I'm so tired. As a result, I hired my trusty editor, the comely Max "Christine" Maki, to write today's second post and do the lyrical analysis (accompanying my musical thoughts) for the first. She is 73 years old and smokes two and a half packs of Camel Lites a day.
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The Fembots - "Small Town Murder Scene"
I wrote:
"Small Town Murder Scene," is a faded, flickering black and white saloon rag. Men sit at the bar, dejected, leaning over their beer. An entertainer sits down and bangs away at the piano, belts out one of the thousands of songs he knows. The clientele clues in and on the one-and, and three-and they bang their glasses on the bar. The bartender keeps the beer flowing, pouring it out on two and four. A sing-along ensues. A fiddler joins the party. Hoots and hollers. Castanets and singing saws. Bringing some joy to the Old West is what the Fembots are all about.
Christine wrote:
Or so you may think, not having listened to the content of said hooting and hollering. The town couldn't wait to get rid of old Valentine there, who, as you can probably imagine, was one of these annoying busy-bodies always meddling in others' affairs (or, possibly the aging gold rush harlot, merely misunderstood?). So, the townspeople set out to find the right basement milieu for their grisly solution. And then, to the bar for brief mourning and raucous celebration. Worry about cleaning up later. [Ed. The Fembots bring joy to the Old West not exlusively through song, but also through murder.]
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And:
Joni Mitchell - "Edith And The Kingpin"
Joni Mitchell spent her early childhood years in North Battleford and Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. I have a soft spot for Saskatchewan. Joni's life has been somewhat melodramatic: a survivor of childhood polio (which she contracted just one year before the polio vaccine was invented), she was left (temporarily) unable to walk and with a spine so bent two fists could be inserted under its hump. At the age of twenty-two she gave birth to a secret daughter she later gave up for adoption, and even later (thirty years) found again (as a result of
internet rumours).
Joni Mitchell's eighth album, The Hissing of Summer Lawns, did not at first catch my attention. Too psych rock, too high and low end (not enough middle), too dissonant, too artificial 70's, too moog. Some people love this sound. Not me. I find it cheesy. But having run out of cds to listen to at work one summer, and having replayed this one so many times that I reached a state where I could overcome and accept what I usually see as flaws, I slowly became conscious of its piercing brilliance.
With an almost too-smooth beginning, this jazzy-psych song of decadence and past primes tells the story of the ugly relationship between Edith and her kingpin. The guitars and drums seem too soft, the bass too harsh, the keyboard too shimmery and the flute riff completely unnecessary. But, when Joni adds tumbling jazz melodies in her sharply on-key voice, all these contrasts come together to form an entirely uncheesy whole. This song taught me something: even I can appreciate the heaviness of seventies rock.
Joni moved from Saskatchewan to Toronto, then New York, then L.A. to pursue her musical career. It's hard adjusting to a new place, learning and observing the strange ways of the big city:
"The big man arrives, disco dancers greet him, plain clothes cops greet him, Small town, big man, fresh lipstick glistening."
There are differences between old and new selves, old and new homes that must be reconciled. There are doubts:
"Women he has taken grow old too soon, he tilts their tired faces gently to the spoon."
But Joni knows she too has much to offer, and romantic and snowblind, she falls into desperate love with the man with the diamond ring.
"Edith and the kingpin, each with charm to sway, are staring eye to eye."
At the end, the very best part of the song: "You know they dare not look away."
I won't deny that I haven't secretly hoped for (and elsewhere spread) an internet rumour regarding a second secret daughter (me). Ha ha. [Buy]