Friday, 5 February 2010

Found a typeface in a book and wrote my band's name in it.

We got some records with this all up on the front, yo. Pretty stoked on the inside-out paper stock and a decent print. It got number 1 in NME tracks of the week, and it didn't even say we sounded like the Futureheads or that the north of England is out of fashion. Someone else reviewed it, got the words wrong and assumed a meaning from the words they'd invented, strangely:

"‘Dance a Ragged Dance’ kicks things off, urging the listener to cut loose in “days filled with pretentious times”. Presumably a jibe at an overly-serious music scene that’s forgotten how to have fun, the track doubles as a defiant middle finger salute to early critics."

The words are actually:

"Our days are filled wih these anxious times, if you didn't laugh I'd cry."

It's about being poor:

With eyes the colour of TV sets turned off I look into yours, wet with the tears of New York when New York starts to thaw. Curtsey firstly, I bow my bow, what can we do now but dance? In clothes the shape of a scarecrow’s shadow and a hand slung ‘round your hip I dodge the scowls and dive to catch a whisper from your lips “Our days are filled with these anxious times. If you didn’t laugh I’d cry”. So now what?

Dance a ragged dance in your most ragged rags. The paper crown with the drawings of thorns was torn up at the end of the night. Buildings above basement parties sat tight. The moonlight lit a kiss on the stairs. We’ll grow wild the way of wasteland looking up at the sky where sparrow clouds will bow and break as evening shuffles by. The greatest songs fill the saddest lives. We can either dance or die.

No comments:

Post a Comment