30 | September | 2005 | A Year of Songs

Spit in the Ocean
I wrote this song when I was working in a gas station in a very rough part of town. You might think, from the lyrics, that I was feeling small, myself, but, much to the contrary, I felt like I was on top of the world. I had a job. I had a car. I had a nice little house I was renting in a decent neighborhood. I had a beautiful, whip-smart girlfriend. And the people around my gas station, by and large, had nothing. So, in a sense, I was writing about myself.

produced version [dub mix – on Soundclick]

Spit in the Ocean

You must think you’re oh so very
terribly important
with your car, your house, your maid,
your butler and your porters.

But seen from the stars
you’re the same as all of us are.
And it might seem a queer notion
but we’re all just spit
in the ocean.

Hop upon a plane
run around the world
Tokyo, Paris, Rome, Berlin
and they’re all full of your kind of girl.

You can have all the ones you want
you can play with people’s lives.
You can have all the rope you want
but soon enough they expect that noose
to be tied.

Seen from above
just another slightly balding head
a little bit of dandruff on the shoulders
but you’ll be dead
soon enough, anyway.

Hiding in your villa
on the Dalmatian Coast.
Your blue ribbon Afghan hound at your feet
the one that you prize the most.

But your baby’s got the rabies
and he’s gonna bite your foot.
ain’t there an end to the indignities
through which a human being
must be put.

Seen from the stars
Just another chunk of rock in space.
little ones crawling about on it
but they’ll be gone
soon enough, anyway.

You must think you’re oh so very
terribly important
with your car, your house, your maid,
your butler and your porters.

But seen from the stars
you’re the same as all of us are.
And it must seem a queer notion
but we’re all just spit
in the ocean.

left

It’s another scorcher here in south Cali… not as oppressive, maybe, as yesterday — unless you’re foolish enough to decide to catch up with your quixotic blog/podcast (I know, I know, all blogs are quixotic. I’ll go one better, all communication is quixotic. But it’s too stinkin’ hot to argue about engines of futility… Where was I?) …not as oppressive unless you close all the windows, trying to shut out neighborhood noise to better please your audience (that would be you, noble and perhaps imaginary reader).

The lyrics, I think, are more or less self-explanatory. It started off heading towards being a catalog song (a bunch of girl’s names strung together with oneliners about them) but I’m not a fan of the form and diverted it to a general discourse on the nature of love… at least as it relates to simple-minded pop songs.

I wanted an old-timey kind of sound so I used my 3/4 sized spanish guitar that I bought for $50 at a music superstore. It’s my go-everywhere guitar. I was going for a small, cheap sound — and I think I nailed it.