I was cleaning out a file folder and found a bunch of scraps of paper with old lyrics on them. Most of the songs weren't good, which is why the lyrics never left the scraps, but a line or two here and there caught my eye, so I combined them together to form a new song. I was inspired by the poetics of Mark Sonnenfeld, who seems to delight in combining disparate images and sounds to create something that as a whole works. I don't know if I achieved the same here, but I like the resulting song, which I called "A Song For Sonnenfeld". For the music (well, the guitar anyway--I got weird with a bass synthesizer and beating on file cabinet folder hangers, or whatever they are called for the rest), I aimed for a sound of the college rock bands I loved in Bowling Green, Ohio USA such as Sheepish Grin and Dutch Crumbs. You can check out the MP3 here. Really, this stuff is much more fun and cheaper than therapy. The lyrics are below. It's the same deal as always. If you like a song, then feel free to cover it if you're in a band or whatnot. I love to hear covers of my songs, so please let me know about your version. If you start making money, then send me a check/we can work out a deal. Similarly, if you want to use a song for your Youtube video or whatnot, then just let me know. It's usually fine by me unless it's a commercial product or whatnot (and then it's likely fine as well--I just want my cut). Find out first though. Write me at wredfright ATATAT yahoo DOTT com.
I feel like a crushed cigarette, dragging myself across the pavement,
but I'm just another creep walking across town at six in the morning.
You're so attractive when you make my clothes smell like smoke.
The farmer in Adele, an angel on Cherry Street.
Once upon a time, I'd say about two o' clock.
Help! Somebody come save me! I'm trapped in a bad made for tv movie.
She said, "I'm going to drain you like a coffee cup" and
"You can't put a flower in the closet and expect it to bloom".
This is a song for Sonnenfeld and Miss Lung Cancer 1993.
Her dreams went up in smoke.
Don't be so self-obsessed. We'll run around naked in the backyard.
We'll roll around in the grass and leave buttprints on your neighbor's new car.
You're talking trash like a policy wonk. You're promising cash like a mafia monk.
Who needs a brain when you've got rich parents?
I'll never forget that day in Farm Fuck, USA.
It's time to go out and review the nation because I'm William B. Fuckley.
You can burn your diary, but you can't burn the past.
Did you hear about Mr. Denny, who lives in the pink house?
He grows wildflowers, never mows his lawn, and likes to beat his spouse.
For Tracy, who I always kept calling Julie by mistake.
I don't need Latin. I know my ABCs.
His idea of romance is wearing a condom.
There was a time when I would have gone anywhere with you.
Written August 2014
Recorded August 2014
2 days ago