Paper Chest Hair (2000)
this is probably a good starting point for those unfamiliar with the world of papa ghostface (i.e. most of the population). some of our most disturbingly accessible songs sit alongside some of our most twisted creations. right off the bat, there are four of the most alarmingly “normal” songs ever to show up on a papa ghostface cd, one after the other. i somehow accidentally mastered the first five songs in such a way that they’re about as loud as anything you’d find on a commercial cd today, while the rest returns to a more conservative volume. i should fix that someday…but i probably won’t.
piece of crap in your shoe is one of the weirdest PG songs ever (and that’s saying something), starting out as some kind of warped metal/electronica hybrid on bad drugs and gradually disintegrating into vocal insanity. something pink isn’t far behind, with a demented mid-section that comes out of nowhere. i find it funny how i managed to sound incredibly fucked up on one drug or another, when i had never been drunk or high in my life at the time. time again, on the other hand, is practically radio-friendly, and the obligatory spoken word piece shows up in the form of what they had was so pure, a tale of high school sweethearts reunited that takes an unexpected turn at the end. some of gord’s best guitar-playing of all time is on this album, and his work on narcotic girl and rabbits & leeches is improvised sexiness of the highest order. i mean, on narcotic girl the guy manages to draw real feedback from his guitar while playing through the digitech effects box with no actual amp to speak of in the signal path. how the hell do you even do that? this is also historically notable as the precise moment at which i first figured out how to bend a guitar string—an accidental discovery you can sort of hear happening during my bridge solo on letting go.
we recorded this cd differently from past PG efforts; this time i wrote the lyrics to most of the songs instead of improvising them, and instrumental tracks were recorded before the vocals, sometimes even before i had written words. but unlike SONGS FOR DEAD SKIN, the songs were given time to develop, and while some of the songs with written lyrics were sung to music that was completely improvised, it worked a hell of a lot better this time around because we let the music ebb and flow naturally without trying to shape it into anything other than what it wanted to be. it didn’t hurt that we had both come a long way as musicians, individually and as a team. sand paper is the only thing i feel kind of iffy about today…i’m not sure why i thought it was a good idea to intentionally build a song around the same chords as the joker by steve miller. at least the lyrics are interesting.
all things considered, while i initially viewed this album as being kind of patchy, time has revealed it to be up there with the best papa ghostface albums. even the songs that sound normal compared to our previous work are twisted enough to remain interesting; sinkless man is a bluesy strut that examines the plight of the homeless, while filth of your love contains some of the best rhyming lyrics i ever wrote and an ending that sounds like a drunken sea shanty. crawl sounds something like a marching band with electric guitars instead of brass instruments, and i can still remember gord playing my red strat copy and twitching wildly like a man being electrocuted while we were recording it. the long, hypnotic rabbits & leeches has always been one of my favourite tracks, and i probably should have given my sister erin a co-writer’s credit because a few pivotal parts of the song were very heavily inspired by a track the two of us recorded together around this time. but that’s another story entirely. letting go features a mini-song after the fade-out, à la YOU’RE A NATION, with gord playing some very tasty acoustic guitar. there’s even a punk-y hidden track that involves the castration of then-prime minister of ontario mike harris by 911 workers via gunshot wound, followed by a message to the nonexistent papa ghostface fans. those were the days.
TRACKS:
filth of your love
time again
sinkless man
sand paper
piece of crap in your shoe
letting go
something pink
crawl
what they had was so pure
rabbits & leeches
narcotic girl
STUFF TO LISTEN TO:
LYRICS:
FILTH OF YOUR LOVE
the filth of your love engulfs me
the filth of your love i cannot escape
the filth of your love is all around me
the filth of your love i cannot ignore
you confuse me
i am puzzled
you abuse me
i am afraid
you speak in movements
i move in words
you make the strangest noises i’ve ever heard
the filth of your love tempts me
the filth of your love i will not succumb to
the filth of your love taunts me
the filth of your love i cannot understand
you misuse me
i am troubled
you look through me
i feel obscure
you move in silence
i move with speed
you want everything
except for what you need
the cut grows deeper
the wounds don’t heal
exactly what is imagined
& what is real?
the pain grows stronger
it throbs with force
this captivating confusion—
it was caused by you, of course
the filth of your love engulfs me
the filth of your love—i cannot give in
the filth of your love is much too strong now
the filth of your love—i am condemned
TIME AGAIN
he comes & then he goes
nobody knows…if he’s coming back
he rips you to shreds
leaves you for dead
but is he coming back?
it doesn’t look like he will
time & time again you tell yourself
don’t give in & don’t give out
still, it never fails
you find yourself giving it all & getting nothing in return
you never learn
he always says it right
every word connected to the word before it
but never too many
he makes you feel so good
always doing what you tell him to
but is it what you want?
time & time again you tell yourself
don’t give in & don’t give out
still, it never fails
you find yourself giving it all & getting nothing in return
you never learn
he’s wrapping you around his index finger
a web of deceit
a web of lies
you like it too much…you need more
& the cycle repeats itself again & again…
time & time again you tell yourself
don’t give in & don’t give out
still, it never fails
you find yourself giving it all & not figuring it out
you never learn, do ya?
SINKLESS MAN
i’m a sinkless man, baby
yeah yeah yeah
don’t you know that i’m a sinkless man, baby?
yeah yeah yeah
got no sink to wash my stinky hands
got no home
’cause i’m a sinkless man
i’m a sinkless man, baby
yeah
don’t forget you made me what i am, baby
yeah
got no bed, but i don’t give a damn
ain’t got nothing at all
i’m a sinkless man
some people got shoes
some people do right
i only got booze to keep me company at night
can’t remember what is to be sober
it’s the same thing…
over & over & over…
i’m a sinkless man, baby
don’t you forget
i’m a sinkless man, baby
i ain’t dead yet
got no fancy clothes to make me look like you
just a dirty sinkless man trying to make it through another night
some people got bills—the red & the green
i only got pills that make me twitch & scream
been so long on the other side
that i’d probably choke if i swallowed my pride
SAND PAPER
LETTING GO
i love you susan
i love you margaret
i love you baby
i’m sending you subliminal messages from the pit of my stomach
sometimes it’s hard to reach you
sometimes the only solution is to let it go
i pull a fistful of your hair out & you smile adoringly
evidently i’m still unaware of what’s in front of me
i hate not being able to reach you
i hate not understanding how to let it go
i love you susan
i love you margaret
i love you baby
i love you all in so many different ways
the way you handle yourself
the way you talk to yourself
the things you do to yourself
the things that you let me do
the way you look at yourself
the way you dance with yourself
the things you say to yourself
the things that you let me say
how you dispose of yourself
how you remain yourself
how nothing is the opposite of what it really means
somebody else like yourself
take a look at yourself
you aren’t really yourself
nothing more, nothing less
you make excuses for yourself
you make dinner for yourself
you dispose of it yourself
then you change yourself
it’s so hard to let go…
SOMETHING PINK
get it away from me. i don’t…want that. get it away. don’t look at me like that…with your eyes. poison. dead eyes. listen. shut up and listen. you listening? good.
something red comes out of something pink. something…red. i don’t know how i know this. i just know that i know. i think i better get a drink. why all this swarming over some numbers on a piece of paper? i want something pink!
it doesn’t matter what i think. insanity. as far as…three or four…no…not gonna do it. something red…comes out of something…something…something pink. stitch it…like i said. hit me in the head with a quarter. throw it! where’s the quarter? where is it?
starch my shirts. don’t clean. leave them alone. leave my shirts alone. leave them…for somebody else. you don’t know how to do it right.
something red…comes out of something pink. something…something…something…p-p-p-p-pink.
give it to me!
CRAWL
little boy alone
little boy, how come you’re so sad?
you won’t have my hair
although…we’d make a nice pair
sucked the life away
life gone, but still remembered
we won’t try at all
try to do what?
that’s right—
you always stall
slowed to a crawl
crawling away
don’t say a word
’cause there’s nothing to say
your childhood was filthy
the rest wasn’t bad
but your future looks shaky
aren’t you glad?
WHAT THEY HAD WAS SO PURE
man walking downtown is thinking. “life is shit. love doesn’t exist. my hair looks like shit. my head is itchy. i need to pick my nose, but people always see you pick your nose when you need to do it the most.” he walks past a prostitute convulsing in the street and thinks. “this is nice. seven years of post-secondary education for this. the parents never tell you about this stuff. no…they tell you to think with your head and not with your penis. they tell you to pursue a profession that brings in the money. to hell with your so-called dreams. they tell you to loosen up. they tell you to go after women with large breasts.” he walks past a young boy vomiting on the sidewalk and thinks. “they tell you to be realistic, but they never tell you the real, sick truth about life. they dance around it with their little adult feet. they bounce around it. they never get close to it. funny.”
suddenly, he spots a vaguely familiar figure moving on the opposite side of the street. curious, he crosses. steps up to a more brisk pace to catch up to the figure. slowly…he begins to catch up to her. yes—her. he can tell by the hair. the walk. the hair and the walk. why does she look so familiar from the back? he does not know. and, at long last, he has reached the figure and is walking beside her.
(the rest of the story was improvised while recording…basically, i had provided a prologue for myself beforehand and then let things go where they wanted to)
RABBITS & LEECHES
got a rabbit on my tail
got a rabbit on my tail
must be because i smell so nice
there’s not a carrot in sight
got a rabbit on my tail
got a rabbit on my tail
must be because i’m a sexy guy
the rabbit wants to take a bite
little rivulets
little rivulets
blood streaming down my face
dogs drowning in the puddles
’cause they can’t find a place to sleep
got a leech sucking on my sack
got a leech sucking on my sack
must be because i’ve got some blood in me
got a leech sucking on my sack
got a leech sucking on my sack
must be because i never wear any clothes on weekdays
little rivulets
little rivulets
blood dripping down my face
acid rain scorched the telly
it kinda stings on an open wound
but it’s awright
it’s awright
’cause i’m a leech
NARCOTIC GIRL
