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Terry Port 01:53
We are going to the death place in a blood boat There isn't much room on the boat Terry Port from the port of the port... We are going to the death place in a blood boat There is not much to do on the boat
I met him in an upside-down barn I punched him in the face and I grabbed him by the arm Ed Grain is coming for a ride Down to the oceanside We stopped for a break on I-5085 He tried to run away so I took him for a dive Ed Grain is coming with me Down to the deep blue sea He's coming with me to the sea We're going to climb an upside-down tree It's just gonna be him and me In the sea It's just gonna be him and me in the sea In the sea there are no disgruntled fish There is no such thing as a dirty dish You get to have your every last wish Ed Grain will make an excellent fish
My peanutbutter stack is the highest on the block Unless your stack is higher I don't want to hear you talk If your stack is higher I will surely take a walk But if your stack is lower I will hit you with a rock Peanutbutter stack, I want some answers I want those answers right now Right goddamn now I will peanutbutter stack you if you let the secret out I will peanutbutter stack your cash on top of my account I will peanutbutter stack your foot into your honest mouth I will peanutbutter stack a rock on anyone who doubts Peanutbutter stack, I want those answers Where are all those answers that I asked for? Where did they go? Peanutbutter stack on top of peanutbutter jam Peanutbutter stack another foothold in the dam Peanutbutter stack Iraq on top of old Iran Peanutbutter stack a rock on every weatherman Peanutbutter stack, I don't have those answers I asked you for those answers and they're not here Whoop-de-doo Peanutbutter stack, I want some answers Give me all the answers that you have Please
Dreyfus McDryfus puts his head into the bucket of eels Dreyfus McDryfus describes exactly how it feels "Like a bucket of eels" Dreyfus McDryfus v. Kansas Board of Education Dreyfus McDryfus and the shot heard all around the nation "I'm on vacation" Dreyfus McDryfus stars in Richard the Third 2 Part 11 Dreyfus McDryfus is probably getting into heaven "It's unleavened" I'm in the table on the table And I'm under the sand And I'm travelling through the gables with a plan on my plan It's been seventeen days since I said I'm a man But Dreyfus McDryfus is a family man Dreyfus McDryfus shoots thunderbolts from his eyes Dreyfus McDryfus is the only man on earth who cooks pies And when he does everyone who eats them promptly dies
Friends who can't breathe underwater are boring While you are drowning, my friend, I am snoring Get it together by a quarter of three I've got an appointment with the sea Ed Grain, it's like rain, but there's more of it Ed Grain, use your brain, you'll get through it You're a natural nautical master Maybe you just should be struggling faster Submarine sandwich in the morning
John Gravy 03:34
I have come to you with a matter of grave import My only friend, you must give me your report We are the last two survivors of an untold disaster Your shipwrecked son is diminishing faster (And spiders have eaten the Dominican pastor) Looking through the glass to the other side We must decide if and when and/or where we will hide Political tension has divided the nation Unusual creatures prevent concentration Now's not the time for that big celebration I am your friend, John Gravy (This dream has trapped me, father I will continue to decrease in size Into the floorboards of this vessel) My friend, let me tell you of my philosophical beliefs Due to our situation, it will have to be quite brief We are not the only ones who have souls in this world Our fates intersect'd around others are twirled And in the end all our beautiful things will unfurl I am your friend, John Gravy (As I descend through the grain, father I can hear as you knock on the door of this mighty bouyant tree) Tell me, John Gravy What do you see? I am your friend but I'm not really me
The snow is cold The sun is red My thoughts in general are filled with dread It's getting late This is my fate To serve the one that deep inside I hate I've got some new skulls for Mastodon Jones To add to his collection of intimidating bones He's on the phone With a clergyman from Rome The cave is dark So is his heart His capacity for love will never start I am in bed So is a head I hope to god that head is really dead I've got some new skulls for Mastodon Jones To add to his collection of intimidating bones He's talking to The President at 2:00 If I could escape his grasp I'd redeliver everything he has surpassed And I'd never forget our wicked past But I am stuck Such is my luck I get to drive his rotten no-good dirty truck Excuse my words It's quite absurd I must go before my master is perturbed I've got some new skulls for Mastodon Jones To add to his collection of intimidating bones He's got to be With Jesus Christ at 3:00
Well Gregory Samson was a pilot flyin' high above the sea His engine wasn't quite behavin' appropriately His plane went down a hundred miles off the coast of Tripoli Singin' ee dee bee ee dee bee dee a million years later in the belly of a whale The only thing left from his plane was a piece of the tail Greg Samson hunkered down and he started to wail Singin' ale dale bale ale dale bale dale Well Gregory Samson did see somethin' towards him start to walk An old man who had long ago forgotten how to talk He said "unh gonh guh skreekung ung gebung gih gibbeh gock" Singin' ock dock bock ock dock bock dock Greg Samson grabbed that nasty man and threw him to the ground The old man lay there motionless and didn't make no sound So Greg Samson hid the body where it would never be found Singin' ound dound bound ound dound bound dound Well the years went past and Gregory lived them day by day He survived on kelp and crabs and fish that came his way He started to suspect that in this whale he would always stay Singin' ay day bay ay day bay day Well late one night when Gregory had turned old and grey and frail came some wreckage that appeared to be a rusty airplane's tail And from inside the metal came the sound of an old familiar wail Singin' ale dale bale ale dale bale dale Greg Samson staggered to his feet and found the strength to walk He wasn't sure if he still knew the proper way to talk he tried to say "i've found the secret to undo this wicked lock" Singin' ock dock bock ock dock bock dock The stranger grabbed Greg Samson and threw him to the ground And Greg Samson had a quiet death and didn't make no sound But before he went he realized that his soul would ne'er be found Singin' ound dound bound ound dound bound dound
Paul Potts 03:10
Paul Potts in the middle of a clearing under a tree Paul Potts, can you hear me terrify me? Paul Potts, an orphan's what I'll grow up to be Paul Potts, get you away from me Paul P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-Potts P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-Potts I might be kidding when I tell you I'm me I might've been kidding when I punched my face to hit a bee I might be kidding about the outstanding fee Paul Potts, get you away from me Thumb A to the people in the parking lots Thumb A to the people with the leopard spots Thumb A to the people who have great thoughts Thumb B to you, Paul Potts
Jeff Drama 02:11
Awkward Ho! 01:53
Coming down the tracks Is a thing that resembles a cat It is shiny and it is black I can't remember the last time I looked at that It is time for us to leave Society has wiped us on its sleeve Comfort is a thing that we do not believe Sing with us as we silently grieve Awkward ho! It's time to go We'll stop the remembrance of the Alamo We'll tell you all the things that you wanted to know Oh, awkward ho! Take your parents to the memory zoo Tell them that they have the memory flu When we leave they will never have a clue They will never know what happened to you We will never come back Until we can stage an awesome attack We will have to protect our front and our back (I don't think we can afford to attack!)
My friend, you're the end of the song, you're my friend till the end, you're my friend till the end of the song.


PREFACE: Tacitly related anecdotes, insights, insults and plebiscites as companions to this "recorded" piece of sound "entertainment" by Neil Barbour

On a gray Thursday last week, my bike and I traversed the few blocks that separate us from the oceanfront. We make this trip often, the two of us, to stare out onto the waves and to race around all the interesting parking structures waiting for the summer tourists.

"My life is becoming a waste of time," I sulk while I zing down a concrete bevelment. Whee! "But, oh, the only noble and worthwhile things on this earth don't earn anyone a decent wage," I lament as I thrust up the handlebars to ease my passing back onto Chestnut Street. Woo-hoo!

My presumptuous sense of history and present, respectively, is not so much a helpful fiction as it is an embarrassingly simple doll house tableau made for my entertainment. My sense of history is a small room with a few pieces of furniture and an empty shell of an upright half-ape, half-man that I position at will. Sit here, fictional ancestor, and perform the natural act of expression. Kneel there, crouched to breathe in the earth's sulfurs, Abraham, and perform selfless acts of art to inflict yourself on the ages.

But pardon me if the tableaus filed in this passably "human" record, "Men," which I hope you might have even started listening to in sequential order, don't inspire what feels so much like human nature – like a helpful sense of our beginnings. This is the story of the of men who beat, berate, befriend, bemuse and best one another for the sake of killing time and finding self.

Let's play a game. Whipee!

Consider your life as the narrative, the history, you design as a definition of self. Then, consider the many moments you're clearly not in step with the usual tone and pacing with which your overall narrative tends to flow. Then, catch yourself noticing the absence of your essence in these metaphysical moments of benighted vanity and worthlessness.

What does your head feel like in a bucket of eels? Ask a silly question. Whoop, whoop!

Now, imagine yourself as one of the many characters featured in this "music" album, which perhaps you are already into song 2 or 3 of. Really absorb yourself into their aims, their arms, their ambitions and their alms. Feel a little silly? Now, list for yourself the three things you hope to get done tomorrow, the next few years, the rest of your life. Have I forgotten how to talk?

There are moments of Men that insist that essence and absence of self belong not just near one another, but perhaps they're of the same moment. Arthur's silly voices and doppelgangers aren't just a good time, they're also really unsettling.

Ed Grain's horrifying, senseless kidnapping and the insistence that he live under the sea start to unravel in the song's second division. The organ and vocals dissociate, some guitar plucking finds itself in the middle of the mix -- as confused with itself as you are of it. Has Arthur's out-of-body experience scared even himself? And the senselessness starts to solidify. Behold! His story!

"I'm in danger of becoming as boring and forgetful as I always accused my parents of being," I mutter in my hands not to, but at, my friend. I'm driving him on the day of his minor surgery to remove a small cancer. It's grown somewhere near his earlobe and hasn't spread. But I'm very hung-over and very weepy in the way that I like to pretend I'm not. That evening I spend 10 dollars trying to win Aaron's Party out of an arcade crane game.

I have no idea who I am. Pa-tang, squeal!

And what of John Gravy's philo-political (the worst clash of irrealities I can think of) nightmare of being reduced, literally, into the musty ennui that squeezes itself between discovering and losing oneself in moments between being oneself. Not really understanding the proper division of these realities becomes a sort of call to arms for these realities to co-exist. Or, stop trying so hard!

And, oh, what of the friends I've left behind and the ones I'll never make? They'll never require anything of me but a scant memory of my awkward dealings that interrupt their own self-aware sense on inadequacy and guilt. How wude!

That's not even really touching on the truly infectious moments on this record. "Jeff Drama" reeks of the pot-soaked early '90s of Evan Dando, but, you know, a lot funnier. And fuck "Rainbow Connection." Nobody casts a bitter Muppet aside better than Dan J. This record is a rowboat fashioned with 40 horses of PA system and enough rusty nails and rotting plywood to build all the dead-end planks and pagan love Chilton. See what I did there?

Violence, vertigo and vision quests notwithstanding, there's not much to do on my bike or on the boat. Or, better for the both of us, perhaps you're 5 or 6 songs into this "audible" recording, in which case, you should start over and really listen, man.

Otherwise, how will you know when it's appropriate to be you and when your sniveling, miniscule concept of appropriateness has become a needless apposition? Woo-hoo!


released March 15, 2006


All lyrics and vocals by Arthur Bond, except:

lyrics on 04 by Kenny Ascher.
lead vocals on 01 and 13 and additional vocals on 04 and 11 by Dan Jircitano.
additional vocals on 11 by April Brennan.

All music written by Dan Jircitano, except:

music on 04 by Paul Williams.
music on 11 co-written by April Brennan.

Arthur Bond plays the drums, the harmonica, and most of the organ parts.

Dan Jircitano plays the acoustic and electric guitar, the ukelele, the mandolin, the danjo, and the other organ parts.

April Brennan plays the jaw harp on 11.

Dan and April's parts were recorded in Dan's home in North East, PA.

Arthur's were recorded in his bedroom in Baltimore, MD.

At no point did Arthur and Dan play the songs together in person.

(c) 2006


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The History & Civilization of the Great Black Swamp Rochester, New York

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