Monday, April 18, 2011

Song #15: Happiest Man

This is a song I started years ago while Michelle and I were living in San Francisco... I had tried multiple times to finish this song but as long as my inner critic was looking over my shoulder it was an impossible feat. Well although my inner critic still stops by for tea he is no longer my roommate... its Song 15 for gods sake! So I pulled the shards of this song out and shared them with Evan and together, along with the beautiful voices of our wife/wife-to-be, we were able to fashion the shards of song into a something really satisfying. I would also like to send a special shout out to my always-amazing twin brother Mikkel who has been a lover of the shards of this song since the day they were forged, love you bro, bet you never thought this song would ever actually come together! I sure didnt but hell, there's no place for a critic in the screaming room.


Title: Happiest Man
Length: 5:07
Contributions: The Screaming Room, Mikkel for helping to keep this little seedling alive, the Sun for doing its thang so well this week, and a big shout out to the little red truck I just bought BOOM!


I swear there's more homeless in this city
Than bedtime stories being read to the hopeful.
Sometimes I lay naked with the window wide
open and cold so I can feel like a local.
Outside North Beach is looking pretty
Like a scene from the fifties- the fog and neon lights,
And although the feigns are getting itchy
Its all poetry tonight... Right?
Its all poetry tonight...

Sweet something looking stranded on the corner
Miles away family dinner no one talks about the daughter.
And lord knows what she'd for five dollars,
On streets and backseats, blue, black, and white collar.

And its just another day in the neighbourhood,
Beautiful people doing what they think they should.

I don’t believe that seeing their pain as beautiful is a problem,
No, I believe its just bring their pain home.
And yes, this is just my opinion,
But its all opinion, so choose your truth well.
Its all perception,
So choose your truth well.

I’m the happiest man I know,
So why are the songs I sing so sad?
This beautiful world seems to be feeling low, low, low...
So I just smile and write it down.

I was sitting in a well, drowning in sorrow.
I was living in a lesson that I'll learn tomorrow.
But I found that well was dry and I was high on dying,
Oh ego, you slipped in while I was surviving.

And though the backdrop begged for dancing,
We chose to use these two old feet to pace.
While the ghosts of zen lunatics stumbled through San Francisco,
Our ghosts held us in place.

I’m the happiest man I know,
So why are the songs I sing so sad?
This beautiful world seems to be feeling low, low, low...
So I just smile and write it down.

The struggle seemed to serve the sour occasion,
Just scratching at the floor in heaven's basement.
Then I felt the wind from an open door brush against my wings,
Oh master, it was I who attached the strings,
Of freedom, it was I who attached the strings,
So I'm looking the mirror singing:

Unchain me now, Unchain me now,
Oh my ego, you've helped me to survive but,
Unchain me now, Unchain me now,


  1. I find it hard to believe that your inner critic (former roommate) stops by for just tea. I suspect that you guys get right fucked up mercilessly the morning! Then he becomes progressively aggressive, at first criticizing indirectly, saying things like, "That new song of yours is pretty a bit of a reggae feel to it. Have you heard of this new reggae band around town? Man, they REALLY know how to play reggae. You should really check them out. I mean, anyone who would like to learn about how to REALLY play reggae music should listen to them."
    But by noon he has lost all restraint: "That's your chorus??? Really?! I mean, in all honesty, your guitarist is a fucking douche-bag and your lyrics suck. This song-a-week project is making you guys look like a couple of idiots." and so forth. Then around 3 or 4 things get all emotional, depression sinks in and the guy is weeping in your arms, appealing to your empathy while still making you feel like things aren't as good as they could and should be...
    What is it about inner critics and their incessant alcoholism?....Dicks.

  2. But then, by 5 we call a cab and send that guy home and crush his useless opinions. the Screaming Room is a critic assassin.