Such a Mell of a Hess

by Hot Liquids Burn Like Fire

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about

I heard no punk music in London this summer. At least I don't think I did. In fact, I didn't even think about punk music. At least I don't think I did. I thought about crowds, being lost and currency conversion rates, mostly.
But when I got home, I thought about punk music in London.

I downloaded a generic punk compilation and that let to Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady. That led to this. Having overlooked (or should I say having looked down upon) punk in the past, this was a revelation (or should I say reevaluation?) Besides, I'm not picky, I'll prune inspiration from where I can.

Challenges, as they're wont to do, quickly found me. I struggled getting this collection together. The lyrics were difficult to coax and there were myriad production poltergeist haunting the mixes. The music came easily however which was mostly satisfying. Moreover, it turns out that I have more perseverance than I thought, I should put that stuff to good use. Maybe someday.

Along the way, I had the good fortune to stumble into interesting, generous and fertile collaborators. They are the very best parts of this EP, thanks all.

Because this was so difficult for me to put together, I am resigned to finding new ways to create and capture songs in the future. I am fairly certain that this will be my last album to sound like this. It is time to unfasten the safety pins, fell the Mohawk and wear corduroy. But I'm keeping the Doc Martens.

credits

released January 1, 2015

All Music and Lyrics: Elliott Marx

except
St. Bernard and The Avalanche (Music: Oscar Fuentes, Lyrics: Elliott Marx)

Artwork: Viser1000

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Track Name: Ritalin Helps Sometimes
You dyed your hair
But I stayed quiet
I should try it
My temples are graying
You dyed your hair
What were you saying?

I can’t focus
With this ADD
Or ADHD, gee
Where’s the waiter?
I can’t focus
I will regret it later

Don’t leave on a sour note
I’m betting bitter is better
On the back of the throat

I just can’t pay attention
Everything moves so slowly
Ritalin helps sometimes

Kabuki make up
Drag queen camouflage
This isn’t La Cage,
Or 1986
Kabuki make up
Self-esteem tricks

Don’t leave on a sour note
I’m betting bitter is better
On the back of the throat

Internal thoughts
May come spitting out
Flitting about and
Otherwise a nuisance
Internal thoughts
Are not worth two cents

Don’t leave on a sour note
I’m betting bitter is better
On the back of the throat

I just can’t pay attention
Everything moves so slowly
Ritalin helps sometimes
Track Name: So This is What You Want?
Feeling kind of queasy here behind the restaurant
You had both elbows on the table
Manners dear, manners dear
You spoke; I was distracted by your manners dear

This is not the goal for you and this is not the goal for me
But this is how it’s gonna be
Wow, this miscast role for you
Has taken such a toll on me
Apparently, apparently
I’m feeling sick
I’m feeling gaunt
So this is what you want?
This is what you want

I get up off the pavement
I hear a children’s taunt
Something about ghosts and the spaces that they haunt
I think about metaphors
I think about woes
I think about suffering and your awful elbows

This is not the goal for you and this is not the goal for me
But this is how it’s gonna be
Wow, this miscast role for you
Has taken such a toll on me
Apparently, apparently
I’m feeling sick
I’m feeling gaunt
So this is what you want?
Track Name: Every Generation Asphyxiates on Love Song
Thank God for our love
even though you know that
there's no God,
no love,
no gratitude
it's a platitude
lyrics like this appeal
to masses
the hordes in junior college classes
borrowed thoughts - semi-stolen
struggling with a semicolon

Every generation fixates on love song
every generation asphyxiates on love song
gagging and choking on idealized make believe
every generation fixates on love song
every generation asphyxiates on love song

You've got to win her heart
even though you know that
there is no heart,
no winning,
just a bitter feud then
solitude
which is really not that bad
we've been had
pop songs call it trauma
ditto musical drama
it's a period
not a comma

Every generation fixates on love song
every generation asphyxiates on love song
gagging and choking on idealized make believe
every generation fixates on love song
every generation asphyxiates on love song

Thank God for our love
even though you know that there's no God
even though you know that there's no love
even though you know that there's no gratitude
Track Name: Fiction of Affection
This fiction of affection
Viagra erection
best seller, for years now

The glib way
we can speak about experiences
which are not our own
best seller, for years now

This distraction of destruction,
lowest bid construction
It’s a bust cellar, for years now

saline bags, implantation
boy's heads in rotation
breast seller, for years now

This distraction of destruction,
lowest bid construction
bust cellar, for years now

this curation of creation
greatest hits compilation
Track Name: This Will Be Hell
This tastes like sweat
though I know it is not
I never sweat
viscous like snot

Deeply formed lines
this furrowed brow
a map of defeat
measured in crow's feet

This won't be tough
this won't be hard
in fact
this will turn out well
who are we fooling?

This will be hell

Sometimes you drink
sometimes bar tend
I was quite good
on either end

Sometimes I use
other times I deal
once I declined
but then I changed my mind

This won't be tough
this won't be hard
in fact
this will turn out well
who are we fooling?
This will be...

Hell, its getting late and
I am dying here.
It s getting late,
and I am dying here

What's with these moods
that shift and shift?
steady descent,
seldom a lift

Lethargy trumps
any goodwill
"One giant leap,"
fuck it, let me sleep

This won't be tough
this won't be hard
in fact
this will turn out well
who are we fooling?
This will be hell

Combing my hair
is now a chore
cowlicks in gray
withstanding gel and spray

Hell, its getting late and
I am dying here.
It s getting late,
and I am dying here
Track Name: St. Bernard and The Avalanche
She was loath to call me Mr. Good Time Charlie
And kind to avoid Enabler
Despite a predilection for all things barley
Like Hemmingway, only stabler

So she knew me as St. Bernard
Which had charm, class and wit
But these things never last for long, unlike
Play dead, roll over, sit

With time the bond weathered/
She felt most free when
Running the emotional gamut
She and reality were untethered
When she took a devotional gambit

She seemed to be an avalanche
An analogy that fit
Swallowing all as you fall, unlike
Play dead, roll over, sit

Now there are no pet names
Or even pets to name
No Charlies
Or time,
no good
Now there are no pet names

St. Bernard and the Avalanche
Are not the same
Replaced by bone,
Water and wood

So she knew me as St. Bernard
Which had charm, class and wit
But these things never last for long, unlike
Play dead, roll over, sit