"There's so much about the life of our bodies, and the life in our bodies, that we ignore or repress. That peaty poetry continues on "7," the seventh and latest Poi Dog Pondering record - out Tuesday, and celebrated last Thursday with a sold-out show at the Vic Theatre - with Orrall confessing to a ravenous sexual appetite in "Candy," demanding that someone "spread your love all over me" in "Super Tarana (little golden deer)," which is definitely in the same spirit of "Sticky," and, in perhaps his most conservative lyric yet, pondering the thought of making a "Baby Together."
#Poi dog pondering complicated lyrics full#
"You're a cup that I hold by the cheekbones / I pull you close and I drink you up." "Muscle and sweat and blood and bones / feel good, feel strong!" "Vim and vigor, full of piss and vinegar / wrapping around, surround and bound by ligaments and skin." "Living With the Dreaming Body," "I've Got My Body," "Ta Bouche Est Tabou," "Collarbone."
#Poi dog pondering complicated lyrics skin#
World beat or Chicago house music rhythms demand dancing, while Orrall - c'mon, a singing poet named Orrall! - sings about everything else you can do with your skin and eyes and hands and fluids. The tunes have celebrated the human body almost as nakedly as Orrall's lyrics. The earthy songs of his Chicago-based band, Poi Dog Pondering, rock and groove but also hum and throb and breathe and laugh. In 20 years of making music, Orrall has struggled to translate the sticky, wet, messy experience of life into living pop music. These are Frank Orrall's same fears and desires. An animal typewriter, silent until touched, then filling the page with growls and squeals and squawks, yowls and bleats and snorts, brayings and chatterings and dry rattlings from the underbrush a typewriter that could type real kisses, ooze semen and sweat."
its keys living mushrooms, its ribbon the long iridescent tongue of a lizard. He pines instead for a "carved typewriter.
His clacking typewriter's inky letters on parchment won't convey the real essence of his narrative. Early in Tom Robbins' acclaimed novel, Still Life With Woodpecker, the narrator frets that mere words won't be enough to tell his story.
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