Folly has grabbed the six-string again and is noodling out another delicate arpeggiated line. She grins and starts mid-song,
"It's nice to be unknown by the known --
Slip into character...."
[ "Incognito," by the Judybats]
She trails off, looking thoughtful. "Y'know, it never really occurred to me 'til just now the bizarre little ripples I'd leave behind by showing up here. Like, f'rinstance, all this mysterious tape" -- she gestures vaguely toward the control room with her strumming hand -- "with missing-presumed-dead me on it that someone's bound to find if you disappear." She looks at Soren and grins, suddenly, with manic glee. "So I s'pose we should make it good, eh?"
"We don't use tape anymore. It's all digital."
"Metaphorical tape, then. 'Recording medium that isn't a rock and a chisel'." Folly smirks and sticks out her tongue.
"Last I heard, the label thought you still had a contractual obligation to make them more records, Miss Ghost. But hey, I finished my obligation to Visidor Records years ago."
Folly makes a face. "Maybe we could convince them we're actually the same person...?"
"Fuck that," says Martin. "What I want to know is your session rates."
"Scale."
"Cheap bastard." He grins.
"Back to work, you." Soren grins back.
"Coffee break's over, back on my head." Martin agrees.
Folly grins and downs the rest of her beer, but it does nothing to quench her energy. Swapping out the acoustic for an electric, she talks the guys through the basic structure of the next song she has in mind: hard, then harder, then the chorus "...that'll blow 'em right out of their skivvies."
She lays down an opening riff and brings the other two in with a nod. After a short, straight-ahead intro, she sings, almost as if teasing her listeners:
"Hello
I've waited here for you
Everlong
"Tonight I throw myself in two
Out of the red
Out of her head she sang...."
The second verse grows in intensity, with Folly's guitar and vocals and body language subtly egging the others on until they explode into the chorus:
"And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again...."
[ "Everlong" by the Foo Fighters]
It's loud and brash and joyful; and Folly, sounding like there's absolutely nothing in the universe she'd rather be doing right now, throws the whole force of her personality behind it. If they had an audience, some drunk young man probably would be throwing his underwear at the stage about now.
When the song rocks to its conclusion, Folly says, "I don't think I'd realized quite how much I missed this."
Soren gets up from the drums and picks up an 12-string and also a harmonica on a neck stand. "Change of pace. Blues?" He gives Martin a rhythm and runs Folly through some chord progressions. Then he sings.
[ Hometown Boy by Guy Forsythe]
Church window caught in the corner of my eye
Jacob's ladder shining out of the sky
I'm dreaming of Susie with the yellow hair
When I was small she used to live round here
River Valley Baptist on White Elm Road
I kissed her in the choir when she was 12 years old
Susie went to school, I just sorta hung around
She came back and burned the damn church down
Susie went to school, I just sorta hung around
And I ain't never gonna leave my hometown.
By the end, Folly is watching Soren out of the corner of her eye with a difficult-to-read expression on her face. When the song winds down, she doesn't say anything for a few moments; but then, "Nice. Let's try that one again."
The second time through, now that she knows where the lyrics are going, she punches it up with some well-placed vocal harmonies.
"Enough of that grim shit," says Martin.
He runs them through a tune that Folly's heard him play more than once as a warm-up exercise for jam sessions. He plays it slowly for Soren's benefit, and when Soren catches it, he warns him, "It gets a lot faster with the vocals."
Folly doesn't recall that it has any vocals.
Then Martin begins singing:
"Speed is a drag, it's a big, big drag
Set your mind on fire, make your organ sag.
Coke is a joke, rather take a toke
And be broken and a'chokin' with your brain cells smokin'.
Trippin' on acid makes you flaccid;
DMT too rich for me;
Heroin, aquarium, a nice pine box to bury in.
Marijuana makes me wanna
Eat candy and screw Fiona
With her hair bleached by peroxide
Huffin' on some nitrous oxide.
Well I've tried it all and it might sound queer,
But my favorite drug is an ice-cold beer.
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer,
Beer, beer, beer, beer, we love beer.
I get thrills from pills but mostly chills
From Robitussin and a bottle of Nyquil.
XTC's OK with me;
On airplane glue, you sneeze, achoo.
Mohawk boy with a needle in his neck
Nervous wreck, gonna call collect.
Nicotine is so obscene,
And caffeine only makes me mean.
Puff of spray paint ain't so quaint,
It gives you headaches, makes you faint.
Hash is a gas like a blast from the past,
But tryin' to hunt it down is a pain in the ass.
Well I've tried it all and it might sound queer,
But my favorite drug is an ice-cold beer.
Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer, beer,
Beer, beer, beer, beer, we love beer."
Soren embellishes with the harmonica, and then Martin speeds up and runs them through it again. By the time they repeat the final chorus a second and third time, the two men are choking with suppressed laughter. Martin punctuates the finis with a loud belch and winks at Folly.
"What am gonna do with you two?" Folly asks in mock-indignation. She's grinning, though.
As soon as the two men master their laughter, Martin slides into a classic blues rhythm line, and begins:
"Wanna tell you a story,
About the house-man blues
I come home one Friday,
Had to tell the landlady I'd-a lost my job
She said that don't confront me,
Long as I get my money next Friday
Now next Friday come I didn't get the rent,
And out the door I went"
After they wind it down, Martin says, "And after all that work, I find myself in need of a little more lubrication. Folly? Soren?"
Soren picks up his half-full longneck and gestures in Martin's direction.
Folly brushes her now-slightly-damp hair out of her face and looks around for the beer she's sure she had just a few minutes ago. Ah, yes, there it is in the middle of the floor, right where it should be. "Nah, I'm good," she says to Martin as she scoops it up.
She takes a long drink and then looks at Soren, a bit sheepishly. "So, I kinda sneaked a listen to one of the tracks in your Active Projects, before you got here. Who is that singing for Vibrant Red Rat God, anyway? Sounds like that guy who used to front the Spunk Brothers, only... well, y'know... better." She grins.
Soren grins. "Everybody sounds better when I record 'em. It's only partly technology, too. Sometime I'll show you how an Alsihad can be used to make any bleats or croaks sound like in-tune singing."
Folly grins and quirks an eyebrow -- half "Yeah, you better show me" and half "But that's cheating!" She lets Soren continue....
"But Rob's really better. He's been listening to his voice coach. Now it's just a question of how quickly he's going to smoke his natural talent away and be left with nothing but his skill.
"Hmf. I always wondered how Syd could smoke so much and never notice it. You, too."
Folly's smile grows a bit sheepish. "Yeah, did we mention the rapid healing? Not that I knew it at the time, of course Syd was spontaneously regenerating alveoli; I was just young and stupid."
After Martin has had a chance to drink some of his beer, Soren picks up an octave mandola and plays a low, rich tune ending on a sorrowful vibrato note held for a long moment. He looks at Martin. "Country, huh? OK. This needs fiddle."
"Hey, didn't I see mine around here somewhere?" asks Folly. "Hold up a sec...."
She pops into the control room, grabs her old violin case, and is back, tuned, and ready in less than a minute. She nods to Soren to start.
"In the great book of Life - you're warned of the day
When you'll be laid out- beneath the cold clay
The Angel of Death - will come from the sky
And claim your poor soul - when the time comes to die.
CHORUS
"When The Angel of Death - comes down after you
Can you smile and say - that you have been true
Can you truthfully say - with your dying breath
That you're ready to meet - the Angel of Death.
"When the lights all grow dim - and the dark shadows creep
And then your loved ones - are gathered to weep
Can you face them and say - with your dying breath
That you're ready to meet - the Angel of Death."
Soren hits a pedal on the pedalboard and grins, but doesn't stop playing. The Octave Mando starts to sound like a bass, and Martin switches to rhythm guitar. Soren is playing a melody line on the base and it's a familiar one to Folly. The Spunk Brothers used to cover this punk tune. Folly almost sees the place where a rocking fiddle part goes as if she'd written one.
"Darling, you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go
If you say that you are mine
I'll be here till the end of time
So you got to let me know
Should I stay or should I go
"It's always tease tease tease
You're happy when I'm on my knees
One day is fine, the next is black
So if you want me off your back
Well come on and let me know
Should I stay or should I go"
The song works towards a powerful, sudden conclusion and Soren is sweating. He looks up. "I had a rapper cover that 5 years ago. I like the fiddle part."
"Yeah, me too," says Folly, grinning. "You look like you're almost ready for another beer break -- so maybe we should slow down with a nice mellow tune next...."
Folly stashes her bow in its case but keeps the violin out. She holds it in front of her as if it were a mandolin and plucks out a simple line, piano-like in tone, followed by the chords for the guys to pick up.
When they're ready, she counts them in. In a soft but clear voice, as if pondering the answer to a question, she sings:
"Speak to me in a language I can hear
Humour me before I have to go
Deep in thought I forgive everyone
As the cluttered streets greet me once again
I know I can't be late
Supper's waiting on the table
Tomorrow's just an excuse away
So I pull my collar up and face the cold
On my own...."
The vocals drop out for a couple of measures and then re-enter, stronger, as if surer of their sentiments:
"The earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
At the blasphemy in my old jangly walk
Steeple guide me to my heart and home
The sun is out and up and down again
I know I'll make it
Love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the earth
And you can make it last, forever you
Can make it last, forever you...."
As they cycle out of the chorus, Folly launches straight into the last verse with passion and conviction:
"And for a moment I lose myself
Wrapped up in the pleasures of the world
I've journeyed here and there and back again
But in the same old haunts I still find my friends
Mysteries not ready to reveal
Sympathies I'm ready to return
I'll make the effort
Love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the earth
Tomorrow's just an excuse
And you can make it last, forever you
Can make it last, forever you...."
http://www.lyricsdir.com/s/smashing-pumpkins/thirty-three.php
After the last notes fade, Martin says, "You need to bring the fiddle with you when we go home. Or I need to commission one for you from Kermit and Ever." He adds for Soren's benefit, "The luthiers. They made Folly a kick-ass lute a couple of years ago."
"It's beautiful," Folly adds giddily. "Better than most of what you can get here."
He turns back to Folly. "We should hit some of the trad ballads. Everybody keeps wanting to rock them up at the jams; let's see how they sound with drum and bass." He gives Soren the rhythm and kicks in with the guitar.
Soren comes in with an aggressive rock 1-3 structure. Syd always used a single kick, but it looks like Soren is making good use of a double. Syd was always faster than anyone she knew, of course.
Martin starts the lyrics:
"Willie Taylor, a brisk young sailor
Full of life and beauty gay
Instead of Willie getting married
He was pressed and fought away..."
[...]
"All the vows and all the breezes
Vows and breezes fade away
Willie Taylor was a sailor
Now he's gone and sailed away!"
["Willie Taylor" as sung by Maggie--I'm guessing at some of the lyrics.]
Martin doesn't restrain his impulse to use the effects pedals on the guitar, either. He's having a fine time with all the toys he doesn't get to play with in the all-acoustic jam sessions.
Folly's fiddling is nimble as a hornet, and almost as aggressive. On some lines she adds vocal harmonies instead, bending and shaping her voice to match the guitar effects. She's obviously having a blast.
After they've had a chance to cool down from that, Martin starts a more traditional-sounding tune that Folly also recalls from the jams. It has a clear fiddle line. He stops and says to Soren: "Bodhran?"
"Folly, it's in the instrument locker. Why don't you take it?"
Folly grins, sets her fiddle into its open case and goes to retrieve the bodhran.
"The fiddle will have to cover for Vere. Unless you have pipes too, Soren."
"I've got that covered," says Soren, picking up Folly's fiddle as if it were made of glass. He works at his laptop for a few moments. "I'm going to split my output so that we can MIDI it as pipes, but I'm also recording a clean take... OK, ready."
"I think I need one of those laptops," says Martin.
"I'll talk to the rep. I've got an endorsement deal."
Folly shoots Soren an incredulous look. "Grownup," she says as if it were a schoolyard taunt, then laughs and shakes her head.
Once they're all settled with their instruments, Martin begins:
"George Campbell was a hard and ruthless man,
Hated and feared by most who knew him.
Dark as the Highland Hills from which he sprang,
A wild cruel streak ran through him.
But still he was a man o' wealth and property,
While I was a landless cotter,
And therein lay the seeds of grief and tragedy,
For I was in love with Campbell's daughter."
[Campbell's Daughter, by Eric Bogle.]
When they are done, Martin says, "We really need Vere for that one. And Conner on whistle."
"OK! I get the picture! I'm in, I'm in!."
Folly lets out a high-pitched squeak of pure, giddy joy, and looks like she might tackle Soren right then and there. But he continues:
"Right, no slacking. Here's the melody." He hums a very familiar refrain. When he notices that Martin is mouthing the words. He punches off everything but the vocal mics. "OK, Let's do this one a cappella..."
Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
(I) just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
"Son," he said "Grab your things,
I've come to take you home."
To keepin' silence I resigned
My friends would think I was a nut
Turning water into wine
Open doors would soon be shut
So I went from day to day
Tho' my life was in a rut
"Till I thought of what I'd say
Which connection I should cut
I was feeling part of the scenery
I walked right out of the machinery
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" he said "Grab your things
I've come to take you home."
(Back home.)
When illusion spin her net
I'm never where I want to be
And liberty she pirouette
When I think that I am free
Watched by empty silhouettes
Who close their eyes but still can see
No on taught them etiquette
I will show another me
Today I don't need a replacement
I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant
My heart going boom boom boom
"Hey" I said "You can keep my things,
they've come to take me home.
Martin is right with Soren the entire way through, and Soren trades lead and harmony parts freely. It's a joyous song, and Soren loves singing it.
The last echoes die away and Soren just looks at Folly and Martin.
A slow smile spreads across Folly's face. "You won't regret it," she says. "I promise."
Last modified: 9 December 2003