Is there anything...ANYTHING more conceited...more unctuous...than the 'artist' who presumes to wrest away the illusion and wonder of interpretation by spoiling the plot and telling the stories of their own 'compositions' which somehow merit some strained explanation of the 'true' meaning of their ideas? Whenever someone who isn't Scott Walker or Andy Partridge talks about their creations and where they came from, I can't help but moan low. The same low moan I give when I see a pretty woman at the supermarket, in reverse./
So with no further ado:
Before I wrote “Jesus” I was into writing crazy chord changes and crow-barring a melody into them. One song, “Sex Without Love”, was merely a descending chromatic scale (played on the synth bass du decade), starting with 'C', and each chord attendant thereto was decided by throwing a bunch of little confetti pieces in the air, and picking them up in the order that they would be applied. The little pieces of paper bore little cryptic messages like “+2m/x” (if this were the first piece collected, the chord after C would be C#m/B. If the next was “5/x”, the next chord would be F/A#, etc. So on, until I reached C again. Kind of a 12-bar blues. Except the only people who got the blues were the ones who couldn't find the fast-forward button in time.
These were musical exercises which more or less betrayed my boredom with the form. I was in love and had learned that writing songs about girls I liked was a foolish thing to do. You never got the reaction you thought you wanted. So instead of trying to craft the perfect fuck-ballad, I was into this nutty bullshit. Then, one day, this girl (a devout catholic and a devout virgin) decided she wasn't sexually attracted to me anymore. Was it the crumbs of muffin seeking temporary refuge in my latest failed attempt at a beard? Who knows? All I knew was that this made me want to write a really angry song and deliver the message in as simple a structure as I could.
So 'Jesus” is about a girl and her ironic ethos. Moreover, it's about how much of our 'true' nature we suppress in the hope that our temporary abandonment of recalcitrant tendencies in times of panic or a slow downhill roll will see some strange reward at the end.
“Aurora” is a pretty simple tale of my days living on a dead-end street in West Seneca, NY. When my mother yelled at me, it sounded like a giant chicken had just been stabbed with a pair of safety scissors with the green plastic handles. My name back then was “Bucko” or “Buck” for short, but when mom let her parenting expertise fly for all the neighborhood to hear, it sounded more like “BOK.....BOK.....BOOOOOOKKKKKK!!!!!” YOU keep a straight face. It surely anesthetized the inevitable spanking.
When I ambled too close to the train tracks in an effort to see what was coming down the pike, she'd freak. I was given succinct instructions to never, ever cross those tracks. So this is the story of me trying to convince myself that it was O.K. That if I were to cross and never return, what was I really missing? Every parent on our street was drunk more often than not. There were no culs-de-sac. There were dead ends.
This was actually a title of a strange little drug-induced song I wrote with my friend Kate Licata in Buffalo back in 1984 or so. I forgot most of the song but the title stayed with me and I always thought it would be a neat title for a CD. The song itself (the one on my CD) is sort of about genealogy (another title?) and found old photos and the people in them and how we tend to romanticize the past when in reality their lives, except for the moment or two before the picture was taken, were probably more of a soul-crushing straight line of boredom and routine combined with your typical roles than ours ever will be.
This little ode has to do with an ex-band mate that used to slow down the proceedings by getting nicely toasted upstairs before appearing in our practice space downstairs. We never knew what sort of mood he would be in, hence the 'angry blend' line. Sometimes he would find creativity an easy fit and the ideas of others dovetailing nicely with his own. However, more often than not, he would turn up confrontational and impossible. EVERY remark answered with a “Why?” Perhaps I would show up with an idea and announce that the song was in “A minor”. “WHY? Why can't it be in C minor?” “Ok, let's try it in C minor.” “Why?” “Because that's what you wanted?” “Why are we doing what I wanted? Why can't we do what...(insert benign, uninvolved band mate's name here) wants?”
See what I mean?
Anyhow, that, combined with the cognitive rape of being in a band environment without a singular vision, is more or less what “Time Bomb” is about. I felt unappreciated and not a little persecuted. I mean, someone has to steer the ship. Just 'jamming' to get ideas works some times. But sometimes...SOMETIMES...someone needs to be able to plop down, say “I wrote this” and have the band follow directions in order to execute the idea.
Abbie Neal was my most famous relative. I got to know her in her later years. She hated the idea of a nursing home but that's where she ended up. That's all I'll say.
“Do Something Stupid” is my idea of a love song to a mythical ideal. It's a plea for someone to do something to fuck up your perfect picture of them. Either that, or let's get it on.
I am like a child. I fantasize constantly. I never stop daydreaming. It really sucks. It's not sexual. It's wondering if OTHER people think about this nutty stuff. I really like the chord progression. It more or less hearkens back to those halcyon days when I knew just enough rules of musical form to deviate with some intelligence. I change keys frequently, twice before the verse starts. Then once more. I was inspired to write 'DSS' by a woman named Sarah, who , while a friend, was (I feel) terminally terrified that one day I would turn around and smooch her a good one. Hope you're well, Sarah. Kiss.
Here's a song about my daughter Olivia. It's all true. Here, again, I change keys twice within the verse, and again during the 'chorus'. I suppose if I ever develop a trademark or signature, that would be it. It comes so naturally (not a good or bad thing---just something I do) that a song like “Jesus” is more of a challenge because of what it DOESN'T do. I really like the soulful, transcendent solo at the end by our own Dan Lewis.
One key change. Sorry. 'TTW' is a poem I wrote about how goofy we old musicians and our dreams can be. Yet somehow we find succor in them all the same as if they themselves are the reward, the dream being a reward for dreaming. A dangerous opiate when you consider middle age creeping up on us. Why release a CD? What is promised me? Am I just making another memento for my kid's time capsule? I decided long ago that it was a good time to share a definitive record of all the talent and imagination I could manage in one year-long burst. On the cheap.
'Mauve' is anyone I know in that dream, including myself.
I hope you enjoy my retro-tastic keyboard solo. This one is pretty cut and dried. No matter how fucked up my partner is (because I usually make her that way) she's got a ways to go to match the sheer depth and breadth of my micromania. The thing, itself, said, is a sad brag, regardless of what finesse I (or you) apply to it. Like a stupid teenager who knows nothing, but doesn't know it. Isn't it tragic that we never cop to our own youthful hubris and defiant noodling until we're old enough to regret not doing more with it?
Just another love song to my children. Known and unknown.
All songs © by Gilbert Neal, Autoholic Friend Music (ASCAP).
Produced by Daniel Lewis and Gilbert Neal for Fightin' Fool Productions.