Lyric of Note:
Are you closing down again? I know you Don’t you wonder how They make it through? But I like it when you’re sad I’m happier It’s just the wave you’re used to Are you really down? Tonight I’m there too All the way until we lose control Are you all alone? Oh, no Can you make a sound? Oh, yeah And the waves keep moving (“Tomorrowing” from Slide)
You know that feeling you get at 3 am when you’ve been drinking a little too much and are on the edges of a self-revelation that you really don’t want to make and the world is slightly fuzzy, and you can feel the edges of your self control begin to fray but not yet tatter. You feel like the world is smooth around you, almost too smooth and with the next shot of whiskey that smoothness will definitely turn into slippery and you’ll begin losing control. But you aren’t there yet. Not yet.
happiness is like tv / on or off it’s up to me / relationships are like a cow / growing strong just for now / poor little cow / mom and dad are like my head / i won’t listen to them ’til their dead or I’m dead / sad but true / sad but true / self indulgence / inconsiderate bitch . . . (“Happiness”)
You take the shot glass in your hand, knowing it’s a mistake, knowing that you should stop and knowing that you won’t and the liquid burns your already sore throat from a night of too many cigarettes and shouting over the noise of a crowded bar and the fire travels down to your stomach then burns itself up to your head, flips the switch that keeps you from seeing yourself too clearly and all of a sudden the world is fuzzy but the you that you keep locked up has come into focus with a grin like a hungry blade. The night just got bad.
Now take that feeling, wrap it in a unique and talented artist and you have a rough estimation of Lisa Germano’s voice.
Happiness, despite its bleak moments, is a set of discreet songs that stand on their own. Some of which, like her boozy, sardonic cover version of “These Boots are Made for Walking,” are, individually, worth the price of the album. However, if you are up for a challenge, check out either Geek the Girl or Lullaby for Liquid Pig and you’ll find yourself traveling through a sonic landscape that is eery, off-kilter, intensely personal and more than a little hypnotic. Lisa Germano offers sketches of self-hatred, anguish, broken moments, and heartbreaking hope with such honesty that her music deserves your undivided attention. If you can’t remember the last time you simply listened to an album, and you want to give yourself a gift—albeit one with sharp and jagged edges that might just cut you more deeply than you expect—I would recommend that you have a glass of whatever suits you (I’ll be sipping 18 year old scotch myself), a pack of cigarettes if you still smoke (have one for me since I quit but still miss sitting at the window, breathing in that sweet nicotine and listening to a particularly good album), turn down the lights, and invite Ms. Lisa Germano into your life.1