"...Dancing about architecture"

"Writing about music is like dancing about architecture"

This quote has been attributed to Elvis Costello, although it's said that Frank Zappa and Laurie Anderson have uttered similar statements. It's an interesting concept. I most recently heard it on a video link on the Shins' website where lead singer and writer James Mercer says it in the hilarious video segment called "The Interview". In the clip Mercer's alter ego then asks him to compare his latest album to a building, in this case "the Empire State Building", and subsequently to "dance" that building... Nice. Fun and funny.

To cap off the week of the release of the new Shins album, below are the lyrics to my new favorite song on that album--more cryptically beautiful poetry.

"Red Rabbits"
by the Shins
from the album "Wincing the Night Away"

Hurled to the center of the Earth again,
The place where it's hot, love,
You know, it hurts to breathe in,
And the watershed you balance on is begging it,
Well did he ever know,
Will he ever know?

The trees in the moonshine are a dark lattice,
So you catalogue every angle you notice,
In a vacuum you are charged to record this,
So you won't make it easy on me.

I can't go into this no more,
It puts too many thorns on my mind,
And the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
We've pissed on far too many sprites,
And they're all standing up for their rights.

Born on a desert floor, you've the deepest thirst,
And you came to my sweet shore to indulge it,
With the wan and drilling eyes of an orphan,
But there is not enough,
There is not enough.

Out of a gunnysack fall red rabbits,
Into the crucible to be rendered an emulsion,
And we can't allow a chance they'd restore themselves,
So we can't make it easy on you.

Undaunted, you bathed in hollow cries,
The boys with swollen, sunburnt eyes,
A reward for letting nothing under their skin,
So help me, I don't know, I might
Just give the old dark side a try.

Don't cast your whirling eyes on the shore,
'til we even the score.
I still owe you for the hole in the floor
And the ghost in the hall.
Who decides who paddles over the falls?
Yeah, who makes the call,
Who makes the call?

Well, I know there's an eventual release
From every scale of crime,
But the necessary balloon lies a corpse on the floor,
We've pissed on far too many good intentions held by clever sprites,
And they're all standing up for their rights.