Song 543: title not recovered, by Jupiter's Thigh (archived)
Recovered from the Internet Archive. This page comes from a ListenSmart.com capture saved by the Wayback Machine on January 10, 2001. The original text is preserved where it survives; links and layout have been adapted for this restoration. Historical account, search, posting, voting, playback and download features are inactive; their labels remain as plain text. Images that were never archived are marked as such. Audio files were not recovered for this archive.
Source: Wayback Machine capture of users.listensmart.com:80/artists/song.asp?ID=543&review=669.
AndrewHickey (10)List all AndrewHickey's ReviewList all reviews for this song
Song Info:
Review Count: 1 Rate Avg. : 8
Review:
Interesting juxtaposition of an almost Turtles style pop melody with heavier instrumentation (Queen is the closest I can think of here), and almost Tom Waits-esque lyrics. The chorus sounds a little too much like Livin' La Vida Loca for comfort and the vocals sound badly recorded on the Real Audio stream (I can't download on this connection so maybe the MP3 is better) but the song itself is fantastic, and the performance excellent.
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Lyrics
The jeeps are stocked with dope and guns
There’s plenty here for everyone
And when we get to Devil Tree
The whores will give us one for free
We’ll drink until we lose our names
Then fall asleep behind the trains
Drown the crickets in our snores until the church bells ring
And we’ll listen to the railroad workers sing
They sing:
Cada palabra de la voz del radio es una mentira
Cada palabra de la voz del radio es una mentira
Cada palabra de la voz del radio es una mentira
Cada palabra de la voz del radio
Es una
Es una
Es una mentira
In the morning we will drive
Through a fog of pesticide
Crushing heads beneath our wheels
As we cut across the lettuce fields
And by tomorrow night we’ll be
Just forty miles from the sea
We'll camp beside the river down below the mountain springs
And we'll listen to the lettuce pickers sing
(chorus)
Just before the dawn we'll rise
Say our prayers and our goodbyes
Start the jeeps and make our way
Down to the blue of Martyr Bay
We'll race across the sticky sand
Until our wheels run out of land
Then drive along the ocean floor until the engines die
And as we sink beneath the waves
Filling underwater graves
We'll find out if Jesus saves or if it's all a lie
Full Description
Like many of my songs, was inspired by the newspaper. The song was written shortly after the mass suicide of the Heaven's Gate cult near San Diego. Next to the Heaven's Gate story in the paper was a timeline of other cult-related tragedies, including the mass suicide of Reverend Jim Jones' followers in South America. I had the music around for a while, along with the chorus ("Cada palabra de la voz del radio es una mentira"), which was a line from Denis Johnson's "Fiskadoro," a fascinating novel about post-apocalyptic Florida. I wrote the verses, basically using the Guyana tragedy as a template, but instead of drinking cyanide-laced Kool Aid, the cultists drowned themselves in the Pacific. I titled the song "Fiskadoro" as a tribute to Denis Johnson.
Long story, short song.
--Nathaniel Incorporated
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