From The Song from Venus, my unfinished science fiction musical with Daniel Handler. When people use "The Book of Love" as a wedding song I want to scream, "But I have a better one!" Now I decree that everyone can get married.
My tribute to the Cure. When Erik Davis wrote our first major album review in the Village Voice, he favorably contrasted us with "the inexplicable popularity of the Cure." I demur; "Boys Dont Cry" is the best song of the New Wave.
The Moog Satellite that sounds like a chorus of ringing telephones was sold to me by Mac McCaughan for $50. Then it broke beyond repair, but it was certainly worth it. And it's so pretty I still keep it in my living room.
I wrote this song, in less time than it takes to sing it, as a parody of Patsy Cline. But everyone seems to take it seriously. The previous, superior take was spoilt by a car-door slam outside just as the last chord hit.
This song didn't go on 69 Love Songs because it wasn't actually about romantic love. Now it sounds like a Germanic hymn to nature, as directed by Leni Riefenstahl.
I love the combination of maracas both real and fake. Guest singer Stuart Moxham, acerbic songwriter of the Young Marble Giants, turned out to be as sweet and gentle as a baby beaver.
This was to be the first hit for my heavy metal duo Hag, with my friend Beth Death, but now she's dead and both her name and the band's have been taken.
From the musical of the same name. Almost all the sounds you hear are vocal in origin, which reminds me strongly of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
Shirley Simms and I wrote this when I was fourteen and she was, I believe, twelve, after a viewing of Barbara Steele's horror classic "She Beast".
A paranoid fantasy. The arrangement consists of taking random chord tones in random octaves, and hocketing them between dozens of instruments. It took all day to make it sound that arbitrary.
I had never taken ecstasy at the time I arranged this, or I wouldn't have let the bass drum ever stop. I like that the singer, co-founding Magnetic Field Susan Anway, sounds rather like a nun.
Another song for The Song from Venus. The ostensibly jokey lyric for this song is so brutally true, I can barely listen to it now. "The poisoned fangs of time," indeed.
This was done for the audiobook of Neil Gaiman's novel Coraline, of which I later wrote a whole Off-Broadway musical. Another paranoid fantasy, here with a plastic flamingo. I used to have a plastic flamingo in my dorm room at NYU, betraying a nostalgia for suburbia I would never have admitted at the time.
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