Story Behind The Song

Gladys started out as a spoken word piece written about an old homeless woman sitting across from me at an outdoor coffee shop in Boulder. Turning it into a song was inspired by some of the spoken word tracks done my MC 900ft Jesus. As we started laying some atmospheric music to match the mood of the piece, bricks started falling into place and some rhymes were written to provide the hip-hop element and it progressed from there into the great original track that it has become.

Song Description

Gladys is an experimental tech-hop track combining elements of hip-hop, electronica, spoken word and rap. The subject matter is a homeless woman named Gladys who is old, sick, and tired of living. While the song definitely doesn't fit in any particular genre and is highly experimental, it is definitely new and exciting and forging new musical territory.

Lyrics

(Spoken Word)
Gladys sits and smokes and drinks coffee, constantly hacking from the depths of her lungs, reciting nursery rhymes to the enormous dog she has befriended this evening. A red rag covers her hair soiled with years of dishwater, dirt and grease. It's a nice rag. She had to bum change for a whole two and a half hours before she could take it out of Walgreens without stealing.

(Rap)
I wonder how many times I've laid here twisted
Looking for some answers (just missed it)
So I'm stuck eyes crossed ten shades of gray
Somewhere between jack frost and groundhog day
Struggle they say brings out the pain locked deep inside
Stop being Jekkyl (here comes Hyde)
With the fabulous turtle shell pocket comb
And a red hat fat little lawn gnome
She smells all the flowers at the train station
Practicing her purse string tugging vocation
Step to step on the pavement keeping eyes wide
Looking at the sea of people walking in stride
In my thin frame I wait for death til my last breath

(spoken word)
As she becomes more restless with the weight, or lack thereof, in her pockets, she propositions her neighbors for extra coin. Got any extra change? you see I'm out of cigarettes, and I'm not dead yet, but I'm working on it. So help a poor woman out seeking her grave. She succeeds, and sits and waits some more. Talking to her neighbor in her ever growing scratchy voice

(rap)
I walk eyes down through fields of hatred
And like a ghost town I speak through pencil lead
Guess I'll dig inside and find the real truth
Or end up with emotion locked in a phone booth
I just wanna transcend the ethereal plane
The way my guitar cracked and I lost my mind
I need to unwind the years of nerve strain
The grates are good for sleep you see in low degree the bowels of the city warm my skin from deep within
And gin on my breath, sin in my chest, so close to death I rest