This is the kind of shameless 1960's pastiche that I frequently criticize other artists for indulging in, ironically or not. But there was a time that I, too, was seduced by the cheap appeal of the pseudo-nostalgic Nuggets-era knock off. I did not make a common practice of such transgressions, and approached the composition of this song as a one-off, exploratory "period piece." I think I set out to do this more to see "what it would sound like" than out of a serious interest in the aesthetic conservatism inherent in most revival movements.
The song is not without its merits. In particular, the driving bass/drum combination that defines the verses is instantly familiar and fairly memorable, without referencing anything in particular, though the influence of Motown-based Mod/beat music clearly forms the template. The lyrics aren't terrible, more influenced by the socially defiant critical vignettes of Gang of Four-style post-punk than anything else. Probably some influence from Jean Baudrillard, whose "System of Objects" was exerting an all-encompassing impact on my inner world in 2005, the words deal with the paradox of the construction of individuality via mass-produced objects and cultural points of reference reduced to interchangeable, value-neutral commodities. Not exactly a grand thesis, but they're delivered in a sneering, somewhat sarcastic manner that does them reasonable justice, albeit in a terribly unfortunate fake English accent, one of the silly trends of the moment that apparently slipped past my intermittently functional critical apparatus.
Despite some meandering, unfocused instrumental interludes that add little to the song, the main material is actually pretty ridiculously infectious, with the vocals and slightly comical guitar refrain playing call-and-response throughout the verses, and the oft-repeated titular phrase popping up at calculated intervals sufficient to make it stick after a couple of listens. Even the noodling instrumental section gets a little more adventurous than the painfully formulaic guitar solos I had heretofore gotten into the habit of rubber stamping onto nearly every song I wrote.
Paris Yavuz of Popheart suggested that this song, if re-released today, would offer an opportunity for some kind of wide recognition. I told him I'd rather be recognized for my own ideas rather than my cheap, lesser re-hashing of someone else's... which is essentially what this song is. But if one can look past that basic fact and take the song on its own terms, it's pretty okay for what it is, despite the reverb being turned up too loud on every instrument and lacking any considerable thread of originality (though that's never been a reason for complaint from the general listening public, now has it?)
lyrics
You've got options but they're all so tame
You were promised freedom and delivered shame
Well you can change your look and you can change your name
But there's a million ways to be the same
To be the same, to be the same
A million ways to be the same
They multiply as you give them names
Although these ways have never really changed
What if you did not create yourself?
What if you were created by someone else?
You could extinguish every gasping flame
Oh there's a million ways to be the same
To be the same, to be the same
A million ways to be the same
They multiply as you give them names
Although these ways have never really changed
Keep reaching out for what's not there
You grasp handfuls of empty air
And smile like you just don't care
Smile if you're not aware
Smile like you just don't care
And keep reaching out for what's not there
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