I didn't know about.
5:00: 30 minutes. Then I get to smoke 3 cigarettes and fill up my water bottle.I should bring food, maybe. I never think to do that, even though I have severallunch type items in my cupbert. I can always tell when I'm reading Klosterman a lot. I would like to write a comprehensive review of something. I think oneof my dreams is to have a journalist with some credibility review my album andnot say it sucks. I don't even need them to say I'm incredible (that's what groupiesare for) I just would like them to be like, 'this should exist.' I'll most likely be like Ryan Adams. I'll release my first album to much critical acclaim and then everyone will pretend I haven't improved 12 years later even if I make the bestalbum of my career.
6:04: So my lunch is over, and I'm listening to myself in my headphones, althoughif anyone asks I'm listening to Nebraska again. I'm gonna reply to some e-mails.Fuck. There are 4 calls waiting, so I'm not getting wished out tonight at all.Okay it's down to none, maybe everything will be okay. Next break is an hour and a half. I can do this.
6:09: I like vertical stripes. Outlook is a lot like facebook chat but at work.I wonder what I would tell someone if they asked me why the album is called City is Dark. I'll get back to you on that.
6:35: City is dark refers to the...um. Uh. I write at night? Yeh. I write at night a lot and I find myself wandering around the city's center year roundin the middle of the night, especially on weekdays. Also it sounds good. Alsoit sucks being outside at night in December if you're at all sobre. I still feel like shit.
6:50: I just killed 5 minutes by going to the bathroom. I check my hair andmake faces at myself. I also threw up a Wu sign to Frank. I haven't transferredanyone today. Wierd.
7:00: Yeh, it's cold lord/ on our front porch/ the gavel fallin, for my old man/snow fills his boots/ in frostbit stardust/ night is dark, lord, the city sucks.Snow is fallin, on our pavement/ tears are frozen, to her cheeks/ she says I don'tpray dad, and they won't let me in the church.
7:52: I have one more smoke break before 11. I am not getting wished, and thatis all there is to it. Fuck. One more day after this and I can relax for three days, although I'm sure there will be plenty of things I'll have to get into those days. Maybe JD will want to do some DXM this week. IT seems like he would.Not that I'm that kinda guy, but I guess I almost am. I should read something on wikipedia. Thus learning something. I want a hard manual labour union job andalso some 40-year-old scotch. Reach for the stars.
8:15: The last customer I had was the best I've had so far. He was from Albertaand he just kept swearing casually, which I think is awesome. Then when I askedfor his credit card he was like, 'Alright, let's see how fast you can do this, you ready?' and obviously I was like, 'yup,' and he spat out the numbers as fast aspossible but I'm fucking awesome so I got all the numbers correct. He was very impressed, of this I'm sure, because he asked me if I was shitting him. I wasn't.
8:33: Anna's gone, so now I have to keep to myself for 2 and a half hours, whichis cool, as I am apparently super involved in this blog post. I really fucking wish they would send me home. I guess that's why it's called the wish list. Here's thething about being here this long: my brain is now mush, for the most part, and I feel like a robot (but a rebellious robot who just wants to break free and breaksome robot hearts).
8:56: .
9:00: I saw her standin on her front lawn, just a twirlin her baton.
9:18: The funniest name I've heard today is Candy Hatch. Awesome.
9:56: You know what isn't awesome? Bitches. It's gonna be a long hour. I love the internet, but it occurs to me that a majority of the worst things thathave happened to me in the last year had a lot to do with the internet. MaybeI'm just paranoid.
10:21: 39 minutes...
10:25: This woman lives on 16th Avenue! Lol, remember when they seemed worth making fun of? Good times.
10:44: 16 minutes now. I feel it comin down, lord, oh jesus I am losing it.
10:50: Remember when I lived on Murder row? That was fucking nuts. It's wierd fending for yourself when you're really selfish but also really cheap. I geuss that works for us nineties folks though. Or something. See I don't even know what I'm talking about.
10:52: Yes, I am moving to Halifax, probably in April.
10:53: Alright, I'm gonna start putting my shit together so I can go home and get blazed, as the kids say. This has been a long and useless day.
1:53: I'm already sick of this and want to go home, but not to the extreme to which I'll feel come 8 hours from now. I have to be hereuntil 11 o'clock, and this does not bode well with me, at all. I shouldn't be writing this at work because I'm going to be in shit. Not that I'm captain fantastic at work lately. The high school-esque aspectof the job has worn out it's novelty and now it just sucks.
2:08: I hate myself.
2:30: I wish I was brainstorming and researching and writing for Cityis Dark, but I am not. No one ever asks me why I'm constantly writingmy name in my own personal font, with various titles and creative underlinesthat aren't really that creative if you can see my tattoos. I need a lot more tattoos than I have, and the reason for that is that no oneis ever taken aback by how many tattoos I have. The best part of todayis how my hair looks. That is not ironic. I've listened to the song'Nebraska' at least 15 times already today. I'm sore everywhere includingmy eyeballs. For no reason at all. Every call makes me slightly dumber,which is why I should be reading Tom Wolfe right now instead of blogging.
3:02: I'm really anxious and shaky and my palms are sweating. This meansI need a cigarette, or I just can't handle everyday life. Who knows? Ihave a break in 18 minutes and right now I'm in wrap up for no good reason.(Sorry for the jargon.) I have Atlantic City stuck in my head even though every time it's come on my iPod today I've skipped to Johnny 99. Some girlsare too hot. Sorry. 11 minutes. There are two ways to know that your jobsucks: One was brought to my attention by Chris Rock, who said that if you are an adult and you have a half-hour lunch break, your job sucks. The otherI was talking about with JD last night, and that's if you find yourselflooking at the time 20 times an hour. The last call I took frustrated me morethan anything that's happened in like a week.
3:20: SMOKE.
3:41: How the fuck am I 6 minutes late? You know what, though, fuck a 15 minute break. If I had one smoke I could totally do it, but that's just nothappening, at least not if they don't want me to freak out and peel. Which would hurt me more than them.
4:04: This is going to be long, I guess. It is definitely winter now, and I know that because I was depressed for no reason all last night. Despite the wine and dessert. But on the plus side, I should be able to write a lot of thisalbum in the next two weeks. Maybe not, I can never tell. I wish I had some uppers. I'm msg-ing with Jamie Fagan right now, as I will be until he goes home, which apparently won't be long because he usually isn't here until 4:30.I just made this woman's life and all I had to do was put some letters in some places. This is not a rewarding job. My smoke break was pretty pleasant though, on account of Frank the Tank rushing to the smoke shack to see whassup. I hopeI don't get fired. Sort of. I am way too anxious right now. I bet I can getsome pills covered if I use my new medical coverage here. Hmm.
4:20: Yes, I did that on purpose. I always notice when it's 4:20, whether youthink that's lame or not. I definitely agree with you though. I want to make an old timer friendly country album with lots of references to where I grew upand the cruelty and compassion of the church. A little.
4:47: I was just monitered. Fortunately both calls went really well, so it's better than the monitorials I didn't know about.
5:00: 30 minutes. Then I get to smoke 3 cigarettes and fill up my water bottle.I should bring food, maybe. I never think to do that, even though I have severallunch type items in my cupbert. I can always tell when I'm reading Klosterman a lot. I would like to write a comprehensive review of something. I think oneof my dreams is to have a journalist with some credibility review my album andnot say it sucks. I don't even need them to say I'm incredible (that's what groupiesare for) I just would like them to be like, 'this should exist.' I'll most likely be like Ryan Adams. I'll release my first album to much critical acclaim and then everyone will pretend I haven't improved 12 years later even if I make the bestalbum of my career.
6:04: So my lunch is over, and I'm listening to myself in my headphones, althoughif anyone asks I'm listening to Nebraska again. I'm gonna reply to some e-mails.Fuck. There are 4 calls waiting, so I'm not getting wished out tonight at all.Okay it's down to none, maybe everything will be okay. Next break is an hour and a half. I can do this.
6:09: I like vertical stripes. Outlook is a lot like facebook chat but at work.I wonder what I would tell someone if they asked me why the album is called City is Dark. I'll get back to you on that.
6:35: City is dark refers to the...um. Uh. I write at night? Yeh. I write at night a lot and I find myself wandering around the city's center year roundin the middle of the night, especially on weekdays. Also it sounds good. Alsoit sucks being outside at night in December if you're at all sobre. I still feel like shit.
6:50: I just killed 5 minutes by going to the bathroom. I check my hair andmake faces at myself. I also threw up a Wu sign to Frank. I haven't transferredanyone today. Wierd.
7:00: Yeh, it's cold lord/ on our front porch/ the gavel fallin, for my old man/snow fills his boots/ in frostbit stardust/ night is dark, lord, the city sucks.Snow is fallin, on our pavement/ tears are frozen, to her cheeks/ she says I don'tpray dad, and they won't let me in the church.
7:52: I have one more smoke break before 11. I am not getting wished, and thatis all there is to it. Fuck. One more day after this and I can relax for three days, although I'm sure there will be plenty of things I'll have to get into those days. Maybe JD will want to do some DXM this week. IT seems like he would.Not that I'm that kinda guy, but I guess I almost am. I should read something on wikipedia. Thus learning something. I want a hard manual labour union job andalso some 40-year-old scotch. Reach for the stars.
8:15: The last customer I had was the best I've had so far. He was from Albertaand he just kept swearing casually, which I think is awesome. Then when I askedfor his credit card he was like, 'Alright, let's see how fast you can do this, you ready?' and obviously I was like, 'yup,' and he spat out the numbers as fast aspossible but I'm fucking awesome so I got all the numbers correct. He was very impressed, of this I'm sure, because he asked me if I was shitting him. I wasn't.
8:33: Anna's gone, so now I have to keep to myself for 2 and a half hours, whichis cool, as I am apparently super involved in this blog post. I really fucking wish they would send me home. I guess that's why it's called the wish list. Here's thething about being here this long: my brain is now mush, for the most part, and I feel like a robot (but a rebellious robot who just wants to break free and breaksome robot hearts).
8:56: .
9:00: I saw her standin on her front lawn, just a twirlin her baton.
9:18: The funniest name I've heard today is Candy Hatch. Awesome.
9:56: You know what isn't awesome? Bitches. It's gonna be a long hour. I love the internet, but it occurs to me that a majority of the worst things thathave happened to me in the last year had a lot to do with the internet. MaybeI'm just paranoid.
10:21: 39 minutes...
10:25: This woman lives on 16th Avenue! Lol, remember when they seemed worth making fun of? Good times.
10:44: 16 minutes now. I feel it comin down, lord, oh jesus I am losing it.
10:50: Remember when I lived on Murder row? That was fucking nuts. It's wierd fending for yourself when you're really selfish but also really cheap. I geuss that works for us nineties folks though. Or something. See I don't even know what I'm talking about.
10:52: Yes, I am moving to Halifax, probably in April.
10:53: Alright, I'm gonna start putting my shit together so I can go home and get blazed, as the kids say. This has been a long and useless day.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
City Is Dark
Okay, so I just now figured out that I can blog from work. Though I use the word 'can,' rather loosely. I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to access any websites of this sort, but, uh...whatev, fuck this job. It's been a really long time since I've blogged at all so I don't really know specifically what I want to write in this, but things are kind of swell, aside from this shitty job. I've finished two more albums since the last time I wrote in this, titled 'Autumn Rose,' and 'Goodnight Marigold,' respectively. I just came up with a title for the album I'm working on now, and it will be called, 'City is Dark (the December Album).' The 'lead single' is called 'That's the Way Love Goes,' and here are the lyrics. I want to be a country musician:
She tells me, 'I just wanna lose a couple nights,
so tell me when the darkness disappears.
I don't know why anybody wants me,
or where I'm gonna be come next year.
She says, 'I know I ain't offerin much a nothin,
it's a gamble knowin if I go or stay,
and I can't be relied on maybe sometimes,'
but someone's gonna love you anyway
Cause when you smile,
nothin much matters,
to a man like this one,
with two cold shoulders and a handful a dust...
Honey, I ain't askin much.
She says, 'Trust is real important but it's hard though,
and it's worth it just to hear him call my name,
and I been gettin lonesome since the cold come,
and it's hard keepin track a different days.
The months have been fallin off the calender,
and I'm bound to start forgettin people's names.
So I'm gonna stay inside on Sunday,
and imagine bein in a different place.'
I originally wanted to record another chorus over this one at the end and it would've been:
Even heavy metal girls
say I can't combine anything
I know it's comin down
but I don't nothin...anymore...
and I ain't askin much.
but anyway it didn't really work.
I'm gonna try to get it onto myspace, I have a relatively awesome recording of it. JD and I have something of a setup now so we've been recording a bunch. We plan on redoing This Gun (although it will have 2 or 3 less tracks than the cassette version) and Don't Panic (which I'm still adament will be my lesser appreciated masterpiece). We're also going to finish JD's first album, which is going to be called, 'Songs You Can Enjoy.' We're moving to Halifax in April, I think, and then we will be famous, I assume. After City Is Dark I'm going to record a Xmas album, that I'll probably just call Blue Christmas and then a subtitle of some kind.
I spend all my time between calls on wikipedia now. I read the articles on Springsteen, Jim Croce, Saint John, Barack Obama, Hank Williams and Slim Whitman in the past little while. I also figured out that I could visit my freewebs sites so I've been nostalgia surfing.
Speaking of Springsteen, my new thing is Nebraska, Human Touch, and my Jim Croce DVD. I bought Springsteen's VH1 storytellers the other day and it is fucking awesome. Nebraska just kills you. Appropriately. Anyway so I'm trying to move in a country/Springsteen direction now, so I might even write some narratives. That's not the first time I've said I'll do that though.
The funniest thing about my old websites are the 'NEWS' sections, because they're always things I never ended up actually doing. In 20 minutes I will be finished my ten hour shift, and I will be going home to red and white wine, and some kind of concoction involving brie cheese. I am excited. This is what my Saturday is like. I was an hour late today, though, so I shouldn't complain. I had to cross this girl off my 'chicks at work to hit on' list today, and I'm not pumped about it. Anyway, I have nine minutes left so I'm going to work on a poster type thing for City is Dark, which you can fuck off if you don't like, I like three word titles with one syllable words.
love, Matt
She tells me, 'I just wanna lose a couple nights,
so tell me when the darkness disappears.
I don't know why anybody wants me,
or where I'm gonna be come next year.
She says, 'I know I ain't offerin much a nothin,
it's a gamble knowin if I go or stay,
and I can't be relied on maybe sometimes,'
but someone's gonna love you anyway
Cause when you smile,
nothin much matters,
to a man like this one,
with two cold shoulders and a handful a dust...
Honey, I ain't askin much.
She says, 'Trust is real important but it's hard though,
and it's worth it just to hear him call my name,
and I been gettin lonesome since the cold come,
and it's hard keepin track a different days.
The months have been fallin off the calender,
and I'm bound to start forgettin people's names.
So I'm gonna stay inside on Sunday,
and imagine bein in a different place.'
I originally wanted to record another chorus over this one at the end and it would've been:
Even heavy metal girls
say I can't combine anything
I know it's comin down
but I don't nothin...anymore...
and I ain't askin much.
but anyway it didn't really work.
I'm gonna try to get it onto myspace, I have a relatively awesome recording of it. JD and I have something of a setup now so we've been recording a bunch. We plan on redoing This Gun (although it will have 2 or 3 less tracks than the cassette version) and Don't Panic (which I'm still adament will be my lesser appreciated masterpiece). We're also going to finish JD's first album, which is going to be called, 'Songs You Can Enjoy.' We're moving to Halifax in April, I think, and then we will be famous, I assume. After City Is Dark I'm going to record a Xmas album, that I'll probably just call Blue Christmas and then a subtitle of some kind.
I spend all my time between calls on wikipedia now. I read the articles on Springsteen, Jim Croce, Saint John, Barack Obama, Hank Williams and Slim Whitman in the past little while. I also figured out that I could visit my freewebs sites so I've been nostalgia surfing.
Speaking of Springsteen, my new thing is Nebraska, Human Touch, and my Jim Croce DVD. I bought Springsteen's VH1 storytellers the other day and it is fucking awesome. Nebraska just kills you. Appropriately. Anyway so I'm trying to move in a country/Springsteen direction now, so I might even write some narratives. That's not the first time I've said I'll do that though.
The funniest thing about my old websites are the 'NEWS' sections, because they're always things I never ended up actually doing. In 20 minutes I will be finished my ten hour shift, and I will be going home to red and white wine, and some kind of concoction involving brie cheese. I am excited. This is what my Saturday is like. I was an hour late today, though, so I shouldn't complain. I had to cross this girl off my 'chicks at work to hit on' list today, and I'm not pumped about it. Anyway, I have nine minutes left so I'm going to work on a poster type thing for City is Dark, which you can fuck off if you don't like, I like three word titles with one syllable words.
love, Matt
Monday, July 7, 2008
considerations for 'Str8 Shootin Woman'
Breaking Hearts (new song)
It's Gonna Be Obvious (This Gun reject)
Mouth Full of Rotten Teeth (This Gun reject)
Nothing's Perfect (This Gun reject)
You Don't Want to Break My Heart (Tuesdays reject)
Drinkin Some Wine (Goin Over the Hill)
Small Parade (Live Rain Dogs)
La Estocada (Live Rain Dogs)
Do Re Mi (rendition)
What Katie Did (cover)
That's what I have so far, but I haven't gone through all the tapes, and I wanna put talking and stuff on it too. But, I'm happy to say that it's already been easier than I expected.
It's Gonna Be Obvious (This Gun reject)
Mouth Full of Rotten Teeth (This Gun reject)
Nothing's Perfect (This Gun reject)
You Don't Want to Break My Heart (Tuesdays reject)
Drinkin Some Wine (Goin Over the Hill)
Small Parade (Live Rain Dogs)
La Estocada (Live Rain Dogs)
Do Re Mi (rendition)
What Katie Did (cover)
That's what I have so far, but I haven't gone through all the tapes, and I wanna put talking and stuff on it too. But, I'm happy to say that it's already been easier than I expected.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
To Marie, With Honesty and Accumulative Personal Nihilism
I'd like to preface the following blogpost by dedicating it to the following: Rock City Tobacco, 'Rock N Roll,' Dawson's Creek, a girl I met when I was sixteen, and also Stef.
As it burns like money,
the need, I mean,
I listen to talk radio
and become emotionally shattered
and teary-eyed
crazily moved
by the sharp longing
to hope for anything
hope for everyone
trust anyone
love people
but I don't think I can/will.
I wanna stand on the corner with a handful of pills
and just fucking scream
like I was young again
and I can't afford to keep giving these
fucking crackheads
my cigarettes.
More medecine.
(Marie with the cracked lips
asleep on a mattress
a rock in her right hand
condoms on the night stand,
and shriveled on the floor with diseases)
(Marie with the bright eyes
who won't let me inside
who looks straight at me and lies
looking for a sign,
her mother said, 'Marie, find Jesus.')
Faith in a pamphlet
Safe in a tablet.
(How'd it get worse? That's stupid.)
I don't care enough to not love Marie
either one or both or none
no one
more medecine
plateau.
'Marie, are you sleeping?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Because it's the only way I can dream.'
'What do you aspire to be?'
'Loved.'
'I understand that, I think.'
'Not really, I don't think you do because if you did your love for me wouldn't hinge on fiction.'
'Yes it would. Besides, why are you so sad?'
'You would love me less if I was happy.'
'That's not true.'
'I think it is.'
As it burns like money,
the need, I mean,
I listen to talk radio
and become emotionally shattered
and teary-eyed
crazily moved
by the sharp longing
to hope for anything
hope for everyone
trust anyone
love people
but I don't think I can/will.
I wanna stand on the corner with a handful of pills
and just fucking scream
like I was young again
and I can't afford to keep giving these
fucking crackheads
my cigarettes.
More medecine.
(Marie with the cracked lips
asleep on a mattress
a rock in her right hand
condoms on the night stand,
and shriveled on the floor with diseases)
(Marie with the bright eyes
who won't let me inside
who looks straight at me and lies
looking for a sign,
her mother said, 'Marie, find Jesus.')
Faith in a pamphlet
Safe in a tablet.
(How'd it get worse? That's stupid.)
I don't care enough to not love Marie
either one or both or none
no one
more medecine
plateau.
'Marie, are you sleeping?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Because it's the only way I can dream.'
'What do you aspire to be?'
'Loved.'
'I understand that, I think.'
'Not really, I don't think you do because if you did your love for me wouldn't hinge on fiction.'
'Yes it would. Besides, why are you so sad?'
'You would love me less if I was happy.'
'That's not true.'
'I think it is.'
Thursday, June 19, 2008
and a loud roar
rises from the crowd like an iron fist
to the sky
and everyone screams their own name
because they don't know who they are
and with one final right-click and delete
we'll all be useless
sitting in the recycle bin
and then there's that awful
tearing screech of the wind
breaking through the opened window
and it's like
the windshield might as well crash in
like Sunday morning.
rises from the crowd like an iron fist
to the sky
and everyone screams their own name
because they don't know who they are
and with one final right-click and delete
we'll all be useless
sitting in the recycle bin
and then there's that awful
tearing screech of the wind
breaking through the opened window
and it's like
the windshield might as well crash in
like Sunday morning.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
'Don't Panic' is well underway and I'm beginning to understand it as a whole. Originally I wanted the concept to explore and express the development of an anxiety disorder, but fuck that, I'm gonna do what I know best instead. I'm gonna cover a standard, rip off an insanely poppy love song, evoke the nineties, act like I'm writing prose when I'm writing lyrics, explore what I think I can pull off and act like it isn't pretentious because it's ambitious, and explain my concept to as many people as possible in as elaborate a way as possible. I'd like this album to be a perfect follow-up to This Gun. I feel that I am conquering 90's and 50's pop on this album. I also feel that I am more and more abandoning rock for pop. I also find that I'm expirementing more with my limitations, and also percocets. This has been a wildly successful weekend. Also I'm doing this hilarious messaging about the production of my album with my producer (lol) Jamie F. Fun recordin tymes. (This is no discredit to Jamie F, I am pumped to work with him and I am insanely appreciative that he's taking it seriously as a project. It's awesome.)
editor's note: write while stoned less
editor's note: write while stoned less
Friday, May 30, 2008
poppin percocet, I'm a nervous wreck (slim shady lp fa lyfe)
So I just really wanted to write right now. Unfortunate sentence, that. I'm currently high on percocets, and I'm enjoying it a fair amount. The thing about today is that it was the best day I've had in a really long time. I am in a good mood. This is good. I should write something really, really profound. Interesting day today. Bought some neat stuff at Val Vil, ate some McD's, got a bunch of cat food, etc. Got some food for the geckos. The weekend is already going really well. Wierd.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sometimes They Attack You, I Guess, et. al.,
Would she be flattered,
if I told her what she came with?
last night the ocean
changed her mind when I met her
and the waves that hit the rocks
got deeper and deeper
til i swam in the wrong direction,
thought she might be floating
I gathered all the matches
and put them in my pockets
the ocean got boring
stopped talking, and dropped it
and I watched for your figure
in a doorway, by the statues
but they didn't move
and neither did you
this time it's different,
don't tell me anything
So I stood on a smaller step
and gathered my conscience
she told me, don't panic,
just breathe like an author
and it shouldn't be awkward
or clumsy or dismal
I just wait for the record
to scatter and flatten
when you were sixteen
you held your wrists up
and sang like a preacher
in the eyes of armageddon
and the world was too big
and you ran out of corners
and the cellphone was dead
and you ran out of quarters
but she wouldn't move
and neither would you
and I wouldn't move
and neither would you
this time it's different,
don't tell me anything
sometimes they attack you, I guess
and the rest.
if I told her what she came with?
last night the ocean
changed her mind when I met her
and the waves that hit the rocks
got deeper and deeper
til i swam in the wrong direction,
thought she might be floating
I gathered all the matches
and put them in my pockets
the ocean got boring
stopped talking, and dropped it
and I watched for your figure
in a doorway, by the statues
but they didn't move
and neither did you
this time it's different,
don't tell me anything
So I stood on a smaller step
and gathered my conscience
she told me, don't panic,
just breathe like an author
and it shouldn't be awkward
or clumsy or dismal
I just wait for the record
to scatter and flatten
when you were sixteen
you held your wrists up
and sang like a preacher
in the eyes of armageddon
and the world was too big
and you ran out of corners
and the cellphone was dead
and you ran out of quarters
but she wouldn't move
and neither would you
and I wouldn't move
and neither would you
this time it's different,
don't tell me anything
sometimes they attack you, I guess
and the rest.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Snake Eyes
I've had this thing lately where I'm like, 'fuck snake eyes,' and with completely unreasonable reasons, but like...I'm the complicated artsy type, right, so it's all good. I've just been insisting that my 'lesser-known,' and 'more experimental' (lol, I have no experimental songs) shit is better and worth more talk. This is almost true. But for real, Snake Eyes is my Teen Spirit or whatever and I like pretending to hate it but I was strolling memory lane today and wanted to blog about it, so this is the thing with Snake Eyes.
Snake Eyes took an assload of work to write. Probably more than any other song I've written, in that I usually sit down and write some shit, but this song took like three weeks of lyric-writing, song studying, heartbreak and youtube.
My thing at the time was to go all out on the sad bastard pop music thing. I wanted to capture the over-dramaticism of like, Paul Anka when he's sad bastard, and the catchiness and perfection (ugh) of crooner shit (ie standards). Plus I wanted to write a song to convince this girl that I was worth her time. During this time, this guy Evan I was selling drugs with showed me this video on youtube of My Chemical Romance doing their song, Cancer, with just a guitar. And I won't explain why it took a while to convince me to watch fucking MCR, but I watched it, and it kicked my ass and I became obsessed and frustrated with the fact that they had written such a bomb song based on pretty much the same principles I had in mind (even if they didn't realize). Also I was listening to the oldies station all fucking day at work, and soaking it in, trying to figure it out.
Plus writing the lyrics took like 25 pages of lyric writing and rewriting. (Just said writing three times in one sentence, ugh.) Then one night I was at my parent's house, creeping in the front room by myself with a lamp and a notebook and my little brother's guitar and the shit just came together, finally. Although it took a lot of working out the kinks and such.
Then it was finished and I dropped it on some folks and that went pretty well. Never showed it to the girl though. Yet.
editor's note: also, i later realized that for the main riff in the song i literally play the chords from 'about a girl' in reverse, with a capo.
Snake Eyes took an assload of work to write. Probably more than any other song I've written, in that I usually sit down and write some shit, but this song took like three weeks of lyric-writing, song studying, heartbreak and youtube.
My thing at the time was to go all out on the sad bastard pop music thing. I wanted to capture the over-dramaticism of like, Paul Anka when he's sad bastard, and the catchiness and perfection (ugh) of crooner shit (ie standards). Plus I wanted to write a song to convince this girl that I was worth her time. During this time, this guy Evan I was selling drugs with showed me this video on youtube of My Chemical Romance doing their song, Cancer, with just a guitar. And I won't explain why it took a while to convince me to watch fucking MCR, but I watched it, and it kicked my ass and I became obsessed and frustrated with the fact that they had written such a bomb song based on pretty much the same principles I had in mind (even if they didn't realize). Also I was listening to the oldies station all fucking day at work, and soaking it in, trying to figure it out.
Plus writing the lyrics took like 25 pages of lyric writing and rewriting. (Just said writing three times in one sentence, ugh.) Then one night I was at my parent's house, creeping in the front room by myself with a lamp and a notebook and my little brother's guitar and the shit just came together, finally. Although it took a lot of working out the kinks and such.
Then it was finished and I dropped it on some folks and that went pretty well. Never showed it to the girl though. Yet.
editor's note: also, i later realized that for the main riff in the song i literally play the chords from 'about a girl' in reverse, with a capo.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
As I write this novella I can feel myself whirring down into fictional existential darkness like a falling ceiling fan onto a glass table in a living room full of family members. I slowly, with darkened perceptive pretension, feel myself drift from my family to a colder spot, in a small apartment where I take everything (especially myself) too seriously. And I feel like investing my emotions into a fictional character makes my problems disappear but it doesn't; instead I just stop experiencing everything and weeks pass by in impatient blurs pointed nowhere, and girls disappear and reappear vapidly, urgently, quietly, quickly. And when I scribble a barely legible 'The End' near the end of my faded, wrinkled, booze stained notebook, what next?
Saturday, May 3, 2008
'I'm startin' to talk to you in prooooose...'
So lately I've just been working on a novella a lot. I have this crazily developed character, plot line, dialogue, etc., and I'm pumped about it. Anyway, the title is 'Someday I'll Be Nothing Again (or Someone Else's Breaking Heart)'
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Are you ready for my monkey?
It's 9:39 am, Sunday morning, and it's a ridiculous mess in my livingroom, and I'm sitting in the middle of it. JD is asleep on the floor in my room and Arbeau is across from me on the other couch, Cam has just left and Al Pal went home last night. I'm drinking lukewarm Alexander Keith's and having a cigarette, while listening to some country tunes playing softly in the background. I think I have to go to a family thing later today.
I hope it's warm out. I wish my beer was colder. Our plan was to stay up and go somewhere to have a beer while the sun came up but I was fucking dead at like 2am. We started drinking at like 6:30pm yesterday but JD finished his La Chamiza in like 20 minutes, so he was just trashed and ended up saying some hilarious things to some hilarious people on the ol' MSN, and it was pretty awesome.
We went out to go to McDonald's yesterday, but it was closed. We ended up smoking a huge joint with Troy Strokes and Brock on the rocks under the boardwalk, and then sat and had a beer in the sunshine; it was fucking awesome. We eventually bought some weed and smoked that, then matched with JJ and Kelly at their crib and did the whole Jamaican hot box thing or whatever in the bathroom which was generally amusing but way too sweaty.
It's gonna be a good summer.
On Monday night Alex and I decided we should try DXM, which was obviously a good idea. We took about twelve of these red tablets of fast-acting Tussin, at first, and ate the rest of them while walking around uptown, which I enjoyed, especially since I was really stoked on my outfit at the time.
While we were walking it started to get a bit difficult to walk and talk, so we peeled back to the crib, finish off each of our bottles (of pills), and decided to watch MTV from the 80's, because of my recent obsession with Less Than Zero. Anyway we watch this for a while but when a song by the Tubes called 'Monkey Time' comes on, it's just way too much. I posted about it on the bucks fbook group. Anyway it was fucking us up and we couldn't walk and we decided that we needed weed.
So we go down to JJ's and we ask him if he can buy the weed for us, since we're both a bit fucked up. He says cool and we smoke a few bowls with him. At this point I just feel kinda drunk and high and can't walk and shit, and I'm a bit anxious and just want to get high to even me out. The first bowl succeeds in that respect, and we smoke another, but after the second bowl, I fucking freak out.
I start to get pins and needles in my entire body and my hand scares the shit out of me and Al Pal is just in the bathroom laughing and JJ is trying to calm me down. I make JJ give me a hug because I needed to 'squeeze something in my arms' and he complied. Then I started pacing while Al Pal's laughin up a storm, and JJ is trying to tell me it's just peaking and I'll be fine, but I'm fucked up and just keep pacing. Then Al Pal asks if I want to go out for a smoke, and I tell him that I don't want to smoke (wierd) but I'll go outside.
So we go outside and I'm really enjoying breathing air but I can't stop moving so I suggest we go on a bit of a tear. Alex agrees and we tell JJ what's up and go outside. We walk up to my place but every song I try to listen to fucks me up, and I can't sit down without being overcome by the drug, so we opt to walk. So I get some sweaters that make me happy, a bottle of water that I keep with me for the whole adventure, and my shades and we peel out, high as shit. We go up Murder Row, through the burial ground, where we give a dude some change, then down King street and onto the boardwalk, following it onto the pink path, walking very quickly because neither of us can control our legs.
So I kick the idea that we should walk to the west side and call JJ from the Tim's or something, cause we told him we would be back. So we walk quickly and both of us are trying to stop walking just to see if we can do it, which we can't for a while. When we finally succeed at stopping, we have to keep going because it feels like we're being sucked into a black hole. So we keep going up Chesley drive, cross the road, and climb up a few hills to take the train tracks. We follow the tracks onto the reversing falls bridge and it's as intense as we thought it was gonna be.
The water seems impossibly close to us, and looks like a gigantic dark blue silk blanket with whales diving anrgrily beneath it. So we stare at this for a while and continue. We walk to Lancaster and call JJ, and I immediately forget everything I said to him. Then we have a smoke and decide to go to McDonald's, but I'm insistent on only eating stuff that's 'real,' so I ask for a garden salad with no dressing and a bottle of water. Al Pal gets a double cheeseburger or something, but immediately regrets it when he starts to eat it, and just eats some of my lettuce. While Al Pal ordered the food, I circled a table til I decided it was fit to sit in, and then sat there with my hood up and sunglasses on at about 11 at night, going through Alex's bookbag to find his iPod and listening to Hunter S. Thompson speeches.
We call Cam from a payphone and ramble on about being high and then we take the bus back uptown, which was fucking awesome. It was like a rollercoaster. We get uptown and it seems like a two second walk, and we get our weed, leave some for JJ to pay him back, and hit up the crib, where we smoked hella weeds because we were told that coming down was shitty. So after we smoke hella weeds I try to go to sleep but everytime I close my eyes I get this horrific, guts and flesh filled screensaver in my head that keeps me up. I lay there trying to keep my eyes open for a little while and suddenly it feels like the whole bed flips over and I'm upside down, but I'm not really. I almost get up to smoke more weed, but I opt to just lay there and eventually I fall asleep.
We wake up to the alarm at 5:30am, and smoke a bunch of weed. Then we head to the Irving to get smokes, and to Tim's to have a bagel and coffee, then we have a smoke in King's square and I go to work. Work was fucked, a little, but I told the old man about DXM and he thought it was hilarious.
Anyway I gotta get another beer, I was gonna write about the Alex Sem and David R. 'Joint Cross-Town Tour', but I'll kick you that shit in person, or something. Cheers to summer.
I hope it's warm out. I wish my beer was colder. Our plan was to stay up and go somewhere to have a beer while the sun came up but I was fucking dead at like 2am. We started drinking at like 6:30pm yesterday but JD finished his La Chamiza in like 20 minutes, so he was just trashed and ended up saying some hilarious things to some hilarious people on the ol' MSN, and it was pretty awesome.
We went out to go to McDonald's yesterday, but it was closed. We ended up smoking a huge joint with Troy Strokes and Brock on the rocks under the boardwalk, and then sat and had a beer in the sunshine; it was fucking awesome. We eventually bought some weed and smoked that, then matched with JJ and Kelly at their crib and did the whole Jamaican hot box thing or whatever in the bathroom which was generally amusing but way too sweaty.
It's gonna be a good summer.
On Monday night Alex and I decided we should try DXM, which was obviously a good idea. We took about twelve of these red tablets of fast-acting Tussin, at first, and ate the rest of them while walking around uptown, which I enjoyed, especially since I was really stoked on my outfit at the time.
While we were walking it started to get a bit difficult to walk and talk, so we peeled back to the crib, finish off each of our bottles (of pills), and decided to watch MTV from the 80's, because of my recent obsession with Less Than Zero. Anyway we watch this for a while but when a song by the Tubes called 'Monkey Time' comes on, it's just way too much. I posted about it on the bucks fbook group. Anyway it was fucking us up and we couldn't walk and we decided that we needed weed.
So we go down to JJ's and we ask him if he can buy the weed for us, since we're both a bit fucked up. He says cool and we smoke a few bowls with him. At this point I just feel kinda drunk and high and can't walk and shit, and I'm a bit anxious and just want to get high to even me out. The first bowl succeeds in that respect, and we smoke another, but after the second bowl, I fucking freak out.
I start to get pins and needles in my entire body and my hand scares the shit out of me and Al Pal is just in the bathroom laughing and JJ is trying to calm me down. I make JJ give me a hug because I needed to 'squeeze something in my arms' and he complied. Then I started pacing while Al Pal's laughin up a storm, and JJ is trying to tell me it's just peaking and I'll be fine, but I'm fucked up and just keep pacing. Then Al Pal asks if I want to go out for a smoke, and I tell him that I don't want to smoke (wierd) but I'll go outside.
So we go outside and I'm really enjoying breathing air but I can't stop moving so I suggest we go on a bit of a tear. Alex agrees and we tell JJ what's up and go outside. We walk up to my place but every song I try to listen to fucks me up, and I can't sit down without being overcome by the drug, so we opt to walk. So I get some sweaters that make me happy, a bottle of water that I keep with me for the whole adventure, and my shades and we peel out, high as shit. We go up Murder Row, through the burial ground, where we give a dude some change, then down King street and onto the boardwalk, following it onto the pink path, walking very quickly because neither of us can control our legs.
So I kick the idea that we should walk to the west side and call JJ from the Tim's or something, cause we told him we would be back. So we walk quickly and both of us are trying to stop walking just to see if we can do it, which we can't for a while. When we finally succeed at stopping, we have to keep going because it feels like we're being sucked into a black hole. So we keep going up Chesley drive, cross the road, and climb up a few hills to take the train tracks. We follow the tracks onto the reversing falls bridge and it's as intense as we thought it was gonna be.
The water seems impossibly close to us, and looks like a gigantic dark blue silk blanket with whales diving anrgrily beneath it. So we stare at this for a while and continue. We walk to Lancaster and call JJ, and I immediately forget everything I said to him. Then we have a smoke and decide to go to McDonald's, but I'm insistent on only eating stuff that's 'real,' so I ask for a garden salad with no dressing and a bottle of water. Al Pal gets a double cheeseburger or something, but immediately regrets it when he starts to eat it, and just eats some of my lettuce. While Al Pal ordered the food, I circled a table til I decided it was fit to sit in, and then sat there with my hood up and sunglasses on at about 11 at night, going through Alex's bookbag to find his iPod and listening to Hunter S. Thompson speeches.
We call Cam from a payphone and ramble on about being high and then we take the bus back uptown, which was fucking awesome. It was like a rollercoaster. We get uptown and it seems like a two second walk, and we get our weed, leave some for JJ to pay him back, and hit up the crib, where we smoked hella weeds because we were told that coming down was shitty. So after we smoke hella weeds I try to go to sleep but everytime I close my eyes I get this horrific, guts and flesh filled screensaver in my head that keeps me up. I lay there trying to keep my eyes open for a little while and suddenly it feels like the whole bed flips over and I'm upside down, but I'm not really. I almost get up to smoke more weed, but I opt to just lay there and eventually I fall asleep.
We wake up to the alarm at 5:30am, and smoke a bunch of weed. Then we head to the Irving to get smokes, and to Tim's to have a bagel and coffee, then we have a smoke in King's square and I go to work. Work was fucked, a little, but I told the old man about DXM and he thought it was hilarious.
Anyway I gotta get another beer, I was gonna write about the Alex Sem and David R. 'Joint Cross-Town Tour', but I'll kick you that shit in person, or something. Cheers to summer.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
A Lake in a Strong Wind
It kind of looks like I'm bleeding down my tie from a slit in my neck. I fucking love this shirt. This shirt is perfect. This tie really ties these articles of clothing together, so to speak. Excellent. Fuck. My head hurts. I'm completely still, staring into a mirror in an apartment somewhere that a dude I know lives in, and I'm drunk and I'm trying not to ask myself who I am. I don't.
I don't.
I don't. 'Who are you?' Yes.
Then I do, I guess. I'm tired. I don't want to sleep here. I don't want to go home. I want to run for a little while under the dark blue crystal skies and by the river, and feel connected to anyone or anything and call my grandmother from a payphone and make plans to play cards in a small kitchen at an ancient table with sunshine everywhere and coffee and I would be sobre that day. Yes.
'Who are you?'
What does that mean, really? I'm certainly not trying to be a pseudo-existentialist. I just want to know. Genuinely and truly. Certainly and madly. Sorrowful and longingly. Et cetera. I'm so tired. I hope no one knocks.
'Who are you?'
Someone knocks. I say nothing. I say nothing. He or she knocks again. I think it's a he based on the forcefulness of the knocking, but I can't be sure, of course. Yes. He knocks again and says,
'Man, who's in there?
'Who's in there.
'Hello?! Hey,'
'Hey man, it's me, man, I'm just being sick, man.' This was the best lie to tell. 'Sorry, dude.'
'Oh, shit, man, that's cool, I just need in there. So...'
'Yeh, man, it's cool, just give me a sec.'
I eventually get out of there and try to look nauseaus but I can't figure out how to do that so it's not possibly working. I walk into the livingroom and there's three people in there and two of them appear to be sleeping and the other one is just really fucked up. He's talking quietly and being jittery and awful and looks at me intensely and it puts me on edge and I'm very, very drunk and I want to go home.
'What's goin on, man?' I say, unconvincingly.
'Huh? Huh, man? Like...Listen man, I gotta go to the hospital.'
'What man, whaddaya mean, man, yer just high.'
'I'm serious man, I gotta go to the hospital and Anne and Adam are way too fucked up, and fucking Brittany got right pissed at Adam and left and I gotta fucking go to the fucking...the...the fucking hospital, man.'
I'm very seriously pissed about this situation and I don't know who I am but I know these people even less. I'm so fucking tired. I'm drunk and I don't want to drive but if I call 911 I'll have to talk to cops, and there's no fucking way I'm doing that. I really don't know this Adam dude but he's in high school, I think, so I don't know why he's here. Why are any high school kids here? Why am I here, actually? I'm fucking twenty-one. I'm too old for this shit. I realize I just referred to being too old at twenty-one. How sad. My back hurts. I get the keys from Alex for his car.
I get into the car after throwing the fucked up teens into the backseat and head to the hospital and it sucks. I drop them off and get the fuck outta there and I go home with this other persons car and slowly drag my feet up the long staircase and to my door. I unlock three locks, stumble in, turn around and relock all of them. I turn on a lamp and sit on my couch, take off my shoes, and yawn, spinning. Spinning. I get up and get water and walk around my apartment muttering to myself about something and sipping water, trying not to spin. It's always like this and I want to get drunk tomorrow. I stand in the mirror and try to focus on parts of my face but they all fall and crumble and blur and move into and out of each other like a lake in a strong wind played in slow motion.
'Who are you?'
Um. 'Who are you?'
Isn't that a song?
I don't.
I don't. 'Who are you?' Yes.
Then I do, I guess. I'm tired. I don't want to sleep here. I don't want to go home. I want to run for a little while under the dark blue crystal skies and by the river, and feel connected to anyone or anything and call my grandmother from a payphone and make plans to play cards in a small kitchen at an ancient table with sunshine everywhere and coffee and I would be sobre that day. Yes.
'Who are you?'
What does that mean, really? I'm certainly not trying to be a pseudo-existentialist. I just want to know. Genuinely and truly. Certainly and madly. Sorrowful and longingly. Et cetera. I'm so tired. I hope no one knocks.
'Who are you?'
Someone knocks. I say nothing. I say nothing. He or she knocks again. I think it's a he based on the forcefulness of the knocking, but I can't be sure, of course. Yes. He knocks again and says,
'Man, who's in there?
'Who's in there.
'Hello?! Hey,'
'Hey man, it's me, man, I'm just being sick, man.' This was the best lie to tell. 'Sorry, dude.'
'Oh, shit, man, that's cool, I just need in there. So...'
'Yeh, man, it's cool, just give me a sec.'
I eventually get out of there and try to look nauseaus but I can't figure out how to do that so it's not possibly working. I walk into the livingroom and there's three people in there and two of them appear to be sleeping and the other one is just really fucked up. He's talking quietly and being jittery and awful and looks at me intensely and it puts me on edge and I'm very, very drunk and I want to go home.
'What's goin on, man?' I say, unconvincingly.
'Huh? Huh, man? Like...Listen man, I gotta go to the hospital.'
'What man, whaddaya mean, man, yer just high.'
'I'm serious man, I gotta go to the hospital and Anne and Adam are way too fucked up, and fucking Brittany got right pissed at Adam and left and I gotta fucking go to the fucking...the...the fucking hospital, man.'
I'm very seriously pissed about this situation and I don't know who I am but I know these people even less. I'm so fucking tired. I'm drunk and I don't want to drive but if I call 911 I'll have to talk to cops, and there's no fucking way I'm doing that. I really don't know this Adam dude but he's in high school, I think, so I don't know why he's here. Why are any high school kids here? Why am I here, actually? I'm fucking twenty-one. I'm too old for this shit. I realize I just referred to being too old at twenty-one. How sad. My back hurts. I get the keys from Alex for his car.
I get into the car after throwing the fucked up teens into the backseat and head to the hospital and it sucks. I drop them off and get the fuck outta there and I go home with this other persons car and slowly drag my feet up the long staircase and to my door. I unlock three locks, stumble in, turn around and relock all of them. I turn on a lamp and sit on my couch, take off my shoes, and yawn, spinning. Spinning. I get up and get water and walk around my apartment muttering to myself about something and sipping water, trying not to spin. It's always like this and I want to get drunk tomorrow. I stand in the mirror and try to focus on parts of my face but they all fall and crumble and blur and move into and out of each other like a lake in a strong wind played in slow motion.
'Who are you?'
Um. 'Who are you?'
Isn't that a song?
Friday, April 18, 2008
We Should Buy Some Drugs
Greetings. We just got back from playing at the Interaction Kids Theater or something, where I sang the words, 'We should buy some drugs' twelve times in a song to a bunch of like, 13 year old girls. Didn't really realize what the crowd was about beforehand, but no one seemed to react at all, besides these two old ladies.
It was kind of a shitty show generally, on account of the crowd and the sound, but we were mad high. Also, I ran into the subject of Blue & Grey, and was way too high for that situation, and also fuck. But I was secretly hoping that would happen.
The Felice Brothers for life. I love my myspace, but I'm not 100% sure why. Anyway werd.
It was kind of a shitty show generally, on account of the crowd and the sound, but we were mad high. Also, I ran into the subject of Blue & Grey, and was way too high for that situation, and also fuck. But I was secretly hoping that would happen.
The Felice Brothers for life. I love my myspace, but I'm not 100% sure why. Anyway werd.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Loopy C
'Guys...I have escalated above humour.'
Pause.
Assorted Laughter.
'No, word man.'
'Man, I can make you laugh.'
'No, you can't make me laugh. I can only laugh at myself.'
'I'll make you laugh like the dickens.'
No Homo:
'But, would you do that shit with another dude?'
'Yeh man. I'd watch it.'
---------
'Back the fuck up Alex, I do not look like a tribal animal.'
when i turn 18, all i want for presents is moustaches. i want all you guys to get mustaches for me. Will you do that?
'We can just sit on a bench and drink Pilsner Light. Cause people wouldn't expect that. And I'd just be like fuck you it tastes good. its like you poured an old beer on the ground and god was like, bam, Pilsner light, and im just like, can i have some? and hes like check it.
Yeh. So generally, it's been a pretty good night, we wrote a new song, and then we bought some dopez and some sprite for our sizzurp. It was delicious and cool looking. Then an internet dude told Al Pal we might die so we all freaked out until we realized that there was really no way for that to happen. Then we all thought it was funny cause we just drank the wrong kind of shit (acetaminophen) for no reason. Then we realized maybe it wasn't that and that we were just really high. So I don't know, it was good.
Pause.
Assorted Laughter.
'No, word man.'
'Man, I can make you laugh.'
'No, you can't make me laugh. I can only laugh at myself.'
'I'll make you laugh like the dickens.'
No Homo:
'But, would you do that shit with another dude?'
'Yeh man. I'd watch it.'
---------
'Back the fuck up Alex, I do not look like a tribal animal.'
when i turn 18, all i want for presents is moustaches. i want all you guys to get mustaches for me. Will you do that?
'We can just sit on a bench and drink Pilsner Light. Cause people wouldn't expect that. And I'd just be like fuck you it tastes good. its like you poured an old beer on the ground and god was like, bam, Pilsner light, and im just like, can i have some? and hes like check it.
Yeh. So generally, it's been a pretty good night, we wrote a new song, and then we bought some dopez and some sprite for our sizzurp. It was delicious and cool looking. Then an internet dude told Al Pal we might die so we all freaked out until we realized that there was really no way for that to happen. Then we all thought it was funny cause we just drank the wrong kind of shit (acetaminophen) for no reason. Then we realized maybe it wasn't that and that we were just really high. So I don't know, it was good.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
My Space
So I pimped out the myspace today, two new songs, a news update thing, a show update thing, new background and profile pic, etc. So if yer intrested (dialogue) you should prolly check it out. In the meantime I'm gonna watch Juno yet again, and fuck it's great.
Monday, April 14, 2008
So I saw Cadence Weapon yesterday. That's the culmination of 12 years of lovin the fuck outta Hip Hop. Man, it was the best show ever and there is no way for me to describe it in a mere blogpost. I will say this: it went well. Also I wrote a new short story today and put it on www.freewebs.com/writingetcetera and I like it so maybe you will as well. Peep it, werd.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Listening to Wonderwall
I've been playing Wonderwall on guitar lately because it was my favourite thing to play when I was in grade ten and eleven and everytime I've listened to it it's applied to things that it doesn't really apply to but with lyrics like this who cares? The thing, though, with this song, is that I've only been able to listen to the Oasis version since last year, and obviously the Ryan Adams version is better. But, alas, I find it impossible to listen to without breakin down bitchstyle. But fuck that. I'm listening to it right now so whatever. I'm probly gonna try to keep typing though until the song is over. This is a ridiculous post. I was trying to show this song to someone in the summer and I couldn't keep listening to it and had to turn it off. But fuck that, bitches are gonna stop ruining shit for me from now on, it's my shit, and it's my shit. I can listen to Wonderwall and David Bowie if I fucking want to, and next Xmas, I'm gonna love the best Christmas music of all time. And bitches can fuck off.
Things I've Been Doing While Without Internet
- A few weeks ago I started telling people that I was working on two new albums to be finished within the next month or two. This was not bullshit. The country album has 5 tracks so far, and looks like this:
'Blue Sky Country Gold'
1) Girls at the Bus Stop
2) Across the River and Through the Trees
3) 27
4) My Mother's Eyes
5) Drinkin Some Wine (Goin Over the Hill)
And the pop album had 4 and looks like this:
'A Million Statues'
1) When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
2) Pardon My Intrusion (That Can't Possibly be True)
3) Your Blueeyed Boy
4) A Farewell to Arms
That's right, I'm all about references now. Anyway I've been spending all my money on weed and snack foods and writing all these songs with JD and Cam, and working, and that's kind of my constant level of wutupwitmalyfeness.
- Al Pal shows up at the crib at like 2 in the morning the other day, on account of his late shifts (no homo with this whole thing, btw) and wakes me up and I'm like, 'Ugh, we need some fuckin light in this bitch,' and he's like, 'No way, man, the fuckin power's out!' and I'm like 'Whaaat?' in my best Bun impersonation, and so anyway we smoke a bowl by candlelight (I'm sorry but this requires another no homo) and go for a walk, obviously. Everything was badass as shit, most notably the burial ground and the boardwalk. Shit.
- I hit Val Vil with the old man the other day and picked up some vynil luv (Rod Stewart, Supremes, Billy Joel) and a cassette (Young MC) and some CD's (Weezer, Elvis, Space Jam soundtrack) and bought a VCR for 5 bucks and some neat shades, and a turtleneck.
- Since I got the VCR to work (I had to blow on it a lot and remove the top and clean it, and then hit it really hard) I've watched Jacob's Ladder twice, Rules of Attraction 4 or 5 times, Antz, a few Elvis movies, a home video from childhood and a home video of the band like 10 times, Ghost Dad, Super Human Samurai Syber(sic) Squad, the Power Rangers movie, The Fox & the Hound twice, and Josie and the Pussycats the movie about 6 times. The latter film made me laugh a bunch, then cry, then laugh again, then cry and laugh at the same time, then get bored. The Fox & the Hound made me sob like a bitch when she left Tod in the woods (but then he meets that hot bitch).
- Played a show at SJHS (bitches loved it)
- Went on a 'mad tear' with Al Pal to my bro's pad to run some errands and it was very aptly referred to as a 'mad tear.' We had many awkward encounters and I'll tell the bucks about them in real life.
- Read Less Than Zero twice and then wrote a ripoff of it that was pretty much just my journals written in long sentences and subtle intenseness. I dug it though, I mean, I wrote it.
- The other day I did about 7 blades right before leaving for work and I exhaled weed smoke on the west side while walking to the McDonald's for my first coffee of the day. I was way too high to be in public. I started getting really wrapped up in thinking everything as Ellis's writing.
-Yesterday I ran into two awkward girls from my past while tearin' with Al Pal and we were both really high and it was awkward as shit. Not for Al Pal though, he doesn't believe in awkward sitches (insider!!).
- I got high and went looking for Cam and/or JD at SJHS the other day and they weren't there so I spent like an hour and a half looking at shit in Loyalist City Coin and eventually bought two cassettes when the dude kicked me out (Frank Sinatra: best of the early years and a Nat King Cole collection).
- My nephew was born the day before yesterday.
- I completely stopped using my discman and now only use a walkman, and this has forced me to listen to several mixtapes of mine (Shiny Tunestation 1 & 2!) and the Head on the Door (which was alright, I guess) and Strangeways (which is good for a bunch of reasons, but I have some complaints) and this Jim Croce tape that I listened to when I was a kid, and a Young MC album (Stone Cold Rhymin').
-I've been having all these shitty dreams and the other night I couldn't sleep cause I kept getting woken up by this terrible noise that was just in my head, so I thought I was losing my mind, and there was no internet!
-Oh! I forgot this. I noticed this hilarious connection to Josie and the Pussycats that has to do with a bitch sitch, so I think it's pretty funny.
- I'm running out of things to say in songs, so I find myself trying to come up with stuff in my head while I'm walking that's so like, cliche David R. Elliott (or whatever) that it makes me lol in public. So it's pretty funny, but since I made that wine drinkin song whilst stoned the other day I think I might just start gettin high and makin up shit. New concept album! It's gon be called, 'Chronic Luv.' Look out for it y'all.
-New Lil Wayne street single is killin everyone in the game. Hardest shit out, period. (Also, 'Gettin Some Head,' is such a good fucking song.)
- Went to the ol weed spot twice today already, and it looks like I might be doin that again in like a half hour. LOLZ.
- Going to see CADENCE FUCKING WEAPON TOMORROW!!!!!! UGH!!!!!!! YEH.
'Blue Sky Country Gold'
1) Girls at the Bus Stop
2) Across the River and Through the Trees
3) 27
4) My Mother's Eyes
5) Drinkin Some Wine (Goin Over the Hill)
And the pop album had 4 and looks like this:
'A Million Statues'
1) When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
2) Pardon My Intrusion (That Can't Possibly be True)
3) Your Blueeyed Boy
4) A Farewell to Arms
That's right, I'm all about references now. Anyway I've been spending all my money on weed and snack foods and writing all these songs with JD and Cam, and working, and that's kind of my constant level of wutupwitmalyfeness.
- Al Pal shows up at the crib at like 2 in the morning the other day, on account of his late shifts (no homo with this whole thing, btw) and wakes me up and I'm like, 'Ugh, we need some fuckin light in this bitch,' and he's like, 'No way, man, the fuckin power's out!' and I'm like 'Whaaat?' in my best Bun impersonation, and so anyway we smoke a bowl by candlelight (I'm sorry but this requires another no homo) and go for a walk, obviously. Everything was badass as shit, most notably the burial ground and the boardwalk. Shit.
- I hit Val Vil with the old man the other day and picked up some vynil luv (Rod Stewart, Supremes, Billy Joel) and a cassette (Young MC) and some CD's (Weezer, Elvis, Space Jam soundtrack) and bought a VCR for 5 bucks and some neat shades, and a turtleneck.
- Since I got the VCR to work (I had to blow on it a lot and remove the top and clean it, and then hit it really hard) I've watched Jacob's Ladder twice, Rules of Attraction 4 or 5 times, Antz, a few Elvis movies, a home video from childhood and a home video of the band like 10 times, Ghost Dad, Super Human Samurai Syber(sic) Squad, the Power Rangers movie, The Fox & the Hound twice, and Josie and the Pussycats the movie about 6 times. The latter film made me laugh a bunch, then cry, then laugh again, then cry and laugh at the same time, then get bored. The Fox & the Hound made me sob like a bitch when she left Tod in the woods (but then he meets that hot bitch).
- Played a show at SJHS (bitches loved it)
- Went on a 'mad tear' with Al Pal to my bro's pad to run some errands and it was very aptly referred to as a 'mad tear.' We had many awkward encounters and I'll tell the bucks about them in real life.
- Read Less Than Zero twice and then wrote a ripoff of it that was pretty much just my journals written in long sentences and subtle intenseness. I dug it though, I mean, I wrote it.
- The other day I did about 7 blades right before leaving for work and I exhaled weed smoke on the west side while walking to the McDonald's for my first coffee of the day. I was way too high to be in public. I started getting really wrapped up in thinking everything as Ellis's writing.
-Yesterday I ran into two awkward girls from my past while tearin' with Al Pal and we were both really high and it was awkward as shit. Not for Al Pal though, he doesn't believe in awkward sitches (insider!!).
- I got high and went looking for Cam and/or JD at SJHS the other day and they weren't there so I spent like an hour and a half looking at shit in Loyalist City Coin and eventually bought two cassettes when the dude kicked me out (Frank Sinatra: best of the early years and a Nat King Cole collection).
- My nephew was born the day before yesterday.
- I completely stopped using my discman and now only use a walkman, and this has forced me to listen to several mixtapes of mine (Shiny Tunestation 1 & 2!) and the Head on the Door (which was alright, I guess) and Strangeways (which is good for a bunch of reasons, but I have some complaints) and this Jim Croce tape that I listened to when I was a kid, and a Young MC album (Stone Cold Rhymin').
-I've been having all these shitty dreams and the other night I couldn't sleep cause I kept getting woken up by this terrible noise that was just in my head, so I thought I was losing my mind, and there was no internet!
-Oh! I forgot this. I noticed this hilarious connection to Josie and the Pussycats that has to do with a bitch sitch, so I think it's pretty funny.
- I'm running out of things to say in songs, so I find myself trying to come up with stuff in my head while I'm walking that's so like, cliche David R. Elliott (or whatever) that it makes me lol in public. So it's pretty funny, but since I made that wine drinkin song whilst stoned the other day I think I might just start gettin high and makin up shit. New concept album! It's gon be called, 'Chronic Luv.' Look out for it y'all.
-New Lil Wayne street single is killin everyone in the game. Hardest shit out, period. (Also, 'Gettin Some Head,' is such a good fucking song.)
- Went to the ol weed spot twice today already, and it looks like I might be doin that again in like a half hour. LOLZ.
- Going to see CADENCE FUCKING WEAPON TOMORROW!!!!!! UGH!!!!!!! YEH.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
This Gun
This is a thing I started writing a while ago and finished today:
I would like to preface the following blurb by noting that if anything personally significant surfaces as a result of this writing, it will be entirely indebted to Ben Burnett and his impeccable blog. Well, perhaps not entirely, but mostly.
First of all I'd like to note that the drums in 'Oh, Sister,' are pretty much a blueprint for the drums in 'Come Pick Me Up,' and that is awesome. I'm working on an album right now, and it is almost entirely finished, save for some recording, some re-recording, and the submission of what will most certainly be some kick-ass album art, that I'm psyched as shit about. Now, I realize that in my mind, the three albums that I 'finished' over the last 6 or 7 months were never 'finished' in any tangible sense, in that they are not available for you in any way, aside from 'Blue & Grey,' which is available on myspace for free, so take it. I would really like to finish all of them, so that anyone who wishes to could own a copy of the Elvis EP, Tuesdays and Blue & Grey, but it hasn't happened, and I've become more distracted by the day, and to be perfectly honest, the motivation just isn't there. Sorry dawgs. This is not to say that I will never finish them, because it is my belief that they are all worth finishing (this includes Blue & Grey, which I don't consider finished on account of the fact that 'Snake Eyes' deserves a better quality recording, and 'Same Heart, New Winter' is played with awful tempo, and lackluster vocals). But it may be a while, is all I'm saying.
Now, I'm gonna go a little crazy here and completely blow the lid off of this whole mystery thing behind the new album, 'cause almost everyone knows what's up anyway, so fuck it, and also, it should be done in no time.
So that everyone knows, the official title for my upcoming release (which will be on cassette, btw) is This Gun
Okay, this is why:
You have probably noticed (and I'm assuming you know me, obviously) that I write songs about girls exclusively. This is because of two things: one is that all the best songs are about girls, and two is that I am fucking obsessed with them, I can't help it, it's just my steez. Now, because of this condition, the last two albums I made were 100% centered around a chick (that's one chick per album, sadly), and this isn't necessarily a bad thing, cause I always have a lot of shit to say to a chick that I will not, and if I can be cliche for a moment, it is through song that I express said 'shit.' So I wrote a few albums for some chicks and afterwards it struck me...'what next?'
This puzzled me for about a day, until I was riding the bus to work one morning, this would've been somewhere on the Martinon bus route at somewhere around 7 in the morning, and I most certainly would not have had no more than 2 hours of sleep the night before, and I was listening to Bruce Springsteen in my headphones, specifically, 'Dancing in the Dark.' Now, I am aware that Bun fucking loves that song, and I assume that is because it is stupidly good. This is part of the reason that I so specifically kept him in the dark about this title, cause I knew he would think it was a great reference, but my friends, it is no mere reference.
The line I'm referencing, of course, is 'this gun's for hire...even if we're just dancing in the dark.' Which is great lyricism, by the way. And while I was riding the bus and watching the sun rise and desperately trying to keep from falling asleep and spilling a cup of coffee on my crotch again, this line struck me in a panicky wave.
I decided, in that moment, that I would write an album centered around me and my relentless, desperate, awful, stupid, uselessly strategic pursuit of females, and that I would call it 'This Gun,' because that is the fucking perfect title. In that line, Springsteen is obviously using a metaphor, and that metaphor of 'this gun,' is obviously him, in pursuit of her, which is pretty much my whole steez wrapped up in one perfect lyric.
So, about three days after I came up with this idea, I was doing blades at JJ's with him and Al Pal and I could not contain my excitement about this idea that I had, despite the fact that I had no idea how I was going to approach it, and I didn't even have songs semi-written for it. I told them the idea, and although we were quite stoned, it was obvious immediately that this idea was the right one for various reasons. It was perfectly appropriate, clever enough, and most importantly, it looked and sounded good. Because of their reaction, it was no longer an idea, it was the title.
Some time after this I attempted to finally write a song for the album, but there arose many problems. Firstly, it sucked ass, and secondly, it was about two different girls, instead of none. I liked the guitar riff, and I said this sort of semi-clever mean thing about someone, but ultimately the song proved inconsequential. This was unfortunate, but not impossible or at all discouraging, as the song did sound different, and was thusly a move towards my goal.
All I knew at first, was that I wanted to sound more like early to mid-90's radio rock. I also wanted to write about myself, and therefore write about an assload of people. So I wrote that song, and scrapped it, concentrating instead on new and better lyrics and songs.
Then I had this great weekend, and it really kicked off the whole album. Bun, Al Pal and Arbro spent a weekend eating pancakes at my crib, and on Saturday morning, I believe, as Bun and Arbro were leaving to buy more pancake mix, Bun jokingly told me to write a song while he was gone, so I did. That song was All Those Adjectives, which was originally going to be the opening track. With this song I had found a 90’s aesthetic I felt comfortable with, as it didn’t seem trite and it addressed the subject of the album.
On the strength of that first song, I embarked on a 5-day songwriting streak; that is to say I wrote a song a day for about 5 days, which Al Pal predicted would happen. Unfortunately, I don’t think any of those songs proved worthy of the final product I had in mind. Unless ‘I’ll Be Online’ was one of them, which I’m not sure of. I wrote a few okay choruses n junk, but one of the songs reminded me of 4am by OLP, which is funny but not really a good thing, and the other one had a bad title and awkward verses, and both stuck to the 90’s thing far too much, and I didn’t want the album to be a shitty version of Rock N Roll.
One day though, and I don’t remember which or anything, I told Al Pal that I wanted to write our generations first official love song, which is obviously a pretty bold statement to make, but whatevs dawg. So I wrote a song called ‘I’ll Be Online,’ that I really liked, and I think that’s where the turn for the better happened.
Some time after this, I wrote I Am Your Gun, which I knew immediately would be the album closer (and is coincidentally a perfect counterpart to the album opener). So I had a tiny bit of a tracklist and I was happy about that, but this is where the shitty part happens. I hit this block, and fuck writer’s block dawg, I’m a song-a-day type a dawg. So I hit this wall. I was trying to write my way out of it by just writing all day everyday and trying everything. I even, and this is not a joke, got high and sat in the kitchen, because I don’t write songs whilst high, or in kitchens, and the song I wrote sucked ass. I also wrote this pretty song called ‘I Am Trying to Catch You,’ that I got bored of immediately. Plus I was specifically trying to write this one song, that I had a chord progression and lyrics to but no chorus at all, and obviously good pop songs hinge on an irresistible chorus. I did, though, eventually finish that song, and I’m gonna tell that story cause I like it.
So I’m waiting for Mike to pick me up so I can go up to his crib and smoke some dope and write raps, and I’m strumming my little brothers guitar and I hit this really easy like, A7 and D thing, and started singing over it, and it was rad. But like I said, no fucking chorus. So I spent the next two or three weeks working on this song, because it was really important to me. So after weeks of writing shit for it every day, I sit down at my desk with the guitar, and just play it, and I added this line from this awful poem I blogged, and it worked, but I still had no chorus, so I said fuck it, and took out all of the lyrics for the chorus I had, and replaced them with, ‘No arms will ever hold you like these arms of mine,’ cause I heard it on my crooners collection that day. But because I didn’t have a surefire chorus progression, I decided to just press record and wing it. So the chorus is just on the spot, and I really fucking like it, so it made the cut.
I also had this idea that I wanted to write a song with my electric organ, cause it kicks so much ass, and I never use it (except to play ‘These Eyes’ whilst stoned). So one night I moved the organ into my room and wrote this awful overdramatic love song that was trite and obvious. Some time after that,
I skipped ‘From Chivalry,’ which is fucking stupid. So JD and I are chillin, and we’re waiting to go get my tattoo, and I was probably bitching about something, and we started writing this song, but we had to leave. So we go get the tattoo, and we decide we should go get beer afterwards, but because I wanted to get real drunk, I suggested we skip the bar and just buy booze, then we decide to buy weed. So we get some weed, hit the crib and write this great song that is still my favourite cut on the album.
Earlier in that week was when I broke my writer’s block, with ‘Lackluster Penmanship.’ I was basically just in a shitty mood and wrote about it using Graham’s words. I can’t remember if I was drunk or not. I think I was. Then I decided I should add Quit Breakin My Heart to the list, because it’s still fresh, and the story behind it is the opposite of what everyone thinks.
So me, JD, Al Pal and
So at this point I think I thought that the album was finished, for the most part, but then on Sunday, I was chillin around the crib, planning on cleaning, but instead wrote a new song. I wrote it as a kind of ‘that‘s the end of that chapter‘ kinda thing because it‘s been one year this month since I kicked fuckface out the crib. I was pretty psyched about it as soon as I finished writing it so I called Josh and got him to come over and put harmonica on it, then we did like 20 takes of it to get it right, then we were good. A little time after we were listening to Elvis and I was telling JD why Are You Lonesome Tonight? Is such a kickass song, and I decided we should try to cover it, so I called Cam and got him to help me figure out the chords and we started playing it and I just kinda improvised this little guitar part and then we practiced it and recorded it, and that‘s pretty much the whole thing.
So it’s been good to have it pretty much finished. I got the album art from Kay-T and obviously (if you’ve seen it) was pumped as fuck, cause it kicked a bunch of ass, and then I designed the album case at cam’s and made some copies. I even got this cool pic on the inside behind where the tape goes that I really like. Also, I have three new songs for the next album that are really really good, and I’m pumped as such. Today I locked myself out of my apartment and spent the whole day smoking weed at JJ’s and put some lo-fo shit on the comp and made a ‘greatest hits’ kind of deal for myself, with the new songs and cuts from every album. I’m pretty happy about it, I just called it Alas! I Shall Prevail.
We played at SJHS’s coffee house the other day and it went really well. A few people really liked it, apparently. Chicks like the romantic angle, I bet, and my stage banter went over really well. Plus we were right high so our on-stage personas were quite funny. Anyway, I tried to put a thing on purevolume today but I don’t know if I did. I figured out how to put This Gun on the net though, so I’ll get on that pretty soon, and once everyone has already found a way to listen to their personalized cassette copies of the album I’ll think about making some CD’s.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
lyrics i wish i could use but it just aint happenin bro
dear child,
i've been reading the waste land
and i wish that it was where i am
but id wanna have your hands
bejeweled and oppressively present.
dear child,
i never meant to blow smoke in your eyes
but of all the things to tear from,
let the smoke bereave you
and ill believe you
tuesday morning,
and im thinking about the work my hands will do
but everyday will leave me desolate
christ wheres the voice at
also
1 You Gave Me Two Weeks of Summer (Dear Lonely Hearts)
2 Lackluster Penmanship
3 Al Pal vs. Ray Bradbury
4 Are You Lonesome Tonight?
5 Quit Breakin My Heart
6 All Those Adjectives
7 The River Was There
8 I'll Be Online
9 What Blue Means
10 These Arms of Mine
11 From Chivalry
12 I Am Your Gun (You Send Me)
that's the final tracklist, now I'm just waiting on album art and a little more recording and the album will be done, so hopefully by the end of this month.
edit: new thing! writing letters and not sending them. this, my friends, is a very useful idea for some reason.
i've been reading the waste land
and i wish that it was where i am
but id wanna have your hands
bejeweled and oppressively present.
dear child,
i never meant to blow smoke in your eyes
but of all the things to tear from,
let the smoke bereave you
and ill believe you
tuesday morning,
and im thinking about the work my hands will do
but everyday will leave me desolate
christ wheres the voice at
also
1 You Gave Me Two Weeks of Summer (Dear Lonely Hearts)
2 Lackluster Penmanship
3 Al Pal vs. Ray Bradbury
4 Are You Lonesome Tonight?
5 Quit Breakin My Heart
6 All Those Adjectives
7 The River Was There
8 I'll Be Online
9 What Blue Means
10 These Arms of Mine
11 From Chivalry
12 I Am Your Gun (You Send Me)
that's the final tracklist, now I'm just waiting on album art and a little more recording and the album will be done, so hopefully by the end of this month.
edit: new thing! writing letters and not sending them. this, my friends, is a very useful idea for some reason.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
"You were bright like the business end of this cigarette, and so lost it was obvious and heavy. But none of that matters if your heart aches like pneumonia and everything you own is little shit. It's hard to care about you. Love has destroyed you."
This is about you, not me.
Well, it's about me, but only if this 'me' is thinking of you.
When it comes to my youth,
I only wish that I drank more,
shoulda slept with some girl,
whose name I can't remember.
Shoulda wrote a bunch of letters,
and actually sent them.
Shoulda been less bold,
less intense and less cynical.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
just spend the winter drinking and taking drugs.
One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.
When it comes to my house,
I just fill it with small shit.
I should throw it all out,
and start buying new shit.
Call and wake me up,
cause I'll sleep when I'm dead.
I'd rather have your voice,
than nothing in my bed.
One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.
This is about you, not me.
Well, it's about me, but only if this 'me' is thinking of you.
When it comes to my youth,
I only wish that I drank more,
shoulda slept with some girl,
whose name I can't remember.
Shoulda wrote a bunch of letters,
and actually sent them.
Shoulda been less bold,
less intense and less cynical.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
just spend the winter drinking and taking drugs.
One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.
When it comes to my house,
I just fill it with small shit.
I should throw it all out,
and start buying new shit.
Call and wake me up,
cause I'll sleep when I'm dead.
I'd rather have your voice,
than nothing in my bed.
One scratch, three scrapes,
illegible notebooks.
These days, it takes,
so much patience.
Maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up,
maybe there'll be girls who don't fuck you up.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Download This (I'm aware that this title is not clever)
iDig the way I look tonight,
cause I'm wearing thick-rimmed glasses,
a cardigan and a tortured-artist haircut.
My place is colder than necessary; the heat is free,
cause I need to wear sweaters inside
cause I need to look really fucking good.
Or accurate, at least.
Appropriate.
Like,
do you ever feel like the world is too big
and you just wanna decorate a little corner and stay there?
Yeh.
Art crowd self-depreciation is awful.
Awful, awful stuff, that.
cause I'm wearing thick-rimmed glasses,
a cardigan and a tortured-artist haircut.
My place is colder than necessary; the heat is free,
cause I need to wear sweaters inside
cause I need to look really fucking good.
Or accurate, at least.
Appropriate.
Like,
do you ever feel like the world is too big
and you just wanna decorate a little corner and stay there?
Yeh.
Art crowd self-depreciation is awful.
Awful, awful stuff, that.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Fuck Whatever (is it a reference or a rip off?...who knows?)
Courting;
this is a thing I've written about like
a bunch of times.
That's fair, I think.
Crystal-eyed trite glassy sentiments
fake posturing
false nonchalance
bent truths.
That's fair too.
You're ornamental.
That's not insult.
When I tell you 'ornamental,'
I mean that in the best possible way.
Like a glass statue (more glass?)
above your grandmother's fireplace,
or near her stove,
that you will always recognize
and might buy a copy of.
Especially if you haven't visited in a dog's age.
'There he goes nostalgic again, drinking.'
Fuck whatever.
this is a thing I've written about like
a bunch of times.
That's fair, I think.
Crystal-eyed trite glassy sentiments
fake posturing
false nonchalance
bent truths.
That's fair too.
You're ornamental.
That's not insult.
When I tell you 'ornamental,'
I mean that in the best possible way.
Like a glass statue (more glass?)
above your grandmother's fireplace,
or near her stove,
that you will always recognize
and might buy a copy of.
Especially if you haven't visited in a dog's age.
'There he goes nostalgic again, drinking.'
Fuck whatever.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Afterparty Babies
Okay.
Right now it's 6:08pm, Saturday Febuary 16th, and I'm sitting on my couch with Arbeau's labtop and some headphones listening to my e-stolen copy of Cadence Weapon's upcoming (Mrach 4th) release, 'Afterparty Babies,' and I'm not even through the first track but my fucking mind is fucking blown. I don't even know how to explain how good this is. It's fucking perfect. This is amazing.
It's 100% the most impressive, original and important rap music since like, fucking, I don't even know. I wanna say something like Pharrell or something, but that doesn't even cover it. I know it won't be recognized for being as important as it it, but at least on an underground level, it should get mad props.
So I feel like this is completely irrelevant in light of the music I'm listening to right now, but I'm gonna finish Tuesdays this weekend, like I said I was going to on V-Tyne's day, but fuck that day anyway. Fuck, I feel like everything in my life is irrelevant in light of this album.
It's so much different than other hip hop that it's the most hip hop thing I've ever heard. It's just focused as hell. He fucking referenced Fleetwood Mac's rumours, which is a thing I did in a rap the other day, except his is way better, and Rumours fa lyfe. I think I'm in love with Cadence Weapon. He sampled himself again, which is so awesome. It's like Straight Outta Compton when they kept sampling Eazy Duz It. It's as fucking fresh as that too. This is way better than 'Breaking Kayfabe,' and that album changed how I felt about Hip Hop. This is fucking insane man, I can't even think straight.
www.mediafire.com/?1cudtwimt2z
Right now it's 6:08pm, Saturday Febuary 16th, and I'm sitting on my couch with Arbeau's labtop and some headphones listening to my e-stolen copy of Cadence Weapon's upcoming (Mrach 4th) release, 'Afterparty Babies,' and I'm not even through the first track but my fucking mind is fucking blown. I don't even know how to explain how good this is. It's fucking perfect. This is amazing.
It's 100% the most impressive, original and important rap music since like, fucking, I don't even know. I wanna say something like Pharrell or something, but that doesn't even cover it. I know it won't be recognized for being as important as it it, but at least on an underground level, it should get mad props.
So I feel like this is completely irrelevant in light of the music I'm listening to right now, but I'm gonna finish Tuesdays this weekend, like I said I was going to on V-Tyne's day, but fuck that day anyway. Fuck, I feel like everything in my life is irrelevant in light of this album.
It's so much different than other hip hop that it's the most hip hop thing I've ever heard. It's just focused as hell. He fucking referenced Fleetwood Mac's rumours, which is a thing I did in a rap the other day, except his is way better, and Rumours fa lyfe. I think I'm in love with Cadence Weapon. He sampled himself again, which is so awesome. It's like Straight Outta Compton when they kept sampling Eazy Duz It. It's as fucking fresh as that too. This is way better than 'Breaking Kayfabe,' and that album changed how I felt about Hip Hop. This is fucking insane man, I can't even think straight.
www.mediafire.com/?1cudtwimt2z
Friday, February 15, 2008
prose warm-up
I remember her saying quite often that I wasn't here anymore and I was never quite certain what she meant by that. What the fuck does that mean? I was there, of course I was there, don't even ask me if I was there because I was. It was everywhere else that I wasn't. I didn't even want to be there most of the time, but I was. I don't remember the first time she said that but I do remember a few of the times we were in bed and I was just barely awake, with squinted, aching eyes, and weary of the morning, not wanting to sleep as a result of said weariness. But that didn't do me any good as it would make the morning even less bearable. And she'd look at me with those gigantic eyes of hers with the most trite, cheap, sopping wet expression I'd ever seen and say, quite bluntly, 'You're not here anymore.' And I wouldn't say anything.
Then I'd say something. I would argue, of course. But have you ever argued about an issue that you don't at all understand, but were certain that if you did understand you would disagree? That was me. She would say, 'you're not here,' and I would say, 'I am here. I'm always here. I'm here for you. 00110101011111010.'
Well, not really. But it was something that robotic. So I guess in that sense I wasn't there anymore. She'd refer to my short term memory, which was not impressive. But all of those things I blamed on her. I worked hard then. I work hard now, I suppose, but fuck, I worked harder then. I slept probably the same amount. None of this is new, I always complain of these things, even though I shouldn't. I never know where to stand with complaining. I like to believe that a man does as needed and requires no pity party, and that all work is honourable. But, really, I can tell an acquantance 'can't complain,' if I truly wish to do so, but I'll prove myself a liar when speaking to someone I'm more familiar with. But all of those people know I can complain, as they've heard me do so. I don't know if I know anyone who can't complain.
But that fucking bitch needn't complain. Leastly of my commitment or presence. I was the most consistently adoring and devoted partner one could ask for. And this isn't braggadocious, as I hardly think that such pathetic, hopeless devotion is any matter to brag about. But I fucking was there. I was always there, even when I wanted to be somewhere else, which was often.
But I guess I started talking to her like a tape recording. But that's because she barely seemed human to me. There was something so inhuman about here. So empty. Maybe that was her issue, emptiness. Yesterday a statistical surveyist asked me if I felt emptiness and I told him yes, and I know that to be true, but I have no idea why.
Maybe I'm just not here anymore.
Then I'd say something. I would argue, of course. But have you ever argued about an issue that you don't at all understand, but were certain that if you did understand you would disagree? That was me. She would say, 'you're not here,' and I would say, 'I am here. I'm always here. I'm here for you. 00110101011111010.'
Well, not really. But it was something that robotic. So I guess in that sense I wasn't there anymore. She'd refer to my short term memory, which was not impressive. But all of those things I blamed on her. I worked hard then. I work hard now, I suppose, but fuck, I worked harder then. I slept probably the same amount. None of this is new, I always complain of these things, even though I shouldn't. I never know where to stand with complaining. I like to believe that a man does as needed and requires no pity party, and that all work is honourable. But, really, I can tell an acquantance 'can't complain,' if I truly wish to do so, but I'll prove myself a liar when speaking to someone I'm more familiar with. But all of those people know I can complain, as they've heard me do so. I don't know if I know anyone who can't complain.
But that fucking bitch needn't complain. Leastly of my commitment or presence. I was the most consistently adoring and devoted partner one could ask for. And this isn't braggadocious, as I hardly think that such pathetic, hopeless devotion is any matter to brag about. But I fucking was there. I was always there, even when I wanted to be somewhere else, which was often.
But I guess I started talking to her like a tape recording. But that's because she barely seemed human to me. There was something so inhuman about here. So empty. Maybe that was her issue, emptiness. Yesterday a statistical surveyist asked me if I felt emptiness and I told him yes, and I know that to be true, but I have no idea why.
Maybe I'm just not here anymore.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
F.Ton
I'm in Dan Tweedie's house. It's pretty good. We're going home at 5:45. I'm almost excited about the bus ride. Just Us Bucks keepin it real for Saint Jiggy on the SMT bus. It's been an awesome weekend, despite the fact that I didn't see Wintersleep, which was originally the point of coming here in the first place. Oh well. It's not like they'll disappear. I'll see them again at some point. I have no where to go with the post but at least it lacks pretension. I watched most of 'I Am Trying to Break Your Heart' today and that was pretty awesome. So now I'm listening to Feist and chilling. I'm glad I cloaked my next album with a concept cause I could write a song about a chick and lie about it and everyone would believe me. I think. Maybe not. Suddenly I'm not 100% on the songs I've been writing. Shit.
Monday, February 4, 2008
didnt read only revolutions but it reminded me of pretension
I'm all over and soaked in rebellion and confusion, like a lost child who lost himself. Standing near the check out counter waiting for someone to feel bad and reach out with scissor-like hands and short spines no confusion anymore, I say. Alas! I shall prevail. And the rest. It's very dark and there are no candles lit for fear of the grip of sleep finally making sense, which would be odd but favourable. All over you can call eclectic, waiting for a dictionary definition with my picture beside it and someone with an awkward step towards me with no mud on their boots. Boot prints all over my chest. I can still make the silliest youthful angst seem poetic, if I try hard enough.
But, when I go t o s l e e p e v e r y t h i n g w i l l bethes a me.
(could've used more adjectives (losthisdescriptiveedge)
But, when I go t o s l e e p e v e r y t h i n g w i l l bethes a me.
(could've used more adjectives (losthisdescriptiveedge)
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Another Cigarette
Another cigarette.
poor substitute,
clutch crutches in my teeth,
can't climb the walls,
can pace. Can't cave again,
switch can do can't do that kick new things newer things.
Um. Yes.
Can't write quite rightly move to the right side shift slightly of course,
,
.
Pretend it isn't pretentious.
Make sure it sounds good.
poor substitute,
clutch crutches in my teeth,
can't climb the walls,
can pace. Can't cave again,
switch can do can't do that kick new things newer things.
Um. Yes.
Can't write quite rightly move to the right side shift slightly of course,
,
.
Pretend it isn't pretentious.
Make sure it sounds good.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Howard vs. Morrison (good vs. shitty, respectively)
This is something I've been talking about for years, but I think that this is an example I can especially articulate. In the following text, I am going to compare and contrast (sort of) Fly Me to The Moon, written by Bart Howard (as sung by Sinatra, and many others) and Moonlight Drive, written by Jim Morrison. I'd like to just get it out there now, that I think that Fly Me to the Moon is not only superior musically, but is also far more poetic.
I'm going to attempt to not rely simply on Morrison's pretension to make my point, but werd, the lyrics in Moonlight Drive are certainly the faux-poetic ramblings of a pretentious film student who's films would've been even less bearable than his lyrics. Fly Me to the Moon is much shorter, and portrays the exact same sentiment is far less words without losing any of the effect of the song meaning.
Both songs are essentially just love songs, both are based on metaphors. The difference, however, is in how the idea is presented in both songs. Morrison is basically saying he digs this chick, but because of his unbearable public persona (professional jackass) it is shrouded in plausible drug-related metaphors. His audience clearly wants to believe he is a poet (which he clearly is not) and thusly, even a silly love song like this can seem poetic if you try really hard. But the whole thing is a put-on. The dude never wrote anything poetic, or in any way substantial. Everything he wrote was the same shit, it was kind of a precursor to the nineties, in that all you had to do to seem poetic was to not make any fucking sense.
Fly me to the Moon is just good. It's simple, elegant, romantic, and classic. You completely understand and identify with the song immediately, and you know what you're getting into. There's no need to waste your time trying to come up with several different equally retarded concepts for what the song is about, when you could just be enjoying the song. The lyrics succeed in every possible way. They are structured perfectly, and they just sound good, which is obviously the point, since the lyrics in the song, at least at some point in the writing process, have to be considered as an instrument.
Lyrics as an instrument is an impossible concept if you fill them out with loads of bullshit to make them seem poetic, because no matter what you do they don't really fit as well as something simpler would. Simplicity is a concept Jim Morrison and the Doors didn't seem to understand very well, which is a shame in any art form. The best examples from every field rely on simplicity a good amount of the time, because you're talking about taking expression seriously, and if your point is to portray something you think or feel to an audience, it only makes sense that you say it in a way that fucking makes sense.
Simplicity in lyricism isn't even easier. For real. That's what I think is the biggest and most irritating misconception, Fly me to the Moon is a very short song, but is 100% successful in every way, because every word of it is perfect, whereas any Doors song could really stand to be shorter. If you can write something meaningful, substantial, poetic and relatable in a few stanzas, you could argue for your own poeticism, whereas any fucking moron who's high as shit can write down a bunch of words that seem like sentences and pretend it means something.
Fuck him, dawg.
I'm going to attempt to not rely simply on Morrison's pretension to make my point, but werd, the lyrics in Moonlight Drive are certainly the faux-poetic ramblings of a pretentious film student who's films would've been even less bearable than his lyrics. Fly Me to the Moon is much shorter, and portrays the exact same sentiment is far less words without losing any of the effect of the song meaning.
Both songs are essentially just love songs, both are based on metaphors. The difference, however, is in how the idea is presented in both songs. Morrison is basically saying he digs this chick, but because of his unbearable public persona (professional jackass) it is shrouded in plausible drug-related metaphors. His audience clearly wants to believe he is a poet (which he clearly is not) and thusly, even a silly love song like this can seem poetic if you try really hard. But the whole thing is a put-on. The dude never wrote anything poetic, or in any way substantial. Everything he wrote was the same shit, it was kind of a precursor to the nineties, in that all you had to do to seem poetic was to not make any fucking sense.
Fly me to the Moon is just good. It's simple, elegant, romantic, and classic. You completely understand and identify with the song immediately, and you know what you're getting into. There's no need to waste your time trying to come up with several different equally retarded concepts for what the song is about, when you could just be enjoying the song. The lyrics succeed in every possible way. They are structured perfectly, and they just sound good, which is obviously the point, since the lyrics in the song, at least at some point in the writing process, have to be considered as an instrument.
Lyrics as an instrument is an impossible concept if you fill them out with loads of bullshit to make them seem poetic, because no matter what you do they don't really fit as well as something simpler would. Simplicity is a concept Jim Morrison and the Doors didn't seem to understand very well, which is a shame in any art form. The best examples from every field rely on simplicity a good amount of the time, because you're talking about taking expression seriously, and if your point is to portray something you think or feel to an audience, it only makes sense that you say it in a way that fucking makes sense.
Simplicity in lyricism isn't even easier. For real. That's what I think is the biggest and most irritating misconception, Fly me to the Moon is a very short song, but is 100% successful in every way, because every word of it is perfect, whereas any Doors song could really stand to be shorter. If you can write something meaningful, substantial, poetic and relatable in a few stanzas, you could argue for your own poeticism, whereas any fucking moron who's high as shit can write down a bunch of words that seem like sentences and pretend it means something.
Fuck him, dawg.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Kurdt
For anyone who hasn't heard me say it yet, I'd like to preface this by saying that Kurt Cobain and Ryan Adams talk almost exactly the same way in their interviews. It's a bizarre coincidence that occurs to me every time I watch an interview with either of them (which is very often).
Today I heard Kurt sat something that I probably heard before but didn't want to process on account of the fact that it's fucking bullshit. Luckily, in my essay about Nirvana, I chose an argument that is irrefutable (I took the cowardly/Freudian way out) so I can use it for this if I want, but I'm gonna present it fairly first. And that argument is that most of the stuff Kurt said about wanting to quit the band, etc., was a result of Courtney's bullshit and that I don't really believe that he at all wanted to quit the band, and I've presented plenty of evidence to this point in a previous post.
In an interview with Kurt Cobain from late '93, or possibly early '94, Kurt says a bunch of stuff that I enjoyed listening to. Mostly because it's funny to listen to him bullshitting everyone and successfully building his rock star persona, whether purposefully or not. He talks about how In Utero was based on books and other stories, in an attempt to avoid all the topics everyone assumed he would write about for that record. And, to be fair, there is a song based on the book 'Perfume,' and there is a song about Frances Farmer, etc., but it's still stupidly obvious that most of the songs are about exactly what everyone expected him to write about, from the get-go with
'Teenage angst has paid off well, now I'm bored and old...' But that's because there's a reason everyone assumed he would write about fame, press, drugs, etc., and that's because what else would he write about? He always wrote about his personal problems in a way that he probably thought was poetic but wasn't really. Although if I was stoned I could see myself trying to make the argument that the lack of poeticism in the lyrics makes them poetic, but it's quarter to eleven Saturday morning and I'm completely sober and enjoying a whore's breakfast, so fuck it, he was literal for the most part, with some forced absurdism and obscurism. I'm not even sure if that's a word. But anyway, the lyrics on the album are all about Kurt, even when they're not. It's hard to pretend that 'I miss the comfort in being sad,' isn't about his personal feelings and rather about a person he's never met and doesn't really know anything about personally.
Plus, fucking Rape Me doesn't even pretend to not be about exactly the things he claims he purposefully didn't write about. It's kind of hilarious that he would so brazenly claim to have done the opposite of what he actually did.
My favourite part of the interview is when he talks about wanting to switch to acoustic guitars someday and be able to be taken seriously as a singer/songwriter 'like Johnny Cash or something,' and have it so 'it's not like a joke.' Which is a fair sentiment, I think. And makes Unplugged all the more awesome, because that's pretty much what he did, even if his death shortly afterwards was the majority of the reason everyone decided it was a work of genius instead of just a different side of a band they liked. But word, though, it is a fucking work of genius. Nirvana: Unplugged is the greatest live album of all time, and if you don't agree, fuck you. I'm pretty sure I've already blogged about this, funnily enough.
This is where the interview becomes fucking bullshit. In the last few minutes of it, Kurt actually claims that he would like to 'quit my band and join Hole.' Which is singularly the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and ruined the whole interview for me. And granted, for me the mere thought of Courtney Love is upsetting, cause I fucking hate that slut (I was perusing photos of Ryan Adams in his Fbook fanclub the other day, lol, and came across a picture of him apparently playing a song for Courtney Love, and was fucking furious, and my mood was immediately altered) but that's still fucking stupid even if you're not as easily angered by the thought of her as I am. Mostly because Hole fucking sucked. I don't even care, everyone knows why Live Through This is at all listenable, and it has nothing to do with any members of that band, and I don't care about anything anyone in the band has ever done, and it wouldn't matter how catchy that shit was, I will never own anything that was created as a result of Courtney Love's creativity. (The bitch did not add anything relevant to any Nirvana songs, I don't give a shit what Kurt claimed, he was a fucking liar most of the time.)
I probably should chill out about this matter, but it's still fucking stupid. It doesn't even make sense really, and it's pretty hurtful also, as the dudes in Nirvana were all great. Even Pat Smear was an excellent second guitarist. He was great for Kurt, as apparent in the B-Side I keep raving about, Do Re Mi, in which Pat plays second guitar. I just can't believe he would say a thing like this, I have to be believe that Krist, Dave and Pat were like, Man, what a fucking asshole. And that's a fair sentiment. But I doubt any of them ever brought it up, because in this interview and in at least one other I've seen, Kurt has talked about how passive-aggressive everyone in the band is and how they don't really bring it up when someone pisses them off, which I take as an I am the leader, and no one really says shit to me, and I don't really have to say shit to anyone else, kind of thing. Which is also fair enough cause he clearly was the leader of the band.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NNHLxk0bmC8 to see the whole interview. It's pretty good up until the last part.
Fuck Courtney Love.
Today I heard Kurt sat something that I probably heard before but didn't want to process on account of the fact that it's fucking bullshit. Luckily, in my essay about Nirvana, I chose an argument that is irrefutable (I took the cowardly/Freudian way out) so I can use it for this if I want, but I'm gonna present it fairly first. And that argument is that most of the stuff Kurt said about wanting to quit the band, etc., was a result of Courtney's bullshit and that I don't really believe that he at all wanted to quit the band, and I've presented plenty of evidence to this point in a previous post.
In an interview with Kurt Cobain from late '93, or possibly early '94, Kurt says a bunch of stuff that I enjoyed listening to. Mostly because it's funny to listen to him bullshitting everyone and successfully building his rock star persona, whether purposefully or not. He talks about how In Utero was based on books and other stories, in an attempt to avoid all the topics everyone assumed he would write about for that record. And, to be fair, there is a song based on the book 'Perfume,' and there is a song about Frances Farmer, etc., but it's still stupidly obvious that most of the songs are about exactly what everyone expected him to write about, from the get-go with
'Teenage angst has paid off well, now I'm bored and old...' But that's because there's a reason everyone assumed he would write about fame, press, drugs, etc., and that's because what else would he write about? He always wrote about his personal problems in a way that he probably thought was poetic but wasn't really. Although if I was stoned I could see myself trying to make the argument that the lack of poeticism in the lyrics makes them poetic, but it's quarter to eleven Saturday morning and I'm completely sober and enjoying a whore's breakfast, so fuck it, he was literal for the most part, with some forced absurdism and obscurism. I'm not even sure if that's a word. But anyway, the lyrics on the album are all about Kurt, even when they're not. It's hard to pretend that 'I miss the comfort in being sad,' isn't about his personal feelings and rather about a person he's never met and doesn't really know anything about personally.
Plus, fucking Rape Me doesn't even pretend to not be about exactly the things he claims he purposefully didn't write about. It's kind of hilarious that he would so brazenly claim to have done the opposite of what he actually did.
My favourite part of the interview is when he talks about wanting to switch to acoustic guitars someday and be able to be taken seriously as a singer/songwriter 'like Johnny Cash or something,' and have it so 'it's not like a joke.' Which is a fair sentiment, I think. And makes Unplugged all the more awesome, because that's pretty much what he did, even if his death shortly afterwards was the majority of the reason everyone decided it was a work of genius instead of just a different side of a band they liked. But word, though, it is a fucking work of genius. Nirvana: Unplugged is the greatest live album of all time, and if you don't agree, fuck you. I'm pretty sure I've already blogged about this, funnily enough.
This is where the interview becomes fucking bullshit. In the last few minutes of it, Kurt actually claims that he would like to 'quit my band and join Hole.' Which is singularly the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and ruined the whole interview for me. And granted, for me the mere thought of Courtney Love is upsetting, cause I fucking hate that slut (I was perusing photos of Ryan Adams in his Fbook fanclub the other day, lol, and came across a picture of him apparently playing a song for Courtney Love, and was fucking furious, and my mood was immediately altered) but that's still fucking stupid even if you're not as easily angered by the thought of her as I am. Mostly because Hole fucking sucked. I don't even care, everyone knows why Live Through This is at all listenable, and it has nothing to do with any members of that band, and I don't care about anything anyone in the band has ever done, and it wouldn't matter how catchy that shit was, I will never own anything that was created as a result of Courtney Love's creativity. (The bitch did not add anything relevant to any Nirvana songs, I don't give a shit what Kurt claimed, he was a fucking liar most of the time.)
I probably should chill out about this matter, but it's still fucking stupid. It doesn't even make sense really, and it's pretty hurtful also, as the dudes in Nirvana were all great. Even Pat Smear was an excellent second guitarist. He was great for Kurt, as apparent in the B-Side I keep raving about, Do Re Mi, in which Pat plays second guitar. I just can't believe he would say a thing like this, I have to be believe that Krist, Dave and Pat were like, Man, what a fucking asshole. And that's a fair sentiment. But I doubt any of them ever brought it up, because in this interview and in at least one other I've seen, Kurt has talked about how passive-aggressive everyone in the band is and how they don't really bring it up when someone pisses them off, which I take as an I am the leader, and no one really says shit to me, and I don't really have to say shit to anyone else, kind of thing. Which is also fair enough cause he clearly was the leader of the band.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NNHLxk0bmC8 to see the whole interview. It's pretty good up until the last part.
Fuck Courtney Love.
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