Jeremy has a tendency to get his legs involved as well: In 2002, he biked across the entire continent, from Seattle to Halifax, Nova Scotia—and that’s a loooooong way, folks—to promote his first album, Back Porch Spirituals, recorded in a friend’s basement. That trek took six months and included 30 official shows, plus a number of impromptu performances, and it laid the foundation for what is now a sizable fan base in Fisher’s native Canada. He also has a history of busking in the more conventional manner—whatever it takes to get his music heard. We’re talkin’ grass-roots, interactive DIY to the max with this talented and dedicated—or maybe driven is a better word—young artist.
Fisher’s new album, Goodbye Blue Monday (released in the U.S. September 18 on Wind-up Records), is a timeless burst of acoustic rock & roll that’s brainy and hook-filled, playful and provocative, all at the same time. Take “Cigarette,” which employs the cancer stick as a metaphor for addictive relationships—the enticement, the yearning, the withdrawal and the damage. Or “Scar That Never Heals,” which examines the anatomy of heartbreak. At the same time, both are thoroughly infectious tracks with choruses that are, well, addictive. That’s Fisher’s M.O.
The album’s extremes are represented by the buoyant “High School” (a recut version of the single from Fisher’s second album, Let It Shine, which picked up substantial airplay in Canada) on the one hand, and the politically charged “American Girls” and “Lay Down (Ballad of Rigoberto Alpizar)” on the other. This is the sort of record that sounds like you’ve been playing it forever even as it explores themes that are altogether unprecedented—and that is no mean feat. Says Hawksley Workman (Tegan & Sara), who produced, played and sang backing vocals on the album, “Jeremy’s a brilliant and direct songwriter with a bright soul.”
As a curly-haired singer with an acoustic guitar, Fisher gets the requisite comparisons to Bob Dylan, while his boyish tenor, dexterous fingerpicking and electrifying hooks eerily recall Paul Simon. “It was a little weird to hear that sort of stuff at first,” he says, “but I’m really flattered that people see those resemblances, and I’m sure that some of the records Simon and Dylan listened to are in my collection—Delta blues singers like Charlie Patton, Robert Johnson, Mississippi John Hurt and Big Bill Broonzy, Alan Lomax’s field recordings, Depression-era stuff. For some reason, I identified with all that old stuff when I was going through this renaissance in my songwriting—it’s what inspired me to continue making music.”
With one foot in roots idioms and the other in rock, Fisher has an unusually broad palate to work with. He spent by far the greater part of his career playing solo, and there’s a disarming spontaneity to his performances. “I’ve probably done 80 percent of my shows solo,” he says, “and I built my thing on top of that. When I was busking, I shed all the things I’d been doing that didn’t work—it developed my songwriting and my performing, and it built my confidence. I feel like I really came into my own performing on the street, and for a while that’s all I wanted to do. So it’s been a hard road trying to find the right band, and the newest incarnation of my band is starting to feel the closest to how comfortable I am as a solo performer.”
As committed as he is to having fun, Fisher is totally serious about his mission. “Music can do a lot of things,” he says, “but the greatest thing music can do is to make listening to a record the best three-and-a-half minutes of your day, or the best night of your week when you go to a show. It’s an escape from the hum-drum; it’s a drug that’s actually good for you. What I’m really trying to do is relate to people on a human level, and in my songs I tend to gravitate toward the human element of a story. For example, ‘Lay Down (Ballad of Rigoberto Alpizar)’ is about a guy who got murdered by an air marshal in the Miami Airport, but the viewpoint I use is the fictitious voice of the guy who shot him. So what I’m trying to do is communicate with people, and music is the best way I know how to do that. Music is such a mysterious thing, because it’s pretty much invisible, but a song can convey an amazing amount of emotion.”
That’s certainly the case with “American Girls,” which boasts another audaciously unsettling premise. “I wrote the chorus and lyrics immediately after reading the verdict on Private Lynndie England, who was the Abu Ghraib soldier who took all the photos with the Iraqi prisoners,” Fisher points out. It was so controversial and got so much attention, and she ended up being the scapegoat, but the verdict got buried in the back of the newspapers because it wasn’t sensational enough, and I didn’t want to let it go by without being documented. That song and ‘The Ballad of Rigoberto Alpizar’ are both about events that are monumental but not nearly as important as the fact that a certain superstar wasn’t wearing underwear when she got out of a limo. This is a very weird culture we live in.”
As for the making of that little video with the big impact, well, there was a serious purpose behind that too. “I wanted there to be something out there that was from me—that wasn’t based on marketing—using what I had in my apartment as creatively as possible,” he says. “Just to be out there and relate to people in that way, and say, ‘Here’s something from me that I made for you. I can’t answer every email, but I want you to know that we’re communicating.’ It’s very important to me to be authentic in everything I do and find a creative way to get it all done. I remember being 12 years old and sending fan letters to pro skateboarders, hoping they’d get to read it and hoping they might write back. So I know what it feels like.”
A lot of time and effort went into that $60 clip. “The cigarette was made out of modeling clay,” Fisher explains, “and every frame was an individual picture I took, so it was a very long process, especially posing the cigarette with live people and getting them to do certain things at the same time. It’s pretty involved. Like, you sit there for an hour moving this little cigarette around, and then you push the spacebar and you have 10 seconds of footage, but somehow it’s rewarding. It’s funny, because I’m not all that patient a person.” He pauses for a beat. “But I’m dedicated.”
No two ways about that. For Jeremy Fisher, it’s all about attending to the details, telling the truth, being real and giving people the best three-and-a-half minutes of their day.
High School
Jeremy Fisher Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
When you stole your parent's rum and
Tried to screw everything that could breathe
Back in high school
We didn't have a whole lot to do and
Watched the world go by on a television screen
Said it's the nineties kids
That's way out, this is way in
It told us drugs were no good but then we smoked 'em and
Liked 'em so much we smoked a little more.
We liked 'em so much we smoked a little more
[Chorus]
Did I call your name, did you hear me
Singing that song I wrote for you
You're so the same, but you're so different
I didn't recognize you
It's kinda hard with all that sexual confusion
Sometimes you don't know if you're gay or straight
But what's the difference, it's a wonderful delusion and
Most times you won't make it past second base
I'm in a band, we kinda suck
But we don't know it yet and I don't care anyway
Soon I'm gonna sell these drums, pay my rent, support my kid and
Tell him all about way back in daddy's day
I'll tell him all about way back in daddy's day
[Chorus]
Some years later by a soda coolerator
In the corner store back in my hometown, this stranger smiles at me
He said remember the class of '93 and
For some reason it makes him look real proud
After all the good times he said we had he looks at me
Scratches his head and asks me where the hell I ever went and
The funny thing is, I never even knew him
But he could've been any one of my high school friends
[Chorus]
The song "High School" by Jeremy Fisher is a nostalgic reflection on the experiences of high school, which the singer views through both rose-tinted glasses and the clear-eyed lens of adulthood. The opening lines are a vivid evocation of the wild, carefree behavior that many young people indulge in during adolescence, such as sneaking alcohol and engaging in casual sex. The lyrics suggest that this behavior is a response to the boredom of suburban life, which offers little in the way of excitement or stimulation. Watching the world go by on a television screen is contrasted with the physicality of the dance floor, where kids are encouraged to "beat each other up" while listening to music that promotes drug use.
Line by Line Meaning
Bubble gum and house parties
We spent our teenage years indulging in frivolous activities like chewing gum and throwing house parties.
When you stole your parent's rum and
We were reckless enough to sneak into our parent's liquor cabinet and take their rum.
Tried to screw everything that could breathe
We were sexually active with anyone that showed interest in us.
Back in high school
All of these events happened during our high school years.
We didn't have a whole lot to do and
We were bored with our mundane lives.
Watched the world go by on a television screen
We were fascinated with the world outside of our small town and watched it on TV screens.
Said it's the nineties kids
We believed that we were unique and different from those who came before us.
That's way out, this is way in
We believed that our trends and habits were innovative and cool.
Go beat each other up on the dance floor
We were aggressive and rough with each other during our dance parties.
It told us drugs were no good but then we smoked 'em and
We were warned about the dangers of drugs, but we still experimented with them.
Liked 'em so much we smoked a little more.
We became addicted to drugs and couldn't resist having more.
[Chorus]
The main chorus simply talks about recognizing old classmates and how much they have changed.
Did I call your name, did you hear me
The singer wonders if the person he sees was a part of his high school group.
Singing that song I wrote for you
The singer wrote a song for his high school friends, but he isn't sure if the person he sees now was a part of that group.
You're so the same, but you're so different
The people he recognizes from high school look familiar but have also changed a lot.
I didn't recognize you
The singer struggles to recognize his old acquaintances due to how much they have changed.
It's kinda hard with all that sexual confusion
During high school, it was difficult to understand one's own sexual orientation due to inexperience and confusion.
Sometimes you don't know if you're gay or straight
The confusion caused by inexperience and societal pressure made it difficult to understand one's sexuality.
But what's the difference, it's a wonderful delusion and
Despite the confusion, the singer believes that it's okay to be unsure and that the experience in itself is wonderful.
Most times you won't make it past second base
Many of the sexual encounters in high school were limited to making out and not much else.
I'm in a band, we kinda suck
The singer has since formed a band, but they aren't very good at making music.
But we don't know it yet and I don't care anyway
Despite not being very good, the singer and his bandmates are unaware and don't care about their poor musical skills.
Soon I'm gonna sell these drums, pay my rent, support my kid and
The singer plans on selling his drum set to support his family once he becomes a parent in the future.
Tell him all about way back in daddy's day
The singer intends to tell his child about his wild high school experiences once they grow up.
Some years later by a soda coolerator
Years later, the singer runs into an old acquaintance near a soda coolerator in a convenience store.
In the corner store back in my hometown, this stranger smiles at me
The stranger greets the singer with a smile in his hometown convenience store.
He said remember the class of '93 and
The stranger reminisces about their high school class of 1993.
For some reason it makes him look real proud
Talking about their high school class makes the stranger feel proud and happy.
After all the good times he said we had he looks at me
The stranger looks back fondly at the good times they had during high school.
Scratches his head and asks me where the hell I ever went and
The stranger is puzzled about why the singer left their hometown and lost touch with their high school friends.
The funny thing is, I never even knew him
Despite their shared high school experiences, the singer and the stranger were never actually close acquaintances.
But he could've been any one of my high school friends
The singer realizes that the stranger could have been anyone from his high school friend group due to their shared experience and memories.
[Chorus]
The final chorus repeats the same message about recognizing old classmates who have changed.
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Written by: JEREMY BINNS
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind