the hatchet from lost songs by zoë and the lost boys
I always wanted to be a songwriter, for as far back as I can remember. I was overjoyed when I finally figured out how to write a song that made me want to share it with anybody. But the process of sharing was, at first, hugely uncomfortable. For one thing, these songs are about my feeeeeeeeeelings, and sometimes my feelings are embarrassing, like "I am sad and crazy" or "I wish I were skinny!" (Also, lots of times my feelings are "hooray!" but that's not hard to share with people. At least, not for me.) For another thing, the words and music are just stuff I made up out of my brain and could easily all be garbage! The process and product are both deeply personal and making it public is, in a way, an act of supplication. "Here I am," I say with every song. "Please like me." It would be very cool to be able to say that I don't care if anybody likes the music I write, but it would also be an enormous (and fairly obvious) lie. I care very much. While the act of sharing and singing in public has gotten easier with time, it's still odd to tell a room full of strangers all my secrets, even when they are wrapped in metaphors and embellished with music.
Here's the other thing: I HAVE to make music. I have to do it. I am unable to put it away. The need to make music and art is like a guy with a gun who lives in my brain. Yeah, that sounds slightly unhinged but you know what, at least it doesn't sound COMPLETELY unhinged. So that is my situation: I write sing about my *feelings*, which is uncomfortable, but I can't stop. And this song is about how... sometimes I think it would be nice to just... chill. Like how cool would it be if I wasn't always churning away at some project, and could look out the window and take a deep breath??? This song is all about that.
On the other hand, I would have plenty of time to make all the songs and art my heart desires AND take a deep breath and look out the window if any of my art generated enough income for me to quit my Day Job. So maybe it's my Day Job I want to take out into the woods and bury in a hole. (Don't be mad, Day Job. Please don't fire me. It's not your fault I'm like this.)
Tracklist
| 5. | the hatchet | 3:34 |
Lyrics
you can build your house from sticks and stones
don't be surprised if i don't come home
i'll be in the forest digging a hole
to spend my night with the rats and moles
hang a horseshoe up over the door
lay pinewood planks all over the floor
i'll be out in the rushes and reeds
where the banks by the water are oh so steep
a pot-bellied stove to keep you warm
a mantlepiece covered in trinkets and charms
i'll be out by the railroad tracks
drinking burning hot coffee 'til my mouth turns black
an apple-bough burning on a flagstone hearth
tempts me and threatens to tear me apart
i wanna go inside with you
but there's something i must do
that's bury this hatchet that's hacked me in two
it's lonely out here where the light won't reach
i pray the woods my soul to keep
if i can't get this hatchet buried deep
i pray the wayward moon my soul to keep
build me a house and make it sweet
but i've got a deep dark promise to keep
i'll be out by the wishing well
to see if it works as good as they tell
Credits
Zoë Robertson: vocals
Julien Palassio: bass, ukulele, electric guitar, spoons, shaker, djembe, tambourine, cymbal, frog, backing vocals
Bruce MacKinnon: organ
François Pelletier: backing vocals
Elijah Baker: drums, bongos
License
All rights reserved.
I write songs about all kinds of odds and ends - shoes, ships, sealing wax, cabbages, kings - but I always find myself returning to the themes of landscape, love, time, death and the strange way that being a creature feels and creates meaning in the swirling eddies of spacetime. I also write about motherhood, and the emotional saga of becoming a parent.