I heard you had a baby
over the phone I was listening
you work at a strip joint
your husband too.
The baby died
you live so far away
and I can still only imagine you
as a curly haired little girl
from Peter Pan
named after my mother.
You drank peach juice out of the can
and made me go play in the woods
pretending we were orphans.
Now your baby died
you work at a strip joint
your husband too.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Essay on Lyrics
The Beatles were social and musical icons that everyone has heard of who wrote songs that everyone could relate to. Popular for many years, the Beatles wrote a two part album, The White Album, in the late 60s when the band was struggling to stay together. A song recorded on the first part of the album, “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, was an effort that managed to pull the band back together as they worked on perfecting it. Written by John Lennon (lyrics) and Paul McCartney (music), this two minute and forty-three second long song skyrocketed in popularity when the album came out. The titled of the song was inspired by the cover of an issue of the National Rifle Association. Lennon commented on his inspiration, saying it was, “Fantastic, insane… a warm gun means you've just shot something.”
As this poem is a song, the musical background and aspects of the lyrics are essential to understandings its meaning. The voice intonations used to sound out each syllable of every word draw out the emphasis of the individual lines. The song is broken into three main parts that each discuss a different idea of happiness. The song's main point was to explore the concept of happiness with a noir backdrop. The actual music's feel is dark and textured, keeping the listener rapt with emotion. Putting the lyrics and words aside, the music itself is quite moving. The notes provided give a sense of imagery that is incomparable to the feeling one would get if they merely read the words. The introduction and many parts of the song were written by John Lennon, who was allegedly reflecting on an acid trip. The murky feel makes the listener feel rather lost and thoughtful, reflecting on how things that had once made them happy have become dark in these modern times. The music becomes more intense, more rock-like and polluted as the song continues. The time signature changes more than five times. This jarring effect assists the lyrics in that our mind quickly jumps around at different paces, and that things we once knew quickly change at the world's fast pace. Once we find one thing to make us happy, it becomes dirty or used, and we must move on to the next mundane act that we hope will fulfill our need for happiness. The vocals used are either soft and despairing, or soulful and convicting. The mood cast by the leering guitars is ominous and lilting, creating the overwhelming feelings of losing one's mind in a hopeless grasp at contentment.
The song is comprised of three main sections separated into stanzas, though the theme remains the same throughout the entirety of the composition. Lennon was reported to have written this song in part for his Yoko Ono, though this is a rough love song. It is grimy and phallic, the song was even banned from the BBC as they considered it too racy and inappropriate. The very titled of the song is convoluted, it is a riff off of a saying from a Peanuts comic that went, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” Lennon was revealed to have been dealing with a heroin problem after the album was released, bringing about another view to the interpretation of the song. Whether the symbols may represent sexual objects or be slang for shooting up heroin, the driving point of hopelessness in a perverted world full of violence and sex.
The first part of the song, divided into several stanzas, speaks of men and women who are giving into their addictions after trying to make it through their mundane days. The woman in the first two stanzas is an intelligent person, a well minded but sorrowful soul. She is, “Well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand.” She doesn't miss much, but seems to just let things happen to her. She is compared to a lizard on a window pane, she is lying in the sun, absorbing all around her but not doing anything about it. There is pain in these words though, she may not be able to leave where she is, she may be stuck or trapped within herself. The next two stanzas mention a man who may very well be one of the men causing the pain in the previously mentioned girl's life. He has mirrors on his boots, a technique used to see up girls skirts. The man is a working man, his “hands are busy working overtime,” suggesting his workload may drive him to a stressful position. His eyes lies, making the image even more convoluted. The “soap impression of his wife that he ate and donated to the National Trust” refers to disrespecting one's spouse. To donate something to the National Trust is slang for a toilet, showing how this man feels about his wife. The office life is a place for this man to hide, he may hard to cover up the fact that he sneaks around looking up the secretary's skirt. The last stanza that concludes this section of the song takes an outside perspective from these characters, portraying the attitude of giving up and giving in to a so-called “fix.” The speaker says he is going down to the abyss uptown, suggesting going into a shady area to take part in illegal activities. It also reflects on the attitude of someone who beat down, who feels as if the earth is sinking from beneath their feet and things just keep getting worse and worse. The only way to keep from falling all the way down is to give in to your fix, whether that be sex, drugs, or violence.
The second part of the song repeats the same phrase over and over again in a chorus chanting, “Mother Superior jump the gun.” This line is rather vague, an interesting interjection in the middle of the song. The tempo picks up at the this point, making it the fastest part in the song. One interpretation of this section may be saying that even a religious figure, such as a nun, sometimes loses their grip and jumps the gun. Another interpretation would be in reference to drug usage. If to jump the gun is to shoot up heroin, than this section would strongly support the song being about drugs. Whether or not it is about drugs, this section's repetitiveness shows how strong the urge to just put everything aside and do something irrational is when you are at your lowest.
The final portion of the song has the most poignant lines which are sung with far more emphasis than any other parts. This part of the song is song in a dramatic and throaty tone full of soulful emotion. There are two main ways to take this, as a sexual metaphor, violent metaphor, or drug reference. The first lines of the final section repeat the name of the song. The warm gun could refer to either a female reproduction organ or the feeling of warmth one gets after taking heroin. It could also be an implication that the head rush one would get after shooting someone is very pleasing. The next line, “When I hold you in my arms” could mean either holding a needle or syringe or it could hold sexual implications of holding a loved close with passion. It could be that a man has just shot someone and is now holding the dead body in remorse. “I feel my finger on your trigger” most strongly hold sexual implications, describing feeling a trigger on a gun is the step before one feels release. This suggests feeling a woman's clitoris, the idea being that after firing a trigger, a shot is fired. The shot could be an orgasm or a bullet, each is a form of release. Another idea of release would be pushing down on a syringe, a trigger that will release heroin. The next line says, “I know nobody can do me no harm.” This could be a feeling of safeness and security in the arms of loved one, being comforted by their presence. Or being comforted by the absence of the presence of someone you just killed. Going with the theme of drugs, heroin users are to have reportedly said that the drug makes you feel invincible and as if nothing can touch you. All those meanings relate to generally the same idea, that solace has been found in their escape, and that whatever fix they used, has now worked. In the last two lines of the song, the vocals are howling, “Well don't you know that happiness is a warm gun momma.” With the background chorus of, “bang bang shoot shoot,” the song fades away leaving an echo and hollow feeling in the listener. With the added word “momma” at the very end, the song suggests a cry out to one's parental figure. A cry out to be comforted, to be held and taken care of.
The tone of these lyrics combined with its music is an anthem to the hopeless and dreadful things humans turn to in their darkest hour. We all have our vices, and the worse our situation gets, the more harmful and destructive our vices become. There are sexual undertones and violence all around us, and if we give in to them, they will drag us down. The world around us is polluted and dirty, there is nowhere you can go to escape them, you can only try your hardest and do your best. The only hope is in finding someone, a loved one, who can comfort you and be with you in your time of need. A loved one may be a needle, it may be a gun or a breathing human being, and as harmful as they may be, it's that weakness that gets us through the day in the end.
As this poem is a song, the musical background and aspects of the lyrics are essential to understandings its meaning. The voice intonations used to sound out each syllable of every word draw out the emphasis of the individual lines. The song is broken into three main parts that each discuss a different idea of happiness. The song's main point was to explore the concept of happiness with a noir backdrop. The actual music's feel is dark and textured, keeping the listener rapt with emotion. Putting the lyrics and words aside, the music itself is quite moving. The notes provided give a sense of imagery that is incomparable to the feeling one would get if they merely read the words. The introduction and many parts of the song were written by John Lennon, who was allegedly reflecting on an acid trip. The murky feel makes the listener feel rather lost and thoughtful, reflecting on how things that had once made them happy have become dark in these modern times. The music becomes more intense, more rock-like and polluted as the song continues. The time signature changes more than five times. This jarring effect assists the lyrics in that our mind quickly jumps around at different paces, and that things we once knew quickly change at the world's fast pace. Once we find one thing to make us happy, it becomes dirty or used, and we must move on to the next mundane act that we hope will fulfill our need for happiness. The vocals used are either soft and despairing, or soulful and convicting. The mood cast by the leering guitars is ominous and lilting, creating the overwhelming feelings of losing one's mind in a hopeless grasp at contentment.
The song is comprised of three main sections separated into stanzas, though the theme remains the same throughout the entirety of the composition. Lennon was reported to have written this song in part for his Yoko Ono, though this is a rough love song. It is grimy and phallic, the song was even banned from the BBC as they considered it too racy and inappropriate. The very titled of the song is convoluted, it is a riff off of a saying from a Peanuts comic that went, “Happiness is a warm puppy.” Lennon was revealed to have been dealing with a heroin problem after the album was released, bringing about another view to the interpretation of the song. Whether the symbols may represent sexual objects or be slang for shooting up heroin, the driving point of hopelessness in a perverted world full of violence and sex.
The first part of the song, divided into several stanzas, speaks of men and women who are giving into their addictions after trying to make it through their mundane days. The woman in the first two stanzas is an intelligent person, a well minded but sorrowful soul. She is, “Well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand.” She doesn't miss much, but seems to just let things happen to her. She is compared to a lizard on a window pane, she is lying in the sun, absorbing all around her but not doing anything about it. There is pain in these words though, she may not be able to leave where she is, she may be stuck or trapped within herself. The next two stanzas mention a man who may very well be one of the men causing the pain in the previously mentioned girl's life. He has mirrors on his boots, a technique used to see up girls skirts. The man is a working man, his “hands are busy working overtime,” suggesting his workload may drive him to a stressful position. His eyes lies, making the image even more convoluted. The “soap impression of his wife that he ate and donated to the National Trust” refers to disrespecting one's spouse. To donate something to the National Trust is slang for a toilet, showing how this man feels about his wife. The office life is a place for this man to hide, he may hard to cover up the fact that he sneaks around looking up the secretary's skirt. The last stanza that concludes this section of the song takes an outside perspective from these characters, portraying the attitude of giving up and giving in to a so-called “fix.” The speaker says he is going down to the abyss uptown, suggesting going into a shady area to take part in illegal activities. It also reflects on the attitude of someone who beat down, who feels as if the earth is sinking from beneath their feet and things just keep getting worse and worse. The only way to keep from falling all the way down is to give in to your fix, whether that be sex, drugs, or violence.
The second part of the song repeats the same phrase over and over again in a chorus chanting, “Mother Superior jump the gun.” This line is rather vague, an interesting interjection in the middle of the song. The tempo picks up at the this point, making it the fastest part in the song. One interpretation of this section may be saying that even a religious figure, such as a nun, sometimes loses their grip and jumps the gun. Another interpretation would be in reference to drug usage. If to jump the gun is to shoot up heroin, than this section would strongly support the song being about drugs. Whether or not it is about drugs, this section's repetitiveness shows how strong the urge to just put everything aside and do something irrational is when you are at your lowest.
The final portion of the song has the most poignant lines which are sung with far more emphasis than any other parts. This part of the song is song in a dramatic and throaty tone full of soulful emotion. There are two main ways to take this, as a sexual metaphor, violent metaphor, or drug reference. The first lines of the final section repeat the name of the song. The warm gun could refer to either a female reproduction organ or the feeling of warmth one gets after taking heroin. It could also be an implication that the head rush one would get after shooting someone is very pleasing. The next line, “When I hold you in my arms” could mean either holding a needle or syringe or it could hold sexual implications of holding a loved close with passion. It could be that a man has just shot someone and is now holding the dead body in remorse. “I feel my finger on your trigger” most strongly hold sexual implications, describing feeling a trigger on a gun is the step before one feels release. This suggests feeling a woman's clitoris, the idea being that after firing a trigger, a shot is fired. The shot could be an orgasm or a bullet, each is a form of release. Another idea of release would be pushing down on a syringe, a trigger that will release heroin. The next line says, “I know nobody can do me no harm.” This could be a feeling of safeness and security in the arms of loved one, being comforted by their presence. Or being comforted by the absence of the presence of someone you just killed. Going with the theme of drugs, heroin users are to have reportedly said that the drug makes you feel invincible and as if nothing can touch you. All those meanings relate to generally the same idea, that solace has been found in their escape, and that whatever fix they used, has now worked. In the last two lines of the song, the vocals are howling, “Well don't you know that happiness is a warm gun momma.” With the background chorus of, “bang bang shoot shoot,” the song fades away leaving an echo and hollow feeling in the listener. With the added word “momma” at the very end, the song suggests a cry out to one's parental figure. A cry out to be comforted, to be held and taken care of.
The tone of these lyrics combined with its music is an anthem to the hopeless and dreadful things humans turn to in their darkest hour. We all have our vices, and the worse our situation gets, the more harmful and destructive our vices become. There are sexual undertones and violence all around us, and if we give in to them, they will drag us down. The world around us is polluted and dirty, there is nowhere you can go to escape them, you can only try your hardest and do your best. The only hope is in finding someone, a loved one, who can comfort you and be with you in your time of need. A loved one may be a needle, it may be a gun or a breathing human being, and as harmful as they may be, it's that weakness that gets us through the day in the end.
Loco
a poem for Nicole Bootz
Guys stops us at a gas station
(pulled up by a bright festive by ford)
asks us if we like our shique car
she says yes and I think yes and he smiles nods
“is it automatic?”
she says yes and I notice, yes, it is,
but that doesn't stop me from wondering
what it's like to drive a car so old
it holds more memories than you
I wish life could be as simple as picking
out your ride
be it simple or sophisticated or leather inside
do we want it complicated or so
ridiculously simple it constantly stalls
or something so shiny the sun streaks
off its walls
They say you can tell a lot about a person by the car
they drive
I disagree
I know I'll always be the one driving
a glistening white Modigliano Lamborghini
and wishing I was in my brother's
junkyard on wheels stickshift piece of trash
By A. J. Webb
Guys stops us at a gas station
(pulled up by a bright festive by ford)
asks us if we like our shique car
she says yes and I think yes and he smiles nods
“is it automatic?”
she says yes and I notice, yes, it is,
but that doesn't stop me from wondering
what it's like to drive a car so old
it holds more memories than you
I wish life could be as simple as picking
out your ride
be it simple or sophisticated or leather inside
do we want it complicated or so
ridiculously simple it constantly stalls
or something so shiny the sun streaks
off its walls
They say you can tell a lot about a person by the car
they drive
I disagree
I know I'll always be the one driving
a glistening white Modigliano Lamborghini
and wishing I was in my brother's
junkyard on wheels stickshift piece of trash
By A. J. Webb
Art Project
Juggling on nothing and the humble allegations, now godlike intrinsicly, this ecstatic leading stuntman ostentatiously navigates. If you had no idea what that sentence just said, it's okay. It wasn't meant to mean anything, the first letter of each word spells the name of a fantastic contemporary artist whose work has lately been of interest. The photography, projects and artist books of Jonathan Gitelson have caught my eye, and in homage to him, I've followed the old saying that imitation is the highest form of flattery.
First, let's talk Git. His website is called “TheGit” so I figure it's alright that he may be referred to as that. It must be nice to have a title, like The Big Lebowski (all capital letters). Graduating with a degree in literature and photography Columbia College Chicago in 1997, Git has collections and artist books permanently installed in museums all over America and even Europe. The Git has done installation pieces, web art, public art, using many different mediums. His preferred medium is photography and paper products. The Git has also used objects such as clothes in his projects, trash cans or other everyday objects. Git never creates his own medium or piece, he only rearranged, replaces or angles what already exists to make his art. Most all his pieces involve other people, and most importantly, human reactions and interactions with each other and their environments.
The artist books made by the Git are all about either words or humans. Both of these subjects involve interactions and communications with other people and our surroundings, which the Git likes to observe. The purpose of his art, it would seem, is to point out the mundane and everyday interactions and passing by of people and objects we do everyday that we don't always notice. The Git might not always watch the people's interactions with objects, but sometimes the objects themselves. One of his artist books called The Ballad of Carl Wilson does nothing but document a day in the life of a homeless man he ran into and bothered to talk to. Everyday people everywhere see grungy looking bums sitting on benches with worn out shoes, but the Git is the one who asks and finds out why the guy can't afford to buy a new pair of kicks.
Not everything the Git does is entirely honest documentation, some projects are most creative and imaginative, such as writing imaginary adds for careers he wishes he could have. Some of the jobs were rock star, art director, movie star, etc. By using ideas such as that, The Git is also employing a use of interactions that people wish they could have.
The Git also has many a project reflecting on his interaction with places and traveling, this fascination is reinforced with several installation pieces that constitute as a place that people will see, remember, and identify as a place where they saw art. His installations work with words mainly, another form of communication between an artist and a spectator that just results in another reaction that completes the work of art.
I did not originally plan on doing a piece in the mode of The Git. Originally I had planned on working on graffiti like Shepherd Fairey, but as I was brainstorming on a bench right outside the back door of my dorm, I realized I love people watching too much. Watching how different people approached the door, which person would step up to open the door for everyone else, it was fascinating. What was even more interesting was how many people had either forgot their key cards, or were trying to break into my dorm. Many people tried sneaking in through the back door of Russell Hall and slip by our security to no avail, the lock remained firm and could not be pried open. So I watched. And eventually I helped a couple in, but not after watching them awhile. So I decided to abandon my idea of graffiti and poster spreading, and instead watch and wait for something to happen right where I was. I saw a nook in the wall, a small hole where a brick was missing where I could watch the door perfectly.
That is how I came to crouch behind a wall with a hole in it with my camera, taking picture after picture of everyone who tried to break in. The back door was fascinating as it drew in interesting characters, some had to be saved by residents, some gave up and left, some left for the front door, some simply disappeared.
My knees hurt after awhile. I was not caught once, but I was deathly afraid that someone was going to come up along the side of the building to get to the backdoor and see me staring through a hoe in the wall at whatever there was to see, camera in hand. I tried different angles and perspectives to see deeper or more shallow into the nook of the brick wall, zooming in and out slowly. I found that a pleasing looking panel could be made by slowly zooming in on a crook till the details of them fiddling with the door's handle could be seen. So I created my scene, slowly creeping up in on and spying on two people who were also creeping and sneaking.
I discovered the only difference between us was our audience. Their ill intent was to break in, but it was my ill intent to eavesdrop and spy on them, perhaps even tattletale. However, their audience was me, or perhaps a person inside watching them or glancing down for a second out a window, or even a residence watching and waiting for them to let them in. My audience would be spectators for art, I wanted to show my audience how even perfectly good people try to break in sometime. I wanted my audience to be able to see what they look like when they're trying to be sneaky when all they are is normal people trying to get into a building they aren't allowed in. So with the help of The Git's thoughts and perspectives, I took a page out of his book, observing this one scene for a prolonged period of time. A few hours had passed by the time I had all the photos I wanted.
I chose only one particularly pushy break-in-couple to present, and I felt my results were satisfactory. This project gave me insight into the life of a spy, a sneaking, slinky, shady photographer. I was clever, I was not caught. I am proud of my documentation and I am proud of my newfound ability to pry into the small moments when nice people turn into crooks. I spied on the common man turning into a slithy man. And you know what? I loved it.
First, let's talk Git. His website is called “TheGit” so I figure it's alright that he may be referred to as that. It must be nice to have a title, like The Big Lebowski (all capital letters). Graduating with a degree in literature and photography Columbia College Chicago in 1997, Git has collections and artist books permanently installed in museums all over America and even Europe. The Git has done installation pieces, web art, public art, using many different mediums. His preferred medium is photography and paper products. The Git has also used objects such as clothes in his projects, trash cans or other everyday objects. Git never creates his own medium or piece, he only rearranged, replaces or angles what already exists to make his art. Most all his pieces involve other people, and most importantly, human reactions and interactions with each other and their environments.
The artist books made by the Git are all about either words or humans. Both of these subjects involve interactions and communications with other people and our surroundings, which the Git likes to observe. The purpose of his art, it would seem, is to point out the mundane and everyday interactions and passing by of people and objects we do everyday that we don't always notice. The Git might not always watch the people's interactions with objects, but sometimes the objects themselves. One of his artist books called The Ballad of Carl Wilson does nothing but document a day in the life of a homeless man he ran into and bothered to talk to. Everyday people everywhere see grungy looking bums sitting on benches with worn out shoes, but the Git is the one who asks and finds out why the guy can't afford to buy a new pair of kicks.
Not everything the Git does is entirely honest documentation, some projects are most creative and imaginative, such as writing imaginary adds for careers he wishes he could have. Some of the jobs were rock star, art director, movie star, etc. By using ideas such as that, The Git is also employing a use of interactions that people wish they could have.
The Git also has many a project reflecting on his interaction with places and traveling, this fascination is reinforced with several installation pieces that constitute as a place that people will see, remember, and identify as a place where they saw art. His installations work with words mainly, another form of communication between an artist and a spectator that just results in another reaction that completes the work of art.
I did not originally plan on doing a piece in the mode of The Git. Originally I had planned on working on graffiti like Shepherd Fairey, but as I was brainstorming on a bench right outside the back door of my dorm, I realized I love people watching too much. Watching how different people approached the door, which person would step up to open the door for everyone else, it was fascinating. What was even more interesting was how many people had either forgot their key cards, or were trying to break into my dorm. Many people tried sneaking in through the back door of Russell Hall and slip by our security to no avail, the lock remained firm and could not be pried open. So I watched. And eventually I helped a couple in, but not after watching them awhile. So I decided to abandon my idea of graffiti and poster spreading, and instead watch and wait for something to happen right where I was. I saw a nook in the wall, a small hole where a brick was missing where I could watch the door perfectly.
That is how I came to crouch behind a wall with a hole in it with my camera, taking picture after picture of everyone who tried to break in. The back door was fascinating as it drew in interesting characters, some had to be saved by residents, some gave up and left, some left for the front door, some simply disappeared.
My knees hurt after awhile. I was not caught once, but I was deathly afraid that someone was going to come up along the side of the building to get to the backdoor and see me staring through a hoe in the wall at whatever there was to see, camera in hand. I tried different angles and perspectives to see deeper or more shallow into the nook of the brick wall, zooming in and out slowly. I found that a pleasing looking panel could be made by slowly zooming in on a crook till the details of them fiddling with the door's handle could be seen. So I created my scene, slowly creeping up in on and spying on two people who were also creeping and sneaking.
I discovered the only difference between us was our audience. Their ill intent was to break in, but it was my ill intent to eavesdrop and spy on them, perhaps even tattletale. However, their audience was me, or perhaps a person inside watching them or glancing down for a second out a window, or even a residence watching and waiting for them to let them in. My audience would be spectators for art, I wanted to show my audience how even perfectly good people try to break in sometime. I wanted my audience to be able to see what they look like when they're trying to be sneaky when all they are is normal people trying to get into a building they aren't allowed in. So with the help of The Git's thoughts and perspectives, I took a page out of his book, observing this one scene for a prolonged period of time. A few hours had passed by the time I had all the photos I wanted.
I chose only one particularly pushy break-in-couple to present, and I felt my results were satisfactory. This project gave me insight into the life of a spy, a sneaking, slinky, shady photographer. I was clever, I was not caught. I am proud of my documentation and I am proud of my newfound ability to pry into the small moments when nice people turn into crooks. I spied on the common man turning into a slithy man. And you know what? I loved it.
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