Brand New Shiny Lie (2004)
not the cd it was first intended to be, but probably made more interesting by me botching everything early in the game.
i thought this was going to turn into a double cd, where the first disc would be what OH YOU THIS wishes it was during all those nights of drunken masturbation, and the second cd would be disc one’s drugged-out, cross-dressing cousin. then i messed up the recording of the tracks that eventually became the PAVEMENT HUGGING DADDIES ep and had to go about re-thinking everything. the end product is something altogether different from what it might have been, had i not sneezed into the psychic hairnet of benevolence. ultimately, i had far too many songs to work with and just didn’t feel like recording a lot of them (there were about thirty songs i wrote specifically for the album that were never recorded at all, and another four or five that were recorded but didn’t make the final cut). one thing that does survive, though, is a kind of sexiness trade-off; most of the songs are either short enough to vanish before interest has a chance to wane, or structured in such a way that any listener who happens to be a pop-purist will gradually be driven insane. i carried over the non-chronological sequencing approach from the last cd, and i thought that this ill-fated album in particular might benefit if i gave some actual thought to the ebb and flow of the thing as a whole, instead of just plopping the songs down according to the order in which they were recorded.
i died in my hair is one of the heavier things i’ve done, at least for the first four minutes or so, and it might be the only song i’ve ever written that has a real breakdown in it, metal style. a few of the guitar riffs go way back to the time of BEAUTIFULLY STUPID, just before the band broke up, and i wanted to work them into a GWD song at that time but nobody was the least bit interested, so i thought i’d make something out of them myself. nobody loves you when you don’t exist was originally intended to be a piano/bass/drums piece, but i couldn’t get a take or a sound i liked from behind the drums, so i gave up and forgot about the song for a few months. then i thought i’d try getting rid of the drums altogether and adding a little bit of electric guitar in their place, and suddenly i liked the song a hell of a lot more. likewise with symbolism therapist; i recorded drums to accompany the mandolin, and this time i liked the sound and the take, but it just didn’t seem to fit. the song felt better naked. chimera is the only song from the pile of stuff i recorded improperly that i was able to properly re-record without losing the inspiration that had been there the first time around, and it magically doubles in length, with more alterations than michael jackson’s face. the body of the song is kind of the same, but the first four minutes weren’t there when i originally recorded it during the sessions for what became PAVEMENT HUGGING DADDIES. all of that long instrumental section was written in bed one night while watching “the diary of evelyn lau” (an interesting early role for sandra oh), and i went through a long period of keeping a guitar in my bedroom. some interesting things came out of that, and i could make a pretty long list of the songs and bits of songs i ended up writing in bed. maybe i should do that, just for kicks.
the drum sound changed completely for about the tenth time here, because i removed the front head on my kick drum for the first time ever, which was quite a fragrant experience, loosened the remaining head until things sounded about right, stuck a new microphone in there, changed the position of the other mics, and tuned my new snare drum up a lot higher to get more of a crack out of it. only about half of the songs feature drums, though, because there’s quite a bit of unadorned acoustic stuff here. strangely, it feels a lot more natural to me than it did on TEMPORARY AMNESIA, maybe because the songs are shorter, the singing is better, and the lyrics are less emotionally naked and more cryptic. to that end, there are a number of songs that are very brief, more fragments than full-bodied songs. the opening track (last of the two-finger typists) is one of those, along with peachy pear and strange cats. it was a harbinger of things to come. there are also some pretty long tracks, like the aforementioned chimera and i died in my hair, along with paper sword, which is the non-ballad that “incandescent” wishes it was but could never be. there’s quite a bit of variety packed in here for an album that’s only three quarters of an hour long (which feels kind of scant by my standards), though it’s very much a guitar album, with only two songs featuring any piano.
i’ve gradually come around to the realization that this is probably one of the more consistent and cohesive things i’ve done. it’s leaner than i meant for it to be, but it seems to work pretty well as an album, so maybe it’s better that it didn’t end up as bloated as i intended after all. the drumming is easily some of my best work behind the kit, and this is a good example of the non-repetitive way of writing i had been working toward; it works much more organically here than it did on OH YOU THIS, maybe because i had a clearer idea of what i wanted to do now and had refined my methods accordingly, and the lyrics are probably some of the best i had written up to this point. i’ll always wonder what this might have been like as a 2-cd set, but it smells pretty good to me, and you can get an idea of some of the other things that might have shown up on the album from cast-offs like husk and easy four, which finally show up on OUT-TAKES, MISFITS & OTHER THINGS.
TRACKS:
last of the two-finger typists
i died in my hair
nobody loves you when you don’t exist
plinth on fire
strange cats
symbolism therapist
paper sword
peachy pear
chimera
you’ll play belligerent
you missed your turn
we sing & we dance
STUFF TO LISTEN TO:
LYRICS:
LAST OF THE TWO-FINGER TYPISTS
pedophelia is not a vocation
it’s a hobby, at best
but stamp collections get old pretty fast
say hello to uncle ennui
turn it up
we’ll choke the neighbours
or at least we’ll violate their ears for a while
oh…doesn’t it feel right?
prison can be quite exciting
once you learn the ins & outs
of soap bar soufflé
(no-name soap need not apply)
we could always take up smoking
cancer is the new designer clothing, you see
yes—it’s winking at me
you’ve a rigid bedside manner
i’ve a deck of playing cards with nuns on the back
yes—nuns on the back
all i draw are stupid faces
nothing else looks realistic
coming from me
oh…this one’s untitled
I DIED IN MY HAIR
i wanna rub you the wrong way
i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing
the whole thing’s gonna explode
& no one’s gonna see it
(eat your orange)
kneeling at the foot of your bed
dust bunnies & a book full of clichés
oh my god
oh my god
i wanted you to stay
but you wouldn’t stay
i wanted you to go
but you wouldn’t go
all your men are naked now
& i can’t see
but i got cheese
i got wine
i got nasty things on my mind
velvet bras
velvet bras in my purse
NOBODY LOVES YOU WHEN YOU DON’T EXIST
sadomasochistic lover jumping out the fire escape
ball of string hair
glass shard voice
wind whistling through wet teeth
euphemism lisp
chin cleft kiss
don’t look at me when i speak
alcohol haze
& feet syncopated just so
just so the thread isn’t lost
just so
never let on
couldn’t let go
let go of the thread
with whom will you go?
& when will you leave?
take me with you?
PLINTH ON FIRE
say
make do
little pretty girls make hay
do
make say
only if you’re coy
in
or of
assimilate a new exchange
hey
i see
you removed your harness
exposing the flesh holes
this is an entrance
flush out the toxins
wearing the death clothes
dropping the cheek bones
wasted a tangent
STRANGE CATS
here be strange cats
they drink much stronger coffee
elevators
& stingy grey apartments
they’re above it
they’ll hiss & claw the air to make it clear
orange sweatpants
& catnip smell coagulates
SYMBOLISM THERAPIST
the roofers are tired
so draw them a swimming pool
with waterproof furniture
blonde hair turns green
& mucus learns to float
don’t forget sunscreen
if people find you confusing
you’re doing something right
if they run away from you screaming
you’re brilliant
all those little promises
break into pieces
& dance around you
who wants to be a patron when they grow up?
who wants to be a coke-snorting college slut?
cocaine is a ladder to god
climb that fucking ladder with me now
without tires, there is no mendacity for a vehicle to crave
PAPER SWORD
i hurt because you do
i never learned a thing
drinking vodka on your porch
there’s no better place to be
even the dead have to eat
i should burn your letters
or maybe leave them in an open field somewhere
for someone else to pore over
or turn into mulch
burning them seems a bit too conservative
& keeping them wouldn’t make any sense
reading you is like taking a bath
& looking up at the ceiling
where paint has peeled
to form the shape of a middle-aged woman crading an infant
blessed be
all your lovers
in a heap
by the side of the road
wait for it
here comes the punchline
wipe your face
with the back of your hand
plastic stitches that won’t dissolve
an anonymous torso
but i recognize the car
CHIMERA
let’s pretend that somebody wants you
the people in your head all cuddle & kiss you
when you turn away from them, they’re laughing at you
wearing shit-eating grins & all the clothes that don’t fit you
salivation army
sodomy swingset
the social life dies a grisly death
staple my foot to the hand that misled me
brush your teeth with a jackhammer
what should i do if i can’t turn it off?
jump off a balcony?
try counting wood?
a sliver is like a kiss
from a brace of nefarious mouths
YOU’LL PLAY BELLIGERENT
i remember you;
i ate you earlier today
you don’t taste quite the same
you’re much less pleasant in reverse
you change colour & that takes talent
we should elope & have idiot offspring
they say there’s a market for everything that’s done well
even the most arbitrary tripe
but you should already know this
they spread their legs for you & sigh
short-sighted shepherds of the world unite
i’ll be your eyes if you talk real slow
you’ll play belligerent & hard-to-get
just don’t forget to wash behind your ears
gloss over every intricate disease
i drank until i couldn’t feel my face
lower your standards
or lower your heart
so the arteries fracture with ease
give me a reason
to cut off your hair
i don’t need one, but sometimes it helps
saturday smells like a new paper bag
or so i’ve been led to believe
teach him to hate & to bury his face
in your breasts of potassium flesh
i’d like permission to read what you wrote
is it really so hard to believe?
feet bound together with paper mache
i could run, but i’d fall on my face
three-and-a-half is your number this month
i hope he’s treating you well
all that i want is to see you content
it’s not as far-fetched as it seems
how many names do you use in a year?
are they really all pieces of you?
it must be taxing to keep reinventing yourself
who will appreciate all that you do
to ensure an ecstatic response?
this is the finest name you’ve ever had
WE SING & WE DANCE
i brought tears to the eyes of a girl who never cries
stripped her of her faith in the power of subtlety
we sang & we danced like the idiots we were
no sense of rhythm
no sense of fashion
no sense of time
we watched the fascist sunset
it was a way to pass the time
watched it blot out the sky
if i built you a mountain
would you let it sing?
or watch me fall
to paint the rocks with my giving?
i cut slits for the eyes of a girl who never cries
i had a dream in which she was real
it was a terrible dream
