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Fan of the Common Man
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'Sometimes it really blows my mind the many ways we waste our time.'
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Rob plays things with strings and makes sounds with his voice. Eshinee plays things she can hit with her hands and sings. They both write songs, inspired by eve
Misses and Mystery is the songwriting/performing partnership of Rob Veith (vocals, guitar, bass, and programming) and Eshinee Smallwood (vocals, percussion, and keyboards). They have performed together as part of other bands and have released three albums independently. Diverse in their musical influences and erudite in their songwriting, a typical Misses and Mystery album features a mix of traditional folk, psychedelic rock, and jazzy improvisation.
Song Info
Genre
Acoustic • Acoustic Rock
Peak in subgenre #304
Author
Rob Veith
Rights
2002
Uploaded
February 07, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.2 MB • 128 kbps • 4:35
Story behind the song
A friend of mine used to say that much of life is doing the stupid stuff you have to do so you can do the stuff you want to do. This is a song about trying to love the stupid stuff. Marco always hated the harmonica, because it's not quite in tune.
Lyrics
Sometimes it really blows my mind, the many ways we waste our time; NBA and Elvis shrines on the news get equal time. And in this zoo of modern man, we’ve natural habitation plans with remote controls and Campbells cans and a dogeared issue of Wired. You rub your wand until you get your wish. What the hell is this? A politician does Pinochio with a wooden head and expanding nose in a pseudo-Caesar pose in a home that mirrors a bubble. They tell you work’s its own reward; I burn my bread by staying bored like a serf before his lord with nothing to do but grovel and hope to give that gold ring a kiss. What the hell is this? What the hell is this? CHORUS: And I’m wild in a civilized land, like a child in a kind of civilized scam. Here I go, trying to understand and be a fan, a fan of the common man. Somehow we all learn to be free, like great apes or sea monkeys who procreate and try to please in a luxury land turned hovel. The success measuring meter stick is not unlike the parlor tricks of dogs and cats in circus shtick scratching at day old stubble: you lift your leg to mark your lot with piss. What the hell is this? What the hell is this? (chorus)
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