Song Review
Here’s one more for everyone on this Monday-ish feeling Thursday, this time from the Berkley, California alternative hip-hop act Why? Originally a solo project of frontman/lyrical-mastermind Yoni Wolf, Why? evolved into a full band prior to the release of their most recent album Eskimo Snow (released on September 22nd of this year); Even the Good Wood Gone can be found in the highly formidable position of fourth song on said album. Fans of Why? will likely recognize a distinct shift in the band’s sound on Eskimo Snow. Where one would expect a strong hip-hop beat, similar to that heard on previous works such as These Few Presidents, the band throws out a folk-rock sort of feel; refer to the bridge of this song. For more from the band, check out our previous posts below:
Why? -- Fatalist Palmistry
Why? -- Gemini (Birthday Song)
Why? -- Eskimo Snow
Why? -- The Vowels Pt. 2
Why? -- Good Friday
Why? -- By Torpedo or Crohn’s
Why? -- Simeon’s Dilemma
Why? -- The Hollows
Why? -- These Few Presidents
and when i woke up, i woke up stiff and grey already,
posed in sleep by something half my selves made stone,
wrists and ankles crossed at a vulnerable angle,
and when i woke up, well i woke up alone
as the only fool or pharaoh present,
in a shoddy school museum collection
looted of gold, if there ever was some,
and even the good wood gone
remaining fingers curled around the memory of ra,
left not even with my death mask on,
heart and other organs missing for so long,
features faded and dated in estimation,
and even the good wood gone
drunk off a leak in the ceiling,
some mantra stuck on my lips in vain
no flash photography,
no flash photography,
no flash photography,
and when i’m really buried i’ll be buried in cleveland,
with a new pair of skis and someone’s old set of keys to their car,
and bottom floor apartment door and health club locker,
throw the scent of my true purpose from god and grave robbers
my true purpose which i will have taken the care to have kept hidden
even from myself my whole life
no flash photography,
no flash photography,
no flash photography,
already grey and rehearsing my mantra,
left hand gripping hockey stick or cattle prod,
my final futile act of double deception,
aloof and tinged with truth as the best lies are,
as i’ve always shot pool south paw,
and many of you who knew me saw
