Pronounced “nine twelve”.
First off, it’s not called that because it’s anything to do with 09/11 actually. It does have subject matter that connects, but really we did the song on the 12th of September and it had no title and was labeled “0912” in our audio folder. Kept the title ’cause of the accidental relevance.
So this is a cheat big time. This is the lyrics from a whole other song. Called [sc_embed_player fileurl=”http://www.nquit.com/sounds/MCMurph/ArtisticApocalypse/11MCMurphMajorityOfMen.mp3″]”Majority Of Men”.
That was how it was for me at this time. I would do tracks and do tracks, but pushing fucking words out of me was so tough that sometimes I’d just search around in books or old albums and reuse shit. In fact that’s mostly what I was doing is just searching through journals and using shit, maybe fleshing it out. Hardly anything entirely new on this record.
I probably already said something about this rhyme, because I think I already talked about Majority Of Men. Yep, here it is.
The tracks on this song are so fuckin complex. I could remix this thing 100 times. There’s a million guitars and squeaks and drums and back up vocals. I totally make it go nuts at the end too. I improvised the shit about “do you want me to lay it down, for the rest of the world and the president, don’t act like you ain’t been there I know you ain’t paid the rent”
Of course Eric played all these guitars and basses. The drums are machines. And Eric did backing vocals. I had him scream all this Latin at the end, but I don’t remember what it means.
That’s actually a weird nod to a professor I had in college – Monica Cyrino (god she was SOO HOT). Classics professor, which is also “History”, so I took a lot of her classes because I was a history major! And she made getting a good grade and just learning by listening very easy, and she was a GODDAMN sexy redhead. But anyway one lecture we talked about old school Latin Lyric Poets, and the similarities, culturally, between that and rap. I decided I wanted to make a rap song entirely in Latin. I even wrote her an email at some point telling her so! But I never have gotten around to learning to rap in Latin, but Eric took some Latin and could scream a few things as a backing track on a song of mine, so I figured that was a start!
But the coup de gras on this fuckin thing to me is the guy screaming “SOMEBODY LET ME OUTTA HERE!!!” at the end. That same voice/track is the gospel style singing you hear throughout the song. That guy was a friend of Eric’s who came in to the studio one day while we were working, and I only ever met him that one time, and I don’t know his name even. He was like “oh neat I wanna try!” and so we said “get your ass in the booth then!” and he did, and it turned out he was really good at this nutball gospel singing (which was being done very sarcastically and it was hilarious but also awesome sauce!). He didn’t want a credit or anything, wanted specifically to remain anonymous, so that’s why I’m ok with forgetting his name and everything about him except his track.
He’s screaming at the end because the whole joke at that studio was “The Old Man Clothes Room” – I might have told this story in this blog before, I really can’t remember. But whatever – the vocal booth was just my walk in closet. It was deep in and very isolated and very dead acoustically, but I didn’t have to DO much to make it so, because I had Tamara’s father’s entire wardrobe in there. And this was a man who had a lot of stuff. Suits, shirts, pants, a lot of things you might accumulate as a man of taste and means and corporate need. He died and her mom was sorting through his shit, and asked me to come help out by taking away anything that I might want (he happened to be about exactly my same size). Well when I went to her house, I quickly came to see that it was seriously draining and trying for her to have to sort through his clothes, and I figured, you know, it doesn’t really keep her from having to deal with that if I just take what I like. So while she was off in another room I literally hopped to, hurried my ass off, and put EVERYTHING in my truck. I said bye, drove off, and had it all. That was my little piece of service, such as it was.
So, everyone that came in to the studio, I told ’em what all the clothes in that closet were. So it was a bit creepy to be in there, we used to say (not sure if it really was or not, but we’d say it was). You’re in this deep hole with a bunch of dead old man clothes and a microphone. And it felt very isolated. Solitary. Fucked up man. So we lock that new dude in there, and by the end, he’s going “SOMEBODY GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!”
We laughed for days about him. What the hell was his fuckin NAME?
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