Press play on “Preso Voy” off The Beets release Let the Poison Out and you will be assaulted by a cacophony of angular guitar riffs, floppy drums and a yearning vocal that are firmly footed in the foundations of American rock and roll and the dirty underborough of Queens, New York.
I have no clue what language is being sung (well… it’s probably Español because the singer is originally from Uruguay) and therefore I have no insight into what this song is possibly about… but the recording strikes that dissonant chord that destroys the cobwebs trapping your brain in conformity by igniting your synapsis with trashy and untrained rhythm and blues.
Listen at high volumes near your parents on a playlist with The Troggs and Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs.
Where asphalt and cement meet in a step
Legs out of short shorts leapt
Into knees and a chin strapped with locks of blonde.
Thumbs fly across a glass pond.
First world problems to fret
Taking parents to task for friends unmet
Written record of secret stories
Texting unfiltered thoughts and worries.
EDM* whispers through blaring earbuds.
Brain filled with sonic floods.
Glow-sticks and glitter remembered.
As her head tilts absentmindedly skyward.
It’s time to share a recording I’ve been working on with my buddy Paul…. it’s called “It’s Not Love” Press PLAY… then follow along with the lyrics. Let me know what you think of it.
-Bryan
“It’s Not Love” – The Stone Bishop
(B. Stone)
I take a line from a movie
Use a quote from a book
Steal a line from a conversation
Where I mistook you for loving me
I’m a man on a mission
I’m a fire you must stoke
Need to find myself a woman
That gets all my jokes
And prayers from the pew
It doesn’t show but
I’ll do whatever it takes to
Make you want to kiss me to
Ensure that you’ll miss me
Though it’s not love
I walk myself into a room
A target crosses my eye
Within three seconds I will reply but
I can only stay awhile
Did you see that fight outside
Do you know you twitch your eye
Can’t you tell that I’m just not your type but
I’ll take you home
It doesn’t show but
I’ll do whatever it takes to
make you want to kiss me to
ensure that you’ll miss me
though it’s not love
la la da da
It doesn’t show but
I’ll do whatever it takes to
make you want to kiss me to
ensure that you’ll miss me
though it’s not love
I may be the one you’re looking for
but you’ll never find me
In my soul there’s a lump of coal burning bright
through the night
I’ll never shine with a faceted light
Curled in a ball, head on the floor
I never thought I could be wrong once more
hide my face from the sight I can’t look you in the eyes
I don’t know if it’s true
but I saw you mamma yesterday
she said your name’s in the news
but I don’t know what the headlines say
I’ll look up your name on microfilm
Read the abstract of your last will
Told your sister I saw you the other day
But nothing stood above the fray of normalcy
Don’t look me in the eye
Toes pointed to the sky
Lovers come to say good by
Tears shed bedside
Don’t look me in the eyes
Avert them to the side
Can’t live with your lies
Forgive you with a sigh
Filmed by my youngest… staring my oldest… soundtrack and drawings by yours truly 🙂
Solution
B.Stone
If you think it’s time to say goodbye
You might me right
If a shadow of a doubt has crossed your mind
It may be better to leave me behind
I’m a problem that you can not solve
a solution in which I won’t dissolve
If you can’t stand my presence
Makes no sense to stay in the present situation
that’s my stance
I’m a problem that you can not solve
A solution in which I won’t dissolve
I’m a mad man sitting on a park bench
I’m a sad man looking over the fence
Seeing myself entrenched
In a hole that I’ve dug on my own
You can be who you wanted to be
Gonna have to be without me
You can do what you wanted to do
I won’t be there to stop you
I’m a problem that you can not solve
A solution, a note I won’t resolve
My 5 year old son filmed this with my point and click… I think I might have a director on my hands 🙂
White Collar Worker
B.Stone
I’m a white collar worker in a white collar family
I work on the 9th floor of a tower
Protective glaze over my waterless gaze
It looks like I’m in a heap of trouble
I’m not in a union. I’m on salary
I work at least 50 hours a week
No bonus structure, no equity
I don’t punch a clock but I get no overtime
And then I remember I’ve got my first born
Prime America, squeeze for all its worth
It takes time to live out that dream
A house, two cars and two point five kids
That you’ll only see on the weekends
Then I remember Ive got my firstborn
As he puts his tiny hand in mine and he looks me in the eyes
And he says “daddy I love you”
They used to call me the Grass Hog
But now they call me a loser.
The line went from short to long.
I don’t think that I can go on
Without the charge of a battery rammed through my head.
I put my finger on the hairline trigger
Making small which was once much bigger
Staring at my high school picture
Remember, memory go away
I lost all my power to keep you near.
I’m all out of gun powder to install fear
Your burned face, back of my mind, I can not clear
They used to call me the Grass Hog
But now they just call me old
My attitude went from bold to cold
I don’t seem to fit the mold
But I can get the thought of you out of my bed
I put my finger on the hairline trigger.
Did I ever tell you, you look like my sister?
I never thought I would ever miss her
Remember, memory go away
They used to call me the grass hog
They used to call me, they used to call
But now they don’t call at all
Grass Hog, Grass Hog
I’ve a Panavision smile exploding into Technicolor
Adverts become themselves when there is nothing left to sell
Encyclopedia of cinematic gestures
That fake meaningful look, that tearjerk hook
We’ve all been to New York City and seen the stars on Hollywood Boulevard
We’ve all paid our $11.50 to get there virtually on the silver screen
They say who needs women; just take a look at the television
Channel 4, flip to 2, switch to 9
For your eyes the man earns a dime
Phone plan, blue pills, fast cars, precision time
Symbolic sexual vortex, tele-visual sheen… she’s the power of 17
The end credits roll by.
I’ll see you later, ‘round like an alligator, take yourself with ya
