The Brambles of Hell (2009)

1. Let’s Go Fucking Crazy

This is far and away the newest song on the album. I had always thought that his Purpleness's line about "Instead of asking how much time you have left, ask him much of your mind is left.." was certainly a doozy, and much more applicable to reasonist's metaphyisics than a believer. Besides Dave lending me a guitar and a distortion pedal, I wanted to something upbeat to open. And I had been singing the chorus melody to myself for months. The lyrics also deal with REAL insanity, the type where a gang brutally rapes and (murders?) hurts a defensless woman. We also have another insanity: the failed hero who 'could fuck this up, you could die here tonight". The chorus, though, feels hopeful I think.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to dispel this myth of the soul. A horseshit concept that's murderous by design. I'm here to tell you: there's nothing else. No afterlife, just a world of never-ending darkness where there's no sun, there is no light. So when you run into that asshole from Beverly Hills Michigan, you know the one - that impenetrable douchebag, that unfortunate, arrogant pile of fuck, instead of asking how much time is left, ask him how much of your mind is left, and then punch him as hard as you can in his smug cocksucker. If the crushing gravity from this hateful star overwhelms you, if it arrests your mind in such a frightening way that you begin to see God - go absolutely fucking crazy.
I've never seen another woman so desperate
She was scared, as she gathered up her teeth - strewn through the dirt - blood stains rained from her skirt, like a death umbrella
God had failed to wake up, break up make up existential
Crime could not detour his blood filled rage.
I could be the one who saves you
We could make the kill, we could hunt through the night
I could be the one who fails you
I could fuck this up, we’d all be dead long gone
I’ve never seen another woman so desperate
I never cared, to give what needs wants, to give her a chance, as the men dropped their pants, to a dead messiah.
Rage was all the fashion, swept below their hateful passions
Hail to the king of spite, the meanest fucker you ever met.
We could find the men you hurt you
We could hunt them down and hang them high
We could be the ones who save you
Or they could tie you up, let you scream through the night
High the rise of the girl, the blood from her brow, the crazy boys sing fuck it, another mother want to fuck it.
Crowing in the shadow of your fractured soul, Save the
mother of your savior whispers “let’s go”
Crowding to the manifest, bloody fist, the freezing cold, Here’s
money for you mother, whisper “let’s go”
Get down get down get down low, here’s
Money for your mother bitch let’s go “let’s go”
Get down get down you never better let her go, here’s
Money for your mother scream “let’s go let’s go”
I could be the one who saves you
I could track them down, I could hunt through the night
And every tear that falls from your eyes earns a kiss when death arrives
I could be the one who saves you
I could be the dawn, you could live through the night
I could be the one who fails you
I could fuck this up, You could die here tonight.

2. The Attack Dogs of Compassion
“

This song was written eons ago (2003 by my record) hot off the heels of "fuck fuck fuck fuck" in which I write in ways that I can alternate and swap chord progressions and melodies. And G-minor - who writes in G-minor? This song's first line is 'fuck you', which I had thought would be an interesting way to write a jokeless and basically non-crass song. The "Love will cloud" interlude was so nice (IMO) that I did a 'save as' and wrote the song "love will cloud", titled after the chorus line of this song: "love will cloud my mind with hope". The squeaks and chirps in the beginning are courtesy of "REASON" software, and the dogs barking are one of my first inclusion of digital sound effects, which are used in many places around the album. The 'jam' in the middle reminds me of something from Thing and Nothing, or at least from a more ambitious day.

Fuck you” was all I said to piss them off this time
A night like tonight could be the end of this swell and respected guy.
Then came the man of the hour, the man of the hour, the toast of the night who’s better then you.
He’s smarter than me, got more money than I do, he’s brighter than you are, and his wife’s nice too.
Then there’s me, and my friends, and their wives, and their vicious children.
Strung on the lawn, on the run, on the way to kiss them, their lips stained red with blood.
“ Fuck you” was all I thought, when he turned to me and smiled.
“ I’ll give you my prayers, I’m saving your souls, I’m saving your lives from a lack of love and faith”

Well, I am the prince of this shit, of this dishonest shitpile. Dumped on my lawn, on my mind, from the bowels of reason, as hate gushed hot from his tongue.
Love will cloud my mind with hope.
When grief cooks my feast, and dread makes my bed (x3)
Love will cloud my mind with hope.
When the stars fade above and the world’s blown away
Me and my friends and their wives and their mindless children
Run, attack dogs run and reap tonight.
When grief cooks my feast, and dread makes my bed
I am the prince of this shit, of this unholy shitpile.
Try not to shake or cry tonight
Try not to squeal or say anything nice.
When loss became my boss, when fear bought my beer.
When hate became my bitch…
Love will cloud my mind with hope.
As the stars fade above and the world’s blown away
Me and my friends and their wives and their evil children
Run, attack dogs kill tonight
Truth be a fist tonight.

3. A Mindful Endeavor

This song was one of the few I ever write 'riff-first' i.e., dick around with the guitar until something hits me and then create a song out of it. I.e., lyrics and melodies last, not first. It's in drop-D tuning with a Thought Industry-like riff, hence the play on the songs name which is synonomous with "a thought industry" (mindful = thoughful, endeavor, industrious, get it? No... whatever). It's about the fact that you think something nasty and still be a pretty stand-up guy. It's true.

Remember all those high school dorks? I fucked them all in my mind.
And now every teen I see, I want to cut their throats and dash out their eyes.
But thoughts come and go with the wind.
Girls call au revior au revior au revior. The heart longs for more.
As fire flies burn blithe eve in July, as the clouds streak the sky
A fortune lies behind tithe of their lives, would we vie for a lie?
Boys shout huzzah huzzah huzzah! The crowd screams for more!
A liar lies nice through sweet battery, as the girls comb their hair.
As a churchmouse relies on the crumbs of a eucharist gone wrong
Men sing boo-yah boo-yah boo-yah! The angry shout for more.
Boys shout huzzah huzzah huzzah! The crowd screams for more!
Remember all those business clucks? I raped them all in my dreams.
And now every suit I see, I want to cut their throats and dash out their eyes.
The monkeys in dreams say one thing.
“ Wake up, fuckface”.

3. Irredeemable

This is the fourth song in the "drunk drunk secretary" quintology (preambled by 'drunk drunk secretary, Icecream, and fuck (4)). As someone who would have to do a similar amount of fiction to play themes such as unrequited love or any semblance of a good 'girl' song, the DD secretary gives me a character who is heartbroken and throroughly wasted to play with these favorite lyrical themes. Some of the drums sound shitty because I experimented with taking the bottom heads off to minimize cymbal noise (don't ask, and don't do it) but never felt like re-recording.

Tombstones harbingered death’s puppet play
A Romance, yea, you’d think she was dead from the way, that funny girl is
walking, sinking in graveyard mud
She’s plastered now, fucked up on rum from that store she adores
On her own, she stumbles through the mud
Splits her lips she mumbles love love love…
Two hearts sewn, both of them bleeding sores
Two minds blown, robbed like convenience stores
On the run, back to that bum
Undeserved, her love love love
Unafraid, unaware, no remorse
To his house, a stare like a loaded gun,
Too bad its all over, to bad its all poison now.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, she lifts a brick from the ground
It trouble for that prick living downtown with his only love of his money piled high
On her own, she lifts the brick above her head
In her heart, that fucker’s dead, dead, dead
Too bad for her (too bad now), a drunk administrator
Two hearts sewn, both of them cancer wards
Too bad its all over, too bad its all sickness now…
All of her dead souls pass through windows
Silent screams as she fell to the ground
On her knees as blood drained from her smile
A broken tooth, a blood stain smeared on her blouse
A crying laugh, to intense for the scene
Too bad its all over, too bad its all murder…
Is it now?Ahhhhh!

L. Another Drunk Drunk Secretary

A re-do of the THD offering, with new lyrics, new instrumentation, and a new part.

Sing, sad sad songs, hum to the music wilting in the dark of this sleepy small town bar
where she glides, dancing from the muse of wickedly wrong quotes of a promise broke
And she does look fine, she reels thick thinking of the crimes we commit against her.
She stopped the madness boiled inside you.
(men’s chorus) Fear and falls seem harder in the long run. Piece and parts grander than the whole sum. She folds, down she falls.
When she dropped off her car and the only image kept was a picture that you took
And that’s when you mistook, her epistemology and the nuance of a breath, when you thought she caught her death, from the lawyer’s desk
So who could mistake that you plot to berate and embarrass her.
She stopped the madness boiled inside you.
Fear and falls seem harder in the long run. Piece and parts grander than the whole sum. She folds, down she falls.
Now she'll drink until the glum parade stops marching by with their hip hey hurrahs.
Her medicine masks the serenade of the day’s digest on her sullen eyebrows.
Guilt is choking all her screams, as she's swallowing her dreams, and swallowing another whiskey. Who could believe that she pines to protect and save you.
She stopped the madness boiled inside you
She stopped the madness boiled inside you
Fear and falls seem harder in the long run. Piece and parts grander than the whole sum. She folds, down she falls


4. Hot Beer Cotillion

This may be the really last song I wrote, but again another that's been rambling around my mind since the end of the Hudson Debacle. It's about how drunk people like to discuss politics and be righteous (even with good ideas) when they are mostly just sitting there talking. I'm one of those assholes, BTW>

Us boys are meeting here, we face eye to eye. asses to elbows with yous, my fiendish dogs.
It's dangerous fuse, a foolish roll and you lose, as we bullshit through our first round of booze
Which of you assholes couldn’t do what was right?
Which of you cowards couldn’t put up a fight?
Which of you liars threw up big words this time,
While never being wounded or hungry tonight?
Ain't it easy to be brilliant when your drunk on a stool,
Ain't it easy to be virtuous and wise
Ain't it easy to talk shit, you got a cure for the world,
while sitting there, suckin’ beer from a can
Which of you assholes couldn’t do what was right?
Which of you cowards couldn’t put up a fight?
Which of you liars threw up big words this time,
While never being wounded or hungry tonight?
Which of you assholes didn’t pick up the ice
It looks like its going to be hot beer tonight,
It was me, it was me, it was me.
Everyone one of us here, and all of every one of us
Plays a role on the stage, like a game that we play, like a slick masquerade
Everyone one of us here, and all of every one of us
Is a shame, and a guess, as we drink while we complain how our world went insane…
You want to save your little brown men, your war crimes, the truth
You got one eye open, just for luck
Your pushing your will ahead, but you're just filling your cup
Well fuck you, get to the back of the line
Which of you assholes couldn’t do what was right?
Which of you coward couldn’t put up a fight?
Which of you pussies threw up big words this time,
While never being wounded or hungry tonight?
Which of you assholes didn’t pick up the ice
It looks like its going to be hot beer tonight,
It was me, it was me, it was me.

This is the second song I wrote for this, and I thought it was really good at the time. I've actually re-recorded half of it recently (before the drums kick in) to change to a key five steps lower (neat, huh? Still works with the OLD key). The lyrics were written when I was giving a lot of thought about quitting the salaried career path, so there's some angry stuff about self-enablment in there. The druum sound I got was pretty good. I mostly use the same set-up, but some of the newer songs I'm less careful with using a lot of mics and getting the sound perfect. This is a good case of why you should spend some time with the drum sound.

One day my fate will ring, and when she calls she’ll be pissed she missed me,
I’m throwing my life away, cause it sucked, and its shit, and I’m better than it.
One fall isn’t like them all, no suicide notes nor goodbye’s from me,
Some falls are more bold escapes, a template of my economy.
I’ve grown into a phantom, a peninsula, a moon to the earth
I’ve taken control of my simple self, of my holy self, of my economy.
So pack up your business cards. Leave the lights sort of low, so they’ll think we’re home.
I’ll wake up and drive my car. I will tell all the kids where this harlot lives.
One fall isn’t like them all, no suicide notes nor goodbye’s from me,
Some falls are more bold escapes, a statue to my economy.
I’ve grown into a phantom, a peninsula, a moon to the earth
I’ve sewn control of my simple self, of my mental health, of my economy.
So, Fate, you hear me, step out of your hole.
Get yer ass out of bed, its time to give up control.
If you believe I’m an abeyant, weak man,
C’mon play your cards, c’mon, show me your hand.
Oh, Fate stepped out of her well, yes, Fate stepped out of her well
I’ve now prepared a deal to offer you, you’ll take my terms, you may even get screwed.
I’m done with the rules, the constraints, and the pain, of this bill-paying career, these fucking chores, and this mundane bullshit.
One path takes me to passion, and one path bores me to death.
I’ve taken control of my simple self, of my reasoned mind, of death refined.
One day my fate will ring, and she’ll rage at the chance to meet me
One day she’ll climb her well, and she’s fucked if she thinks I’m afraid.
One fall isn’t like them all, no suicide notes nor goodbye’s from me,
Some falls are more bold escapes, a Koran to my economy.

M. The Whole God-Damned World

I wrote this song for my 1999 millenium party at Harvey's, and purposefully because it had a 'state of the planet' type theme. It's sort of an unaimed and directionless litany of complaints sort of to politics and society. Compaining is easy to do in music, which is why 1) all political songs are mostly just complaints, and 2) why music is a shitty vehicle for political thought beyond outrage. Going on about what you think positively or solutions is another story. Not sure how to squeeze in Austrian economic theory or whatever into 3/4 time. BTW, this song and the previous both use 3/4 time. Not sure why I put them next to each other.

Let’s all drink up to my health, and come feast on this nasty point of view
A black-out of confidence reigns. This arrogant douchebag is the one to blame. He taxed all your groceries as the world went insane. And pledged to betray our trust.
Give thanks up to the Lord for all this shit you can’t afford.
Beat all them girls for a ruse, it’s a miserable morning for a device called abuse.
It’s a gassed up wedding, it’s a bomb with a lit fuse.
And all us little lambs are lost.
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. Its chock full of maybies, and bald-headed babies, and maybe I’m crazy to depend on my eyes,
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. I’m begging for kindness, and fighting a blindness, that burns and hurts nearly everyone.
He had to burn down his neighbors’ house. Buried his wife, put his mother in the ground
A violent cacophony rings as shards of twisted metal scatter through the hot air, a halo of insects, wet bloody hair. A trust bent to betray.
A cohort of assholes confused. Another starts to drool. It’s a wicked point of view. It’s a dangerous gun to shoot.
A black-out of confidence reigns. It’s a soft-hearted loser who’s afraid of the game. It’s a dead sort of fucker who screams you’re insane.
And all us little lambs are lost in the woods
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. To bitter half-hearted lunks and intellectual drunks, and maybe I’m crazy to buy all this junk,
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. It’s a maddening hell-hole, a ham-fisted fellow that spits in your face while letting you down.
He’s slitting your throat while letting you down.
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. It’s a blind-sided left hook from that roundhouse you mistook and maybe I’m crazy to depend on my eyes,
The whole god-damned world can’t be more than this. It’s a god-fearing smearfest with love-hating villains that spit in your face while letting you down.
Well to hell with all of them.

N. The Brambles of Hell

For years, this song was called "The day I woke up old" and had this theme: Waking up realizing that you are indeed getting old and its real baggage: sense of arrival, realized potential. It’s a long way to being old, it’s a long time being old. The worst is realizing that you’ve missed potential. You’re no longer the person who is “going to be an actor” or “going to be a millionaire”, but you are what you are at the moment. It’s worse yet to see yourself squashing your next potential just like you did since you’ve arrived i.e., just like you sat around for the past 15 years, you will continue this sitting for the next 15 years (and then the equation will be looking at 30 years past, 30 years forward, and conclude with death). This is the true tragedy of age – not so much how you’ve wasted time, but now you can see how you are GOING to waste time.
To what value is this peek into the future? It should be near priceless, yet it could be too painful to bear.
The cure? Mania, or alcoholism, or luck, or acceptance?

I've now changed it to this little maniacal mumble about avoiding death. Enjoy.

She goes “Boo”,
like a phantom in the night,
like a surgeon with a knife,
creeping darkly in the house (bump)
come here to scare you
wake up the children
“ don’t you take a fucking rest?”
From the alcohol and wherewithal,
that kept you typing at your desk,
going dum de dum dud um,
praying for a test of strength,
doublin’ down on
all your stupid bets, sir
your mind in a restless itch about that selfless bitch
If cash could hold off death, she’d go on by, she could choke and die
If I could pay off fate. She’d go on by, she could choke and die
If God took mastercard, he’d be alright, he’d be alive
If I could mortgage life, We’d be OK, we’d be allright
If souls could prostitute, we’d go on by, I’d be fine
She go Boo,
There to scare your heart awake,
to give your neck a fucking shake,
watch your child fall in the lake, (boom)
run in the road, dear
heaven erodes here,
fall from of fucking grace, the scrape still hot on your bloody face.
As the wound begins to chafe
and I’m all ow ow ow, fuck this and fuck that,
In an infectious sort of way,
Gone to the bank, dear,
Something to thank her
For all the stinking rich, that I’ll throw into this ditch

Death to the man, the man with the plan. Who sha sha I-ka shashakaka end to the end and
Dust to the dust who shashkaka end to the ash, to the

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