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May 25, 2008
This little rocker seems to be about a problematic person in Matt’s life, as he begins addressing her/him: “If there’s a nowhere, you wanna go there / If there’s no one, you wanna know them.” Seems to be someone that blabs a lot about not much in particular — “your lips are moving but you can’t speak” — although the person’s lines are apparently rehearsed and calculated. A very vague explanation of Matt’s invented word comes at the chorus — “You’re an ordinaire in modern times / You can’t hide it away.” Perhaps more of a hint than an explanation, but I think the sarcastic jabs at being “modern” and having a “rehearsed” personality might imply that “ordinaire” was Matt’s word for the pretentious, before calling them “hipsters” became in vogue. Or, alternately, and perhaps more obviously, just anyone that’s a bland, ordinary person. “An ordinaire in modern times” — perhaps Matt’s saying he/she’s outdated? “Wake up late, try to get with the times” fits in with that interpretation, as well.
Musically, this song definitely has a kick to it, but I actually think it’s perhaps the one song on Gizmodgery that could have really benefited from some real instruments. The sounds Matt gets here are fantastic (that solo!), but it never really connected with me on the recording. Yet when I saw it live at the Exit/In on September 10th, 2005 (the final Self show to date, if not ever), it blew me away. Granted, the band really tore into it (Chris James, eyes closed and on his knees and murdering the keyboard, is an image that sticks with me), but it was a triumphant high that I don’t think Matt nailed quite as well in the studio (though again, very serviceable rendition). Either way, that “you can’t hide it away!” rockout is always a fantastic payoff.
MP3 (Live @ Exit/In 9/10/05, courtesy of Self-Centered)
Filed by the Socialite at May 25th, 2008 under Gizmodgery
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May 24, 2008
“Brooklyn” was a song that had surfaced in the early aughts in rather shoddy quality, causing several years of requests for a cleaner copy from Matt. And of course, when the Porno Mint & Grime b-side collection from the 2001-2005 era was finally released, Matt was sure to include it, being the nice guy that he is.
It’s a very solid tune, forged on the foundation of some thickly distorted guitars and fuzzed out bass, with a willowy guitarline echoing in the upper-register above it all. And while the pretty trudge provides a serviceable backing track, I think the real appeal comes in Matt’s vocal. The chorus sounds funny when read on paper — “I’m taking to train to Brooklyn, to learn how to rhyme / I’ll change my name to MC Something when I learn how to rhyme” — but sounds surprisingly hopeful and important in the context of the rising, optimistic musical climax. The theme of fate and one’s place in existence (is Matt’s destiny really in Brooklyn? can he become a future rap star?) is eeked out in more literal terms on the verses, including the brilliant pre-chorus: “If I sit any longer, I’m gonna choke and / If you sent any money, I’d still broke and / You can wait forever for this shit to fly / We’re losing our minds, well, it’s finally time.” Sounds like another song about Matt being bored with Tennessee and wanting to chase his dream more actively in La La Land — except unlike a similar reference in “Meg Ryan,” here Matt keeps the lyric broad enough to serve as an anthem for anyone that wants to get out of their seat and start kicking some ass. This is a song that screams “Let’s go!” — even if the destination is something as crazy and irrational as finding a rap career in Brooklyn as a white, 5′8″ Tennessean.
There’s also a sense of hopelessness about the song though, as if Matt’s back is against the wall and this is his only way out: “Wake up / Your life’s run amok / No soul left to ante up / We’re going broke, there’s only this alternative” (the alternative being Brooklyn, as the chorus momentarily reveals). The bridge also interestingly repeats the words, “You know I can’t afford to hate you pretty baby, now” — seems like money was really on Mahaffey’s mind at the time, as well as fate. The two are often related, after all.
[P.S. To be fair, I made a rough conjecture about Mahaffey’s height…my apologies if I shortchanged the man!]
Filed by the Socialite at May 24th, 2008 under Porno Mint & Grime
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May 22, 2008
Funny fact about this one, which just dawned on me: as it appears on not only Breakfast With Girls, but also both Spongebath Records samplers (Soaking in the Center of the Universe volumes 1 and 2), “It All Comes Out in the Wash” is the single most released Self song in existence. If anyone knows of a song that can match its ubiquity, let me know, but I can’t think of any other single Self recording that has been issued on an official disc three times.
That said, it’s a bit of an odd choice — I was never quite sure why this was the lead-off track of both Spongebath samplers, since it’s far from being BWG’s best offering, or even its most commercially viable. And as it is more appropriately sequenced in the track eleven slot of BWG, it’s never struck me as much of an opener. Perhaps the “Wash”/Soaking connection is the joke, though that seems like a pretty unprofessional way to make such an important decision. Hm.
But enough about the samplers! Girls is an album founded on eclecticism, of mixing disparate thoughts and styles into one big beautiful (and surprisingly cohesive) mess — and “Wash” is one of the best examples of that. It begins with a stab of feedback, a sample of the black blues bard Chester Burnett’s 1951 single “Moanin’ At Midnight,” the heaviest, grungiest guitars on a Self album since Subliminal Plastic Motives, some truly epic horns, and bizarre Mahaffey studio sounds that elude description. The resulting cacophony works surprisingly well, though it did take me some time to warm to (like the entire album — which now stands in contention for being my favorite album ever).
Matt seems to have his mind on mortality here, as the chorus sings, “All I want from life is a car that I can drive / Home from work, late at night, from my 9 to 5 / And if I don’t survive, I guess all I want from life / Is to know that I tried before I died.” He also takes a couple shots at the media (television and magazines in particular), but my favorite couplet here is the only one that seems to acknowledge a significant other: “Now it’s in the way that you shake your head at me / Now it’s in the way that you make your bed for me.” The reference to a “miracle man” reminds me of the following year’s “Miracleworker,” though this may be entirely coincidental.
All in all, a good, solid song, but several leagues below BWG’s very best tracks (which I look very much forward to discussing). I have to say that in my opinion, the definitive version is the cover the mighty mighty Fluid Ounces performed (with Mahaffey himself on drums and backups) at Nashville’s Exit/In in August 2005, to benefit Mike Mahaffey’s family after his untimely passing. Something about Seth Timbs’ voice and lovely piano hands just seems to sit better with the track for me…But that’s just my take. Since I couldn’t find it anywhere else on the Internet I went the extra mile and uploaded it myself — download it and let me know what you think.
MP3 (as performed by Fluid Ounces feat. Matt Mahaffey, 8/19/05 @ Exit/In)
Filed by the Socialite at May 22nd, 2008 under Compilations, Breakfast With Girls
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May 21, 2008
A product of 1995, Subliminal Plastic Motives is very clearly influenced by the popscape of the time: grunge abounds, albeit starting to mutate into a more accessible, poppy sound (not to say Pearl Jam wasn’t radio-friendly, but there’s a long way between them and, say, New Radicals). And there are few cuts on the record that are more indicative of the times than “Mother Nature’s Fault,” right from the very first guitar riff. It’s probably one of my least favorites on the record, but it’s noteworthy for a few reasons — perhaps primarily being that it’s a rather funny insight into “that time of month” for women; or, from the perspective of Matt the loving boyfriend, when all hell breaks loose. He makes no bones about the matter, evoking the apocalypse, Satan and monsters, including the rather nice (if melodramatic) imagery of the line, “She turned from an ocean to an ogre and selected me” — presumably to eat.
He keeps a sense of humor about it, though, best displayed in the nearly brilliant (and very self-reflexive) couplet, “She said she hated my lyrics, so I lied and said I threw ‘em out / The only one who knows this is me, but now the record’s out.” He’s also a pretty understanding in the chorus, as he sings, “I don’t care at all / Assuming that it’s mother nature’s fault” — he’s not blaming her, after all.
Filed by the Socialite at May 21st, 2008 under Subliminal Plastic Motives
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May 19, 2008
Okay, I’ll admit it — I started this entry way too late today and purposely chose the shortest song in the Self canon, for brevity’s sake. Hope I make it before midnight!
Ahem. This 49-second ditty came as a disappointing but nigh inevitable end to what was both a great and an exasperating time to be a Self fan: the days when the release of Ornament & Crime still seemed possible. It was 2004, and Matt, to keep the Self fanbase at bay, decided to resolve continued delays of the album (Dreamworks’ doing — the album had been long finished) by posting a new b-side on the site every week until the record finally saw release. As it turned out, Matt submitted several dozen finished tracks to his A&R people at the label over the past few years, and only really further worked on the ones that got a positive response (hence, O&C’s unprecedented radio accessibility). Matt has a history of being generous — by this point, four MP3 collections of Self outtakes had already been made available for free — and quickly used his considerable pile of castoffs to good use, more or less as a means to keep the fans returning to the site until a tangible release date had been set.
The news never came. What was meant to be a stalling method for only a few weeks (at a rate of one song per week) found the passing months peeling into passing seasons, and the fans, getting increasingly nervous about the fate of the album, could at least celebrate the impressive deluge of new (and surprisingly fantastic) B-list material. Finally, Matt had to announce that there were no b-sides left to post, and that the album seemed to be postponed indefinitely — and he delivered the sad announcement in the form of “No B-Sides.”
For what must have been a royally annoying experience, Matt sure forces a good smile here. He probably considers it a non-song, as when the outtakes from O&C were later collected and released in a new sequence as Porno, Mint & Grime, this track would be left out — but it’s a pretty fun little jaunt for what it is. The comical little piano riff and Matt’s old-timey accent (you can really just picture him wearing a monocle here) bring the laughs, as do lyrics which hilariously threaten to assault the nads of anyone who dares trade MP3s of the unreleased record. On a more serious tip, Matt promises “to blow your mind,” and ends the song on an optimistic note, reassuring the eventual release of Ornament & Crime. The dream sadly went unfulfilled, but for what it’s worth, his stance on the private trading of the album files has since loosened to a more laissez-faire mentality — he even occasionally rotates tracks for streaming on his Myspace.
Turns out I’m completely unable to write about a Self song and keep it brief. Good lord!
MP3 (Courtesy of Self-Centered)
Filed by the Socialite at May 19th, 2008 under B-sides
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May 18, 2008
Although we do know that this is a track from the Subliminal Plastic Motives era, as two surfaced bootlegs of it exist dated 1996, the exact provenance of “Permagrin” is unknown to this writer. After all, the studio version we have is one of the few Self outtakes that one could comfortably call a “demo,” if only for the somewhat grainy quality of the recording (it’s very decent-sounding, really, but Self fans are rather spoiled in terms of fidelity).
This song, like our last entry, is all over the map in as far as what is discussed in the span of its pop-perfect three minutes, but is far more focused in each of its distinct arcs. After a brief introduction composed of what sounds to be a child toy’s fanfare (foreshadowing Gizmodgery by at least four years), the beginning verse offers a definition of a “permagrin,” which is evidently that divine quality that exists within anyone capable of expressing his or herself through song, occasionally coming to the surface in the form of a composition that can reflect “something special” to the listener, as though “on the outside looking back in.” As Matt sings eagerly about setting up his recording equipment — “reel-to-reels and eight tracks” at the time, it seems — we can be pretty certain that this is a song about the joys of making music.
He shifts gears in the chorus, however, which takes a trip down childhood memory lane — alternately referencing Barry Manilow, and, inadvertently, Star Wars. The second verse even further expands the scope of the song to a discussion about life, the world, and God, if only very superficially (Matt is “so self-assured” about his opinions on all three, but doesn’t care to explain how). Musically, the song feels bright and optimistic, a positive march toward the future with great flourishes of six-stringed joy propelling us ever forward. Background vocals remind the listener that “you’re not that bad off,” and not to be so “sad” or “hateful” — though these words are sung against the lead vocal, which simply repeats, “Down.” Make of that what you will, but I think it gives the song a bit of a cynical undercurrent beneath all the confidence.
All in all, it’s a pretty modest, straightforward song — understandable why it never made it to an album, although I do think it bests a few of the lesser tracks on 1997’s Feels Like Breakin’ Shit b-side compilation. The song has considerably greater effect in its live form, as the guitars and synths come alive with a huge sound that feels a bit too flat and reined in on the studio demo — even Matt lets loose on his vocal, providing the larynx-scathing screams that are something of a rarity in the Self canon. Also worth noting is that the demo’s instrumental bridge is graced with a lyric onstage, which is not in Self-Centered’s song entry, but to my best hearing goes something like:
And the vocals are sugary sweet
And the beat is ever so tasty
I’ve been waiting for weeks on end
For something new to prove
I’ve been losing my mind, and I’m taking yours too
And this time I’m gonna practice what I preach
So, more about music, and an explanation of the song’s optimistic tone: Matt had every reason to believe the music world would be his oyster in those days, when Billboard Magazine was giving him the cover and “Cannon” was doing damage on national rock radio. There’s also an additional verse in the live version, which I believe goes something like:
Busy learning the math
Busy hanging up the macrame in the bath
With nothing on!
What that has to do with anything, I won’t pretend to know. Makes me wonder, though, which came first — did Mahaffey decide to keep it simpler when he recorded the demo, or did he demo it first then continue adding parts by the time of the 1996 bootlegs?
MP3 (Demo Version) [Courtesy of Self-Centered]
MP3 (Live @ The Troubadour, 1996) [Courtesy of Self-Centered]
Filed by the Socialite at May 18th, 2008 under Unreleased, Demos
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May 17, 2008
This little rocker was released via the first free Internet Self compilation posted on the Spongebath Records website, 1997’s Feels Like Breakin’ Shit, after Self’s first two official albums, Subliminal Plastic Motives and the Half-Baked Serenade. And perhaps not coincidentally, as FLBS was a compilation of various outtakes recorded throughout the early Self era, “Wide Awake at 7″ sounds like the midpoint between the former’s big studio alt-rock and the latter’s funkier, poppier sensibilities. The intro guitars hit with a fierce bite, and soon settle into an efficient, neatly controlled start-stop rhythm; yet the song also features some pretty strangely flavored key flourishes throughout, more nuanced than simply sweet, in a vinegary sort of way. Unlike our last entry, “Wide Awake” lyrically runs on the esoteric side of the fence, as Matt spends the opening lines pondering about being mummified, petrified, magnificently rich, and afraid to walk home. Some have argued that the references to “windowpanes,” “sunshine,” and even being wide awake at such an early hour, all are meant to imply an LSD trip, which is not entirely out of the question, as an official Self press release would later exhort listeners to drop acid while listening to Breakfast With Girls…and as the song seems to have little else in the way of any cohesive theme, it’s as tenable a theory as any other. (But do keep in mind that Matt went on record in 2000 to say that he’s only dropped acid a few times in his life)
That said, curious lyrics abound here. A reference to the rapper Rakim is also made, rather out of left field, and the bridge curiously intones, “You come around, you crazy intellectual, you do / Make a sound, I’ll take 9 steps to you.” Wha? Perhaps the references to some kind of feminine figure — “she’s from heaven,” and “if I were popular, I’d only talk to her” — make this some kind of ADD love song, but the “she” could just as easily be a personification for something else. Any insights, folks?
As far as an appraisal goes, this one was an early favorite of mine (I believe FLBS was the first full Self “album” I ever heard), but over the years it’s lost some of its luster in my eyes. Decently cool riff, serviceable melodies, and of course, interesting lyrics, but in Mahaffey’s vast collection of brilliant tunes, this one stacks up as merely mediocre —though right after the last screams of “Having Dinner With The Funk” have died to a whimper, that first guitar chord hits with a mighty fine impact.
MP3 (Courtesy of Self-Centered)
Filed by the Socialite at May 17th, 2008 under B-sides, Feels Like Breakin' Shit
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May 16, 2008
An underrated cut from a largely underrated album: the unreleased summer pop opus that is Self’s last studio album, Ornament & Crime.
In essence, it’s a breakup song, and while not the best (that would be “What Are You Thinking?”), it’s one of the most deceptively complex and effective good-byes that Matt has in his repertoire. Lyrically, it’s a masterstroke: the direct and unadorned chorus is favorably unpretentious (”Damn you for loving me / I can’t go on now, knowing you exist” — “loving me” changing to “leaving me” on the repetition), with a heavy onslaught of menacing grunge guitars (the guitar is notably different between the final O&C leak and the unfinished “demo” version that surfaced months earlier; the demo has a somewhat annoying, continuous line that sounds as though lifted from “Cannon,” whereas the final version finds Matt getting it right with a more dramatic riff, broken up and stumbling as though hardly able to keep itself together. The final version also has a real solo, which not only extends the song’s runtime by 14 seconds, but sounds rather pretty). He hates the girl now, feeling paralyzed in the wake of their sudden separation, and even though the chorus is surely an indictment — here Matt is the wronged, not the wrongdoer — the noisy guitars and tumbling drums give an air of uncertainty, as if the dazed Matt is almost willing to let her back into his life. He can’t go on without her, after all — what choice does he have?
And so, the real beauty comes in the flowing verses, where Matt is just as clearly wounded, but making a conscious effort to stand firm, to be unwavering. Amidst a gorgeous wall of sound composed of lithe bass licks, otherworldly acoustic guitars, and a synth-string symphony, Matt lists off the things he could do to change for this troublesome girl: he admits that he could cut his hair, change his name, open his heart, perhaps. And yet one by one, every chance for recourse is systematically denied, with a defiant refusal appended each time: “But I won’t / No, I won’t.” But while the chorus makes no bones about its emotional ambivalence, alternately damning the girl and professing to a meaningless life without her, it is on the cocksure verses that Matt sounds most confused, a hint of hesitation and regret lining his every word.
The yearning solo makes a reach for the moon that Matt contemplated taking a shot at a minute earlier, falls short, and in its resignation gives way to that final verse, the sad resolution to it all. The wall of sound disappears, stripping Matt of his defenses, right down to a lonely acoustic that accompanies our brokenhearted protagonist as he sings:
“I could tear out my eyes and never see no one, ever again
But I won’t…No, I won’t
We could pass on the street and try to act surprised, and half alive
But we won’t…No, we won’t.”
And with that last line, the only acknowledgment of a “we” in the entire song, Matt finally sounds sure.
Filed by the Socialite at May 16th, 2008 under Ornament & Crime
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April 4, 2008
Speaking of Gizmodgery rock, this one just about takes the cake for the record, and perhaps the discography as a whole. “5 Alive” comes screaming out of the gates with an assault of jagged, arryhtmic stabs of beautifully horrible feedback and noise — no doubt, Mahaffey was showing off when he sequenced this song second in the tracklist, as if to silence any skeptics with the ridiculously huge and complexly textured sounds he could wrangle from such elementary hunks of plastic. On the verse, the noise is reappropriated as a small rhythmic flourish to make sinister an otherwise spare and harmless beat. Mahaffey’s unnerved, almost psychotic vocal enters to add another dimension to the creepy milieu, and it’s just about one of the most simply effective designs Self has on record. On the chorus, Mahaffey manages to produce even more delightfully strange, schizophrenic sounds from his Mattel Star Guitar, and the post-chorus rockout provides a cathartic return to the unbridled mayhem of the song’s intro. It has to be one of the most impressive productions in the entire canon.
Much has been made about this song being written in honor of Spongebath label head Rick Williams, and while I don’t believe I have yet to hear Mahaffey confirm the inspiration like he has for “Cannon” (has he?), it seems to make sense, particularly in the last verse: “Flashing cash flow at every show” is pretty self-explanatory, and the “got blow in his nose” line seems too coincidental with the rumors then circulating about Williams’ money mismanagement and cocaine addiction. “Forgotten friends who died for your sins” could refer to any number of the other bands on the roster who would all play second fiddle to Self by no fault of Mahaffey’s, almost all of whom would eventually pen their own kiss-off to the labelhead impresario (The Katies’ “Barbizon Badboys,” the Roaries’ “Pro,” the Features’ “Captain Williams” — any others?). An exasperated reference to the “same old scene” obviously alludes to Middle Tennessee and the Spongebath circuit, and like the previously discussed “Miracleworker,” seems only to further evidence the inevitability of his move to LA. The chorus is certainly a harsh indictment of this coke-addled adversary, but the rest of the lyric sheet remains a mystery. “Freaks bee-bop-a-loo-la yet he’s born to be wild”? Beats me. Perhaps Williams enjoyed the 5 Alive soft drink and really did meet Big Daddy Kane on a train once.
Filed by the Socialite at April 4th, 2008 under Gizmodgery
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This little two-minute rocker was one of my early favorites off of Gizmodgery, rocking with an energy and tension probably not felt on a Self record since “Kill the Barflies,” or perhaps some of Subliminal Plastic Motives‘ harder tracks. The guitars rip, the drums pummel (those muted cymbal crashes hit like a series of quick jabs), and the whole track bounces with a danceability that belies the song’s barreling groove. The toy phone ringtones cut in and out of the mix menacingly, heightening the song’s violent tension and providing valuable evidence that Gizmodgery’s toy instrument construct is no gimmick.
Although it’s a fantastic rocker, I think this song is most compelling lyrically. Mahaffey namechecks LA in the first line, foretelling his fast-approaching exodus to the west coast (by the time Giz was released, had Self already left?), and the imagery of being “high above the ocean when you surface for breath” is both strangely vivid and intriguing — perhaps this is the same “she” who flies so high in “Suzy Q Sailaway.” Or perhaps this is the same girl that Mahaffey threatens in “See If You Swim,” after he’s thrown her in to find out (she can’t, by the way). Is “fuck[ing] with nature” a connection to “Mother Nature’s Fault”?
Elsewhere, the song only raises more questions. What is the “secret handshake”? What “decoding” is this girl doing? What is a “dearly departed miracleworker?” The narrative seems to make it clear that this cataclysmic lass beat her boyfriend to death for bragging about his conquest of her to his friends, and now he will forever haunt her from the spirit world — but even that is slightly speculative. Unfortunately, I have none of the answers to these questions, or to how this song came to be.
Filed by the Socialite at April 4th, 2008 under Gizmodgery
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