Some pop looks great, sounds great, with notes pitch-perfect and measured beat-for-beat, but it's the lyrics that turn it to sour-grapes soda. O'Rourke, a former Chicagoan and the newest member of Sonic Youth, one of the greatest improvisers and producers to show themselves this century (yeah, bring the hate mail), put out this deceptive gem of a straightforward rock album and then left town. Like the bad-seed child that is more clever than smart, O'Rourke gives these songs an almost artificial feel of accessibility to them, inviting the avant-weary listener closer and closer to the candy house.
And as always, there's a witch inside. He writes lyrics so mean-spirited that the listener can't help wondering if this song is only for one person, namely (hopefully) an ex, or, moreover, every person that O'Rourke ever talked to. He is the shy, smart kid, maybe a little chubby, who moved ahead a grade early and was taken under the wing of another lonely child. Lunches are shared and backs are protected in the washroom from taunting advances and promises for future horrors when caught alone. The two are rarely alone, but to hear their secret conversations is another series of taunts. They seem to be laughing, cross-legged in deep left field, away from the threat of an errant kick ball, but only O'Rourke is laughing. The other boy is pulling handful after handful of waxy green grass and tossing the strands into the opposing breeze, and doing so with a solemn face. Little O'Rourke half-interestedly picks the wings off flies, trying to get them to fight each other crippled. And as confetti of grass blades fall around them, O'Rourke looks to his older playmate and protector, and says, “Why do I talk to you? I don't need anything to bring me down, as I'll always have you.” Recess has been over for years but there's still the taste of a lesser child's cruelty, but sweeter, balanced with perspective and artificially colored from memory.
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