Going to try also breaking down and analyzing songs, starting with The Old Apartment by Barenaked Ladies. Never done this in this kind of format, so I might play around with how I do it a few times. For now, lyrics and footnotes and a conclusion. I take requests! Maybe
"Broke into (1) the old apartment
This is where we used to live (2)
Broken glass, broke and hungry
Broken hearts and broken bones (3)
This is where we used to live
Why did you paint the walls?
Why did you clean the floor?
Why did you plaster over
The hole I punched in the door? (4)
This is where we used to live
Why did you keep the mousetrap?
Why did you keep the dish rack? (5)
These things used to be mine
I guess they still are, I want them back (6)
Broke into the old apartment
Forty-two steps from the street (7)
Crooked landing, crooked landlord
Narrow lane way filled with crooks
This is where we used to live
Why did they pave the lawn?
Why did they change the lock? (4)
Why did I have to break it (8)
I only came here to talk
This is where we used to live
How is the neighbor downstairs?
How is her temper this year?
I turned up your TV
And stomped on the floor just for fun (9)
I know we don't live here anymore
We bought an old house on the Danforth
She loves me and her body keeps me warm
And I'm happy here (10)
This is where we used to live
Broke into the old apartment
Tore the phone out of the wall (11)
Only memories, fading memories
Blending into dull tableaux
I want them back (12)
I want them back (this is where we used to live)
I want them back (this is where we used to live)
I want them back (this is where we used to live)
I want them back"
Immediately, in two words, we are told that he is not supposed to be in this place. He is not welcome. He does not belong here, and yet he has forced himself onto the premesis.
But he used to belong here. This was his home. By themselves, these two lines define the entire song. The present tense is important. This is not the story of that time he broke in, he is there right now.
The description given is (obviously) entirely very negative, he does not have a nice thing to say about this apartment, and he will not for the entire song.
These things he is complaining about are not only normal, but healthy changes. Each question could reasonably be rephrased as "why are things better now? Why is the damage gone?"
He then does an immediate backpedal, and begins to ask why some things are still the same. A mousetrap and a dish rack are both unpleasant things. One is used to kill pests, and the other is used for a pretty universally disliked chore (without a dishwasher I might add).
He feels an ownership of these unpleasant things though, even though they are no longer necessary in his life (or he would have brought them with him). These are his problems, and he doesn't want to share them with strange people.
This line implies a very intimate level of familiarity. He lived in this place for a terribly long time to still remember such a trivial detail.
He fails to understand why he is no longer welcome, although he has chosen to move away.
In this stanza he remembers a lengthy feud he had with an angry neighbor. However, he remembers it in a positive light (How is she? That was fun for me). Notably, this is as close as he gets to saying something positive about the old apartment.
In this one, we learn that things are officially better now. He has upgraded from an apartment to a house, he owns it, he shares it with a lover. But. Right now, he has chosen to be here instead.
This is a curiously specific thing to do. He has voluntarily and violently made it impossible for people outside to contact the apartment, unless he is willing to open the door and go out or let them in.
All of this because of old memories he refuses to let go.
Although he is healing from his past experiences (moved away) he has knowingly taken action that will put him in a negative condition (broke in to the old apartment). There was no end game to this, he only came here to talk. In conclusion, The Old Apartment is about the human tendency to return to unhealthy spaces or circumstances if that is the sort of experience most familiar to us. It's also fire. Please go listen to BNL.
“Chess…it’s always chess…” The man said to Death “Every time I’ve died, you’ve had me play chess to win back my life…don’t you have any other games? I mean…Agricola, What The Plot?! or Disney Villainous are fantastic games! I own a game shop, come take a look, maybe we can find you something.”
Death scratched his head in frustration. The sound of bone on bone might have been disturbing, but it didn't phase Mr. Reeves anymore. He had heard it many times in their chess games.
"Look," muttered Death, "chess is my thing right now. It's part the iconography. Once upon a time we would have played dice, but in the modern-"
"We can still play dice!" Mr. Reeves cried out, so emboldened by his passion for games that he would interrupt the Reaper.
"Please I'm so bored of chess. We both know how that's going to end. I even have dice in my bag. Let's throw in some chance and make it exciting! We could play Yahtzee! Risk! 40k!"
If a skull could blink slowly to express that it was dumbfounded, Death would have done so. As it was he simply stared at Mr. Reeves for a moment in the menacing way that only a talking skeleton can.
"What is 40k? No. Nevermind, it doesn't matter. You're not listening to me. We don't have a choice. My form and actions are determined by the way the public imagines me, and right now they imagine that I play chess.
"Do you think I like to play chess all day? The average person isn't exactly a grand master. Believe me, I'm as exasperated as you are. Do you think I like being a skeleton, too? I was an angel once! In another culture I was nine hot women and a half-zombie! I've had so many animal heads I can't even remember them all! Now it's 'oh look at Bone Jangles, maybe a dog will run away with his femur again,' very funny! Ha fucking ha!"
Death was visibly trembling as he ended his rant. Due to his lack of fatty tissues, this resulted in a somewhat humorous sound not unlike an overly-caffeinated child holding maracas. He realized this, and it only heightened his frustration, causing him to shake harder and produce even more rattling. It would have been a vicious cycle if Mr. Reeves had not stepped in at that moment.
"Okay. Okay, it's okay. I'm sorry. You have rules, I respect that. I'll beat you in chess again, but first I want to teach you to play Warhammer 40,000. If you don't have fun I'll never bring this up again. If you do have fun, I want you to play a different game with me at all of our meetings. Deal?"
Death's ribcage expanded and contracted several times as if he were taking deep, calming breaths.
"Fine, deal. But only one game, and then we switch to chess. Now where do we begin?"
"Well, we have to go back to my shop first," answered Me. Reeves, grinning, "I have dice, but we'll need minis to play with, too."
Without another word, the odd duo turned and set off on foot together, with the sunset at their backs. Death wasn't sure what exactly a "mini" was, but he didn't ask. The deal was already struck.
"By the way," Mr. Reeves added, "We're also going to paint the minis first."
Rain drizzled lightly down the side of the roof. You sat on the old wooden chair, breathing in the fresh forest air as a squirrel ran across a nearby tree.
Warnings: offscreen death, grief (am I doing that right? I'm new here)
You had done this perhaps a hundred times by now. This is where they were sitting when they taught you how. The rickety rocker loosed a melancholy groan, as if it remembered too. As you drew the blade across the stone it made the same metallic shriek that once caused you such discomfort. This time it was like the voice of an old friend, consistent and unassuming.
The cold steel was marked with the letters MM, your initials, their initials. A lone drop of water fell on the knife, and though you were completely protected on your porch, you told yourself it must be the rain. It slowly trickled down the length until it reached the engraving and spread to fill it. You couldn't bring yourself to wipe it away, though you would never be able to say why.
After some time, you cleaned the stone and returned it to its place on your dresser. The knife was sharp, you didn't have to test it to know. They taught you well. After donning your rain gear and grabbing your pack, hatchet, and pole, you set off to the river. You were to catch a fish, clean it, and cook it over a campfire, just as you were instructed as a child. The rain wouldn't stop you; they taught you well. In your mind, this seemed the most appropriate way to honor them. Something they would be proud of.
The walk to the fishing spot felt a lot longer that day. You hadn't made the trip in several years, and you had never made it alone. You regretted not doing it more often. Eventually you arrived to find it had been filled in by foliage and debris from the river. You heaved a sigh, and realized you should have expected as much after all this time. No matter though. Equipped as you were with your hatchet and elbow grease, it only took a moment to clear a small path to the place you used to sit together.
You cozied up, and tied and baited your pole. You chose a barbless hook that day, more to make a point to yourself than anything else. As you cast the line out you whispered "I love you," and with a soft plink the river seemed to return your affection. Now it was just a matter of time.
In that moment there was a special peace. Though the tears had never stopped falling, you found the strength to smile. Out here, doing this, it would always be the same.
