Ah, the irrepressible Bootsy Collins. Where to begin?
As a child, I did not like that “race music”. I found it (and still find the vast majority of it) boring, repetitive, close-minded, and I just didn’t like the way it sounded. Then I heard Bootsy…
Bootsy was fun. Bootsy was silly. Bootsy was really, really cool. And Bootsy can definitely play some bass. But don’t just take my word for it. From Rolling Stone:
Bootsy’s Rubber Band has about as much intellectual content as a Saturday morning cartoon show, which really doesn’t separate it from most other funk and grind bands (or power-rock groups). What makes Bootsy stand out is a low-grade, comic-book sense of humor that producer George Clinton is able to fuse with some of the most lyrical post-James Brown funk this side of Parliament/Funkadelic. In fact, it’s impossible to mention Bootsy Collins without bringing up Parliament/Funkadelic, the band Bootsy has helped shape since his departure from James Brown.
If that isn’t a good reason to like a performer, I don’t know what is.
Mind you, it wouldn’t matter if the music weren’t any good. Thankfully such is not the case. What’s a Telephone Bill? is actually sort of a nice romantic sentiment–until you realize how incredibly silly and funny the song is. Bootsy’s spoken word delivery is way over the top, and his asides are reminiscent of Popeye’s from the 1930’s black and white cartoons. Plus, even if you take Bootsy out of the equation, it’s still a damned good song. In fact, it would quickly end up on the “music to get laid to” mix CD.
Here’s a link to a tribute video
And of course, the lyrics:
Hello baby
Yes, it’s your friendly phone fanatic again
Oh yeah I’m loaded
With verbal rap ability, baby
You know you inspire me to poetry
So listen while I recite naughty nothings
That’ll wet your eardrums
I’d like to, I’d like to, I’d like to
Yeah yeah yeah
Oh, can I make sweet love to you baby?
What I’d like to do would be good to you
And if you hang up on me now, I’ll be through
I’m just living and loving, waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
According to way the way you make me feel
I guess you’d call it obscene phone call
I’m not a storyteller though baby
I’d rather be with you, me to me
Oh, a sort of physical love, like, bubba
Oh, you’re the sweetest fantasy I know
YOU
Excuse me if I seem obscene to you
I’m being real and that seems the thing to do
I’m just living and loving, waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
Oh baby, uh, just wanna hang on
I’d like to, I’d like to, I’d like to yeah yeah yeah
I’d like to make sweet love to you
Oh no, not that baby
I wanna be real with you
Let me just breathe in your ear hole baby
(Ohhhh ohhhh)
Don’t fake me out
I love you baby
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
Let me see if I can hit that note again
I love you baby
(Ohhh ohhh doo doo doo doo doo doo doo)
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
Can you just explain to me what key are you in, baby?
I’d like to get real funk-kay
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
Oh, oh
I’d like to make sweet love to you
Maybe I’ll manicure your toenails
And uh, make sweet love to you baby!
Rub my body with yours
Wait a minute operator, I’m not talking to you!
Ah yes, this song.
Okay, this is just plain fun, primarily because of the delivery of the spoken word lyrics. The singer’s attitude comes out in a major way, and it’s just plain fun. The song is pretty funny too. Just one of those fun eighties throw-away songs, but I think it’s still fun to listen to now.
And of course, the lyrics:
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore….
I was walking up Broadway you know
and there’s this incredible looking Swedish girl having a
Cappuccino across the street from Lincoln Center, I started
talking to her you know - She said her name was Lola,
Her English wasn’t too good you know - but we wound up spending
about 5 hours together just hanging out you know.
So We go back to my place - we get high - we get really into each other man.
It was love about to happen…I’m serious.
And then all of a sudden she gets up and she says, she says “Hey, I really gotta leave”
Damn
A E I O U Sometimes Y
There are 178 parent languages on our planet with over 1000 dialects…
It’s amazing we communicate at all.
Languages and dialects - with this one thing in common:
A E I O U Sometimes Y
Ahhh!
A E I O U A E I O U A E I O U A E I O U
Sometimes Y!!
But you know I was really flipped out you know and she asked me
if I’m angry or something I said of course I’m angry man this
isn’t high school or anything you know so I’m feeling really
cavalier and I say ah…call me if you want to…
huh, yeah…call me if you want to
So she rang me up and she says, “Hey! Do you wanna go out?”
Huh, Do I wanna go out
A E I O U Sometimes Y
A E I O U Sometimes Y
Operator! Operator! What’s happening operator?!
Mommy? Mommy Mommy!! Where are you
Mommy? I can’t see you
I can’t see you Mommy!
All artists, potentially, are the victims of their desire to be unique
Just observe it
Don’t fight it
Work it. Work it. Work it. Work it. Work it.
Yeah she took me home man she threw me all
around the room man
I mean this chick was really hot she was nice
to me you know
She let me keep on my cowboy boots and everything…she was
Allright… oh! oh! yeah! oh! oh! oh! oh! ohhhhhh!!!
I dare you to play this record
A E I O U Sometimes Y
A E I O U Sometimes Y
Anyway so she took me home and she
splattered my brains
Yeah there I am there I am what happened what happened
Where was I oh here I am
I told her I wouldn’t sleep with her friends - she
Doesn’t sleep with my friends Anything else you do
You know…Don’t you tell me
Lola
This is just a great song, possibly my favorite Primus song.
Tommy The Cat isn’t the deepest song in the world–essentially it’s the tale of an alleycat looking for love and boasting about his adventures–but it’s certainly fun. Tom Waits handles the voice of Tommy adroitly, giving the feeling of a top cat telling a story to a group of captivated younger cats, wishing to bask in his experience.
However, what really makes this song work for me is Les Claypool’s bass playing. I truly believe this is his peak, as he goes from outright funky to delivering a solo that might make John Entwistle roll in his grave with envy. Definitely the high point for me.
And of course, the lyrics:
“I remember as it were a meal ago”
Said Tommy the Cat as he reeled back to
clear whatever foreign matter may have
nestled its way into his mighty throat.
Many a fat alley rat had met its demise
while staring point blank down the
cavernous barrel of this awesome prowling
machine.
Truly a wonder of nature this urban predator.
Tommy the cat had many a story to tell,
But it was a rare occasion such as this
that he did.
“She came slidin’ down the alleyway like
butter drippin’ off a hot biscuit.
The aroma, the mean scent, was enough
to arouse suspicion in even the oldest of
Tigers that hung around the hot spot in
those days.
The sight was beyond belief.
Many a head snapped for double - even
triple - takes as this vivacious feline made
her her way into the delta of the alleyway
where the most virile of the young tabbys
were known to hang out.
They hung in droves. Such a multitude of
masculinity could only be found in one
place…
And that was O’malley’s Alley.
The air was thick with cat calls
(no pun intended),
But not even a muscle in her neck did
twitch as she sauntered up into the heart
of the alley.
She knew what she wanted.
She was lookin’ for that stud bull, the he
cat.
And that was me.
Tommy the Cat is my name and I say unto
thee…
“Say baby do you wanna lay down by me”
List of Demands is a powerfully energetic song with some great lyrics. At the same time, it’s also a little confusing.
The song is about reparations for slavery, yet the entire second verse–lyrically fantastic, by the way–is essentially a declaration of love and seems to have nothing to do with verses one and three.
Williams voice is strong and energetic, exhorting the listener into a frenzy, and the lyrics are really, really good. I also think it’s a great choice sometimes for singers to repeat lines of importance as it really drives the point home.
And of course, the lyrics:
I want my money back.
I’m down here drowning in your fat.
You got me on my knees praying for everything you lack.
I ain’t afraid of you.
I’m just a victim of your fears.
You cower in your tower praying that I’ll disappear,
I got another plan, one that requires me to stand.
On the stage or in the street, don’t need no microphone or beat.
And when you hear this song, if you ain’t dead then sing along.
Bang and strum to these here drums til you get where you belong.
I got a list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
You wanna be somebody?
See somebody?
Try and free somebody?
I gotta list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
Hand to mouth!
I wrote a song for you today while I was sitting in my room.
I jumped up on my bed today and played it on a broom.
I didn’t think that it would be a song that you would hear,
but when I played it in my head, I made you reappear.
I wrote a video for it and I acted out each part.
Then I took your picture out and taped it to my heart.
I’ve taped you to my heart dear girl, I’ve taped you to my
heart and if you pull away from me you’ll tear my life apart..
I got a list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
You wanna be somebody?
See somebody?
Try and free somebody?
I gotta list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
Hand to mouth!
Ecstacy, suffering, Echinacea, bufferin.
We aim to remember what we choose to forget.
God’s just a baby and her diaper is wet.
Call the police!
I’m strapped to the teeth and liable to disregard your every belief.
Call on the law!
I’m fixin’ to draw a line between what is and seems and call up a brawl.
Call’em up now!
’cause it’s about to go pow!
I’m standing on the threshold of the ups and the downs.
Call up a truce!
’cause I’m about to bust loose.
Protect ya neck,’cause, son, I’m breaking out of my noose.
I got a list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
You wanna be somebody?
See somebody?
Try and free somebody?
I gotta list of demands written on the palm of my hands.
I ball my fist and you’re gonna know where I stand.
We’re living hand to mouth!
Hand to mouth!
True Dreams Of Wichita is one of those great songs that really sneaks up on you. You know it’s good when you hear it, but it takes repeated listenings to give you an idea of how good it really is. The smooth but funky bass line, the mournful, desperate vocals, the evocative yet seemingly obscure lyrics, it’s all quite good.
It’s been suggested at SongMeanings that this song is about a long distance relationship. I cannot confirm this, but it seems as good an explanation as any.
And of course, the lyrics:
Signal got lost to the satellite
Got lost in the
Rideup to the
Plungedown;
Man sends the ray of the electric light
Sends the impulse
Through the air
Down to home
And you can stand
On the arms
Of the Williamsburg Bridge
Crying
Hey man, well this is Babylon
And you can fire out on a bus
To the outside world
Down to Louisiana
You can take her with you
I’ve seen the
Rains of the real world
Come forward on the plain
I’ve seen the Kansas of your sweet little myth
You’ve never seen it, no,
I’m half sick on the drinks you mixed
Through your
True dreams
Of Wichita
Brooklyn like a sea in the asphalt stalks
Push out dead air from a parking garage
Where you stand with the keys and your cool hat of silence
Where you grip her love like a driver’s license
I’ve seen you
Fire up the gas in the engine valves
I’ve seen your hand turn saintly on the radio dial
I’ve seen the airwaves
Pull your eyes towards heaven
Outside Topeka in the phone lines
Her good teeth smile was winding down
Engine sputters ghosts out of gasoline fumes
They say You had it, but you sold it
You didn’t want it, no
I’m half drunk on static you transmit
Through your
True dreams
Of Wichita
Punch it
I got, uh, fed
I got, uh, too much things on bounce, uh, my head
I got to burn ‘em up
I got to burn ‘em up now
I got to go uptown, uptown
I got a thing
I got a little bit pushed
Got to stand on the corner and bellow for mush
I got a bomb
I got a baby bomb bomb
Got to stand on the corner and bellow for my friend Tom
I got a thing, I got to thing it
I got to thing–team
I got to run my side
True dreams
As we all know, Madame Butterfly is a famous opera by Puccini. It’s also a song that was adapted by one-time punk pioneer Malcolm McLaren, infamous for managing the Sex Pistols and later Bow Wow Wow.
Actually, it’s questionable exactly how much McLaren had to do with it other than putting his name on the record and swiping a songwriting credit. There was certainly a lot of controversy surrounding credits for many of the artists he was involved with, as well as the contracts he executed with the record companies. Still, that doesn’t change how much this song grooves. The slow beat, combined with McLaren’s spoken word, the bits of opera and the mellow rap combines nicely with the airy synthesisers. It’s a really cool song.
And of course, the lyrics:
Back in Nagasaki I got married to Cho Cho San
That was her name in those days
And I was her man
I’m going back to visit her
She got a problem
She got a little Cho Cho
Cho Cho San was her name
And this is her tale of woe
Take it away Cho Cho
Today’s the day when I see clear
A tiny thread of smoke appears
Where blue skies fall upon the ocean
And shake this staid emotion
All the while I sing this song
I see a dot on the horizon
Growing bigger every second
Gleaming white in my direction
Who on earth can it be
Coming up the path for me?
What on Earth will he say?
Shall I run to him or run away?
Freaking out he’s come to get me
My feet are stuck but just won’t let me
Run to him, do I dare?
Madame Butterfly, don’t blow it
Calling Butterfly, Madame Butterfly
That’s the name he used to give me
He’s my man till the day I die
Oh, sweet Butterfly, so sweet Butterfly
She’s waiting
He’ll be back, I have faith in this love track
Pinkerton’s the name
Lieutenant Colonel Pinkerton, Sir
U.S. Navy
I’m a bounder
I married a Yankee girl
But I went back to visit old Japan
Where there she was, Cho Cho San
Gotta have something to believe in
My white honkey, I do miss him
Someday soon he’ll come around
Just to stop my nervous breakdown
Call me fool, call me stupid
Bend my arrow, kill this cupid
Say it with me
He’ll be back
I have faith in this love track
Calling Butterfly, Madame Butterfly
That’s the name he used to give me
He’s my man till the day I die
Oh, sweet Butterfly, so sweet Butterfly
She’s waiting
He’ll be back, I have faith in this love track
Cho Cho San
My little wife
My sweet butterfly
That’s the name I’ll give her
When I return
Little sweet, sweet butterfly
I hear him crowing faintly
He thinks I’m just still sweet sixteen
I guess I’ll tease him gently
Calling Madame Butterfly
His angel plucked right from the sky
Hide my baby in mystic places
I feel the fear that I might die
Right in his arms and embraces
Softly kissing my eyelashes
Got no right, no right to doubt it
Ain’t no doubt, no doubt about it
Call me fool, call me stupid
Bend this arrow, kill this cupid
I have faith, I’ll always pray
My white honkey’s here to stay
Calling Butterfly, Madame Butterfly
Butterfly, butterfly, have no fear
I’ll be back to wipe your tears
Oh, sweet Butterfly, so sweet Butterfly
She’s waiting
I’ll wait for him with unshakable faith
He’ll be back
This is one of the best story songs out there. While the song itself is pretty good, it’s the story that really puts it over the top. It’s an engaging story, told quite well, and very amusing in it’s way. The boogie-woogie piano in the background during the spoken part also helps the whole feeling.
Here’s a link to a tribute video
And of course, the lyrics:
You know I remember a few years ago, some funny things used to happen
to me, about 1956-57. At that time, there was no blues scene or, uh, not
really any kind of scene in, uh, London. I used to go out and play my guitar
in the streets and sing things with uh, bars and a hat down. I remember one
particular night, I was uh, playing the guitar in a little alleyway just off of
Walldor street in Soho and uh, I got busted by the police. This policeman
came up and dragged me and my guitar and my hat full of pennies off to
the police station. Anyway, the next day I had to appear in Marlboro street
police court and uh, it was quite a day. Police officer giving his evidence:
“I was proceeding in a Southerly direction, milord, when I heard uh, strange
sounds coming from the Walldor place, milord. A sort of boogie-woogie music
was being played. On further investigation, I saw the defendant standing there
with a guitar and an old hat on the floor collecting pennies. Well, I decided that
uh, he was contravening a breach of the peace, there as there was a traffic jam
about five miles long down on Walldor street, wondering what all the uh, fuss was
about, so then I arrested the uh, defendant”
“Uh, just one moment, officer. Wh-what is this boogie-woogie music here we’re
talking about?”
“Oh, well milord”, said the officer, getting out his notebook, obviously been up
doing his homework, “it’s a kind of jazz rhythm music peculiar to the American
negro”
“Oh. What was the defendant doing, uh, playing this kind of music there in
Walldor street?”
Anyway, I got off with a caution, a year’s conditional discharge, but I’ll always
remember that policeman and his boogie-woogie, so don’t try to lay no
boogie-woogie on the king of rock and roll.
Don’t you tell me n-n-n-no lies woman ’cause all you know I’ve told
Don’t sell me no alibi sister ’cause all you’ve got I’ve sold
You better leave that midnight sneakin’ to the one who worked it out
I don’t wanna hear no back talk speakin’ go on and shut yer mouth
And everything’s gonna work out tight if you act like you been told
So don’t try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.
Don’t you feed me no TV dinners when you know I’m used to steak
I don’t need no rank beginners when it’s time to shake that shake
You better pull your thing together, reach in and dust it out
And if ya feel that you just can’t dig it then I guess you know the route
It ain’t a matter of pork ‘n beans that’s gonna justify your soul
Just don’t try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.
Don’t try to lay no boogie-woogie on the king of rock and roll.
You weren’t alive when I started to drive, so don’t put none on me
You didn’t arrive ’til late ‘45 but your head’s in ‘53.
You got what it takes to keep the heads a-spinnin’ down by the old rim shack
And you come across just like a fool grinnin’ in the back of a red Cadillac.
You can’t come across the obstacle bridge until you pay the toll
So don’t try to lay no boogie woogie on the king of rock and roll.
Soul Coughing created an interesting fusion of samples, bebop jazz, spoken word and hip-hop, and the combination literally “blew a hole in the radio”, with a sound that hadn’t been heard before or since.
Down To This was the first song of theirs I heard, and I was instantly intrigued by both the song and the sound. The Andrews Sisters sample in the chorus helps balance out the counterpoint of the jazz rhythms vs. Mike Doughty’s spoken word attack.
I really have no song if this song is about anything, although there’s some speculation over how it came about at SongMeanings
And of course, the lyrics:
You get the ankles
and I get the wrists.
You get the ankles
and I get the wrists.
You get the ankles
and I get the wrists.
You come down to this.
Nerves are up
and the eyes all screwy
Blood like a panful
of boiling ratatouille
Hang from the axles of a box car
Follow the dotted line
Like a steer to Chicago
to the hooks of the Chicago man
I get all tripped up
my eyes turn to water
rug burns from a shag rug
struck dumb in the presence
polyester burns from a jacket
rub the skin thin
break down in a diner
then I pay the bill
cashier toothpick stuck in the ground
tiny lawnmower to mow me down
I could get lost in a lunchbox
lie low in the mittens in the lost and found
Bran Van 3000’s Couch Surfer is an hilarious song about a house guest who’s overstayed his welcome pretty much everywhere. And how many songs do you know that have a kazoo solo? I like the simple, understated beat a lot too.
And of course, the lyrics:
By sampling the wealth of music and sound effects available on audio fidelity stereo disks, you can take a trip around the world without leaving your easy chair.
Couch Surfer
Together with everything and nothing between us,
You are the whole soul goal me you,
Universal universal union,
Blending in matter,
Journeying harmony, journeying harmony.
The ecstasy is voyaged through swaying, interplaying,
Perennial gardenia gardens,
Flowing into fuscia fountains,
Leaping into warm purple pink gaseous fumes, purple pools,
Moving in, undulating emanating jewels,
Into a timeless spaceless place.
Couch surfer (such a cute face)
I’m surfing, couch surfing
Move into your house, I’m a couch surfer
Move into your house,
I’m a couch surfer,
Yeah, but I don’t mean to be,
Somebody took my keys,
I’m a couch surfer.
Well I’m locked inside the Holiday Inn and I’d like to get out with just a little bit of rain,
Down and down and down and out,
but I don’t give a damn.
Can I crash at your place again?
Just one more night?
Couch surfer
I’m couch surfing, I’m a couch surfer
Locked on the inside,
I’m locked in but you locked me on the outside,
Inside of no longer me,
Move to tears beyond into a pond of cool quivers,
My being shivers,
I’m pure energy beyond the sun,
I’m utterly complete union.
I’m a couch surfer
Mind if I eat those chips?
Oh that’s okay,
I don’t like salt and vinegar anyways.
No no no, I didn’t use pay-per-view.
I figured it was free.
Yeah, I’m going.
I’m a couch surfer, couch surfing