"Lively Rogues (Demo)"

Click here to download "Lively Rogues (feat Abby Wood)"

riyl: stars, metric, strays don't sleep, mates of state

Chad: This song started off as 2 acoustic guitar parts that I've had in my head since the middle of July. Finally one day I just got sick of trying to write it as a folky song, which is what I had originally envisioned it. I went to my computer and recorded the the parts, basically making what was a verse-chorus-verse-chorus of the song. I put it on my iPOD and would drive around listening to it, trying to think of a good melody. Again though, nothing came to mind. I was stuck in a huge rut it would've appeared, so I continued working on the song on my laptop. A few weeks later I had this instrumental piece that I was pretty stoked on. Just like a chill piece, and I also added some ambient noise to it via a part of the Paul Newman movie "Cool Hand Luke", and the Al Pacino film "The Devil's Advocate".

I still did not feel satisfied with where the song was at. I thought it still had potential, so I continued to work on it--my next step being to send it to my band's singer Abby Wood to see if she liked it enough to write a vocal part for it. A few days later she emailed me the track back with a SWEET melody that she had written, and I finally knew the direction of where the rest of the song would go. As lame as I feel to say this, this was recorded, produced, and mixed all in GarageBand. I was super impressed the potential that GB had once I really started to dig into it. I wanted to use LogicExpress9 for it, but I want the proper equipment before I start learning and recording with that (i.e. interface and midi keyboard).

Abby: Chad told me about this song he’d been working on with his beloved new Macbook Pro, and asked if I could come up with a melody to go along with it. It was different than the type of stuff I usually do, but I really dug it. It’s the kind of song you can just chill out to while driving in your car.

My initial lyrical inspiration behind it was a bit strange I guess. I had watched this documentary about a chick who goes back, finds all of her old loves and tries to find out what went wrong, and why in her mid 30’s they think she’s still single. It was uncanny, uncomfortable, and I loved every second of it. Every fairytale kids are ever told have the prince and princess going off into the sunset, and that’s it. The credits roll. But what happens if the story ends? I guess the song is about finding the strength to believe that love exists, and good things can happen anyway.

Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt 2]

This is the second part to my spoken word project.

Last time people found it helpful to understand the poems if I provided what they mean to me, so I'll do that again, in the comments section of this blog post. So be sure that if you want to interpret the poems for yourself, avoid reading the comm

ent section until the end of your listen(s) so as to not...er...spoil(?) them for yourself. I don't believe there is any right way to interpret these, not even my own. So I hope some of you really take different things from these.

I hope some of these poems really speak to you guys, provoke your thoughts, make you feel something...make you feel anything. I know they mean the world to me, so I hope they can mean something to someone else too.

Part 2: click here to download Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt2]

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Good God, Sunday Morning (I)

Speak.

Only what you believe.

Certainty.

The idea of knowing exactly what everything you read must mean.

Justify.

What I do not have to do for you about anything I have ever said.

Small.

Must be the size of God in your head.

Small.

Must be the size of God in your head.

Small.

Must be the size of God in your head.

If everyone who is not you is wicked,

And you are the righteous,

And you are the chosen,

And you understand every word and verse of that 1635 page book

And that book was written by the thing that created the whole universe?

And you think you understand even a fraction of what is written in that 1635 page book?

Then small is the size of god in your head.

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Cherem

My confidence shudders

Like a volcano eruption on an island off the coast of I don’t know where

The rumble of missionaries foot steps, sent to people who can’t even speak their language, but they say “God DOES care”

But these words have their wear.

So poised to reach out,

Don’t you ever wonder what these people would think

When we point at the water and the sky and whisper “You must be saved from a damned fate”

Well then I point at myself for the crusades

I point a finger at myself for all the hate speech against gays that Christians make

I point a finger at myself like the street preacher yelling about the end and “Repent! You sinners, you heathens, it IS too late!”

Well if Jesus Christ had been buried he would be rolling over in His grave

You use your words to speak of a life that none of us can obtain

Diamonds as ears nothing can be chipped

Nothing worth an open mind too hear

Your words are nothing if not empty to these people on the street.

I speak for a thousand strong, but you will never speak for me

I do not speak for Jesus Christ, I speak from what I see.

My life is a representation of grace laden imperfection, and a testimony of everything I believe.

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Black Letters

Don't let your compassion leak into waters that can never feel warmth.

Don't condemn off of words of men who simply wrote down their thoughts.

This is not what the world needs

Another finger pointing group of zealots

Like they are the righteous, and you are the wicked.

Pour a cup of water into the Grand Canyon

Let me know how quickly it can become a body of water.

I'll even let you name it!

We are all a portion of empty waiting to be filled.

Bur our cups will never spillith over because we are completely deaf to barking orders.

This is a war of who thinks they have the most spiritual intellect.

Who can twist the black text enough to fit into a baseball into an axe like Jezebel longed to make heads roll?

"Cherem! Cherem! Cherem!"

The modern day prophets and messiahs cry

As my old friends and my same enemies are busy throwing nooses of words at and around both of our necks

I will remind you that I am at the gallows with you

I will remind you that there is so much more than the knives that cut their ropes to keep our feet from dangling above the ground.

So much forgiveness and grace to be found once we loosen the weights at our ankles, once we have the strength to stand on open air and trust we won't fall down.

Once we allow ourselves to have get swept away by His song, and not their sound.

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Good God, Sunday Morning (II)

There is an alternative version to this.

There is a different way that we could exist.

I am lost amidst sand storms that bite at my lips and wear away at "that kiss"

Even better than the first time I stood at your door way and I considered the thought of "us", could be more than just a fleeting oasis--my mouth was dry and full of sores from all the deserts I've wandered through before

But as you stood there

As you stand there

With your keys shaking in your hand

You had seen a lot of movies, I referenced one, knowing that you would understand

Do you understand?

I don't just want to have Paris with you.

I am settled to have chance decide when we are looking at the same sky turn red, then blue.

Do you know what I am saying to you?

I don't want to know you in twenty years,

I want to know you in-between that space of now, and then.

So maybe the sunflowers will stop blooming

And maybe we'll move far on and forget all our songs

But--tiny, clumsy, dancing girl, this skinny love will only last as long as you want it to carry on

So pick yourself up,

Tell me how much you care.

Meet me at the airport, I'll say goodbye to you there.

Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt 1]

This is the first part of (possibly) many parts of this spoken word project.

I am not sure what people are going to think of Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones, but it is my hope that at least a few of you can appreciate these poems for something or another. I was considering explaining what these poems meant, but then I realized that what I would really be saying is what these poems meant to me, which is entirely unimportant. I really hope that you can find meaning, find yourself being moved, and find yourself thinking and over-thinking...in some of my mess of words and voice.

Part 1: click here to download Throwing Stones, Skipping Stones [Pt1]

To the Man that Sent His Son to War

If this is just a thought

Don’t mean it, do not take another breath

This is your son’s war in a situation that you unabashfully created

He will follow the path of (you) the phantom for his whole life

This is your son’s battle cry in this war that you volunteered him for

No one in their right mind knowingly wants to run head first into a firing squad

But you cannot navigate in an ocean with a thousand starless nights

So, from land to water to land and back again until the barrels are empty and the rashins gone

If this mutiny is just a thought

Do not touch her.

Do not take another breath.

Do not try to pry the captain’s hands from this ship.

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To the Reckless

Safety was not his first thought

“This shell is uncomfortable, I will break through to get what I want from you”

God forbid you disappoint him

“It isn’t the same with this plastic cocoon”

“I know what you want baby, and I respect it too, but I need you to do this for me to know that I want you. I love you.”

Word vomit, letters that do not make sense

But the phrasing and pacing of assurance…so much so that it doesn’t even make Peter sink.

(He does not care)

And this will be his seventh Grammy alone this year.

Congratulations are the wedding dresses to a consolation prize in her eyes of an action like a black man in the 1960’s- free and dreaming and alive.

She used to not believe in hand outs but the public health services prove to be more than useless gifts

As the needles broke her skin and blood vials spin and she sits in the waiting room alone as the sweating begins

The thoughts are loud enough to be an Imax theatre. 3-d. In high-definition. Everyone wondering what was on whose lips they exchanged a bit more than they probably should have gave.

So cut the set belts out of your automobiles and do anything and everything to make you feel the best, clog the holes in drowning ships with bundles of sticks

Sunroofs are useless in a steady rain; recklessness is best kept as a saline drip.

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To the Man that is a father, who is not a Father

I am her father.

I am a ghost…

I am the spirit in her house

I am the creek in her bed that grows louder as she fails to get prouder

And the boys that are in step with the noise grow older and so much border

What actions this sort of prince charming courage employs,

Is the exact same selfish flame that gave me what I need to leave her frozen in place

I am her father.

I am the walking dead.

I am a ghost.

As always, I would love to hear peoples opinions on either the poems or my performance of them. Please be a little gentle this go'round though, it is my first time.