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
keeping low don’t make no sense and neither does that song.
This reminds me of that country song about aliens you had once. Same perfect marriage of lyrical content and melody …