So, last Saturday we had the chance to play a show with Daniel Martin Moore. It was supposed to be at the Centennial Barn, which is being renovated into a really cool community center (to come in 2010: pilates, acupuncture, a community garden, all sorts of other good communal stuff because people were meant to commune). The barn wasn't quite ready, so instead it was held inside, so now we are totally looking forward to checking out the barn once it's ready.

Since it's December we covered a Christmas song and even played all of our songs about snow/winter. I think there are three of those (The Sound Of, Reading You to Sleep, maybe another? I can't think of it now). We played "Darlin' (Christmas is Coming)" by Over the Rhine, and I forgot the words to the second verse...twice. I thought I could get it, so I told Dan to play it again and told everyone that I thought I had it, but I didn't have it. The best part is how we played the song last Christmas season and I forgot the same words then. The bester part is how I remembered everything during soundcheck and every time I sing along to the CD in my car. Dumb.

It's okay, though, because I'm pretty sure Richie Sambora just now didn't know any of the words he was supposed to be singing, and that was on SNL. It's okay that I don't like Bon Jovi, right? (Jon Bovi is a different story. We will not make it, I do not swear makes me laugh too much. Also the tunnel under peaceful fire.)

We have two days of recording set up for next week! EP 3 of 4. We're going to try to do all the easy songs and then have a longer, most intense fourth recording session, hopefully adding percussion and bass and all those things that make songs sound super songy. Would you pre-orderers be averse to the inclusion of something shrinky-dinked in your pre-order packs? It would probably be something cool or at least crafty.

-Serenity

After a morning spent at thrift stores in frantic pursuit of a tweed coat big enough to fit Dan, and then the bulk of the day spent at King's Island riding cool rides and eating Chinese food and then Red Robin (all with the aforementioned Bonnie from Muncie), we were a bit rushed to assemble our Halloween costumes Saturday night for our Happy Halloween with the Happy Maladies show at Corner Bloc Coffee.

And, while our costumes were nothing compared to the commitment and man hours involved here, I think they were a pretty valiant effort given our time frame and my lack of Halloween experience (I can count on one hand and remember my entire life's arsenal of Halloween costumes: Cookie Monster, Snake Eyes with Dan, Carl and Russell from UP with Dan).


Dan photoshopped the UP house in. I should have given him more head space when I took the picture. Oops.



What we were going for.


Dan at the show.



There's a witch behind me!


A little Amish fry pie. Yum! Dan also had a slice of Derby pie.


Scoops! On Dan's iPod. I'm addicted. That is nowhere near my real high score. I'm going to try to get on the international leader board. I gotta get at least 333,000. I'm on it.



The Happy Maladies. They went as the cast of Seinfeld and joked that they were a band about nothing. But just for the night.


So Corner Bloc Coffee is really cute. Live music, quality coffee on the cheap, tasty treats, a three room space with a dedicated game room. You should check it out when you are in Price Hill or go to Price Hill to check it out even (see what I did there?).


-Serenity

We took some new promo pictures this weekend in a big field at the dead end of our street. You can see them all by going to any one of our social networking profiles (Myspace, Facebook, or Flickr, the last of which can also be accessed by clicking on one of the pictures up there at the top of this site). Here are some outtakes.

We make the sweetest faces, he and me.

Our dog, Tater Dog, was there. He's a beagle-lab mix, and he is the world's best dog.

I think this picture is ridiculous. Dan thinks it's funny cause I look so short. I was fake laughing, Dan was real laughing, and he tried to guilt me into real laughing.

So then, to work up to laughing, I jogged in place and stuff, so I think I am real laughing here.

Turns out we are jumping failures. Even Tater has failed, and dogs love to jump.

Dan's actually pretty good here. My favorite part is how Tater is so glad to be running toward us. But why am I doing that with my hands?

And here Dan is giving a half thumbs-up. We suck.

Fall!

-Serenity

Last night we drove to Muncie to play at the Ball State Campus House's Coffee Night. My best friend works there, so I will not negate any suspicions of nepotism. It was a fine October night with just a tiny chill in the air and even then not until after we returned home at 1:00 AM. We had Oreos and Hot or Not popcorn (hot with tobasco, yum). I discovered I was allergic to my new mascara, which is always a treat (knowledge is power). I discovered this after a protracted 12 hour battle with migraine and its aura. The migraine started at 2:30 PM and continued on through the drive so that by the time we arrived in Muncie, I felt high out of my mind on pain and the equivalent of four cups of coffee's worth of Excedrin Migraine. At least we were participating in a coffee house night, so everyone had some caffeine in them, even Dan, who recommended the iced chocolate mocha. I don't know its technical name. I'm pretty sure it was very similar to what celebrities buy their children at Starbucks.

But, you guys, I am not meaning to complain about inflamed blood vessels of the temple (I got really confused about this being the right word just now, like, I couldn't figure out why we have temples on our bodies), because the pain magically ceased its fire for the entirety of our time in Indiana, and I really enjoyed the popcorn and Oreos, and we even pre-sold a couple of albums (which you can do yourself by clicking here, which, I'm pretty sure, means that our album has gone tin foil, as far as metal-based signifiers of album sale success go. Tin foil is exceedingly useful, so we are quite glad at that.

-Serenity

Dan and I are working toward this album goal. If we never write or record songs beyond the twelve we aim to put together at this time of our lives, the completion of this project will be enough for us. We have been trying to record for years, but we are definitely most equipped to do it now. We are recording three songs a month for the next four months, and Dan's cooked up a nice release/pre-order/download deal that, I guess, we will declare officially (in all its interwebular officialness) tomorrow. We spent some time last month working on our album cover(s). It was fun. There are buttons. I hope you like it when it comes out tomorrow.

I've got a tin full of buttons. They figure in prominently.

Dan in flannels.

Knitted letters.

We even worked some knitting needles in.

And this here acorn from our front yard.

Tater felt neglected, only because he so often experiences the extreme opposite.

Buttons.

Babe.

THE AFTER
I don't believe in God if he can't stand up for himself
If he needs anybody's help
If he didn't only come to save

I won't go to heaven only out of fear for hell
Isn't that an easy sell?
I've got better things to do than be afraid

Like trying to forget the fundamental things I learned

Like how to sleep with fear
To know the devil's always near
That he'd jump into me when I least expected
That he'd steal my soul just to be respected

And I could go on about the antichrist
But I figure it'll be addressed in the afterlife


QUIET (A quiet life in the order of St. Benedict)
I have set to live a quiet life
Packed up all my things and sold them for an even price
Put pressure on the poor to take what I had earned
Then made my way up mountains far above the earth

The elements strike harder here,
I do not heed their sting
I host the highest heavens,
Fight the lowest beasts
Time does not exist
I've got all of it to spare
But I've got none to give to you
I've got no way to share

The pious come to see me
They remark about my beard
I almost hear them singing
I almost see them stare

I think they think I see them
I think they think I'm glad they came
But I did not ask for their leisure
I have a higher goal than fame

I have come here to complete in me
What was lacking still there in my suffering
I have come here to escape,
And, in escaping, understand
I have come here for the quiet solitude affords

I think they think I see them
I think they think I'm glad they came
But I did not ask for their leisure
I have a higher goal than fame

I have come here for the quiet that solitude affords
And any other of concerns, I have chosen to ignore


RECOVERY
Some years ago you tried to give your name
What went instead wasn't his to take
And you've been recovering ever since
Hoping that no one would notice

That you've got recovery on your mind
You've been recovering all this time
You've got recover on your mind
You've been recovering all this time

I know how you did everything all wrong
I could recite it like a song
So I've been recovering ever since
Hoping that you would not notice

But when I recover I want it gone
Don't want a reason to hang on
When I recover I want it gone
Don't need a reason to hang on

I'll have a daughter of my own
I never want her to have to know
How to recover and never to heal
But to be free and free for real.


HERE IT IS
Isn't it just like the thing to change you?
To make things matter more when they can loose.
I will hold him tighter like you told me to,
and make sure we still come and visit, too.

I won't pretend that I saw it coming,
but foresight doesn't ease the pronouncement
I can only guess how you are feeling.
If nothing less, less confident.

So, here it is,
your separation,
and I've got nothing but to cry.
Here it is,
your separation,
I better learn to say goodbye.

Isn't it just like the thing to change you?
To make you send a pitiless attack.
These 30 years, no match to anger.
You didn't even try to have me back.

Well, I won't pretend that I don't blame you,
but blaming doesn't ease the aftermath.
I can't even guess what you are thinking
or why it fell so easy and so fast.

So, here it is,
our separation,
and I've got nothing but to cry.
Here it is,
our separation,
I better learn to say goodbye.


CHAPTER 5, FALLEN WARRIOR
I'm a reluctant soldier,
satisfied to pacify with tales of others' wars.
The only weight I shoulder
for characters with weapons fighting off in fairy moors.

I'm only bold in my assertions.
I'm never bold in my behavior.

I'm paralyzed by loiter,
when all we ever hear, it seems, are rumors of our war.
We're sitting safe in service,
reciting tidings of who's felled by whatever evil sword.

I'm only bold in my assertions.
I'm never bold in my behavior,
and clever as I want to be,
I could do with being braver.
Yeah, I could do with being braver.

There's a longing to reconcile to rightness.
There's a brazen sort of truth about this war.
But there's hope in the Victor and an end,
simple and final
that everyone is fighting for.

Everyone but me, I'm a reluctant soldier.
Everyone but me, I'm a reluctant soldier
who could do with being braver.


COMING SOON
I'm not a man.
You're not a wife.
I can't provide so you can sleep at night.
What we were was swept away
when only tumbleweeds would grow.
We tilled all the tricks we'd ever know.

But still moved west,
with a baby in the belly of our youngest.
West,
with a fire in the belly of our oldest.
West,
a better life is coming soon.
We moved west.

So, brother, I'll see you at fireside,
where we'll pretend a better life:
Eleanor will have us over for a White House meal.
No, I can't spare a dime.
I'm just as poor as you,
poorer if you count all I lost you never had to lose.

It's not a village.
We don't live here.
There are no children anymore who ain't been raised.
They're ancient beggars with no fear,
lining streets like pockets lined with cash.
Praying hard to God that that bread will last.

Here in the west,
with a hunger in the belly of every liar.
West,
with cotton picking gone like paper fliers.
West,
a better life is coming soon.
We love the west.

Painters paint murals to happier times.
Young men ride the rails to happier lives,
digging ditches in the desert,
laying line that leads to never.
Living paycheck to the next meal,
as they work out Franklin's New Deal,
but you can't trick the spirit.
Being useless--we all fear it.

And you can't convince that useless tasks don't make the worker worth his work. Oh no.


HOW CAN I GIVE YOU UP?
As the father of my children, you never fathered anyone
Only led them through the city to the homes of loose women
When our princes take their kingdoms, they'll be more wicked than you were
You've taken and
You've stolen them for evil

But how can I give you up, oh Ephraim?
How can I surrender you, oh Israel?
Though you've taken hired lovers, traded your altars for thorns,
How can I give you up?
How can I give you up?
How can I give you up, oh Ephraim?

As a mother, I have reason
As a bride, I have a case
You have joined yourself with others to the reaches of my shame
The affection you have for me is the dew's affection for the ground
A fall at night
And then you leave me early

But how can I give you up, oh Ephraim?
How can I surrender you, oh Israel?
Though you've taken hired lovers, traded your altars for thorns,
How can I give you up?
How can I give you up?
How can I give you up, oh Ephraim?

Bring words with you and return.


WHEN YOU DIE (A LOVE SONG)
The longer that you get, I know the harder it will be,
with every corner of the world bathed in memory.
But the shorter that you get, I know the harder it will be,
if you don't get a fighting chance at being you,
And being you and me.

When you die, if I am still alive, I will be sad beyond compare.

If you die out in the cold, all frozen in the sleet,
I will have to travel to a land of summer heat.
I'll sell all of your things, but I will keep a few for me.
Just enough and not enough to forget,
And to remember you.

When you die, if I am still alive, I will be sad beyond compare.


OH, FORGOTTEN
Are you a deep pit, are you a narrow well?
Do you increase the faithless, send their souls to hell?
Do you collect your wool, your oil, your drink, your bread
from men with foreign tongue who climb into your bed?

And when the morning comes, nightwatchmen climb from towers,
they watch your husbands sneak home in the early hours,
back to the wives they left when you called them in the square.
They turn their backs and run only to leave you there.

Oh, forgotten harlot, does it make you want to sin no more?
Oh, forgotten harlot, does it make you feel like a whore?
But when your harlot's wages keep rolling in, does it make you want to begin again?
Just a harlot, still a harlot, till she becomes somebody's bride.

Do you profane your father on every threshing ground?
Are you a constant hunter, your feet knowing no house?
Does your face stay veiled, your forehead show no shame?
Are you an act of folly for many men to blame?

And when before a king, a sword is drawn for justice
to dispense whores' sons, one lost, one stole for fairness.
Do you claim an even share that then betrays your lie?
Shout, "Neither mine nor hers! But let monarchs divide!"

Oh, forgotten harlot, does it make you want to sin no more?
Oh, forgotten harlot, does it make you feel like a whore?
But when your harlot's wages keep rolling in, it makes you want to begin again.
Just a harlot, still a harlot, till she becomes somebody's bride.

So take up, take up and play with skill.
Take up and roam that city still.
Take up, take up and sing your song to be remembered after long.