Lyrics

[INTRO — the sound of a congregation settling. Wooden pews creaking. Murmuring. A fan humming. Someone fans themselves with a program. Then: footsteps approach the pulpit. A microphone taps. Feedback, brief. Titled1 clears his throat. The congregation quiets. The Mellotron swells like a sunrise. The talk-box HUMS to life, a low, golden drone.]
(Titled1, preacher's voice, warm, unhurried, Southern, close to the mic)
Turn with me…
…to the Book of Rememberin'.
Chapter… (pause) …ain't got a chapter.
It's just one verse.
And it says:
(spoken, slow, sacred)
"They was soft before the world made 'em hard.
They was peach fuzz before the world made 'em skin.
And the Lord said: Remember the fuzz.
Remember the soft.
Remember before."
(the congregation murmurs: "Mmm-hmm… yes… preach…")
Let the church say…
(talk-box, golden, buzzing, like a choir of bees)
"Amen."
(THE GROOVE DROPS. Wah-wah guitar. Clavinet. Bass rolling. Tambourine. The whole thing settles into a DEEP, warm, rolling pocket. The congregation claps on two and four. Titled1 begins to preach over the groove.)
[VERSE 1 / THE EXPOSITION — rhythmic, building, preacher's cadence. Each phrase repeated, varied, built upon. The talk-box echoes key words.]
I said PEACH FUZZ!
(Talk-box: "Peach fuzz…")
I said PEACH FUZZ!
(Talk-box: "Peach fuzz…")
I said PEACH FUZZ!
(Talk-box: "Peach fuzz…")
Y'all know what I'm talkin' about!
That soft! That velvet! That first touch of summer
Before the skin gets tough!
Before the bruise! Before the market!
Before somebody put a PRICE on it
And set it in a CRATE
And called it PRODUCT!
(congregation: "Yes! Preach!")
I'm talkin' about the BEFORE!
The before-the-world-got-its-hands-on-you!
The before-you-learned-to-flinch!
The before-you-had-a-FACE-CARD!
(knowing laughter from the congregation)
The before-you-needed-a-machine to tell you
If you was VALID!
I'm talkin' about when you was THREE
And your knees was ashy and your laugh was LOUD
And you didn't know yet what you was supposed to be
So you just WAS!
You just WAS!
And that was ENOUGH!
And that was the WHOLE SERMON!
You just WAS!
(talk-box, swelling: "You just was… you just was… you just was…")
And somewhere between three and thirteen,
Between thirteen and twenty-three,
Between twenty-three and the Tuesday mornin'
You looked in the mirror and didn't KNOW yourself—
Somewhere in there,
They RUBBED the fuzz off.
They rubbed the soft off.
They said, "You too tender for this world, baby.
Let me toughen you up.
Let me SAND you down.
Let me make you SMOOTH enough to sell."
(the groove deepens, the bass gets lower)
But I came to tell you—
(voice rises)
I CAME to tell you—
(congregation: "TELL 'EM!")
That the fuzz was the POINT!
The fuzz was the WHOLE POINT!
The fuzz was God's fingerprint on you
Before the world put its THUMB over it!
[REFRAIN — sung, layered, Titled1 multi-tracked into a choir. The melody is simple, hymn-like, but the groove keeps it funky. The congregation sings along.]
(layered vocals, warm, rolling)
Peach fuzz sermon,
Peach fuzz sermon,
Preach it soft, preach it slow,
Preach it where the tender things grow.
Peach fuzz sermon,
Peach fuzz sermon,
You don't gotta be ripe to be sweet, baby,
You don't gotta be hard to be whole.
(talk-box, underneath: "You just was… you just was…")
[VERSE 2 / THE DEEPENING — the sermon gets more psychedelic. The Mellotron swirls. The talk-box becomes more prominent, weaving through the words like a second voice. The preacher's cadence gets looser, more musical, more trance-like.]
Now I see some of y'all in here tonight—
(congregation murmurs)
—and you been SMOOTHED.
You been polished. You been waxed.
You got that market shine on you.
You look BEAUTIFUL.
You look like the crate wanted you to look.
But I can see—
(voice drops, intimate)
—I can see the fuzz underneath.
I can see where it USED to be.
Little patches. Little soft spots.
The part of you that still flinches at a loud voice.
The part of you that still sets an extra plate on Friday.
(congregation: "Mmm…")
The part of you that still leaves the porch light on
Even when you told yourself you wouldn't.
The part of you that still grins at the funeral
'Cause it's TOO HARD not to.
The part of you that still whispers in the pew
When nobody's listenin'.
(talk-box, tender: "I remember… I remember…")
That's the fuzz, baby.
That's the peach fuzz.
And they can sand you till the HEAT death of the sun
And that fuzz will keep growin' back
'Cause it's ROOTED
In something DEEPER than the skin.
It's rooted in the SEED.
And the seed don't care about the crate.
The seed don't care about the market.
The seed just care about the SUN
And the DIRT
And the REMEMBERIN'.
(the groove shifts, gets more complex, more layered)
And I need you to understand somethin' about Georgia peaches:
They don't come in perfect.
They come in BRUISED.
They come in CROOKED.
They come in a little TOO RIPE on one side
And a little TOO GREEN on the other.
And they come with the FUZZ
Still on 'em
Like a little velvet prayer
That says, "I just got here. I just got here. I ain't been