So we had a long weekend at school—four whole days off. Most of which I spent sleeping, the rest of which I spent in a half-asleep haze. At one point, I punched a philosophy major. And then, to prove my philosophical superiority, I wrote the first 15 pages of a novel. It’s a pretty abstract story: God is the narrator. Anyway, my brain’s been off in this nothing-makes-sense-because-everything-makes-sense kick, and I found a song that fits the whole thing perfectly.
Father John Misty is the moniker of Joshua Tillman, former drummer for Fleet Foxes. Anyway, earlier this year, Tillman released an album called Fear Fun under the name Father John Misty. It’s a pretty sweet name, if you ask me. A pretty sweet name indeed…
Anyway, the song is called “I’m Writing a Novel,” and it’s fun as hell. The song is catchy, upbeat, and grooving. The instrumentation is simple: vocals, a couple guitars, some percussion, and a honky-tonk piano. And on top of everything else, you only have to listen to the first 21 seconds to know that the lyrics are hilarious:
I ran down the road, pants down to my knees
Screaming, “please come help me
That Canadian shaman gave a little to much to me.”
And I’m writing a novel, because it’s never been done before.
The song gives you a solid dose of abstract/trippy one-liners:
“And [I] told the people who lived there they had to get out cause my reality is realer than yours.”
“Heidegger and Sartre, drinking poppy tea. I could’ve sworn last night I passed out in my van, and now these guys are pouring one for me.”
“I’ll never leave the canyon cause I’m surrounded on all sides by people writing novels and living on amusement rides.”
Well, I certainly enjoyed the song. My favorite part is the air of silly fun that the song takes. Without that folky twang, this song would be the philosophy majors’ anthem. They’d sit around listening with their black coffee, and they’d say stuff like, “you just don’t get it, do you?” And then I’d be all like, “there’s nothing to get, homeboy” and punch him in the nose.
I’m sorry for hitting you, Gilbert.
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