Psittacism is a rather exotic term for mechanical and repetitive speech. Shibboleths are customs or beliefs which distinguish or identify a social group.
The vocalist bemoans being at a party where everyone is speaking in hackneyed lingo. Conversations never seem to get anywhere beyond exclamatory grunts like "right on","heavy", "dude", "awesome". He longs for real dialogue for intimate disclosure, instead he is inundated with meaningless repetitive and predictable responses.
He looks about at all his high friends with their glazed eyes and open mouths. He longs for connection.
Seeing an attractive woman he fantasizes their getting together. He longs for her to "unshuffle me with your card shark hands". He wants to learn about her world and what she thinks and feels, and is excited by the prospect of sharing something of personal importance.
Yet, no matter how much he wants to love and be loved he will not lower his standards. While he thirsts for intimacy he will not get involved in a toxic relationship for a night of companionship and passion.
Night after night, party after party, the alcohol induced stupor dominates the lives of his contemporaries. The scene gets played over and over and nothing ever seems to change. His life and that of his friends seems frozen in time.
Yet, all someone would have to do to break the spell is to truly connect with him, to truly care.
While the lyrics and music start out in a stilted mechanical fashion, you get a sense of anticipation in the air. A change is coming and it smells like revolution.
The ending of the song, is one of my top ten ending of anyone's music. The soulful cries and soaring female vocals and the raspy and orgiastic sax solo causes the supporting music to swell, leaving us with a sense of hope and determination that we will be able to overcome our overly mechanized life.
lyrics
Psittacism Criticism 7/16/80
Coughing up those bricks
Glorified shibboleths
I’d give you the back of my hand
If I could endorse a cliché
She talks with all the class of escaping gas
To sad little void heads
Glazed eyes and gaping jaw (perpetual sneeze)
Come to my room to play adult parchesee
Unshuffle me with your card shark hands
Let me be your detour if you desire reconstruction
I’m sad yet hopeful, this blue blood’s not green
Parched man desires refreshment
But even a man dehydrate will decline HCL
Where’s the party, where’s the party?
Put me on remote control
Oh hell, I used to be 21
There’s no time after alcohol
Put me in my time
Put me in my time
I used to be a friend of mine till
You put me in my time
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