I’ll meet you at Savalas
Complement your work
Get you alone
Stick a thumbtack in your balls

Context: A couple weeks back, as I sat transcribing the lyrics for “Beijing Huan Ying Ni,” my mp3 player got stuck on “Bleecker Street,” a Simon & Garf. number from their pre folk-rock phase (and did you know folk-rock wasn’t even really their idea?). Well techically, I got my mp3 player stuck on it, but the point is I found a new appreciation for the song’s simple intricacy. The counterpoint melodies weaving back and forth above and below each other. The subdominant-to-mediant suspensions. Funny how it doesn’t sound nearly as nice when you put it into technical terms. Anyway. I figured I could write something like that. So I did, recorded it, listened to it, and promptly concluded that I liked the original song far better. Thus this cover, born’d.

If you think you’ll save the earth
By not using shampoo
Then perhaps you should
Stop using my $17 styling product

Click to listen to AMR Podcast #24!

To check out where Rachel picked this baddie up, check out our NYC Zine Fest video (featuring Joe Yoga from AMUZE Collective and L.A. Henkel, who does Tight-Pantsy Drew). For more on Obsolete:

Doppelganger
by Rachel Rabbit

I’m trying so hard to be Parker Posey
You say I’m Mariah Carey

Context: Yep, second time this month I broke my promise not to do covers, but if the first time (“Vespers”) was well worth it, this time…well let’s just say I have reasons which will become evident on March 18th (cue mysterious Mark laugh).

On the music: I started with a concept – since I’m without access to (or competency at) percussion, why not use *rain* to provide the rhythm for a song? I’ve always had a thing for rain. I layered it in, after recording the synthesizer and vocals, and that concept led to the other ‘atmospheric’ FX. Perhaps the effect comes across as heavy-handed, given the lyrics, but hey, take it up with John Lennon if you got a problem.

Tom Gabel
by Rachel Rabbit

If we had ever met
In Gainesville
Before Fat Wreck
You’d laugh at me
Buying showtunes at the record store

The Village scared the shit out of me for years
Even with that ending
The rapist in Twin Peaks—I think about him when I am home alone
Don’t even get me started on I Am Legend
Because then I will start thinking about the dog and cry my fucking eyes out

Context: I was having a latency problem all AMR music month, which sounds sexual but isn’t – just a frustrating recording issues. Actually, had a tough time expressing myself all February; was misunderstood by strangers, had some half-hearted vitriol slung my way. Tried to push through regardless, but tended more easily toward hibernation. Felt like History was holding my hands down while the Future licked my face. This song is partly a reaction to that.

Lyrics:

Sunday sitting,
not doing much of anything;
mainly breathing.
Another day
wasting away,
listening to jazz on internet radio.

What do I do
with my Ambition?
I can barely stand up
to let the cats out,
to let the love in.
But you know I’ll make it into the city tonight.

Hey, Hey, Hey!
We’re the new Young Americans.
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Surfeited on Bowie and gin.
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Fucking new Young Americans
Hey, Hey, Hey!
Gonna learn how to feel again if it kills us.

But it’s hard to get up
when History’s in your bed
whispering about your pretty soft mouth
and your stupid head.
Quote: “What’d you get done today?
How’re you gonna pay rent?
You’ll be at that desk forever
if you keep it up, man.”

And if you want I’ll buy you a drink or five,
it looks like you need it,
I’ll buy you a drink or five.

McGolrick Park
By Rachel Rabbit

I had an epiphany
I finally understood what Speed Levitch was talking about
The trees were alive
The dogs were dancing
I found out later it was pharmaceutical-induced hypomania
(I don’t fucking care)
(It was awesome)

Context:
The musical inspiration for “Po. Man’s Blues” came mostly from The Beatles’ “Dizzy Miss Lizzy”, with a dash of Sammy Davis Jr’s version of “Have a Little Talk with Myself”. Personally, the most enjoyable part of recording the thing was laying down the bass line. I would’ve thrown in a few rockabilly screams but I really didn’t want to concern my landlord who was next door painting. The lyrics began with trying to figure out how to avoid a mess of tired similes and the concept just got worse from there:

I’ve got another tired simile
It’s like a barren tree
I’ve got another tired simile
It’s like a dried up sea
Oh why, oh why can’t somebody put me out of my misery

Why doesn’t nothing rhyme with orange,
The closest I’ve come is ‘Mormons’
Why doesn’t nothing rhyme with orange
The next closest word is porridge
Oh my, oh my it’s like tryin to rhyme the color purple

I need one more line for my stanza
It’s bout an alien extravaganza
I need one more line for my stanza
…
Oh why, oh why …

I’ve got too many frickin syllables
To make my poem chug along
I’ve got too many frickin syllables
What I need to say is just to long
Well my words are too big because I’ve got to much to say
Something’s got to give I guess I should write an essay
Oh my, oh my I’ve got too many fricking syllables

I’ve got the po man’s blues
My poetry is blue
I’ve got the po man’s blues
I’m done for through and through
Oh my oh my oh my I’ve got the po man’s blues

The Fart Party
By Rachel Rabbit

Her comics are not really about fart parties
God you are so uninformed