Throwing Muses songs have always made me skittish, slightly bothered. It's not often that the thought of jackals being at the door is even a remote thing to consider, but Kristin Hersh is good at planting the seeds of these illusions in your mind. She gets you thinking that blood is curdling or flowing and that we've suddenly found ourselves running with some mangy, hungry dogs.
The people in these songs are riddled with concerns and problems. The lights are bleak and hearts are cold and twitchy. We're exposed to some of the worst elements of human nature -- the soulless manipulation and the conniving urges. These are people who will haunt you, while they're selling you out. They'll hurt you while they're loving you and pay it little mind.
Hersh sings on "Static,":
"Your hope is on the wing
Is on a bus tearing down the road
Your road is in the dark
Is in the sun, in the rain and cold
You're cold, you're made of heat
You're made of skin, made of cloth and bone
Your bones are made of sponge
Are made of plexiglass, tin and hope."
The crescendo that they feel is one of losing control of your vehicle on an icy road, with the backside slipping and swinging around, the wheel suddenly rendered useless, simply an ornament and everything kicking into slow motion as the impact approaches, but then never comes. The doom hangs in the air, even as the air gets tighter.