My 9th Favorite Song of All-Time

is:

“Honey of Generation” by Seven Mary Three

Talk about a band firing on all cylinders!  A bona fide one-hit wonder after their first album, Seven Mary Three was nonetheless a band to watch in our culture as they released their sophomore attempt, “RockCrown”.  Where their first album (which is really fucking good) was mostly straight-forward, Southern-tinged American rock, this follow-up was perpendicular to that.  By turns soft, mellow, creepy, eerie, crushing, daft, folksy, blunt, obtuse.  “RockCrown” is the rarest of albums: it is a complete thought, without being a “concept album”.  It is a statement, by an entire band, on what it is like (to them) to be alive.

“Honey of Generation” exists as the apex of this harnessed power.  It creeps.  It lashes out.  It burns you, and retreats.  It sloughs around on the ground like a puddle of sentient motor oil, and it does not call you in the morning.

Jason Ross’s lyrics here are unclear, but far from nonsense.  These words beg interpretation; I won’t here waste time doing it for you, this being a rare instance where your guess actually is as good as mine.  But read them you must, and listen you must. I double-dog dare you to listen to it all, there are some killer changes throughout:

“Honey of Generation” by Seven Mary Three

What your mother say?
You never listen to me.
I know you want back in,
you don’t get it for free.
Did you read the book?
Hear what they say?
You never learned the rules.
Sit up straight.

Liquid used to surround me,
my freedom, swimming and drowning.
Today, we throw it up for sale.
Today, we’re giving it away.

It’s the honey of generation,
makes you forget where you came from.

What your daddy say?
You never listen to me.
I know you’re tryin’ hard.
You don’t get a reprieve.
You never read Good Book.
You never bid Good Time.
Did you push ahead?
I bet you stood the line.

Liquid used to surround me,
my freedom, swimming and drowning.
Today, we throw it up for sale.
Today, we’re giving it away.

It’s the honey of generation,
makes you forget where you came from.

It’s the honey
that is yours.