puzzle & pop
Recorded at my loft above Heksekosten in Silkeborg 2017
All songs by Allan Østerdahl
Working Title: Crazy – Lyrics by Neill Cardinal Furio & Allan Østerdahl
Produced by Neill Cardinal Furio & Allan Østerdahl
Instruments played & arranged by Allan Østerdahl
Tuba on track 6 by Simon Bak Aggerskov
Recorded by Allan Østerdahl
Mixed by Allan Østerdahl & Brian Mørk Hansen with Neill C. Furio
Mastered by Brian Mørk Hansen
Cover art by Tim Bjørn (madebytim.com)
WORKING TITLE: CRAZY
Well, what have we here? Discombobulated organ, demented drums, hyper-extended vertical rhymes, and a vibraslap(!) for God’s sake. Clearly it’s a character study … but about who? Or is it whom? A certain recent Nobel Prize recipient perhaps? Anything to say for yourself Mr Dylan? If that is your real name.
THE GOLDEN MEAN
Ahh … a beautiful math reference, and it’s only song 2. Or should I say song 1.61803399? Which I guess explains the divinely proportioned time signatures that spiral into and out of focus until the narrator’s final statement of freedom. “I don’t believe in Zimmerman,” Indeed
ME ME ME
I usually prefer an album’s novelty number to fall a little later in the running order, but since we’re all getting older by the second, why wait any longer? And besides, what’s so novel about a pathological conman blowing his own golden metaphorical Trumpet? Quick question: Is it too late to turn this song into a vainglorious stubby-fingered midnight tweet?
PITCHBLACK PONTIAC
In this case, a swooping Coke Bottle bodied 1966 Bonneville pushing 340 wild horses through a 389 cubic-inch V8 engine, behind the wheel of which our tormented narratoor muses on a tense past with only the voices in his head to keep him company on the long road of life. And death.
SEVEN MONKEYS
Like the Deadly Sins and the Cardinal Virtues and the Holy Sacraments and the Colors Of The Rainbow and the Days Of The Week and the Wonders Of The World and Snow White’s Dwarves all grouped in sevens before them, here come the Monkeys … seeing no evil, hearing no evil, singing no evil, drumming no evil, bassing no evil, guitaring no evil, and keying no evil. Or what little evil they can get away with. For seven verses
A TWIST OF SOMETHING ELSE
Are you legally allowed to reference Lightnin’ Hopkins and Shakespeare in a song inspired by H.C. Andersen? Sounds like a matter for the Ministry Of Immigration. So while we wait for the necessary paperwork to be processed, then misplaced, let’s recall that this song represent the continually twisting saga of something earlier that began on Time & Tense back in 2009 … updated for 2018 with a tuba!
BLOOD MOON
Hmm … a cover of an obscure Hoagy Carmichael song? An outtake from the partially purloined Love & Theft? A lunar treatise as seen through the cataract eye os the Hubble Telescope? Or a heartfelt original, earthbound and eternal, by way of The Book Of Revelation? “And, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as a sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood.” I’ll let you decide.
BECKETT’S BLUES
Speaking of Nobel Laureates (and revelations, for that matter), it’s still hard to beat the perfectly distilled dream monologues and the breathless di- and trialogues of Samuel Beckett. And whether on the page or on stage, the thought of humankind’s essential “non-knowing” is both devastation and liberating. “Clear to me at last that the dark I have always struggled to keep under is in reality my most …” What? My most what? Sam?! “Precious ally,” Ahh.
Neill Cardinal Furio … January 15th 2018.
lyrics
working title: crazy
In this silhouetted shack
In your bed, on your back
Dreams are dark and deceiving
But the dawn may not come
Be it deaf, be it dumb
While schemes are blindly perceiving
From the blue of your eye
Shines the what and the why
Specs are cooly conceiving
And the squeeze of your hand
Holds a map where the land
Shows an X on the spot of your thieving
Button your lip and your shirt
But don’t expect it won’t hurt
And don’t forget to drag ’em through the dirt
By the ink from your well
Whether swill, whether swell
Spell out a hundred sighs heaving
And you dot every j
Every joke anyway
When art is underachieving
Put on you look and your shoes
But don’t expect you wont lose
And don’t forget to cherish what you choose
Crazy, I go crazy
Crazy ’cause of you
And all the things you do
And all the things you don’t
In this never-peaceful state
Full of her, full of hate
Heart are gruesome and grieving
And the night will not end
With a call from a friend
From the hell of your only love leaving
The hell of your only love leaving
The hell of your only love left
The hell of your own disbelieving
The hell of your own love bereft
Sharpen your tongue and your ax
But don’t expect to relax
And don’t forget to wallow in the wax
Crazy, I go crazy
Crazy ’cause of you
And all the things you do
And all the things you don’t
the golden mean
I hold on
In the black of my mind
Behind curtains and blind
In hardcovers consigned
A white rose
For my withering green
For our blank-poemed scene
For God’s cruel golden mean
I hold on … I hold on
I hold on
In the blood of the lamb
In the fall of a man
In songs where chaos began
A last sigh
For my Valentine gray
For my blue siren’s sway
For our dead-letter day
I hold on … I hold on
I hold onto that sulfurous night
I’m sorry the Devil was right
It’s a lie, a beautiful lie
That wants to live on though want and need will die
I hold on, though I’m traveling light
I don’t care if the Devil was right
It’s a dream, a barbarous dream
That needs to live on … but fails to redeem
I let go of Numbers
I let go of Judges
I let go of Kings
I let go of Chronicles
I let go of Psalms
I let go of Lamentations
I let go
me me me
Jealousy – all I ever wanted to be
Famously – but I’m only famous for being me
In reality – the television sequelogy
But I know – it only goes to show
Now, wouldn’t it just be great if we could all be me
Then we could live the same life
We would all know who to be
It would be so great if we could all be me
We could share the same dream
And hold the same degree
Together we could all be me
Harmony – we could live in harmony
And in unity – misery loves company
Lovingly – as god would have wanted us to be
And you know – it always goes to show
So wouldn’t it be the best if we could all be me
We could build the same house
We could burn the same Hollywood tree
It’s going to be the fantastic when it’s only me
I could make the world a better place
If only you could wear my face
Wouldn’t it be so sweet if we could all be me?
We could pick the same fruit
We could share the same cup of tea
It would be so nice when it’s only me
You’ve got to see this, come on, try
You must at least have one good eye
You see, It’s not so bad … being moi
I want – I’m taking it
I take – I’m giving it
I give – I’m getting it every single day
I get – I’m touching it
I touch – I’m feeling it
I feel – I’m loving it any other way
I love – I’m living it
I live – I’m swinging it
I swing – And I’m doing it all for … me
pitchblack pontiac
Little by little and little by less
Death slips into her pitch-black dress
Buried in a blanket in the back of a car
Who knows who or where we are
Riddle by riddle and riddle by red
Flashback, crash, recovery, dead
Away, awake, aware, reminisce
You and me both in ignorant bliss
Tangle by tangle and tangle by touch
Could be love is one lover too much
Maybe the stars are under-conceived
Making the loved the make believed
Struggle by struggle and struggle by sense
In control of no consequence
Putting a spin on what I feel
Holding on tight to that steering wheel
Fickle by fickle and fickle by fate
It’s there in the headlights, beyond the front gate
It’s there in the eyes of a broken down soul
It’s there in the way that time takes a toll
Trifle by trifle and trifle by trip
Babylon’s best in a billboard’s grip
“Here’s all you need and not a thing more”
Oh, what the hell am I still looking for?
Passel by passel and passel by pop
Anything goes when you get to the top
Everything flies in the face of old hope
As long as you keep your good eye in the scope
Trouble by trouble and trouble by trust
From the flood of pure youth to a pile of old rust
Bubble by bubble and bubble by burst
Get down to the river and drown in your thirst
Bottle by bottle and bottle by blue
Pour darling devil, you’re into it too
Brittle by brittle and brittle by bone
Soft as a sin with the head of a stone
Settle by settle and settle by scene
Channel your blood into the mean mainstream
Paddle by paddle and paddle by pact
Keep a straight line baby and make it exact
Little by little and little by list
Life unresolves in the gray morning mist
Buried in a blanket, way back in the past
Little by little and little by last
seven monkeys
Hey you in the pillbox dream romantic
I wanna know what kind of blues you take
To turn reliably real from fantasy fake
To take the hazard out of a common mistake
To fix what’s broken when you’re just about to break
To always know what of it to make
I think I’ll call it crazy
I think I’ll call it sane
I think I’ll call it systematic drain
Hey you with the beatbox philosophy bombastic
I wanna know what designer brands your wear
To the beautiful people it’s a public affair
To the drummer who’s trapped in his snare
To the hook that never takes you anywhere
To the rest of us who don’t even own a pair
I think I’ll call it measure
I think I’ll call it entertain
I think I’ll call it robotic sustain
Hey you up on the soapbox pedestal of plastic
I wanna know which petty platform you’d choose
To be condemned by the ones you accuse
To poll focus when you’re focus-confused
To shoot out the light and blow on the fuse
To drop a big bomb when that’s not an excuse
I think I’ll call it righteous
I think I’ll call it vain
I think I’ll call it patriotic pain
Hey you down in the prompt-box whispering dramatic
I wanna know what questions are too volatile to ask
To the messenger who’s pouring words from a flask
To take the easy out of a simple task
To step off-stage with an explosive powder cask
To lower the sword and loosen the mask
I think I’ll call it theater
I think I’ll call it feign
I think I’ll call it strategic campaign
Hey you up in the skybox pavilion majestic
I wanna know all the currency you keep in your vault
To whom you endow half your pepper and salt
To which old disaster you tune your assault
To what’s a design and what’s a default
To where’s the next step in your puppet-string waltz
I think I’ll call it kingdom
I think I’ll call it reign
I think I’ll call it imperialistic domain
Hey you in the jury-box chair electric
I wanna know how you write you sentence of neglect
To reason with doubt is the doubt to suspect
To side with the cause is the cause to reject
To argue the case is the case to object
To settle for less when there’s more to perfect
I think I’ll call it rotten
I think I’ll call it stain
I think I’ll call it sadomasochistic chain
Hey you through the stomp-box purple futuristic
I wanna know what echoes from here to there
To a song about aid and a psalm about air
To a peak on a wave of distortion and blare
To a solid-state grace from an American prayer
To the greenbacks’ roll and the rockets’ red glare
I think I’ll call it timing
I think I’ll call it a gain
I think I’ll call it rotten
I think I’ll call it stain
I think I’ll call it kingdom
I think I’ll call it reign
I think I’ll call it theater
I think I’ll call it feign
I think I’ll call it righteous
I think I’ll call it vain
I think I’ll call it measure
I think I’ll call it entertain
I think I’ll call it crazy
I think I’ll call it sane
I think I’ll call it one fatalistic refrain
a twist of something else
So, this is not exactly paradise
And this is not exactly real
But if I could I fool you once I’ll fool you twice
And the devil’s got his deal
I woke up this morning feeling yellow and low
I got the devil by my side
I said, I woke up this morning feeling yellow and low
I got the devil by my side
Oh, though, your heart is on a string
There’s always something wrong in everything
Well, my blues has turned into a pity song
And this pretty-song has turned to proof
To prove me right or else to prove me wrong
I present you all the irony and spoof
Too soon to tell tomorrow’s taste
Or if new style turns old to news
If our labor and our love has gone to waste
Remember passion, dear, is measured by the blues
Oh, though, your mood is on a swing
There’s also something right in everything
Something in the chance you take
Nothing in advance
Something in the choice you make
And whatever song and dance
Something in the chance you take
Nothing in exchange
Something in the choice you make
And whatever’s out of range
Something in the chance you take
Nothing in reverse
Something in the choice you make
And whatever cures the curse
blood moon
Blood Moon
Two worlds collide
Till daybreak
Still by my side
I know this pair by heart
Each breath I set apart
And promise till death do us part
Blood Moon
Blood in my eyes
Will dawn wake
From her orbital disguise?
Will time and tense depart?
Will you stop? Will you start?
So peaceful, till death do us part
To every life, a secret distant second chance
To every light, a single broken circumstance
Too soon that lurid Sun reshapes the mourning skies
Too late to see it settle in her eyes
Blood Moon
Two words collide
Will the Earth quake
Come spring tide?
I know this face by heart
Are we yet a work of art
Pretending till death do us part?
beckett’s blues
What would I do, undo
If I could do?
What would I make, come true
If I could make?
What would I know, before
If I could know?
What would I see, to ignore
If I see through
And out of the blue?
Where would I go, undone
If I could go?
Who would I be, become
If I could be?
How would I say, imply
If I had a voice?
When would I answer this cry
If I were confined
And out of my mind?
On and on and on I could go on, no!
So the story goes and I still sing my song, oh!
His words, my words
A blend of nonsense, making sense of the blues
A shadow underneath it too
A man, a word, an echo’s view
That’s what I’d do, redo
If I could do
That’s when I’d make, make do
If I could make
That’s where I’d go, real gone
If I could go
That’s who I’d be, belong
If I could be
