Thirty Seconds To Mars	Til Tuesday	Tod Rundgren	Tom Paxton
Tom Waits	Tool	Traffic	Train

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Thirty Seconds To Mars

Echelon

Look at the red, red changes in the sky
Look at the separation in the borderlines
But don’t look at everything here inside
And be afraid, afraid to speak your mind

It took a moment before I lost myself in here
It took a moment and I could not be found
Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything
It took a moment, the moment it could not be found

What’s with the fascination with the Echelon
What’s with constant questions that you have this time
What’s with this circumstantial consequence
Find oversight before this night will ever rise again

Its all you’ve got inside your head
That I can’t believe instead

It took a moment before I lost myself in here
It took a moment and I could not be found
Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything
It took a moment, the moment it could not be found

To find yourselves lost here, when will we heed the reasons why
So we take this bridge with the others that will thrive in the great divide

Look at the red, red changes in the sky
Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything
Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything
It took a moment before I lost myself in here
It took a moment and I could not be found
Again and again and again and again I see your face in everything
It took a moment, the moment it could not be found

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Til Tuesday

In a key song on her eagerly awaited new album, Aimee Mann poses the eternal $64,000 question: "How Am I Different?" To which besotted fans, admiring critics, and her felicitous fellow musicians might all be inclined to answer: Let us count the ways. 

She first rose to fame bucking an overbearing beau's attempts at hush puppetry in 'Til Tuesday's "Voices Carry," and hasn't developed any more of a taste for conformity in the years since -least of all with Bachelor No. 2, her third solo album and first independent release. Mann actually bought the album back from her previous label, Interscope Records, rather than accede to their demands to scrap parts of it in favor of recording more hit-radio-friendly material. It won't come to any surprise to her fans that the themes of the new songs seem almost prophetic when it comes to this kind of struggle. It's pop music about low emotional tides and high moral ground, fraught with fierce disappointment and only half-diminished idealism, offset by a little gallows humor and a whole lot of gallant melodicism. Here, you'll surely agree as you listen to uncompromising songs like "Nothing is Good Enough" and "Calling It Quits," is an artist who just begs to differ. 

Despite casting herself as the protagonist of the wryly titled "Fall of the World's Own Optimist," Mann has never exactly been known for her Pollyanna attitudes toward love, life, or the pop music machinery. But the thought of releasing a record on her own terms, after years of struggling with literally single-minded business execs, has her sounding borderline bullish about music again. 

"I really like the idea of being a professional musician - that I have a job that I'm good at and a good work ethic. I get a giant kick out of that," she enthuses. "It's fun working on the craft aspect, but towards an emotional end." Writing a song, for her, is "like a crossword puzzle with a secret message in the end." 

As the old ad campaign put it, the pride is back. "Probably one of the reasons it's so frustrating dealing with people at record companies who are trying to push you in a direction you're not comfortable with is that they're trying to get you to do stuff you're not good at. Posing for pictures and videos and schmoozing is the thing I'm least competent at. But writing lyrics and putting songs together and recording them-that part I'm good at. To thwart that and then encourage the thing that I can only be mediocre at is just very stressful." 

Given her frustrations with certain label execs in the past, it might not be unreasonable to see double entendres of a sort in some of these putative ballads of thwarted romance. As writer Jonathan Van Meter noted in a recent New York Times Magazine profile, "Mann is known for writing clever, disappointed love songs that can also be read as damnations of the music industry." She'll allow that "Nothing is Good Enough" did have its basis in a conversation with someone at her last label who wanted to hear some hits, but it also grew at least as much out of a discussion with a friend who fretted that nothing she did measured up to her boyfriend's expectations. 

"A song that's purely about me and a record company would be non-stop boredom, but it never is just that," she points out. "I think that people tend to come up against certain situations regardless of whether they're in personal relationships or friendships or work. And the type of situation that I keep coming up against that's personally frustrating and painful for me echoes in a lot of different places. That's why it's so easy for me to draw analogies between relationships and music business stuff, because that is a relationship, too. 'Hey, I'm in a relationship with somebody who wants something from me that I can't deliver'-everybody knows what it's like to be in that situation, and it doesn't matter who it is, there's always the same anguish about it." 

Among the pointed lyrics in "Nothing is Good Enough" is the line, "The critics at their worst could never criticize the way that you do..." Not that she'd know, necessarily; the critical arena is one place where Mann hasn't faced much in the way of rejection. Though some journalists were quick to dismiss 'Til Tuesday as an MTV-bred phenomenon early on-which may have had more to do with the fact that the band had a few bad hair years than any failings of the music itself - most reviewers caught on about the time of 1989's Everything's Different Now, the group's third and final Epic album. 

Her 1993 solo debut on Imago, Whatever, cemented the critics' love affair with Mann, though the most hyperbolic plaudits had to wait for 1996's I'm With Stupid, on Geffen. David Thigpen of Time magazine called Stupid one of the "catchiest pop albums of the year, brimming with poised three-minute mini-masterpieces," adding that "Mann has the same skill that great tunesmiths like McCartney and Neil Young have: the knack for writing simple, beautiful, instantly engaging songs." Entertainment Weekly's Chris Willman, in citing Stupid as one of the essential discs of the '90s, described Mann as "one of rock's most elegantly gifted writers, with a well-attuned psychological acuity to her catchy kiss-offs that any angry young woman should envy. Bitterness, regret, and recrimination never sounded any sweeter, or smarter." 

In the summer of '99-while waiting to buy Bachelor No. 2 back from Interscope after that company lost interest in most of its sub-blockbuster artists following the Universal merger - Mann undertook a small-scale tour of the east and west coasts, as well as playing some key Lilith Fair dates, picking up plenty more raves for her new material along the way. Reviewing her show at Tramps, the New York Times' Ben Rattliff praised "her skill at writing urbane pop songs, melodically rich and full of well-worn sayings fitted into spiky couplets." Assessing the same show for the web site Salon, Stephanie Zacharek said Mann "has never sounded better; her voice was alternately velvety smooth and bell-like in its clarity. And the new material she unveiled is right in line with her earlier records in terms of craftsmanship, groovy sound, and gently pointed lyrics." 

How did we arrive at this stage in the dating game? 

It all started when Mann formed her first band, the Young Snakes, after quitting the Berklee School of Music in the early '80s. After that self-consciously punkish outfit broke up, she and fellow Berklee dropout Michael Hausman joined up with Joey Pesce and Robert Holmes to form 'Til Tuesday in 1982, taking a decidedly more pop approach. Not long after the quartet won a Boston battle of the bands contest, Epic signed 'em up, and their debut album, Voices Carry, went gold within seven months, with no little help from constant exposure on then-new MTV. 

Although their signature song had to do with a woman finding-and keeping-her voice, that didn't really start happening till around the time of 'Til Tuesday's second album, Welcome Home, as Mann began writing most of the songs alone. Other members dropped out until, by the time of Everything's Different Now, their swan song, it was just her and drummer Michael Hausman, who subsequently quit the skins and became her manager. The beginning of the end may have been spelled when Epic asked her to write with Diane Warren; instead, she chose to collaborate with presumably lesser lights like Jules Shear and Elvis Costello. 

Going solo, she started anew with Imago Records, which, it turns out, was just about to fall apart as Whatever came out. As that label sat in limbo for years, she was able to get out of her deal and sign with Geffen in time to release her next Jon Brion-produced album, I'm With Stupid - though it was actually Giant Records that got her a good deal of airplay for one of the album's most popular songs, the Squeeze-augmented "That's Just What You Are," which first appeared on that label's Melrose Place soundtrack. Other recent film placements have included songs in Jerry Maguire (filmmaker Cameron Crowe being one of her most ardent fans), Cruel Intentions, and Sliding Doors. 

She's featured more prominently, to say the least, in a new film, Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson's followup to Boogie Nights, scheduled for a Christmas Day '99 release. Anderson has compared the way he wanted to spotlight Mann's music here to how Simon & Garfunkel were used in The Graduate. Sure enough, Magnolia features no fewer than eight Mann songs, including the opening theme (a cover of Harry Nilsson's "One"), an original closing number, and some key interludes in-between, one of which features the entire cast-from Tom Cruise to Jason Robards-reacting to her music in a most interesting fashion. Warner Bros. Records will release the soundtrack album, which duplicates some songs from Bachelor and includes other new Mann anthems not available anywhere else, in December. 

As for the new Mann album, when Interscope took over Geffen and began to balk at her choice of material, it was like deja vu all over again. Once again, Elvis Costello was not considered a good enough writing partner. (The new "Fall of the World's Own Optimist" marks their first collaboration since "The Other End of the Telescope," which Costello subsequently recorded as well, after its initial appearance on a 'Til Tuesday album.) Once more, they asked for material that would better suit the shifting whims of radio - whatever those were likely to be in six months. Mann asked for her release, and got it, though negotiating to buy the masters back at a considerable sum took a little longer. But at last we have Bachelor No. 2, in the form that God and Mann intended. 

"We have our record back, and I'm sure Interscope could've given us a lot more trouble about getting it back, but they didn't, and God bless 'em," says Mann. "People who want to have giant hits at any cost, that's the place for them. If they want to make fabulous videos and have giant hits, and have people asking them what they're wearing at the Grammys, that's perfect for them, it's the system they belong in. It hasn't been a systor people like me in a long, long time. I was crazy to think I could find some way to make it work for me. As it happens, I can't. And I'm a million times happier, just in these last few months, going out on tour and playing for myself and having nobody criticize the way I'm touring or what I'm playing or what I say in interviews. It's fantastic - it's incredibly liberating." 

This time Mann self-produced most of the tracks, with assists from Brendan O'Brien and Buddy Judge. Though it's not a radical stylistic departure, fans will notice a few breaks from form. "I wanted to get the production, on just a couple of songs, to sound like old Dionne Warwick records," she notes, adding that the album is probably a bit heavier on ballads than her previous work. 

And since the last time around she's gotten married - to fellow singer/songwriter Michael Penn, in early 1998 - might this album be just a little sunnier in outlook? "Not at all. Not even a little," she laughs. "I think that getting married and having a happy marriage enables you to actually get work done, rather than being so despondent you just sit in a room for days on end. And he's also a great help in bouncing things off of and getting a good second opinion. It's nice to have another professional musician in the house." 

In fact, Mann proposes (no pun intended) that a lot of Bachelor's songs "are about being single, regardless of being married or not. Some of them I had already written or started working on" before settling into matrimony, she points out. "But my relationship with Michael is so unique that there are ways in which I don't really feel like I'm having a relationship, because I've defined 'relationship' as being this sort of unwieldy, nightmarish thing." 

The bad dream that is the struggle for love and respect may not be anywhere close to ending in Mann's fiercely independent songs, then, but for fans who've been patiently waiting for this album, the long national nightmare is about to end. Bachelor No. 2, please step up. 

• Coming Up Close
  

• The Other End Of The Telescope
  

 

Coming Up Close

One night in Iowa, he and I in a borrowed car
went driving in the summer, promises at every star
out in the distance I could hear some people laughing
I felt my heart beat back a weekends' worth of sadness

There was a farm house that had long since been deserted
we stopped and carved our thoughts into the wooden surface
we thought just for an instant we could see the future
we thought for once we knew what really was important

[Chorus]
Coming up close
everything sounds like welcome home
Come home
and oh, by the way
don't you know that I could make
a dream that's barely half the way come true
I wanted to say --
but anything I could have said
I felt somehow that you already knew

We got back in the car and listened to a Dylan tape
We drove around the fields until it started getting late
I went back to my hotel room on the highway
And he just got back in his car and drove away

[Chorus x2]

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The Other End Of The Telescope

Shall we agree that just this once
I’m gonna change my life
Until it’s just as tiny or
Important as you like
And in time, we won’t even recall that we spoke
Words that turned out to be as big as smoke
Like smoke, disappears in the air
There’s always something smoldering somewhere

I know it don’t make a difference to you
But oh, it sure made a difference to me
You’ll see me off in the distance, I hope
At the other end
At the other end of the telescope

There was a time not long ago
I dreamt that the world was flat 
And all the colours bled away
And that was that em em (note!)
And in time, I could only believe in one thing 
The sky was just phosphourus stars hung on strings 
And you swore that they’d always be mine
When you can pull thown anytime 

I know it don’t make a difference to you 
But oh, it sure made a difference to me 
You’ll see me off in the distance, I hope 
At the other end am
At the other end of the telescope

There, there baby now, don’t say a word
Lie down baby, your vision is blurred
Your head is so sore from all of that thinking
I don’t want to hurt you now
But I think you’re shrinking (I think you’re skrinking)

You’re half-naked ambition and 
You’re half out of your wits 
And though your wristwatch always works
Your necktie never fits 
Now it’s so hard to pick the receiver up 
And when I call, I never noticed you could be so small 
The answer was under your nose
But the question never arose

I know it don’t make a difference to you 
But oh, it sure made a difference to me 
When you find me here at the end of my rope 
When the head and heart of it finally elope 
You can see us off in the distance, I hope 
At the other end
At the other end of the telescope

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Tod Rundgren

The Martyr

Why, why was I born to know what I must know
I can see the sky, but I can't see the ground below
Where do I go?

Falling in a trap where traitors wait
Lost love is the bait
But the martyr never knows
He is caught in a dream of his own
When it's over where does he go?
Who really knows?

Time stands between me and my home
So long ago
I can't stand to wait
But I can't force my body to go
Where do I go?

Crying, he is blind to everyone
And that's how it's done
And the martyr never knows
He is caught in a dream of his own
When it's over where does he go?
Who really knows?
Who really knows?
I know in my heart
I could change the world
With just this guitar
Who really knows?

Falling in a trap where traitors wait
Lost love is the bait
But the martyr never knows
He is caught in a dream of his own
When it's over where does he go?
Who really knows?

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Tom Paxton

Tom Paxton has become a voice of his generation, addressing issues of injustice and inhumanity, laying bare the absurdities of modern culture and celebrating the tenderest bonds of family, friends, and community.

In describing Tom Paxton's influence on his fellow musicians, Pete Seeger has said: "Tom's songs have a way of sneaking up on you. You find yourself humming them, whistling them, and singing a verse to a friend. Like the songs of Woody Guthrie, they're becoming part of America." Pete goes on: "In a small village near Calcutta, in 1998, a villager who could not speak English sang me What Did You Learn In School Today? in Bengali! Tom Paxton's songs are reaching around the world more than he is, or any of us could have realized. Keep on, Tom!"

Guy Clark adds: "Thirty years ago Tom Paxton taught a generation of traditional folksingers that it was noble to write your own songs, and, like a good guitar, he just gets better with age." Paxton has been an integral part of the songwriting and folk music community since the early 60's Greenwich Village scene, and continues to be a primary influence on today's "New Folk" performers. The Chicago native came to New York via Oklahoma, which he considers to be his home state. His family moved there in 1948, when Tom was 10 years old, and he graduated from Bristow High School and The University of Oklahoma, where he majored in drama while his interest in folk music grew and eventually predominated.

Brought to New York courtesy of the US Army, Tom remained there following his discharge. His early success in Greenwich Village coffeehouses, such as The Gaslight and The Bitter End, led to an ever-increasing circle of work. Then in 1965 he made his first tour of the United Kingdom -- the beginning of a still-thriving professional relationship that has included at least one tour in each of the succeeding years.

He and his wife, Midge, have been married 41 years and have two daughters, Jennifer and Kate. All three women have served as inspiration for many songs, and now three grandsons, Christopher, Sean, and Peter are adding to the sources of inspiration.

He has performed thousands of concerts around the world in countries such as Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Hong Kong, Scandinavia, France, Italy, Belgium, Holland, England, Scotland, Ireland and Canada. That these fans still enjoy his work is a testament to the quality of his recent work, and to the enduring power of modern standards like The Last Thing On My Mind, Ramblin' Boy, Bottle Of Wine, Whose Garden Was This?, Goin' To The Zoo and The Marvelous Toy. Paxton's songbooks, critically acclaimed children's books (available from HarperCollins - see the page for children), award-winning children's recordings, and a catalog of hundreds of songs (recorded by artists running the gamut from Willie Nelson to Placido Domingo), all serve to document Tom Paxton's 40-year career.

Tom was nominated for a Grammy for "Best Contemporary Folk Album of 2003" for his Appleseed Records CD, Looking For The Moon. He was nominated in 2002 for his children's CD, Your Shoes, My Shoes. He has received the Lifetime Achievement Award from ASCAP, and in February he will receive a Lifetime Achievement Award from the BBC in London.

Tom Paxton's place in folk music is secured not just by hit records and awards, but by the admiration of three generations of fellow musicians. An internationally recognized and loved cultural figure, he has always chosen goodwill over commercial success. His generosity has taken the shape of a benefit concert performance for a little girl fighting leukemia, or a personal note of encouragement to an up-and-coming songwriter. This is the man who wrote and lives the words, "Peace will come, and let it begin with me."

He is one of the great songwriters of the last century and will be reckoned as one of the greats in this new century, as well. He is a man we have come to regard as our friend.

"Tom Paxton's songs are so powerful and lyrical, written from the heart and the conscience, and they reach their mark, our most inner being. He writes stirring songs of social protest and gentle songs of love, each woven together with his personal gift for language. His melodies haunt, his lyrics reverberate. I have sung Tom's songs for three decades and will go on doing so in the new century, for they are beautiful and timeless, and meant for every age." (Judy Collins)

"Tom Paxton embodies the spirit of folk music in the most beautiful sense. Not just in his song crafting, his work ethic, his politics and his dedication to people's music, but also in his kind and generous heart. When I first started playing folk festivals, I was all of eighteen, shaved headed and politically outspoken. Many people in the folk community at that time seemed defensive and threatened by me, but I remember Tom was a notable exception. He was nothing but warm, welcoming and supportive to me from the git go. He's the coolest." (Ani DiFranco)

"Every folk singer I know has either sung a Tom Paxton song, is singing a Tom Paxton song or will soon sing a Tom Paxton song. Now either all the folk singers are wrong, or Tom Paxton is one hell of a songwriter." (Holly Near)

• Goodman, Schwerner and Chaney

• Buy a Gun for Your Son

• John Ashcroft And The Spirit Of Justice

• Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation

• What Did You Learn in School Today?

• The Willing Conscript

• Sold A Hammer To The Pentagon

• The Bravest

• Tinky - Winky

• Talking Vietnam Potluck Blues

• Yuppies In The Sky

• The Last Thing On My Mind

• How Beautiful Upon The Mountain

• I Am Changing My Name To Chrysler

• I Am Changing My Name To Fannie Mae

• In Florida

• The Bravest

• How Beautiful Upon The Mountain

 

Goodman, Schwerner and Chaney

The night air is heavy, no cool breezes blow.
The sounds of the voices are worried and low.
Desperately wondering and desperate to know,
About Goodman, Schwerner and Chaney.

Calm desperation and flickering hope,
Reality grapples like a hand on the throat.
For you live in the shadow of ten feet of rope,
If you're Goodman and Schwerner and Chaney.

The Pearl River was dragged and two bodies were found,
But it was a blind alley for both men were brown.
So they all shrugged their shoulders and the search it went on,
For Goodman and Schwerner and Chaney.

Pull out the dead bodies from the ooze of the dam.
Take the bodies to Jackson all accordin' to plan.
With the one broken body do the best that you can,
It's the body of young James Chaney.

The nation was outraged and shocked through and through.
Call J. Edgar Hoover. He'll know what to do.
For they've murdered two white men, and a colored boy too
Goodman and Schwerner and Chaney.

James Chaney your body exploded in pain,
And the beating they gave you is pounding my brain.
And they murdered much more with their dark bloody chains
And the body of pity lies bleeding.

The pot-bellied copper shook hands all around,
And joked with the rednecks who came into town
And they swore that the murderer soon would be found
And they laughed as they spat their tobacco.

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Buy a Gun for Your Son

Hallelujah, Dads and Mommies,
Cowboys, Rebels, Yanks and Commies
Buy yourselves some real red blooded fun.
If you want to make the grade,
You've got to have a hand grenade,
And a fully automatic G.I. Gun.

Buy a gun for your son right away, Sir
Shake his hand like a man and let him play, Sir.
Let his little mind expand, Place a weapon in his hand,
For the skills he learns today will someday pay, Sir.
Pound that kid into submission
'Till he's mastered Nuclear Fission
Buy him plastic warheads by the score,
Once he's got the taste of blood,
He's gonna sneak up on his buddies
Starting his own thermo-nuclear war.

Buy him khakis and fatigues,
And sign him up in little leagues,
Give him calisthenics as a rule.
Once you've banished fear and dread,
Then pat his seven year-old head,
And send him off to military school.

Once he's grown to be a man,
He might get tired of blasting Granny,
Then you'll see a crisis coming on.
Don't get worried, don't get nervous.
Send that kid into the service,
Let him rise into the Pentagon.

At the Pentagon he'll rise.
The President he will advise,
His reputation growing all the while.
With his picture on the wall,
He'll get that long-awaited call,
And press the firing buttons with a smile.

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John Ashcroft And The Spirit Of Justice

John Ashcroft went to meet the press
He faced the microphones.
His heart was full of righteousness
His voice like God's trombones.
But then he saw the statue
That was set behind him there.
She was 'The Spirit of Justice'
Yes, but one of her breasts was bare.

John Ashcroft looked with horror
At this gleaming marble globe.
It thrust itself upon him
From a loosely falling robe.
It was so hard to concentrate
On those he there accused
With that marble breast behind him,
Poor John Ashcroft got confused.

Each time he saw that marble breast
The poor man was appalled,
He quickly gave the order
And a curtain was installed.
Now when he makes a statement
You can see him on the tube
He has curtained off the statue
But you'll still see one big boob.

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Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation

I got a letter from L. B. J.
It said this is your lucky day.
It's time to put your khaki trousers on.
Though it may seem very queer
We've got no jobs to give you here
So we are sending you to Viet Nam

Lyndon Johnson told the nation,
"Have no fear of escalation.
I am trying everyone to please.
Though it isn't really war,
We're sending fifty thousand more,
To help save Viet nam from Viet Namese."
I jumped off the old troop ship,
And sank in mud up to my hips.
I cussed until the captain called me down.
Never mind how hard it's raining,
Think of all the ground we're gaining,
Just don't take one step outside of town.

Every night the local gentry,
Sneak out past the sleeping sentry.
They go to join the old VC.
In their nightly little dramas,
They put on their black pajamas,
And come lobbing mortar shells at me.

We go round in helicopters,
Like a bunch of big grasshoppers,
Searching for the Viet Cong in vain.
They left a note that they had gone.
They had to get down to Saigon,
Their government positions to maintain.

Well here I sit in this rice paddy,
Wondering about Big Daddy,
And I know that Lyndon loves me so.
Yet how sadly I remember,
Way back yonder in November,
When he said I'd never have to go.

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What Did You Learn in School Today?

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?

I learned that Washington never told a lie.
I learned that soldiers seldom die.
I learned that everybody's free.
And that's what the teacher said to me.
That's what I learned in school today.
That's what I learned in school.

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?

I learned that policemen are my friends.
I learned that justice never ends.
I learned that murderers die for their crimes.
Even if we make a mistake sometimes.
That's what I learned in school today.
That's what I learned in school.

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?

I learned our government must be strong.
It's always right and never wrong.
Our leaders are the finest men.
And we elect them again and again.
That's what I learned in school today.
That's what I learned in school.

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?

I learned that war is not so bad.
I learned of the great ones we have had.
We fought in Germany and in France.
And some day I might get my chance.
That's what I learned in school today.
That's what I learned in school.

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The Willing Conscript

Oh Sergeant I'm a draftee and I've just arrived in camp.
I've come to wear the uniform and join the martial tramp.
And I want to do my duty, but one thing I do implore
You must give me lessons, sergeant, for I've never killed before.

To do my job obediently is my only desire.
To learn my weapon thoroughly and how to aim and fire.
To learn to kill the enemy and then to slaughter more,
I'll need instruction, sergeant, for I've never killed before.

Now there are several lessons that I haven't mastered yet.
I haven't got the hang of how to use the bayonet.
If he doesn't die at once am I to stick him with it more?
Oh, I hope you will be patient, for I've never killed before.

Oh, there are rumors in the camp about our enemy.
They say that when you see him he looks just like you and me.
But you deny it, Sergeant, and you are a man of war,
So you must give me lessons, for I've never killed before.

The hand grenade is something that I just don't understand.
You've got to throw it quickly or you're apt to lose your hand.
Does it blow a man to pieces with it's wicked, muffled roar?
Oh, I've got so much to learn because I've never killed before.

Oh, I want to thank you, Sergeant, for the help you've been to me.
For you've taught me how to slaughter and to hate the enemy.
And I know that I'll be ready when they march me off to war,
And I know that it won't matter that I've never killed before.
And I know that it won't matter that I've never killed before.

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Sold A Hammer To The Pentagon

Sold a hammer to the Pentagon
To the Bing Bang to the Pentagon
And I’m living in Florida for they made me a millionare
They gave me 700 for every silly little hammer
For I sold them to the Pentagon and they made me a millionare
  
So you sell them nails
To the Bing Bang to the Pentagon
Yes you sell them nails and they’ll make you a millionare  
Sold a coffee pot to the Pentagon
To the Hee Haw to the Pentagon
And I’m living on a golf course for they made me a millionare
They gave me 5,000 for every silly little coffee pot
For I sold them to the Pentagon and they made me a millionare
  
So you sell them coffee
To the Hee Haw to the Pentagon
Yes you sell them nails and they’ll make you a millionare  
Sold a toilet seat to the Pentagon
To the Yahoo at the Pentagon
And I’m living in a condo for they made me a millionare
They gave me 600 for every folding little toilet seat
For I sold them to the Pentagon and they made me a millionare
  
So you know what you can sell
To the Yahoo at the Pentagon
Yes you know what you can sell and they’ll make you a millionare

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The Bravest

The first plane hit the other tower
Right after I came in
It left a fiery, gaping hole
Where offices had been
We stood and watched in horror
As we saw the first ones fall
Then someone yelled, "Get out! Get out!
They're trying to kill us all"

I grabbed the pictures from my desk
And joined the flight for life
With every step I called the names
Of my children and my wife
And then we heard them coming up
From several floors below -
A crowd of fire fighters
With their heavy gear in tow

Chorus:
Now every time I try to sleep
I'm haunted by the sound
Of firemen pounding up the stairs
While we were running down

And when we met them on the stairs
They said we were too slow
"Get out! Get out!" they yelled at us
"The whole thing's going to go"
They didn't have to tell us twice
We'd seen the world on fire
We kept on running down the stairs
While they kept climbing higher

Chorus

Thank God we made it to the street
We ran through ash and smoke
I did not know which way to run -
I thought that I would choke
A fireman took me by the arm
And pointed me uptown
Then, "Christ!" I heard him whisper
As the tower came roaring down

So now I go to funerals
For men I never knew
The pipers play "Amazing Grace"
As the coffins come in view
They must have seen it coming
When they turned to face the fire
They sent us down to safety
Then they kept on climbing higher.

Chorus

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Tinky - Winky

"Tinky-Winky must be gay,"
I heard Jerry Falwell say.
"He is purple, and -- what's worse --
Tinky-Winky has a purse.
That triangle on his head,
Is a symbol," Jerry said.
But, for me, it's just a sign
That Jerry has too much free time.

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Talking Vietnam Potluck Blues

When I landed in Vietnam,
I hardly got to see Saigon.
They shaped us up and called the roll,
And off we went on a long patrol.
Swattin' flies, swappin' lies,
Firing the odd shot here and there.

The captain called a halt that night
And we had chow by the pale moonlight.
A lovely dinner they planned for us
With a taste like a seat on a crosstown bus.
Some of the veterans left theirs in the cans
For the Viet Cong to find. . .
Deadlier than a land mine.

Well naturally somebody told a joke
And a couple of fellas began to smoke.
I took a whiff as a cloud rolled by
And my nose went up like an infield fly.
The captain, this blonde fella from Yale, said
"What's the matter with you, baby?"

Well, I may be crazy, but I think not.
I'd swear to God that I smell pot.
But who'd have pot in Vietnam?
He said, "What do you think you're sittin' on?"
These funny little plants, thousands of them.
Good God Almighty... Pastures of Plenty!

We all lit up and by and by
The whole platoon was flying high.
With a beautiful smile on the captain's face
He smelled like midnight on St. Mark's Place.
Cleaning his weapon, chanting the Hare Krishna Hare Krishna.

The moment came as it comes to al,
When I had to answer nature's call.
I was stumbling around in a beautiful haze
When I met a little cat in black P.J.'s,
Rifle, ammo-belt, B.F. Goodrich sandals.
He looked up at me and said,
"Whatsa' matta wit-choo, baby?"

He said, "We're campin' down the pass
And smelled you people blowin' grass,
And since by the smell you're smokin' trash
I brought you a taste of a special stash
Straight from Uncle Ho's victory garden.
We call it Hanoi gold."

So his squad and my squad settled down
And passed some lovely stuff around.
All too soon it was time to go.
The captain got on the radio. . .
"Hello, headquarters. We have met the enemy
And they have been smashed!"

*** Note. Tom has recorded this several times and the exact lyrics have changed slightly each time. The version above is (except for the word "funny" in verse 4) from the music book "Tom Paxton Anthology" published in 1971.

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Yuppies In The Sky

One night as I was walking down Columbus Avenue
The sushi bars were shuttered, and the dark cantina too
I stood there in the darkness as an empty cab rolled by
When all at once I heard the sound of yuppies in the sky

The herd came down Columbus for as far as I could see
The men were wearing polo and the women wore esprit
Each yuppie had a Walkman, and as each one passed me by
I saw their sad expressions and I heard their mournful cry

Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky
Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky

Each one was wearing running shoes upon the ghostly deck
And each one had a cotton sweater wrapped around his neck
They all held out their credit cards and tried in vain to buy
But all the stores were shuttered to the yuppies in the sky

Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky
Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky

I'd seen them in commercials sailing boats and playing ball
Pouring beer for one another, crying, "Why not have it all"
Now I saw their ghostly progress down Columbus Avenue
I heard their cries for mercy and it chilled me through and through

Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky
Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky

All the salad bars were empty, all the quiche Lorraine was gone
I heard the yuppies crying as they vanished in the dawn
Calling brand names to each other, they faded from my view
They'd be networking forever down Columbus Avenue

Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky
Condos for sale, Condos to buy, Oh Yuppies in the sky

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The Last Thing On My Mind

It's a lesson too late for the learning.
Made of sand.
Made of sand.
In the wink of an eye my soul is turning.
In your hand.
In your hand.
Are you going away with no word of farewell?
Will there be not a trace left behind?
Well I could have loved you better.
Didn't mean to be unkind.
You know that was the last thing on my mind.

You've got reasons a plenty for going.
This I know.
This I know.
For the weeds have been steadily growing.
Please don't go.
Please don't go.
Are you going away with no word of farewell?
Will there be not a trace left behind?
Well I could have loved you better.
Didn't mean to be unkind.
You know that was the last thing on my mind.

As I lie in my bed in the morning.
Without you.
Without you.
Each song in my brest dies a borning.
Without you.
Without you.
Are you going away with no word of farewell?
Will there be not a trace left behind?
Well I could have loved you better.
Didn't mean to be unkind.
You know that was the last thing on my mind.
That was the last hing on mind.

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How Beautiful Upon The Mountain

How beautiful upon the mountain,
Are the steps of those who walk in peace!
How beautiful upon the mountain,
Are the steps of those who walk in peace!
'Cross the bridge at Selma you came marching side by side,
In your eyes, a new world on the way.
Peace was in your hearts and justice would not be denied,
You sang "We Shall Overcome someday."
God knows the courage you possessed,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)
Marching 'round the White House,
Marching 'round the Pentagon,
Marching 'round the mighty missile plants,
Speaking truth to power, singing peace to Babylon,
Asking us, Why not give peace a chance?
God knows the courage you possessed,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)
Now the generations that have joined you on this road,
Look to you with power in their eyes.
Showing you the torch has passed as they pick up the load,
Showing you their eyes are on the prize.
God knows the courage they possess,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)

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I Am Changing My Name To Chrysler

Oh, the price of gold is rising out of sight,
And the dollar is in sorry shape tonight.
What a dollar use to get us
Now won't get a head of lettuce,
No, the economic forecast isn't bright.
But amidst the clouds I spot a shining ray,
I begin to glimpse a new and better way.
I've devised a plan of action,
Worked it down to the last fraction,
And I'm going into action here today:

Cho: I am changing my name to Chrysler,
I am going down to Washington D.C.
I will tell some power broker,
"What you did for Iacocca
Would be perfectly acceptable to me."
I am changing my name to Chrysler,
I am leaving for that great receiving line.
When they hand a million grand out,
I'll be standing with my hand out,
Yes sir, I'll get mine.

When my creditors come screaming for their dough,
I'll be proud to tell them all where they can go.
They won’t have to yell and holler,
They'll be paid to the last dollar
Where the endless streams of money seem to flow.
I'll be glad to show them all what they must do.
It’s a matter of a simple form or two.
It's not just remuneration, it’s a lib'ral education,
Makes you kind of glad that I’m in debt to you.

Cho.

Since the first amphibian crawled out of the slime,
We've been struggling in an unrelenting climb.
We were hardly up and walking
Before money started talking,
And it's said that failure is an awful crime.
It's been that way a millenium or two;
Now it seems there is a different point of view.
If you're a corporate Titanic
And your failure is gigantic,
Down in Congress there's a safety net for you.

Cho

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I Am Changing My Name To Fannie Mae

Everybody and his uncle is in debt,
And the bankers and the brokers are upset.
Goldman Sachs’s, Merrill Lynch’s
Saw themselves as lead-pipe cinches,
Now they’ve landed in the biggest screw-up yet.
Lehman Brothers and Bear Stearns and all their kind
Have turned out to be the blind leading the blind.
They are clearly the nit-wittest
In survival of the fittest––
Let me modestly say what I have in mind
Chorus:
I am changing my name to Fannie Mae;
I am changing it to AIG.
On this bail-out I am betting;
Just a piece of what they’re getting,
Would be perfectly acceptable to me.
I am changing my name to Freddie Mac;
I am leaving for that great receiving line.
I’ll be waiting when they hand out
Seven hundred million grand out––
That’s when I’ll get mine.
Since the first amphibian crawled out of the slime,
We’ve been struggling in an unrelenting climb.
We were hardly up and walking
Before money started talking
And it said that failure was the only crime.
If you really screwed things up, then you were through;
Now––surprise!––there is a different point of view.
All that crazy rooty-tootin’
And that golden parachutin’
Means that someone’s making millions––just not you! (to chorus)

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In Florida

Folks in Florida cast their votes,
As all good citizens do.
In West Palm Beach, the ballots read,
'To vote for One, punch Two.
And once you've punched it, punch it again,
And give it another good push.
You thought you voted for Gore -- surprise!!
You cast your ballot for Bush.'

     Chorus:
     In Florida the sun is shining,
     It's early bird dining,
     And early to bed.
     The Republicans
     Said, 'Stop the counting.
     Gore's total is mounting --
     Let's quit while we're ahead.'

Katherine Harris hit the switch,
Saying, 'This vote's certified,'
Off the Democrats went to court;
'Unfair!' the Republicans cried.
A hundred million votes were cast --
Including yours and mine--
But in the end the only ones
That counted numbered nine. (To Chorus)

The boys and girls in black robes met
And held a tug of war.
And when they cast their votes at last
Bush won it, 5 to 4.
Five judges selected the president --
Five judges had their way --
And I expect they'll all retire
To Florida some day. (To Chorus)

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The Bravest
(Written 9/24/01)

The first plane hit the other tower
Right after I came in
It left a fiery, gaping hole
Where offices had been
We stood and watched in horror
As we saw the first ones fall
Then someone yelled, "Get out! Get out!
They're trying to kill us all"

I grabbed the pictures from my desk
And joined the flight for life
With every step I called the names
Of my children and my wife
And then we heard them coming up
From several floors below -
A crowd of fire fighters
With their heavy gear in tow

Now every time I try to sleep
I'm haunted by the sound
Of firemen pounding up the stairs
While we were running down

And when we met them on the stairs
They said we were too slow
"Get out! Get out!" they yelled at us
"The whole thing's going to go"
They didn't have to tell us twice
We'd seen the world on fire
We kept on running down the stairs
While they kept climbing higher

Thank God we made it to the street
We ran through ash and smoke
I did not know which way to run -
I thought that I would choke
A fireman took me by the arm
And pointed me uptown
Then, "Christ!" I heard him whisper
As the tower came roaring down

So now I go to funerals
For men I never knew
The pipers play "Amazing Grace"
As the coffins come in view
They must have seen it coming
When they turned to face the fire
They sent us down to safety
Then they kept on climbing higher.

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How Beautiful Upon the Mountain

How beautiful upon the mountain,
Are the steps of those who walk in peace!
How beautiful upon the mountain,
Are the steps of those who walk in peace!
'Cross the bridge at Selma you came marching side by side,
In your eyes, a new world on the way.
Peace was in your hearts and justice would not be denied,
You sang "We Shall Overcome someday."
God knows the courage you possessed,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)
Marching 'round the White House,
Marching 'round the Pentagon,
Marching 'round the mighty missile plants,
Speaking truth to power, singing peace to Babylon,
Asking us, Why not give peace a chance?
God knows the courage you possessed,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)
Now the generations that have joined you on this road,
Look to you with power in their eyes.
Showing you the torch has passed as they pick up the load,
Showing you their eyes are on the prize.
God knows the courage they possess,
And Isaiah said it best: (to chorus)

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---

 

Tom Waits

With his trademark throaty growl, he's a piano bar crooner and a Coney Island barker, singing songs of loneliness and desperation. By Anthony York May 8, 2001 | Anyone seeking the distilled essence of Tom Waits can find it in a song that he didn't even write. Waits is an inimitable song stylist (take a look at efforts by the Eagles and Rod Stewart to cover his songs if you don't believe me), but it is his cover of a show tune that may help explain him best.  Growing up in Southern California, I spent countless hours in my parents' car. Unfortunately my father owned all of four cassettes, which were in heavy rotation for the better part of 16 years. And even worse, one of those cassettes was a tape of show tunes sung by Barbra Streisand. As a captive in the back seat, there was little I could do.  When Babs delivers her melodramatic rendition of "Somewhere" from "West Side Story," it is utterly uncompelling. When she sings the song's opening line, "There's a place for us/Somewhere a place for us," it's impossible to feel anything real. We all know that place she sings of is among brie platters and chardonnay on the terrace of a $27 million Malibu estate. Tough life.  But when Waits delivers the same line to open his 1978 album "Blue Valentine," the song is transformed. Through Waits' raspy wail, the song moves closer to its own spirit -- an ode to the freak, a tragic vision of a nonexistent Utopia where all of Waits' characters can roam free. And imagine if they all were there. The one-eyed dwarf captain shooting dice along the wharf, the prostitute in a Minnesota jail who fabricates stories about a trombone-playing sugar daddy, Big Mambo kicking his old gray hound around the neighborhood; the list goes on and on. Certainly this bunch would not know what to do with the "peace and quiet and open air" that await in some distant somewhere. These are people trapped in what a patient Christian might call the tunnel toward salvation.  For the rest of us, this is just as well. To live in Waits' world is to celebrate loneliness and desperation. Sure, he can sing the ballad of the last man at the bar, but Waits is more than just a piano bar crooner. He's also the Coney Island carnival barker shining a soft blue spotlight in the back alleys of New Orleans. And he does it all with such style, singing about the same characters Charles Bukowski wrote about, in a throaty growl strangely derivative of Louis Armstrong.  Waits has cited as influences everyone from Hound Dog Taylor to his Uncle Vernon, from Prince to Blue Oyster Cult. He once said he enjoyed listening to BOC "about as much as listening to trains in a tunnel." But in a 1978 interview with Creem magazine, Waits explained that, coming from him, that was an endorsement. "I like them. Of course, I also like boogers and snot and vomit on my clothes."  Not your typical rock-star aesthetic, to be sure. But Waits has also had an extensive and eclectic film career, beginning with Sylvester Stallone's 1978 "Paradise Alley." In the 23 years since, he's had memorable roles in movies such as Jim Jarmusch's "Down by Law" as well as in some more forgettable ones, like 1999's "Mystery Men."  But through it all, he has maintained his place as the ultimate hobo boho, a Jack-in-the-box cum storyteller. He brings a certain savvy to almost everything he touches -- whether it's sticking a live fish down his pants while fishing with John Lurie on the Independent Film Channel, or playing Zack the DJ convict in "Down by Law," or prancing around drunk opposite Lily Tomlin in Robert Altman's "Short Cuts." Waits is the King Midas of cool.  Tom Waits was born in the back seat of a taxicab in Pomona, Calif., on Pearl Harbor Day, 1949. He once told Rolling Stone he began to come into his own musically when he "started writing down people's conversations as they sat around the bar. When I put them together I found some music hiding in there."  His first albums were your basic white-boy blues efforts. In fact, when two albums of his early recordings were rereleased in the early 1990s, I was half-convinced they were some sort of elaborate prank.  "The Early Years" Vols. 1 and 2 are striking in the context of Waits' body of work. To hear them is to listen to a singer who has not yet found his voice. Songs like "Pancho's Lament" and "Goin' Down Slow" sound like they could be Randy Newman tunes, for chrissakes. But listening to these songs confirms something else -- that Waits is the ultimate character actor. Even in these fledgling efforts there are signs of where he wanted to go. He just hadn't yet developed the means to get there.  But somewhere along the way his voice dropped an octave and he became Tom Waits. You can chalk it up to bourbon and cigarettes, but that seems too easy. Certainly, this evolution was complete by the time "Blue Valentine" was released. By then, Waits had become the hissing cobra of spilled Chablis along the midway, the guardian of Latino thugs getting cooled while stealing diamond rings, the chronicler of the rain washing memories from the sidewalks.  Waits says he began searching for that voice at an early age. "I learned that Uncle Vernon had had a throat operation as a kid and the doctors had left behind a small pair of scissors and gauze when they closed him up," he said in an interview with Creem. "Years later at Christmas dinner, Uncle Vernon started to choke while trying to dislodge an errant string bean, and he coughed up the gauze and the scissors. That's how Uncle Vernon got his voice, and that's how I got mine -- from trying to sound just like him."  This all culminated in 1983's "Swordfishtrombones," which still stands as Waits' masterwork. On the album, Waits ditched the simple guitar, drums and piano and added bagpipes, trombones, calliopes, strings, hurdy-gurdies, a little sizzle in the high hat, clanging lead pipes, an accordion -- anything and everything.  Waits said the transformation was liberating. "Anybody who plays the piano would thrill at seeing and hearing one thrown off a 12-story building, watching it hit the sidewalk and being there to hear that thump," Waits told Playboy magazine. "It's like school. You want to watch it burn."  Freed from the confines of the standard jazz trio, Waits continued to experiment. He found music in "dragging a chair across the floor or hitting the side of a locker real hard with a two-by-four, a freedom bell, a brake drum with a major imperfection, a police bullhorn."  He also learned the art of evocative storytelling. Never in his later years would he make the mistake of overstating his case. His lyrics wouldn't have to tell you he was your "late night evening prostitute," as he sang on Vol. 1 of "The Early Years." It was in the music. Waits says this evolution began when he stopped romanticizing the life of a drunk.  "I tried to resolve a few things as far as this cocktail-lounge, maudlin, crying-in-your-beer image that I have," he said in a Rolling Stone interview. "There ain't nothin' funny about a drunk. You know, I was really starting to believe that there was something amusing and wonderfully American about a drunk. I ended up telling myself to cut that shit out."  Watching Waits on-screen, or listening to a record, is to watch or hear an elaborate act. But instead of being some kind of extravagant UFO fantasy, Waits' shtick seems to be about being himself, only more so. In that sense, he is the anti-glam rocker. Whereas David Bowie, for example, was always taking on new identities, creating and inhabiting new characters, Waits is a study in becoming who you already are. He's the guy who eats cold chow mein out of the box, revels in a new deck of cards with girls on the back. Bowie is from outer space. Tom Waits is from down in the hole.  "My thing is the best songs come out of the ground, just like a potato," he once said in a conversation with Roberto Benigni, which was published in Interview Magazine. "You plan and plan, and then you wait for the potato."  As far as life philosophy, Waits had this to say to a Time magazine reporter in 1978: "Life is picking up a girl with bad teeth, or getting to know one of those wild-eyed rummies down on Sixth Avenue."  And though his sensibilities may be dive-bar chic, Tom Waits isn't cool the way a pool hustler is cool. Waits is cool like saffron -- exotic and rare. He keeps himself in relative seclusion north of San Francisco, which only adds to the allure. Any time Waits plays a gig it becomes an event. He rarely tours anymore, though he did hit the road for a few dates in support of 1999's "Mule Variations." Those shows were his first since he emerged from a self-imposed exile in 1995 to play a single benefit concert at Oakland's Paramount Theater. The show was expensive -- $75 a ticket -- and sold out in less than an hour.  But Waits didn't miss a beat. When a woman sitting near the front yelled out, "Hey, Tom, where you been?" Waits had a reply at the ready, as if it were rehearsed.  "I been around. Where you been? You still living out by the airport?"

• Small Change
  

• Swordfishtrombones
  

• The Piano Has Been Drinking
  

• Invitation to the Blues
  

• Pasties and a G-string
  

• The One That Got Away
  

• I'm Your Late Night Evening Prostitute
  

• I Wish I Was in New Orleans
  

• Eyeball Kid
  

• Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis
  

• Big Joe and Phantom 309
  

• Step Right Up

 

Small Change
(Got Rained on with His Own .38)

Well small change got rained on with his own .38
and nobody flinched down by the arcade
and the marquise weren't weeping
they went stark-raving mad
and the cabbies were the only ones 
that really had it made
and his cold trousers were twisted, 
and the sirens high and shrill
and crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill
and the naked mannikins with their 
cheshire grins
and the raconteurs 
and roustabouts said buddy
come on in
cause the dreams ain't broken down here now
now ...they're walking with a limp
now that 

small change got rained on with his own .38"
and nobody flinched down by the arcade
and the burglar alarm's been disconnected
and the newsmen start to rattle
and the cops are tellin' jokes 
about some whore house in Seattle
and the fire hydrants plead the 5th Amendment
and the furniture's bargains galore
but the blood is by the jukebox 
on an old linoleum floor
and it's a hot rain on 42nd Street
and now the umbrellas ain't got a chance
And the newsboy's a lunatic 
with stains on his pants cause

small change got rained on with his own .38
and no one's gone over to close his eyes
and there's a racing form in his pocket
circled "Blue Boots" in the 3rd
and the cashier at the clothing store 
he didn't say a word as the
siren tears the night in half
and someone lost his wallet
well it's surveillance of assailants 
if that's whatchawannacallit
and the whores hike up their skirts 
and fish for drug-store prophylactics*
with their mouths cut just like 
razor blades and their eyes are like stilettos
and her radiator's steaming 
and her teeth are in a wreck
now she won't let you kiss her
but what the hell do you expect
and the Gypsies are tragic and if you 
wanna to buy perfume, well
they'll bark you down like 
carneys... sell you Christmas cards in June
but...

small change got rained on with his own .38
and his headstone's 
a gumball machine
no more chewing gum 
or baseball cards or
overcoats or dreams and
someone is hosing down the sidewalk
and he's only in his teens

small change got rained on with his own .38
and a fistful of dollars can't change that
and someone copped his watch fob
and someone got his ring
and the newsboy got his porkpie Stetson hat
and the tuberculosis old men 
at the Nelson wheeze and cough
and someone will head south 
until this whole thing cools off cause
small change got rained on with his own .38
yea small change got rained on with his own .38

*this line omitted from lyric sheet

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Swordfishtrombones

Well he came home from the war
with a party in his head
and modified Brougham DeVille
and a pair of legs that opened up
like butterfly wings
and a mad dog that wouldn't
sit still
he went and took up with a Salvation Army
Band girl
who played dirty water
on a swordfishtrombone
he went to sleep at the bottom of
Tenkiller lake
and he said "gee, but it's
great to be home."

Well he came home from the war
with a party in his head
and an idea for a fireworks display
and he knew that he'd be ready with
a stainless steel machete
and a half a pint of Ballentine's
each day
and he holed up in room above a hardware store
cryin' nothing there but Hollywood tears
and he put a spell on some
poor little Crutchfield girl
and stayed like that for 27 years

Well he packed up all his
expectations he lit out for California
with a flyswatter banjo on his knee
with a lucky tiger in his angel hair
and benzedrine for getting there
they found him in a eucalyptus tree
lieutenant got him a canary bird
and shaked her head with every word
and Chesterfielded moonbeams in a song
and he got 20 years for lovin' her
from some Oklahoma governor
said everything this Doughboy
does is wrong

Now some say he's doing
the obituary mambo
and some say he's hanging on the wall
perhaps this yarn's the only thing
that holds this man together
some say he was never here at all

Some say they saw him down in
Birmingham, sleeping in a
boxcar going by
and if you think that you can tell a bigger tale
I swear to God you'd have to tell a lie...

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The Piano Has Been Drinking

The piano has been drinking
my necktie is asleep
and the combo went back to New York
the jukebox has to take a leak
and the carpet needs a haircut
and the spotlight looks like a prison break
cause the telephone's out of cigarettes
and the balcony's on the make
and the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking...

and the menus are all freezing
and the lightman's blind in one eye
and he can't see out of the other
and the piano-tuner's got a hearing aid
and he showed up with his mother
and the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking

cause the bouncer is a Sumo wrestler
cream puff casper milk toast
and the owner is a mental midget
with the I.Q. of a fencepost
cause the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking...

and you can't find your waitress
with a Geiger counter
And she hates you and your friends
and you just can't get served 
without her
and the box-office is drooling
and the bar stools are on fire
and the newspapers were fooling
and the ash-trays have retired
the piano has been drinking
the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking
not me, not me, not me, not me, not me

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Invitation to the Blues

Well she's up against the register
with an apron and a spatula
with yesterday's deliveries, 
and the tickets for the bachelors
she's a moving violation
from her conk down to her shoes
but it's just an invitation to the blues

and you feel just like Cagney
looks like Rita Hayworth
at the counter of the Schwab's drug store
you wonder if she might be single
she's a loner likes to mingle
got to be patient and pick up a clue

she says howyougonnalikem
over medium or scrambled
anyway's the only way
be careful not to gamble
on a guy with a suitcase
and a ticket gettin out of here
it's a tired bus station 
and an old pair of shoes
but it ain't nothing but an 
invitation to the blues

but you can't take your eyes off her
get another cup of java
and it's just the way she pours it for you
joking with the customers
and it's mercy mercy Mr. Percy
there ain't nothin back in Jersey
but a broken-down jalopy of a 
man I left behind
and a dream that I was chasin
and a battle with booze
and an open invitation to the blues

but she's had a sugar daddy
and a candy apple Caddy
and a bank account and everything
accustom to the finer things
he probably left her for a socialite
and he didn't love her 'cept at night
and then he's drunk and never 
even told her that he cared
so they took the registration
and the car-keys and her shoes
And left her with an invitation 
to the blues

'Cause there's a Continental Trailways leaving
local bus tonight, good evening 
you can have my seat
I'm stickin round here for a while
get me a room at the Squire
the filling station's hiring
I can eat here every night
what the hell have I got to lose
got a crazy sensation, 
go or stay and I've got to choose
and I'll accept your invitation to the blues

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Pasties and a G-string

Smelling like a brewery,
looking like a tramp
I ain't got a quarter
got a postage stamp
Been five o'clock shadow boxing 
all around the town
Talking with the old men
sleeping on the ground
Bazanti bootin 
al zootin al hoot 
and Al Cohn
sharin this apartment 
with a telephone pole
and it's a fish-net stockings
spike-heel shoes
Strip tease, prick tease 
car kease blues
and the porno floor show
live nude girls
dreamy and creamy 
and the brunette curls
Chesty Morgan and a 
Watermelon Rose
raise my rent and take off 
all your clothes
with the trench coats
magazines bottle full of rum
she's so good, it make 
a dead man cum, with
pasties and a g-string
beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass 
and a Buffalo squeeze
wrinkles and cherry 
and twinky and pinky
and FeFe live from Gay Paree
fanfares rim shots 
back stage who cares
all this hot burlesque for me

cleavage, cleavage thighs and hips
from the nape of her neck 
to the lip stick lips
chopped and channeled 
and lowered and louvered
and a cheater slicks 
and baby moons
she's hot and ready
and creamy and sugared
and the band is awful 
and so are the tunes

crawlin on her belly shakin like jelly
and I'm getting harder than 
Chinese algebraziers and cheers
from the compendium here
hey sweet heart they're yellin for more
squashing out your cigarette butts 
on the floor
and I like Shelly
you like Jane
what was the girl with the snake skins name
it's an early bird matinee
come back any day
getcha little sompin
that cha can't get at home
getcha little sompin
that cha can't get at home
pasties and a g-string
beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass 
and a Buffalo squeeze
popcorn, front row
higher than a kite
and I'll be back tomorrow night
and I'll be back tomorrow night

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The One That Got Away

The jigolo's jumpin salty
ain't no trade out on the streets
half past the unlucky
and the hawk's a front-row seat
dressed in full orquestration
stage door johnnys got to pay
and sent him home 
talking bout the one that got away

could a been on easy street
could a been a wheel
with irons in the fire 
and all them business deals
But the last of the big-time losers 
shouted before he drove away
I'll be right back as soon as I crack 
the one that got away

the ambulance drivers don't give a shit
they just want to get off work
and the short stop and the victim 
have already gone berserk
and the shroud-tailor measures him 
for a deep-six holiday
the stiff is froze, the case is closed 
on the one that got away

Jim Crow's directing traffic 
with them cemetery blues
with them peculiar looking trousers
them old Italian shoes
the wooden kimona was all ready 
to drop in San Francisco Bay
but now he's mumbling something 
all about the one that got away

Costello was the champion 
at the St. Moritz Hotel
and the best this side of Fairfax, 
reliable sources tell
but his reputation is at large
and he's at Ben Frank's every day
waiting for the one that got away

he's got a snake skin sportshirt, 
and he looks like Vincent Price
with a little piece of chicken 
and he's carving off a slice
but someone tipped her off 
she'll be doing a Houdini now any day
she shook his hustle
and a Greyhound bus'll 
take the one that got away

Andre is at the piano 
behind the Ivar in the sewers
with a buck a shot for pop tunes, 
and a fin for guided tours
He could of been in Casablanca
he stood in line out there all day
but now he's spilling whiskey 
and learning songs about a one that got away

well I've lost my equilibrium 
my car keys and my pride
tattoo parlor's warm 
and so I huddle there inside
the grinding of the buzz saw
whatchuwanthathingtosay
just don't misspell her name
buddy she's the one that got away

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I'm Your Late Night Evening Prostitute

Well I got here at eight and I'll be here till two
I'll try my best to entertain you and 
Please don't mind me if I get a bit crude
I'm your late night evening prostitute

So drink your martinis and stare at the moon
Don't mind me I'll continue to croon
Don't mind me if I get a bit loon
I'm your late night evening prostitute

And dance, have a good time
I'll continue to shine
Yes Dance, have a good time
Don't mind me if I slip upon a rhyme

Well I got here at eight and I'll be here till two
I'll try my best to entertain you and 
Please don't mind me if I get a bit crude
I'm your late night evening prostitute
I'm your late night evening prostitute

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I Wish I Was in New Orleans
(In The 9th Ward)

Well, I wish I was in New Orleans
I can see it in my dreams
arm-in-arm down Burgundy
a bottle and my friends and me
hoist up a few tall cool ones
play some pool and listen to that 
tenor saxophone calling me home
and I can hear the band begin
"When the Saints Go Marching In"
by the whiskers on my chin
New Orleans, I'll be there

I'll drink you under the table
be red nose go for walks
the old haunts what I wants 
is red beans and rice
and wear the dress I like so well
and meet me at the old saloon
make sure there's a Dixie moon
New Orleans, I'll be there

and deal the cards roll the dice
if it ain't that ole Chuck E. Weiss
and Clayborn Avenue me and you
Sam Jones and all
and I wish I was in New Orleans
I can see it in my dreams
arm-in-arm down Burgundy
a bottle and my friends and me
New Orleans, I'll be there

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Eyeball Kid
(Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan)

Well Zenora Bariella
And Coriander Pyle
They had sixteen children
In the usual style
They had a curio museum
And they had no guile
All they ever wanted
Was a show biz child
So on the 7th of Dec. 1949
They got what
They'd been wishing for
All of the time
He grew up in a trailer
By the time he was 9
He rolled off to join
The circus... telling fortunes
On the side

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Well the first time I saw him
Was a Saigon jail
Cost me 27 dollars
Just to go his bail
I said your name will
Be in lights...
And that's no doubt
But you got to have
A manager that's what
It's all about
People would point
People would stare
I'll always be here
To protect you and to
Cut down on the glare
I know you can't speak
I know you can't sign
So cry right here on
The dotted line

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Well he was born with out a body
Not even a brow
I made the kid a promise
I made the kid a vow
He's not conventionally handsome
He'll never be tall
He said "all you got to do is
Book me into Carnegie Hall"

Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

He's just a little bitty thing
He's just a little guy
But women go crazy
For the big blue eye
They say how does he
Dream? How does he think
When he can't ever speak
And he can't ever blink?

I said Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid
Hail Hail, the Eyeball kid

Give it up and throw me down
A couple of quic
Everybody wants to see
The Eyeball kid

How dies he dream
How does he think
When he can't even speak
And he can't even blink
We are all lost in the
Wilderness we're as
Blind as can be
He came down to teach us
How to really see

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

So give it up and throw
Me down a couple of quid
Everybody wants to see
The Eyeball kid
Eyeball kid
Eyeball kid

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Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis

hey charlie i'm pregnant
and living on the 9th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off euclid avenue
and i stopped takin dope
and i quit drinkin whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track

and he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he'll raise him up
like he would his own son
and he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday night.

and hey charlie i think about you
everytime i pass a fillin station
om account of all the grease
you used to wear in your hair
and i still have that record
of little anthony & the imperials
but someone stole my record player
now how do you like that?

hey charlie i almost went crazy
after mario got busted
so i went back to omaha to
live with my folks
but everyone i used to know
was either dead or in prison
so i came back to minneapolis
this time i think i'm gonna stay.

hey charlie i think i'm happy
for the first time since my accident
and i wish i had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
i'd buy me a used car lot
and i wouldn't sell any of em
i'd just drive a different car
every day, dependin on how
i feel

hey charlie for chrissakes
do you want to know the
truth of it?
i don't have a husband
he don't play the trombone
and i need to borrow money
to pay this lawyer
and charlie, hey
i'll be eligible for parole
come valentines day

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Big Joe and Phantom 309
Written by Tommy Faile

well you see I happened to be back on the east coast
a few years back tryin' to make me a buck
like everybody else, well you know
times get hard and well I got down on my luck
and I got tired of just roamin' and bummin'
around, so I started thumbin' my way
back to my old hometown
you know I made quite a few miles
in the first couple of days, and I
figured I'd be home in a week if my
luck held out this way
but you know it was the third night
I got stranded, it was out at a cold lonely
crossroads, and as the rain came
pouring down, I was hungry, tired
freezin', caught myself a chill, but
it was just about that time that
the lights of an old semi topped the hill
you should of seen me smile when I
heard them air brakes come on, and
I climbed up in that cab where I 
knew it'd be warm at the wheel
well at the wheel sat a big man
I'd have to say he must of weighed 210
the way he stuck out a big hand and
said with a grin "Big Joe's the name
and this here rig's called Phantom 309"
well I asked him why he called his 
rig such a name, but he just turned to me
and said "Why son don't you know this here
rig'll be puttin' 'em all to shame, why
there ain't a driver on this
or any other line for that matter
that's seen nothin' but the taillights of Big Joe
and Phantom 309"
So we rode and talked the better part of the night
and I told my stories and Joe told his and
I smoked up all his Viceroys as we rolled along
he pushed her ahead with 10 forward gears
man that dashboard was lit like the old
Madam La Rue pinball, a serious semi truck
until almost mysteriously, well it was the 
lights of a truck stop that rolled into sight
Joe turned to me and said "I'm sorry son
but I'm afraid this is just as far as you go
You see I kinda gotta be makin' a turn
just up the road a piece," but I'll be 
damned if he didn't throw me a dime as he
threw her in low and said "Go on in there
son, and get yourself a hot cup of coffee 
on Big Joe"
and when Joe and his rig pulled off into
the night, man in nothing flat they was
clean outa sight
so I walked into the old stop and
ordered me up a cup of mud sayin'
"Big Joe's settin' this dude up" but
it got so deathly quiet in that 
place, you could of heard a pin drop
as the waiter's face turned kinda
pale, I said "What's the matter did
I say somethin' wrong?" I kinda
said with 8a half way grin. He said
"No son, you see It'll happen every 
now and then. You see every driver in
here knows Big Joe, but let me
tell you what happened just 10 years
ago, yea it was 10 years ago
out there at that cold lonely crossroads
where you flagged Joe down, and
there was a whole bus load of kids
and they were just comin' from school
and they were right in the middle when
Joe topped the hill, and could
have been slaughtered except
Joe turned his wheels, and
he jacknifed, and went 
into a skid, and folks around here
say he gave his life to save that bunch
of kids, and out there at that cold 
lonely crossroads, well they say it
was the end of the line for
Big Joe and Phantom 309, but it's 
funny you know, cause every now and then
yea every now and then, when the
moon's holdin' water, they say old Joe
will stop and give you a ride, and
just like you, some hitchhiker will be
comin' by"
"So here son," he said to me, "get
yourself another cup of coffee, it's on the
house, you see I want you to hang on 
to that dime, yea you hang on to that
dime as a kind of souvenir, a 
souvenir of Big Joe and Phantom 309"

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Step Right Up

Step right up
step right up
step right up
Everyone's a winner, bargains galore
That's right, you too can be the proud owner
Of the quality goes in before the name goes on
One-tenth of a dollar
one-tenth of a dollar
we got service after sales
You need perfume? we got perfume
how 'bout an engagement ring?
Something for the little lady
something for the little lady
Something for the little lady, hmm
Three for a dollar
We got a year-end clearance, we got a white sale
And a smoke-damaged furniture
you can drive it away today
Act now, act now
and receive as our gift, our gift to you
They come in all colors, one size fits all
No muss, no fuss, no spills
you're tired of kitchen drudgery
Everything must go
going out of business
going out of business
Going out of business sale
Fifty percent off original retail price
skip the middle man
Don't settle for less
How do we do it?
how do we do it?
volume, volume, turn up the volume
Now you've heard it advertised, don't hesitate
Don't be caught with your drawers down
Don't be caught with your drawers down
You can step right up, step right up

That's right, it filets, it chops
It dices, slices, never stops
lasts a lifetime, mows your lawn
And it mows your lawn
and it picks up the kids from school
It gets rid of unwanted facial hair
it gets rid of embarrassing age spots
It delivers a pizza
and it lengthens, and it strengthens
And it finds that slipper that's been at large
under the chaise longe for several weeks
And it plays a mean Rhythm Master
It makes excuses for unwanted lipstick on your collar
And it's only a dollar, step right up
it's only a dollar, step right up

'Cause it forges your signature.
If not completely satisfied
mail back unused portion of product
For complete refund of price of purchase
Step right up
Please allow thirty days for delivery
don't be fooled by cheap imitations
You can live in it, live in it
laugh in it, love in it
Swim in it, sleep in it
Live in it, swim in it
laugh in it, love in it
Removes embarrassing stains from contour sheets
that's right
And it entertains visiting relatives
it turns a sandwich into a banquet
Tired of being the life of the party?
Change your shorts
change your life
change your life
Change into a nine-year-old Hindu boy
get rid of your wife
And it walks your dog, and it doubles on sax
Doubles on sax, you can jump back Jack
see you later alligator
See you later alligator
And it steals your car
It gets rid of your gambling debts, it quits smoking
It's a friend, and it's a companion
And it's the only product you will ever need
Follow these easy assembly instructions
it never needs ironing
Well it takes weights off hips, bust
thighs, chin, midriff
Gives you dandruff, and it finds you a job
it is a job
And it strips the phone company free
take ten for five exchange
And it gives you denture breath
And you know it's a friend, and it's a companion
And it gets rid of your traveler's checks
It's new, it's improved, it's old-fashioned
Well it takes care of business
never needs winding
Never needs winding
never needs winding
Gets rid of blackheads, the heartbreak of psoriasis
Christ, you don't know the meaning of heartbreak, buddy
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
'Cause it's effective, it's defective
it creates household odors
It disinfects, it sanitizes for your protection
It gives you an erection
it wins the election
Why put up with painful corns any longer?
It's a redeemable coupon, no obligation
no salesman will visit your home
We got a jackpot, jackpot, jackpot
prizes, prizes, prizes, all work guaranteed
How do we do it
how do we do it
how do we do it
how do we do it
We need your business
we're going out of business
We'll give you the business
Get on the business
end of our going-out-of-business sale
Receive our free brochure, free brochure
Read the easy-to-follow assembly instructions
batteries not included
Send before midnight tomorrow, terms available
Step right up
step right up
step right up
You got it buddy: the large print giveth
and the small print taketh away
Step right up
you can step right up
you can step right up
C'mon step right up
(Get away from me kid, you bother me...)
Step right up, step right up, step right up
c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Step right up
you can step right up
c'mon and step right up
C'mon and step right up

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---

 

Tool

One of the leading alternative metal acts to emerge the 90s, Tool was formed in Los Angeles, California, USA, in 1990 by Adam Jones (guitar), Maynard James Keenan (b. James Herbert Keenan, 17 April 1964, Ravenna, Ohio, USA; vocals), Paul D'Amour (bass) and Danny Carey (drums). The mini-album, Opiate, was a powerful introduction to Tool's densely rhythmic style, with "Hush" helping establish a buzz for the band; the accompanying video graphically displayed the song's anti-censorship slant of "I can't say what I want to/Even if I'm not serious" as the band appeared naked with their mouths taped shut. European dates with friends Rage Against The Machine and a US tour with the Rollins Band helped to sharpen Tool's live performances. Their increased confidence was evident on Undertow, which featured a guest vocal from Henry Rollins on "Bottom". While the band retained their angry intensity and penchant for difficult lyrical subjects, their songwriting became more adventurous, culminating in the experimental ambient closer, "Disgustipated" - lyrically, however, the track displayed a sense of humour that belied Tool's miserable image by protesting about a carrot's right to life, satirizing the politically correct movement. Undertow reached platinum status as the band toured extensively, including a stint on the 1993 Lollapalooza tour. Aenima, featuring new bass player Justin Chancellor (ex-Peach), was their most assured and most successful album, narrowly missing the top of the Billboard album chart in November 1996. Keenan later formed A Perfect Circle with guitarist Billy Howerdel, who helped record Aenima, while continuing to play with Tool. In December 2000 the band released the limited edition Salival, which featured a DVD/VHS collection of videos, a CD comprising unreleased live and studio material, and a promotional book. Five months later, Lateralus debuted at the top of the US charts.

• Aenema
  

• Parabola
  

• Sober

 

Aenema

Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this
bull-shit three ring circus sideshow of
freaks here in this, hopeless fucking, hole we call LA.
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any fucking time.
Any fucking day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay.

Fret for your figure and
Fret for your latte and
Fret for your lawsuit and
Fret for your hairpiece and
Fret for your prozac and
Fret for your pilot and
Fret for your contract and
Fret for your car.
It's a bull-shit three ring circus sideshow of
freaks here in this hopeless fucking hole we call LA.
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any fucking time.
Any fucking day.
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay.

Some say a comet will fall from the sky.
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves.
Followed by faultlines that cannot sit still.
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits.
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will
I sure could use a vacation from this
stupid shit, silly shit, stupid shit...
One great big festering neon distraction,
I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied.
(Learn to swim. 3x)
Mom's gonna fix it all soon.
Mom's comin' round to put it back the way it ought to be.

Fuck L Ron Hubbard and fuck all his clones.
Fuck all these gun-toting Hip gangster wannabes.
Fuck retro anything. Fuck your tattoos.
Fuck all you junkies and fuck your short memory.
Fuck smiley glad-hands with hidden agendas.
Fuck these dysfunctional, insecure actresses.
(Learn to swim. 8x)
Cuz I'm praying for rain
and I'm praying for tidal waves
I wanna see the ground give way.
I wanna watch it all go down.
Mom please flush it all away.
I wanna see it go right in and down.
I wanna watch it go right in.
Watch you flush it all away.

Time to bring it down again.
Don't just call me a pessimist.
Try and read between the lines.
I can't imagine why you wouldn't
Welcome any change, my friend.
I wanna see it come down.
(Suck it down. 2x)
Flush it down.

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Parabola

We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment, 
We are Choosing to be here, right now. Hold on, stay inside... 
This hoooooly reality, this hoooooly experience. 
Choosing to be here in... 
This body. This body holding me. Be my reminder here that I am not alone in 
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion. 
  
Aliiiiive! 
  
In this hoooooly reality, in this hoooooly experience. Choosing to be here in... 
This body. This body holding me. Be my reminder here that I am not alone in 
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion... 
  
Twirling round with this familiar parable. 
Spinning, weaving round each new experience. 
Recognize this as a holy gift and, celebrate this 
(chance to beeeeee alive and breathing 2x) 
  
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality. 
Embrace this moment. Remember. we are eternal. 
all this pain is an illusion.

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Sober

There's a shadow just behind me,
shrouding every step I take,
making every promise empty,
pointing every finger at me.
Waiting like a stalking butler
who upon the finger rests.
Murder now the path called "must we"
just because the son has come.
Jesus, won't you fucking whistle
something but what's past and done?
Jesus, won't you fucking whistle
something but what's past and done?

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over.
Why can't we drink forever.
I just want to start things over.

I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you.
I will chew it up and leave,
I will work to elevate you
just enough to bring you down.

Mother Mary won't you whisper
something but what's past and done.
Mother Mary won't you whisper
something but what's past and done.

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over.
Why can't we sleep forever.
I just want to start this over.

I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you.
I will chew it up and leave,

Trust me
Trust me
Trust me
Trust me

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over.
Why can't we sleep forever.
I just want to start this over.

I want what I want.
I want what I want.
I want what I want.
I want what I want.

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---

Traffic

• Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys

• Roll Right Stones

 

Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys

If you see something that looks like a star
and it's shooting up out of the ground
and your head is spinning from a loud guitar.
And you just can't escape from the sound
don't worry too much, it'll happen to you
We were children once, playing with toys.

And the thing that you're hearing is only the sound
of the low spark of high-heeled boys.

The percentage you're paying is too high priced
while you're living beyond all your means.
And the man in the suit has just bought a new car
from the profit he's made on your dreams.
But today you just swear that the man was shot dead
by a gun that didn't make any noise.
But it wasn't the bullet that laid him to rest
was the low spark of high-heeled boys.

If you had just a minute to breathe
and they granted you one final wish
would you ask for something, like another chance.
Or something similar as this
don't worry too much, it'll happen to you
as sure as your sorrows rejoice.

And the thing that disturbs you is only the sound
of the low spark of high-heeled boys.

The percentage you're paying is too high priced
while you're living beyond all your means
and the man in the suit has just bought a new car
from the profit he's made on your dreams
But today you just swear that the man was shot dead
by a gun that didn't make any noise
But it wasn't the bullet that laid him to rest
was the low spark of high-heeled boys....high-heeled boys.

If I gave you everything that I own
and asked for nothing in return
Would you do the same for me, as I would for you?
Or take me for a ride
and strip me of everything, including my pride
But spirit is something that no one destroys

And the sound that I'm hearing is only the sound
of the low spark of high-heeled boys.

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Roll Right Stones

'Till I find out, where will I go, where will I go
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know where
The space is between my eyes
Open up the heavenly sky
Death awaits with pearly gates
Those who've been mesmerized
Many years has come and gone
Went to see a standing stone
Some in circles, some alone
Ancient, worn and weather torn
They chill me to my very bone
Many of these can be seen
In quiet places, fields of green
Of hedgerow lanes with countless names
But the only thing that remains are the roll right stones
Space age before my eyes
Opening up the skies
Marches slowly on to the pearly gate
For those who've been mesmerized
Many years has come and gone
But progress marches slowly on
In nature's paint, she hides the stain
'Cos everybody is going insane
The only, the only thing that will sustain are the roll right stones
Went to see an ancient mound
People buried underground
Long ago, will never know
What it was like to hear their sounds
Black crow, I know you've been here
You've see the sights of yesteryear
You steal the grain of the conquered plain
But the only thing that remains are the roll right stones

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Train

What started as two guys with strong voices and one guitar became San Francisco's Train by 1994. It was in late 1993 that Patrick Monahan left Erie, Pennsylvania and met up with the Los Angeles band, the Apostles. Lead singer/guitarist Rob Hotchkiss and fellow guitarist Jim Stafford had basically disbanded by this time, but the chance meeting with Patrick Monahan proved fortuitous as Hotchkiss extended an invitation to the crooning Monahan to become a two-man band. After making exhaustive appearances in low-key coffee houses, they decided to form a full band and enlisted former Apostles' members Stafford and bassist Charlie Colin. Colin brought along his good friend, drummer Scott Underwood and Train was on its way. Train settled in San Francisco to develop their sound in a relaxed, laid-back atmosphere. In an unlikely scenario, executives from Columbia Records expressed an interest and, in a somewhat cooperative strategy, farmed the fledling band out to the minors — in this instance, Aware Records — where they could grow naturally and unhurriedly. In 1997, they went on tour, opening for the likes of Blues Traveler, Barenaked Ladies and Counting Crows. Train knew they had arrived when they sold out a performance at San Francisco's prestigious venue, The Fillmore. Their completed debut album was released the following year. Drops of Jupiter followed three years later.

 

 

Calling All Angels

I need a sign to let me know you’re here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere 
I need to know that things are gonna look up 
Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup 
When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head 
When you can feel the world shake from the words that I said 
  
And I’m calling all angels And I’m calling all you angels   
And I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up
I won’t give up if you don’t give up    
I need a sign to let me know you’re here
Cause my tv set just keeps it all from being clear 
I want a reason for the way things have to be 
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me 
  
And I’m calling all angels And I’m calling all you angels   
When children have to play inside so they don’t disappear While private eyes solve marriage lies cause we dont talk for years 
And football teams are kissing queens and losing sight of having dreams 
In a world where all we want is only what we want untill it’s ours   
And I’m calling all angels And I’m calling all you angels
And I’m calling all angels (I won’t give up if you don’t give up)
And I’m calling all you angels (I won’t give up if you don’t give up)
Calling all you angels 
(I won’t give up if you don’t give up) Calling all you angels 
(I won’t give up if you don’t give up) Calling all you angels 

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