Pieces,
I see pieces of
All the promises that I used to love
Sometime
Down the line
I’ll be free
I’ll be fine

Echoes,
I hear echoes of
All those useless words that I let go of
Memories
Fantasies
While the fire dies within me

Tonight’s jam with my imaginary bandmates…

Home – where you can hold your hands together all you please
Won’t erase the tender tidings you endured
You’re just another family member on their knees
Just a social work statistic out the door
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
Where they are tonight well you will never know
But I swear that I will find them now
More – it’s more than just a simple question of decay
More than all those fists than beat into your door
It’s more than all the shrinks that told you you’re okay
It’s more than anything that I have waited for
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
And if they even can remember I don’t know
But I swear that they’ll remember now
Home – it’s just another word you’ll always push away
Just a memory you wear outside your clothes
And it will burn down into cinders and some day
They will burrow down to their parental holes
They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
And if they’ve ever paid a price well I don’t know
But I swear that they will pay one now

Beautifuller things by Isaac Dust

Close your eyes
Think of nothing
Shut your mouth
Tell me something
Lift me up
High as the sun
I’ll never come down

Take your time
Don’t you waste it
Hurry up
Almost taste it
Open up
Wide as the sky
And never shut down

Don’t shut me down
Don’t shut me down
I’m tired
I’ll tear my heart out
Yeah I’ll tear my heart out

The sense I get during these movement meditations is that I’m literally unwinding various patterns of tension and inhibition, like the way a twisted rubber band will follow its way back to its slack form in precisely the reverse pattern with which it became twisted. At the end of this unwinding I feel incredibly clear and free, and I’m often showered with insights for hours.

Of course, it’s not always a super-intense experience, as the whole thing is about dropping into what’s actually going on in my body, not about trying to make something cool happen (although admittedly I’ve fallen into that trap many times). For whatever reason, I only do this practice every once in awhile, when I feel particularly compelled, which is usually when I’m particularly wound up. (Inconveniently, this has tended to be at like, three in the morning.) It’s only recently that I’ve explored this on a regular basis. That’s because it’s only recently that I’ve had the time to regularly indulge in such extended periods of purposeless. In so many ways, this “no job” period has been far more glorious than I imagined it would be. I know it won’t, can’t, and probably shouldn’t last forever, but I definitely can see myself getting in the habit of taking these extended “me retreats” more often in the future, should I continue to be so fortunate.

On the surface it might seem a bit self-indulgent to spend so much time navel-gazing, so to speak, but in my experience the benefits of such sustained inner focus usually extend far beyond my little Bob-o-sphere. Disconnection from my deepest intentions leads to disconnected experiences, disconnected actions, disconnected habits, disconnected relationships. Any investment I make in reconnection leads to, well… reconnection. It’s as simple as that. In short, the quality of my experiences–i.e. of my life–has always depended, in large measure anyway, on the quality of attention I’m able to bring to any given situation. Taking the time to truly unwind (as opposed to getting pleasantly distracted from being wound up) has consistently led to increased clarity of attention, refinement of sensitivity, deepening of self-awareness and, ultimately, a greater capacity for open-hearted communion with my fellow humans.

Or I’m just being self-indulgent. Who the fuck knows…

Anyhoo, I’m not sure how I got on that tack when really I just wanted to drop by the ol’ blog to post my recent cover of Roy Orbison’s “Crying”, which has until now been confined to Facebook and Twitter. “The Big O” was one of the first musical voices I heard growing up, as both my parents were huge fans. This song got lodged somewhere deep in my marrow before I knew a thing about heartbreak. When I recorded this the other day I wasn’t thinking about any of the numerous girls who crushed my corazon over the years, but rather of this town in which I’ve felt very much at home for eight years of my life, and to which I must now bid adieu. Sweet, sweet Carrboro, you will be missed…

Crying by Isaac Dust

I actually recorded a version of this song a few years ago. As I blogged at the time, I had just flown to New Jersey from Mexico to have knee surgery, and I didn’t have access to a guitar. So I wrote and recorded this tune using a keyboard and the GarageBand software on my laptop. This is one of those tunes that just came to me fully formed from out of the blue. I took the photo above moments after that first recording, holding my crutches out in front of me like the prison bars they had become. Having been through four knee injuries and three surgeries, I’m hoping those fuckers don’t come out of the closet again any time soon. Anyway, as with all my creative projects, this song continues to morph as the years unfold. Perhaps next time I’ll just whistle over a beat box…

Breakthrough
I woke to the birds and the best of intentions.
I tried every way I knew to express them.
I get on the train and it’s taking me somewhere
Away from myself…
Away from this cell.

But I can’t get away from you.
I lock all the doors but you still break through.

Where did the time go? How did I get home?
When did I get old? Show me the slideshow.
Somebody told me: “It’s all as it should be.”
So I’ll keep on hiding, just so you can find me.

But I can’t get away from you.
I lock every door but you still break through.

Here’s the “album version” (i.e. mixed and trimmed), with an intro from the ghost of Alan Watts:

Since I can’t get the song out of my head and can’t stop playing it whenever I pick up my guitar, I saw no harm in hitting the RECORD-button last night. Although I haven’t yet received permission from The Boss to post this online, I’m sure he won’t lose sleep over it…

Drive all night
When I lost you honey sometimes I think I lost my guts too
And I wish God would send me a word
send me something I’m afraid to lose
Lying in the heat of the night like prisoners all our lives
I get shivers down my spine and all I wanna do is hold you tight

CHORUS
I swear I’ll drive all night just to buy you some shoes
And to taste your tender charms
And I just wanna sleep tonight again in your arms

Tonight there’s fallen angels and they’re waiting for us down in the street
Tonight there’s calling strangers,
hear them crying in defeat.
Let them go, let them go, let them go,
do their dances of the dead (let’em go right ahead)
You just dry your eyes girl, and c’mon c’mon
c’mon let’s go to bed, baby, baby, baby

CHORUS

There’s machines and there’s fire waiting on the edge of town
They’re out there for hire but baby they can’t hurt us now
Cause you’ve got, you’ve got, you’ve got,
you’ve got my love, you’ve got my love
Through the wind, through the rain, the snow, the wind, the rain
You’ve got, you’ve got my, my love
heart and soul

Copyright © Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP)

[The photo above is a tree that I walk past every day on my way to and from work. Anyone familiar with Franklin Street has probably seen it. Reminds me of Edvard Munch's "The Scream".]

A song that descended from the Great Unknown on January 2, 2008, while I was living in Mexico. I finally got around to singing it:

Go Beth, go catch your breath
Just slow things down a little bit
One day you’re gonna be okay
Just watch your worries float away
Like whispers on a breeze
Messages on stormy seas
Like memories of a dream
Nothing’s ever what it seems
Rest your weary heart

Wake up, my little sleepy head
You don’t wanna spend all day in bed
Get dressed, take a walk with me
We’ll watch the leaves fall from the trees
Like young hearts into love
A shooting star from high above
A tree onto the ground
And we’ll be there to hear the sound
And rest our weary hearts

[Narration: 1) Henry Miller, reading "Third or Fourth Day of Spring" from his book "Black Spring"; 2) Myself, talking to myself in "el cuarto", Mexico, 2008.]

[From Music.MyNC.Com]:

It’s certainly difficult to pinpoint exactly who Minor Stars is trying to be. But in all reality, it’s simple to see the band exceeds in being itself.

Looking at frontman Eric Wallen, one wouldn’t think there is a Duke University graduate school alum hidden beneath that mane of metal hair. In fact, Eric looks as if he was plucked straight out of the school of Zeppelin.

“I had a previous life path of being an electrical engineer,” Wallen explained.

“When it came time to graduate, all of my friends were applying to grad school because nobody really wanted to get a job. So I got into Duke on a full ride — couldn’t really say no — I came down here and pretty much knew immediately it wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

After graduating with a masters in electrical engineering, Eric turned down a cushy job to pursue a career in music. This led to a period of writing folk songs on his acoustic guitar and performing them on Franklin Street.

But hearing a single note from Minor Stars‘ debut full-length, Death of the Sun in the Silver Sea, anyone can recognize that the music Eric plays with drummer Matt McCallus and bassist Bob Dearborn is anything but folk. Rather, what he describes as psychedelic rock is an amalgamation of ’70s-era metal, early ’90s indie rock and post-hardcore.

“I used to be a metal kid — I know it’s hard to tell now,” Wallen joked. “Actually when I was a metal kid, I didn’t look like one at all.”

Wallen added, “From there … I listened to a lot more stuff from the ’60s and ’70s and then a ton of indie rock. It kind of evolved into that vein, then into this psychedelic rock, and kind of full circle, bringing back some of the old metal riffs.”

Standing behind a sea of pedals, Wallen achieves a level fuzz rarely heard from truly indie bands. The band is certainly heavy, but Minor Stars can’t be considered hardcore. And though at times soaring with three-part harmonies, Minor Stars can’t be considered indie pop.

Perhaps indie hardcore? No … just Minor Stars.

Setlist
Death of the Sun
Numbers Don’t Lie
Mirror
All Your Stars Out
Daydream
Silver Lining