Category Archives: combo

I’m sick of the blues

Je suis désenchanté

There was a time — a while back, mind you — when I was writing so many song lyrics that I couldn’t keep up, music-wise. Actually, judging from the quality of many of those songs, I couldn’t keep up lyric-wise, either, but we’ll let that go. For now.

That meant the musical dropback plan b of the 20th century — the blues.

One day when I’d run out of music and run out of words and yet still found myself writing a song, I found myself singing, “I’m sick of the blues.” And I thought — ah, an instant classic.

But, gee, I love the blues. So I quickly began ticking off a list of musical genres that I was even more sick of. That was good for a verse… (And please keep in mind this was 1994, too. Hence the dated cultural references.) Trendy cuisine, another verse. And where else to go from there but around the world…

Formulaic? I wear my formulae on my sleeve. Er, sleeves. Whatever.

Anyhow, if the lyrical conceit seems a might precious, you might want to check out the dub version (from 1999; just below the other play and download links). The fictional vignette posted with the previous AYoS version is a riff on that mix.

dub version (1999):
<a href="http://onebluenine.bandcamp.com/album/collection-of-convenience-scared">collection of convenience: scared by one blue nine</a>

Désenchanté
1/19/94

I’m sick of the blues
I’m sick of reggae too
I’m sick of rock and country
rap and techno too
I’m sick of Madonna and Bono
of course I always was
m sick of world music
ambient trance and dub
I am sick to death of everything
I always loved to do
I’m sick to death everything
but most of all of you

I’m fed up with cuisine nouvelle
I’m cuttin’ off Cajun too
I’m bored with bouillabaisse
with Thai and Greek I’m through
I wish I had a dollar
for every overpriced Bordeaux
I wish I had a dime for every time
you blew my roll
I am sick to death of everything
I always loved to do
I’m sick to death everything
but most of all of you

I’m désenchanté with
Cannes and St Tropez
I cannot regain
that simpaticismo
I felt in Spain
I can’t explain
this ennui borders on pain
but all around the world
everything’s about the same
I’m sick to death of everything
I ever loved to do
I’m sick to death everything
but most of all of you

1/19/94
(C)1994, TK Major

Public Service Advertisement [Rubber Room Rock]

Leave a reply

XXXXX

You’d think it goes without saying to not hurl yourself off PA towers at at concerts yet I’ve seen folks do it, just like I saw a couple guys try to drop out of an old fashioned movie theatre balcony into a row of metal framed theatre chairs. Those guys were both carried away in stretchers and one of them already had a sheet all the way over him.

People do stupid stuff.

When I was at the Grand Canyon I saw a handful of people sunning themselves on an outcropping that was a good, long, running jump. And the drop below it was, oh, I dunno… 600 feet? To make the jump back to terra firma, they had to get all the way back against the canyon edge of the outcropping, run a few yards across it and leap as far as they could to get across.

I watched one of them make the jump and my own heart almost jumped into my throat just watching.

It was so colossally foolhardy.

Anyhow. All that’s by way of introduction to this song, which posits that too may stage dives will eventually put you in the rubber room, where you’ll be doing…

today’s acoustic version:

full version:

RUBBER ROOM ROCK

I used to twist and do the jerk
they don’t let me do that no more
now all I do is do the worm
in my straight jacket down on the floor

but I still rock
I still rock
I do the Rubber Room Rock
Oh yea I rock
I still rock
I do the Rubber Room Rock

Used to slam and bang my head
ten thousand stage dives or more
dove forty feet from a PA tower
and went three feet into the floor

But I still rock
yeah I rock . . .

None of my friends are no fun no more
they just sit in the dayroom and stare at the floor
they come back from the lab with rings round their eyes
therapy’s so expensive — they lobotomize

But they still rock
oh yeah we rock
we do the Rubber Room Rock
Oh sure we rock
unh hunh we rock
we do the Rubber Room Rock

With the secrets that I know… [Rachel, Tell Me no]

Forget About the Moon, Forget About the Stars

3 Replies

Forget About the Moon, Forget About the Stars

When he woke up on Easter morning she was lying next to him, on her side, her angled arm propping her head as she must have been watching him sleep.

She leaned over and kissed him, over and over, across his face until he pushed her away. She laughed, jumped up and ran out into the living room in her t-shirt and panties.

When she came back she was cradling something in her hands… a wicker basket with green cellulose strips coming out over the edges and a small collection of Easter eggs, chocolates, and a few whimsical toys — including a small, palm-sized rubber duck wearing a sailor hat. It wheezed asthmatically when he squeezed it.

It was too much.

She’d been laying this tender trap for a while now, he knew, and he’d been watching it with a certain detachment.

But now he could feel himself falling, helplessly.

And it was OK. It was good. He allowed himself to be enveloped by her warmth.

She kneeled by him on the bed, her skinny arms sticking out of her t-shirt, her hands on her bare knees, watching him. He looked in her eyes for a long time and then pulled her down toward him, holding her for a long, long time before he let his hungry mouth find hers.

That was Sunday. On Friday afternoon she called from work. They hadn’t been planning on getting together that night, but she asked if she could see him. She knew he was going to see a band he’d been working with later that night, but she said she needed to see him for a little while, anyway.

As she walked in, he knew something was wrong.

Her eyes only met his for brief moments and she walked around the room anxiously before she finally sat down. He sat across from her, at an angle, a few feet away.

She was silent for a very long time. He could see she was crying.

Finally she blurted, “I’m so confused…”

And all he could think, deep down, as the darkness started spreading through him, all he could think was… You’re so confused? You’re confused?

Over her shoulder, sitting on the corner of his desk, he could see the little rubber duck, its sailor cap jauntily to one side — as it always would be…

Forget About the Moon

official version – produced by Reggie Ashley
<a href="http://tkmajor.bandcamp.com/album/gone-is-gone">Gone Is Gone by TK Major</a>

other versions

[songwriter demo w/ backing instruments]