This collection runs through a seaside meadow onto the stage of an infernal gameshow recorded before a lively wedding party inside the safe cocoon on a voyage into deep space over a kitchen table somewhere atop a secret uprising stirring under the turnip bed in the psych ward along that dark wall down the road toward a hopeless stand-off at the border to your destined reunion in the desert outside the insurmountable iron fence surrounding the overgrown garden where you catch your breath, and then set out again.

Along the way, four songs set to poems by Wallace Stevens.

Along the way, these charismatic players and singers : Bruce Abbott, Emily Wade Adams, Viggo Bossi, Matthias Bossi, Joseph Marino, Korey Charles, Kurt Charles, Jonathan Donaldson, Jon Evans, Carla Kihlstedt, Jackson Kincheloe, Siobhan Magnus, Aaron Mayo, Calvin Wuthrich, Tyler Wuthrich, and the members of The Chaos Choir of Central Cape Cod.

Along the way, 15 songs recorded at Brick Hill Studio in Orleans, MA with Jon Evans at the helm and Copley on deck, over the course of four years.

Welcome aboard. Keep the line moving. Watch your head.

1. Prelude: Sunday Morning

My homage to the first side of Brian Eno’s Discreet Music. Mixed in there are some spring peepers in the back yard, the surf breaking on the shores of Puerto Rico, and the black pebbles on a beach in Iceland. And Viggo and Carla. s

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2. Old Chaos

(from the last stanza of Sunday Morning, by Wallace Stevens)

We live in an old chaos of the sun,

Or old dependency of day and night,

Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,

Of that wide water, inescapable.

Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail

Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;

Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;

And, in the isolation of the sky,

At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make

Ambiguous undulations as they sink,

Downward to darkness, on extended wings.

The melody was written long ago probably walking around in NYC in the early 90s.
Wallace Stevens’ poem, Sunday Morning, is a trip. It ranges over the entire history of the individual’s search for meaning, from the smoky caves to the backyard settee of a woman skipping church.

3. Rains in Hell

No doubt my life was out of control powerless to pull out of this dive into a roll like when the Earth decides to change magnetic poles just try to stop it, just try to say, hey, stop!

Things were getting kinda outta hand the jungles of the sub-Sahara turning into sand it’s the fifth time this week I had to clean this fan, yeah

And then you came around as if from above and I looked up from down here below and stared straight into your love Now I know what it’s like when it rains in hell my mouth is open to the sky I just have to yell : “Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, everything’s so cool now.”

Now, Ozymandias, he was a real lucky guy Rich, and royal and ready to die but, me, my head feels like it ’s come off already and I ’m still alive. That whole ball of wax was getting too hot for me to handle I was a luna moth flying too close to the candle, an innocent insect in this world full of scandal

And then you came down Torrential and Brave and I looked up from this hell hole ready and willing to be saved. Now I know what it’s like when it rains in hell my mouth is open to the sky I just have to yell : “Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, everything’s so cool now.”

Now I may have just fallen down into this hole but I’m climbing higher and higher, my sole salvation soul. my sole salvation soul...

Now I know what it’s like when it rains in hell my mouth is open to the sky I just have to yell : “Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, everything’s so cool now.” No doubt my life was out of control, everything’s so cool now though I know now you’re not part of this inferno, everything’s so cool. eh “Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, everything’s so cool now.”

This was written on a hot summer’s day working construction, stacking plywood. Someone arrived with chocolate cake for everyone. Whether by the gratitude high or sugar buzz, the song was done by the time all the plywood was moved.

The idea of this as a sort of game show scenario came after we’d done the first round of trumpets with Kurt and Korey Charles. Listening from down on the floor at Brick Hill it sounded sort of thin and peppy like the Match Game theme or some other 70’s game show. The image of the host singing these words, a game show in hell where everything goes wrong but there is a prize that is released like balloons, like cash, like love onto the contestants.

In the outro, there is a nod toward Italo Calvino’s last page of Invisible Cities, on the last page:

“The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.”

4. Re-statement of Romance

Sitting around a round warm room Figuring out how the ceiling stays up Figuring out how it all holds together Tight to the weather How to fill our nights with nights like this. Nights like this...

Pulling impossible poetry by its extended arms Into the space between every lover Into the space that leaps with our chimpanzee laughter To the top of the top-most rafter And penetrates the living cage of fog outside. And a house falls into the sea on a beach near here, And a house sighs “Finally. Ahhhh Finally.”

Let it fall in, let it all fall in, Let it all fall into the sea Let it fall in, let it all fall in Don’t waste your precious time on fighting gravity

We all conspire to kill the Time that is killing us As it wags its tail slow and its spit hits the floor And we all take our turns scratching, rubbing its belly Looking for a place of easy entry. And a house falls into the sea on a beach near here And a house sighs “Finally. Ahhhh Finally.”

Let it fall in, let it all fall in, Let it all fall into the sea Let it fall in, let it all fall in Don’t waste your precious time on fighting gravity.

Listening to the talisman tell us how its always been, How a re-statement of romance might just re-instate a romance Is it the walls holding up the ceiling? Or the ceiling holding up the floor? Is it the making of the simple things into heavy measures For the corrugated music of our silences together? And a hush falls over the sea... And the sea claims victory, ahhhh sweet victory

Let it fall in, let it all fall in, Let it all fall into the sea Let it fall in, let it all fall in Don’t waste your precious time on fighting gravity. Let it fall in, let it all fall in, Let it all fall into the sea Let it fall in, let it all fall in Don’t waste your precious time on fighting gravity.

The lyrics for this go back almost 30 years after the wedding of friends on Cape Cod. Originally called “Wedding Pictures”, it was just a series of vignettes from that weekend. But the connection to Wallace Stevens is strong here. His poem, Re-Statement of Romance was indeed one talisman that moved things along in that relationship. You’re never really that far from the tipping point.

This version is envisioned as taking place during the tenth hour of the third day of a raucous wedding party. Unhinged and celebratory, while, not far away and maybe even under your feet, everything is bound for oblivion.

5. Isolation Booth

To tell you the god honest truth, I don’t mind it at all in the isolation booth. I’ve always been kind of a loner. Never wanted to know what was right around the corner. I kinda like it driving at night with the lights with the lights with the lights with the lights off

You know I like my ignorance blind. oh I love it when you make believe that you’re all mine. It’s better you keep me in the dark. Don’t tell me ‘bout reality now, don’t even start. fingers in my ears, I close my eyes tight, it’s a lie it’s a lie it’s a lie it’s a lie… aww… I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you. La la la la la la la la. La la la la la la la la.

don’t you dare tell me the ending! oh don’t you dare give away how this all ends. That would just make it so boring, whether you’re with me when the credits roll or did I leave you behind somewhere down that road hmm... I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you. La la la la la la la la. La la la la la la la la.

I love that song, “Comfortably Numb”. That Pink he sings so sweetly about what I have become. I see you down there moving your lips while I’m up here pushing buttons in my rocket ship. It’s hard to live without you, but I’m gonna try gonna fly gonna fly gonna fly gonna fly high I can’t hear you. I can’t hear you. to tell you the god honest truth I could live the rest of my life in my isolation booth

This is the first of four songs on the album that we started to call Covid Corner. Isolation during the pandemic, for some, has actually been sweet and welcome. The character discovers his true nature through his hermitage. Just put your fingers in your ears and pretend not to hear. It's a strident breakup romp that takes its cue from the 70s gameshow theme that starts the album but segues us into to our deep space-adventuring astronaut in the next song.

6. Suspended Animation

We may be asleep. We may be inching into another time. Long ago made our toasts and kissed the ground goodbye. If we’re not careful we might miss it. If we’re too careful we might just miss it.

Looking back over days and years the stars back there seem somehow strange out here even though we’ve never looked this hard before. Something inside spins us around looking for the way that it should be rearranged... rearranged... pick us up and. put us back on track...

Now I feel you shake my shoulder but I’m not sure I want to be awake. To be older and yet be younger still. The dove makes for the ark. Your hand reaches out in the dark and inside you know you are rearranged... rearranged... pick us up and. put us back on track.

We are not asleep but we are lost, as we try to believe that the place we’re going will have all we need. Maybe this was not such a bright move. I know you, you don’t approve. A blessing earned, a curse removed. All the world is asking you is to be rearranged... rearranged... pick us up and. put us back on track.

Watch the Suspended Animation video…

7. Good Better Best (feat. Siobhan Magnus)

Can it be that we are fighting again? Can it be that we can’t find it in ourselves, can’t find it in ourselves to change. Can it be that we have fallen from a dream? Can it be that we are foolin’ ourselves, foolin’ ourselves again?

You and I never tried so hard to stay away from Trouble and Trouble never tried so hard to stay seated at our table. But as long as we’re able to ignore our uninvited guest, we’ll piece this thing back together, you and me back together for good, better best.

Can it be that we are laughing again? Can it be that we are opening that door opening that door again? You and I never tried so hard to understand the other. And the other never tried so hard to learn to love a lover but as long as we’re able to stay cool through the hardest test we’ll piece this thing back together, you and me back together for good better best.

This is a simple love song about coming to terms with the elephants in the room.

8. Idiom of the Hero

I heard two workers say

“This chaos will soon be ended.”

This chaos will not be ended.

The red and the blue house blended,

Not ended, never and never ended,

the weak man mended,

The man that is poor at night, attended

Like the man that is rich and right

The great men will not be blended.

I am the poorest of all,

and I know I cannot be mended,

Out of the clouds, pomp of the air,

by which at least I am befriended.

Lyrics from the poem “Idiom of the Hero” from THE COLLECTED WORKS OF WALLACE STEVENS. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of The Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

This ends the Covid Corner quartet and was the last song written for this album. For Wallace Stevens the red and the blue held meanings similar to the political ones we might think of today, though not specific. There were no easy answers in the 1930s as there are none today. But the hope, that is always there in Stevens, exists of a singular and personal settling of the score. This song ends the first “side” of this album.

9. Small Town Underground

Small Town Underground. Don’t tell a soul, don’t make a sound. It’s bigger than you think and it’s always on the brink…

I go down to the gas station to get myself a beer. There’s nothing much more interesting to grapple with ‘round here. Every night the train goes by and I go back to sleep to poke around inside my head but never get too deep.

Small Town Underground. Don’t tell a soul, don’t make a sound. It’s bigger than you think and it’s always on the brink of a revolution oh, oh, revolution!

When the big world doesn’t touch you the little one expands. And you become complacent with whatever is at hand. But, god forbid, you get a glimpse of what lies up above. You see the lies that you tell yourself the lies you learn to love.

Small Town Underground. Don’t tell a soul, don’t make a sound. It’s bigger than you think and it’s always on the brink of a revolution oh, oh, revolution!

Oh, just when you thought you had it all figured out, something comes up and makes it all bigger now. In your little world you were king of the hill. Now the facts are in, you’ve got bigger, bigger shoes to fill.

Oh, it’s impossible for you to go back down knowing what you know the world above is so big that you’ve been swallowed whole you better listen to the words of my man, Pirandello, Don’t be messin’ with the truth cause it can turn you into Jello.

Small Town Underground. Don’t tell a soul, don’t make a sound It’s bigger than you think and it’s always on the brink of a revolution oh, oh, revolution!

The idea for this song came from the main plot of Underground by Emir Kusturica, which I worked on in Prague and Belgrade. In short, a whole town is living in Marko’s basement for decades thinking that WWII is still being fought up on the surface. At the time, the Czech Republic, where we were shooting, was also just emerging from the Cold War isolation. For some, it was not a comforting awakening.

10. Fat Bunny Hole

(lyrics from the poem by Mimi Allin)

hopping and bopping and thumping the beat with a one and a two and a three go his feet he breaks artichoke hearts he rips lettuce apart upturning it all with a dart he continues this massacre both morning and day hopping and bopping and thumping his way until the sun’s overhead and the sprinkler’s a jig jig jig and his fat bunny hole ain’t looking so big

dig bunny dig bunny dig bunny dig the gardener’s here you better dig bunny dig bunny dig bunny dig the gardener’s here you better dig

he quits nibbling and gnawing and he digs a new hole so he can shimmy on out and save his wee soul but the fence grabs his jacket and it won’t give an inch until down bends the gardener to grab a pinch and he wiggles and he wriggles and he scratches some more until finally his fat belly squeezes in through the door as he hops through the meadow his fat belly sags and he lags through the grasses as his taily-wail wags and he nibbles and he quibbles and he tarries his way until through the meadow he finds his way.

dig bunny dig bunny dig bunny dig the gardener’s here you better dig bunny dig bunny dig bunny dig the gardener’s here you better dig

Mimi’s work has figured into the last two albums (Walk Toward This Moon, Dear Mongolia) and is a constant inspiration. This re-telling of Peter Rabbit’s adventures features Matthias’ playful percussion painting of the Garden into which our pudgy Peter has emerged.

11. Fallen in the Ferns

(from the poem, Madrid, by Josh Silverman)

I’ve fallen in the ferns, Ma

I’ve fallen in the ferns

It’s cold and wet

The tile surround keeps me quiet

no one would put a wood floor down in a hospital

tell me where to look

and I’ll get there

I will find a way to climb out of this dark cell

your name scribbled underneath the floor

in places only ants can find

make me a friend out of water

and give him blue eyes.

From Josh on the origin of the poem :

Oh, you’re asking me to go back to a hotel in Cadiz, or some small town in Spain — Hostal Lis, I believe it was — and recreate the drunken evening that spurned that moment? Well okay.

I was sitting in bed, the one on the right facing the door, looking around the room which had a toilet and sink and mirror in it, and looking at the pattern of the cold tile floor, and had a heady buzz from the big meal, thinking about sinking in to my bed for a siesta, when I started writing that. I was in the kind of head space that travels, and pictured myself so distant, so removed, as to be in another world… a world of lush trees, contrasted with the tile floor. What if the floor was another kind of floor? A wood floor? Yes. What’s the least likely place you’d find a wood floor? A hospital, where they’d prefer tile, so as not to soak up the blood and other fluids. That’s what I can remember (of the moment; of the poem).

Wait, actually. Was that the same poem that ends with “make me a friend out of water?"

12. There was Heaven

But the bugles, in the night,
Were wings that bore
To where our comfort was;

Arabesques of candle beams,
Winding
Through our heavy dreams;

Winds that blew
Where the bending iris grew;

Birds of intermitted bliss,
Singing in the night's abyss;

Vines with yellow fruit,
That fell
Along the walls
That bordered Hell.

There was heaven,
Full of Raphael's costumes;
And earth,
A thing of shadows,
Stiff as stone,
Where Time, in fitful turns,
Resumes
His own. . . . .

A dead hand tapped the drum
An old voice cried out, "Come!"
We were obedient and dumb.

Lyrics adapted from the poem “Phases” from OPUS POSTHUMOUS by Wallace Stevens. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of The Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

Here’s another song that was just melody for a long time until I started getting this album together. This is what ties the emerging from below to the final leg in front of our Dantean journey.

13. Tradition

(from the song by Craig Williams, aka Lonnie Bills)

I like to go to places I know I’ll get pushed around. I’ve been told I look lost, but I don’t remember being found.

I claim to know the truth but nobody wants to believe in me. That’s okay. The same water they’ll be drowning in only comes up to my knees.

I was recently reminded “It’s the thought that counts. But don’t kid yourself, you keep track of amounts.

You make believe in me because I allow you to. I‘ve always been positive you would never come through.

This used to me my way back home but now it’s just another road.

I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see the look on my face.

Perhaps I’m stripping years off your life expectancy, but what did you expect from someone like me.

If you could bend my lips back into a smile again, that’s all that I could ask for. Right now I could use a friend.

You say, ”Love is the answer” but there was no question. And I’m so sick of guessin’. I just wanna learn my lesson.

This used to me my way back home, but now it’s just another road.

I heard this song performed during an open mic at the New Wave Cafe in Bedford, MA in January 2002. This was Craig’s farewell show which he called CouchCouchCouchCouch, ahead of his move to Missouri. So many devastatingly good lines here and I’d always wanted to try a quieter setting. Well, that didn’t work.

You can hear Craig sing it live HERE.

14. Buried Cable

He clawed his way to the top, then crawled his way to the bottom. He never knew when to stop, so he just fell til they caught him.

From negotiable to negligible, his fortunes turned and he shot ‘em. Nothing gained and nothing learned, forgot the secrets they taught him.

The sign said: Buried Cable. He said he wasn’t able to let go of his shovel. He must be diggin’ for the devil.

She checked out of their motel, and headed straight for the border. She knew which luggage to sell. She knew what tickets to order.

From incapable to incredible, she bought the lies that he sold her. Nothing gained and nothing learned, she did just what he had told her.

The sign said: Buried Cable. She said he wasn’t able to let go of his shovel. She must be diggin’ for the devil.

She knew better. Better not to know.

She knew better. Better not let go.

Nothing went as they’d planned. The thing broke down to the pistons. The thing went off in her hand. The thing went off as she kissed him.

From inseparable to severable, the ties that bound them got twisted. Nothing gained and nothing learned. She never knew what had missed him.

The sign said: Buried Cable. It seems they were not able to let go of their shovel. They must be diggin’ for the devil.

Journey’s end is always near and the outcome predictable, but our heroes continue to try and dig themselves to freedom, each grifted by their own private hopes of release.

For me, the scene here has always been a little No Country for Old Men meets Bonnie and Clyde. But with Carla Kilstedt’s violin surging and flaming, there’s a sense of a real storm breaking in the desert.

15. Paradise Bound/The Good Man Has No Shape

It’s late. I think I better go right now. So glad it didn’t feel so strange. So much that I really shouldn’t know right now. Better get out of this place.

It’s time to say no to the world again. It’s time for the found to be lost again. Put this adventure on hold again. Visiting hours are now over again.

They’re closing the gate. I’m turning around. Back on the road again, paradise bound.

We bump into each other in torrential rains. So strange we don’t even try to speak. So strange I denied that it was happening. My heart is that weak.

So I drag it along cause it can’t keep up this pace. My heart just won’t make it cross this desert, across your face.

In the distance I see it growing. It all looks brand new. I keep going and then I see you. You arrive in a red dust cloud. You arrive like you always do.

Standing outside now, we don’t hear a sound. The hours are posted, the gates are all down. It’s not how we left it. It’s all overgrown now. You’re smiling that smile again, “hey, let’s go around, and around, and around….”

Well, I’m the same old devil still spinning your head, still saving your soul until you’re no longer dead. “Sneaky devil” you say, but you mean this town conspiring to keep us paradise bound.