When I started the Butch Bastard project about ten years ago it was with a lot disdain for conventions in songwriting. I had grown weary of lyrics that sounded nice but said nothing. Vague references to geographical features, blue skies, birds, railroad tracks and other elementary school-level poetry buzzwords that create the illusion of depth. “Like an oil painting at the dentist’s office”, as Chalamet described it.
I wanted the freedom to be more literal and less ambiguous. I resented how self-serious many songwriters of the time were. I wanted to figure out how to use humor and still be taken seriously. I wanted to set ugly lyrics against beautiful backdrops. I wanted to speak in the voice of people who I despise, to embody evil in an attempt to destroy it from within.
A particular hang-up of mine was that I wanted to avoid one of the ultimate conventions in songwriting: the love song.
I’ve grown a lot as a songwriter and as a person since then, and although those core tenets remain encoded in the DNA of my musical ethos, I now acknowledge them as bratty overcorrection.
I now freely employ humor as long as it isn’t used to shield myself from vulnerability. I now believe that a lyric can be at it’s most powerful when it says exactly what it means to say without saying it directly. I strive to strike a perfect balance between the literal and the obscured. I want for the meaning to be decipherable without landing too directly on the schnoz.
Within all that self-proclaimed maturation, I’ve come to terms with another truth: nothing hits harder than a good love song.
So much of what we know about pain, elation, yearning, loss, jealousy, anger, frustration, devastation, spirituality, physicality, humanity, connection, distance, and on and on, is so powerfully and universally conveyed within the confines of the love song.
More and more these days I channel Leonard Cohen, Marvin Gaye and other masters of devastation and allow myself to tap into the lexicon and the panoramic emotion of this time-honored songwriting tradition.
The Thin Red Line is one of my favorite things I’ve ever done for two reasons. The first is that I feel I managed to override my artistic defense mechanisms and wrote a powerful love song while avoiding the trappings of convention.
The second reason is that more than any other song on the album I am most proud of the production. This one turned out exactly how I wanted it to. I felt that I was in full control of my abilities. It’s big, it’s soulful, it’s clean, everything is where I want it, there are strings, there’s harpsichord, there’s mellotron, there’s even Careless Whisper-core saxophone, for Christ’s sake.
If I had full control of my skills all of the time, all of my songs would sound like this. Luckily, the universe only gives me so much autonomy over my skillset, which takes me to rewarding places I wouldn’t otherwise lead myself to.
But it’s nice to feel that you’ve mastered your craft as you envision it, even if for only a song.
Peter Murray arranged the strings. Laena Myers performed them. Richard Gowen played drums. Tony Barba played sax. Ryan Nasci mixed. Everything else is my fault.
Dear Liza, can you hear me
on this cold and callous evening?
Do the crystals and the sage you’re burning
pull you toward your feeling?
I was wounded when I spoke out loud
the words that I would choke on
Made me want to fall through the looking glass
The one you railed the coke on
Anyway…
We’re gonna let the tide roll off
We’re gonna die if we get lost
And if we fall out, know we’re gonna pay the cost
Because we both know that in the storm that we’re immersed in
When the siren call starts working on me
We’re gonna ride the thin red line between hungering and thirsting
Hungering and thirsting on the low
The imprint from my bed rot read “I died for your affection”
And everyone around who tried to run it back denied my resurrection
When I kissed your feet your wedding band was tied within the laces
Well, Daddy always taught us that the hero wears a thousand different faces
Anyway…
We’re gonna let the tide roll off
We’re gonna die if we get lost
And if we fall out, know we’re gonna pay the cost
Because we both know that in the storm that we’re immersed in
When the siren call starts working on me
We’re gonna ride the thin red line between hungering and thirsting
Hungering and thirsting on the low
Drinking off the shame
Soaking the oak in kerosene to try to quell the flame
I’m creeping from behind
and sinking my teeth into your neck to try to taste the wine
Damn, have I lost my mind?
Anyway…
We’re gonna let the tide roll off
We’re gonna die if we get lost
And if we fall out, know we’re gonna pay the cost
Because we both know that in the storm that we’re immersed in
When the siren call starts working on me
We’re gonna ride the thin red line between hungering and thirsting
Hungering and thirsting on the low
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.