|
Vague Angels
Let's Duke It Out at Kilkenny Katz' PA005
Release Date: March 6, 2006 (CD)
Curious Cats,
Let me try and dissuade you one final time before they’re all divulged to rampantly contaminate. Below are the liner notes I wrote for a perfect band, Tanakh. They may shed some light on my hesitation:
‘Ardent Fevers’ slipped its way into my pocket at some point after the show in Florence, in the thick of my stomach working through the pesto lasagna I ate hours earlier, while my liver filtered the “whatever you’re having I’ll have” in my cup, after the virus known as politics ruined my chances with the previously intrigued Croat at the bar, before the party on the balcony at Pietro’s flat became the balcony at Pietro’s flat where there was once a party and now only sunlight, a swarm of mosquitoes, me, nobody else, a few birds perched in mockery, and fulfillment remained, after three weeks of tour, and before another three. It made its way out of my pocket and into the car stereo when I just couldn’t bare Colin Blundstone, Kate Bush, or Amerie’s voices any longer – thereby committing three Cardinal sins in a row – because in a frenzied rush packing for tour I neglected the importance of collecting a thorough assortment of discs to get us through. I chose quality over quantity and sometimes the maxim does not hold true. You know, I remembered very little about that first interaction with Jesse Poe when he handed “it” to me and told me about the San Francisco literary mag he wrote for. I remembered less about Jesse when ‘Ardent Fevers’ didn’t make it out of the car stereo while Alex and I drove along the Friulian seashore stopping the car only for a brief walking stretch around the palace of Miramare where we weren’t sure, nor did we care, if we were watching the sky or the sea. Then, when we pulled into the Reeperbahn and parked the car to grab some gluwein at the Wienachtsmarkt and ride the ferris wheel overlooking the city before the gig, ‘Ardent Fevers’ paused once again when I shut the engine off and I continued to remember even less about the two guys from Tanakh it seems I may have met in another life. Finally, I successfully remembered nothing of the people (dare I say peers!) behind the disc still stuck in my car stereo at five am while I drove across the Oresund bridge before the sun came up, while it snowed into my headlights, after I just dropped Young-Ah off at the Copenhagen airport and headed back to Sweden to continue tour alone. A week later I was in Glasgow and confident that I had purged Tanakh down to a pure ethereal happening, unmanly magic, so I shot a humble email into what I assumed was the dark, that is to say the address markered on the cdr, yet not only was it answered, but it came back with a copious set of tangibles you’ll find listed somewhere in the credits within. Avoid the burden they imparted upon me if you can, listener! They’re gonna give you names, dates, places, and instrumental breakdowns of how this thing came to be. There may even be a way to contact someone involved. Don’t let boredom take you there! Don’t investigate this any further than you need to. What I mean is, to say that ‘Ardent Fevers’ is an album by a band named Tanakh is already more grounding than I care to stomach. Both the words ‘Ardent Fevers’ and ‘Tanakh’ will leave you as they left me within a listen or two. You will lose interest in what chords it was they played, what city they’re from, and how many tracks you’ve listened to so far. Unless you bite the apple like I did you should begin to doubt the existence of a “they” at all in time. I am meeting Jesse Poe at a bar to hand him these liner notes in exchange for a margarita today and I hope to never see him again. Wish me luck.
With you always,
Chris Leo
…But if you are still scrolling down it means that I failed to convince you that there was no “I” behind this Vague Angels album or the Lavender Diamond 7”. The impedimental remnants of an ego have dusted sediment that attached you to this place when all along I intended these tunes to loftily lift you up and over the construction traffic between Stamford and Bridgeport on 95 into the parking lot of the Fairfield Diner on exit 24 with nerves intact. Nope, I must have left something behind. It didn’t work. You are not fooled. Work went into this. No one but Rita Lee and Jacques Dutronc were born cool and you can tell that it took me a couple of clumsily crawled weeks. The truth is, during that time I would have never gotten it if it weren’t for the secrets taught by my mentors below…
Let's Duke It Out at Kilkenny Katz'
Track two recorded by Jeff Ziegler at Uniform Recordings in Philadelphia
Tracks one, three, five, and ten recorded by Noah Murphy at Miso Music in Manhattan.
All other tracks recorded by Danny Leo at the Wild Frontier in Brooklyn.
Danny Leo plays drums on track four.
Andy McCarthy plays banjo on track four.
Don Devore plays bass on track four.
Cassie O’Sullivan plays bass on track six.
Gibb Slife plays drums and bass on track seven.
Young-Ah Kim plays keyboards on tracks two and six, backing vocals on track two, and wrote the music and lyrics as well as sings and plays keyboards and bass on track seven.
The whole album was mastered by Dave McNair.
It should go without saying by now that I am an intellectual property thief and I have stolen more from all those involved than I could ever make clear,
cdl
The Lavender Diamond 7”
Wild
Lavender Diamond is Becky Stark.
It is her voice, her words, and her song.
The inferior guitar was played by Chris Leo.
The infrangible guitar was played by Jeremy Wilms.
At the time the Wild Frontier was located behind the Valley Forge on Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg.
The Wild Frontier always means recorded and co-produced by Danny Leo.
Themepark Ashtray in Ashtray Thempark
All credits for the music and text from White Pigeons can be found at
www.fifthplanetpress.com
To whoever’s willing,
When I speak of Kilkenny Katz’ I mean neither the Kilkenny Kastle Irish Pub nor Katz’ Kosher Deli which abut each other deep in the Borough of Brooklyn. I mean rather the tree and lamppost we locked our bikes to outside while debating between bagel and booze. Naturally choosing the latter first and the first latter we weren’t surprised when we returned after many lost hours to find the lamppost on and our bikes off. All that remained was their broken chains languid on the concrete. I’m stuck in a locked groove, can’t we back up and take it from the top?
And when I say Duke it Out you’ve got to believe I mean things only fit for a duchess of course. I mean, let’s use them for rock, paper, and scissor instead, babe. That’s what it’s been about all along, am I wrong?
And in this dire hour when I say Let’s I mean it in its fullest form: Let us.
Please. Let us.
Let us.
Because something’s gotta give already.
Something’s got to give,
Chris
Let’s Duke It Out At Kilkenny Katz’
By
Chris Leo’s Vague Angels
[As the song titles will appear on the back of the cd case]
1. The Hollowed (Unhallowed) Whole Note
2. The Princess and The Newt
3. Holiday Guitar
4. The Vague Angels of Vagary
5. If Is
6. Just Blow, Don Quixote! Blow!
7. It’s a Promise
8. Morning, Evening, and Night
9. Le Grande Haute Hell
10. Too-Rai-Skippery-Dappery Day
[As the song titles will appear in the libretto. These are their “true” titles]
1. The Whole Note Has neither a Flag nor a Body
2. Conjugation:
To you (formal) / to her (singular and plural):
“The Princess and the Newt”
To you (familiar) / to him (bro):
“A Newt Can Be a Newt, a Butterfly Can Be a Butterfly, But A
Man Can’t Be a Man, the Princess Won’t Condone Such
Constructs”
To you (plural) / to them (mixed):
“The Princess and the Newt”
3. Holiday Guitar
(Wherein the Title Character, Unable To Reclaim His Trinity,
Straps Bells to His Thigh and Severs the Singing Synapse)
4. A Few Visits from the Vague Angels of Vagary
5. If Is
6. Blinded by the Light, I Stood in Darkness
7. It’s a Promise
8. If Morning and Day, Then All Night Long
9. The Grand Hotel
10. Too-Rai-Skippery-Dappery Day (Flannery Will Get You
Nowhere)
Conjugation:
To you (formal) / to her (singular and plural):
“The Princess and the Newt”
To you (familiar) / to him (bro):
“A Newt Can Be a Newt, a Butterfly Can Be a Butterfly, But A
Man Can’t Be a Man, the Princess Won’t Condone Such
Constructs”
To you (plural) / to them (mixed):
“The Princess and the Newt”
As I was using a cocktail umbrella to clean out the crepes from under my nails, Maureen dug in, “evidence of absence is not evidence of absinthe” which meant I should know the difference between silver and tin, which I do, so I stood up to dish it right back, and predictably “crack” – the wooden garnish now impaled so I resat. “Coincidentally Chris, this is no coincidence” meant I should take the blame for every time I was late (and my height), so I began my list as I did every day with a series of apologies that will never be seen, I crumpled it up and threw it at Maureen. I said, “Next to your name you’ll find a song you should know.” She read what I wrote: “Calling All Men Between The Ages of 22 and 40, Calling All Men Between The Ages.” “Yes, if I recall the lyrics ran ‘Oh please, massage my feet’” and we fell back to sleep by 8:38.
A Visit From The Vague Angels of Vagary
I knew nothing of the myth of the Kievan Rus’ or the Jews of Birobidkhan or the Tuvans’ troubled booze, so I set my eyes on train tracked tundra spanning two continents, I mean pages, and I perused. When I awoke I was in the Ukraine, I mean Greenpoint, on the “G” so I swapped encyclopedias and leafed to IRT thinking it would say WPA or “The Great Mistake” when Brooklyn lost its City. Instead, nothing of the sort, no nothing even short, so I searched the web and as history ebbed I came up with only last year’s maps and MTA delay reports. The lack of info wore me out and once again I could not contend with my couch. This time when my eyes shut I was waiting with Keili on a platform underground and y’know what she had the gall to say to me? She said, “A tryst is not a trip unless it’s a tour not a skip” which negates the brief boulevardier and the romantic rue which is untrue which she knew, but she chooses to be stupid because she’s stupid through and through. Jen claims she’s too dumb to be manipulative so she’s a liar and a sneak. Henrietta can’t stand her too but has to work with her twice a week. That’s it, that nap was my last, afraid of what the next might bring, so I changed my shirt, unlocked my bike, and peddled across the bridge just in time to meet my girlfriend as she tallied up her ring. I was happy to see her that night and she was happy to fix me a drink.
Too-Rai-Skippery-Dappery-Day! (Flannery Will Get You Nowhere)
Sparrow sings an aria unpierced and defiant into the sky
Perched on a fire escape ladder outside Abuela’s window
Who sits in the dark through the hot afternoon
Waiting for Hector, Dona, and Sylvie, and Mami and Papi and their city residue
Sparrow harrows his harmony straight past the flutter
Which dodges round clamor two stories above a dude
And his nascent salvation by cremolatta sorbet
“Troubadour or flaneur?”
Each lick licks away
Birdie squints towards the park where he was once young across the street
As cousins move twigs from out of the trees
They build nests in moldings and lampposts and steeples these days
Ask the bag lady why: “Vicious Blue Jays!
But son they were pretty and when the Sparrow held guard at night
You couldn’t tell them from bats!”
I know lady, I know.
Sparrow waits on an itch, maybe under his wing
Sparrow calls on an appetite, but nah nothing.
Then Sparrow hears his song return before long
And he sings it out again, unpierced and defiant into the sky
The Grand Hotel
Who’s this girl laying next to me
In lieu of Eurydice?
I haven’t heard a word she’s said all night
She’s trying to sleep but it won’t let her go
Now I’m the only person she knows
I think Danny’s a few blocks away in the same predicament
And as the sun comes up I wonder if Gary’s found a reason to call the night “alright”
And now Gibby’s got a girlfriend with whom he’s sleeping tight
Where’d you go Eurydice?
You’ve left me with this girl lying next to me who twitches and pants,
Unbuckles my belt, kisses my neck and asks is I consider this a date
And I think to myself, if she dies in my arms tonight I will love her forever
Because she’s the only person I know
I have to work before they all awake
At a Bloody Mary bar in the Grand Hotel
Where I leave a table open and I set it for three
Though I never take my eyes off the empty seat
Facing me
Listener, reader, only to paint a clearer picture of my own scenario – for this reason and no other reason but – not out of guilt, not to affront a fair and unbiased perspective, not to appear willing to reopen the debate (that my championing to never close got me in these high waters in the first place!) do I offer you these highly flawed bundles of lies so eloquently executed by the beautiful Young-Ah Kim – don’t be fooled suckers (yet oh how I feel I’ve already lost you) – cunning vixen, lullabying atop the Lorelei, tugging at every tip, fishing for the fissures, striking when we slip! Yes, it’s for this and this reason only I offer this backdrop as its own worst incriminator: “Just don’t lie to me” -- Young-Ah, c’mon. The truth? Haven’t we (you, me, yous) already tried that? I propose “Let me lie to you,” it works out the same, doesn’t it? Well it should. With this “trust…our youth lacked” you know it could. Yes Young-Ah’s right where I’m wrong, all over the place, but listener if you choose not to skip this track please be adult enough to pick, prune, and polish like a pro. It’s in there, but it’s also all in there. I hope you follow. Alright enough, I know. With no further ado, I impart more anguish upon thee –
It’s a Promise
words and music by Young-Ah Kim
My love, my best friend
He’s coming around the bend
My kin, my evil twin
Lust, labeled sin
My rage for your shame
Who’s taking the blame?
One lie, a broken pact
Trust is what our youth lacked
Let’s ride, let’s decide
Let’s do anything but hide
Just don’t lie (to me)
I promise you, I promise you
I’ll follow through
Remember the time we said we’d rule the moon?
And I’m praying, with some time, we’ll be landing there soon.
I always knew, it’s you.
Let’s ride, let go of pride
Why crawl when we can fly?
Let’s rise above the lies
I promise you, I promise you
I promise you
Let’s ride, we can’t deny
A love like this can get us high
No more lies
I promise you, I promise you
‘till the day, I
Let’s ride, I’m on your side
Let go of your pride (It’s silly to hide)
I promise you, I promise you
I promise you, it’s true
I’ll see it through
Blinded By the Light, I Stood In Darkness
While I was reading on the shore of the lake
In the park two blocks from the ocean
Without my baby
I thought I couldn’t have found a better state
Until I paused between chapters
To pull up some grass
Without my lady
And all of a sudden
I found myself depressed
So I searched for a word for this new emotion
And I came up with a list
And it goes like this:
The word is Liar
The word is Failure
The word is Christopher Damien Leo
The word is Jennifer Maureen Armstrong
The word is Keep Pulling Up Grass, you faggot
And Pounding the Earth
And Pulling Up Grass
And Pounding the Earth
The Whole Note Has neither a Flag nor a Body
I’ve shed her she sheets
Down to the bottom of the bed
Opting instead to smother in the burden of
Were words, all dead
So confined by the constructs that
Conned her to our end
-- So bound now myself by the same aforesaid
That even her absence renders cleft the counting of the good times that were spent:
No addition can take place when the numbers are all numb
Yet still I’m tempted to admit how sad I am
If I thought she’d find it fun
Mute Muse, these lying lines
Are tattled by a tongue that weighs a ton
Bloated by blows of no’s
Deafened by definitions
That whittle wit down to its bone
And celibate her soul
What I meant has never been spoken, those were only jokes
And the pokes she misread as cloaken?
I thought I was powered to pause time uncoited
And so, look at this hack, it seems I have:
Love’s expense has imposed this sheetless sentence
Disengaged from both sound and seconds
Posed in punctuation that, though a breath, feels like a noun
At another angle an explanation, but to this degree a dash
Proceeding one after another, broken only by marbled stutters
Eeking essay of defemminate defame, like envying the professorial sash
Worn on graduation across a purple velvet dress
A silent siren distress
To mark the compromise between excitement and crass:
Up plus lull equals Dea gone null
If Morning and Day, Then All Night Long
Lay your boy to bed
Put your man to rest
He’s been so upset
He bought you a dress
So you could lay him to rest
Lose him in linen
Asphyxiate his breath
And like capitulated swords
On the mantle of the lord
Display it on your chest
As captured rewards
And while his corpse is still wet
Pity and anointment of a shared cigarette
Then take his ghost for a stroll
Feed him while he floats
Fatten him for another kill
By dinner time at most
Execute his Will
And take him out for a toast
Now men heed this:
You gotta keep your women awake
Stay with your lady up late
‘Cause if you’re working by day
You know she forgets how you say
She can’t kill you again
If twice she’s done you in
Now you can go all night
Keep your lady awake
So she can lay her man to rest
Holiday Guitar
(Wherein the Title Character, Unable To Reclaim His Trinity, Straps Bells to His Thigh and Severs the Singing Synapse)
They were so bad that they never missed a note
The drummer’s hands flammed on command
While he filled at will over the beats of another drummer
With half his skill
And you know I miss their flawless skill
(Chorus)
How many songs do they know?
How many sets will they go?
Tomorrow night they play calypso
At the hotel down the road!
Babe, we followed that band from Johnny Canoe’s
In Nassau up to Finnegan’s in Maine
And what a treat when at Martel’s Pier at the Point
We bumped into them again
Yeah through races and states and genres and bars
They never let us down with that holiday guitar
(Chorus)
How many songs do they know?
How many sets will they go?
Tomorrow night they play calypso
At the hotel down the road!
It took us two days but we learned to slow down
You took the hammock, I took the ground
And as you rested above I scribbled one out
Inspired by Westin’s Wailers (or was it Surf Soundz?)
Then awaited a flicker of eyelash so I could read it aloud:
When I Wrote Upside Down the Inc. Dripped from My Pen
“After Earl Greyhound practice we stopped by Tres Palmas under the N near Ditmars para seis coronas and a conversation that began about our long overdue Food and Beverage diplomas inevitably led to The Holy Childhood and things that really matter so I found this melancholy manner which was more mellow than sadder whence I retreated to my Uptown lair to watch a dvd on Kingston streets and well it goes without saying that Vinnie made the scene,” said Matt the brat unaware at the time what he held in his hat – “Ah, to be twenty-three with a band and still sleeping with your friends,” said Jake who met us too on this Ave! Ave! Nue! I think it was Lafayette and Spring where we each converged from our thing, “See now I rely on strangers’ eyes, of which ten I’ve seen this month alone. Wherever I lay my hat is my home, and last night it was a condo her parents must’ve owned, and if all goes well I worked it out that I was not the one” – envious to some, but I did not flinch where others might have run, no I decided to hold my ground and tell the truth which is that “I laid behind her back for three hours while her will waited to speak and after three hours more she reintroduced me to her cheek. Three hours after that we held a very formal chat amidst jeers and guffaws from the days dimming rays as they turned to yawns and when three hours more were all that were left another forty from those we stretched, I swear, and then we finally made it out of that bed, put new sheets on, and climbed right back in.”
Expecting to impress I was met with a pout
Which in recoiling to our room escalated to a shout
So in accordance with the Empress the bard threw it out
-- Paper, Pen, Promise and Pact --
In but one faulty poem all her bags were packed
Now when I roll down my windows on a tour of my own
And shut off the radio to try and be all alone
My memories take me back to our favorite worst band
While we danced by the poolside and made out in the sand
(Chorus)
How many songs do they know?
How many sets will they go?
Tomorrow night they play calypso
At the hotel down the road!
|
