The life and times of Isaac Dust
In this episode of the Head The Gong Podcast, I ponder what it means to keep the creative fires burning throughout different stages of life, maybe even right up to the end. Or maybe not. Henry Miller chimes in from his death bed, and Jeff Mangum tells us about a sad little man who wrote atonal rock operas that no one understood.
Related media:
– Henry Miller, “Alive to the end”:
– Cover of “April 8th”:
– Neutral Milk Hotel album art:
I was surprised to learn recently that Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel released a box set that includes a bunch of previously unreleased tunes (I don’t get out much). I’ve heard my share of bootlegs over the years, but some of the stuff that’s surfaced on YouTube recently is new to me, including studio versions of Oh Sister and Little Birds, as well as a blistering tune called Home. I’m determined to learn all three of these songs, but I can’t figure out the second line of Home (and no one has yet posted the lyrics online, that I can find). “Tender tidings” doesn’t seem correct, but I just can’t parse it out. If anyone clearly understands what Mangum says here, let me know, and I’ll buy you copy of the boxed set. I’m kidding of course. You think I’d drop like, a hundred bucks or whatever the hell it is, on you?!?! Come on now. I can’t afford it myself, and besides, I don’t even have a turn-table. But damn, the thing looks pretty cool and I do want it! Anyway, here are the lyrics to Home, as far as I can tell:
Home – where you can hold your hands together all you please
Won’t erase the tender tidings you endured
You’re just another family member on their knees
Just a social work statistic out the door
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
Where they are tonight well you will never know
But I swear that I will find them now
More – it’s more than just a simple question of decay
More than all those fists than beat into your door
It’s more than all the shrinks that told you you’re okay
It’s more than anything that I have waited for
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
And if they even can remember I don’t know
But I swear that they’ll remember now
Home – it’s just another word you’ll always push away
Just a memory you wear outside your clothes
And it will burn down into cinders and some day
They will burrow down to their parental holes
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
And if they’ve ever paid a price well I don’t know
But I swear that they will pay one now