over the summer, irene, haven and i had a band called the dirty rags. we wrote some songs together and played some covers like tame by the pixies and kiss off by the violent femmes. this is one of the songs we wrote together, done by berta. lyrics by irene.

i ran out of tape for my four track. i had this line 'my name isn't samantha, i didn't come here from canada' running through my head. i wanted to say something about people spying on their neighbors, turning them in for living their lives and beliefs. it didn't come out that way. i threw everything directly into audacity. the problem with audacity is it doesn't keep the tracks synced up. i had to manually line everything up, sometimes not so well. all the tracks are slightly out of sync. so frustrating. ahhh, new learning curves. so out came 'samantha', i forgot to mention the pocket poodle, oh well...

i ended up rerecording 'why am i wrong?' the same way, another problem with syncing, it's hard to determine how badly i played, it all seems so... well, it isn't tight like i want it, which prevents it from really being that power-slap in the face.  but the idea is there. i reworked the middle part a little tighter, tougher. everything remains pretty raw, but i find the guitar doesn't punch through like it should, but at least we can hear the bass now... and the drums are a little clearer. all things to learn through more trial and error. perhaps next i'll do 'choke' and give that a work over.

cheerio

a little riff came out the other day. i really wanted to do something along these lines, simple, rhythmic, herky-jerky. a little disquieting. so i laid down some drums, they didn't work, so i laid'm down again. 2 takes. them i laid down a scratch guitar. then i laid down some bass, then after a little practice, i laid it down again. i'd say 2.5 takes. then i did the guitar... maybe 3.8 takes. just to see what it all sounded like. i was liking it, but it was missing something for me to truly be able to judge it... vocals. hmm... so i listened to it a few more times with my trusty pen and notebook. what to say? i scrapped a few peices of paper... then i just wrote out some shit, then i pressed record without even trying it out because i figured with my lack of confidence in these words the only saving grace would be an off-the-cuff performance. this is it. i've listened to it a few times since yesterday afternoon, still undecided about a lyric change, so i'm posting it in the meantime. 

Wrote '15 days' after a trip to Prague for new years' 2000. Came home to move into an empty apartment with two other kids I'd never met and who wouldn't arrive for another week. The university was only a block away. Rent was fairly cheap and I had to save money cuz I didn't have any coming in; my funds were shot getting into the university. We were living in a 'hlm', some French acronym for mid-rise low-income housing. Mostly old ladies lived in our building, a few lower middle class single parents, some immigrant workers. A day or two after moving in, I set up the drum set, just to see if I could get away with some light jazzing and goofing around with brushes. I was in a jazz band with ben from England and Ron from Ireland at the time. We practiced at Ron's place downtown with his wife and two kids. Ben would busk with his guitar on the streets for extra money. Anyway, I'm just playin, feelin like a douche, just trying to be soft and quiet when suddenly I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. My heart leaps into my throat; my ears flood with a rush of blood. This stooped 4-foot-nothin' craggy silhouette is hunkering in the doorway, shaking her boney finger at me saying 'you can't do that, people live here.' I mumbled some apology while trying to regain my composure and lower my heart rate. She'd scared the shit out of me and then berated me. It was obvious after talking with her that I'd never have a chance to play when she wasn't home; she was always home. I went door to door to ask the other neighbors if they minded, everyone did. These low-income shoe-box apartments have paper-thin walls, perhaps literally made of cardboard. You don't need to turn on your radio if your neighbor has already, unless you don't like that station. Sometimes we had surround sound for movies and of course, le foot. But no one ever gave me guff for strumming and singing quietly during the day, as long as I didn't tap my foot on the floor.

pass and routine day come from my time in montpellier.
i wrote routine day when i still had an apartment,
if i recall correctly.
pass came out of a practice with scuff.
it never saw time with the band,
i wrote it shortly before i left...
 
 
Routine day
2001
 
cross addictions
and speed restrictions
diet limitations
and idol imitations
lesionary literature
broken carburetor
tv dinner taste testing
do you know when to stop?
Sitting on a canape
with a missing leg
listening to the tele
since the screen dropped out
and what it's on about
routine day
routine day
 
they're having a parade
for all the beautiful people
hollywood spastics
made of elastic
 
what a nice come back
come back
 
c'est un sale temps pour le gros
il a manque son lot
farceur extraordinaire
il s'est pris pour une aile
il s'est battu en air
il s'est foutu une pelle
il gise par terre
ne sachant que faire
le penguin gate
le penguin gate
routine day
 
they're having a parade
for all the beautiful people
hollywood spastics
made of elastic
 
what a nice come back
come back
 
pass
2002
 
heating and reheating up the same old coffee
the same old high
taste is going low
and the grinds will slowly show
that I've nowhere left to fly
 
and as time slowly rolls by
I thought it might get better
but it only goes to show
that you're as young as what you know
and life is growing old
in me
and I think I've seen 
just what I want to see
so if you wanna be a dear
just get the fuck away from me
 
we're all just playin for the camera
the big brother eye
in the end it's just a joke
you've been pullin on yourself
to pretend you won't
die
 
and as time slowly rolls by
I thought it might get better
but it only goes to show
that you're as young as what you know
and life is growing old
in me
and I think I've seen 
just what I want to see
so if you wanna be a dear
just get the fuck away from me
 
and I think I'm gonna be
just what I want to be
so if you wanna be a dear
just get the fuck away from me

Dear scarlet
2007
 
I been on the lamb since Tuesday
sixteen days ago
running back home to my baby
so long to go
I shot billy down by rights
for stealin my lady home
took his body to the desert
in pieces 
but somebody musta have seen
somebody told the law on me
 
baby meet me by the crooked tree
where we first told our love
to the grasshoppers' knees
 
there's a hobo train comin
to get me from the dogs
I been walkin since texas
nothin but a blister in the sun
I can smell them as they come
but I've gone too far to stop
before I'm done
 
baby meet me by the crooked tree
where we first told our love
to the grasshoppers' knees
let's go up north to the islands
and call ourselves a family
 
she must be waitin
I can hear the brush creak
by the moonlight
I can see her breathe
my heart jumps to find her so near
but her cries are too faded to hear
the blast, the roar of leaves,
collapsing fear, the pistol heaves,
the panthers near
fire until my chambers clear
 
I been on the lamb
since Tuesday of September last year
I've dug this hole
so I can bury me here
my time is comin
but it ain't here yet
if you see my wife
tell her I regret

i blotted this (dear scarlet) down yesterday in about an hour. today after work, i played it a few times, and then recorded it. here it is, as it was 30 minutes ago, saved for posterity. or until i delete it for a newer version. now that i have a model to work from, something to memorize and distort, i can imagine what drums, what bass, what electric guitar, what vocals over the course of sunday. monday i'll get to recording perhaps some keeper drum tracks and some other stuff...

next up is a john lennon cover: the ballad of john and yoko. these may or may not appear in the following week. stay tuned for these exciting developments.

Broken eggs
 
I've spent many a lonely night
wonderin who I could turn to
searchin for words
before my actions could speak
I've become accustomed
to sayin goodbye to almost everythin
how can I say
I think you should stay?
 
You spent many a lonesome year
surrounded by people
lookin for actions
before your words could think
you'd come unbuttoned
and say goodbye to almost everythin
how can I say
I think we should leave?
 
It's not as if
we ever hurt anybody
we only hurt more
than we can take
 
we've spent many a desolate road
bushwackin in the depths unknown below
searchin for peace
before the wars could break
to come home disgusted
and say goodbye to almost everythin
how can we say
we never believed?
 
It's not as if
we ask for more than life can give
we only ask for more
than we can take

Choke
2007
 
I've got the knives
shivved in my side.
I try to talk
through the blood in my eyes.
My pockets, so full of nothing
I can't fit my hands inside.
 
My shoes, so worn
from pregnantly staring,
averting my pride
into helplessly caring-
 
there's got to be sense
to make of 
so much intention
and so little intent.
 
Let's pretend
there's a story to tell.
Say the word, so I should
say them well.
I can receive
but I can not conceive-
 
a forest made of concrete
is still a forest.
Is it still before us?
Where are the trees?
 
There's got to be sense
so make of 
so much intention
and so little intent.
When it's all done
no one hears what I see.
 
And so the story goes