A full day of music work today. Recorded the vocals for Out Of Date which were great fun. As a song it's an epic ballad in the style of Perfect Day by Lou Reed, or Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf, a full fireworks orchestral piece which grows. I love these sorts of songs, full or drama and a sheer joy to sing because the emotion is so easily conveyed.
That wonderful song was easy, but for most of the day, as with many weeks, I've been wrestling with the much more mediocre song Ticka-Oh Ticka-Eh, a light and fun song inspired by ObLaDi ObLaDa, but it just sounds weak, false, somehow silly and light. Not only the weakest song on the album from a mood perspective but also from a production perspective, and it doesn't really fit the general mood or feeling of the rest of the album, which is high-romance, longing, and other things.
So, I've decided to file Ticka-Oh Ticka-Eh for possible future use - perhaps with the old Style Guru Song, or something very different. Both of those are rather pop-like, rather electric-like and not really like the sort of music I'm moving towards or interested in. I could, at the very least, put these on YouTube or something like that.
So, to fill the gap I've resurrected a song that I'd started for this album but abandoned due to lack of room; this is called Back When It All Began, a strangely sad and dark trawl through an urban landscape.
Here are the full lyrics to Out Of Date:
Out Of Date
Strange
How things change
For me it's still the past
Still the old days - remember those?
Strange
How those days feel right
Nobody knows now, do they?
These young people with their young clothes.
Out of date
We're out of date - did you know that?
You and I
are out of date.
Strange
How right and wrong change - don't you think?
Remember when dark was light?
Remember when good was bad?
How today feels so sad.
Out of date
We're out of date - did you know that?
You and I
are out of date.
But we still have each other
and as we change
we will caress the past together
and our grave will trap the zeitgeist,
be eternal, like Mary Shelley's,
and we will last
forever.
The Mary Shelley reference recalls a memory that she, apparently, made love on her mother's grave.
