aaronwrixon.com

Subterranean homesick-er blues.

cookie-cutter houses lined up like tombstones
thousands of dead souls poured into brownstones
they keep calling me but i don’t have a telephone
feet up eat up gotta stay in the zone
i’m in the basement shooting up acetone
diggin through the garbage and chewing on soupbones
they’re outside with their polyphonic ringtones
uptight all right drowning in bad loans

get up go to work try to make headway
leave work come home try again another day
i’m on my knees wishing i knew how to pray
save face rat race watch the color bleed away
coffee can soldiers cooking up a survey
smiling at the ladies, showing off their tooth decay
no more black and white nothing left but dull grey
so long i’m gone what more can i say?

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This is a jazz-style “verse” I’ve taken to singing in front of “Hey Beautiful,” most notably on the live disc that’s finally going to see some kind of release this year.

why do you have to go?
we’re only just getting started
shouldn’t it matter i’m so
terribly broken-hearted?

doesn’t it even upset you
to see me crying like this?
go if you must, but don’t you forget to
leave me with one final lingering kiss…

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Not sure what to do with this one… I keep getting stuck right after the last line there. Somewhere in the mess that is my mind is a third verse. If I can come up with it, I’ll add it here.

you can look but you can’t touch
you can want her but not too much
she lives alone in a castle made of snow
where no-one dares to go
where love cannot grow

you can try but it’s no use
you can’t shake the shackles loose
she stands alone weighted down by chains of steel
unsure of what’s real
too far gone to feel

countless men before you they have tried to breach the gates
they have taken lives and sundered states
and countless men before you they have died for the cause
hearts ripped out by razor claws

late at night in the pale moonlight
with only the pain to remind you
you lie awake and with each breath you take
you wonder will love ever find you

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One from the vaults, inspired by a couple of photos — one where Jen and I look like, you guessed it, John and Yoko, and another we took flopped on a bed in the old place. Don’t worry. Clothes were on.

have you noticed it’s getting colder
the days are getting shorter
winter’s almost here
so cuddle up my dear
we’ve had our share of grief, babe
but now there’s just relief, babe
i’m so proud to say
this time i’m here to stay

nothing worth having don’t make you work to get it
nothing worth remembering will ever let you forget it

let’s bite our thumbs at the weather
why don’t we curl up together
we won’t make a fuss
a little snow won’t bother us
who knows where those clouds are headin’?
it’s a perfect night for a bed-in
we’ll put our PJs on
you be yoko, i’ll be john

nothing worth having don’t make you work to get it
nothing worth remembering will ever let you forget it
nothing’s gonna get us out of bed if we don’t let it

the forces of the world will try to split us from each other
but we will swear that we won’t let them pit us one against the other

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This one is a chunk of a bigger piece I started writing and then threw out. Funny, but too clever-clever by half.

i know the may-december thing
was cause for much concern
but i can’t help remembering
how hot december fires burned
was i an object of your lust?
a soon-to-be-discarded toy?
or did you need a man and not just
a borderline emotion’ly retarded boy?

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This song may still see the light of day. In its current state it’s a little Sam Roberts-y, which hasn’t really been my thing in the past.

But, as they say, stranger things have happened. Maybe when I make The Great Canadian Rock Record this’ll lead off side two.

Listen to you carrying on
Like you’re the only one who’s ever had good things go wrong
You gotta want it — you gotta want to change your life
As soon as you want it, everything starts to turn out right

Looking at you is bringing me down
Licking your wounds in the corner, wond’ring why you get kicked around
You gotta want it — you gotta want to change your life
As soon as you want it, everything starts to turn out right

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This morning I discovered the archives from the blog I wrote about five or six years ago. Pretty cool stuff.

and now i’m left with just this:
a photograph that doesn’t do you justice
and half a package of cigarettes that you forgot in my jacket pocket
the memory of your perfume
and the way that your smile lit up the whole room
the simple things are the ones that stay
long after you wish they’d wither and fade away

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In another life I was friends with Matthew Barber. Well, I’m sure he’d be kind enough to tell you we’re still friends now, but I feel we were once better friends, you dig? Anyway, I wrote this chorus after a conversation Matt and I had one night at the Casbah, about how — just like every other musician ever — he was starting to get pressure from his label about the supposed ‘quality’ of his songs.

Now that I think about it, this one could be as much for Matt Thompson as Matt Barber. Funny that. Come back, Matt Thompson. Planet Wrixon Mission Control misses you.

your songs are great, they’re really great,
but they just don’t make us tingle
the kids’ll download something else
if they don’t hear a single
go back and write a number
like the coca-cola jingle
and while you’re at it write another ten, my friend
while you’re at it write another ten

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Wrote this intro to “Hey Beautiful” about a day before I knew I’d be recording it at a gig.

Gotta get that gig online one of these days.

you know i’ve had a hard time of it
i can’t hide that i have been grieving
but though i’ve had a hard time of it
i see no reason for you to be leaving

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“If everyone’s a little queer, can’t she be a little straight?” — Rivers Cuomo

here, i brought some flowers
give them to your girlfriend
i know she likes carnations
tell her that you bought them

can i tell you a secret?
the flowers aren’t for her, no
they’re for the girl whose smile has sparked
an amorous inferno

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