St. Vincent (musician)
American multi-instrumentalist, singer and songwriter who performs using the moniker St Vincent.
While people will cheer on the spectacle we've made
I'm sitting and sculpting menageries of saints.
The first time I saw her perform — she must’ve been 15, maybe 14 — she got up in a club in Dallas, sat in with her guitar teacher’s band, played "The Wind Cries Mary" and just blew everybody away. ... At that time she was very shy and diminutive, except when you listened to her guitar playing. ... She’s physically a very intense player. She takes a kind of ferocious approach to the technique of the guitar, a real high energy.
I think anyone who is creative or self-aware in any way, there’s like a humility to it, or I should say a humiliation to it. But there’s also a self-delusion — the provisional ego, as my uncle would call it. The self-delusion is the thing that makes you go, oh you know what, all the music that I’ve ever loved in the world, I want to be a part of that — hey, listen to what I have to say, it’s really important, it’s going to matter.”
You can’t apologize your way into people’s hearts ... You have to go full force.
Good souls have born better sons,
Better souls born worse ones.
Paint the black hole blacker...
Tomorrow's some kind of Stranger I'm not supposed to see.
I read the signs,
I got all my stars aligned,
My amulets, my charms,
I set all my false alarms,
So I'll be someone
Who won't be forgotten.
Oh but I'd pay anything to keep my conscience clean.
I'm keeping my eyes on the the exit sign. Steady now.
I enjoyed, and I tried to soak up and learn everything as fast as I could from doing any kind of music. It's good to have a gig. If you're a musician, it's good to be working.
I love doing all of it, but Marry Me is my baby, St. Vincent is my child.
I'm not your mother's favorite dog
I'm not the carpet you walk on
I'm not one small atomic bomb
I'm not any any any anything at all.
While Jesus is saving, I'm spending all my days
in backgrounds and landscapes with the languages of saints.
While people are spinning like toys on Christmas day,
I'm inside a still life with the other absentee.
I'm crawling through landmines
Just to know where you are.
Lover, I don’t play to win but for the thrill until I’m spent.
Paint the black hole blacker. Paint the black hole blacker
Marry me, John, I'll be so good to you —
You won't realize I'm gone,
You won't realize I'm gone.
I think I love you I think I'm mad.
I traded my plot of land for a plane to anywhere
Oh where did you go.
And I can't see the future but I know it's watching me.
All my old friends aren't so friendly
And all my old haunts are now haunting me.
Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power they say
"I'm on your side when nobody is, cause nobody is.
Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear"
The first thing I did when I picked up any instrument, when I was five years old, was write a song. It's kind of funny; I thought about it, statements that it's a "solo effort" — it's kind of like, "Oh, well I've been doing this since I was five." I was kind of doing this before I did anything else.
We're sleeping underneath the bed to scare
The monsters out
With our dear daddy's Smith and Wesson. We've got to teach them all a lesson.
A lot of the songs have a duality about them; one part is totally sincere, and there's another part that is kind of smirking and making light of it all. Or there's a very dark streak about it.
Just like an amnesiac, trying to get my senses back.
Oh where did they go.