PonyGirl wrote:
I don't usually play this game, but I will for this song. To me, it's clear that this is Cooley's anti-slut-shaming song.
I don't feel as though it's a story as much as it's a thought provoking image of some girl walking away from a night of partying and possibly hooking up.
To me it seems clear that the browns and whites are types of liquor and what he is saying is that if you are drinking wine, don't start mixing in whiskey and vodka or whatever other brown and white booze because it will fuck you up and make you very sick.
I think that the word "deserve" combined with the description of 27 being the hardest thing she will have to survive, at that moment, is a reference to the fact that this particular girl went out, got hammered and while she will be hurting from her hangover, she is lucky because she managed to escape the night unscathed by rape (sorry, heavy, but I think that is what he is saying). There are so many heinous stories in the media about girls who have been brutally victimized and then made to feel as though they deserved it because they were drunk, the recent Stanford rape case being a notable example of an incident where this went on.
I think the verse about the dog days of summer further indicates that just like boys, girls get bored and want to go out and blow off steam. I think the implication is that they should be able to do so without the specter of life-changing horror at the hands of some creep hanging over them or even just nasty, hypocritical judgement.
I'm not sure if the old man is an observer who's watching this girl and kind of realizing these things as he does, or if Cooley himself is the old man, sitting in a bus, reading the news and figuring this stuff out for himself. I don't think he is her dad and I don't know the relevance of the car.
I feel like the verse about trophies serves to reinforce the idea that imposing a sexual double standard on women and girls is bullshit.
I think that the songs on this record are strong, well-written and sound great. I will buy the record for sure and likely wear it out. But I don't think I find the work quite as progressive as many others do. The first time I saw Billy Bragg I was 17 and now I'm 47, so I've been listening to political music for at least 30 years and to be honest, I would expect that almost all the bands I listen to espouse the values that are represented on this record.
The same goes for this song, which I really love (nice to hear some twang!). Most people should have got the memo about this from Kathleen Hanna and the riot grrrls back in the early 90's. Unfortunately most people didn't, so it looks to me as though Cooley decided he needed to step in to try to update those who's ideas need updating on this subject. My feeling is that this could actually be one of the more provocative songs on the record.
Mike Cooley is one of the great ironies of DBT in my opinion. Amidst his swagger and songs about cars and criminals and boys getting up to no good, you find songs like this one and like "Sounds Better in the Song." I honestly don't know another songwriter who writes with more empathy and compassion about the shit women have to deal with or at least I don't know another one who does it as well.
I don't think there's any doubt that you nailed it, ponygirl. Nicely done. But I do think you got a couple of details wrong: There's no doubt that the woman hooked up. There are at least 2 direct references to sex, I think. And there is no old man in the song. The reference to "the old man" is the girl's hook up's father as the guy tries to figure it out and thinks that it was easier in the old man's day.
And yeah, there's a fascinating term paper, maybe even a thesis on the women in Cooley's songs. I think it's pretty clear by now that Cooley was that HS cut up who got mostly C's (except in the couple of classes where his teachers recognized his talent and really reached him and pushed him) and then went out and scored 99th percentile on his SAT's but didn't tell anyone. I'm not saying that's how it literally was but it seems to me that this guy came from that kind of kid.
I will leave the academics of Cooley and women to you, dear Bubba, but yes, the girl in the song saw some action. The clues are there, but there is no need to be vulgar, which is kind of my point; it's nobody's business, especially if those concerned seek to impose outdated, moralistic value judgments on the girl (and only the girl, of course).
Based on what you've written, I have reconsidered and I think I may indeed have missed on the old guy. That part is kind of muddy for me.
There's an interesting combination of old-school wisdom mixed with contemporary sexual mores in this song. It will always be a bad idea to mix wine and whiskey (though doubtlessly I will continue forget this on a reasonably regular basis in my own life), while opinions are starting to evolve when it comes to imposing mean-spirited and controlling, double standards on girls and women. It's this old ideas/new ideas dichotomy that lead to my ideas about an old man as a bystander who is open minded while also in possession of conventional wisdom. But yeah, I did misjudge.
I guess I got some ideas right and missed on others. I don't like to get too granular or scavenger-y about these things. I'm glad Cooley wrote on this subject though.
His facial expression is terrifying. He's basically the equine Chucky.
Those are great theories, and I agree that part of it is about double standards and slut shaming. I still believe there is an old man in the song, and the b-model Mazda is not the girl's truck (the "feeling lucky that 27..." line right after the Mazda line makes that clear imo). I'm also nearly certain the whites & browns do refer to pills.
A recording of the Targhee Festival show popped up on Archive today. The instruments sound suppressed but the vocals are more clear than any recording I have heard! Index post and live recordings set 2 post updated accordingly.
Bottles fall into the dumpster and a stale smell rises through the sickening summer haze
To the rhythm of a boot heeled hipster cowgirl's clunky sashay of shame
Monday mayhem the last of the AM's gasoline powered release
To the rest of the day in the afternoon's rising relentlessly stifling heat
Up around the corner a B Model Mazda sitting crooked between the lines
Feeling lucky that 27's the hardest thing she'll have to survive
Just don't mix your browns and your whites with your wines and don't sit on your cigarettes
You'll feel like shit soon enough and deserve's got no say in the stories passed
That's what a life feels like
Bored children caught between dog days when night turns them loose
All that's different for girls is the bragging and who it's done to
Everyone claims the times are a changing as theirs pass them by
And everyone's right
Way down beneath all the talk and tequila and reasons, excuses and doubts
Breathing steam from his cup and stink from his fingers he's starting to figure it out
But the old man's world was more doing than thinking and the doing was more cut and dry
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
I think in that middle verse it could be That's what a lie feels like
(not a "life")
And I'd say the old man is her dad, otherwise why would he be searching for reasons, excuses and doubts? He's trying to figure out why and where it all went wrong.
Bottles fall into the dumpster and a stale smell rises through the sickening summer haze
To the rhythm of a boot heeled hipster cowgirl's clunky sashay of shame
Monday mayhem the last of the AM's gasoline powered release
To the rest of the day in the afternoon's rising relentlessly stifling heat
Up around the corner a B Model Mazda sitting crooked between the lines
Feeling lucky that 27's the hardest thing she'll have to survive
Just don't mix your browns and your whites with your wines and don't sit on your cigarettes
You'll feel like shit soon enough and deserve's got no say in the stories passed
That's what a life feels like
Bored children caught between dog days when night turns them loose
All that's different for girls is the bragging and who it's done to
Everyone claims the times are a changing as theirs pass them by
And everyone's right
Way down beneath all the talk and tequila and reasons, excuses and doubts
Breathing steam from his cup and stink from his fingers he's starting to figure it out
But the old man's world was more doing than thinking and the doing was more cut and dry
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
I think in that middle verse it could be That's what a lie feels like
(not a "life")
And I'd say the old man is her dad, otherwise why would he be searching for reasons, excuses and doubts? He's trying to figure out why and where it all went wrong.
Not necessarily. I wrote a poem once about a girl I saw walking the railroad tracks in (what I assumed was) a similar state. I was looking for reasons too, thirty years ago.
The sooner we put those assholes in the grave&piss on the dirt above it, the better off we'll be
potatoeater wrote:Inspired by Smitty's work I decided to work out the lyrics to one of my favorite American Band tracks so far. I knew I liked this song a lot the first time I heard it. After listening to three or four different live versions of it, for over half an hour and figuring out the actual lyrics I am certain this will remain one of my top three tracks from this album.
we packed our few belongings and we moved across the ocean
to start a new life in this land so bold and vast
dispersed from Ellis Island my distant Irish kin
eyes cut to the future hearts tied to the past
we held tight to our loved ones and we held on to the promise
and scraped our meager living hand to mouth
prayed to what would have us ever doubting john thomas
spread through appalachia ever south
spread through appalachia ever south
and I hear we weren't welcomed here
at least not in those days
no one needs our drunken, fightin', theivin' kind
but we settled in this new place
and we worked it in our ways
and we spread our kin upon it in due time
spread our kin upon it in due time
and we fought our losing battles
and we held on to our ways
and we talk of how we left behind our better days
so were living lives of leisure some surviving hand to mouth
bash our heads against the future ever south
bash our heads against the future ever south
when i sat my sights upon you we were both still in our prime
we were moving in big circles that i sought out to combine
and i held you in my arms and swore eternal love this time
tried to lasso brighter futures and let it drag us both behind
lasso brighter futures and let it drag us both behind
so we aimed our sights westward like so many did before
expanding our horizons to some distant shore
but everyone takes notice of the draw that leaves our mouth
so no matter where we are we're ever south
no matter where we are we're ever south
and my christian southern brethren well i'll tell you all what for
to keep your heathen ways up in you and your shoes outside the door
take your stand for noble causes 'til you just can't stand no more
and surrender to some savior praise the lord
surrender to some savior praise the lord
but despite our best intentions it pains me to report
we keep swinging for the fences coming up a little short
we sure can get it wrong for someone so devout
i hear you whistling past the graveyard looking down
whistling past the graveyard looking down
ever southern in my carriage ever southern in my stance
in the irish of my complexion and the scottish in my dance
in the way i bang my head against my daily circumstance
let this blue eyed southern devil take you out upon the prowl
with decadence and charm we'll take it in to town
tell you stories of our fathers and the glories of our house
always told a little slower ever south
always told a little slower ever south
From this version (which is only the second time I've heard it), it sounds to me like Patterson's singing, "always talked a little slower, ever South".
True story. My daughter is starting 9th grade/high school and has been practicing and trying out for the girls field hockey team, and I can tell you, these girls work hard. Meanwhile, wife has been listening to Filthy & Fried. So today the subject of womens sports and Title IX came up and Mrs Clams goes: "Yeah Title IX, just like Cooley's singing about in that song!" I'm like, what?!? And she gives me this:
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
So there you have it: Cooley singing about Title IX. Lyrics really are in the ears of the beholder.
Clams wrote:True story. My daughter is starting 9th grade/high school and has been practicing and trying out for the girls field hockey team, and I can tell you, these girls work hard. Meanwhile, wife has been listening to Filthy & Fried. So today the subject of womens sports and Title IX came up and Mrs Clams goes: "Yeah Title IX, just like Cooley's singing about in that song!" I'm like, what?!? And she gives me this:
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
Now girls collect trophies as much as the boys and come home just as filthy and fried
So there you have it: Cooley singing about Title IX. Lyrics really are in the ears of the beholder.
Edited because the filter between my brain and my mouth sometimes malfunctions
Last edited by Flea on Tue Aug 16, 2016 8:36 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Hot blooded bible thumping cash on the barrel honey
private jets and drunk CEOs
from Pentecostal denim to highfalutin linens
empty pockets line the deepest egos
Its a tricky navigation from the wanting to the having,
all the needs of a kinky hypocrite
The greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they like to admit
Ain't it always you know who's boots
scooting up a goose stepping rhythm to a simpler time
quickest on the stick when the call of nature hits
shuffle shoeing to a pissy Florsheim
Every slope is slippery with a little something lacy
tween your business and your poly wool blend
The greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they like to admit
Book tours, miracle cures, affirmation and the end times immanence
Low hanging headline grabbing ring masters and imaginary elephants
Con~dem~Nation
all at once or making payments on a daily syndicated hissy fit
The greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they like to admit
It is pretty clear to me this song is about hypocrite politicians and radio/television personalities (TYPICALLY Republicans/conservatives) who pander to religious, family values, evangelist donors.
Last edited by potatoeater on Mon Sep 05, 2016 11:26 am, edited 3 times in total.
I'd like to say I'm sorry, I'd like to say I'm sorry, I'd like to say I'm sorry...BUT I AIN'T SORRY!
hot blooded bible thumping
cash on the barrel honey
private jets and drunk CEOs
Pentecostal denim their highfalutin linen
if your pockets lined the deepest he goes
it's a tricky navigation from the wanting to the having
all the needs of a kinky hypocrite
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
ain't it always you know whose boots
scootin up a goose stepping rhythm to a simpler time
quickest on the stick when the call of nature hits
shove a shoe into a pissy floor shine
every slope is slippery with a little something lacy
between your business and your poly wool blend
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
book tours, miracle cures, affirmation
and the end times evidence
low hanging headline, grab their grey masks
cause we're the 'maginary elephants
caught in damnation all he wants for making payments
on a daily syndicated hissy fit
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
It is pretty clear to me this song is about hypocrite politicians and radio/television personalities (TYPICALLY Republicans/conservatives) who pander to religious, family values, evangelist donors.
He really nails it with the "poly-wool blend" line.
hot blooded bible thumping
cash on the barrel honey
private jets and drunk CEOs
Pentecostal denim their highfalutin linen
if your pockets lined the deepest he goes
it's a tricky navigation from the wanting to the having
all the needs of a kinky hypocrite
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
ain't it always you know whose boots
scootin up a goose stepping rhythm to a simpler time
quickest on the stick when the call of nature hits
shove a shoe into a pissy floor shine
every slope is slippery with a little something lacy
between your business and your poly wool blend
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
book tours, miracle cures, affirmation
and the end times evidence
low hanging headline, grab their grey masks
cause we're the 'maginary elephants
caught in damnation all he wants for making payments
on a daily syndicated hissy fit
the greatest separators of fools from their money
party harder than they'd like to admit
It is pretty clear to me this song is about hypocrite politicians and radio/television personalities (TYPICALLY Republicans/conservatives) who pander to religious, family values, evangelist donors.
FINALLY, someone takes those televangelists down a notch
Duke Silver wrote:
FINALLY, someone takes those televangelists down a notch
What is new under the sun?
I getwhere you're coming from, but low-hanging fruit or not I think Cooley gets a pass for hitting it out of the park lyrically, and the band fucking rocks it, particularly Jay & Matt.. It's probably my least favorite of his new ones (I'm just not that big a fan of his more old-school boogie-ish tunes like this or Get Downtown) but Damn if it ain't brilliantly written.
ramonz wrote:Guns of Umpqua might be the most crushingly-beautiful song I've ever heard.
Yes it is. I can't make it through that last verse, especially the birthdays/my friend Jack's having a baby, without my eyes welling up. Hood seems to juxtapose birth and death (every morning new babies being born/Pride of the Yankees) and it's like getting punched in the gut.
I think it's one of the best and most powerful songs Hood's ever written, right up there with Angels and Bubba.
It's my favorite song on the record.
Most of the discussion about songs on the record have centered around Cooley's brilliant (and clever) wordplay, but Hood's lyricism is pure poetry. It's been said before that Cooley is more abstract/impressionist and Hood's work is based in realism, which is mostly true but I found it interesting that they kinda swap styles on a couple songs on this record (Ramon Casiano/Darkened Flags).
