dave_or_whatever
like kicking through the ashes of your burned house and finding a charred piece of a memory.
Favorite track: OBSCURITY NOD: the lonesome monist.
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Record/Vinyl + Digital Album
Hand numbered in gatefold packaging with 20 page booklet on black vinyl.
Includes unlimited streaming of OF TEARS, NO AMOUNT CAN QUENCH MOUTHS MAIMED BY DROUGHT
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will you come to the table to mourn
where your dinner is no longer warm
leaving what you've been fed
in a pan by your bed
lying down in the holes
that your body has worn
on the mattress where your child was born
will you offer the stranger your home
when you crawl off to lie down alone
and allow them to stay
as you wander away
leaving all you've possessed
all that you've ever known
will it matter where it goes when you are gone
will you come to the table to mourn?
take these words and spit them in a wad of toilet paper
make the bedsheets wet with the mistakes you've pissed into existence
watch the sunrise fade into the day and fall into the silence
of a peace that never comes until it's gone and thus forgotten
still you will defend
all the choices you pretend
you were making for the sake of something you believed would stand
but on the shores of changing oceans
those beliefs are grains of sand
pass them off as truths until they soothe your swelling blisters
point your finger down your throat to blame the vomit on the others
let the fear you've reared taint your tongue with that bitter awful taste
then lick your wounds until they fester so they'll never go away
still you will defend
all the choices you pretend
you were making for the sake of something you believed would stand
but on the shores of rising oceans
beliefs wash away like sand
it kills me
I do it
I scrape the blood from my teeth
no life is worth living
so bleach the reef
the leeches are swimming
mating in pools so shallow
no thought toward forgiving
we have arrived
that human being
it must survive
at any cost
all else aside
soiled diapers
cigarette butts
strewn across the desert
wasted
decomposing
a soft lament
just bones now
forgotten
with love from tired ancestors
once ripe fruit
now rotten
so bleach the reef
that human being
it wants to thrive
as a result
all else will die
high atop a lofty summit
there's a man who rules the world
far below inside the mantle
there's a woman dressed in gold
and his heart is a mole
where in the world is it going
how will we know when it gets there
can beauty really be stolen
by men who covet a glimmer
high atop a lofty summit
there's a man who rules the world
far below inside the mantle
there's a woman dressed in gold
and his heart is a mole
digging to tap in the vein that
cradled her with such old passion
he breaks it up with a pickaxe
parades her round on his finger
and she shines like the sun
and if she waits long enough his finger will be gone
and his heart is a mole
let it rot
please let it
that's what it's meant to do
and should I soften in a similar spot
oh, I hope you let me rot too
let it burn
just let it
it's not about the tree
that soil below is greater than any forest
but it needs their ashes to stay healthy
oh, I watched a torch light for freedom
miles off from where I laid
but when I crawled to feel the warmth of its glow
oh, my home was melted away
let it go
just let it
that's what it's meant to do
and should I burn up if the flames get too hot
oh, I hope my ashes blanket you
I saw a ghost today
an old friend walking down the street
there were no words to say
his absent gaze fell limply at my feet
it made me think of you
as though he knew somehow that you had loved me once
he read my mind
like a police officer reads out a search warrant
what did he find
illegal substances
a voyeuristic shot
of you asleep in bed
I miss his cold dead hand
and the way it caressed
the warm folds of my brain
I felt him breathe again
and now he's gone
the air is still although I move at decent speeds
there is a buzzing sound
my ears hear but my heart cannot believe
there are no words to say
so I say every one that I can speak
in hopes I'll find your name
and one day your ghost will come back to me
it says to take one so I take ten
it don't seem wrong until I fall
for thirteen years I couldn't remember a thing
suddenly I can see it all
it says take one so I take ten
who knows if I'll ever see anyone again
oh, but I told them I would call
when I get to a place where they have phones
out in the Arctic building steeples
there isn't any place in this whole world
free of gods or people
we've slept too long here in the lion's den
it says take one, oh, but we take them all
there's nothing left now but a hole to hell
how much you wanna bet we fall
it says take one so I take ten
who knows if I'll ever see anything again
and will it matter then at all
they cut us all a deal on sheepskin
and for them we build up their mighty wall
evolved to run at miraculous speeds
what does that matter when we crawl
in stall
it says take one so I take ten
night comes but the birds won't stop singing
it's a beautiful performance, oh, why does it drive me insane
there's a pool in the stream where the mosquitoes breed
and one's found its way into my brain
each drop of sweat from my head hits the floor with the force of restraint
and from my room I can hear the woods calling
they address me as though by some miracle they know my name
when a creature's alone for some time it is shown
glimpses of the eternal debate
what is this shell I'm in
and what happens when I escape
night comes but the birds won't stop...
we are all at fault
we are all in charge
we are all alone
we are one
we are all at fault
we are all in charge
we feel all alone
because we are one
about
‘Of Tears...’ is the 8th solo full length album by Andy the Doorbum. It is a personal journey centered around the process of grief. It was largely written in 2019 while his father, whom he had a complicated and turbulent relationship with, faced cancer. That’s where the grieving started though he was still very much alive. The album opens with a field recording of his father speaking about his imminent death after his diagnosis. Due to that ongoing illness the project was delayed. His father died two days shy of Christmas that year while Andy and his brother slept on the floor next to his bed. Not long before that their father said to them, “Boys, this world is going to hell, and I’m glad I won’t be here to see it.” Two months later the global pandemic hit. It was then the realization came that the grief wasn’t just for Andy, his father, or his family. It was a grieving of the world, and its weight truly began to sink in as the upheavals plainly unfolded. The sickness/death enveloping societies, the blatant inequalities/injustices consuming marginalized communities, the rising wave of autocratic/ authoritarian ideologies, the wars, the upending of weather patterns that govern the very life of the planet itself. It became clear that there was a whole world worth grieving for, a darkness in which the small glimmer of light left was worth raging to save. Grief is a peculiar thing. Gruesome and beautiful and necessary in equal parts. This record is an attempt to sit within the winter of all of it, and to spring back to life amongst the rising chorus of hopeful birds on the other side.
(It should be noted this somber offering of music is layered amongst field recordings collected by Andy himself across 10 US states and 7 countries)
credits
released November 1, 2023
Written, recorded, performed, and mixed by Andy the Doorbum (except where otherwise noted) in Charlotte, NC and Los Angeles, CA.
Album art by Andy the Doorbum.
Mastered by John "Spud" Murphy at Guerrilla Sounds Studios in Dublin, IE.
Additional percussion mixing by Coady Scott Willis.
Additional musicians/vocalists: Radie Peat, Cormac MacDiarmada, Daragh Lynch, Ian Lynch, JoyThroughNoise, and Molly Jay.
Members of Lankum appear courtesy of Rough Trade Records.
Andy the Doorbum has been writing and recording his own music since he was 9 years old.
His discography
ranges from eccentric lo-fi caterwauling to lush self-recorded pieces described as "filling a darkening void with a pitch black effort." All of this is done with the goal of finding the beauty in the ugly reality of the world. Growth from upheaval. Art for survival. Creativity or extinction....more
supported by 11 fans who also own “OF TEARS, NO AMOUNT CAN QUENCH MOUTHS MAIMED BY DROUGHT”
Sometimes you come across an artist that is compelled to do what they do.
I appreciate the musicality and the arrangement and the artistry of the songs. He sings and plays like his life depends on it. I appreciate the humanity of the lyrics… Like reading Tortilla Flats, or watching Nobody’s Fool.
Ceschi is a bright star. I’m glad he’s loose in the world. oldtruck
