Trouble Underground
About a month ago, Vertices reached 1000 followers. To celebrate, I promised a new song. Over the last few weeks, an idea has taken shape. First, I posted a rough-sketch demo-beat-thing. Then I posted a refined and structured instrumental. The next step was to write my verses. I’ve now done that so let me break it down for you.
The day I made the initial beat sketch, there was a story in the news in Toronto about a guy who was seen smoking crack on the TTC (the city’s public transit). It was the latest in long parade of news stories about chaos and mayhem in the city’s subway tunnels (hence, the “smoking crack” sample). All summer long, we’ve been hearing stories of random attacks, strange outbursts and a growing sense of dread. It has felt like a part of a larger narrative - that our world has been hurtling toward some sort of apocalypse or doomsday scenario. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s just the media doing its thing. Either way, the stories and the edginess they’ve created have provided fodder for me.
Over the last week/week-and-a-half, I’ve been musing on the idea of there being some sort of malevolent spirit trapped below the surface of my city - or any city for that matter. As my thoughts and meditations evolved, I tried to imagine myself as the personification of that spirit. Images and phrases appeared in my mind and I preserved them in a notebook. Then - yesterday - I created a quiet environment for myself and hammered the images and phrases into three verses. It took a while to figure out a flow. The first one I tried was too fast. The second was too slow. Then I locked in. Here’s what I came up with:
It’s probably because I’m motherless.
No lover’s kiss. There was no big bang
Thing-thang coupled with troubles up the ying-yang.
I sing slang. I’ll give you some feedback like Jimi James.
C.H.U.D. - I’m the blood that runs through the city’s veins.
It ain’t pretty or peachy. You can reach me via seance.
I don’t want your money. I only want chaos.
It may cost your life though. Wasted breath. Burning gasses.
I want to eat the rich. I take it out on the working classes.
The floods follow biblical rain.
Predictable trains and inexplicable pain.
It’s typical. Topical. Telling an absurd tale.
Swallowed by a sperm whale riding the third rail.
You feel faint. Turn pale. Outside your comfort zone.
Beat the devil down - below street-level undertones.
I hunt alone. Aerosol wind serves a purpose.
Arrows and squiggles send a signal to the surface.
You knew what it meant. I’m a dent in the world’s armor.
Bloody hands, scrubbed face. Sub bass. Pearl Harbor.
Sasquatch coming. Humming. It’ll make you sick.
More rocky layers than hockey players can shake a stick.
Phoenix to Reykjavik with my big troubles
And tribulations. Fibrillations. I dig tunnels
With shovels. Collided. I also provided pistols.
Leaving a mark with my initials and guided missiles.
TTC = that there’s crazy!
Back’s broken. Half-frozen. Shooting up and crack-smoking.
TTC = that there’s crazy!
I can’t lie, I’m (sample)
Solid muscle. Compounds and double polymer.
I never trust an astrologer. Fuck Russell Oliver.
Puzzled followers and dollars form a fellowship.
Struggling to acclimate. Activate the yellow strip.
Don’t come down here in the deep-shelf sediment.
The fringes and syringes. The problem’s self-evident.
I’m the impediment - standing right there, rocking.
Eyes gone dark. I’m the nightmare walking.
You seen it on the TV and your friends planted seeds.
Piranhas and manatees pledge revenge fantasies.
Spreading disease. Earth rot. I’m King Coal,
The signaler. My signature is earthquakes and sinkholes.
*
There you have it. I don’t get topical very often these days but here we are. Now I’ll spend the time it takes to rehearse until I’m ready and then I’ll record the thing. I should have the finished song for you by the end of the week.
Until then!