I have decided that my new fictitious band name will be The Moving Rocks (The World's Second Greatest Rock and Roll Band), because the origin of this name is so incredibly cute that groupies will be throwing themselves at me when they hear the story.
The Moving Rocks also adheres to Principal Skinner's rule of thumb for a band name: something that sounds "witty at first, but seems less funny each time you hear it." You might remember Apu's perfect suggestion for Homer's band: "The Be Sharps." REO Speedwagon was also a big fan of this heuristic (You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can't Tuna Fish). Same with The The.
The Moving Rocks newest song is definitely inspired by this theme, and not only have The Talking Heads had an influence on the lyrics, but also the recording method. I made this recording after reading David Byrnes' book How Music Works, and used the classic Talking Heads method to create the track: I started by making beats and keyboard loops and interlocking them in various patterns until I got something I liked. Then I started writing lyrics and adding guitars over the beats and loops. It's the reverse of how I usually record, and it was a lot of fun.
You are living one of many lives, yes, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are sipping glasses of champagne, you are selling watches in the rain.
You are living one of many lives, you are giving flowers to your wife . . .
You are tricking in a squalid room, you are shifting shuttles on a loom.
And you are dancing in a discotheque, you are diving deep beneath a wreck.
You are living in another time, you are thinking of another rhyme.
And the dogs they know and the cats they know,
and the bats they know and the rats they know . . .
what you don't know.
That you are living one of many lives, you are shaving whiskers with a knife;
keeping under wraps in Vietnam, singing lyrics to a foreign song.
You are stranded on a tropic beach, words and phrases just beyond your reach,
you are standing in ancient sea, your reflection staring back at me.
All the while you are sinking down, digging deeper into sacred ground,
ants are marching through your ragged bones, beetles feeding on your rotten clothes.
Yes, you are living one of many lives and the dogs they know . . .
Now you're winking at a pretty girl, on a cruiser circling the world.
You are drinking coffee with the pope, you are jabbing in the rope-a-dope.
Cargo sails from a foreign port, a man in Denmark scratches at his wart.
Mirror mirror hanging on the wall, how come I've got no invite to the ball?
And the dogs know and the cats know and the bats know and the rats know
and the wind knows and the tides know and the moon knows and the flies know . . .
What you don't know.