The first time we flew it It was cheap and cramped
The vodka running out half-way across the Atlantic Even the steward screamed and joined in it
We didn’t think we were going to make it Now we’re stretched out in wide, furry seats Flicking through menus
A walk to the bar and there’s as much screw-top champagne as we can drink We’re so easy
Taking turns having our photos taken Sitting in front of smoked windows
Decanters of cheap whiskey in our hands Drive into Manhattan on a date with a starlet who’s just talent That’s what people pay the money to see
Who are we to argue?
Five hours now it’s been going on And still we’re watching all of it
Can you really believe all this? Can he really lie in bed at night and marvel at his own genius?
When do you lose the ability to step back And get a sense of your own ridiculousness? They’re only songs Midnight, and it’s all over
Now it can really make us laugh We’re standing on our heads drinking sours of Crystal Schnapps Now we’re unable to step back or step forward
Swallowing a swallow Tasting it again, it’s not so unpleasant
Perhaps it’s an acquired taste The first time, it makes you sick Then, bit by bit, it becomes delicious
Showbiz people Always there to be interested in what you say
We are artists; we are sensitive and important We nod our heads earnestly
Already half-way down the champagne On our way to leaving the place dry A $2,000 bar bill
Showbiz picks up the tab And we’re on our way laughing Laughing at what? Los Angeles, eight days in And our sense of irony’s running pretty thin
All the friends we’ve made piano interlude not transcribed this time, sorry…just improvise It’s 2 am, it’s closing time at the Dresden
Marty and Layton play one last sleepy “Strangers in the Night”
And the last of the martinis dribble down our chins
We’re sitting, chasing the conservation around the table
Jesus, how long have I been in this state?
The limousine’s still waiting outside
Anything you want to do?
Anywhere you want to go?
We’re on our way to the airport and a plane to Vegas So many nights lying in bed shaking Dreaming of pushing my daughter around the supermarket The joy of seeing all those colors and shapes reflect in her wide eyes My head leaning on the window And we’re driving through the empty L.A. streets And everything seems silent and beautiful
A guy’s face hits the floor Police revolvers glistening in the streetlight Onto Melrose and lurching through a sea of Halloween transvestites The flight’s cancelled, but it doesn’t matter We turn this corner to a way that takes us wherever Up to Sunset We creep up the drive to the Shattuck The suite Belushi died in
Or the one Morrison hung out the window Oh, I’ll go for Jim’s I would fancy a hotel window-hanging, myself, tonight, man
Straight over to the mini-bar Open the champagne — one sip and it’s left to wake up to
Anyone hungry? A team of uniformed waiters lay out an elaborate table for all us to ignore Oh, the irony
How we’re used to living Back in London on a cold Friday night Do you want another drink?
Well, I could try Perhaps we could make it to the Atlantic 600 yards, twenty minutes later We’re pushing through the waiting crowd, all fish eyes
An exclusive door policy
Exclusively for arseholes And tonight? Well, a nod of our heads, and we’re inside Falling down the red, velvety stairs Limbs flaying, hands searching for something to steady Pick ourselves up, nothing broken Just aches in the morning
No one seems to notice I find a table, champagne arrives
I’ve been so drunk, I sit and look at you We try and talk for the first time in a long time
Drunken confession You shiver, it made you feel sick We use the rent money to pay the bill Bumping shoulders, we stumble out into Soho Slipping over the sleeping bags Shouting for taxis
“I’d rather keep changing and lose a lot of people along the way. If that’s the price, I’ll pay it. I don’t give a shit if my audience is a hundred or a hundred million. It doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m convinced that what sells and what I do are two completely different things. If they meet, it’s coincidence.”— Neil Young, 1975
“The _____, and_____ in particular, bought into their own myth. That translated into this aggressive selling of music that was not aggressive at all, but quite anodyne and compliant. That arrogance and sense of entitlement is all too common now. The music world is drowning in acts whose ambition and ego far outstrip their talent and ideas. Acts who believe their own hype and are shameless in celebrating their mediocrity. Take your pick.”—
“So, I always imagined that if I were attacked by a dog, once it had clamped down on my arm, I would grab its jaw on both sides and try to pry it open, taking advantage of the loss of leverage. I’ve been attacked by birds but not dogs.”—Alan Sparhawk, on the song ‘Witches’ (from Low’s 2011 release, ‘C’mon’)
“I enjoy trying to figure out a way to deal with machines— they become like little buddies or something. It’s almost the same way you might develop a relationship with a dog— maybe that’s weird to say— but there becomes an understanding you reach after a while.”—Noah Lennox (Panda Bear)