More than one night up all night with a song and I sorta lose patience. ‘Cause the kids still get up every morning and the pancakes aren’t gonna make themselves and blinking sandpaper eyelids is distracting, to say the least. Then the song loses patience with me , thinking I’m never gonna get it right, and starts playing louder and repeating mean “pertinent” lyrics and burrowing melodic lines into my brain. Well…that’s when I start thinking maybe I should be a mailman.
After a week of this, I started thinking maybe I should be an ax murderer and that’s when Milan started to really speak its piece. Not only did it keep me up for a week straight in the swampy heat of a New Orleans summer, it’s actually about keeping me up for a week straight in the swampy heat of a New Orleans summer. What the hell? I was in a sorry state and needed to be, I guess.
Milan itself comes off very civilized, of course; it only makes me look bad, which, after all, is what it set out to do: mess up my hair and smear my mascara and make me lose my temper while it just ambles along, sounding like a goddamn pop song — the bastard.
Milan and I didn’t get a long very well until I figured this out, but I did figure it out: this is not an overwrought song, it just has an overwrought singer. So I finished it, slamming my notebook shut and shoving my guitar back on its stand. Then I said a polite goodnight to Milan (who very kindly shut the hell up for once), went to bed and slept of all things. The next morning, I realized I had another Throwing Muses song on my hands (“Good! Let Bernie and Dave handle it!”), so I recorded this demo version along with a fistful of other new Muses songs.
Still don’t know what made Milan think it could get away with behavior like that, but, as it says: “All’s fair in New Orleans,” which seems to be altogether too true.