The Anatomy of a Song: David Bazan's "Both Hands"
A song is a living organism. It can be manipulated and changed to fit different circumstances. Words can be tinkered with. Chords, melodies, and feelings can change, approaching the same subject from a different dynamic. In this way, art does reflect life. Of course, Bob Dylan is a master of this trade (with his own songs and I guess Sinatra). Cat Power participates in this transformative process when she turns the Rolling Stones Satisfaction from a celebratory jaunt into a haunting back road.
At first glance, I thought that traveling songwriter David Bazan was taking some of his acoustic songs and trying to turn them into something else, too. While I wouldn't identify that as his core strength as an artist, (that's songwriting) his two most recent albums, Blanco and Care feature Dave turning old just-me-and-guitar tunes into simple synth-based jams. Bazan has become the tinkerer, taking the tools out of his toolbox and laying them on the table. These songs are one guy, one song, a kick drum, some samples, and simple keys.
This song grew on me. I realized that Dylan and Cat Power can take songs from anywhere and make them anything they want at the time. Bazan doesn't too that, nor do I think he is trying to alter them in that way. The emotions embedded in his song would still be wrung out even if he was playing two sticks on the top of a garbage can. That's what makes Dave great . . .he writes songs whose emotional core endures through the hard rain, beat changes, 90 miles on the road, and varied levels of weariness. While Dylan is dynamic, transformative, and elevates the everyday into an all encompassing sort of thing, Dave Bazan is different. He doesn't elevate the everyday. He examines it so closely that we see it's hurt. It's vulnerable, down to the manner in which he sings those very words.
Both Hands, version 1:
Both Hands, final version:
if I'm not losing sleep
I'm probably over it
might take a couple of weeks
for me to decide
didn't think you'd take this long
to make up for lost time
can't help wondering why
it still feels like
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
sometimes twice a week
we make ourselves vulnerable
we get a little peek
over enemy lines
even as what weighs on me
is bubbling over
I understand I can't sweat
what mystery hides
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
At first glance, I thought that traveling songwriter David Bazan was taking some of his acoustic songs and trying to turn them into something else, too. While I wouldn't identify that as his core strength as an artist, (that's songwriting) his two most recent albums, Blanco and Care feature Dave turning old just-me-and-guitar tunes into simple synth-based jams. Bazan has become the tinkerer, taking the tools out of his toolbox and laying them on the table. These songs are one guy, one song, a kick drum, some samples, and simple keys.
This song grew on me. I realized that Dylan and Cat Power can take songs from anywhere and make them anything they want at the time. Bazan doesn't too that, nor do I think he is trying to alter them in that way. The emotions embedded in his song would still be wrung out even if he was playing two sticks on the top of a garbage can. That's what makes Dave great . . .he writes songs whose emotional core endures through the hard rain, beat changes, 90 miles on the road, and varied levels of weariness. While Dylan is dynamic, transformative, and elevates the everyday into an all encompassing sort of thing, Dave Bazan is different. He doesn't elevate the everyday. He examines it so closely that we see it's hurt. It's vulnerable, down to the manner in which he sings those very words.
Both Hands, version 1:
if I'm not losing sleep
I'm probably over it
might take a couple of weeks
for me to decide
didn't think you'd take this long
to make up for lost time
can't help wondering why
it still feels like
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
sometimes twice a week
we make ourselves vulnerable
we get a little peek
over enemy lines
even as what weighs on me
is bubbling over
I understand I can't sweat
what mystery hides
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
both hands over my eyes
Comments
Post a Comment