It’s been tougher finding time to write lately, and I can’t help but feel that the cosmic balance of things is being thrown off somehow. Meanwhile, I have this stockpile of obscure/out-of-print/unavailable music I’ve been wanting to post, so I guess this is the time.
We’ll start with a short one: Thing by the Jazz Butcher and his Conspiracy, clocking in at an economical 1:02. I’m transcribing the lyrics here as well, not because they’re hard to understand, but just because I like them so much.
Thing (c. Pat Fish, 1986)
I have an affair, a love affair with a thing
I have an affair, a squalid affair with a thing
Well the preacher tell me, son
To love an object is a sin
See now I call that thing J. Edgar, though it don’t run no FBI
And I call that thing J. Edgar, though it don’t run no FBI
That’s the end of this song
And I don’t know why