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Mecca Normal LYRICS by Jean SmithDecember 3, 2008 The Discussion I was late getting to the restaurant you were there with your colleagues discussing life after death. I sat down next to you and you introduced me. One by one they met my eyes and then ignored me. I motioned for you to pass me the menu and started reading short poems about the food. The others, they'd already ordered. I picked the mussels in rose sauce not knowing if rose was a colour or a flower. I sat there and said nothing and your colleagues didn't even pass me the fucking bread. The woman next to me was a philosopher speaking about cultures that believe that after death the souls go to places populated by virgins. I was thinking that sexually inexperienced young men hold little appeal for me, when you said, "That sounds good. That sounds good to me, but where do the women's go?" Where do the women's souls go? Another guy said, "Women don't have souls." Women don't have souls. I guess this was funny. Maybe it was wry. Ya, maybe it was wry. And I sat there and said nothing and your colleagues couldn't even pass me the fucking bread. After the discussion, on our way downstairs, you said, "I know my friends are thinking you're too young, too young for me." And I laughed and said, "Well, what did you tell them about me, what did you say?" "I didn't say anything. Nothing." Oh, I was a woman, just a woman, sitting next to you, eating mussels in rose sauce, saying nothing, nibbling on your cheesecake. Your colleagues couldn't look at me, they iced me out. Maybe you're known for this. Maybe you do this a lot. And your colleagues couldn't even pass me the fucking bread. Where do the women's souls go?" Where do the women's souls go?" One Man's Anger This one man's anger this one man's rage this one man's fear – it comes from pain oh ohhhhhh – it comes from pain No matter what look is on his face what words he choose to say this one man's anger comes from pain it can fool you – you can be tricked he will tell you otherwise – otherwise But as he's walking down the way you will know this his anger comes from pain comes from pain This one man – is not a bad man, no he's not a bad man in any way but this one man's anger and rage Commmmmmmmes coming out again is from fear of pain And in the hollows of the shallows of the dark setting in In a quiet timmmmmmmme A look on his face – just a flicker like a flame will allow you to see his fear is his pain he fears the fear he fears the fear of pain This one man's pain and his angry ways the fire versus the flame the fire and the flame mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh--shhhhhhhhhh Malachi And camera goes click and you press record and you hand the document to the jazz musician after they perform And you talk and you listen and you protest this war And there is pain and it instigates change And there is frustration that your voice is not heard when you protest the war -- with a sign above your head -- in words And your camera goes click as you press record and the can of gasoline is there for this final document – your protest against the war and some of us understood you know the history And your camera goes click as you press record and you pour the gasoline and Malachi you light match that ends your life in this final statement and some of us heard your final words and Malachi you light match and some of us heard and some of us understood your final word Naked & Ticklish The last two guys I started something with had Rottweilers. I'm not a Rottweiler fancier at all Guy One's dog was young, dumb it jumped up, got its nose between your legs and ate the sleeves of Guy One's wool sweaters Guy One wanted to control the way the dog behaved Guy One wanted to control everyone He was starting a new religion -- a new religion without a god I guess Guy One wanted to be the number one guy There was no door on the bedroom and the dog and his jumping ways and his cold wet nose were distracting during sex Guy One got up and took the door off the bathroom and hung it on the bedroom hinges but the bathroom door was simply smaller and it did not close. Guy One got a big chunk of coral from his collection to hold the door closed Guy One was a big guy -- over six feet tall – and he picked a big piece of coral and for myself when I went to the bathroom I bent naked, naked and ticklish lifting and carrying the large chunk of coral across the room with the door now freely open and Guy One's dog with the cold wet nose -- and me being naked, naked and ticklish -- looking for where to set the coral down Guy Two's dog was bigger and older Guy Two threw chunks of prime rib across the room Guy Two's dog didn't eat the sleeves sweaters yet it did want to come into the room during sex but there was a door and it closed without anything from the bottom of the sea holding it -- holding it closed So this was an improvement until it came time to settle in for the first night turns out the dog sleeps on the bed every night and I am in the dog's spot and the dog would like his spot back He keeps standing up and turning around and around the door is freely open until the door is closed holding it closed holding it closed -- naked and ticklish -- naked naked and ticklish Da Da Da Da He was reading the newspaper, on the white leather couch in his library, I was sitting near the fire, too close to the fire and he looked over the top of his paper and said I looked like a street urchin sitting there, whereas I felt like I was part of something romantic That was Sunday and now it's Tuesday and he's almost gone, erased from me Da da da da I woke up early, I couldn't sleep he kept jamming an extra sharp toenail into my leg I went downstairs to sleep on the white leather couch he woke me up and told me to go back upstairs the next morning, over pan cakes he said he was going on a sailing trip to Turkey I asked if he'd be seeking the company of other women he smirked his answer -- he smiled and said that until I had a ring on my finger he'd do whatever he wanted That was Sunday and now it's Tuesday and he's erased from me Da da da da In the push and pull of wanting to be close, too close, too fast hinged to pathology all of what's inside too close to me That was Tuesday and now it's Sunday and he's gone from me Da da da da In the push and pull of wanting to be close, too close, too fast hinged to pre-exisiting pathology rolled all of what's inside too close to me That was Tuesday and now it's Sunday and he's gone from me Da da da da Da da da da Da da da da Climb Higher If you told me If you came to you and told me You gave it all up Gave it all up You let it all go To climb higher If you came to tell me You gave it all away To climb higher Climb higher This Comforting Thing I went out with a guy in March, for the month of March. He was working on a writing project to bring together world philosophies. He'd been told he can write, he can really write, by people who know such things, they know such things. I told him things about my life. I was telling him a story about my car dying at the border when we were heading to Seattle to open for Fugazi. It's a good story. I tell it well and it says a lot about me. I'd only gotten about this far, when he hijacked my story and told his story about being at the border between Mexico and the USA and the customs guy turned his guitar upside down and a peyote button fell out it rolled under something and was not found. I listened to his story and I felt less like telling my story. As intimacy grew, I tried to say that I wanted to tell my story of my little life of my experiences. I asked that I just be allowed to tell my story without him re-processing it or referring to something in his experience. He stuck out his chin -- big guy -- 6' 4" -- and he told me I was trying to change him. And this is how he is and he's not changing. This is who he is, this is how he is. I started to cry. He comforted me. I hated that I was crying, unable to talk -- wondering if he wanted me to cry so that he could do this comforting thing. This comforting thing. He seemed quite familiar with this part -- this comforting thing. This comforting thing.Anyway, odd guy. Something seemed to surface -- bouncing around in my mind. My mind, my mind. In this flexing in relation to new information. Bouncing around, bouncing around. He said he was a very caring man. A loving man. Yet I felt he was actually sort of mean. Mean to me. Mean to me.Bouncing around, bouncing around. A flexing in relation new information. And I started to see that the things he said about himself didn't seem to match what I could see. Deception in this case was -- not a man trying to get me to see things the way he wanted me to see them. Deception in this case was a man deceiving himself. He's deceiving himself.Not me. Bouncing around in my mind, my mind. He's deceiving himself He's deceiving himself -- not me. not me. Boom Boom Boom Oh ya and weirdly the last song I wrote -- off the top of my head on Wednesday is about a Vietnamese woman about my age who swims over to me in the hot pool to tell me a bunch of things -- I get this quite a lot people tell me things She's telling me about being a small child walking through the jungle for a long time there are dead people everywhere and "boom-boom-boom" she makes her arms straight like guns on planes pointing down her face a fierce frown She doesn't say the word war she calls it "boom boom boom" they are leaving because of "boom boom boom" it's like she's back into child-thought I get the impression some people don't want to listen and the more she senses that I am listening the more she has to say She looks at my arms saying I am so strong and she is too skinny and I can tell she wants to touch me looking for a place to just touch me as she tells me about walking in the jungle with seven brothers and sisters she holds up nine fingers when she says seven and she tells me it's great that I understand her English because other people say they can't I say, "Your English is fine -- they don't want to listen." And it seems like a relief that someone says this and she tells me that she's been here all these years and never gone back never wanted to go back until she got word that her father was going to die I ask if she'd been one of the Boat People that came to Canada and I make a gesture with two fingers skimming the surface of the hot pool and say, "Boat People" and she get its and I feel like I've just invented the universal gesture for Boat People -- weird little thought -- She applied for a passport and they phoned her at home and asked her too many questions and she'd started to cry she makes the universal gesture for crying two fingers down her cheek from the corner of her eye They gave her the passport but her father died -- there wouldn't have been enough time to get there So she thinks she'll take a trip to Seattle instead I laugh and we we introduce ourselves by name As I turn away to move through the water I reach back to where her tiny hand is floating in front of her I take her hand for a second while our eyes aren't on each other a separate connection is made Wasn't Said
The Observer CD -- April 2006 
 CD cover: self-portrait by Jean Smith for an online dating profile.  Mecca Normal at What the Heck Fest 2005. Photo by Thomas Boettner The Observer Kill Rock Stars, April 2006 David Lester: guitar Jean Smith: vocals, piano, keyboard, synth, percussion, sax, guitar 1. I'm Not Into Being the Woman You're With While You're Looking for the Woman You Want 2. Attraction is Ephemeral 3. I'll Call You 4. Quick Shuttle 5. 1922 6. Fallen Skier 7. His Own Madness 8. The Dark Side of Maria 9. Arsenal 10. The Caribou & the Oil Pipeline 11. The Message 12. The Observer I'll Call You I want cold and impersonal sex during which I'll be pretending I'm with someone else I only care about my satisfaction I will jerk you around to get as much for myself as I can If you object -- I'll be on my way If you dare to communicate with me after I've let you know where you stand I will belittle you I will disrespect you with comments that I call 'joking' -- if you don't get it you need to lighten up You will play by my rules and I'm not into telling you what my rules are I'll call you I'll call you I'm very highly evolved I'm very attractive I have a lot of options that I am keeping open so don't expect me to treat you as if you're someone special -- you're not I'll call you I'll call you I'll let you know when it's your turn again until then, let's be friends I'll call you I'll call you Attraction is Ephemeral "I'm intrigued by you," he says. "You're beautiful. Beautiful." "Thank-you," I say, wondering if this is just another line. Just another game. Wondering how much recent deception informs my reaction. We connected right from the start. You can't make this happen. You can't make this happen. Can you? Someone wouldn't be able to make this happen. It gets chilly. We step inside. I make more tea, plain tea. Cheap tea. He says, "I love a woman who adorns herself with jewelry. I like a woman who has lots of variation in her wardrobe. I love good shoes on a woman and beautiful lingerie." He suggests I visit a website of Austrian designed underwear. "It's expensive, but it's beautiful, it's beautiful," he says. I stand there by the stove, in my slutty outfit, the total of which probably cost me $15, including my $1 panties and my Value Village bra. "What do you wear during the day, when you're working here alone?" he asks. "Old levis cords, a t-shirt, paint splattered hush puppies with holes in the soles." I guess I could have said, "Prada, darling." Adornment. He's an architect of many things. He's going to bring his grand piano out of storage. In bed he tires to put the condom on. He curses. I try to see what he's doing, but I'm pinned under him. I hear him stretching the condom like he's making a balloon animal. He gives up and I lie there under him. Two hundred and thirty pounds. He says, "Am I crushing you?" "Sort of," I say. He gets off of me. In his deep, sexy voice he says, "I want to please you." "You do please me," I say, as one does. "I mean really please you," he says. "OK," I say, and then we both laugh, me 'til I cry. He says, "We have time. Don't warn me. Don't warn me. Don't warn me about yourself." "OK," I say. Does that include not telling him that I'm too cheap to take the bus so I walk twenty minutes to get to the store and that I carry my groceries home in my packsack -- which is fine with me -- and I don't buy crackers and cheese and pickles and cookies because they are too expensive. I know the prices on almost everything in the little shops -- if oranges are 59 cents a pound here and the same ones 49 cents a pound across the street. I will cross the street to save whatever it is on my 2 oranges -- and brag about. He says, "We have time. He's going to bring his grand piano out of storage. We have time and you're beautiful and you're intriguing." And I say, "Thank you." Wondering if this is just another really long line, another really long and complicated line. He's the architect of another really long line. Another really long line. The Observer I close one eye to lose my depth of field I am so limited to the infinite unravel of the universe hinged to meaning in patterns and code I am thirsty -- so thirsty someone near the front of the bus says, "Thirsty." The woman in the shawl teal and sepia shawl stands up to exit the bus she slings a cloth bag over her shoulder knitting needles poking out The little boy behind me says, "Why sideways?" The boy's father says, "Do you mean what is sideways?" "No," the boy says. "Why is it called sideways anyway?" I am so limited to the infinite unravel of the universe hinged to meaning in pattern and code cold cold code Young drunk guys with wrap-around sunglasses sit near me at the back of the bus stinking of booze speaking maybe Greek I look out the window water so blue I close one eye to lose my depth of field I am so limited so limited to the infinite unravel of the universe hinged to meaning in pattern and code -- cold cold cold code I am thirsty -- so thirsty someone near the front of the bus says, "Thirsty." During World War II men wrote home to women waiting One man's elegant hand on paper wrote, "What I miss most is talking with you about the beauty of everything." Everyone gets off the bus before I do I am so limited so limited to the infinite unravel ravel, unravel of the universe hinged to meaning in pattern and code -- cold cold code Everyone gets off the bus before I do The Caribou and the Oil Pipeline You're in your car You're running out of gas You pull in to get the gas 3000 miles north of here 100,000 caribou are heading for the sea Bears and ravens follow This is where the US wants to build an oil pipeline It will disrupt the caribou migration You see it on TV -- there's nothing you can do You can't change the world so you change the channel but in your mind, one fact stands alone: A 6 month supply of oil versus 20,000 years of migration In a dream you see the caribou crossing an icy river, exhaling steam they dream themselves up and over steep and barren hills I didn't think I could write a hit about the caribou and the oil pipeline, but I had to try You're in your car You're running out of gas You pull in to get the gas What if? What if? I'm Not Into Being the Woman You're With While You're Looking For the Woman You Want I forget I forget if his eyes are green or grey or blue or brown So we get together get together He tells me a woman he used to be with was really funny He looks at me to reiterate, "I mean really funny." Haven't heard him laugh yet Says he hasn't found what he's looking for yet So we get together get together I'm not into being the woman you're with while you're looking for the woman you want Says he's looking for a like-minded woman after he's met me I need to figure out how to get his CDs back to him I'm not into being the woman you're with while you're looking for the woman you want Crass and insincere The Message Mother Africa walking along with Stephen Lewis the dancers are dancing towards the camera hips moving real fast A young woman in a school uniform is singing in front of the choir singing a song perhaps she wrote for this occasion this television opportunity make no mistake it's directed at you and me. She sings, "Why me, why him, why her? Why me, why him, why her?" But the real question underlies the theme. We know you have the drugs you keep them under lock and key in the west away from us. And you choose who lives and dies. Why him, why her, why me? Why her, why him, and why do you choose?" Mother Africa takes off her large lens glasses and wipes her eyes Stephen Lewis doesn't look he's going to cry. He takes the message back back to where it's heard. Why me, why him, why her? You choose who lives and dies. Why do you choose who lives, who dies? Who dies? Mecca Normal NEWSLETTER |
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