Courtesy of this month's O Magazine:
"If you have only 4 minute, 23 seconds, listen to Juliana Hatfield's winning take on a failed relationship, 'My Baby,' from her shimmering new CD, How To Walk Away (Ye Olde Records): He used to want to make me breakfast/but more and more he's sleeping in."
If you've got more than that -- say a couple of hours -- you could also go on over to Juliana's blog AN ARM AND A LEG, where she's still serially explaining all of her songs, at great length and in verging-on-way-to-much-info detail. Which we can only hope is an indication of what's in store from When I Grow Up, her memoirish book-writing debut, to be published next month by Wiley. We're bummed by the news that Juliana changes names in the book, but as far as we can tell she's naming names on the blog.
No sign yet of a self-directed close-analysis of "My Baby" over there yet, but plenty of juicy stuff going back to the Blake Babies days, including long and readable digressions on stuff like the time Mike Watt accidentally left Firehose's drummer in Manhattan (which in turn leads to a digression from the digression, about the time Volcano Suns left their bass player in Western Mass).
Tidbits? OK, sure:
one — except for JT Leroy, who had much hands-on experience with wigs,
as he made a life of concealing his/her true identity through the use
of wigs and sunglasses and fake names and things — ever commented on my Hey Babe wig, so I assume most people (with the lone exception of JT
Leroy) thought it was my real hair. One
other thing no one ever discussed was the fact that I pretty much
invented a whole genre of music with Hey Babe: Indie prog."
-- from "No Answer"
Slow Motion: "I think people are
put off by my blank stares. They must assume that I am empty inside,
numb, that I lack a center or a personality or that I don’t care. But
the fact is I care way too much. I am shell-shocked and frozen in fear,
afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing — afraid of hurting someone
(by saying or doing the wrong thing) and afraid of getting
hurt, myself (by mixing up the signals; by not understanding how people
are supposed to get along.) People are so easily, instantly,
lastingly/permanently wounded. I am so easily, instantly, lastingly/permanently wounded."
Backseat: With the words
“sleeping with Jesus” I certainly never meant to imply that anything
improper was ever going on in my head between me and the Son of God.
My Pet Lion: I’ve been
contemplating the idea of “giving up.” I’m looking at it as an option,
in various areas of my life. I’ve never considered it until now.
Little Pieces: “Dexter” is one of
my favorite new TV shows. As I watch I find myself really relating to
the Dexter character (which is frightening, considering he is a serial
killer). When his drippy girlfriend starts to put pressure on him to
get serious with her, we hear Dexter’s thoughts in voiceover (his words
are paraphrased here to represent how I remember them): “She wants to
take it to the next level. She doesn’t realize that with me, there is
no next level.” That’s me.
Little Pieces: "[I]f I ever get
involved again, I want it to be an older guy. In his 40’s, minimum.
Preferably 50’s or maybe even 60’s. Someone like Larry David or Bill
Murray (both of whom are newly single, I think): old, funny, good at
what he does, financially solvent, and not too good-looking (so he’s
not full of himself. The really good-looking ones know they can get
away with more bad behavior. Know they can get away with badder
behavior.) He doesn’t have to be rich; I just don’t want to have to
pick up the tab every time we go out to dinner."
one’s pretty self-explanatory: I had a drug addict boyfriend. (You
don’t know him; he isn’t/wasn’t famous.) . . . I
didn’t hate the guy or look down on him for having this problem. Having
a drug problem makes a kind of sense in this cruel world. I mean, who doesn’t want
to escape from all the random, ever-present meanness and bigotry and
hatred and all the millions of kinds of pain and suffering? . . . The
guy was clean when I met him, but after a few months with me, he needed
the drugs again. Like I said, I can’t really blame him. Besides, I’d
drive anyone to drugs.
From "Choose Drugs" http://julianahatfield.com/blog/?p=18
I may seem
complicated and inconsistent but really I’m just a simple girl. Give me
a plate of fried clams and a Corona and a sunset (or, in the absence of
a sunset, a Red Sox game on the TV) and I am happy as a pig in shit.
From "Simplicity Is Beautiful" http://julianahatfield.com/blog/?p=10
And, hey, tell me, why do we need microwave ovens?