This year we’ll chronicle the efforts of two young/old Mid-Atlantic musicians as they stave off complacency amidst overloaded milieu, facing bravely the post-post-post rock of a new decade, eschewing nostalgia, yet exploiting it, searching for that personal connection, posing where necessary, and being true to their school. Dave Crozier is one entrant, he from New Jersey, raised on punk, living and dying by the Guitar, buying a house and becoming domestic. Your esteemed blogger, the unreformed bachelor, fighting to keep a chunk of meat in the fridge, cleaning the house now and then, your own Catbirdman, in other words me – I am the other entrant. Together, Mr. Crozier and I will write 12 songs – one a month – and demo them, and share them with the wide world web here on Subanimal Sounds.
January is already in the books, and were it not for my lackadaisical bachelor ways, the songs would have been posted weeks ago. But I had a Natty Boh or three to drink, and a friend or two to see, and I had to sleep as well, and, well, let’s just be grateful they’re here at last. So without further ado, here are the January songs…
Dave Crozier starts off with a greeting to a former, or would-be lover, a fanciful desert mirage named Vera. He chose to play to his strength: taking on a dubious narrator’s voice, telling deluded tales of skewed romance. The narrator is never to be trusted in a Crozier song, and often times the narrative is told second hand, or seen from a distorted reflection. In this case, our protagonist reveals how often he has listened to a cassette recording made by the titular Vera, wearing it out as he wore out his heart. “You can’t put the contents of your life on a cassette,” the narrator moans, yet he must believe you can, or at least he searched over and over for the bottom line as he oxidized that C-90 that Vera gave him years back. Out of necessity, the singer writes in the present, but what ends up in the forefront are the contents of what has been lost over the course of many years. Loss is key to this song, I think. The singer saw a different future, which became the lost past, yet he won’t let go. A nice start for Mr. Crozier, a misty snapshot, a sketch of lost connections. Can’t wait to see what February holds.
Mr. Catbirdman’s January song is called “Lesser Lights – see the lyrics here. In a nutshell the song is about what lasts and what doesn’t last, and what doesn’t last outlasts that which does. These efforts we make, the flashes and sparks, the rises and falls of celebrities, some known the world over (for now), some worshipped in nooks, unseen by others, and all of us trying to be heroic and bright. Me, I write songs. But who cares? Who will care a hundred years from now? No matter, it doesn’t stop me from writing. Nor should it.
Turns out a good friend of mine can write and record perfect pop gems. “Judy’s In My Head” is as good as it gets when it comes to working your way out of the weeds of a one-sided relationship. When one person calls the shots and shoots down the rest, the other person dies. We’ve all been there. It’s not a matter of being strong. You can be Atlas, carrying more than you can answer for, and you can build up quite a physique that way. You get pretty damn strong. But in the end, why should you lift that load? Being sweet and pure and creative and true — that is light stuff. I decided recently to let the world drop, and to be myself. A relationship ended in the process. I have to admit that the echoes are still there. Judy is still in my head, “telling me what to do.” But I no longer “play Prince Charles to her Queen Elizabeth.” I am much lighter now.
