Artwork by Felice Vincellette
Click the image to download a printable copy
of the artwork (1.8 MB ZIP)
Artwork by Felice Vincellette Click the image to download a printable copy of the artwork (1.8 MB ZIP) |
A Few Moments with Mike and Adrian
On August 15, 1998, at a Mike Keneally show at Mama Kin’s in Boston, I met Scott Lurowist. The story of this album really has to start there, I think. I got heavily into Mike Keneally’s music around late 1995, and started attending as many shows as I could. A few years later I founded the alt.music.mike-keneally Usenet group, so others who shared my obsession could get together and chat and plan to meet at the shows. This is how I met Scott. Scott and I met in person for the first time at that Boston show, and struck up a friendship that revolved primarily around our mutual interest in recording. He had a 24-track ADAT studio in his apartment, collecting dust; I had a collection of songs doing likewise. Even though it was a four-hour drive to get from my apartment to his, it struck me as worthwhile, and so, over the course of two weekends in 1998, we recorded Horseshoes and Hand Grenades.
We planned on bringing a few friends in to help out as "guest musicians," little realizing at first that we already had a guest musician: Scott’s refrigerator, which was about fifteen feet away from the microphone in the living room. If you listen to this with headphones, and you hear an odd ambient noise you can’t identify, that’s the fridge. The beginning of "Island Love" is an excellent example. The fridge is so prominent in places, we gave it credit in the liner notes. Eventually we figured out that we should unplug it before we started rolling tape.
For some reason I decided I didn’t want this to be a Ron Spiegelhalter album (I wouldn’t become Ron Moses until I got married in 2003). Since a few other guys were going to be playing on it, I decided to release it under the band name Disguising Godiva, which was also the name of one of my earlier albums. That name would stick around for one album, one aborted album, and one live performance before I went back to being me.
The album’s title refers to the fact that none of these tracks are remotely perfect, but they’re close enough.
written by Ron Moses
0:56 • right-click to download: mp3 (996 kB) FLAC (4.1 MB)
I wrote this one evening at work. I was cleaning up after a night in the kitchen of the Italian restaurant where I was a line cook for a few years, and the whole thing just fell into my head. I considered adding another verse, fleshing out the story, etc., but ultimately I realized it was perfect just like this. It refers to absolutely nothing in my real life. But it does serve the purpose of letting the listener know right away what kind of album this is going to be.
I just got laid
I wasn’t really sure if I was gonna like it but I did
It seemed kinda weird
Gettin’ all naked with a girl but I take it that’s a part of it
And she’s a real good friend
Now she’s a lover
We’re not in love but I love her like a brother
But me and my brother never did with one another what she and I did
I just got laid
I wasn’t really sure if I was gonna like it but I did
Ron Moses • vocal, classical guitar
written by Ron Moses
4:17 • right-click to download: mp3 (4.6 MB) FLAC (21.1 MB)
People just don’t get the drums on this track. I don’t know how many people have told me this should feature more natural-sounding drums, maybe a brush kit. No no no. This song should not be pretty. The guitars are pretty, but they’re reigned in by the harsh, tightly controlled drum track. With no bass line to support them, and the ominous vocal hanging over them, all the guitars have to keep them alive in this inhospitable environment is each other. The instrumental break provides all the relief from that environment I’m willing to allow. But it would sound so much nicer with more natural sounding percussion. Exactly. If I feel strongly about any aspect of any song I’ve ever recorded, it’s that. The drums are the whole point, people; they are the focal point of the entire metaphor. If you find this song soothing, I’ve failed.
P. J. Müller plays the keyboards on this track, and he almost left the project over it. See, I had really clear ideas of how I wanted the "flute" solo to sound. I even had certain passages in mind. But instead I started by letting him do whatever he wanted, hoping he’d intuit something along the lines of what I wanted. Several takes later it became clear that this tactic wasn’t working out at all. So over the course of the session, I kept directing him more and more until I was actually handing him notes to play. For a creative guy like P. J., this can be irritating, to say the least. I’ve heard of a similar thing in the film world; they talk about a director "giving line readings." Actors value a director who helps them find the part, but once the director crosses that line into "say the line like this," many actors find that insulting. So I’m told. And I guess that’s what happened here. In retrospect, if I had solid ideas in mind, rather than giving P. J. free reign and taking it back from him bit by bit I should have just given him sheet music to begin with and said, "Here’s the part, fill in these spots with anything you like." That’s where we ended up eventually anyway, and we could have gotten there with much less aggravation. Live and learn.
Oddly enough, I don't remember very much about writing this track. But if I was writing it again, I’d probably take out the obscenities and the awkward Zappa reference. Overall it’s quite good, though. The line about "When everybody thinks you’re weak / People interrupt you when you try to speak" is dedicated to Frank Lopez. Hi Frank!
This track was originally recorded (in part) for the aborted Dark album. I hope to be able to share those tracks with you soon.
When everybody thinks you’re dumb
They don’t really care where you come from
You’re nothing but an idiot bastard son
When everybody thinks you’re dumb
When everybody thinks you’re queer
There’s nothing you can say that they wanna hear
You’re nothing but a fucking back-door buccaneer
When everybody thinks you’re queer
It can be hard to remember you’re okay
It doesn’t matter what everybody thinks anyway
When everybody thinks you’re weak
People interrupt you when you try to speak
You’re nothing but a powerless, sniveling geek
When everybody thinks you’re weak
It can be hard to remember you’re okay
It doesn’t matter what everybody thinks anyway
When everybody thinks you’re dumb
You tend to get treated like a no one
A lot of people do it and I happen to be one
When everybody thinks you’re dumb
When they think you’re dumb
When they think you’re dumb
P. J. Müller • keyboards
Ron Moses • vocals, classical and acoustic guitars, drum programming
written by Ron Moses
6:14 • right-click to download: mp3 (6.3 MB) FLAC (27.2 MB)
Additional background on the origins of this track (and an earlier recording of it) can be found here. It's interesting reading.
This version is much better than the ...yeah, whatever... version for two reasons: P. J. Müller and Mike Horne. Mike was in a band with P. J. called Schrodinger’s Cat (a quick Google search suggests the band may no longer exist), and both were good friends with Scott. Wanting to do something different with the harmonies, Scott asked Mike to come in and lay down the second vocal, and he did a really lovely job, as you can hear. As I recall, he found it more challenging than you might expect. For one thing, a few of the harmonies are not the obvious thirds a backing vocalist would often anticipate, so a bit more rehearsal time was required. His second area of difficulty was in trying to match up to my lead vocal. Mike’s a far more accurate singer than I am — he’s like trained and stuff — so he had to force himself to sing a bit flat in order to make the harmonies work. Whatever he did, it sounds great.
The piano was, in part, my way of making up for the hell I put P. J. through on "Dumb." Here’s the chords, P. J., do whatever you think is right. I’m pretty sure that’s all the direction I gave him, and he really did wonders with it. His contribution adds an incredible warmth to the piece.
The lead vocal, which is probably a bit above average for me, was recorded behind my back. I was doing a run-through just for practice, and when I was done, Scott told me that was the one. He hadn’t bothered to tell me he was running tape. Good strategy – I think my performance is a lot more relaxed for it.
Maybe if I had the time
Maybe if I had the peace of mind
Maybe I’d let myself fall for you
Maybe I’d let my true heart shine through
Summer is fading so fast
A piece of my life that I thought would last
Flying ‘cross the sky like a dove
Run from the pain and you lose the love
Island love
Not love at all
Only a pillow to cushion your fall
Island love
Not love at all
Or maybe it is after all
Wonder how it would have been
How deep a hole would my heart be in
Weigh the returns for the cost
It’s better, they say, to have loved and lost
Summer is fading so fast
Wake up tomorrow and blame the past
Settle for nothing or lose it all
Trade in my fear for a crystal ball
Island love
Not love at all
Only a pillow to cushion your fall
Island love
Not love at all
Or maybe it is after all
I have spent too much time thinking ‘bout this
So many chances that I may have missed
Promise myself it won’t happen again
Using both feet the next time I jump into that island love
Sifting the memories through
Memories of someone I hardly knew
Why lie to anyone else?
Spent enough time lying to myself
Summer grows back in the end
There’s always the chance that we’ll meet again
And if we do, then we’ll see
Maybe she’ll even remember me
Island love
Not love at all
Only a pillow to cushion your fall
Island love
Not love at all
Or maybe it is after all
P. J. Müller • keyboards
Mike Horne • harmony vocal
Ron Moses • lead vocal, classical guitar
written by Ron Moses
5:00 • right-click to download: mp3 (3.7 MB) FLAC (17.1 MB)
An earlier recording of this track can be found here. I didn't have much to say about it there, and I have less to say about it here. It is what it is, I guess, but people seem to like it.
This is the "dirge" version. My attempts at tempo control backfire.
I need a bag
I’d forgotten how much stuff I have
And none of it’s worth anything
But I know that I can’t live without any of it
So I need a bag
Got a hat that I wear when it rains on my head
Got a sandwich I made from some mustard and bread
Got an old broken lock and a key to unlock it
But I can’t keep it all in my pocket
So I need a bag
I’d forgotten how much stuff I have
And none of it’s worth anything
But I know that I can’t live without any of it
So I need a bag
Got a book that I read while the sky is still light
Got a candle I burn when it darkens at night
Got a two-day supply and a seventeen-weeker
But I can’t keep it all in my sneaker
So I need a bag
I’d forgotten how much stuff I have
And none of it’s worth anything
But I know that I can’t live without any of it
So I need a bag
Got a new yellow shirt and an old hand-me-down
Got a bike I can ride if my car should break down
Got a thing that I found, I forget what you call it
But I can’t keep it all in my wallet
So I need a bag
I’d forgotten how much stuff I have
And none of it’s worth anything
But I know that I can’t live without any of it
So I need a bag
Got a name, got a voice
Got a will, got a way
Got a rock, got a stick, got a rag
And I need a bag
Ron Moses • lead vocal, classical guitar
written by Ron Moses
4:14 • right-click to download: mp3 (4.4 MB) FLAC (18.8 MB)
I am of the opinion, and it is an opinion shared by no one else as far as I know, that this is the best song I’ve ever written, if not necessarily the best recording I’ve ever made. I feel I accomplished exactly what I set out to do.
I created a pretty effective melody here, I think. And I set a nifty little trap for the listener – the opening chord roots, E and B, strolling back and forth, lull the listener into anticipating that pattern. So when I go to the oddball Csus2 chord in the verse instead of the expected B, it surprises the ear in a pleasant but slightly off-putting way. This is then reinforced by the chromatic movement of the following chords. But of course it resolves back to E quite comfortably. The odd movement of the bridge — F > C > B > F# > G > (F) — presents the same kind of effect. Pretty, but unsettled. And I’m very proud of the resolution back to the E > B stroll. (Technically, that B is an E7sus4/B but you get my meaning.)
Lyrically, it was a real step forward in that I used the words to hint at meaning rather than beat the listener over the head with prose. Looking back through my earlier lyrics, you’ll find a lot of specifics, with little left for the listener to supply in terms of interpretation. This lyric could really apply to anything, any sense of loss or frustration. It was liberating not to have to get across a list of bullet points for a change. I’m just really happy with it, and I hope you enjoy it as well.
Look around
All that we’ve known is gone away
All but the silence
Been too long
We could have thrown it all away
Miles divide us
I should know
I’ve been there before
Far away
We should be gone
Some have said
There is no difference
I should know
Take your time
Why would we ever run away
Crawling takes longer
Every day
So many words you give away
Couldn’t be wronger
I should know
I’ve been there before
Far away
We should be gone
Some have said
There is no difference
I should know
And somehow
I could see the point of being sane
And I could see the power in your routine
And I could see the blindness
In the kindness
In your eyes
In your eyes
Look around
All that we’ve known is gone away
All but the silence
Been too long
We could have thrown it all away
Miles divide us
I should know
I’ve been there before
Far away
We should be gone
Some have said
There is no difference
I should know
P. J. Müller • keyboards
Mike Horne • harmony vocal
Ron Moses • lead vocal, classical guitar, bass
written by Ron Moses
3:22 • right-click to download: mp3 (4.1 MB) FLAC (18.1 MB)
This is one of the three "number" songs I wrote during my second summer on Block Island in 1993, the others being "Zero" and "Seven," all three of which were recorded for the aborted Dark album in 1994. I think this is probably one of my best songs. My time on Block Island was very good for me, musically and otherwise. Apart from being an inspiring place to write, I had a lot of encouragement. The people around me seemed to be genuinely impressed with what I was doing, and that really helps. I’ve always had the support of long-time friends, of course, and that’s been important to me. But it’s different when a complete stranger tells you you’re really good. When kudos are offered by people uncompromised by the desire to spare your feelings, it lends a different weight to their criticism.
As the lyrics make apparent, this is a song about life after death, or more directly, the nonexistence thereof. I’m not so committed to that idea now as I was then, but if I had to lay money on one side or the other, I think I’d still bet this way. Not a firm belief, more of a nagging suspicion. I had wanted to write about this topic for some time, but I couldn’t find the right metaphor to describe what I thought it was like after you die. I sat in Juice ‘n’ Java with a pad and a very large cup of coffee, struggling with one concept after another, only getting farther from my goal. When you die, is it like a vacuum? Is it like a black hole? What is it like? Well, it’s not like anything, that’s the point. Ahhh – okay. So I was very happy with this lyrical concept and had little difficulty fleshing out the rest of it. The "ray of light/piece of string" metaphor came a few days later, and I remember being somewhat stunned by it. That’s one of those lines you look back on later and can’t believe it was you who wrote it.
I should have taken the time to program a drum track for this. I was lazy. This
is the result. The Dark version was better.
In 1812, I wasn’t around
Look as you might, I was nowhere to be found
And when I die, and they lay me in the ground
The lights go out and they never come back on
And it’s not like anything
There’s nothing to be experienced
When you’re dead and gone, it’s like 1812
Some people worry about going to hell
Throwing all their pennies into God’s little wishing well
They don’t remember that they weren’t always here
And not being later is exactly what they fear
But it’s not like anything
There’s nothing to be experienced
When you’re dead and gone, it’s like 1812
Life is not a ray of light, it’s a piece of string
Beginning and an end to everything
You don’t get the satisfaction when you finally leave
Of watching your friends and your family grieve
Unraveling the tangled webs you weave
It doesn’t matter whose book you chose to believe
‘Cause In 1812, you weren’t around
Look as I might, you were nowhere to be found
And when you die, and we lay you in the ground
The lights go out and they never come back on
And it’s not like anything
There’s nothing to be experienced
When you’re dead and gone, it’s like 1812
When your time has come, it’s like 1812
When you’re in the ground, it’s like 1812
When you’re dead and gone, it’s like 1812
Ron Moses • vocal, classical and acoustic guitar, bass
written by Ron Moses
4:09 • right-click to download: mp3 (4.2 MB) FLAC (18.0 MB)
I think I wrote this in the communal hippie house in Durham, which would have been 1993 if I'm not mistaken. I don’t have a clue where this came from, I think the title just popped into my head one day and the rest of it flowed from that. It’s a pretty decent little character sketch, I must say.
Before I was old and grizzled
I was just balding and gray
Before I was balding, I dribbled a Spalding
Boy, I could play
But outside the Garden I didn’t know nothin’
That’s how this happened to me
My home is a T-stop on Commonwealth Ave.
I’m a basketball retiree
I lived as extravagant as I could
On the money they gave me to play
There weren’t no endorsements for second string forwards in my day
If only I’d known how the well would dry up
The moment I blew out my knee
I wouldn’t be living on donuts and 40-ounce Colts
A basketball retiree
Do you remember 1961?
A last-second shot and the game was won
Do you remember the way they cheered
All of those years ago?
Before I was old and broken
At least I was inching along
And when things got hairy, I’d call my friend Larry
But now he’s gone
I used to make money by making my free throws
Now I know nothing is free
Especially a no one who should’ve been someone
A basketball retiree
I’m a basketball retiree
Ron Moses • vocal, classical guitar
written by Mike Keneally/Adrian Belew, arranged by Ron Moses
3:21 • right-click to download: mp3 (2.7 MB) FLAC (11.8 MB)
This throw-away piece starts off with my woeful attempt to play a section from Mike Keneally’s "1988 Was A Million Years Ago" from his Boil That Dust Speck album, and segues into Adrian Belew’s "Tango Zebra" from Desire Caught By The Tail (which he would later rework into "Peace On Earth" for the Here album). And that’s it. I guess we needed some filler.
[instrumental]
Ron Moses • classical guitar
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