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lyrics

I want to be an artist but an artist I can not be
In a land of fools, phonies and freaks, an artist I can not see
You might jump on a chair, dye your hair, call yourself Panda Bear
But that don’t mean a thing now do it though?
I might strum upon a guitar but an artist am I? No.

I went to school in New York City and fell into a band
Wore cool sunglasses, polo shirts and wrote some catchy tunes god damn
Hear those Lion King-Beach Vibe-Ivy League-Whitified-Semper Phi’d-
Grooves on alternative satellite radio
I might cite African influence but an artist am I? No.

I tried to be a painter, I couldn’t wait for it to dry
I filled a car with darts, called it modern mart, make money like Republican
I put a lightbulb in my mouth
Charged five dollars for the show
I might put shit in a can but an artist am I? No.

I wasn’t so bad way back in the day
But I forgot how to sing when I found something to say
I’m the last man alive
Who needs a giant microphone
I might dine with the President but an artist am I? No.

I want to be an artist but an artist I can not be
I can rhyme a line, I can play in time, but there’s no soul in the 21st century
I’ve looked high and low
I’ve read all those paperbacks, Kerouac to be exact
It’s hard to find Dean Moriarty when it’s four bucks a gallon Jack

credits

from Hipster Blues & British Birds EP (2010), released March 7, 2010

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Julian Saporiti Portland, Oregon

Songs from the good old days.

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