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about

Recorded in 2005 in Burbank, California.

The vocals didn't really come out like I had intended, but I was actually trying to sing like Lawrence Hayward from Felt, whom I had recently discovered and fallen in love with, on this track. Those kinds of attempts at imitation are probably the better kind, though, rather than sounded like a blatant rip-off. Actually now that I think of it, the vox have almost a sort of shitty, punk-rock version of Bob Dylan feel. Or something.

The rather catchy rock-n-roll riff that crowns this vaguely psychedelic track came quite out of nowhere. It just sticks. The chorus, and that sort of sinister, rising lead guitar melody that pierces through it was a direct tribute to Television -- quite fitting indeed for a piece that also involves an attempt to pay tribute to Felt (they were sometimes called the "English Television" and their front-man was a die-hard devotee of Tom Verlaine.) The lyrics are a bit hard to trace back to any origin now, though the chorus lines I can definitely recall having something to do with Jean Baudrillard's discussion of Freud's death drive, which makes sense as I was steeped in Baudrillard's "System of Objects" at the time of writing this song. It would take awhile, but that book was to deeply affect me and my perceptions of the surrounding world in a permanent and profound way, and we can see maybe the unassuming beginnings of that change beginning to take place here.

Apparently, I was trying to make this song sound like it was recorded live. I recall someone asking me if it was, shortly after putting it out. It has this sort of far-out middle section where it goes off on a bit of a "miniature-extended improv," all the melodic content of the song being jettisoned in favor of some almost-atonal jamming out. It kind of just sounds like the Doors or something... it's probably just that organ. Eh, not bad for a little middle-eight jam. Nothing earth shattering. Probably the best thing about this track is actually the blistering vocal performance. I should rather like to try and capture something like that again in the future (moreso as it is in the verse than the chorus.) The guitar hook holds up alright, too, in fact, but probably the kind of thing I'd shy away from these days; a little too wanky. But not bad in the context of this song, which actually does sound like an unlikely cross-pollination of the Doors and Felt.

lyrics

Don't see the world in black and white
Don't see the days, don't see the nights
The definition of wrong and right
Is changing like the fading light
So change your locks or load your guns
The war is lost, the battle's won
But you have your artificial fun
Alternatives are too far-flung

You want answers with no questions
You want death, you want regression

I see a world in black and blue
And I suspect self-inflicted wounds
But we don't give them time to heal
Because we're numb and we don't feel
We're losing limbs, we're losing sight
But we all say that it's alright
You will replace me with machines
And the director leaves the scene

You want answers with no questions
You want death, you want regression

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Dylan Thomas Walter Anaheim, California

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