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R.E.M.: Up

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Warner Bros. Records
Released: 1998.10.27
Time:
 64:24
Category: Pop/Rock
Producer(s): See Artists ...
Rating: *******... (7/10)
Media type: CD
Web address: www.remhq.com
Appears with:
Purchase date: 2002.02.11
Price in €: 6,99



 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Airportman (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:13
[2] Lotus (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:31
[3] Suspicion (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 5:37
[4] Hope (L.Cohen/M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 5:01
[5] At My Most Beautiful (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 3:35
[6] The Apologist (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:29
[7] Sad Professor(M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:03
[8] You're in the Air (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 5:23
[9] Walk Unafraid (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:33
[10] Why Not Smile (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:02
[11] Daysleeper (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 3:39
[12] Diminished (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 6:00
[13] Parakeet (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 4:12
[14] Falls to Climb (M.Stipe/P.Buck/M.Mills) - 5:06

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


MICHAEL STIPE - Vocals, Producer
PETER BUCK - Guitar, Engineer, Producer
MIKE MILLS - Bass, Producer
BILL BERRY - Drums, Producer

JOEY WARONKER - Drums
DOUGLAS SOMMER - Double Bass

EDDIE HORST - String Arrangements
JOHN SHARPLEY - String Arrangements
JERE FLINT - Conductor
PAUL MURPHY - Leader, Viola
PATTI GOUVAS - Viola
REID HARRIS - Viola
HEIDI NITCHIE - Viola
WILLARD SHULL - Violin
SOU-CHUN SU - Violin
DAVID ARENZ - Violin
ELLIE ARENZ - Violin
JUN-CHING LIN - Violin
JAY CHRISTY - Violin
DANIEL LAUFER - Cello
CHRISTOPHER REX - Cello
ELIZABETH MURPHY - Cello

PATRICK MCCARTHY - Producer, Mixing
BERTIS DOWNS - Advisor
JOHN KEANE - Engineer, Mixing
DAVID HENRY - Engineer
MICHAEL MCCOY - Engineer
ROB HADDOCK - Engineer
ROBERT SHIMP - Engineer
CHARLIE FRANCIS - Engineer
ALEX LOWE - Mixing
NIGEL GODRICH - Mixing
SUZANNE DYER - Mixing
JOHN HANLON - Mixing
TED JENSEN - Mastering
CRAIG SILVEY - Editing
STEVE HOLSWORTH - Editing
NICK WICKHAM - Photography

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1998 LP Warner Brothers 47112
1998 CD Warner Brothers 47112
1998 CS Warner Brothers 47112



New Adventures in Hi-Fi functions as the starting point for Up, R.E.M.'s first album without drummer Bill Berry and their first that truly repudiates the legacy of jangle pop. Up is dominated by keyboards, muted percussion, buried guitars, and moody melodies — only "Daysleeper" finds the group in familiar sonic territory. What's striking about the album is that it doesn't sound like a dramatic departure; even without the ringing guitars, it sounds like R.E.M., albeit R.E.M. trying to be adventurous and hip. To a certain extent, that's a good thing, since it proves that the band has developed a signature sound more elastic than many would have predicted, and that they are skilled enough to successfully take risks with their sound. Above all else, Up is an accomplished and varied record, the work of smart record makers. It is also the work of veteran musicians — for the first time, R.E.M. sounds like they're playing catch-up, trying to keep their hip status intact. Occasionally, they pull it all together, as on the ominous opener "Airportman" and the darkly seductive "Suspicion," but they stretch their capacities to the breaking point nearly as often, as on the Pet Sounds pastiche "At My Most Beautiful," which comes off as second-rate High Llamas. Most of Up, however, falls in between those two extremes, winding up as self-consciously moody, down-tempo songs that fail to make an impression because they either don't take enough chances or they fail to speak directly — they are simply well-crafted tracks that are easy to admire, but hard to love. Ultimately, that is what distinguishes this new incarnation of R.E.M.

Stephen Thomas Erlewine - All Music Guide
© 1992 - 2001 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



After R.E.M.'s somewhat ambitious 1996 album, New Adventures in Hi-Fi, failed to ignite Billboard's Hot 100, you might have figured the band would return to the rock-solid bombast of Monster or the consumer-friendly pop of Green. But R.E.M. have enough cash not to worry about commercial failure, and they've already been to the top of the mountain, so for now they'd rather explore its lush valleys and secret caves. Up is an atmospheric journey as impressionistic as Enya and as evocative as John Barry. Some critics have compared it with the band's delicate and emotionally revealing gem Automatic for the People, but Up is more ambitious and creative. Sure, most of the songs are pastoral, but they're undercut with drama and sonic experimentation. The melodies are generally spare, the beats sparse. Guitars flicker in and out, providing tension and dynamics, while quivering strings, layered keyboards, and washes of feedback color the songs like textured lines of paint in an oil portrait. The only blatant pop song is the single "Daysleeper." The rest of the album ebbs and flows, each song a separate component of a complete artistic expression. The sound may be influenced by guitarist Peter Buck's cinematic jazz side project Tuatara or by Michael Stipe's celluloid excursions, but its source doesn't matter. What's important is that more than a decade after their sell-by date, R.E.M. continue to challenge and inspire. Things are definitely looking up.

Jon Wiederhorn - Amazon.com



For all the promised adventuring, it's a strangely cautious record, Peter Buck oddly restrained, any sudden guitar flash sounding like he's surreptitiously crept up behind songs and wrestled them to the ground. It feels like an REM compendium, a virtual reality "Best Of" picking and mixing their past.... They play it bad, they play it sad, they play it again and again--hell, sometimes they even play just like a bunch of guys in a room. But after [all these] years, REM can still play with divine fire.

New Musical Express



The songs are built around humming, gently throbbing electronic keyboards.... Peter Buck's guitars don't ripple; instead, they dart in and out of the songs like sound effects. Once [Bill] Berry left, we knew R.E.M. would never be the same.... Up is the sound of the band trying to reshape its sound and vision.

Entertainment Weekly



Even with the words written in black and white, the meaning of these compelling but impressionistic tunes remains elusive. The opening cut, Airport Man, is laced, as most of the tracks are, with odd sonic effects....

People



Peter Buck's once-assertive guitars mostly have gone all liquidy or simply disappeared; a layered array of pianos, organs, string adornments and mechanically ticking synthesizers and beat boxes supersedes the old guitar-band approach to evoke twilight moods that are by turns unsettling and caressing.

Los Angeles Times



What the Critics Say...

Rolling Stone (11/12/98, p.113-114) - "...a look back and a dream forward from the greatest rock-ballad band that ever existed....Buck and Mills have orchestrated their rock as never before. Losing Berry has allowed R.E.M. to literally think outside the rock box..."

Spin (1/99, p.91) - Ranked #15 on Spin's list of "Top 20 Albums of '98."

Spin (12/98, p.176) - 8 (out of 10) - "...UP floats away from R.E.M.'s past moorings in weighty, enigmatic symbolism....UP's lushly arranged tunes show off Stipe at his most, er, beautiful; narcissistic retreat into private space, a self-indulgence for some celebs, is a necessity for him..."

Q (12/98, p.112) 4 - Stars (out of 5) - "...R.E.M.'s great knack is to make everything they play sound organic....Up's bashfulness brings with it a peculiar grace....there is a market for warped, experimental rock music as beautiful as this..."

Entertainment Weekly (10/30/98, p.114) - "...UP is the sound of the band trying to reshape its sound and vision. Their solution is to focus on mid-tempo, or often no-tempo, hymns and ballads. The shift suits them..." - Rating: A-



Nachdem R.E.M. 1996 mit dem ziemlich ehrgeizigen Album New Adventures in Hi-Fi den Einzug in die Billboard Hot 100 nicht schafften, hätte man angenommen, daß die Band zum geradlinigen Bombast-Rock im Stil von Monster oder zum gefälligen Konsum-Pop von Green zurückkehrt. Aber R.E.M. waren reich genug, um sich über kommerzielle Mißerfolge keine Gedanken mehr machen zu müssen, und nachdem sie den Gipfel des Berges bereits erklommen hatten, erforschten sie nun seine grünen Täler und versteckten Höhlen. Up ist eine Reise voller Atmosphäre, so impressionistisch wie Enya und so beschwörend wie John Barry. Manche Kritiker vergleichen das Album mit dem empfindsamen und gefühlvoll-aufschlussreichen Meisterwerk Automatic for the People, aber Up ist ehrgeiziger und kreativer. Sicher, die meisten Songs klingen etwas pastoral, aber dahinter verbergen sich Dramatik und klangliche Experimentierfreude. Überwiegend sparsam sind Melodie und Rhythmus. Ab und zu greifen die Gitarren ein, sorgen für Spannung und Dynamik, während zitterndes Saitenspiel, wogende Keyboards und gelegentliche Rückkopplungen die Songs ähnlich den Farbschichten in einem Ölgemälde mit Strukturen überziehen. Der einzige "richtige" Popsong ist die Single "Daysleeper". Der Rest des Albums ebbt auf und ab, jedes Stück ein Teil eines künstlerischen Gesamtausdrucks. Die klanglichen Ursprünge mögen in Peter Bucks Cinematic-Jazz-Projekt Tuatara oder in Michael Stipes Ausflügen in die Welt des Films liegen, aber was zählt das schon. Was dagegen zählt, ist die Tatsache, daß R.E.M. über ein Jahrzehnt nach Ablauf ihres Verfallsdatums immer noch herausfordernd und anregend wirken. "Up", eben ganz oben.

Jon Wiederhorn - Amazon.de


R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck admitted in a recent Newsweek interview that the departure of drummer Bill Berry resulted in two effects: while it opened up new sonic vistas for the band, it also meant they "couldn't rock" anymore; and Berry's sense for hooks always kept the band's songs grounded in pop form, limiting long-winded verses or other such indulgences.

He's right on both counts, and that's both the good and bad news. Up is one of R.E.M.'s most lush, sonically creative works; but it's also one of their most sluggish, both in terms of energy and memorable choruses. More importantly, its songs mostly fail in their attempt to resonate emotionally.

Up is ironically- titled: this is easily one of the band's most downcast efforts; it's a rainy-day album full of melancholy reflections, literate tales told over gentle acoustic strums, tinkly pianos, and/or sweeping strings. Normally, the band shines in winsome moments (think "Everybody Hurts," "Man on the Moon," or "So. Central Rain"). But oddly, a strange sense of disconnection prevents emotional entry into these songs: musically, the sad melodies seem to invite sympathy like a broken bird, but once you approach, they cagily avoid intimate contact.

And that's fine -- mostly: R.E.M. understands that first-rate art should never be fully grasped; there should always be a level of mystery underlying even the most seemingly naked works. So even when Stipe's lyrics are at their most direct -- as in the tenderly affectionate "Why Not Smile" -- the music plugs the hole with density; on the other hand, the catchiest musical moment is subverted by semi-obtuse lyrics: "Lotus," which blisters with propulsive guitars and angry swagger, and so utterly stands out in this context, offers an abstract glimpse of a lotus eater -- a remorseful sinner who longs for salvation (a concept borrowed from an episode of James Joyce's Ulysses).

Even more to the point, on "I'm Not Over You" (an unlisted -- at least on the back cover -- track), Stipe intends a naked admission of heartbreak, in which he simply utters the direct lyrics over a strummed acoustic guitar. In most other hands, you'd feel the artist's pain; in his, you feel a strange sense of calculation, a sadly failed attempt at revelation.

The lone exception to the rule is "At My Most Beautiful," a delicate, nakedly intimate reflection of love: "I read bad poetry into your machine/ I save your messages just to hear your voice," Stipe sings carefully. Meanwhile, the band playfully cites their love of Pet Sounds -- backing the track with Beach Boys-ish harmonies, intermittent snare rolls, and fleeting jingle bells -- all in obvious tribute to Brian Wilson circa "God Only Knows." It's a delicious moment.

But it's too rare here. The band has rightfully viewed Berry's departure as a new creative opportunity, but they emphasize the trimming over the architecture. (Add this disturbing side note: the album art and title are in obvious homage to Up Records -- the Seattle indie label -- right down to the logo, yet this goes uncredited.)

As a whole, Up is more dissatisfying than it should be -- one of those albums one can respect but not quite enjoy. And that's unfortunate, because its pervasive sadness should rightly offer an emotional connection. Instead, largely because of R.E.M.'s now-trademark distance, it's another near-miss.

John Bitzer - October 1, 1998
Copyright © 1994-2001 CDnow Online, Inc. All rights reserved.



Confounding expectations has lately become R.E.M.'s trademark: personal when they could have been political (Out Of Time), quiet when they intended to rock (Automatic For The People), small when we asked them to be huge (New Adventures In Hi-Fi). But none of that change compares to the band's rethink on Up, the first R.E.M. album minus drummer Bill Berry. Challenging, often beautiful, Up was built over months in a meticulous effort to reimagine the band as a three-piece. It's synth-driven and labored, yet strangely organic and, for the band members, liberating: Peter Buck, whose elegant guitar recently powered Automatic and Monster, sublimates himself to keyboards, even shrouding his solos in electronic effects. Michael Stipe drops his old voices--Murmur's mumble, Monster's glam pose--for a clear, consistent croon. Mike Mills rarely sings backup, focusing on any instrument except bass. New influences abound: Brian Wilson, the Zombies, Yo La Tengo, and especially The Cure. Standouts like the heart-stopping "Walk Unafraid" build like classic R.E.M., but the absence of drums and other rock rudiments lends them a distinct grace. Even the conventional "Daysleeper" has a heartfelt brightness Stipe rarely entertains--not shiny-happy, purely hopeful. Just when everyone wonders if R.E.M.'s time is up, the band produces something timeless, with a future built-in.

© 1978-2001 College Media, Inc., Inc. All Rights Reserved.



The album's name says Up, but R.E.M. also seems to be traveling outside its realm, inside itself and beyond expectations on its 14th album. The record's dense, often dark layers signal that the band has chosen this moment as a career crossroads to rethink its sound. The departure of long-time drummer Bill Berry has forced Michael Stipe, Peter Buck and Mike Mills to use new muscles as well as new drummers (including Tuatara's Barrett Martin and Beck's Joey Waronker). Though Buck's trademark strumming shows up on "Daysleeper" (the album's most R.E.M.-like single), the band veers towards hazy clouds of guitar, warbling keyboards and treated backing vocals to state its case. "Airport Man" leads the album, with Stipe whispering over a cold, ticking drum machine and slow, amorphous feedback. "At My Most Beautiful" channels Brian Wilson circa 1967, complete with sleigh bell percussion and other "pocket symphony" concepts. The music on Up is often pretty and strange at the same time, exhibiting qualities generally associated with Stipe's voice -- enigmatic, poetic and somehow still innocent after nearly 20 years.

Steve Ciabattoni - CMJ New Music Report Issue: 595 - Nov 09, 1998
© 1978-2001 College Media, Inc., Inc. All Rights Reserved.



Up is the first album R.E.M has released since drummer, Bill Berry left. Bill's departure gave Michael Stipe, Peter Buck and Mike Mills the opportunity to explore new and creative musical approaches. In Up, the band worked with different drummers including, Barrett Martin from Tuatara and Joey Waronker from Beck. The remaining members of R.E.M have successfully filled a void by utilizing synthetic production of keyboards, harpsichord, guitar and backing vocals. Although, one of the main players is gone, R.E.M has reinvented themselves and recorded a superlative album. Up expresses R.E.M.'s more personal moments. The lyrics are mysterious, dark and hint of loneliness. The re-occurring theme is solitude. As is the norm for Stipe, his lyrics are wistful. All fourteen tracks on the album are true rock ballads. If you're looking to slow down and relax, Up puts you in a hypnotic trance.

© 1999 Viacom International Inc. All Rights Reserved.
VH1 Online



Is it just us, or has every new R.E.M. album since, oh, 1985 been greeted with different variations on the "dramatic stylistic departure" theme? And doesn't it seem stranger that -- for all the effort taken to assure us that with each new album came a "different" R.E.M. -- at the end of the day, it was always, well, the same R.E.M.? Now that Bill Berry, the band's drummer of 18 years, is gone for good, the door's finally been opened for a genuinely different R.E.M. There are lots of different collaborators, and R.E.M. takes matters further with the introduction of an astonishing array of techie goodies, everything from drum machines to analog synths. The unsettling psychedelic bedtime story that is "Parakeet" grows even creepier with the addition of burbling synths more commonly associated with the Italian gore soundtracks of Goblin. What sounds like a cheering crowd in the intro to the strutting "Lotus" is actually a swirling cacophony of graveyard-wind strings, and the growling undertow of "The Apologist" gives Stipe's repeated declaration "I'm sorry, so sorry" an ugly sociopathic twist. "Diminished" and "Hope" address spiritual and personal confusion with an embittered, unflinching eye. "If you see familiarity/then celebrate the contradiction," Stipe sings on "Walk Unafraid." Good advices, to quote R.E.M.'s own parlance of the past. The band may have lost a key player, but in its process of reinvention, we've been blessed with one engrossing and addictive album.

© 1999 MTV Networks. All Rights Reserved.



Rock ballads are the songs you play after the night has burned itself out. Soft music takes you down from the party, filling the dawn's empty breathing space with forgiving beauty. "As the sun comes up, as the moon goes down, these heavy notions creep around," sings Michael Stipe in "Walk Unafraid," one of the fourteen rock ballads (plus a lone rocker, "Lotus") that comprise Up, R.E.M.'s first album since the departure of drummer Bill Berry. The whole record is cast in that reverse twilight. It is a look back and a dream forward from the greatest rock-ballad band that ever existed, a group whose fast songs even made you think slow, the one that made introspection not just a sideline but the whole game.

The pulsing drum machine that opens Up hints at what skeptics may have feared: The Berry-less (but not entirely drummerless) R.E.M. may have bought a floor ticket to music's latest overplayed trend, electronica. But the mellotron, harpsichord and other groovy effects on Up never overwhelm the band's mighty sense of self. Peter Buck and Mike Mills approach the synthetic-pop landscape just as they did the thief's playground of rock & roll; they combine mostly vintage influences – here easy listening and 1960s pop – within elegant song structures designed to complement Stipe's pensive phrasing and the band's penchant for graceful flourishes. Always more intense when laying back than when rocking out, R.E.M. find their confidence on Up by taking it slow.

Don't be misled by the reflective mood – Up still brims with the tricky convolutions that have made R.E.M. the obsession of dorm-room interpreters since Stipe slurred his way through Chronic Town in 1982. Fans will get a big shock when they open the booklet and actually see their egghead hero's full lyrics printed for the first time with an album. But careful reading doesn't reveal Stipe's verses to be more direct than usual; he has long included sharp character analyses and urban hymns alongside the stuff that seems like automatic writing. He still dignifies the latter with doozies like "The tectonic dispatcher shifts to smooth the ocean floor" and "I'll be pounce pony." Whatever, Michael. The leap that R.E.M. do make has to do with focus. Like 1992's Automatic for the People, Up seeks a unified mood, but its scope is broader than that collection of elegies. Stipe unites each narrative – from love songs to courtroom confessions to self-declarations and exercises in empathy – by pursuing an overarching theme: the sometimes mystical, sometimes desperate solitude enforced by the crowded anonymity of modern life.

"I read bad poetry into your machine," Stipe sings in "At My Most Beautiful," a surprisingly direct love song with a hidden undertow. The machine helps Michael reach his beloved, but it also signifies their separation. Many songs on Up chronicle such moments of isolation-induced intimacy. The Bill Clinton-esque lover who testifies, "I watched you fall/I think I pushed" in "Diminished"; the elegant failure in "Sad Professor"; the nightshift serf in "Daysleeper"; and the salaried suit in "Airport Man" deliver soliloquies or interior monologues, baring their hearts because they suspect no one is listening.

Alienation is a subject Up shares with Radiohead's OK Computer. Computer is the Pet Sounds to this Sgt. Pepper – the challenge that stimulates risk. Buck and Mills cultivate the same multitiered spaciousness that makes OK Computer so rich. Trading off instruments, denying the guitar its usual primacy without diminishing its impact, Buck and Mills have orchestrated their rock as never before. Losing Berry has allowed R.E.M. to literally think outside the rock box; the drum machines, shakers and congas that surface in his place are only the most obvious aspect of the group's expanded consciousness. Buck and Mills deploy a sympathetic band of notables – drummer Joey Waronker, engineer John Keane, multi-instrumentalists Barrett Martin, Scott McCaughey and Bruce Kaphan, and an understated string section – to create holographic backdrops for Stipe's words, sounds that float around his vocals and seem to be speaking back to him.

As the slightly suspect, soft and spacey side of rock, ballads have often been the ground for similar experiments. Up embeds the history of slow rock into its songs without falling into mimicry. The Beach Boys and the Beatles whisper through the album's collective memory; so do Elvis Costello, Burt Bacharach, U2, David Bowie, the Zombies, Depeche Mode, Nick Cave and today's clique of orch-pop experimenters, especially the Magnetic Fields. "Hope" borrows its melody from Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne." Patti Smith continues to serve as Stipe's muse, especially on "Parakeet." "Lotus" claims its slinky groove from glam rock and the Climax Blues Band.

Yet for all the fun the band has with these different voices, the ultimate source and subject of Up are R.E.M. themselves. The music that Up most often recalls is "Nightswimming" and "So. Central Rain," "Wendell Gee" and "Pilgrimage" – the stuff of countless personal epiphanies as R.E.M. made the romance of the inner world as compelling as all the lust and rebellion that rock had mustered throughout its loud history. Up continues that romance, on a morning after that promises a good day.

ANN POWERS - RS 799
© Copyright 2001 RollingStone.com
 

 L y r i c s


AIRPORTMAN

he moves efficiently
beyond security.
great opportunity awaits.
airport fluorescent
creature of habit
labored breathing and sallow skin
moving sidewalks
great opportunity blinks.
great opportunity blinks.
great opportunity blinks.
great opportunity blinks.
the people mover
the people mover
discounted.


LOTUS

hey hey.
hey hey.

I was hell
sarcastic silver swell.
that day it rained
tough spun. hard won. no
ocean flower aquarium
badlands. give a hand.
honey dipt. flim flam
hey hey. hey hey.
that cat can walk like a big bad man.

so happy to show us
I ate the lotus.
say haven't you noticed?
I ate the lotus

storefront window, I reflect.
just last week I was merely heck
tip the scale. I was hell
picked me up, then I fell.
who's this stranger? crowbar spine
.(dot).(dot).(dot) and I feel fine.
let it rain, rain, rain
bring my happy back again.

so happy to show us
I ate the lotus.
say haven't you noticed?
I ate the lotus

let it rain, rain, rain
save me from myself again
wash away my ugly sins
opposing thumb, dorsal fin
that monkey died for my grin
bring my happy back again
let it rain, rain, rain
bring my happy back again

so happy to show us
I ate the lotus.
say haven't you noticed?
I ate the lotus
I ate the lotus
I ate the lotus
I ate the lotus


SUSPICION

now my suspicion's on the rise
I have known, I have known your kind.
please don't talk, don't make me think
order up another drink
let me let imagination drive.

can't you see
I need
nothing too deep.

imagination
come alive
suspicion
tonight, I'll dream tonight.

listen to the devils in my ear.
tell me what, what I want to hear
you're so funny, you're so fine.
you're so perfect, you're so mine.
that I never had an opportunity
to hide
no I never had a chance

can't you see
I need
nothing too deep.

imagination
come alive
suspicion
tonight, I'll dream tonight.

look into my eyes.
they hypnotize.
the lights, the drinks.
let the music carry you away

my eyes are blurred
my sights are limited
am I sensing a familiar twinge?

please don't speak
make me think
it's all too deep

imagination
come alive
suspicion
step down, I'll dream tonight.

step down, I'll dream
you're so naked baby
carry me away
dream, dream
carry me away
dream, dream
dream, dream
dream, dream
dream, dream…


HOPE

you want to go out friday
and you want to go forever.
you know that it sounds childish
that you've dreamt of alligators.
you hope that we are with you
and you hope you're recognized
you want to go forever
you see it in my eyes.
I'm lost in the confusion
and it doesn't seem to matter
you really can't believe it
and you hope it's getting better

you want to trust the doctors
their procedure is the best
but the last try was a failure
and the intern was a mess.
and they did the same to Matthew
and he bled 'til sunday night
they're saying don't be frightened
but you're weakened by the sight of it
you lock into a pattern
and you know that it's the last ditch
you're trying to see through it
and it doesn't make sense
but they're saying don't be frightened
and they're killing alligators
and they're hog-tied and accepting of
the struggle

you want to trust religion
and you know it's allegory
but the people who are followers
have written their own story.
so you look up to the heavens
and you hope that it's a spaceship
and it's something from your childhood
you're thinking don't be frightened

you want to climb the ladder
you want to see forever
you want to go out friday
and you want to go forever.
and you want to cross your dna
to cross your dna with something reptile.
and you're questioning the sciences
and questioning religion
you're looking like an idiot
and you no longer care.
and you want bridge the schizm,
a built-in mechanism to protect you.
and you're looking for salvation
and you're looking for deliverance
you're looking like an idiot
and you no longer care.
’cause you want to climb the ladder
you want to go forever.
and you want to go out friday
you want to go forever.


AT MY MOST BEAUTIFUL

I've found a way to make you
I've found a way
a way to make you smile

I read bad poetry
into your machine
I save your messages
just to hear your voice.
you always listen carefully
to awkwards rhymes.
you always say your name.
like I wouldn't know it's you,
at your most beautiful.

I've found a way to make you
I've found a way
a way to make you smile

at my most beautiful
I count your eyelashes secretly.
with every one, whisper I love you.
I let you sleep.
I know you're closed eye watching me,
listening.
I thought I saw a smile.

I've found a way to make you
I've found a way
a way to make you smile


THE APOLOGIST

they call me the apologist.
and now that I'm at peak.
you know at first it really hurt.
we joke about these things.
I've skirted all my differences
but now I'm facing up.
I wanted to apologize for
everything I was. so
I'm sorry, so sorry
so sorry, so sorry
so sorry, so sorry
so sorry…

did you understand me right?
the people here are good.
they tell me what I should have done
and offer what I could.
I'm good, all is good
all's well, no complaints.
when I feel regret,
I get down on my knees and pray.
I'm sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry (so sorry), so sorry…

I live a simple life
unfettered by complex sweets.
you think this isn't me? (so sorry), (so sorry)
don't be weak. (so sorry)
there I go. (so sorry)
I'm so sorry.

thank you for being there for me.
thank you for listening, goodbye.
I can forfeit selfishness
I hope for you that you apply
this happiness
this peacefulness
this peacefulness
I'm sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry (so sorry), so sorry (so sorry)
so sorry… (so sorry)

I live a simple life (so sorry) (so sorry)
unfettered by complex sweets. (so sorry) (so sorry)
you think this isn't me? (so sorry)
that's so sweet. (so sorry) (so sorry)
I'm so sorry

thank you for being there for me.
thank you for listening, goodbye.


SAD PROFESSOR

if we're talking about love
then I have to tell you
dear readers, I'm not sure where I'm headed.
I've gotten lost before.
I've woke up stone drunk
face down in the floor.

late afternoon, the house is hot.
I started, I jumped up.
everyone hates a bore.
everybody hates a drunk.

this may be a lit invention
professors muddled in their intent
to try to rope in followers
to float their malcontent.
as for this reader,
I'm already spent.

late afternoon, the house is hot.
I started, I jumped up.
everyone hates a sad professor.
I hate where I wound up.

dear readers, my apologies.
I'm drifting in and out of sleep.
long silence presents the tragedies
of love. note the age. get afraid.
the surface hazy with attendant thoughts.
a lazy eye metaphor on the rocks.

late afternoon, the house is hot.
I started, I jumped up.
everyone hates a bore.
everybody hates a drunk.
everyone hates a sad professor.
I hate where I wound up.
I hate where I wound up.


YOU'RE IN THE AIR

you wanted a challenge
that's calling you higher
I landed on my feet by crawling
I remember standing alone
trying to forget you idling
I hate to admit that
that's my reference point
but there it is
you say you want me

I'm what you found
I'm upside down
you're in the air
you're in the air and I am breathing you

brighten the stars
the weather is lifting
the heavens love a love like this
it's pulling you higher
twist it and turn this around
it lights from within
it dribbles your chin
now brings a smile
I'm lost again
I'm lost again

I'm what you found
I'm upside down
you're in the air
you're in the air and I am breathing you

I want the stars to know they've won
if only to beguile
the sky has opened up again
in heaven reconciled
I want you naked
I want you wild
I want the stars to know they win
give me that smile
just give it me
just turn it on
I'm lost again

I'm what you found
I'm upside down
you're in the air
I'm what you found
I'm upside down
you're in the air
I'm what you found
I'm upside down
you're everywhere
you're in the air
and I am breathing you


WALK UNAFRAID

as the sun comes up, as the moon
goes down
these heavy notions creep around
it makes me think
long ago I was brought into
this life a little lamb
a little lamb
courageous, stumbling
fearless was my middle name.
but somewhere there I
lost my way
everyone walks the same
expecting me to step
the narrow path they've laid
they claim to
walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
hold my love me or leave me
high.

say "keep within the boundaries if you want to play."
say "contradiction only makes it harder."
how can I be
what I want to be?
when all I want to do is strip away
these stilled constraints
and crush this charade
shred this sad masquerade
I don't need no persuading
I'll trip, fall, pick myself up and
walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
hold my love me or leave me
high.

if I have a bag of rocks to carry as I go
I just want to hold my head up high
I don't care what I have to step over
I'm prepared to look you in the eye
look me in the eye
and if you see familiarity
then celebrate the contradiction
help me when I fall to
walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
hold my love me or leave me
high.
walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
hold my love me or leave me
high.


WHY NOT SMILE

the concrete broke your fall
to hear you speak of it
I'd have done anything
I would do anything
I feel like a cartoon brick wall
to hear you speak of it
you've been so sad
it makes me worry
why not smile?
you've been sad for a while.
why not smile?

I would do anything
to hear you speak of it.
why not smile?
you've been sad for a while.
you've been sad for a while.


DAYSLEEPER

receiving dept., 3 a.m.
staff cuts have socked up the overage
directives are posted.
no callbacks, complaints.
everywhere is calm.

Hong Kong is present
Taipei awakes
all talk of circadian rhythm

I see today with a newsprint fray
my night is colored headache grey
daysleeper
daysleeper
daysleeper

the bull and the bear are marking
their territories
they're leading the blind with
their international glories

I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night.

I see today with a newsprint fray
my night is colored headache grey
don't wake me with so much.
daysleeper.

I cried the other night
I can't even say why
fluorescent flat caffeine lights
its furious balancing

I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night
I see today with a newsprint fray
my night is colored headache grey

don't wake me with so much. the
ocean machine is set to 9
I'll squeeze into heaven and valentine
my bed is pulling me.
gravity
daysleeper. daysleeper.
daysleeper. daysleeper. daysleeper.


DIMINISHED

I watched you fall.
I think I pushed.
maybe I'm crazy
maybe diminished
maybe I'm innocent
maybe I'm finished
maybe I blacked out.
how do I play this?

I will give my best today
I will give myself away
I have never hurt anything
is the jury wavering?
do they know I sing?

maybe I'm crazy
maybe diminished
how do I,
how do I play this?
jealous lover, self defense
protective brother, chemical
dependence.
I'll consult the i-ching
I'll consult the tv
ouija, oblique strategies.
I'll consult the law books for precedents.
can I charm the jury?

I will give my best today
I will give myself away
I have never hurt anything
is the justice wavering?
does she know I sing
that song?
sing along (I will never hurt anything)
sing along (I will never hurt anything)
sing along (I will never hurt anything)

I watched you fall.
I think I pushed.
maybe they'll see me,
maybe they'll say,
"I can see the truth in his statement.
smallpox blanket? no way."
can I charm the jury, my defense?
maybe I'm crazy
maybe diminished
maybe I loved you
baby I loved you
baby I loved you
baby I loved you
baby I'm finished.

I will give my best today
I will give myself away
I have never hurt anything
is the justice wavering?
does she know I sing
that song?
sing along (I will never hurt anything)
sing along (I will never hurt anything)
sing along (I will never hurt anything)

I have given myself away
I have given my best today
I have never hurt anything
is the justice wavering?
does she know I loved you
does she know I loved you?
does she know I sing?
. . .

I feel great. I lied to save your feelings.
truth convened, my head smashed through the ceiling.
I lost an arm,
no one harmed,
you diplomatically alarmed.
I sulked away to lick my thin skin.
I'm not over you.
I'm not over you.
I'm not over you.


PARAKEET

you wake up in the morning
and fall out of your bed
mean cats eat parakeets
and this one's nearly dead.

you dearly wish the wind would shift
and greasy windows slide
open for the parakeet
who's colored bitter lime.

open the window
to lift into your dreams
baby, baby
you can barely breathe.

a broken wrist
an accident
you know that something's wrong
you fold the leavings of your past
no one knows you've gone.

the sunspot flares of the early
nineties light up your wings.
and scan the shortwave radio
it's tracking outer rings.

open the window
to lift into a dream
baby, baby
you can start to breathe.

the tectonic dispatcher shifts
to smooth the ocean floor
and flattens out to warmer winds
of Brisbane's sunny shore.

where buddhas tend to mending wrists
a tea made from the leaves
of eucalyptus fragrances
and coriander seeds.

open the window
to lift into a dream
baby, baby
you can start to breathe.

open the window
to lift into a dream
baby, baby
you can start to breathe.

you wake up in the morning
to warm Pacific breeze
where mean cats chew on licorice
and cannot climb the trees.


FALLS TO CLIMB

I'll take the position
assume the missionary part
you work by committee,
you had me pegged from the start.
I'll be pounce pony,
phony maroney,
pony before the cart.
I'll be pounce pony.
this ceremony
only fills my heart.

who cast the final stone?
who threw the crushing blow?
someone has to take the fall
why not me?

a punch toy volunteer
a weakling on its knee.
is all you want to hear
and all you want to see.
romantically, you'd martyr me
and miss this story's point
it is my strength, my destiny
this is the role that I have chosen.

who cast the final stone?
who threw the crushing blow?
someone has to take the fall
why not me?
why not me?

gentlemen mark your opponents
fire into your own ranks.
pick the weakest as strategic
move. square off. to
meet your enemy.
for each and every gathering
a scapegoat falls to climb.
as I step forward, silently.
deliberately mine

who cast the final stone?
who threw the crushing blow?
someone has to take the fall
why not me? why not me.
had consequence chose differently
had fate its ugly head
my actions make me beautiful
and dignify the flesh

me. I am free. I am free.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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