30 July, 2010

It's Friday: Let's Piss Off KRAKOA.

After a dazzling display of just about every other subject on the planet from Joe, Adam has come out with a devastating upset.
My band.
So, how do I go about this? How about with an html chart?
EVERY KRAKOA SONG EXPLAINED
TitleMeaning
This house is an antennaThis is about the last time I did acid, at a Halloween party at Marcy's in, Jesus, 2002? It was the last time I ever saw Filthy Phil (who had taken eight hits), where I first met Levi's wife Joanna (who had a smile like the Cheshire Cat and no bones in her limbs), and where Ryan peed on me after I kicked him off the porch, mid-piss.
Outnumbered by thousands of the possessedThis is the "feminist anthem", actually. Every time I went to the bar, there'd be some good lookin' bird minding her own business and a dozen lecherous trolls bothering the shit out of her. I didn't think it was right to go bothering somebody for pussy when all they want is to unwind at the end of the day.
More often than not, though, I was a part of the problem, not the solution.
White Lady's LaneWhen I went to North Dakota one Xmas (Why did I do that again? Oh, that's right. For the pussy.), Angie's sister and her boyfriend decided that we needed to let the eleven year old look after the two year old while we all went driving around bum fuck Egypt with some shit-pot and a dirty thirty of Coors Light. They took us out to White Lady's Lane, where some business man raped and murdered some lady and now she, the White Lady, waits for him. Apparently, she can't remember what his car looked like, so this apparition will leap on to the roof of your car and stare at you through the windshield to see if you're him.
This has apparently caused numerous car wrecks.
And you will shed tears of scarlet...Yeah yeah yeah, I ripped the title from a line in - I think - the next to last episode of Cowboy Bebop. This song is about vampires. I think. Maybe it was about fucking. I can't remember and even remembering the words doesn't give me any indication.
Thank fuck I wrote this in 2000 before vampires were lame. You know, just in case it is about vampires.
I'm pretty sure it's about fucking.
No, wait....
At once smittenBBBBBOOOOOooooommmmmnnnnnvvvvvfffffssssseeeeehhhhh
BBBBBOOOOOooooommmmmnnnnnvvvvvfffffssssseeeeehhhhh
BBBBBOOOOOooooommmmmnnnnnvvvvvfffffssssseeeeehhhhh
BBBBBOOOOOooooommmmmnnnnnWWWWWHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHNNNNN
... for twenty minutes. I wrote it after reading The Jungle Book.
Under the light of the flare gunNow I seriously can't tell you jack shit about this one. I was fourteen and trying to be scary when I wrote this, what do you want? There's a mention here and there about bloody dresses and muddy knees but I seriously couldn't tell you what it's about.
NightwolvesIn Olde English, a "nightwolf" is a hooker. I just tried to verify that and Google comes back with some Native American Mortal Kombat character.
Anyway, I wrote and recorded this on Thanksgiving Day, 2002. I was trying to rip off the Jesus Lizard but Karl told me it sounded like U2.
This song was about this bartender at Howard's, Nora, who used to show me her tits and give me little kisses. But then she wound up dating some other guy.
The cathedral archSometimes, Angie would get on my nerves. By "sometimes" I mean "Generally anytime we were in the same room" and by "get on my nerves" I mean "talk ignorant bullshit". So after her umpteenth tirade against the military and having to hear her go on about what rotten, soulless people soldiers were, I penned this number about a veteran who comes home from war to get married but all the towns folk are in cahoots and try to kill him.
Because fuck it, it wasn't like we were fucking anymore at that point anyhow.
Dance of the thousand cicadasI think this song has gotten even more relevant over the years, what with it being about xenophobia and that new bullshit law in Arizona passing.
Then again, I could've just wrote it because I wanted an excuse to include the line "Bite your nose off in the parking lot" somewhere, so it's not like I'm totally "Mr. Activist" over here.
House full of cardboardWe've been over this subject over and over again. Moving sucks. Two thirds of the shit you own is useless. Yet you cart it around with you everywhere you live. Why? Why do you do that? Get rid of your shit.
I should really listen to myself.
Stoned samuraiI wrote this one when I was sixteen? I had just found out about 5/4 time and wanted to try it.
Also, one time I did try jerking off to my hot neighbor from the bathroom window back at 307 East but it felt too ooky after fourteen seconds, so I just put my dick back in my pants and probably made some toast or something.
Mouth of waxYeah yeah yeah, we get it Charlie. You had a fiancee. She pissed you off all the time. How many songs did you write about the bint?
And, yeah, I think this one was another excuse for a line: "Yo quiero comer su chocha." I got a D Spanish II.
Burning trapeze actI've always been into trains and shit, so the story of Promontory Point is pretty cool, you know, the first transcontinental rail line.
Well, then one day you're not twelve anymore and you find out that since owning black people was frowned upon in those days, white folks started buying yellow people. And, you see, the yellow people put it together but the white people get the credit.
Way to go again, white people! You bunch of fucking pricks.
The temple has collapsed, the Czar has fledI used to use the alternate spelling, "Tsar", because I could never remember whether the c or the z came first until I found out it's basically the Russian version of Caesar. Now I remember.
Anyway, this was about George W. I don't think anything more needs to be said about that.
Positron colliderDevon put orange juice concentrate in this guy's tractor's gas tank. He said he didn't do it but so did all the other delinquents he hung out with. I mean, we all knew he did it, we just had to keep quiet about it because if we didn't, then Angie would play the race card.
Again.
Onanizing over griefGawd! Alright, Charlie. Jesus. Can't wait to see what you wrote after you broke up with her. Finally.
Completely unfuckwithableThis one time, I was on the bus and this really beautiful bird sits down across from me. She's got only one and a half arms though, you know? The left one was amputated at the elbow. This did not deter me from finding her fetching but it did fill my head with questions. I think I ask all of them in this one.
The word for it is acrotomophilia.
That nose belongs on a Roman soldierAngie used to be bulemic.
That's pretty much it.
Persian girls' hands covered in invertebrates' bloodYou figure that after running out of one resource that we'll have to latch on to another and then another and then another until finally we start pulling some Soylent Green bullshit. Because, you see, we'll burn through coal, then oil and those things will kill a bunch of animals so we start burning their oil and fat and then we run out of animals until... Well, you know.
Far fetched, I know, but hey...
90lb weaklingHahaha, they called me faggot in high school.
No, wait. I think they called me freak.
Well, either way it was an f-word.
Honey locustSometimes Angie wouldn't want to fuck simply because there was something on TV she considered more important. By "sometimes" I mean "Any time my balls were a deep shade of azure and my dick was hard enough to cut diamonds".
Another log on the fireSo you know Mary Magdalene was a hooker right? And that Jesus was putting the bone to her, right? Well, how come, you know, because hookers make good money, she didn't think to buy a donkey and a cart and get Jesus the fuck out of Dodge before they came and arrested him? Bitch thinkin' only of herself.
By the way, swell choice in girlfriends, Jesus.
Army of prostitutesAt one point, Angie wanted to open the relationship up for the sole purpose of getting me to go fuck someone else for a change. So I'm all, Yeah, there's a regular army of prostitutes out there just kickin' the fuckin' door in for my ass, aint there?
At one point, when I was still on myspace, Angie contacted me and told me this particular song rocks. I didn't tell her what it was about.
Passable EnglishFFFiiinnnally in post-break up territory, thank Bog. This one represents the worst of everything at that time. The insomnia, the alcoholism, the depression, the loneliness, no way to support myself. The fact that I used to have a nice big bed and now slept on an air mattress.
Once, at a Thanksgiving shindig with Renate and the downstairs neighbors, the downstairs neighbors' daughter asked why I slept on an inflatable mattress. I told her it was because I had a bad back. Avid Reader Dave chortled at that and I looked at him and asked quietly, Well, what do you want, man? Y'want me to have to explain poverty to a four year old?
Dave stopped laughing.
Metric-shit-tonAm I pissed off about something this week? Yeah? Great, those are the new lyrics. The recorded version is about you-know-who.
Skin the zipperI really liked Chris Strouth when I met the guy and figured the whole white-wash firing thing was bullshit. Some kid cried foul and Strouth got shit-canned. But then he told me it was a token canning to shut the kid up because the kid was threatening legal action against the school and that he was still on the payroll in administration or some such (if I recall correctly) and not teaching so it at least looked like he was fired.
Nice, big, healthy penisMy god, I had the most twisted thoughts about Strouth's TA, Brianna, so it's only natural that I gelled this and the previous listed song together.
That electric oven was an ugly shade of pinkAngie wanted the place primarily for the fact that it had an old GE oven that was seriously, I thought anyway, an ugly shade of pink. But she had this whole thing about vintage ephemera, so I figured, Whatever. 's long as I can cook in the bastard.
Every day is Spring time for loversThe line about the pressure behind my eyes never stopping wasn't hyperbole back then. I was in a bad way. I talk a mean streak about maps and shaken babies. That's the poetic license part, I guess.
Death rattle on MurgatroidYeah yeah yeah, break up break up break up, wah wah wah. It happens to everybody, get over it.
Anyway, this one was born out of tape experiments. The version without vocals is simply "Murgatroid".
Does anybody even know what the fuck a Murgatroid is? Because the internet has no answers.
May 30th, 1431When we did this one in the Straightaways, it was called "5301431". For Krakoa, I rewrote half the music. It's still my song, damn it.
It's about the day Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake.
A division of parliamentsBlah blah blah break up shmake up.
Anyway, I wrote this trying to rip off "Color Me Once" by the Violent Femmes and "Torn Curtain" by Television. I was taking a song writing class for an elective, just to get the last of my credits to graduate and I turned this song in for my final because I super didn't give a shit about writing something new for the class.
They told me it sounded like Bowie. Fuckin' great. Jesus.
In the eyes of the dacryphile's paramourIn the smoking alley at school, my guy Kevin had the miserable fortune of being a favorite target of the pigeons. Seriously. This song is about my guy Kevin getting shit on by pigeons.
At the discotheque on the Gaza StripIt's about night club owners, actually. Like these night club owners over there who don't take any sides or anything; they generally don't give a shit until someone suicide bombs the place and sends the insurance rates up.
My blood attacks my bodyWith all the griping I do about her, would you believe that there was a time when I actually loved Angie?
Song of the Russian JewsIt's about three generations of this immigrant family who run a snowplow company. And it's also about how pissed off I felt when Ford gave my old man the pink slip.
The pillowbiterYou figure that when some of these cats get out of prison that they had fallen in love with their bitches? And maybe they want to keep seeing each other? You figure that ever happens? Because I don't think it's outside the realm of possibility. And then everybody on the outside looks at them funny all the time because they don't get what it's like.
When you're in prison, what fills the basic human need for not sexual gratification but real emotional love?
Hara kiriOne time in high school, I told Jason Zeh that I had a crush on Ashley Carey. He said that she was a born again and that her boyfriend drank a bottle of anti-freeze because she wouldn't put out.
That's what Jason Zeh told me anyhow.
My old opium dealer, Craig, drank anti-freeze after his wife left him. I guess maybe that's what a guy is supposed to do when a woman won't have sex with him. Sorry. I didn't know; I wasn't at that meeting.
Indestructible man-machineNo no no, wait, no, no. It's totally cool, no. Check it out. You see, the first verse is Evil Dead, the second verse is Evil Dead 2, and the third verse is Army of Darkness. Fucking cool, right?
What do you want? I program my computer to make R2-D2 noises at me because I have no one to talk to. At what point would it not seem like I'm a nerd?
Also, I incorrectly identify the '73 Olds as a '76 Plymouth. Fuck you.
The art of Chinese kite buildingWhat can I tell you? I got bored one day and spent it drinking gin and tonics and reading about ancient kite building techniques. And then I made a song that sounds like Shellac playing slowed down thrash metal.
The song the somniloquist singsI was trying to write one of those up-tempo kind of jazz pieces but make it all fuzzed out. The lyrics are kind of about this little film noir scene where this guy walks in this room that reeks of gasoline and starts getting dizzy.
Velvet paintingsI had this line in my head for years about black Jesus and figured I would finally get around to using it. The problem was that all the other lyrics around it sucked, so I took the vocal track out. Boom! Instant instrumental!
But no. Those lyrics really did suck. I think I threw in something about an E-Z Bake oven or some doofy shit like that.
No publicI was working at this Christian owned and oriented cabinet factory where I didn't exactly fit in. (Who'd'a thunk it?) Anyway, the floor supervisor never let anyone turn the heat up, so I would drink just whole liters of water at a time so I could piss a lot. Not because the bathroom was any warmer, no, but because when I pissed, some of my body heat came out of my dick and it would warm my hands up. Miserable miserable miserable.
Anyway, at the time, all these snipers, like freeway snipers, DC snipers, all these fucking snipers, all over the place. And so I'm in the bathroom for probably the fourth or fifth time on my shift and I'm thinking about these snipers and wrote half the song in my head before I got back out on the floor. For some reason, I called it "No public".
But it's about Napoleon, now.
It's just not rightAfter Georgie and I broke up, we kept fucking. And watching TV together. And eating together. And going to parties together. And fucking. But we were so broken up.
Elbow deep in vomitOne time, Georgie puked all over herself at the hostel and left a sink full of vomit clogging up the drain when she tried to clean herself off. I had to clean it up.
Now is not the time for memories, now is the time for dreamingI signed off from a chat room one night with that line and I liked it, so I used it for a title.
I was mad at Georgie once.
In the trees in winterI ripped myself off and used the lyrics from an old discarded song, "The frotteurist vs. vagina dentata" for the first half of this song, the "in the trees" half. The "in winter" half is about how I was living nearly exclusively on shite mac 'n' cheese for an entire winter. Joe Free Lance laughed at that particular misfortune of mine.
The world's most durable battering ramIn this song, attempting to rip-off Oxbow but sounding more like a bad Soundgarden outtake, I play the part of a sperm cell swimming up a fallopian tube. 'Cause I'm totes going to beat the shit out of that egg until it lets me in.
Then I remixed it so it's just the parts that go BANG-BANG with me hollering twenty feet away from the mic about swimming. Now it doesn't sound like a bad Soundgarden outtake. Awesome.
SilverfishOne time, I was taking a shower and I saw a silverfish whisked past my feet and into the drain.
No, that really is what the song is about.
46th & MinnehahaIf I haven't explained this one ad nauseum, then fine. My friend, Mary Ann, was struck by a bus and killed at this intersection.
Sweet BrownThere was this weird racist suthan lawyer guy with an eye patch that stayed here when Brianna was the manager. He used to make all these weird, inept passes at her by commenting on the star tattoos you could see coming up her tit from her low-slung collar. Just really creepy and gross.
One time, he came to the office and asked if "Sweet Brown" wasn't working that day, in reference to her skin color.
I evicted him shortly there afterward.
Racist Police Killed My TigerThere was this article in the UK Guardian; this kid and his friend, they're like twelve years old or something, and the kid's dog (named Tiger), were getting harassed by the cops. Well, the cops start breaking out the racial slurs and the dog starts barking, if I remember correctly.
The cops did the logical thing and tazered the dog to death.
It was all caught on camera if I recall correctly.
See, cops are assholes even overseas.

2 comments:

  1. I love the "At Once Smitten" meaning... Somehow, you found a way to put those first 20 minutes into words... Sweet!

    ReplyDelete
  2. It's written from Shir Khan's perspective, when Mogli lights the tall grass on fire to burn Shir Khan alive. Read the original book sometime. It is not the dancing-orangutan bullshit Disney fed you.

    ReplyDelete

 
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.