'... Is A Real Boy' By Say Anything (Album Review) Part 3 "The Writhing South"

Released: August 3, 2004

Genre: Emo, Indie Rock, Pop Punk, Punk Rock, Post-Hardcore

Run Length: 57:55

Label: Doghouse

Producers: Max Bemis, Tim O'Heir, Stephen Trask

3. The Writhing South

From the moment the guitar riff starts in, you know you are in for a treat. The riff builds and repeats as it takes on drums and the rest of the band. Bemis joins in with his vocals before they temper off the noise, but the very first swell of sound sets a precedent for a rambunctious nature and exploratory journey.

Yeah,Yeah, Yeah,Okay.

The way Bemis gathers you in with a sensual, seductive tone, before cutting it off and beginning the first verse, builds a great tension that asks for release.

Searching for blood in the salty seaThe sun beating down On the chest in back of meLooking for drugs in a southern town

It's no secret that during the writing of this album, singer songwriter Max Bemis used drugs. It's a source of frustration for some fans who don't connect as strongly with his work after he got sober, but that is a different point. So, obviously he isn't in a sea, so how I've understood it is a sea of salty bodies, and of course, he's looking to score.

I've got this red right handThat points me south The puke green clouds Just spat me outInto the hot, hot lands I landed with no shoes

The term of being caught red handed is a sign of guilt, so for my understanding, he knows the direction to go to get the drugs he's after. He laments the clouds and the burning earth of the Midwest (which he doesn't cite specifically, but is the interpretation I prefer).

The song changes tone though as we approach the chorus

I hear "hey, come pollinate me"across the room, I hope to watch you Writhe again soon

This may be one of the best, and my favorite metaphors for sex I've ever heard. For one, it is flowers that get pollinated (among other things), and the fact that pollination is a "sexual" act for flowers. To top it off, he instantly corrupts or pollutes the pristine pollination of the flower by referring to it as "writhing."

A quick search tells us the definition of writhe is:

To make continual twisting, squirming movements, or contortions of the body.

As the second verse begins:

they've got the army of earsThey can't hear you nowI got the piss in my veins And these furrowed browsYou've got this one last chance To burn me, turn me down

So now that he has a woman, who may also be the drug he is referring to in the song, as the line does become blurred since the beginning, the singer lays down a list of flaws, essentially telling his lover that if they wish to leave, now is the time.

If not, I've got these last 12 bucks To spend on youYou can take me anywhereYour sick mind wants toUse yourself to fuel me using you

If the object of the singer's love does not back out now, the singer states what he (or she) may expect. The final spending of a meager bank, the offer of endless adventure, and finally a corrupt flame that has no choice, but to extinguish itself mightily.

The song ties back to the verse again, where the singer hears the object of the song, call to be pollinated before ending in a wild mash of music and noise made by Bemis and the band.

Final thoughts

In many ways, this song is a ballad to a lover. It may be a little, dingy, dirty, or depending on who you are, outright disgusting that anyone could possibly delight in being who someone spends their last $12 on (what could they possibly afford!), but for others, the thought that someone would stretch themselves so thin, and prostrate all their worldly goods for the affection of another is more than admirable; it's desirable. For myself, I think that this song is a remnant of feelings for Bemis (Now married with three children). It's a fantastic (and I mean that in a fantasy sense) that these emotions exist because although it has amazing passion and poetry for writing, it's not necessarily bound to reality. What I mean by that is it has less staying power. However, the chorus is invaluable at any stage in life. The search for something pristine, and the urge to pollinate and "watch it writhe again soon" seem ingrained.