dressing to undress

i decided to write all of the lyrics for this cd instead of improvising them like i normally would (in the space of a little less than two weeks, usually while pretending to do work in the middle of various grade eleven classes), thinking it would improve things dramatically and make for an incredible album. sadly, it had the opposite effect, and this is a pretty mixed bag, though the lyrics aren’t really to blame. i added a digitech guitar effects box to my arsenal and a real electric bass, both of which could have been used in the service of better material, but at least they made things a little more sonically interesting than they would have been otherwise. compassion to deceive is the standout track, and it’s a weird one—practically a ballad by our standards. it was written in math class to the tune of a keith sweat song i had heard in passing before heading off to school one morning, which makes it even stranger because it doesn’t sound like that at all. it’s a rough performance, with some off-notes from both of us and a harmony vocal that isn’t always perfectly on-pitch, but there’s an odd tenderness to the whole thing, which is no mean feat with lyrics like, “saliva on the window of fate”. there are a few other highlights in the shape of yogamo, which is some atmospheric weirdness with quasi-operatic vocal gibberish and markedly improved guitar-playing from me, i got my hair cut & i thought about you, wherein gord lays down some ass-destroying bass licks and we both conjure a gothic atmosphere without using any words at all, and the hidden track, which is just some atonal, distorted guitar noise that’s more interesting than most of the proper songs. when three of the best tracks on an album that’s otherwise overflowing with words are improvised instrumentals, you know you’re in trouble.

save me has some nice riff-age, and it’s probably home to my best guitar-playing on the whole cd, but it’s a little too wordy for its own good. this is more a cd of great moments as opposed to great songs: gord’s kinetic mandolin playing and my brisk piano runs when home turns into an impromptu little jig at the end; the chorus of an unusual obsession, where gord’s guitar and my bass do things that shouldn’t work together melodically, but for some reason they do; the end of the otherwise shitty nerve, which mushrooms into some fittingly disgusting noise; the part in the middle of we was dead where my headphones fall off and gord starts laughing. that last song sounds a little too much like the ballad of bob & marie for its own good, at least from a melodic standpoint, and it’s too vocally overblown to really work, though it sounded like a good song in my head, back when i wrote it in the middle of science class.

for some weird reason i thought this cd was some of the best work i had ever done at the time, and i gave copies of it to jesse topliffe and my grade eleven drama teacher mr. lewsaw. i had no idea what i was getting myself into with jesse by alerting him to the fact that i made music, but we’ll get into that some other time. i’m not sure why i thought this was so good when it was first completed…i guess i was still feeling the sweaty afterglow. i remixed the whole thing in late 2002, with mixed results. some songs benefited from being cleaned up, particularly home and we was dead, while compassion to deceive lost something fundamental when i decided to touch up my harmony vocal, and so did an unusual obsession when i changed the effect on gord’s guitar. nerve sounded a lot better in remixed form, but lost a lot of its charm without the sonic mess that was at the end of the original mix. some albums just can’t be improved, even when you get rid of the ugly clipping and low end mud.

this album did lead to an interesting conversation with my on-again, off-again-until-he-decided-to-stop-acknowledging-my-existence piano teacher dustin, though. i gave him a copy of it during my excited “this is the best thing i’ve ever done!” phase of borderline stupidity, and after he had digested it he brought it up at our next lesson. “let’s say some people came to see you play live and they had only heard this music and knew nothing else about you,” he said. “there were no posters or anything, they didn’t know what you looked like or anything about your life, and they hadn’t heard any of the other music you had made. what do you think they would expect, coming to the show?” i had no idea, so he told me what his impressions were: “i would think that you were a man, maybe in your mid-thirties, with a very dark past involving drugs and a lot of unhappy experiences, and some serious demons.” i forget the rest of what he said, but i found the whole thing very interesting and flattering, even though there was barely anything on the album that was even remotely autobiographical or “confessional”. as it turned out, his description might have been better directed at the next papa ghostface cd…

TRACKS:

yogamo
versace hump
compassion to deceive
home
we was dead
an unusual obsession
love those slippers
save me
i got my hair cut & i thought about you
nerve

STUFF TO LISTEN TO:

Compassion To Deceive

Home

LYRICS:

VERSACE HUMP

versace humped a dinosaur
the dino didn’t ask for more
he did a dance that had no name
the outcome was incredibly lame

mathematics, kiss my arse
oil yourself & highjack cars
women curse your name in fear
kill those numbers with lots of beer

we’re all doing the versace hump
versace hump
we’re all engaged in the versace hump
humping the night away

coal digger’s first-born long john fly
had fifteen noses & an evil eye
he met versace in a local bar
versace didn’t take him very far

a polish chanteuse & her entourage
helped themslves to the fine fromage
versace found out & all hell broke loose
he stole their dresses & their shoes

we’re all doing the versace hump
yeah, the versace hump
we’ve all succumbed to the versace hump
bumpin’ & grindin’ & thrustin’ & ridin’ it out

all the public washrooms closed
& we were forced to plug our noses
the lawn was dead & salt was scarce
versace stumbled down the stairs

he was doing the versace hump
we’re all doing the versace hump
get up & do it—the versace hump
oh yeah…

COMPASSION TO DECEIVE

analytical stupidity — you got it
a million hearts instead of three — you got ‘em
a smile for every broken promise — you got it
a lie for every day of the week — you got it

is there anything that you don’t have?
i think there’s at least one thing you don’t have
it’s me

a seed for every murdered tree — you got it
a hold on someone else like me — you got it
enough compassion to deceive — you got it
who knows what you’ve got up your sleeve

i’ve been surprised by how inaccurate
some of my preconceptions have been
there have been times
when i’ve longed for whatever it was i wanted
ah, but one does not necessarily want what would be best
that one was never completed
(premature extinction of will)

a polite look over the shoulder — you got it
saliva on the window of fate
an inadequate conclusion — you got it
but i think there’s at least one thing that you don’t have…

HOME

this is quite a formula
he feels unlike himself
a revelation without the toast
in bed with someone else
a bitter disappointment
he cannot hear a thing
the sound, like mud, is muffled
he eats the diamond ring

home is where we cook our hearts in sour cream gravy
home is where we cook our hearts & give them to the neighbours

“this is quite a purchase,”
the army whistle cried
“one that breaks is one that falls”
his ragged mind was fried
a victim of confusion
though some would not agree
the air, like bread, is thicker
he somehow fails to see

home is where we wash ourselves in vegetable oil
home is where we search like wolves for the aluminum foil

home is where we are
home is where we long to be
home is where we are
at home with our misery

home is where we sink beneath our muddled aspirations
home is where we never need to spit out explanations
home is where the body meets the soul
home is where we are whole

home is where we are

WE WAS DEAD

we was dead before we was alive
we was alive before we was dead
she gonna sing a little song for us
she gonna sing a little song

she been blindfolded once before
she been kicked out many doors
she gonna sing a little song for us
but she doesn’t want to sing

she been forced against her will
she been runnin’ up that hill
she was dead before she was alive
she was alive before she was dead

how do you get what you cannot have?
what exceeds your reach is really in your hand
you can hold onto it until it’s gone
but when it’s gone, it isn’t coming back

we was dead before we was alive
we was alive before we was dead
she gonna sing a little song for us
if she don’t fall back on her head

AN UNUSUAL OBSESSION

i’ve already forgotten what i look like
it’s getting worse everyday
asparagus tides me over in the meantime
until my senses return to say “hey”

she said “yeah”, & the rest i don’t remember
i lost it in a haze of coffee & stuff
it’s beginning to become an obsession
it’s a habit, but it’s not enough

listen to my final cries
i’m a man on the edge of something
too tired to open my eyes
why don’t you push me over the edge?

traditionally shunned by obscurity
i made it out in time to get laid
felt the amazing surge of electricity
nobody ever got paid—i had the last laugh

i openly endorse killing in self-defense
but only when the time is right
in time, i hope someone will end me as well
without putting up a fight

listen to my final words
i’m a man wit a gun to his toes
too tired to listen to ordinary people
why don’t you push me?

how far can you push an injured accomplice?
how far will the fragile psyche go?
how much can a ragged mind endure?
i don’t know
somebody told me so
inky dinky donkey monkey splits

i’ve already forgotten what i’m doing
i wish i could remember how to speak
you’ve always been considerate, so help me out
give me all your money for a week
you got to give me all your money for a week
you got to give it up to me
give me everything
give me all your money for a week

LOVE THOSE SLIPPERS

shit—
can’t think straight
hand in the compost caling
fudge—
marshmallow
head to toe
she told me so
gotta go
it is in command
the hand in the dumpster belongs to a man

can’t stand up
he told me so
had to go
head to toe
figaro
figaro

luciano was no secret to the world
into that great void his soul was hurled
his body used only for exploration
& the odd baby shower

let me show them the way—
the way to insanity
i can show them the way—
the way to be free
i will show them the way—
the way to abrahm’s knee
the way they gotta be
yeah—they should be like me

the world could be a fabulous place, full of little toy trains & training bras & beautiful women screaming my name: “jonathan! wherefore art thou power tool?” yes!

of course, the world chooses to operate in senseless & confusing ways, continuing to baffle my search for true lust.

ungobunga
mithocalkay
muchos undies
norfeelomonopay
buenos aires
senorita, merci!
fantastique
oui oui oui
remerci

my power tool is expecting your arrival
bientot!
(ca suffit!)

SAVE ME

save me from the paprika
save me from inner torment
save me from the stupidity of incompetence
save me from myself

i’m naked & i’m far from a public washroom
searching for something i can’t find
if i look long enough, i know i’ll find it
i’m naked & it feels inhumane

save me from aluminum
save me from geography
save me from poor guidance
save me from myself

i read that carrots can cause impotence
if eaten in extremely large quantities
last night i dreamt about reinforcements
somebody asked me if i had any
—reinforcements
of course i didn’t

save me from discordant sound
save me from that singer guy
save me from the nodules in his throat
save me from his endless depth
save me from the poor & hungry
save me from the volunteers
save me from the rich & inflated
save me from myself

can i still be saved?
have i crossed the edge?
is it open for discussion?
why can’t i decide my own fate?

people in high places like to tell me lies
they’re in no place to criticize
try to maim me, wound me, cut me down to size
try to make me fall apart right before their eyes
speak of things i cannot possibly comprehend
sit around on sundays waiting for the end
of humanity
deliverance
adultery
sickening laughter
feeding animals at the dinner table
chewing with mouths wide open as if attempting to catch stray insects
picking at food with fingers in disturbing ways
sex
love
lust
nudity
violence
muscle shirts
body piercing
body language
body hair
body language
unwanted relatives
commercial pop
rap music/heavy metal
tonsillitis
birth control
firearms
writer’s block
obscenities
hard drugs
unadorned green olives
kfc
psychotic adolescents & adults who enjoy killing young people
religion
prejudice
sickness
stupidity
education
government
leaving government workers with complete occupational freedom
& a sizable income supplied by mike harris’ pants pocket
infant death syndrome
car accidents
evasiveness
control freaks
parents who are control freaks
dogs that bark incessantly at everything
the owners of such dogs for not getting rid of them
bad haircuts
receding hairlines
alcoholics
alcoholics who refuse to seek psychiatric & other forms of help
incompetence in the face of potential physical mutilation
emotional insanity
the words “like”, “you know”, “eh”…
etcetera
etcetera
etcetera

save me

NERVE

you’ve got a lot of nerve to treat me like that
you’ve got a lack of self-respect to call me a rat

i warned you to watch who you let in your life
but you couldn’t be bothered with something like that
i warned you to watch out for people like me
you couldn’t even look me in the eye

you’ve got a lot of nerve to treat me this way
you’ve lost your sense of individuality
you’ve got a lot of nerve to cut me off
you just can’t seem to understand

i tried to tell you everything about myself
but i bored you to tears with my tales of self-indulgence
your indifference drove me to great lengths
to obtain your full attention

you’ve got a lot of nerve to end it like this
you’ve lost your grasp on reality
you’ve gone too far & you’re too far gone
you just don’t seem to care

you’ve got a lot of nerve to turn down this offer
(i warned you to watch out for people like me
but you couldn’t be bothered)
you’ve lost all sense of what is wrong & what is right
(i warned you to watch out for people like me)
you’re really something else…you’re one of a kind
(i just couldn’t let you throw it away without some intervention)
you’ve really got a lot of nerve