I’m not always a big fan of my daily song. It’s not always immediately clear when I’m writing a song — especially if I have to do it without any voice or guitar, which are starting to feel like additional appendages (that is to say, an extension of me) — that it’s going in the right direction. And I’m working with such limited time that once it does become clear that the song isn’t going where I’d like, I usually don’t have time to change course. I just have to finish the song and post it. It’s a weird sort of pressure, and the only part of it that really bugs me is having, on occasion, to post songs that I would rather not post. Or, that I would rather not have written.
I suppose there’s something constructive in producing — and being forced to share — songs that aren’t exciting. Perhaps it’s a learning experience, perhaps extra impetus to write a good one tomorrow…
It’s weird getting back into the swing of things here in New York, in my tiny studio, writing these songs every night. It’s almost like I never left…almost.
Please forgive what is truly a last-ditch effort tonight. I just got off a mildly monumental series of flights back from Santiago, Chile (“mildly monumental” in the sense that no statues will be erected to celebrate the journey), I haven’t slept in 36 hours, and, well, I don’t have the energy for a more involved effort. So here you go, a song I wrote on the plane somewhere between Lima, Peru, and Guayaquil, Ecuador (the second of three flights today), and which I recorded three minutes ago in one quick take. A tired ode to my Home, New York.
—Lyrics—
now that I’m back
where have I been
and if I can’t sleep tonight
will I still dream?
I drift into you and you drift into me
we’re two of a kind, we are joined at the knees
have a little faith
keep a little jar of it
put it by your bed
for when you need another hit
keep yourself locked in it
cos love i dont even know
and I don’t even care
you’re in the bedroom much to my surprise
look out the window at those pretty skies
you’re in the bathroom much to your surprise
look in the mirror at those pretty eyes
don’t you see what I mean when I say there’s nowhere left to hide?
mother nature’s a monster she’s always pecking out her eyes
yeah she’s pecking out her eyes
while we, we sing the blues
don’t you see what I mean when I say there’s nowhere left to hide?
mother nature’s a monster she’s always choking back a smile
yeah she’s choking on her smile
I’ve been watching when you sleep
thinking thoughts that aren’t so deep
I could see you on the street, and I almost touch you
I’ve been watching when you sleep
Here I am in 80-degree South American weather, and it’s finally thawing a bit in New York (56 degrees today?). Damn. Well, here’s to the coming of spring, whenever it does…
—Lyrics—
walking in from the garden
you have dirt under your thumb nails
eyes so collapsed under wet snow
you dig out what you can grow
and I want the same things that I wanted then
you want things you never wanted when you said you wanted me
spring comes just as it should come
too late to salvage the lifeless
bodies of flowers and tomatoes
left over from better times
6th Avenue is definitely one of my recent favorite avenues in my neighborhood of Park Slope. It´s peaceful, it´s mostly quiet. It feels like you could tell it a secret.
There have been nights where 5th Ave in Brooklyn, whether because of the weird cast of late-night characters or the haze of drinking or both, has started to look like a demented circus. It doesn´t always happen that way. In fact, most of the time it´s a very pleasant street. But this is a song for one of those nights when the drunken clowns come out to prey/play.
So this is unfortunate, but the version of the mp3 that I brought with me to Argentina apparently has some weird glitch where it cuts off. There´s not a lot I can do about it now, so you´ll have to excuse the glitch.
In any case, the song is well timed, because it´s the end of summer here in Buenos Aires, and this song was written as a kind of ode to summer time…
For the next four days, I’ll be showcasing a collaboration between me and my very good friend and ex-bandmate Previn Warren. These songs were all brainstormed and written in the course of one afternoon over the summer of 2008, and then they got lost on my hard drive somewhere. I recently found them, dusted them off, and added some new touches. There’s one song for each of the avenues in our [then] neighborhood.
Still looking for an appropriate name for our little side project. Maybe “Doc Oct” or something like that.
—Lyrics—
empty, if only we could find an open bar on this street
hell’s got a couple angels on the block
prayers over coffee
I am floating on a river boat down the canal
cut glass and antifreeze make funny mirrors
things gone to shit
the building fronts are coming down and haunted houses
Anyone catch the obvious lyrical allusions (read: plagiarism)?
—Lyrics—
we stand for nothing
we want the money
no no funny stuff
we will cut it off
you used to say you were an ordinary man
you got elected and dispensed with things that looked like plans
you used to say you were prepared for it
you self selected for a ticket to the thick of it
Today I board a plane for Buenos Aires (via Lima). I wish that I had been able to write something as good as the Bond theme, or even something Mancini-esque, but all I got is this to commemorate my secret-agent-like departure to a beautiful warm city. I even packed sunglasses.
Why “Lady Sun”? Because tomorrow I fly to Argentina, where it’s still summer. Or already summer. Whatever. It’s 82 degrees.
—Lyrics—
oh oh oh
lady sun you are trying my patience
this seems like a strange way to get back your youth
if you put on trial all of civilization
the judge and the jury will not be amused
oh oh oh
lady sun you may make it some day
oh oh oh
lady sun don’t believe what they say
lady sun you have friends but they’re weary
this seems like a strange way to change your own mind
if you are so sure of your mental migration
then write it on a paper and set it on fire
I don’t know quite how it happened, but this week really succeeded in kicking my ass. [deep breath]. Just need to make it 5 more days until I head out on a much needed vacation to South America…
—Lyrics—
slink offstage while the audience turns a page
reads about someone else’s turns of phrase
find your friends, they are somewhere else lending their
blind attentions to appetites you can’t suffice
these are the rules, don’t let me see you break them
picture me picturing you watch as my eyes watch your eyes watching mine
what did they find?
picture me picturing you focus your fear on my fear finding you inside itself
you don’t have another choice to choose
you don’t have another fight to lose
you’ve done wrong until you could do wrong no more
so are you sure?
these are the rules, don’t let me see you break them
Well, so the power went out in my apartment tonight. It’s been off all night. As far as I can tell, we’re the only building on the entire block without power, and yet there are like 12 Con Ed trucks out front on the street (that’s where all our ridiculously high electricity bills go to pay for, I guess). Anyway, I’m doing the best I can without electricity to power the studio. So, back to basics: digital camera taking video of a purely live acoustic performance, lit by candlelight. Oh, and those beeps you here in the background are from the smoke detectors complaining that they’re running on battery power. (These new ones are unbelievably hard to disarm.)
—Lyrics—
I have nothing to show for myself
after years spent in furious pursuit
I have nothing to lose but my loss
and I think I’ve lost that
28 years and none of them wise
I’m in the bathroom counting the tiles
28 years to arrive just in time
I’m in the bathroom counting the tiles
I have nothing to show you my dear
I have nothing worth writing in words
I have nothing to lose but your lose
so don’t let me lose that
And thus ends the 24 Keys Cycle (despite what appears to be the ironic title of today’s song). Time flies when you’re burning that midnight oil. D# Minor: weird key. I don’t think I’ve ever played anything in this key.
—Lyrics—
from the dust of the dirty ages I slinked to sea
from the depths of the muddied oceans I crawled onto the beach
I once found religion in formaldehyded pigs
no one gets a second chance to choose the way they think
oh, it’s a start, it’s a start
I danced with the common folks, I polo’d with the kings
no one had an answer, no one taught me anything
I once found perfection in a star bestudded sky
all sense has escaped me since I stared into its eyes
oh, it’s a start, it’s a start
they way you ought to live
the way you ought to give
Ok, so I’m on a business trip in upstate New York. I’m staying at a hotel called Traditions at the Glen. It’s perched atop this really nice hill, which is bright green when it’s not covered in snow (as it is now). Given this situation, I ask you: how can I *not* write a song with bagpipes and the word “glen” in the title? I can’t. You understand.
Today’s song explores a slightly depressing theme: so you have a heart attack, survive, and then are able to return to your life. Great. But what if your life pre-heart attack was mundane, boring, less than ordinary? To escape the jaws of death, only to return to…that?
(I promise I’ll try to write some uplifting songs at some point.)
—Lyrics—
call in the cavalry, the army, and the saints
fresh from a heart attack you paint a figure eight
saying look how everything shines for me
driving down pch it’s seventy degrees
the wind is my favorite friend we do just what we please
saying look how everything shines for
look how all is designed for
look how everything shines for me
from your first breath to your grave
you rehearsed it, you behaved
but at some point on the way when your head was turned it passed you by
here in my office chair 30 floors above
the city’s afloat on a clouded velvet glove
saying look how everything moves for
look how silvery smoothed and
look how everything shines for me
Today’s lesson, boys and girls, is this: writing a song is very hard to do when you’ve had a long week, your mother has just flown in from the west coast, you’ve eaten a good dinner and drank more than your fair share of a bottle of wine… In short, results may vary. Don’t try it at home.
Also, Peter, if you’re out there, this one’s for you…
—Lyrics—
run
run as if you had a choice
vote as if you had a voice
write as if it ever mattered
stand
stand as if you had a rank
speak as if you had a plank
the politics of squares and tanks
falling on your words
forgotten and absurd
I’m tired, and I don’t need the lines
calling to the herds
forgotten and absurd
they’re wise (right?) and they don’t need a guide
