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about
A song inspired by a poem by Vancouver poet, Amber Dawn called “Bikini Kill Lyrics.” It’s a love song essentially, young love in particular. The two characters who meet are obviously poor but passionate about art and poetry and music. They meet and get drunk together, and make love, and go running through shopping malls getting dizzy in the revolving doors much like Buddy in that scene in the Christmas movie, Elf. At one point, one lover tells the other that she’s living at the infamous punk rock house and that she doesn’t even own a mattress and that she can fit all her belongings into a case that once housed a typewriter. This is one of my favourite images in Amber’s poem and knew I wanted to include it in my story as well. Later they go to a poetry reading and someone borrows the narrator’s guitar and tries tuning it, ultimately putting it completely out of tune—most guitar owners have probably had this happen to them at least once. “But hey, it sounds better like that, don’t you think?” he declares. I wanted this song to convey the idea of reckless, bohemian love, one that’s not wound to responsibilities, or commitment, or obligation, but love in its early stages, when it’s all about having fun. It’s a fiery kind of love that couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks.
lyrics
If I write you a song would you sing it? Something with something like four chords in it.
Up to the five and down to the four and maybe a minor chord, I sure like the sound of that chord.
I wiped the frost from my nose on the sleeve of my coat, drank an old cup-a-soup with the package torn open that nobody wanted to drink, watched feathers that looked like snow, snow floating, feathers that looked like snow.
She said: I sleep on the floor at the punk rock house, and everything I own fits in this case from an old typewriter.
Then she took my hand and she laid me down while our boots by the door passed their secrets around. Whispering tongues and slippery sad words, and fell asleep to the sound of the rain pouring down, fell asleep to that sound.
And later on at the poetry slam we sat on a three legged stool holding hands while somebody dropped my guitar out of tune and said: Hey man, it sounds better like that, don’t you think? It sounds much better like that.
And we were drunk as we tore through department stores, and rode their revolving doors, and counted the revolutions—one, two, three.
If I write you a song would you sing it? Something with something like four chords in it. Up to the five and down to the four and maybe a minor chord, I sure like the sound of that chord, yeah, I sure like the sound of that last chord.
credits
from Telegrams,
track released March 29, 2019
Composers: Tariq Hussain
Performers:
Tariq--vocals, guitar
Sam Davidson—keys/synths, woodwinds
JP Carter—trumpet
Skye Brooks--drums
John Walsh--bass
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