I figured that I may as well post my favorite legendary live performances as I recall them.
Back in 1977, Lynyrd Skynyrd performed “Free Bird” in California to thousands upon thousands of teenagers, a tremendous amount of them gorgeous, many of whom likely proceeded to get pregnant later in the day. One of them may now be your grandma. About three months from then, the singer (Ronnie Van Zant), the goateed guitarist (Steve Gaines), and his sister and backup vocalist Cassie Gaines died in a plane crash, which essentially ended the band, as Van Zant was its beating heart. This video captures not only legendary talent, but an America that is dead and gone.
Sometime in the nineties, Radiohead’s lead Thom Yorke bared his heart while playing “Creep,” a song you shouldn’t ask him to play in newer concerts.
Joanna Newsom, back in 2010 during her Have One on Me tour, punished herself every night for the daughter she closed the door on. The way she loses herself in her craft is spellbinding.
As a solitary dude, all my life I have relied on music to connect with the world at large, to feel that my feelings weren’t that unique or detached from the rest of humanity. Over the years, I’ve returned to certain albums that have spoken to me in ways that can’t be fully put into words. I love discovering new albums, and perhaps that’s also the case for whoever is reading these words, so I’ll spend some of my limited time on Earth sharing some specifics about the albums that have marked me, and that in many ways changed me.
Today I’m tackling a big one for me: Joanna Newsom’s Ys, released back in 2006. I will need to think about Joanna quite a bit in the coming year, so I may as well tackle this now. Ys, her pinnacle, and as well as I’m concerned one of the pinnacles of artistry, is a baroque masterpiece of music and storytelling, produced by a songwriter at the height of her powers, who at the time danced with her subconscious unimpeded.
Joanna changed her major from music to creative writing in college; she found the constraints that teachers put into music creation too oppresive, like straitjackets. She’s a songstress of old, the kind you could imagine traveling from town to town and reweaving her careful tales to an enraptured audience. All five songs in the album are mesmerizing.
Joanna is the kind of person who would write until four in the morning, obsessing over individual words and meanings. Added to her difficulties interacting with people, authenticity, extreme sensitivity, obsession with obscure people and topics, etc., I have always suspected she’s autistic, but I’m very biased in that respect.
In addition, this version of Joanna retained her beautiful, creaky voice, before she developed vocal cord nodules and could not speak or sing for two months; afterwards, her voice changed permanently, which made her fantastic following album Have One on Me quite tragic to listen to at times.
All the songs in Ys give me chills consistently. You can use words to justify anything, but chills don’t lie. Joanna’s music is unbridled beauty. I revere her as one of the most magnificent artists to ever live.
“Emily”
This song is a love letter to Joanna’s sister, during a period of their youth in which Joanna likely got pregnant and decided to abort it in a surreptitious manner that could have caused quite the stir in the small town where they grew up. She likely refers to this event in her other song “The Sprout and the Bean.” The way she paints a picture of the whole thing, including how they were taught about nature, is awe-inspiring in the purest way. That bell at the end, the resonance of meaning and beauty, kills me every time.
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow Into the bones of the birches And the spires of the churches Jutting out from the shadows The yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks and the bale and the barrow And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope In the mouth of the south below
We’ve seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey We thought our very hearts would up and melt away From that snow in the night time Just going, and going And the stirring of wind chimes In the morning, in the morning Helps me find my way back in From the place where I have been
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky’d been breathing on a mirror
Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed, in December I promised you I’d set them to verse so I’d always remember
That the meteorite is a source of the light And the meteor’s just what we see And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light And the meteor’s how it’s perceived And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee
The lines are fadin’ in my kingdom Though I have never known the way to border ’em in So the muddy mouths of baboons and sows, and the grouse, and the horse and the hen Grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen And the mail is late and the great estates are not lit from within The talk in town’s becoming downright sickening
In due time we will see the far buttes lit by a flare I’ve seen your bravery, and I will follow you there And row through the night time So healthy Gone healthy all of a sudden In search of the midwife Who could help me Who could help me Help me find my way back in And there are worries where I’ve been
And say, say, say in the lee of the bay, don’t be bothered Leave your troubles here where the tugboats shear the water from the water Flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper Emily, they’ll follow your lead by the letter And I make this claim, and I’m not ashamed to say I knew you better What they’ve seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter
Let us go, though we know it’s a hopeless endeavor The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever Though there is nothing would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping and yawning There is a song I woke with on my lips as you sailed your great ship towards the morning
Come on home, the poppies are all grown knee-deep by now Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow Peonies nod in the breeze and while they wetly bow, with Hydrocephalitic listlessness ants mop up their brow
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour Butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours And my clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines Come on home now, all my bones are dolorous with vines
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight The way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light Squint skyward and listen Loving him, we move within his borders Just asterisms in the stars’ set order
We could stand for a century Staring, with our heads cocked In the broad daylight at this thing Joy, landlocked In bodies that don’t keep Dumbstruck with the sweetness of being Till we don’t be Told, take this And eat this
Told, the meteorite is the source of the light And the meteor’s just what we see And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light And the meteor’s how it’s perceived And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee
“Monkey & Bear”
A story about a couple made out of a monkey and a bear who escape from servitude to strive for freedom. It just happens that freedom also involves dancing to tunes that clash with one’s self. This song is clearly based on Joanna’s relationship with her then boyfriend Bill Callahan, a passionate, tumultuous romance that saw Bill either pushing her, or Joanna feeling that he was pushing her, into paths that didn’t come naturally to the gal. The climax of the song, with Bear, clearly Joanna herself, wading into the water to disappear by sloughing off her form is one of the most beautiful expressions of communion with the subconscious that I’ve ever encountered.
Down in the green hay Where monkey and bear usually lay (lay) They woke from a stable-boy’s cry Said someone come quick The horses got loose, got grass-sick They’ll founder, fain, they’ll die
What is now known by the sorrel and the roan? By the chestnut, and the bay, and the gelding grey? It is, stay by the gate you are given And remain in your place, for your season And had the overfed dead but listened To that high-fence, horse-sense, wisdom
But Did you hear that, Bear? said Monkey, we’ll get out of here, fair and square They left the gate open wide
So, my bride, here is my hand Where is your paw? Try and understand my plan, Ursula My heart is a furnace Full of love that’s just and earnest Now you know that we must unlearn this Allegiance to a life of service And no longer answer to that heartless Hay-monger, nor be his accomplice The charlatan, with artless hustling But Ursula, we’ve got to eat something And earn our keep, while still within The borders of the land that man has girded All double-bolted and tightfisted Until we reach the open country A-steeped in milk and honey Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? Can you bare a little longer to wear that leash?
My love, I swear by the air I breathe Sooner or later, you’ll bare your teeth
But for now, just dance, darling C’mon, will you dance, my darling? Darling, there’s a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust? Oh, my darling there’s a place for us
Oh darling, c’mon will you dance my darling? Though the hills are groaning with excess Like a table ceaselessly being set Oh my darling, we will get there yet
They trooped past the guards Past the coops, and the fields And the farmyards, all night till finally
The space they gained grew much farther than The stone that Bear threw To mark where they’d stop for tea
But Walk a little faster, don’t look backwards Your feast is to the East, which lies a little past the pasture And the blackbirds hear tea whistling they rise and clap And their applause caws the kettle black And we can’t have none of that Move along, Bear, there, there, that’s that
Though cast in plaster Our Ursula’s heart beat faster Than monkey’s ever will
But still, they had got to pay the bills Hadn’t they? That is what the monkey’d say So, with the courage of a clown, or a cur Or a kite, jerking tight at its tether In her dung-brown gown of fur And her jerkin of swan’s down and leather Bear would sway on her hind legs The organ would grind dregs of song For the pleasure of the children who’d shriek Throwing coins at her feet and recoiling in terror
Sing, Dance, darling C’mon, will you dance, my darling? Oh darling, there’s a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust? Oh my darling there’s a place for us
Oh darling, c’mon, will you dance, my darling? You keep your eyes fixed on the highest hill Where you’ll ever-after eat your fill Oh my darling dear mine, if you dance Dance darling, and I’ll love you still
Deep in the night, shone a weak and miserly light Where the monkey shouldered his lamp Someone had told him the Bear’d been wandering a fair piece away From where they were camped Someone had told him the bear’d been sneaking away To the seaside caverns, to bathe And the thought troubled the monkey For he was afraid of spelunking Down in those caves, also afraid what the Village people would say if they saw the bear in that state Lolling and splashing obscenely Well, it seemed irrational, really Washing that face, washing that matted and flea-bit pelt In some sea-spit-shine old kelp dripping with brine But monkey just laughed, and he muttered When she comes back, Ursula will be bursting with pride Till I jump up saying, You’ve been rolling in muck Saying, You smell of garbage and grime
But far out, far out, by now, by now Far out, by now, Bear ploughed ‘Cause she would not drown
First the outside-legs of the bear Up and fell down, in the water, like knobby garters Then the outside-arms of the bear Fell off, as easy as if sloughed from boiled tomatoes Lowered in a genteel curtsy Bear shed the mantle of her diluvian shoulders And, with a sigh she allowed the burden of belly to drop Like an apron full of boulders
If you could hold up her threadbare coat to the light Where it’s worn translucent in places You’d see spots where Almost every night of the year Bear had been mending, suspending that baseness
Now her coat drags through the water Bagging, with a life’s-worth of hunger Limitless minnows
In the magnetic embrace, balletic and glacial Of bear’s insatiable shadow
Left there, left there When Bear left Bear
Left there, left there When bear stepped clear of bear
Sooner or later you’ll bury your teeth
“Sawdust & Diamonds”
This song is the closest Joanna has opened up about the extremely hard to express process of artistic creation, as well as her relationship with it. The whole thing feels like Joanna lost in the currents of her subconscious, grasping at beauty while guided by the resonant bell deep inside her that lets her know what’s right. This song contains some of my favorite lines of anything ever, the acknowledgement of the ancient wildness inside every human being: “I wasn’t born of a whistle / Or milked from a thistle at twilight / No; I was all horns and thorns / Sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright“.
There’s a bell in my ears There’s the wide, white roar Drop a bell down the stairs Hear it fall forevermore Hear it fall, forevermore
Drop a bell off of the dock Blot it out in the sea Drowning mute as a rock; And sounding mutiny
There’s a light in the wings Hits the system of strings From the side, where they swing — See the wires, the wires, the wires And the articulation in our elbows and knees Makes us buckle; And we couple in endless increase As the audience admires
And the little white dove Made with love, made with love; Made with glue, and a glove, and some pliers
Swings a low sickle arc, from its perch in the dark: Settle down, settle down, my desire
And the moment I slept I was swept up in a terrible tremor Though no longer bereft How I shook! And I couldn’t remember And then the furthermost shake drove a murthering stake in And cleft me right down through my center And I shouldn’t say so But I knew that it was then, or never
Push me back into a tree Bind my buttons with salt And fill my long ears with bees Praying please, please, please Oh, you ought not No you ought not
And then the system of strings tugs on the tip of my wings (Cut from cardboard and old magazines): Makes me warble and rise, like a sparrow And in the place where I stood There is a circle of wood — A cord or two — which you chop And you stack in your barrow And it is terribly good to carry water and chop wood Streaked with soot, heavy-booted and wild-eyed; As I crash through the rafters And the ropes and the pulleys trail after And the holiest belfry burns sky-high
And then the slow lip of fire moves Across the prairie with precision While, somewhere, with your pliers and glue You make your first incision And in a moment of almost-unbearable vision Doubled over with the hunger of lions Hold me close, cooed the dove Who was stuffed, now, with sawdust and diamonds
I wanted to say: Why the long face? Sparrow, perch and play songs of long face Burro, buck and bray songs of long face! Sing, I will swallow your sadness, and eat your cold clay Just to lift your long face; And though it may be madness, I will take to the grave Your precious longface And though our bones they may break, and our souls separate — Why the long face? And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil — Why the long face?
And in the trough of the waves Which are pawing like dogs Pitch we, pale-faced and grave As I write in my log
Then I hear a noise from the hull Seven days out to sea And it is that damnable bell! And it tolls — well, I believe that it tolls It tolls for me and It tolls for me!
And though my wrists and my waist seemed so easy to break Still, my dear, I’d have walked you to the edge of the water And they will recognize all the lines of your face In the face of the daughter, of the daughter of my daughter
And darling, we will be fine; but what was yours and mine Appears to me a sandcastle That the gibbering wave takes But if it’s all just the same, then will you say my name; Say my name in the morning, so that I know when the wave breaks
I wasn’t born of a whistle Or milked from a thistle at twilight No; I was all horns and thorns Sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright
So enough of this terror We deserve to know light And grow evermore lighter and lighter You would have seen me through But I could not undo that desire
“Only Skin”
This nearly seventeen minutes-long song is one of the most beautiful love songs I’ve ever heard. Clearly about her relationship with fellow songwriter Bill Callahan. Lots of vivid scenes of their relationship, more or less mythologized. Possible references to Callahan’s drug use (“But always up the mountainside you’re clambering / Groping blindly, hungry for anything / Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this? / Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?“) as well as cheating (“With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running / To where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning / Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? / You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking“). The petite mort, of course, is an orgasm. Poor Callahan; it’s all downhill from Joanna Newsom.
And there was a booming above you That night, black airplanes flew over the sea And they were lowing and shifting like Beached whales Shelled snails As you strained and you squinted to see The retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry
You froze in your sand shoal Prayed for your poor soul Sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl And when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke My sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke
And there was a silence you took to mean something Run, sing For alive you will evermore be And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulkin’ Has gone east While you’re left to explain them to me Released from their hairless and blind cavalry
With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running To where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking
It was a dark dream, darlin’, it’s over The firebreather is beneath the clover Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever A toothless hound-dog choking on a feather
But I took my fishingpole, fearing your fever Down to the swimminghole, where there grows bitter herb That blooms but one day a year by the riverside, I’d bring it here Apply it gently To the love you’ve lent me
While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed And the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly Gone treacly Nearly slowed to a stop in this heat In a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath
Press on me, we are restless things Webs of seaweed are swaddling And you call upon the dusk Of the musk of a squid Shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib
Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stone fruit being cut and being opened Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking
And when the fire moves away Fire moves away, son Why would you say I was the last one?
Scrape your knee, it is only skin Makes the sound of violins And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings I am the happiest woman among all women
And the shallow Water Stretches as far as I can see Knee-deep, trudging along The seagull weeps “so long”
Humming a threshing song Until the night is over Hold on! Hold on! Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn
I have got some business out at the edge of town Candy weighing both of my pockets down ‘Til I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them And knowing how the common-folk condemn What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm Being a woman, being a woman
But always up the mountainside you’re clambering Groping blindly, hungry for anything Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?
I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain Little sister, he will be back again I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain Spiders ghosts hang soaked and dangelin’ Silently from all the blooming cherry trees In tiny nooses, safe from everyone Nothing but a nuisance gone now, dead and done Be a woman, be a woman
Though we felt the spray of the waves We decided to stay till the tide rose too far We weren’t afraid, ’cause we know what you are And you know that we know what you are
Awful atoll Oh, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow Bawl, bellow Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow
Toddle and roll Teeth an impalpable bit of leather While yarrow, heather and hollyhock Awkwardly molt along the shore
Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore?
Stay with me for awhile That’s an awfully real gun I know life will lay you down As the lightning has lately done
Failing this, failing this Follow me, my sweetest friend To see what you anointed in pointing your gun there
Lay it down, nice and slow There is nowhere to go, save up Up where the light, undiluted, is weaving in a drunk dream At the sight of my baby, out back Back on the patio watching the bats bring night in While, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white Wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped
Last week our picture window produced a half-word Heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake And paint and labour over every intake
I said a sort of prayer for some sort of rare grace Then thought I ought to take her to a higher place Said “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view”
Then in my hot hand She slumped her sick weight We tramped through the poison oak Heartbroke and inchoate
The dogs were snapping And you cuffed their collars While I climbed the tree-house Then how I hollered Well, she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two
Then, saw the treetops, cocked her head and up and flew While, back in the world that moves, often According to the hoarding of these clues Dogs still run roughly around Little tufts of finch-down
And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland But his hand in my hand made them hale and harmless While down in the lowlands the crops are all coming We have everything Life is thundering blissful towards death In a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness
You stopped by, I was all alive In my doorway, we shucked and jived And when you wept, I was gone See, I got gone when I got wise But I can’t with certainty say we survived
Then down, and down And down, and down And down, and deeper Stoke without sound The blameless flames You endless sleeper
Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within Sleeped through the things that couldn’t have been if you hadn’t have been
And when the fire moves away Fire moves away, son And why would you say I was the last one?
All my bones they are gone, gone, gone Take my bones, I don’t need none Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on Suck all day on a cherry stone
Dig a little hole, not three inches round Spit your pit in a hole in the ground Weep upon the spot for the starving of me ‘Till up grow a fine young cherry tree
Well when the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west
But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head Come across the desert with no shoes on I love you truly, or I love no one
Fire moves away Fire moves away, son Why would you say That I was the last one Last one
Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you And if the love of a woman or two, dear Couldn’t move you to such heights, then all I can do Is do, my darling, right by you
“Cosmia”
Final song of the album, this one’s about the death of Joanna’s best friend, Cassie Schley-May, who was killed by a drunk driver when Joanna started touring. Apparently the moment Joanna received the call was captured in a documentary, but I haven’t dared watch it (I don’t even remember the name of the documentary now, though). This one is raw and haunting, less polished than the previous songs, because it needed to be.
In the lyrics, Joanna references a period of her teenage years that she hasn’t opened much about that I’m aware of; she fell into a deep depression and felt that the darkness of the world was pouring into her, drowning her. She used to refer to herself consistently as having no skin, defenseless against the myriad assaults of reality itself (yet another reason why I think she’s autistic). Somehow she ended up sleeping alone for a few nights in the forest, by the Yuba River, to cleanse herself of darkness, and nearly got eaten by a bear. The whole thing didn’t quite work, but bears likely became her spirit animal.
When you ate I saw your eyelashes Saw them shake like wind on rushes In the corn field when she called me Moths surround me, thought they’d drown me
And I miss your precious heart And I miss your precious heart
Dried rose petal, red brown circles Framed your eyes and stained your knuckles Dried rose petals, red brown circles Framed your eyes and stained your knuckles
And all those lonely nights down by the river Brought me bread and water, water in But though I tried so hard my little darling I couldn’t keep the night from coming in
And all those lonely nights down by the river Brought me bread and water by the kith and the kin Now in the quiet hour when I am sleepin’ I cannot keep the night from coming in
Why’ve you gone away? Gone away again I’ll sleep through the rest of my days If you’ve gone away again I’ll sleep through the rest of my days And I will sleep through the rest of my days And I’ll sleep through the rest of my days
Can you hear me? Will you listen? Don’t come near me, don’t go missing And in the lissome light of evening Help me Cosmia, I’m grieving
And all those lonely nights down by the river Brought me bread and water, water in But though I tried so hard my little darling I couldn’t keep the night from coming in
And all those lonely nights down by the river Brought me bread and water in the kith and the kin Now in the quiet hour when I am sleepin’ I cannot keep the night from comin’ in
Beneath the porch light we’ve all been circling Beat our dust hearts, singe our flour wings But in the corner, something is happening Wild Cosmia, what have you seen?
Water were your limbs, and the fire was your hair And then the moonlight caught your eye And you rose through the air Well, if you’ve seen true light, then this is my prayer Will you call me when you get there?
And I miss your precious heart And I miss your precious heart And miss, and miss, and miss And miss, and miss, and miss, and miss, and miss your heart
But release your precious heart To it’s feast for precious hearts
As a solitary dude, all my life I have relied on music to connect with the world at large, to feel that my feelings weren’t that unique or detached from the rest of humanity. Over the years, I’ve returned to certain albums that have spoken to me in ways that can’t be fully put into words. I love discovering new albums, and perhaps that’s also the case for whoever is reading these words, so I’ll spend some of my limited time on Earth sharing some specifics about the albums that have marked me, and that in many ways changed me.
Today’s album is Morbid Stuff, by the indie-punk band PUP. It has accompanied me through plenty of shit ever since it came out in 2019. Hard for me to compare this album to any other, as I rarely listen to punk, but this band’s frontman captures a perfect blend of disappointment, bitterness, self-disdain and melancholy that resonates very well with me. Without further ado:
“Morbid Stuff”
A song about regret and melancholy. I don’t have the specific details of what the songwriter is talking about, but I picture a female friend or girlfriend of the songwriter trying to make her way in the art scene, only to do something terrible that caused her to disappear from the picture and from the songwriter’s life. Poignant in a raw way.
I was bored as fuck Sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff Like if anyone I’ve slept with is dead and I got stuck On death and dying and obsessive thoughts that won’t let up It makes me feel like I’m about to throw up
I was getting high in the van in St. Catharines While you were rubbing elbows in the art scene And back in the city I was on a tear High-fiving every shithead on Queen Street Passed out on the bus ride I got home in the morning at a quarter to ten Everybody was sleeping in Mom and dad were smoking weed in the attic again I said
I don’t know what you want me to say Stood by watching as your world went up in flames When you’ve tried everything, but the feeling stays the same You had it all, you pissed it away
I don’t know what you want me to say ‘Cause back in the city I was on a tear You had it all, you pissed it away Back in the city without a care
I still dream about you time and time again Well I’ve been sleeping in somebody elses bed And as my body aged, the feeling never did
“Kids”
A lovely tale of rage, bitterness and nihilism. Of doing your best despite the demons that drag you down, only to realize that nothing will work, that you might as well have surrendered to your most self-destructive urges. But at the end of the day, the songwriter gets to return to his girl, which doesn’t solve any issues in the rest of his life, but at least feels nice.
Just like the kids I’ve been navigating my way Through the mind-numbing reality of a godless existence Which, at this point in my hollow and vapid life Has erased what little ambition I’ve got left And I’ve embraced the calamity With a detachment and a passive disinterest Livin’ out the back of my ’97 Camry Wonderin’ how the hell I got myself into this
I guess it doesn’t matter anyway I don’t care about nothin’ but you I guess it doesn’t matter anyway ‘Cause I don’t care about nothin’ I don’t care about nothin’ but you No, I don’t care about nothin’
She said, “I’m sick of it all Your little games are gettin’ old Your little songs are getting way too literal How about some goddamn subtlety for a change?” She said, “I feel like I’ve come untethered In a room without walls I’m driftin’ on a dark and empty sea of nothin’ It doesn’t feel bad, it feels like nothin’ at all”
And I had it maxed out I had a feelin’, oh oh-oh-oh Nothin’ is workin’ And everything’s bleedin’, oh oh-oh-oh I shoulda tapped out Given into my demons, oh oh-oh-oh
It’s alright, it’s just a flesh wound You said you never saw it comin’ I’m pretty happy lyin’ here with you It’s pretty good to feel somethin’
“See You at Your Funeral”
My favorite song of the album. It captures very well the pained bitterness of coming across someone you used to love but that broke your heart. You want to know what’s been going on with her, but you know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself that you want her to be happy despite what she put you through, but you don’t truly want that. And above all, you wish everything would end in a rageful fire that would sweep away your pain.
The days blur into one, and I float around the edge of them Searching for something that’ll make me feel alive again These past few weeks in a hell of my own creation I try vegan food I take up meditation
I hope you’re doing fine on your own ‘Cause after everything we’ve been through You better hope you’ll find someone And you’ll try But you won’t ‘Cause after everything we’ve been through Oh baby, I wanna know
What you were thinking when you saw me in the produce section Buying organic foods Making healthy selections I asked you how you’ve been, not that it’s any of my business But you know me, I’ve always been a little masochistic
I hope somehow, I never see you again And if I do, it’s at your funeral, or better yet I hope the world explodes I hope that we all die We can watch the highlights in hell I hope they’re televised
“Scorpion Hill”
The devastating tale of a working-class father who can’t stay afloat no matter what he does. Dragged down by his own demons and by this harsh, unforgiving reality, it paints an increasingly grim picture, depicting his struggles with maintaining a relationship with his romantic partner as well as his son, until it wallops you with the final lines: “She said: I found the gun, it was buried beneath / Piles of clothes in the room where your son sleeps / And I can’t pretend to know how this will end.”
Up on Scorpion Hill watching life Passing me by in the pale moonlight And I sat there forever, three sheets to the wind It’s not helping my case, the state that I’m in But it’s not how they told you My intentions were good I was just bursting apart like the end of the arc Holding on to whatever I could
A square of light moves its way through the empty room Across the stained yellow carpet Like a ghost of myself in the afternoon Haunting my basement apartment I looked in to the mirror Hanging behind my door The glass was cracked and the man staring back He don’t look like me anymore And if the world is gonna burn Everyone should get a turn to light it up
Down and out, I’ve been on the rocks I’ve been having some pretty dark thoughts Yeah, I like them a lot
Time and time again, well I’ve tried and failed To get my act together And I’ll admit lately things really went off the rails I know that you deserve better But in the morning, as I was boarding The commuter train to work The boss was calling, he said: “There’s been cutbacks and I’m sorry you’re the first” And If I can’t support the two of us How can I support a third?
And I’m on the brink Fallin’ deep into debt Fallin’ deep into drink I can drown those regrets I don’t have to think
Now I’m working the night shift Asleep at the wheel I was bursting apart like a flame from a spark Thinkin ‘Jesus, this can’t be for real’
My sweat soaked mattress Corner of the room Cigarettes and Matches In the fading afternoon And a picture my kid, ya he’s smiling It’s the first day of school
She said: I found the gun, it was buried beneath Piles of clothes in the room where your son sleeps And I can’t pretend to know how this will end
As a solitary dude, all my life I have relied on music to connect with the world at large, to feel that my feelings weren’t that unique or detached from the rest of humanity. Over the years, I’ve returned to certain albums that have spoken to me in ways that can’t be fully put into words. I love discovering new albums, and perhaps that’s also the case for whoever is reading these words, so I’ll spend some of my limited time on Earth sharing some specifics about the albums that have marked me, and that in many ways changed me.
Today’s album is Teens of Denial by Car Seat Headrest, released in 2016. When I first listened to this album back in the day, I was drawn to its scruffy, lo-fi rock, combined with songwriter Will Toledo’s self-deprecating, often profound and in general compelling lyrics. The album was a fitting companion whenever I felt l like I was stumbling through life generally unfulfilled, though thankfully not sinking in the depths of one of my cycles of depression. Given how often I feel like that, I’ve ended up returning to this album repeatedly over the years. It now feels like a classic.
“Fill In the Blanks”
Fantastic opener. The very first voice you hear in the album is that of a girl, maybe a fan, maybe a friend of Toledo’s, who can barely remember the name of the band. That immediately sets the tone for the rest of the album. In the song, Will opens up about his experiences with depression: the shame, the self-hate, the way other people sometimes try to help but you end up driving them away. These lyrics contain a couple of lines that I suspect all people who have dealt with clinical depression could relate to, when they compare themselves with those who haven’t been tainted by that darkness: “And I will never see the light / That I’ve seen shining in your eyes.”
I’m so sick of, fill in the blank Accomplish more, accomplish nothing If I were split in two I would just take my fists So I can beat up the rest of me
You have no right to be depressed You haven’t tried hard enough to like it Haven’t seen enough of this world yet But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts Well stop your whining, try again No one wants to cause you pain They’re just trying to let some air in But you hold your breath, you hold your breath, you hold it Hold my breath, I hold my breath, I hold it
I’ve known for a long time I’m not getting what I want out of people It took me a long time To figure out I don’t know what I want So you’ll ask “Why?” and there will be no answer Then you’ll ask “For how long?” and there will be no answer Then you’ll ask “What can I do?” and there’ll be no answer And eventually you will shut up
I’ve got a right to be depressed I’ve given every inch I had to fight it I have seen too much of this world, yes And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts And I will never see the light (so stop your whining try again) That I’ve seen shining in your eyes (no one wants to cause you pain) You just want to see me naked (they’re just trying to let some air in, but you) So I’ll hold my breath, I hold my breath, I hold it Hold my breath, I hold my breath, I hold my breath, I hold my breath I hold my breath, I hold my breath, I hold my breath
“Destroyed by Hippie Powers”
This one’s about Toledo getting so high that he questions what he’s done to his life. I don’t have much to say about the song except that I like it a lot.
What happened to that chubby little kid who smiled so much and loved the Beach Boys? What happened is I killed that fucker and I took his name, and I got new glasses
“Unforgiving Girl (She’s Not an)”
I’m not sure what Toledo meant to convey with this song, but ultimately I care what music makes me feel. When I listen to this one, it conjures images of being able to rely on a special connection, someone who has seen you at your worst, who understands how fucked up the world is, but who still manages to improve your day the few times you reconnect with her. I love how the song devolves into raw cries that perfectly summarize the impresion this song elicits for me: “It’s an unforgiving world / But she’s not an unforgiving girl.”
What a glorious hell we have found Until I recognize the sound Of my voice again For years I hadn’t had a clue But suddenly I can look through Your eyes again
This isn’t sex, I don’t think, it’s just extreme empathy She’s not my ex, we never met, but do you still think of me? They say that the world is one, but if the world is one How come you never come around anymore? (I guess it’s not that simple)
Well, everyone learns to live with their sins But girl you wear yours like a brand new skin
Well, everyone learns to live with themselves And you’re not the only one who’s been through hell So give me a sign that I’m not making love to myself
“The Ballad of the Costa Concordia”
This one makes me think about my shortcomings, about aging, about how the strength and vitality has been sapped out of me little by little, about how I’ve managed to fuck most things up some way or another. In such moods, you think about the whys. What if my parents had known what the fuck they were doing? What if I had been someone else entirely? Ultimately you are forced to handle the cards you’ve been dealt, at least those you haven’t lost along the way.
I used to like the mornings I’d survived another night I’d walk to breakfast through the garden See the flowers stretching in the sunlight
Now I wake up in the mornings And all the kindness is drained out of me I spend hours just wincing And trying to regain some sense of peace
If only I could sustain my anger Feel it grow stronger and stronger It sharpens to a point and sheds my skin Shakes off the weight of my sins And takes me to heaven
I stay up late every night Out of some general protest But with no one to tell you to come to bed It’s not really a contest
And maybe you think I’ll learn from my mistake But not this time It’s just gonna break me
And if I’ve lost you for good Could there have been any other way? Was the water filling up for years Or did I wreck it all in a day?
I’m going to bed now I’ve sunk into my sorrows And it’ll take three hundred million dollars To get me up tomorrow
I won’t go down with the ship I will put my hands up and surrender There will be no more flags above my door I have lost, and I always will be
It was an expensive mistake It was an expensive mistake My horse broke his back to get me here I have his blood on my hands for no reason But what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to know how to use a tube amp? How was I supposed to know how to drive a van? How was I supposed to know how to ride a bike without hurting myself? How was I supposed to know how to make dinner for myself? How was I supposed to know how to hold a job? How was I supposed to remember to grab my backpack after I set it down to play basketball? And how was I supposed to know how to not get drunk every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and why not Sunday? (How was I supposed to know how to steer this ship?) How was I supposed to know how to steer this ship? How the hell was I supposed to steer this ship? It was an expensive mistake You can’t say you’re sorry and it’s over I was given a body that is falling apart My house is falling apart And I was given a mind that can’t control itself (And what about the pain I’m in right now?) And I was given a ship that can’t steer itself (And what about a vacation?) And what about a vacation to feel good? My horse broke his back and left me here How was I supposed to know?
Let us take you back to where we came in We were united, an undivided nation We got divided, it was something inside us And it was not us
“Connect the Dots (The Saga of Frank Sinatra)”
This one’s about Toledo being told by most people in his life, particularly his parents, that his youthful dreams of making it as a rock star were silly, that nothing he dreamed of would happen. The song feels defiant and triumphant: you ignore the advice and opinions of those who can’t glimpse the target you aim for, and you forge ahead with manly obstination until you finally achieve the goal of all creatives: “We’re never gonna, never gonna get a job.”
Little boy says I’ll be in love with my fists Little boy says I’ll be in love with my punches Little boy says, “What should I do with my hands, mom?” Little boy is told not to do anything wrong
When I die I’ll be taken to the constellations Have a drink, relax, there’ll be some introductions This is Cassiopeia, this is Orion This is Cindy and this is Nathan That’s Chrissy and the other Nathan
I know that it’s a lot to remember says mother I know that it’s a lot to remember says father I know that it’s a lot to remember says mother I know that it’s a lot to remember says father
I speak these words in utter isolation I drive the car in a line from star to stardom Little boy says I’ll touch the heart of the nation Little boy says I’ll punch the heart of everyone
I know that it’s a lot to remember says mother I know that it’s a lot to remember says father I know that it’s a lot to remember says mother I know that it’s a lot to remember says someone
You won’t see who you want to see there No one will want to be in your band You’ll have to learn how to make it on your own Spend a little time with your own hand
And we’re never gonna, never gonna get a job And we’re never gonna, never gonna get a job And we’re never gonna, never gonna get a job And we’re never gonna, never gonna get a job
As a solitary dude, all my life I have relied on music to connect with the world at large, to feel that my feelings weren’t that unique or detached from the rest of humanity. Over the years, I’ve returned to certain albums that have spoken to me in ways that can’t be fully put into words. I love discovering new albums, and perhaps that’s also the case for whoever is reading these words, so I’ll spend some of my limited time on Earth sharing some specifics about the albums that have marked me, and that in many ways changed me.
Today’s album is The Moon & Antarctica by Modest Mouse, released in 2000. It’s mostly a breakup album, possibly my favorite. Ages ago I read a review of this album that said something to the effect of, “every previous Modest Mouse album felt like Isaac Brock [the band’s singer-songwriter] was grasping at some truths in the static of an untuned radio station, but in The Moon & Antartica, the station came in clear all of a sudden.” Many of the songs in this album are perfectly attuned to what they’re trying to express, to the smallest piece of music. The result is a bunch of idiosyncratic songs that don’t sound like any other band I know of (I haven’t found “old Modest Mouse-like” anywhere).
This album has accompanied me through heartbreak, through loneliness, through derangement. Plenty of aspects of my self are reflected in these songs.
“3rd Planet”
This song ties together the relationship most of this album refers to, down to a pivotal moment when the future of the narrator’s life could have gone a very different path. It’s raw and mythical, with memorable imagery.
Everything that keeps me together is falling apart I got this thing that I consider my only art Of fucking people over
The third planet is sure that they’re being watched By an eye in the sky that can’t be stopped When you get to the promised land You’re gonna shake the eye’s hand
Your heart felt good It was drippin’ pitch and made of wood And your hands and knees Felt cold and wet on the grass beneath Well, outside, naked, shivering, looking blue From the cold sunlight that’s reflecting off the moon And baby cum angels fly around you Reminding you we used to be three and not just two And that’s how the world began And that’s how the world will end
Well, a third had just been made And we were swimming in the water Didn’t know then; was it a son, was it a daughter And it occurred to me that the animals are swimming Around in the water in the oceans in our bodies And another had been found, another ocean on the planet Given that our blood is just like the Atlantic, and how
Well the universe is shaped exactly like the earth If you go straight long enough you’ll end up where you were
“Gravity Rides Everything”
This song depicts very well the moment in a romantic relationship when you know it’s dying, that she’s looking for the door, and you feel powerless to stop her from drifting away. The inevitability of it all feels like a weight on your feet.
Oh, gotta see, gotta know right now What’s that riding on your everything It isn’t anything at all Oh, gotta see, gotta know right now What’s that writing on your shelf In the bathrooms and the bad motels No one really cared for it at all Not the gravity plan
Early, early in the morning It pulls all on down my sore feet I want to go back to sleep
In the motions and the things that you say It all will fall, fall right into place As fruit drops, flesh it sags Everything will fall right into place When we die some sink and some lay But at least I don’t see you float away And on split milk, sex and weight It all will fall, fall right into place
“Dark Center of the Universe”
You used to love this person, who also loved you back, but now she has nothing but complaints about the same self that she used to like, and you have little else to offer back but bitterness.
I might disintegrate into the thin air if you’d like I’m not the dark center of the universe like you thought
Well, it took a lot of work to be the ass that I am And I’m really damn sure that anyone can Equally, easily fuck you over Well, God said something, but he didn’t mean it Everyone’s life ends, but no one ever completes it Dry or wet, ice never melts and you’re equally cheated
Well, an endless ocean landing on an endless desert Well, it’s funny as hell, but no one laughs when they get there
“Perfect Disguise”
It’s done: the relationship is over, and now you’re lingering in the same town, having to watch this woman you used to love and who loved you back waltzing around town, shooting looks at you to figure out if you’re doing worse than her. And even though you don’t want to care anymore, you feel that something fundamental has broken in you.
Well, you’ve got the perfect disguise and you’re looking okay From the bottom of the best of the worst, well, what can I say?
‘Cause you cocked your head to shoot me down And I don’t give a damn about you or this town no more No, ’cause I know the score
Need me to fall down so you can climb up Some fool-ass ladder, well, good luck I hope, I hope there’s something better up there
Broke my back Broke my back Broke my back
“Tiny Cities Made of Ashes”
A raw, angry, post-apocalyptic song. You’re done with the world, you’re sick of people, and you want to take it out on someone (possibly that woman, maybe not).
We’re goin’ down the road Towards tiny cities made of ashes I’m gonna hit you on the face I’m gonna punch you in your glasses, oh no I just got a message that said “Yeah, Hell has frozen over” I got a phone call from the Lord sayin’ “Hey, boy, get a sweater, right now”
So we’re drinkin’, drinkin’, drinkin’, drinkin’ Coca, Coca Cola I can feel it rollin’ right on down Oh, right on down my throat And as we’re headed down the road Towards tiny cities made of ashes I’m gonna get dressed up in plastic Gonna shake hands with the masses Oh no!
Does anybody know a way that a body could get away? Does anybody know a way? Does anybody know a way that a body could get away? Does anybody know a way?
“A Different City”
The narrator has moved away from the town that held too many memories. He’s holing up at some dingy apartment, wanting to isolate himself from everything. He feels that he’s losing it.
I wanna live in the city with no friends and family I’m gonna look out the window of my color TV I wanna remember to remember to forget you forgot me I’m gonna look out the window of my color TV
Through the cracks in the wall, slow motion for all Dripped out of the bars, someone smart said nothin’ at all I’m watching TV, I guess that’s a solution They gave me a receipt that said I didn’t buy nothin’ So rust is a fire and our blood oxidizes My eyes roll around, all around on the carpet Oh, hit the deck, it’s the decal man Standin’ upside down and talkin’ out of his pants
“The Cold Part”
Fantastic auditory depiction of that state some people fall into at times: a mix of apathy, loneliness and resignation.
So long to this cold, cold part of the world So long to this bone-bleached part of the world So long to this cold, cold part of the world So long to this salt-soaked part of the world
I stepped down as president of Antarctica Can’t blame me, don’t blame me
“Alone Down There”
Althought I’m not sure about my interpretation, I always picture that this song is about reaching out to someone who hurt you, possibly even the ex this whole album is about, because that person is suffering. You can’t really help them; you’re sitting at the bottom of a well yourself, but you know how bad it gets. Still, you realize that reaching out to such a person is a terrible idea.
How do, how do you do? My name is You Flies, they all gather ’round me and you too You can’t see anything well You ask me what size it is, not what I sell Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha
Well, I don’t want you to be alone down there To be alone down there, to be alone Yeah, I don’t want you to be alone down there To be alone down there, to be alone But the devil’s apprentice, he gave me some credit He fed me a line and I’ll probably regret it I don’t want you to be alone down there To be alone down there, to be alone
“Paper Thin Walls”
The narrator has settled down far away from the microcosm that caused him that pain. He’s beginning to take the rest of the world into account once again, but he isn’t the same person he used to be: he feels that he better take things lightly from now on, and stop sacrificing himself for the sake of others. Life in solitude is long and hard, but at least you won’t have to suffer further humiliation.
These walls are paper thin And everyone hears every little sound Everyone’s a voyeurist They’re watching me watch them watch me right now They’re shaking hands, they’re shaking in their shoes Oh, Lord, don’t shake me down Everyone wants two of them And half of everyone else who’s around It’s been agreed the whole world stinks So no one’s taking showers anymore
Laugh hard, it’s a long ways to the bank I can’t be blamed for nothing anymore It’s been a long time since you’ve been around Laugh hard, it’s a long ways to the bank
Tow the line to tax the time, you know That you don’t owe I can’t be a fool for everyone That I don’t know
“What People Are Made Of”
I’m not that fond of this song, but it’s a great closer for the album as far as I’m concerned. The narrator is grasping at profound truths that he has gleaned from this ordeal. The experience has turned him into a different person, someone who will have a hard time connecting with those who haven’t gone through the same thing.
Ragweed tall, better hope that his ladder don’t crack Or he’ll hit the ground low, hard and under his back At the battle at the bottom of the ocean where the dead do rise You need proof, I got proof at the surface You can watch ’em float by
Way in back of the room, there sits a cage Inside is the clock that you can win if you can guess its age Which you never can do ’cause the time, it constantly changes For lack or luck, I guess that is the saying
On the first page of the Book of Blue, it read “If you read this page, then that’ll be your death” By then it was too late, and you wound up on An island of shells and bones that bodies had left
Brock offers the following lyrics as the closer of this uncompromising, raw ride:
And the one thing you taught me ’bout human beings was this: They ain’t made of nothin’ but water and shit
As a solitary dude, all my life I have relied on music to connect with the world at large, to feel that my feelings weren’t that unique or detached from the rest of humanity. Over the years, I’ve returned to certain albums that have spoken to me in ways that can’t be fully put into words. I love discovering new albums, and perhaps that’s also the case for whoever is reading these words, so I’ll spend some of my limited time on Earth sharing some specifics about the albums that have marked me, and that in many ways changed me.
Today’s album is Palabras más, palabras menos, by Los Rodríguez. A bit weird for me to start with this album; even though Spanish is my mother tongue, this one is the only album in Spanish that I have listened repeatedly over the years. I like the entire thing, but I find myself repeating four songs in particular.
“Todavía una canción de amor”
The song speaks of a love already dead and gone, but that has never let the narrator go. I discovered this album back in 1995, when I was ten years old, and I only came to fully understand the song years later, when I found myself sleepwalking to places that I had shared with a past lover, hoping but also dreading to see her appearing there as if summoned.
Death is a spurned lover Who plays dirty and doesn’t know how to lose.
I’m trying to tell you I’m desperate waiting for you. I don’t go out to look for you because I know I risk finding you. I keep biting my nails of resentment day and night. I still owe you a love song.
Singing is shooting against forgetting, Living without you is sleeping at the station.
“Mucho mejor”
A song that praises losing oneself in sex and general debauchery, for when you don’t give shit about anything else but making love in the balcony with your likely quite underage lover; the ideal state of mind.
Sweet like wine, salty like the sea, Princess and vagabond, deep throat, Save me from this loneliness.
Honeymoon, paper moon, Full moon, cinnamon skin, give me nights of pleasure. Sometimes I’m bad, sometimes I’m good. I’ll give you my heart for you to play with it.
They could accuse me, she’s underage. We’ll go to a hotel, we’ll go to dinner, But we’ll never go together to the altar.
“La puerta de al lado”
A haunting song about a man who has given up on life, has detached himself from anyone who knows him, and is staying at a motel that he expects will be the last place that sees him alive. Beautifully written, depicting very well that suicidal state, and ends the song powerfully by mirroring a previous symbol in an understated manner: he had mentioned someone having hanged himself next door, the door itself marked with a “Please do not disturb sign.” Now, the same sign hangs on the narrator’s door.
Let time pass With a wandering gaze, no direction to follow, A book always open, Pages torn one by one, filled with resentment.
In some place, On a secondary provincial road, The light in the window Shining with the noise of passing trucks.
And at the front desk, there’s a fake name. No one in the world knows where I am, Not knowing, not knowing where I am, And now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I’ll wait for the wind to come and find me.
There’s someone out there, Talking in the hallway as if mocking me. Laughter is heard, And the sound of spoons, and a girl says “yes.”
And at the door, there’s a sign hanging, That says: “Please do not disturb,” Never again, never again, never again.
“Diez años después”
My favorite of their songs, it speaks to unresolved grief, regret, and other complicated feelings for a past love that he wishes yet dreads that it could restart. This song played in my mind many times as I wrote my latest novella, Motocross Legend, Love of My Life. I’ve been in love for more than twenty years with the lyrics of this song.
If ten years later I find you again in some place, Remember I’m different now, but almost the same. If chance brings us together again ten years later, Something will flare up; I won’t be polite.
Ten years later, who can go back? We’re here on earth for only a few days, And heaven doesn’t offer any guarantees: Ten years later, better to start anew.
If your trust has eroded somewhere, Don’t forget I’m a casual witness to your solitude. If ten years later we’re not the same, what can you do, Another ten years and then, start together again.
That was a lovely spring, But it was only the first one. Ten years later, time starts to take its toll. I still have bullets left in my chamber, But I always save the first one for you. Ten years later, better to laugh than to cry.
I gave you a letter I never wrote, unread by anyone. Today, ten years later, everything remains the same: It never reached you.
Within my heart, nowadays, there’s no room left. If I lost my mind, it wasn’t because of love, but loneliness.
Life is a grand waiting room, The other is a wooden box. Ten years later, better to sleep than to dream. You can’t live any other way, Because otherwise, people don’t notice. Ten years later, who can go back?
Ten years later, better to speak than to stay silent.
If you want to know about my story with Tim Cameron and his band Colours Run, check out my previous post about it. In summary: back when I was a teen, until I was eighteen or so, I used to frequent some comedy forums named PWOT, where an English fellow by the name of Tim Cameron, and nickname of Camerhil, posted his songs. I found him brilliant. You had the sense that this guy opened his heart up to you. It’s like he felt he had little time to do that in this world, so he was in a hurry to make it somewhere with his music. In 2007 or so, along with his bandmates, he published an album, and then he disappeared to the US and was never heard from again. I never heard from him again, at least. As far as I can tell, you can’t even buy his works these days.
I used to treasure his songs, but I had lost most of them along the way. It was almost a miracle that I came across a twenty-year-old CD with about eleven songs of his, and that was all I had left. Last night, though, a kind soul gave me an early Christmas present; turns out that there are other former PWOT members out there who loved Tim’s music.
Without further ado, here are the missing Colours Run songs (apart from a few ones that are, let’s say, only for former PWOT members).
From the album Cynical Wonderful:
“On My Side”
“Pilot Light 30-04-07”
“Beautiful Waste of Time”
“Scars”
“The Traveller”
“Perpetual Motion”
“Apathy Ever After”
“Pilot Light”
“Marketplace Crisis”
“Good Night”
“Tethers”
“Song for the Doctor”
From the E.P. The Sticks:
“Old”
“The Sticks”
“Curiosity”
Doghouse Demo:
“Before the War (demo)”
“Chaos Song (demo)”
“Tethers (demo)”
Unknown:
“Pilot Light 1st Master”
“On My Side”
“Fireflies”
“The Snowline”
“Beautiful Waste of Time (demo)”
“Beautiful Waste of Time radio”
“Before the War radio”
2007 demos:
“Birnam”
“Gossamer acoustic”
“Gossamer with vocals”
“Gossamer”
“Methods of Escape (no drums)”
“Methods of Escape”
“Pilot Light 07-02-12”
“Pilot Light 30-04-07”
“Prelude in C”
“The Snowline 16-03-07”
“The Snowline”
“Wichita Lineman”
Now I have more songs by Colours Run and Tim Cameron than I ever did.
In case you don’t know, this year I’ve been exploiting the amazing AI service Udio to produce songs. I’ve already made and released two full albums based on a strange story I wrote back in 2021, named Odes to My Triceratops. It follows the adventures and misadventures of a trio of friends who live in a town lost in the map. The main dude is a songwriter named William Griffin, who’s passionate and sensitive, if a bit unhinged. Another character is William’s next-door neighbor Claire Javernick, a blind redhead. Then we have Lorenzo, who’s a sentient triceratops for no justifiable reason. You can download the first two albums of this story through this link.
So yeah, a fresh new song directly to your ears, this one in the style of the relatively obscure Paisley Underground movement, which is a sort of garage psychedelic rock with a Californian vibe. I’m very fond of how this tune turned out.
Lyrics below:
A beast from the deep, The monster under your bed. Eyes red like the setting sun, Claws the size and weight Of a heavy human soul. It can’t die; it only transforms. It can’t be stopped, Unless it decides to stop.
I have a portal to hell inside my throat. It hurts, but I’m getting used to the pain. Still, I don’t know whom I hate more: The world, or myself.
This isn’t the story of how I died. This is the story of how I met a girl, We fell in love, and she betrayed me. She didn’t do it on purpose; She was just a dumb kid. Besides, the darkness drove her crazy, Almost as crazy as me.
I ain’t a poet, couldn’t hope to be, But I’m the only person left: A castaway in a plastic kayak, Drifting down the River Styx Past skeletons clinging to rocks, Reaching out for a bite to eat.
You and I, love, we shared our lives, We did the best we could, But the best we could Was a steaming pile of dogshit.
Someday I’ll make it to that faraway shore Where eagles soar on golden wings. There, I’ll sit and rest in my blue suit. I’ll watch as time goes by, Not aging a day, not losing a thing. The memories will blur and fade Until all I have left is me.
EDIT: I fed this post to the Google AI thing that generates podcasts out of your material. Yes, I’m writing the lyrics, you guys (who are by the way unaware of the fact that they’re AIs themselves). Check it out.
Back in my late teens I frequented the Pointless Waste of Time forums, a comedy site belonging to Jason Pargin, later writer of the John Dies at the End series. The little I remember of my teenage years was beyond miserable, but I looked forward to a few things; one of them was the songs that a member of that forum posted regularly. His name was Tim Cameron, an intelligent, funny and honest British fellow who made music that I still vibe with. He later formed a band that he called Colours Run. They seemed to be on the path to grandeur (appeared on live shows and such), only for Tim to suddenly call quits on the whole thing, move to the US, and never be heard from again. That happened about twenty years ago.
His songs disappeared from the internet. As much as I would have loved over the years to listen to them again, they were gone. A few years ago, though, I came across an ancient CD in which I had burned some, unfortunately not all, of his songs I had downloaded.
I want others to know of this creative dude and his talents, which used to brighten my horrid days, so I plan to post on here all twelve recordings I have left of his. Tim, if you happened to google your old band out of nostalgia and came across this site, I’ll take them down if you want. And thank you for your songs.
A couple of weeks ago, I posted the first song of theirs I intended to post. Back then, I wanted to focus on a single song per post, but I’ve been busy with other stuff lately, so I ended up not posting any more. To my surprise, someone who also likes Colours Run found my post and urged me to share the rest of their songs, particularly “Tethers” and “Apathy Ever After.” I suspect I have never listened to those songs. Looking back, right at the end I stopped visiting the forums for personal reasons, and that’s when Colours Run released their “real” album, that is now unavailable for whatever reason. All the songs I have of theirs precede that album.
Without further ado (and no lyrics this time):
“Before the War”
“Before the War” (live)
“You-Centric Song”
“Alphabet Soup”
“Sand”
“Plastic Cups”
“Winter’s Day”
“Chaos Song”
“Curiosity”
“Paper Cord”
“Paper Cord” (live)
“Colours Run”
Listening back to these songs, it’s a disgrace that Tim and his boys didn’t make it. They were the real deal. Even decades from now, if I live that long, I’ll still love his stuff.
If you reading this are a fan who has stumbled upon this blast from the past, if you happen to have other songs of theirs that have otherwise been lost to time, by all means tell me where the hell I can find them.
EDIT: I found “Tethers” on YouTube:
This one’s “Beautiful Waste of Time”, from the YouTube channel posted in the comments:
Back in my late teens I frequented the Pointless Waste of Time forums, a comedy site belonging to Jason Pargin, later writer of the John Dies at the End series. The little I remember of my teenage years was beyond miserable, but I looked forward to a few things; one of them was the songs that a member of that forum posted regularly. His name was Tim Cameron, an intelligent, funny and honest British fellow who made music that I still vibe with. He later formed a band that he called Colours Run. They seemed to be on the path to grandeur (appeared on live shows and such), only for Tim to suddenly call quits on the whole thing, move to the US, and never be heard from again. That happened about twenty years ago.
His songs disappeared from the internet. As much as I would have loved over the years to listen to them again, they were gone. A few years ago, though, I came across an ancient CD in which I had burned some, unfortunately not all, of his songs I had downloaded.
I want others to know of this creative dude and his talents, which used to brighten my horrid days, so I plan to post on here all twelve recordings I have left of his. Tim, if you happened to google your old band out of nostalgia and came across this site, I’ll take them down if you want. And thank you for your songs.
Without further ado, here’s the original version of “Before the War.”
Here’s a recording of “Before the War” from a live event they did:
Lyrics below:
When we lost the human race All our brains got replaced, And all these robots never laugh At my jokes.
So take me back before the war. Take these things, they’re all yours. There’s nothing, nothing worth Fighting for.
You stole my drugs, crashed my car, But you left no lasting scars. Retribution slipped so soft, Like a blade.
We blew it up, knocked it down. Never tried giving ground, and now There’s nothing left of love But what I saved.
I get tired winning games When the pieces never change, And all the clever moves you make Seem so tame.
You can sulk if you want. Don’t you wonder what’s the point When there’s nothing left of love Worth sulking for?
Did you cry when you left me?
Another year older, The world on my shoulders, And I’m still no closer To finding a girl Who won’t bore me to tears. Not here.
There’s nothing worth fighting for. Don’t remember what I did before the war.
The Domains of the Emperor Owl 
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