A Verbal Fig Leaf · Track 33 · middle
Maracas
Maracas (1940s) — At least it's musical. A rare survivor of actual imagination. VOLUME: IV. THE LOCKER ROOM, 1900–1999. THE DODGE THIS ERA: The dodge stops being clever. Nobody is hiding from God or the parlour now — they're avoiding MIXED COMPANY, and the wit drains out. These are funny the way a nudge is funny. That's the point: the invention is going, and this volume should feel a bit dumber than the last on purpose. Sing the AVOIDANCE, never the anatomy.
No audio yet — generation pending.
Lyrics
The brass is blowing heavy at the edge of the floor. A two-dollar cover at the Palladium door. We're sharing a table with the girls from the line, Sipping our highballs and killing the time. I lean across the glassware, I've got a joke to deploy, But Mary's sitting right there, and she's a delicate joy. The jaw starts to drop on a much rougher noun, But I feel Mary listening, and I lock the word down. I pivot the gaze. I borrow a term from the Latin craze. Look at the rhythm, catching the light. Keeping the tempo ahead of the night. I give you an elbow, I give you a grin, We can't say a thing with the crowd that we're in. So we talk about the music, keeping it clean— Man, she's got the finest maracas I've seen. Mary nods along, she says the timing is grand. She loves the percussion up there on the stand. You cough in your napkin, trying not to explode, It's a very cheap trick, it's a heavy-handed code. But nobody faints, and nobody leaves, We hide the whole act in our gabardine sleeves. Look at the rhythm, catching the light. Keeping the tempo ahead of the night. I give you an elbow, I give you a grin, We can't say a thing with the crowd that we're in. So we talk about the music, keeping it clean— Man, she's got the finest maracas I've seen. It used to take a scholar to cover the track, Now we just point at the stage and step back. A couple of gourds with some seeds in the shell, It isn't high art, but it does the job well. A painted distraction for a Saturday crowd, The joke is just stupid enough to be loud. She shakes the rhythm. We sip the rye. Mary is watching the horns up high. I guess it's musical. It keeps the time, anyway.