Where the wild things go song
Wild Things by Alessia Cara Lyrics | Song Info
Lyrics
Find table spaces, say your social graces Bow your head, they're pious here But you and I, we're pioneers, we make our own rules Our own room, no bias here Let 'em sell what they are sellin', there are no buyers here So gather all the rebels now, we'll rebel-rouse and sing aloud We don't care what they say no way, no way And we will leave the empty chairs to those who say we can't sit there We're fine all by ourselves So hey, we brought our drum and this is how we dance No mistakin', we make our breaks, if you don't like our 808s Then leave us alone, 'cause we don't need your policies We have no apologies for being Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be alright, don't mind us) Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be just fine, don't mind us, yeah) Find me where the wild things are I lose my balance on these eggshells You tell me to tread, I'd rather be a wild one instead Don't wanna hang around the in-crowd The cool kids aren't cool to me They're not cooler than we are So hey, we brought our drum and this is how we dance No mistakin', we make our breaks, if you don't like our 808s Then leave us alone, cause we don't need your policies We have no apologies for being Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be alright, don't mind us) Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be just fine, don't mind us, yeah) We will carve our place into time and space We will find our way, or we'll make a way (say hey, hey, hey) Find you're great, don't you hide your face Let it shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine So hey, we brought our drum and this is how we dance No mistakin', we make our breaks, if you don't like our 808s Then leave us alone, 'cause we don't need your policies We have no apologies for being Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be alright, don't mind us) Find me where the wild things are (oh my, we'll be just fine, don't mind us, yeah) Find me where the wild things are
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Where the Wild Things Go
CLICK FOR A NEW POEM
By D. Gilson
The night Max wore his wolf suit
made him infamous, bred the child star
never sent to bed. Middle school,
Max started drinking. Not in my house,
his mother begged,
No, no, no, wild thing.
Max reminded her who bought
this condo, who paid for her meds.
Freshman year, Max raved. Roared
his terrible roar, rolled, and almost
wound up in a warehouse dead.
Where, oh where, do the wild things
go? To rehab in high school.
To college on residual book sales.
Max kept his head down. Laughed
at drunken frat boys. Bro, let the wild
rumpus start. Max said, No thanks,
and volunteered for the Peace Corps
instead. Two years in Kenya, one
in Belarus, the president thought
Max might be of some use.
Max
moved to Washington, appointed
at the State Department a cultural
attaché. One important day Max wore
his wolf-gray suit, then drove home
well past rush hour in a freak snow storm.
Max drove on the deserted beltway,
thought it his throne. Yes
, Max belted,
this is where the wild things roam.
Source: Poetry (May 2017)
- Arts & Sciences
- Living
- Relationships
Poet Bio
D. Gilson is an Assistant Professor of English at Texas Tech University. His essays, poetry, and scholarship explore the relationship between popular culture, literature, personal history, and sexuality. See More By This Poet
More By This Poet
Harold & the Purple Crayon
Berkeley psychologists told Harold
his anger was justified. What parents
let their child go for a midnight walk
under no moon? I couldn’t have
been more than four, Harold told
the doctor in her crisp beige office.
Doctor, could it ever be OK
for a four-year-old to...
By D. Gilson
- Arts & Sciences
- Living
- Relationships
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The Racist Bone
I know this is a real thing, because
When I was a kid, my big sister took me
To the Capitol Theater, in my hometown
Of Rochester, NY,
And there was a movie that afternoon,
The Tingler, which starred Vincent Price,
And what I remember best...
By Cornelius Eady
- Arts & Sciences
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The Last Word
I am a door of metaphor
waiting to be opened.
You’ll find no lock, no key.
All are free to enter, at will.
Simply step over the threshold.
Remember to dress for travel, though.
Visitors have been known
to get carried away.Illustration by Shadra Strickland
By Nikki Grimes
- Arts & Sciences
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if time is queer/and memory is trans/and my hands hurt in the cold/then
there are ways to hold pain like night follows day
not knowing how tomorrow went down.
it hurts like never when the always is now,
the now that time won't allow.
there is no manner of tomorrow, nor shape of today
only like always having...
By Raquel Salas Rivera
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Here’s an Ocean Tale
My brother still bites his nails to the quick,
but lately he’s been allowing them to grow.
So much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
as backdrop.
It comes down to simple math.
The beach belongs to none of us, regardless
of color, or money....
By Kwoya Fagin Maples
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My brother still bites his nails to the quick,
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So much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
as backdrop. It comes down to simple math.
The beach belongs to none of us, regardless
of color, or money....
By Kwoya Fagin Maples
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Grain Memory
A wishbone branch falls
from my Grandma Thelma’s oak
for me.
What do you know about magic? e1 asks.
E bends e old body down, turns
the wishbone branch into
a cross, places it around my neck.
I am strapped at the Black River’s right shoulder,
remembering my...
By Marlanda Dekine
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5 cult songs of the Wild West
The image of a cowboy, created largely thanks to westerns, resembles a knightly one - the same wanderer on a horse with a revolver instead of a sword, fighting duels and hunting for a woman's heart. The knights did not compose ballads; for this, bards walked next to them, who accurately noticed and sang their way of life. Cowboys lacked such helpers, so they themselves were sometimes not averse to coming up with a few sentimental stanzas about their lonely and ill-fated life. This type of poetry was called cowboy poetry, but for the first time it came from professional writers who accompanied cowboys on the road.
We have selected only a few poems, both professional and folk, written in the days of the Wild West and which have come down to us in the form of songs.
"Bill Venero"
The song "Bill Venero" is a unique case, because it is the result of authorial and social creativity. It was first published in 1881 in the Youth's Companion. It was called The Ride of Paul Venarez and was written by Eben E. Rexford, a prolific American writer best known for his gardening books. The text of the poem was too long and complicated, but the story is so good in its simplicity that later folk poets, who fell in love with it, changed the lines and got a completely different work, which retained, however, the main idea. Here is the translated text of one of the many versions of this song.
Once in Arizona
Bill heard a story,
Like Apaches with axes
Terror is spreading around.
Same people say,
Three stabbed to death in a row,
"Everyone's in danger on the ranch" -
Bill thought to himself.Forty miles from Arizona,
Where spruce and pine grew,
In the silence of the wilderness,
Among simple and modest houses -
There are no more than ten of them,
In one girl lived, that the eye could not take away.
Little Bessie is good,
She stole Bill's heart.Well, no wonder,
That he became the color of milk,
When he heard the cowboy's tale
About the dead poor fellows.
"If there is a God in the world,
I will save my love,
I live only for Bessie,
And I swear I will return her!"He went off like a bullet,
How determination shot through him.
"But, hero," said the friend,
Hearing about the daring plan,
You're rushing straight to death.
He replied: "Damn it,
I might die,
But without her I can't live."While he was rushing across the steppe,
There were only one thoughts:
Not about the threatening danger,
But about a merciless gang.
The wind sang, whistling, in the ears,
Ringing from spurs on boots.
Little Chapo carried him
To those lands beyond the river.A sharp shot rang out,
Bill sank slightly in the saddle,
“I'm wounded,” he said quietly,
The paint came out on the shirt.
"While you are still alive,
Hope will live with you,
But if I die on the road,
Bessie Lee will know about the campaign."In the evening twilight, a horse,
He galloped to the ranch,
Out of breath and snoring,
But found out where Bessie's door was.
The cowboy lay in a deep sleep,
And Bess shook him in the saddle,
But his sleep was so deep,
That no one could wake him up.This story is known to everyone,
But it does not age at all,
How Bill Venero was killed
In one unfortunate, dark moment.
Many years have passed since then,
And the hair is not the same color,
But in front of the gravestone
She places the flowers with her wrinkled hand.
Original
"Out Where the West Begins"
Unlike the previous verse, "Out Where the West Begins" has only one and only author - Arthur Chapman - a reporter and columnist who worked in many American newspapers at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. Although his poem does not directly refer to cowboys, it embodies the spirit of the Wild West.
On the cover of Chapman's Mystery Ranch, published in 1921, this poem was said:
“Today these are perhaps the most famous lines in America. They hang on the wall of the Department of the Interior office, they are quoted in Congress and used in election campaigns by governors.
Where the hand is shaken stronger,
Where it is easier to meet a smile
The West begins.
Where the sun warms hotter,
Where the snow whitens brighter,
Where home is remembered more often
The West begins.
Where the sky is a little lighter,
Where there is devotion, or rather
The West begins.
Where the fresh wind blows,
Where they laugh and coo,
They sow less than they feast
The West begins.Where progress steps more sharply,
Where there are fewer broken hearts
The West begins.
Where they sing more often than sigh,
Where they give more often than they buy,
Where friends stay and do not disappear
The West begins.
Original
Drift Along Lonely Cowboy
William Fletcher, born in 1892 in San Francisco, lived a bright life. For 62 years, he managed to visit a musician, poet, publisher, rodeo promoter and cowboy. He missed his free youth and openly admitted this in one of his letters to a friend:
“Damn it, I was born and raised in this very West. The first thing I remember is the ranch and the cows.
The best years I spent on becoming a cowboy. I knew every creek from the Sierra Nevada to Utah, and I still fondly remember the days and nights I spent in the saddle, making only thirty bucks a month. However, it was the happiest time of my life.”
In the sky above azure,
Where the sun shines brightly
There is a paradise for those who are faithful to God —
And he only waits for the Earth to turn around.There riders gallop through the green meadows
And always meet the dawn,
And with the owner of those places you will travel around
All the fields, but now you are alone and ride for yourself.Now you're alone, so jump, cowboy, into the foggy distances,
Where the wagon was left on the top of the hill.
Friends will meet in the land that once left the world and you,
We will all meet at the top of the hill.The owner of those places will give you a hand
And he will wait at dawn,
And in the light of fire familiar faces will look at you, friends
But now you are alone and ride for yourself, ride for yourself.
Original
"Railroad Corral"
Usually considered a folk song because it won great fame among cowboys, but in fact it was written by American poet Joseph Mils Hansom, who in 1904 sent it to Leslie's Monthly Magazine with a note that at the time of composition he kept in mind the theme of Walter Scott's ballad "Bonnie Dundee". True, the editors did not publish his afterword, and the cowboys themselves began to lay the song on various melodies.
We get up early in the morning with the dawn,
The camp buzzes, preparing breakfast and lunch,
And the herd lying on the hillside,
Sleepily and quietly opens his eyes.
It's time for us to check the spurs, pull the reins,
Wake up our horse, get ready to go,
Lead the cattle out of the thicket
We must lead him back to the paddock.The solar circle rises higher,
The bulls are already breathing heavily in a waddling,
Datura from the heat finds again,
But noon is not soon, you have to wait.
Tie a knot tight around your neck,
Hurry up your horse, we'll make it on time,
Lead the cattle out of the thickets
We must lead him back to the paddock.Shadows lie down, we break a bivouac,
We are taking the cart to a dense ravine,
The bulls disperse, you can’t even see it,
We gather together again by the fire.
Give your horse a good rest,
He'll have to get up early tomorrow,
Say goodbye to the bulls in those thickets over there,
They don't have to go back to the pen now.The longest day is coming to an end,
You can see your tiredness in your face,
Let the cattle lie in the sunset rays,
After all, the wagons are two steps away from them.
Unfasten your holster and take off your belt,
Put aside your old saddle,
Say goodbye to the bulls in those thickets over there,
Now they don't have to return to the paddock. Not much is known about where this song came from. It is unlikely that at least someone will be able to say exactly who and when exactly composed it.One thing is certain - she's quite old and loved by the cowboys - that's enough to put her on the list. It is performed by Don Edwards, and this is what he himself says about it:
“This old song was loved by my friend Dick Farnsworth, who put it to the tune of “One Morning in May”. If people stop singing songs like this one, sooner or later they will disappear forever. I sing it a little better than a raven, but much worse than a canary.
Turn back time,
Let the engines run again,
Give me a cowboy hat,
Give me spurs, a belt and a shirt.Where did my holster go,
My revolvers, rope, bridle?
A rotten wattle fence will not keep you from the steppe,
Let me be a cowboy for the day.Give me a horse to be roaned
With a strong temper and without a saddle,
I remember how I took her by the bridle,
How the ends of the whip sparkled in pursuit.Give me a blanket for long journeys,
Give me a lasso so I can lasso,
I'll run away for good on the prairie,
Let me stay a cowboy for a day.
I want to hear the clatter of hooves,
The roar of shots, like iron creaks,
How the horned herd lows on the plain,
The neighing of horses is also a joy for me.I miss midnight rides
Cowboy screams in the air
And this chant is dedicated to everyone:
Let me be a cowboy for the day.Under the starry expanse that looks from heaven,
The fire is blazing and the forest is whispering,
And the meat and potatoes are hissing in the pot,
And the saliva is flowing, and the stomach is growling.Until the coals are completely cold
The stories go one after another -
The shadow of that memory still remains,
Let me stay a cowboy for a day.Original
“We are not afraid to be different” – Kultura – Kommersant
The Icelandic band Kaleo has announced that they will embark on a European tour in 2022, which also includes a Moscow concert (scheduled for October 16).
Boris Barabanov asked the leader of Kaleo Jay Jay (real name Jokul Juliusson) about the new album "Surface Sounds", filming on the slope of the volcano and the Eurovision movie.
JJ (Kaleo)
Photo: Rick Kern / WireImage / Getty Images
JJ (Kaleo)
Photo: Rick Kern / WireImage / Getty Images
- Your latest album, "Surface Sounds", came out with a big delay, you planned to release it earlier. Why did it happen?
— The fact is that releasing an album and touring in support of it are things that still go hand in hand in any band's schedule. After all, the public also builds its own schedule - plans a vacation, buys tickets. You can't just pick up and release an album if you're in a regularly touring band. Each new tour is a new concept, a new show. And concerts for a long time were impossible. Everything is interconnected.
- Kaleo still plays American music.
I'd say white American redneck music, if that doesn't offend anyone. Is the sound of the album "Surface Sounds" just your taste (and a lot of rehearsals) or do you really travel a lot in the American outback?
- I do not agree that my task is literally like this - to play American music. But I do listen to a lot of traditional American music, what they call roots music. I try to dig deep, looking for old records. You're right, we traveled all over America, all the states, except that they didn't play in Alaska. It's always nice when we're traveling and stop in a small town and someone orders a Kaleo song from the jukebox or dances to it in a bar. But when I enter the studio, I don't think about how to express my impressions of the American province. Each song has its own voice, that's what I look for when recording. I'm the one following the song, not the song following me.
- You spend a lot of time in Austin, Texas. But Kaleo videos are still filmed in Iceland.
Why is this so important to you?
— It is a great happiness to have a wonderful team in your homeland with which you can solve any creative problem. We use Icelandic landscapes to the fullest. It's great to have people around us who help bring some really wild ideas to life, like doing outdoor live recordings and making videos. I would be happy to do something similar on different continents, but in Iceland we have everything we need for this.
- I just wanted to ask you about filming the "Skinny" video in close proximity to an active volcano. Lava, poisonous smoke - and here you sing. How is that in general?
— You are right, it is dangerous. We wanted to shoot as close to the volcano as possible. Our team included volcanologists who constantly measured the content of toxic substances in the air. We were lucky that the wind did not blow in our direction that day. We hit a small safe window. In general, this, of course, is a real raging element.
- Let's talk about a place called Mosfellsbair.
A town with a population of 8.5 thousand people. Olafur Arnalds was born there. There's a studio where Sigur Ros record. And there gathered Kaleo. What is so special about this place?
— Thank you, I'm glad you pronounced the name correctly. In relation to Reykjavik, this is a real hinterland. A very green city, similar to a village. The Sigur Ros studio is located so that the river flows right through it, and there are many baths on this river. Maybe it affects the sound. We recorded a lot of music there. Mosfellsbair is much quieter than the capital. I won't say what's so special about this city.
It's just that everything in Iceland is conducive to free creativity, whether it's music, or cinema, or fine arts.
No one is chasing fashion, no one is afraid to try new things. We have bands that play reggae, we have bands that, as you say, sound American, but the main thing is that we are not afraid to be different.
- The album "Surface Sounds" was recorded before the lockdown, it was just waiting in the wings.
What happened to Kaleo during the lockdown? Have you paused everything? Or, on the contrary, have you become more active in terms of creativity?
— I always write. So, by and large, the lockdown did not affect me in any way. We just had to deal with it. And now we are returning to normal life, including concerts. I want to believe that the music that I composed during the forced pause speaks of our movement forward. Yes, even on "Surface Sounds" there was not only Americana, not only blues-rock. For example, "Hey Gringo" is disco. There are many colors in music, so I won't be surprised if reggae or afrobeat appear on our new album.
- I once spoke to Deep Purple's Ian Gillan about what it was like to play "Smoke on the Water" every night for decades. And he said: "I always remember that there was such an evening when we played it in front of an audience for the first time." What do you say to yourself when you sing "Way Down We Go"?
— Of course, I want our group to achieve full heartfelt contact with the audience every evening.
