Jesus
Aurora
Drink The Beast With Me
Time Bomb
Abbie
Do Something Stupid
Olivia
The True Way
You’re No match For Me
I Live For You
All songs written by Gilbert Neal ©2006 Autoholic Friend Music (ASCAP)
Here’s an interview I did on WCHL’s weekend show The Arts Spot back in 2007-8-ish:
Lyrics
Jesus
Who’s that man getting scraped off the pavement?
That’s me, that’s me
Who’s that man with the wallpaper wardrobe?
That’s me, that’s me
I had this dream, I was rolling ‘elevens’,
Flying to heaven, but not ’cause I’m good,
See, Jesus he owes me for all this abstaining,
And I’m here to collect, but I don’t expect he’ll pay me back soon.
Who’s that man with a cache of excuses?
That’s me, that’s me,
Who’s that man with the verbal abuses?
That’s me, that’s me
This is no lie, whenever I’m falling,
You’re who I’m calling,
And that means I lose,
See Jesus he owes me for services rendered,
And I’m here to collect, show no respect, settle again
This is no lie, whenever I’m falling,
You’re who I’m calling,
And that means I lose,
See Jesus he owes me for services rendered,
And I’m here to collect, show no respect, settle again
Before I wrote “Jesus” I was into writing crazy chord changes and crow-barring a melody into them. One song, “Sex Without Love”, was merely a descending chromatic scale (played on the synth bass du decade), starting with ‘C’, and each chord attendant thereto was decided by throwing a bunch of little confetti pieces in the air, and picking them up in the order that they would be applied. The little pieces of paper bore little cryptic messages like “+2m/x” (if this were the first piece collected, the chord after C would be C#m/B. If the next was “5/x”, the next chord would be F/A#, etc. So on, until I reached C again. Kind of a 12-bar blues. Except the only people who got the blues were the ones who couldn’t find the fast-forward button in time.
These were musical exercises which more or less betrayed my boredom with the form. I was in love and had learned that writing songs about girls I liked was a foolish thing to do. You never got the reaction you thought you wanted. So instead of trying to craft the perfect fuck-ballad, I was into this nutty bullshit. Then, one day, this girl (a devout catholic and a devout virgin) decided she wasn’t sexually attracted to me anymore. Was it the crumbs of muffin seeking temporary refuge in my latest failed attempt at a beard? Who knows? All I knew was that this made me want to write a really angry song and deliver the message in as simple a structure as I could.
So ‘Jesus” is about a girl and her ironic ethos. Moreover, it’s about how much of our ‘true’ nature we suppress in the hope that our temporary abandonment of recalcitrant tendencies in times of panic or a slow downhill roll will see some strange reward at the end.
Aurora
I can see Aurora Avenue,
I can see Emporium Street too,
i can see the train tracks we’re not supposed to go past, can you?
There’s no hurry, have you been this far before?
There are warnings to ignore, if we’re ever gonna break these walls,
Just walk slowly, and talk plain,
And just remember to get your speed when your momma calls
And in the dusk of this prison of suburban ennui,
We’re pretending to be free once again
Watch for rocks and broken bottles,
Ribbons hot as sun,
Jump the rails and open sails,
Until the gauntlet’s run
I can see Aurora Avenue,
I can see Emporium Street too,
i can see the train tracks we’re not supposed to go past, can you?
To be home, and frightened by the rain,
And your dad is drunk again, we’re the only ones with any fight inside,
All the others, our sullen brothers,
Every family a boulder to which they’re tied,
I have looked in their eyes for a spark or a flame
But everything is Chivas and shame
Ignore the squealing broken feelings,
And keep this in your mind,
They who go feel nothing like,
the ones we’ll leave behind….
Guest Musician: Jared Houck – Drums
“Aurora” is a pretty simple tale of my days living on a dead-end street in West Seneca, NY. When my mother yelled at me, it sounded like a giant chicken had just been stabbed with a pair of safety scissors with the green plastic handles. My name back then was “Bucko” or “Buck” for short, but when mom let her parenting expertise fly for all the neighborhood to hear, it sounded more like “BOK…..BOK…..BOOOOOOKKKKKK!!!!!” YOU keep a straight face. It surely anesthetized the inevitable spanking.
When I ambled too close to the train tracks in an effort to see what was coming down the pike, she’d freak. I was given succinct instructions to never, ever cross those tracks. So this is the story of me trying to convince myself that it was O.K. That if I were to cross and never return, what was I really missing? Every parent on our street was drunk more often than not. There were no culs-de-sac. There were dead ends.
Drink the Beast With Me
Everyone is dizzy from the freedom lost to time
Everybody knows that it’s a shame to waste that taste
But in a hoard of photos I was silently redeemed
Frayed and worn and brown but something in those withered eyes said
Come, see,
Join the jubilee
Be free
Drink the beast with me
You, me,
Up on the marquee,
Be free…
Sanguine dreams are foolish things,
to touch you in your time,
Do you smirk or do you smile,
And reach back into mine?
In this hoard of photos I am sanctified and terrified to
See the secret door unlock to ordinary laze.
So come, see,
Join the jubilee
Be free
Drink the beast with me
You, me,
Up on the marquee,
Be free…
Guest Musicians: Ken Mosher – Sax Solo
This was actually a title of a strange little drug-induced song I wrote with my friend Kate Licata in Buffalo back in 1984 or so. I forgot most of the song but the title stayed with me and I always thought it would be a neat title for a CD. The song itself (the one on my CD) is sort of about genealogy (another title?) and found old photos and the people in them and how we tend to romanticize the past when in reality their lives, except for the moment or two before the picture was taken, were probably more of a soul-crushing straight line of boredom and routine combined with your typical roles than ours ever will be.
Time Bomb
My main attempt to linger was summarily dismissed,
Another bitter aftertaste, another ring to kiss,
Another build it up psychosis, “FILL IN THE BLANK, The Clown!”
Me in the ring with the ringmaster thing and no way to shake ‘em on down,
In another time a young lion pulls a thorn from his soul,
And runs the steamy gauntlet, wrong key – right keyhole,
My main attempt to linger was hastily rebuffed,
You can not lived until you give give give and the getter cries “Enough!”
You told me to imbibe, but I would not take your bribe,
And the members of your tribe were so concerned,
And you’re straining at my bit, and it makes you want to quit,
A lesson adolescents never learn
Every time the summer wind blows, I’m reminded of that voodoo,
The eyes did not roll back this time and I guess that that’s what threw you,
In a time not long ago in a land not far away,
I was a weary traveler who would stop each seventh day
To put his wares for auction in a dungeon cold and dank,
I was tired, torn, and tattered from the road,
And I’m many things to many, but I guess there’s you to thank,
For the way the rot contaminates the load
So I watch for the time bomb,
Listen for that ticking as another gear starts clicking,
You need medication,
How much did you spend for that bag of ‘angry blend’?
Who set this time bomb?
Keep a hold of the meaning of the soul, little black drops of old,
That seep into our cavernous tomorrow, deep and dark and cold,
If only i could be there with the flannel and the smoke,
If only i could hear each jam and each redun-dun-dundant joke
And slip into the soggy earth to make the memory whole,
Again I ask “Why bother with the fuse?”
We share same disease, leaning on pipe-cleaner knees,
The source is way too foolish to refuse…
My main attempt to linger was summarily dismissed,
Another bitter aftertaste, another ring to kiss,
Another build it up psychosis, “FILL IN THE BLANK, The Clown!”
Me in the ring with the ringmaster thing and no way to shake ‘em on down
You told me to imbibe, but I would not take your bribe,
And the members of your tribe were so concerned,
And you’re straining at my bit, and it makes you want to quit,
A lesson adolescents never learn
So I watch…
This little ode has to do with an ex-band mate that used to slow down the proceedings by getting nicely toasted upstairs before appearing in our practice space downstairs. We never knew what sort of mood he would be in, hence the ‘angry blend’ line. Sometimes he would find creativity an easy fit and the ideas of others dovetailing nicely with his own. However, more often than not, he would turn up confrontational and impossible. EVERY remark answered with a “Why?” Perhaps I would show up with an idea and announce that the song was in “A minor”. “WHY? Why can’t it be in C minor?” “Ok, let’s try it in C minor.” “Why?” “Because that’s what you wanted?” “Why are we doing what I wanted? Why can’t we do what…(insert benign, uninvolved band mate’s name here) wants?”
See what I mean?
Anyhow, that, combined with the cognitive rape of being in a band environment without a singular vision, is more or less what “Time Bomb” is about. I felt unappreciated and not a little persecuted. I mean, someone has to steer the ship. Just ‘jamming’ to get ideas works some times. But sometimes…SOMETIMES…someone needs to be able to plop down, say “I wrote this” and have the band follow directions in order to execute the idea.
Abbie
We come from poor family, as poor as can be
Your father was younger than i was by three
And he never loved truly, but he practiced on me
I guess I just don’t have that stuff in my heart
That helps me to pry faith and wisdom apart
I love absolutely, and right from the start
I hate to think, nobody told you
But you use to shake each time he tried to hold you
But you’re alright, you’re alright, you’re alright,
So tell everybody your fine
Then watch the pain fade away,
Then see their fear fade away,
Then see their pain fade away
We come from a place where the darkness holds sway
The men prey on women and the women just pray
And when i reached sixteen, there was nothing to say
Don’t ask forgiveness, survival is best
Live free and wild like the cells in my chest
I’m all done impressing, and being impressed
What did you think? What have i told you?
I’m too strong to care, but too brittle to hold you
But I’m alright, I’m alright I’m alright
Tell everybody I’m fine
Then watch their pain fade away,
Then see their fear fade away,
Then watch their shame fade away,
Then watch their hate fade away,
Then see their pain fade away
Guest Musicians: Eamonn Shanahan - Slide Solo
Abbie Neal was my most famous relative. I got to know her in her later years. She hated the idea of a nursing home but that’s where she ended up. That’s all I’ll say.
Do Something Stupid
Do something stupid,
Say something weird,
Cast all these fantasies crippled on rocks below,
And watch the pieces float to sea
Here we go, I like to say I told me so,
Leave all these feelings to the scavengers on the rocks below,
Square peg, round hole,
Danse du diable, good directions but no damned control
In time (in the time we live)
We may (there’s so much more to give)
Sit back (if we would only touch each other in the)
And cry (way we dream)
In dreams (it’s such a sexy thing)
We don’t (do you remember at all?)
Remember at all (so why are we playing around?)
Do something stupid,
Say something weird,
Cast all these fantasies crippled on rocks below,
And watch the pieces float to sea
Here we stand, crushing crystals in our hands,
Celebratory celibate, or we hold hands while we tumble down,
Do something stupid, say something weird,
This is the lack of discipline that I have always feared
Why you (in the time we live)
Those eyes (there’s so much more to give)
That skin (if we would only touch each other in the)
Sighs (way we dream)
No dreams (it’s such a sexy thing)
Approach (do you remember at all?)
The oncoming tide (so why are we playing around?)
Do something stupid,
Say something weird,
Cast all these fantasies crippled on rocks below,
And watch the pieces float to sea
Guest Musician: Jared Houck – Drums
“Do Something Stupid” is my idea of a love song to a mythical ideal. It’s a plea for someone to do something to fuck up your perfect picture of them. Either that, or let’s get it on.
I am like a child. I fantasize constantly. I never stop daydreaming. It really sucks. It’s not sexual. It’s wondering if OTHER people think about this nutty stuff. I really like the chord progression. It more or less hearkens back to those halcyon days when I knew just enough rules of musical form to deviate with some intelligence. I change keys frequently, twice before the verse starts. Then once more. I was inspired to write ‘DSS’ by a woman named Sarah, who , while a friend, was (I feel) terminally terrified that one day I would turn around and smooch her a good one. Hope you’re well, Sarah. Kiss.
Olivia
Olivia, you comfort me in times of worry,
You smile and tell me there’s no hurry to get where we’ll be
I smile at conversations that we haven’t had yet,
I’m laughing at some joke you have not told me,
I watch you with your perfect poise,
When all around is background noise you hold me
Olivia, the only words I’ll pass on to you,
Sometimes the world will look right through you,
And that’s when you’re free….
I never thought I’d get to meet the angel that you are,
From opium to liquor, you’re the best by far.
At taking my old misery and spinning it into gold whenever you hold me
Guest Musicians: Daniel Lewis – Second Lead Guitar
Here’s a song about my daughter Olivia. It’s all true. Here, again, I change keys twice within the verse, and again during the ‘chorus’. I suppose if I ever develop a trademark or signature, that would be it. It comes so naturally (not a good or bad thing—just something I do) that a song like “Jesus” is more of a challenge because of what it DOESN’T do. I really like the soulful, transcendent solo at the end by our own Dan Lewis.
The True Way
Mauve and his memories, cozy as kittens,
Sinking while sailing alone on the sea,
Mauve and his malice were smothered in smitten,
It hurts to be an apostrophe,
Melt in mistrust, move if you must,
Portraits of past winnings rendered in dust like the hope that you hold,
Frightened and cold
While wrestling you and your people toward the true way…
The true way,
I think I finally found,
Trapped, until now, underground,
I think I found the true way.
Just then, somebody knocks hard on this heaven,
Please let me in, let me go, I don’t know,
Keep me in line, give me time to be clever,
Heaven said never, we sever, we go,
Cease or decease, tension release,
Calendar pages flap hard in this breeze,
When the cellar door slams, you’ll know who I am,
The only true pilot to fly you into the true way.
The true way,
I think I finally found,
Trapped, until now, underground,
I think I found the true way.
The true way, the true way,
I think I finally found,
Trapped, until now, underground,
I think I found the true way.
The true way,
Trapped, until now, underground,
We will vibrate with the sound,
I found the true way.
One key change. Sorry. ‘TTW’ is a poem I wrote about how goofy we old musicians and our dreams can be. Yet somehow we find succor in them all the same as if they themselves are the reward, the dream being a reward for dreaming. A dangerous opiate when you consider middle age creeping up on us. Why release a CD? What is promised me? Am I just making another memento for my kid’s time capsule? I decided long ago that it was a good time to share a definitive record of all the talent and imagination I could manage in one year-long burst. On the cheap.
‘Mauve’ is anyone I know in that dream, including myself.
You’re No Match For Me
She pays, she stays, she grovels in a million ways,
She hates the very earth sometimes like scattered paper days
She’s sighing, she’s trying to hold in all that well-refined
Steely sharp sarcasm that she now and then enjoys
A spiritual gambit plays age against a dream,
And every little girl grows up the same it seems to be,
And even though she’s all messed up,
She’s no match for me.
Long dolls with their pasty faces, houses made of stone,
And nowhere in this concept is one apt to say ‘alone’,
And every road is straight and black and hot and plays so clean,
Until the sand reveals a fool like me to taint the sheen,
Her spirit cannot hold it, the weight she has to bear,
A family of infants too young or dumb to care,
I could have told her when we met, She’s no match for me.
I hear, I hear, you knock again , my dear,
I locked the door on purpose, baby, just to piss you off,
I told you, I hold you, you’re still cold to the touch,
And even though we hardly speak, it still becomes too much,
And they will ask ‘what was that’ before they catch the bus,
And they shout at their dollies pretending to be us,
And lately you’ve been fraying,
but you’re no match for me.
I hope you enjoy my retro-tastic keyboard solo. This one is pretty cut and dried. No matter how fucked up my partner is (because I usually make her that way) she’s got a ways to go to match the sheer depth and breadth of my micromania. The thing, itself, said, is a sad brag, regardless of what finesse I (or you) apply to it. Like a stupid teenager who knows nothing, but doesn’t know it. Isn’t it tragic that we never cop to our own youthful hubris and defiant noodling until we’re old enough to regret not doing more with it?
I Live For You
Come to me, come to me, come to me and hold me
Let me swim again in the honey haze of all the things you’ve ever told me,
And in these pure and simple things I will be born again,
And in your sweet negotiations we will never end,
And in my arms, you’ll never need to think of time again for I live for you
And as wander in and out of the troubles of your day,
The angels grace your visions, and watch you as you play,
But I am not responsible, it just worked out that way, but I live for you
In the setting of infinite suns long forgotten, your shadow walks hand in hand with me,
There’s no weight on my shoulders, you carry so much of me,
I’ve never seen too much of me in you but there must be,
The music in your laughter, and your funny poetry,
Or maybe the half jokes you know, you share with only me, and I live for you
And as you wander up and down the stone road of your soul,
The angels whisper in your ear that all is in control,
And I knew on the day we met that you had made me whole, and I live for you
Guest Musicians: Daniel Lewis – Electric Guitar
Just another love song to my children. Known and unknown.
