Superman (Sister 7)

Language: French

It's been such a long time since we had a good trilogy around here, don't you think? So here you go, the first (and most obscure) in a Superman trilogy. Why Superman? Because people name songs after him.

Sister 7 is an Austin, TX band, now split up, that a co-worker of mine a few jobs ago liked and introduced to the rest of us. This isn't their best song by a long shot¹, but you know how these things are. The lead singer, Patrice Pike, has gone on to have a solo career; I couldn't tell you what the other members of the band have done, not being a big follower of the Austin music scene. In any event, the CDs are still out there, though they're not easy to find and apparently never were.

This is the only video footage of the band I could find on YouTube. They do a little bit of "Superman" from about 7:55 to 6:55 remaining, but I'm pretty sure the whole song isn't in there. It's hard to tell for sure: it's been a long time since I actually heard the whole song myself. I'm not even 100% sure that the lyrics I used here are all the lyrics the song has. Call me irresponsible.



¹I liked "Nobody's Home," myself. "Bottle Rocket" was pretty awesome also.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I feel that, then.
To roll you up around me,
to note that I'm still awake.
The devil's laughing at me, counting each hour:
I only said that I loved you since you were leaving.
Then I speak a prayer in favor of
Mary: with the cause of anything, there's
Superman on the left, saying
"What I made could never save me!
Suffer with my twisted head!"
(You said that!)
You would run one defect above.

I guess your notification didn't
please, but – remain!
The heat of summer is surplus,
but I always need your chocolate jolt.
(Which I like it when you seem amused.)
I call you a word that you always liked,
but all your softness was employed, and I leave.

The People are People of People (Depeche Mode)

Language: French

Went to the Iowa City arts festival yesterday with the husband and some of his family. It was a lot like all the other years. If we had significant wall space, or a yard, or enormous amounts of money, then it might have been more interesting, but as it was, it was mostly just hot and crowded, and I was having a bad day anyway. And a lot of the art sucked (though this guy was there, and his stuff is kind of interesting in-person. I don't know that it translates well to the internet.), too, in all the predictable ways.

I told the husband after that we really did need to stop scheduling events with his family that involve going to big, crowded places. We had a bad experience in downtown Minneapolis at the end of March, going to Macy's with the same family group. It was advertised as a special show all about Africa, and especially plant life in Africa, but although there were in fact a lot of plants, the science was extremely superficial, when they made any kind of effort at all, and some of it was also just plain incorrect. (This is the sort of thing that makes me nervous when people say that the answer to our declining public school system is increased corporate involvement.)

The Minneapolis trip, at least, got better. Love love love the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory. This visit in Iowa City, not so much: there wasn't all that much time to do anything with them, and they weren't having such a great time themselves; the three-year-old girl with the group apparently threw up all the way down from Minnesota, which may or may not have been motion sickness.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[a]
People are people;
thus, why is it that
you and I should get the length
so terribly?

We're various colors
and different faiths,
and the different people
have various needs.
It's obvious you hate me,
although I did anything falsely;
I never even met you, so
what could I have made?

[b]
I cannot understand
what encourages a man
to hate another man:
help me to understand.

[a]

Help me to understand.

Now you punch and you give a kick and you shout with me.
I count on your common decency, that
has a gloss. Up to now it doesn't ,
but I'm sure that it exists.
It's taken them right there, to travel in a moment
from your head to your fist.

[b]

[a]

[b]

[b]

Experiment IV (Kate Bush)

Language: French

I'm going through a spell lately where watching music videos, almost any music videos, makes me cry. Today it was "Someone to Love," by Fountains of Wayne, but it's been all kinds of things before. Songs that aren't sad, songs when I feel otherwise happy, anything. Jessica Guilford + music video = tearing up.

I don't know why this would be. Maybe it says something about the kinds of videos people are making today. Maybe it says something about the kinds of videos I'm drawn to investigate. Maybe I'm just dangerously emotionally volatile: that happens sometimes (though it wouldn't explain why it's specific to music videos). It's not like I have a job, to occupy myself with. And yes, I am still looking.

In any case, the video for this song seems to be one of the exceptions, possibly because it's old, or because it's so cheesy. So I like it. Also I always liked it anyway. Way better than that "Wuthering Heights" crap. Plus, bonus: Hugh Laurie ("Dr. House") appears at about 1:21 to 1:11, and then again around 0:44. You . . . well, you wouldn't have him pegged for a good actor from those shots, let's say.

I think the Babelpopped version of the lyrics is an obvious and inarguable improvement on the original.

Video:



-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We secretly work for the soldiers.
Our noise experiment was almost ready to begin:
we only know what we're making in theory.
The music is made for pleasure, to make it quiver --
it was music we made here, until

[a]
They said to us that all they wanted
was a noise which could kill somebody at a distance.
Thus, we advanced more meters, and the deficit --
it is a manufacturing error.

Terrifying cries of the mothers, a painful, piercing cry -
we recorded it, and put it in our machine.

[a]

As in, love could be a feeling.
The bad one could smell it; thus,
it could be smelled. So, good.
The sleeping ones could sing it with you,
dreaming, but this is your enemy!

We will not be blamed.
There will not be any there to 'sell the wick'
(somebody that can strike the right switch).

[a]

And additionally: inform the public that they are to remain.

What to Do With the Love He Obtained (Tina Turner)

Language: French

Found out yesterday that the store where I work is going out of business. Traditionally, I leave jobs by getting really mad at everybody and quitting, which then leads to extensive periods of obsessive second-guessing. Having a job leave me instead is new, and kind of confusing.

Nothing is actually official until Friday the 12th, when the Going-Out-of-Business sale commences. (It would have started today, but there was an issue with the sign they were getting to advertise said sale.) In fact, I'm not supposed to know yet. I figure I can post this because I've been relatively careful to avoid anything that would identify the place unambiguously on here, and because in a couple days it won't matter anymore.

At this point, I'm still a bit too much in shock to have anything particularly intelligent to say about the matter. I mean, I understand what's happened, and really it wasn't like it was a surprise -- the store hadn't been doing real well at any point since I started working there (or, possibly, any time since Aprilish) -- but one still assumed that things had time to turn around, until they started laying people off. I suppose I should have known something was up when the low sales suddenly seemed to stop bothering the owner.

This is not really the right song for this situation, but it was as good as I could do, out of the songs that had already been kind of worked on.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You must include it.
That contact of your hand
makes my impulses react.
It`s only that quiver
of the girls' opposites
that attracts the boys' meeting.

It's only a logical, medical examination.
You must try to be unaware
that it means more than that.

[chorus]
Oh, what is the love with him obtained to make?
What`s love but the emotion of a second hand? What of
the love he obtained to make that with?
A heart can be broken, when a heart needs.

I tend to seem astounded: you can be with me, if it seems
I've read some. I've gotten by, to share the causes.

There`s an expression for it, there`s a name for him,
but reason does it for me. That's it.

[chorus]

I'm thinking from a new direction,
but I must indicate the
protection of my own thinking.
It frightens me to feel this way.

What to make with the love he obtained?
What`s an old love but the love of a concept? What soft mode
is obtained to make with him,
which needs a heart (when a heart can be broken)?

Pluto (Bjork)

Language: French

Well okay. Um. Switching over to the new improved super-duper fantastico version of Blogger, which means lots of rearrangement of things and cleaning-up of spreadsheets and so forth. This seemed like an appropriate song for that.

Speculation on the internet is that this song is about getting drunk. There are some good arguments to be made for this. On the other hand, the video leads me to different conclusions. I don't know what the video is, you know, about, but I know it's a little disturbing.

Bjork always has the best videos.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Excuse me,
but I just must
burst --
burst this body
in addition to an ego.

Court-ooh
Oooooh (x4)

I'm new,
new:
tomorrow will
be a little tired, but new.

OOoooh!
Aaaaah!
Aaaaaah!
Woaahh!
etc.

Rudolph, the Red-Smelled Reindeer (Gene Autry)

Language: French

So let's get seasonal already.

The store where I'm working switched over to Christmas music a week or so before Thanksgiving. I've never understood why people think that shoppers want to hear Christmas music at Christmas time in the first place, personally: it's one thing if you're listening to it because you want to listen to it, like if you throw on the Muppets Christmas album and get really stoned and make a night out of Miss Piggy singing "Fiiiiiiiiiiive! Golden! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings!" and eating potato chips. But it's something else to be subjected to it everywhere you go, with no escape, and this is particularly obnoxious for employees in such places. I am not, personally, down with the whole Baby Jesus thing. Even if I were, I am not a big fan of the music that goes along with the whole Baby Jesus thing. I like "Angels We Have Heard on High." I used to like "Silver Bells." And that's about it.

To make it worse, the songs we're hearing over and over again aren't standard versions of the songs: a few of them are, but mostly they're popped-up versions sung by famous people (I'm pretty sure I heard Cyndi Lauper a few weeks ago, though she's not resurfaced, so maybe I'm mistaken.). So it takes a little while for my brain to identify the songs as being Christmas music, but that doesn't help as much as you'd think it would, because my brain treats it like a game and actually focuses on the songs to some extent now. I get them stuck in my head, too. The Elvis Presley version of "Silver Bells" was in my head for hours last Friday after I left work. Nobody needs that.

Which, every co-worker seems to have his or her own personal bane. Mine is either Peggy Lee / "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" or an unknown song that sounds like maybe the Jackson 5. It's not one of the traditional Christmas songs: so far all I've been able to make out is the super-repetitive and earnest-sounding chorus, "it's going to be a VERy SPECial CHRISTmas, a VERy SPECial CHRISTmas." One of my co-workers is particularly tormented by the standard version of "Frosty the Snowman." Another co-worker reserves her special hatred for something she describes as "Burl Ives, set to techno," which I have no idea what she's talking about but it does sound truly dreadful.

It's worth noting, if there are any store owners reading this, that I have not heard one positive comment yet from any customers about the presence of the Christmas music. A few have commented negatively. Most seem not to notice. So if you decide to play Christmas music round the clock, keep in mind that mostly what you're doing is making your employees, and a few customers, mad at you. Nobody else gives a damn. People do like Christmas lights, though.

Anyway. So. Let's get seasonal, seasonal. I wanna get seasonal. Lemme hear your lobbies pop, your lobbies pop. Etc.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rudolph, the red-smelled reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you never see it,
you would even say that it is luminous.

All of the other reindeer
called him names, for the laughter, and
they never let poor Rudolph
join any reindeer play.

Then, one misty Christmas
took care of Santa. He came to indicate:
"Rudolph with your so-luminous nose,
don't you guide my sledge this evening?"

Then, all the reindeer liked it
while they shouted outside with joy,
"Rudolph the red-smelled reindeer,
the history will enter you downwards!"

Free (Kenny Loggins)

Language: French

This is, I think, one of the better ones. The verses aren't all that, but the chorus is oddly poetic. I like the idea of feet blowing "loose and free," like autumn leaves, or possibly drifting snow. Which I looked for a picture in that vein, but couldn't find one.

These days, I'm more likely to think of this song in connection with Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion than Footloose, but whatever.

Happy holiday to those of you who actually, you know, get days off for it.

-Jessi

Picture credit: Lorraine Shemesh. See more of her paintings here.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Subsistence is so hard. I'm functioning,
perforating my chart,
for what? Eight hours?
Ah, that tells me to get

this feeling: I get
the right of possession. At the end of that time,
I'll strike the ceiling,
or I'll tear this city: which one
this evening? I got a cut.

The feet blow loose and free
(in addition to your Sunday shoes).
I'll satisfy Louise,
withdraw myself, jack my knees, and
get behind
before we split. I advanced
your blues and lost them, so
that everyone crossed freely.

You play so freshly,
in the manner of obeying each
rule with your heart. The excavation of the bottom
is certainly extreme; you are to aspire to it.

Somebody said to you
that your life doesn't pass.
It's for me to say that
you don't judge yourselves, even if
if you'd only cut the fly can.

The feet blow loose and free
(in addition to fitting your Sunday).
Oowhee, Marie jolts
it, shakes it for me.
Whoa, milo:
advance, advance, go left.
Your blues lost; that is,
everyone crossed freely.

Initially - we turn you around, to obtain it.
Second - you put your feet on.
Third - maintain your heart, seizing.
Four - a coward turns me to the ground, whooooooooa,
free and loose.

The feet blow free
(in addition to your Sunday shoes).
Louise is satisfied,
my knees withdraw. Jack me,
advance before a behind gets split.
Your blues lost:
everyone crossed freely.

Point it Out to Me (Röyksopp)

Language: French

It's been a long time since I heard a new song anywhere that made me sit up and say, oh my god I must have a copy of that now. But I happened on the video for this song and feel in love, more or less, with it.

It's not just the aesthetic of the video, the clean, super-Euro, Wallpaper*-magazine-type design, though that's part of it: I enjoy Wallpaper*. It's also thematic: the cutting away of facades, the revelations of what's behind this thing, and then what's behind that, and what's behind that. It has, really, very little to do with the text of the song, but it happens that I like that kind of music too, so it all works out. With some songs, lyrics are kind of beside the point.

Haven't bought the CD yet. For the time being, it's good enough to be able to click over to YouTube and see the video. But someday.

I should possibly warn people who are unfamiliar with the song, if I wasn't the last person to hear it, that it's catchy to the point of being potentially obnoxious. I had it stuck in my head for several days straight¹, after seeing the video. So don't say I didn't warn you.

-Jessi

¹(with occasional breaks for the "Love Boat" theme, which gets stuck in my head A LOT while I'm at work -- I haven't been able to figure out why this is yet. "Crush With Eyeliner," the R.E.M. song, gets in my head a lot at work too, but that's because of the "she's a sad tomato" line, combined with being around a lot of tomatoes. One has to assume that at least some of them are sad ones. Law of averages, and everything.)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Recall it, recall, recall it to me [4x]

It's been only one week that
the rapid obliteration of the house and the precipitations were to be.
This doesn't point out
what I missed in England, all this time.

Sent me without a goal
or assistance, by foot, to the transport of
windows. Where to be struck?
I had forgotten, in a friendlier phase.

Recall it, recall, point it out to me [4x]

And everywhere I go,
there is always something to remember.
Another place and time to
me, which found where the love had traveled: far.

We remained outside until two,
awaiting the return to light.
I knew it didn't speak to us
until you asked what I thought.

Point it out, recall, recall that to me [4x]

Face the truth, man: some say
analogy and puzzles are the tools of men's wisdom, but
the women hold its language.
I know that the silence speaks.

I never know much, so now that
you're sleeping close, I'm the only cause of
everywhere that I go.

Recall it, recall, recall it to me [8x]

It's been only one week that
the rapid obliteration of the house and the precipitations were to be.
This doesn't point out
what I missed in England, all this time.

Sent me without a goal
or assistance, by foot, to the transport of
windows. Where to be struck?
I had forgotten, in a friendlier phase.

Recall it, recall, point it out to me [4x]

Baby, Baby (Amy Grant)

Language: French

Shocking-confession time: I actually attended an Amy Grant concert, at about the time this song was popular (or maybe the song got big just after the concert: I don't remember). I don't really recall it much one way or the other; it was a good 15 years ago, but I probably had a good time. I also had the "Heart In Motion" album, where this song appeared, and may still -- some stuff got thrown out in the course of the most recent move, and some stuff didn't; I don't know where this album wound up. It doesn't seem likely that I could have sold it to a consignment store or anything, though: it was on a cassette, and the case was fucked up in some way or another.

So I guess what I'm saying is that my associations with this song all revolve around partial amnesia. Which is perhaps odd, but not necessarily inappropriate for a singer who abandoned her Christian audience and sold out for the chance at MTV videos in endless rotation and a chance to show cleavage and get divorced.¹

This is not necessarily a bad thing -- some of my favorite musicians actually started out as Christian artists and then moved on when they realized that they had talent of some kind². With Amy Grant, though, I do remember that it was a HUUUUUGE deal in the Christian world, Grant being the closest thing that Christian rock had to a superstar unless you're going to count, like, Carman, or Michael W. Smith, which let's please don't. There are, even now, people who believe that Amy Grant is going to a literal fire-and-brimstone kind of hell, to have her flesh seared for eternity, for singing songs like this one instead of songs which are explicitly about how cool Jesus is. Though perhaps not as many as there used to be, now that people have discovered how much money there is to be made by doing such things.

-Jessi

¹Or at least I think there was a divorce. Another case of my Amy Grant memories being a little fuzzy, apparently.
²Okay. Actually just one -- Sam Phillips, who used Leslie Phillips as her recording name when she was a Christian artist. And "talent" is possibly stretching it for Phillips, though I still like her stuff and listen to her occasionally; I don't know what the present critical consensus on her level of talent might be.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Baby, baby,
I am taken with the concept
of devotion to you, with the softest love.

Baby, the baby,
my tender love will rise from
most of the ocean into the deepest blue sky.

For a little stop,
baby, I'm so happy you are mine. Yes
you are mine.

Baby, the baby
is the first role for you. Hold a shine,
and they adore you. I'm sure of that, right as I am.

Baby, the baby,
the forest will walk by,
singing. A chorus of birds is above you.

For a little stop,
baby, they're so happy you're mine, oh yes,
and since moving day, my heart put you
above, to obtain you. (I realize that there is no baby, just that.)

Baby, the baby,
survive in any kind,
and I'm here for you always and always.

Baby, the baby
could divide a muscle man (which isn't
true, and never was). Isn't it my love for you?

For a little stop,
baby, I am so happy you are mine.
And since my heart is moving, you put the day
there, baby. I realize that that is just. You've nothing above to obtain.

And since you put my heart to moving, the day
is just to obtain you. Baby, I realize that there's nothing above that,
above you.

Baby, the baby,
always and for always.
Baby, I'm so happy that
the baby is so happy. Here for you,
baby of mine: are you?
I'm so happy that
when I think of you, it makes me the smiling baby.
Baby, you're my baby:
I'm so happy, baby, that
you don't cease giving love.
(Don't stop, no.)
Baby, I'm so happy that you're my baby, who
is happy thus. I'm
happy (I am so.), that
when I think of you, it makes me smile.

I'm Too Sexy (Right Said Fred)

Language: French

Not planning to make a habit of including the video in these posts; among other things, You Tube links have an annoying tendency to go dead in fairly short order. But with this one, I couldn't resist.

I have relatively precise memories of when this song came out, because I had just started college and was getting accustomed to dorm life. One of the girls down the hall bought this song on cassette single, and the B side of the cassette was a Spanish version of the song. Not speaking Spanish fluently myself, and being curious about how things translated from language to language (an interest which has remained with me, as you can see), I encouraged my Spanish-speaking roommate, whom we will call "S.," to listen to the Spanish version and provide a translation, for comparison purposes.

So S. listened to the song, and I'm all like, yeah? So? How's it different from the English version? What does it say? What's he singing?

And in the very best deadpan I have ever seen in my entire life, S. shrugged her shoulder and said, with a certain amount of deliberateness, as though talking to a slightly brain-damaged child, "He's very sexy."

-Jessi



- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm too sexy for my sexy love,
for my love of activity.
You love to leave me.

I'm too sexy for my,
too sexy (so sexy) for my shirt. The shirt
wounds me, and it's too sexy
for Milan too. Sexy
for Milan, New York and Japan.

And I'm too sexy for your
part, too sexy for your part.
Am I to dance in the manner of disco? Not that music.

I'm a model: you know what I
want to say. I make my little light on the footbridge, yeah, and
on the footbridge, on the footbridge, yeah,
I make my little light on the footbridge.

I am too sexy for my car by far, too sexy
for my too-sexy car.
I am too sexy for my too-sexy hat, and
what do you think of my hat for that?

I am a model; you know I want to say that.
And I make my little light on the footbridge,
yeah, on the footbridge, on the footbridge, yeah,
I shake my little tush on the footbridge.

I am too sexy for my,
too sexy for my,
too sexy for my --

Since I am a model, you know what I want to say,
and I make my little light on the footbridge.
Yeah, on the footbridge, on the footbridge,
yeah, I shake my little tush on the footbridge.

I am too sexy for my cat, too sexy
for my cat, of the cat.
Poor cat, poor cat of
mine, which I am too sexy for. The too-sexy love
loves to leave me, for my love of activity.

And I am too sexy for this song.

7 (Prince)

Language: French

Caught a little unprepared for the good election news, so I had to work this one up in kind of a hurry. Sorry, Prince, you deserved better.

On the other hand, I could have gone with "Promise of a New Day (Paula Abdul)," and didn't, 'cause this is a better song, so.

Chet Culver, douche though he is, won in Iowa (54-44), which I guess is good. Democrats took both houses of the Iowa state legislature (it had been just one, I think -- hard to keep track when it changes every other year).

Iowa and South Dakota have kind of a weird relationship: we acknowledge that we're similar, among ourselves, but we don't like it when anybody else says so. Kind of like a sibling thing. But good job, little Ess-Dee, on voting down your abortion referendum. Now if you could only freak out a tad less on gay marriage . . . .

CNN is saying that IA-02 (my House district) went to Loebsack, the Democrat, by 51-49. One feels mildly bad about this, since Leach was one of the better Republicans. I mean, if it was Rep. Leach vs. Sen. Grassley, there'd be no contest -- I pretty much think Grassley is the devil incarnate. Or, you know, one of them. (So many to choose from.) But Leach was a Republican, in a year when it was bad to be a Republican, nor was he perfect by any stretch. And I'm sure he'll do just fine for himself. I may be a liberal, but my heart doesn't bleed all that much for the wealthy and well-connected when they have a setback.

The other interesting race for me was IA-01, which covers northeast Iowa: we've been bombarded with all kinds of TV ads for the past couple months about Bruce Braley (D) and Mike Whalen (R). One of Whalen's ads even noted that Braley had been voted a "Peace Candidate" by the National Communist Party. And I believe there was also something about how he had criticized the repeal of the estate tax, and was critical of the way the Iraq War was being conducted, and so on and so forth. "Bruce Braley: wrong for Iowa," being the message.

And I'm like, my goodness, Communists like him? And he likes taxes which will never ever apply to me? And he's in favor of peace? Can I vote for him even though I'm not in his district? I can't help but think that maybe Whalen and his advisors misestimated the area. Iowa has a reputation for being a hick state, and even occasionally deserves it, but we're not automatically against peace, or rich people paying taxes, for Chrissakes. We're not Kansas. And in this day and age, calling somebody a Communist sounds more like a joke than like a slam. How long has it been since we were afraid of Communists? So it's entirely possible that Whalen did some of Braley's advertising for him.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[a]
All seven and we will observe them falling;
they inconvenienced love, and we will smoke them all
with intellect and know-how.
Nobody in the whole universe will never compare.
I am maintaining with you and you are mine,
and together we'll like all spaces and hours:
thus, let's not cry during the day when each of the seven will die.

[repeat a]

And I've seen an angel go down to me,
and in its hand it holds the key:
words of compassion, the same words of peace.
And in the distance, army feet going (hut two three four, hut two three four),
but he sees them: we will observe them falling.

And we fix on sea sand,
and before us, animosities are held and issued.
We don't speak about the love, only the blasphemy that's
in the distance, and six others will curse me,
but it's very exact (which is to say, very exact),
because I'll observe them falling. (four five six seven)

Each of the seven and we will observe them falling;
they inconvenienced love, and we will smoke them all
with intellect and know-how.
Nobody in the whole universe will never compare.
I am maintaining with you and you are mine,
and together we'll like all spaces and hours:
thus, let's not cry during the day when each of the seven will die.

(never age)

And we see each bad heart, and plague, and river of blood
will surely die, in spite of
their seven tears, but do not fear!
For in the distance, twelve hearts (as of now)
are always here. You and I, we will be here.

There is a new city, with streets of gold.
Thus informed, the young people will never age.
And -- oh? There will be no death, for with each breath,
the voice of "bold" colors sings much of a song, which if that is,
sing it while we observe them falling (autumn).

[a]

(never age)
(never age)
(never age)

Let Us Dance To It (David Bowie)

Language: French

On Saturday, I went to a Halloween party being thrown by my boss and his wife. This is the good, immediate boss, not the evil¹ ultimate boss. Just so we're clear. I was, alas, the only person from the store to show up, which made me a little sad. But perhaps I get points for attending.

I went with a costume idea I've threatened for a long time but never actually had occasion to pull off, stolen from Lorrie Moore, in her book Anagrams². In the book, Gerard suggests that Benna, for her Halloween costume, should "make a belt out of old spice tins and go as a waist of thyme."

Which was more or less what I did, though the thyme was in two plastic containers, tied together and looped over my shoulders. It wasn't enormously practical, but at least I never lost track of thyme. And I could take a thyme out whenever I wanted. (There were a million thyme puns, each worse than the last.)

No real dancing to speak of: it wasn't that kind of group so much. (The choice of song here is just 'cause I didn't have anything else ready that's party-ish. Though I did hear Talking Heads at one point, which is very danceable.) The husband and I wound up, somewhere around midnight, in the apartment of someone named Courtney, whom we didn't know, drunk enough to not be all that clear on how we got there, in the company of another former cashier who I'd never met before, who was dressed as a Republican and who had been handing out Jim Nussle³ and Jim Leach⁴ stickers all night.

So, so, so very hung over the next day, though. I haven't been that drunk, or that hung over, in years. Which is why there was no post yesterday morning: typing was too loud.

But it was worth it. I'd do it again. I had a good thyme and all.

-Jessi

¹Really not so much evil as just really type-A and at least moderately narcissistic.

²Anagrams was a huge influence on me, and remains one of my all-time favorite novels. I've probably read it a good twenty or thirty times. I'm thinking of getting some t-shirts made up that say "Lorrie Moore is my homegirl."

³Who is presently running for Governor of Iowa, and who bears a striking (to my mind) physical and political resemblance to the Democratic candidate, Chet Culver. I'm having a difficult time justifying to myself voting for either of them.

⁴Who is, for a Republican, not especially evil, and who did something, some time ago, relating to the Iraq War that I found principled enough to be noteworthy even if I can't recall specifically what it was. Still voting for the other guy, though.

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Dance: put your red shoes above
the blue dance, and

dance with the song
which they play on the radio.

Balance
while the color lights the top of your face.
Let us balance,
swinging with empty space by the crowd.

You said to race: I ran with you.
If you said the skin will hide us,
my love for you
would break my heart in two.
You fall into my arms as if
a flower, and tremble.

Dance for the fear
that your grace should fall;
let us dance, for this fear is all of the evening.

Balance: you could look in my eyes.
Balance under the moonlight.
(Serious moonlight!)

You said to race: I ran with you.
If you said the skin will hide us,
my love for you
would break my heart in two.
You fall into my arms as if
a flower, and tremble.

Dance: put your red shoes above
the blue dance, and

Dance with the song
which they play on the radio.

Balance: you could look in my eyes.
Balance under the moonlight.
(Serious moonlight!)

Cigarettes of Chocolate Milk (Rufus Wainwright)

Language: French

I suppose technically it's not too late, but I feel a little bit bad that I haven't been being more seasonal. I mean, I could have done "Monster Mash," or something by The Cure, or maybe "My Heart Will Go On." Something. I'm just never quite prepared for these things. I suppose this means that I should get working on some Christmas carols now.

But, even if it's not a Halloween song particularly, this is still a nice song, and it came out well enough. I'll try to do something scary by Tuesday.

-Jessi

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Milk of cigarettes and chocolate:
those are a couple of my cravings, right?
It seems that I liked that a little thicker,
a little more extreme, a little harmful to me.

If I buy soft candies, then I
must eat them all while resting.
They seem a little larger than I like:
a little softer, a little harmful to me.

And then there are these other things
that we will not mention, for several reasons.
It's a little stranger about them, all
a little harder, a little mortal.

It makes a share
of pain so sorry.

Always rest here to remember.
The city, to me, is a shoe made for the
show. The places disappear just ahead. My song is about
the weak boys in the city, with whom the general faces have raced.

Wireplay, with prodigals of much
sentiment (catch the valiums!).
The world is ragged, but it's yours. Andy cannot expect that
while you're running everything on a vacuum
(a little headstock, with a wrinkling of the ol' eyebrows).

You maintain, obtain, in the
mystic reserve I play, all while facing ahead.
A lesson in the tightropes suggests a reading of
Kansas or "Adios, Surfer" or On High Hopes.

It's not very smart;
tends to make a share
of pain so sorry.

An exposure there; on my back. It still does not have
friendly holes or intervention.
I am a little Irish heiress, a little right turn, a little
Pisa. Of all the times that I see you,
I'm satisfied if you are pleasant. So that's a disorder.

Milk of milk, cigarette of cigarette,
and chocolate. And chocolate.

The Dance Of Safety (Men Without Hats)

Language: French

Have yet to see a credible theory for what this song means. According to songmeanings.net, it is either about nuclear disarmament or slam dancing. Not many things in this universe could plausibly be about both of those at once. The abovelinked discussion is surprisingly contentious.

The new lyrics alternate between sections which are remarkable either for their fidelity to the original (" . . . 'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance, well, they aren't friends with me.") or a Victorian primness that appears out of nowhere ("O fortuitous dance of safety, taking everyone!"). This may be a side effect of having done this through French, which has not otherwise been a common Babelpopping language.¹

-Jessi

¹No particular reason. Italian isn't getting much work either.
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Ssss-aaaa-ffff-eeee-tttt-yyyy
Safety-dance!

We can dance, if we want, with
your friends. We can leave behind
your friends, 'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance,
well, they aren't friends with me.
I say, we can go where we want,
(a place where they'll never find us?)
and we can act like we come from out of this world.
Leave the truth far behind, and we can dance.

We can dance, if we want, with
your friends. We can leave behind your friends
'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance,
well, they aren't friends with me.
We can go where I want us,
a place they'll never find,
and we can act like we come from out of this world,
and we can dance far behind truth.

François!

We can go when we want.
The night is young, so I am.
We can equip our feet with our truly-ordered hats,
and astonish the supporting end with a cry of victory.

I say we can act if we want; if not, nobody will.
True, you can act coarse and completely removed,
and I can act like an imbecile.
I say that we can dance, we can dance all out of order.

We can dance! We can dance! We did it, we can dance wall to wall!
We can dance! Everyone, glance with your hands!
We can dance, we can dance! O fortuitous dance of safety, taking everyone!
Yes, spout out the well of safety dancing! The dance of safety!

Ssss-aaaa-ffff-eeee-tttt-yyyy
Safety-dance!

We can dance if we want, with all the life and mines that we have.
We'll maltreat time, never going to lose it (as long as it's not
well-established). Everything will be up to me.
Say, we can dance if we want. Leave your friends behind,
'cause your friends do not dance, and if they do not dance,
well, they are aren't friends with me anymore.
I say that we can dance, we can all dance out of order:
wall to wall we dance. We can dance,
we can dance, we can make it dance. Everyone, glance with your hands!
We can dance, we can dance, yes, everyone's taking the well
of safety! Oh, the chance of – ah, the dance of –
Oh, the dance of the well of safety!
Oh, the dance of the well of safety!
Oh, yes, the dance of safety!
Oh, the dance of safety!
Oh, yes, the dance of safety!
That's it: the dance of safety!
It's the well of dance,
of safety: it is the dance.
Oh, it is the dance of safety!
Oh, it is the dance of safety!
Oh, it is the dance of safety!
Oh!

You Pretend to be of the Moon (Future Bible Heroes)

Language: French

This wound up being pretty close to the original, which original song probably doesn't count as "pop" but is nevertheless a personal favorite, and since nobody reads this blog anyway I figure I can do what I like with it.

I read that one of the later Apollo missions to the Moon collected pieces of the Surveyor 3 spacecraft, which had landed on the Moon two and a half years previously, to bring back to Earth and examine for signs of wear from conditions on the Moon. The book in question¹ declined to say whether there were changes or not, but I'm guessing they probably found something. The Moon is a pretty extreme place.

Whether it's as emotionally manipulative as it's depicted in the song, I have no idea.

-Jessi

¹Astrobiology, by Kevin W. Plaxco and Michael Gross, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006, p. 193.
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You pretend to be the moon,
far – infinitely far,
and you'll always leave soon,
but what you want, you won't ever say.

You pretend to be the moon,
looking downwards on us all,
always having a bad opinion,
cold, blue-feeling, and small.

You saw that your friends die in love, and
the weepy ends, but you don't cry.
You recall when we would undulate goodbye?
At least I tested.

You pretend to be the moon,
with another secret face,
only passing through, always,
because you come from the outer spaces.

You pretend to be the moon,
large old man and of the stone facts,
but I saw that in nudity, you
thought you were alone.

You saw that your friends die in love, and
the weepy ends, but you don't cry
You recall when we would undulate goodbye?
At least I tested.

Embrace Them for Me (Siouxie and the Banshees)

Language: French

Trivia about this post:

"Siouxie and the Banshees" emerges from the French as "Siouxie and the White Injury."

The song is an homage to Jayne Mansfield (pictured), who appeared in a 1957 film called "Kiss Them for Me" with Cary Grant. I think I liked the song better before I knew that, but I'll get over it.

Siouxie Sioux's (given name: Susan Janet Ballion) father was a laboratory technician who 'milked' poisonous snakes for their venom. (source) And he was alcoholic to boot (he died when Susan was 14), which it seems like people might have raised concerns about his profession if they knew that, but whatever.

"Divoon" is some kind of slang equivalent of "divine," which I had never heard of before doing this song. But then, I had kind of a sheltered childhood.

-Jessi

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It scintillates, and it has a shine,
the arrival of Queen for a ring of
beauty and a car.
Now you're prettier, by far more.
No part of him occupies himself more than the
invitation he didn't send.
Transfixed by the interior noise,
to find your promise.

Nothing or nobody: never make me
have to leave you the bottom.

Embrace it for me -- I can delay it.
Embrace for me, if I'm delayed.

It's divoon, oh, it's serene, that
in the pink champagne fountain is
their devotion, which somebody cut out
in the swimming pool.

Nothing or nobody: never make me
have to leave you the bottom.

Embrace it for me -- I can be delayed.
Embrace it for me -- I can find myself delayed. (That's lucky.)

On the road with the jet of New Orleans:
the first role blows the screen.
As the tenth impact gleamed,
the prohibited candles radiated.

Embrace them for me -- I can be delayed.
Embrace them for me -- I can find myself delayed. (That's lucky.)

Embrace them for me -- embrace them for me
Embrace them for me -- I can find myself delayed and lucky.

Insane (Gnarls Barkley)

Jessi’s Patsy Cline “Crazy” remix last month made me think of this song, and so I listened to it nonstop 7,349 times in a row rather than take the four minutes to translate it. Then I got sleepy.
But then duty roused me, although the results aren’t all that transcendent; the song is curiously impenetrable. Maybe that’s why it’s so catchy.

Of course, as with Robin Williams movies, it wouldn’t be Babelpop if we didn’t learn a little something about ourselves and what it means to be a human in the &c., &c. In this case, what I learned was that the top search for “crazy lyrics” is not Patsy Cline or Gnarls (or Aerosmith or Simple Plan or Seal or even Fine Young Cannibals), but R&B duo K-Ci & JoJo, whom I’ve never had the pleasure of ever hearing about ever before ever. Does that make me lazy?

n.b. My favorite version (until the Paris Hilton cover comes out, no doubt) of this is the first time I saw them perform on Conan, where they’re all wearing towels and they slow it way the hell down and Cee-Lo’s voice sounds like it’s about to give out any second, although the costumes worn in the MTV movie awards performance have a special place in my heart. Cee-Lo would have been so much better than Hayden Christensen! And there could have actually been chemistry between Anakin and Amidala!

You suck too, Jake Lloyd. Preparati la Bara!

-- Samantha

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

I remember when I remember that I remember
When I lost my spirit.
There were something so pleasant about this phase.
Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

And when you are outside there without care,
I were out of contact;
But it was not because I did not know that enough.
I just knew too much

Which returns me insane
Done, that returns me insane
Done that, probably.
Return to me, insane.

And I hope that you have the period of your life
But thinks that twice.
It is my only council

On now, which make you, which makes. You, which does you who think, you are you?
Ha ha ha, bless your heart!
You really think that you are in The Order?
Well, I thinks that you are insane.
I think. That you are insane,
I think that you are insane. Just like me.

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives outside on a member.
(And very!) That, I remember. Think that: “I want to be like them.”
Since I was small, since I was the little, of it resembled Ohio recreation.
And it is not any coincidence, which I came
And I can die when I am made.

But perhaps I am insane
Perhaps am insane for you
Perhaps am probably insane… for us.

It Needs You This Evening (INXS)

Language: French

Time for an SAT question!

What word best completes the sentence?

Depeche Mode is to religion as INXS is to __________________.

A. Australia
B. chicks
C. sex
D. Michael Hutchence

(see end of post for the answer)

Answer to question: C (sex)

All INXS songs are about sex¹ in some fashion or another, with the possible single exception of "Listen Like Thieves," but as with Depeche Mode's treatment of religion, they rarely progress the song beyond "I want to have sex with you" or "you should want to have sex with me." All talk, no consummation. In fact, a surprising number of INXS songs don't even specify a gender for the object of the song ("Bitter Tears," "Disappear," "Don't Change," "Mystify," "Never Tear Us Apart," "New Sensation," "Not Enough Time," "What You Need"), instead using what I like to think of as The K. D. Lang You™. Deliberate? Closeted songwriter? The mind almost reels at the possible explanations.

If you answered B (chicks), give yourself half credit. They do try to give the impression that it's all about the chicks.

-Jessi

¹ At least those up until Michael Hutchence died in 1997, after which I totally lost interest. What do you suppose is up with the recent morbid turn in these introductions, huh?

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You're everything. You obtained
this twenty-first moment yesterday. Century of
worry: "all you can want."
It's a fact that everyone does well.

Slide here and give me one moment; thus,
your movements are believable. So when
have I made you know
each other? I have made you know that
each is another of my kind.

I need you this evening;
don't sleep. I cause. . .
something. The girl is there, among you,
who incites me to sweat.

How do you feel
to me? Am I alone?
What do you think
all cannot take?
Whatcha going to him
for? To make it go?

One (U2)

Language: French

And then there are songs where I develop a bit of contempt for the writing while I'm going through the Babelfished version, unlike Rain During November. I think this one was at least moderately successful, in terms of being forced into a different topic than the original, but thus far, I'm just not that impressed with the material I get to work with.

Maybe it's just how many times I had to hear this song when it was new. All those videos (wasn't this the one where there was the blue, shadowy version, and the buffalo version? Was there a third? It seems like there was a third.), all that personal detail about a song ("there was a real divorce!") that's so impersonal it could fit a lot of break-ups. I got tired of it. Forgive me, Mr. The Edge.

But oh well. We should probably move it along, and bump up the ends of this amusement. May have to bump harder than usual.

-Jessi

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Is he becoming better, or the same? Do you feel
he will facilitate your thing, or
maintain that you're obliged to blame somebody?
I have one word for you.

Love is one "life need."
We obtain love, to divide up in the night:
him, it, you. Baby, don't worry about the sheets if you –

I disappointed you (or your mouth).
It's bad taste to leave it in you,
but you never want the love act made, which
I go without, with you, and, well, it's . . .

Of this too-late evening,
the past trails away outside, in the light.
We have him becoming better (or the same): you feel
he will facilitate the thing. On to it, you!
You obliged somebody to maintain your "blame." That word . . . .

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

One love life a night, where it is needed:
in love for the one we get.
Divide yourself, him, it. Don't you worry about the sheets, baby.

It's bad taste to leave you.
I disappointed your mouth, which never acts.
Made you want the love, and in I go.
With you or without you, who – ? Well, it's as it is. . . .

To the trail outside. This evening we have the light of years.
The past is in too late, but we are not the same ones we obtain.
We hold one to hold one; we pass.

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

Make you come here for remission,
make you come to raise Death.
Make you come here to play Jesus
with your leprous head.

You did not give me too much more than I asked,
and now all anything gets us is years.
We are not the same goods; we are wounded.
I have that one, but then do we still "do it to it?"

You love a temple of words, a higher love than law.
Is a temple higher than a love of law? I ask you.
You make me enter, to "love," but then is the creeping:
I can't hold y'all above what I obtained myself,
and when you obtain it, it's wounded.

You get one love life, to do what you . . . .
The one, the other, the blood brothers, a life with one of my sisters.
Life is not the same to one of us, but we are as one.
We get to hold what we hold.

One . . . life.

One.

The Player (Kenny Rogers)

I know, I know he's not really saying them, as in "know when to fold them" -- he's saying 'em. But 'em goes into French as 'fin de support and back into English as 'fine of support, and I feel this extra obfuscation is doing a disservice to a man who makes such fine wood-fired rotisserie chicken.
-- Samantha

The evening of a hot summer
On a train leap for nowhere,
I met the player; we were both too tired to sleep.
Thus, we took turns fixedly looking at,
Out of the window, the darkness
Until the trouble caught up with us,
And it started to speak.

It said, "Wire, I made a life out of the faces of the people of reading,
And knowing what were their charts
Besides they held their eyes.
And if you do not occupy yourselves of my stating,
I can see that you are out of the ace.
For a taste of your whiskey,
I will give you a certain council."

Thus, I gave my bottle to him
And it drank, in bottom, of my last swallow.
Then it strolled a cigarette and asked me a light.
And the night obtained the peace of death,
And its face lost all the expression
Known as: "If you will play the game, boy, you obtained to learn how to play it right."

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made.

"Each player knows that the secrecy with survival
Can what throw far, and can what keep.
Since one gaining of each hand and a loser of each hand,
And the best than you can hope for must die in your sleep."

And when it to speak finished,
It returned towards the window,
Crushed out of its cigarette and faded with to sleep far.
And some share in the darkness
The player, it broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace which I could keep.

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made."