Eliza Niemi fits lyrics into her melodies like someone who can win a game of Tetris. On paper these lines would be obtuse shapes, but she puzzles them together as if her each word she sings could only be followed by the next. ‘Sushi California’ mirrors this in a way, as it depicts a relationship that is clearly ending, but the good parts feel exactly like how they should and the bad parts feel bad in a way that locks into all of the narrator's complexes. It’s the kind of relationship that should have obviously ended yesterday, but also would do a great job of fucking up a kid sometime in the future.
The opening line of this song addresses her partner’s premature grief for their aging parent. A friend of mine suffers from this problem. The last few years has been marked by her anxiety over her elderly father, which is ironic because that’s a long time to mourn someone who hasn’t died yet. That’s irrelevant though, because these worries are more about the preparation than the event. Oh, you love this person? Well guess what, bitch.
There have been many times where I have thought to myself, "I wonder if this is the last time we will ever ever ever be together in this stupid restaurant we love?" That thought can occur so many times, and it is excruciating. Give me what I want or take it away, but for the love of God pick one soon. It would be easy though if it were just agonizing. Sadly, there are moments where you look at someone and everything feels perfect. In this way loving someone is a lot like gambling, because the thing that's bad about gambling isn't that you lose most of the time but that hit the jackpot some of the time. That's why people do it. It's terrible.
