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Day Laborers and Petty Intellectuals

by Day Laborers and Petty Intellectuals

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1.
Woke up early this morning, tied the laces on my shoes and I was out of the apartment before the sun arose Didn’t stop to lock the door or turn off the t.v. news We’re like the ghosts of men nobody knows In the street the wind is blowing, I can hear the trees a-sway They creak and groan as if lamenting leaves they’ve long since tossed away And we float and flutter down across the neighbor’s alleyway Like the ghosts of men who walked here yesterday What’s the meaning of this magic? Don’t you know we live in times so tragic wizards have no power here and spirits flee from ghouls? What I know of modern science, she replied, could fit into a small appliance powered by the minds of preachers, lords, and fools. Running blindly through the forest came upon a chain link fence Wolves circle in the darkness Helicopters overhead Thirty seconds wasted scaling I tore my hands on the barbed wire Sharks smell blood in the water Helicopters smell blood in the sky And I am learning how to tie my own shoelaces I am learning to say thank you and say please I am reenacting violence in small spaces I am shouting at the sun in Japanese And we will build a fence around the garden And we will line our windowsills with salt We will drive two sharpened stakes into the lawn outside the doorway We will mount the skulls of buffalo to ward off the occult And Jesus saved the sinners and Lincoln freed the slaves and I don’t know about you, I haven’t got much more to say except we’ll never to come to nothing but the things we are today We’re like the ghosts of men who walked away So pull me from the barroom, baby, point me toward the hills Sell me to the sorcerers and run me with the bulls Tie me with a tightrope and throw me to the wolves tonight What’s the meaning of this magic? Don’t you know we live in times so tragic wizards have no power here and spirits flee from ghouls? What I know of modern science, she replied, could fit into a small appliance powered by the minds of preachers, lords, and fools Powered by the minds of preachers, lords, and fools
2.
Got our kerosene lamps and our painted tin cups An old two-stroke cycle we’re gonna fix up Got our cast-iron skillets and our faded blue jeans We get our quarterly magazines. Got our wool flannel shirts and our oilcloth jackets We use only rye whiskey to make our old-fashioneds We buy local organic, we reuse and recycle We ride fixed gear bicycles. We don’t drive a car, we don’t own a t.v. Got a literary bent and a keen grasp of irony We don’t trust the government, don’t believe in religion We drink Pabst Blue Ribbon. and sometimes we live in the country and sometimes we live in the town and sometimes we take a great notion to jump in the river and drown. And we scribble our lyrics in serifed italics Got a paranoid streak and a strong sense of nostalgia We’ve got Ginsberg and Kerouac on the bookshelves We built those ourselves. Got a mistrust of wealth and a distaste for decadence We sing old folk songs and play acoustic instruments We might raise our own livestock or cobble our own shoes We’ve got between 3 and 7 tattoos. And we’re well-versed in matters of wit and intelligence declaim on a wide range of subjects with eloquence We won’t fit the pattern, won’t do as we’re told We are twenty-seven years old. and sometimes we live in the country and sometimes we live in the town and sometimes we take a great notion to jump in the river and drown, singing Irene, goodnight, goodnight, Irene, goodnight Good night, Irene Good night, Irene I’ll see you in my dreams. We got our kerosene lamps and our painted tin cups An old two-stroke cycle we’re gonna fix up Got our cast-iron skillets and our faded blue jeans We just don’t know what it means.
3.
Sixpence 04:31
It’s five o’clock in Budapest last night the moon rose in the west you can probably guess the rest I'm pretty sure the world is ending on Saturday in Aberdeen the king will call upon the queen to go and fetch the guillotine but she is busy mending the tablecloth he set alight in the wee hours of their wedding night and oh! it gave them both a fright to see that table burning and as the smoke rose to the east the servants set upon the feast and ate the flaming wildebeest for which they had been yearning So sing a song of sixpence, pocketful of rye Four and twenty blackbirds and it’s ten to one you’re gonna die So light you up a cigarette and use the match to light the coals on fire It’s five o’clock in Istanbul and with their giant bellies full my enemies are dying wool to match their blackened spirits and rigging up on hidden wires a plot to bring down fake empires a paper moon is set on fire but no one will go near it and as it rises to the west your lover calls from Budapest but you dare not answer lest the neighbors overhear it and soon the firemen will come and find that match, that smoking gun but by that time the deed is done, there is no need to fear it So sing a song of sixpence, pocketful of rye Four and twenty blackbirds and the oven’s turned up high And they’re packing up your winter clothes they’re asking who you knew the most they’re talking to your lover and they’re calling her a liar It’s five o’clock in Tel Aviv and my colleagues there cannot believe the circumstances that surround my sudden leave of absence They heard about the arson scene and something ‘bout the king and queen but then it all gets quite obscene and slipped into the past tense and so my enemies remain. The queen will go out in the rain and cut the rope, to free the blade and watch the structure crumble a nd the ashes of that great device she rubbed upon my forehead twice and kissed me with those lips of ice that were once heard to mumble Sing a song of sixpence Pocketful of rye Four and twenty black birds Never gonna fly
4.
In the beginning there was light God made it out of darkness It was good or so they say And all the people fold their hands Rest their heads on one another Yes and they begin to pray In the beginning there was cold There was emptiness and loneliness It stretched into foreverness Where nothing really was Until nothingness receded And something else came into being And the story goes: that it was: love In the beginning there was you There you were all by yourself And I heard that it was true You didn’t miss having anybody else In the beginning there was sorrow There was scorn and there was fear We were thrown out of the garden so we held each other near And we tied ourselves together and we held each other tight and we stared up at the light In the beginning there was music These were the songs that you would sing As I sprawled across your bedroom floor and the world began to spin There was rain upon the window There were clouds across your eyes There were creatures in the oceans There were birds up in the sky And so you sit down at your desk to write / this tragic tale, this hero’s plight / on through the never-ending night / the march goes slowly forward / And the narcissistic daily plot / newspapermen had nigh forgot / for seeing only what they sought / the truth went unreported / And the atavistic conqueror / who sought to settle every score / knew not what nature does abhor / and promptly was escorted / And my demons too were exorcised / The hounds of hell are euthanized / and all of us have alibis / the soldier’s sons retorted / And onward paranoia creeps / we pray the lord our souls to keep / and count the electronic sheep / the shepherd will be bringing / And drink from the forgotten cup / but cannot blur our minds enough / to let our souls be covered up / while to the earth we’re clinging / And gravity will be recalled / the ground will rise, the sky will fall / we’ll climb up on the highest wall / and hear the bells a-ringing / And our lungs fill up with pesticides / our synapses electrified / my tongue has been anaesthetized / and still I can’t stop singing (Nobody knows where I am)
5.
Well I said I had work to do / I could not accompany you To your girl friends’ to-do in Duluth So you took off alone / And I unplugged the phone And I took down the gin and vermouth In the space of three days / I wrote seventeen plays Twelve were tragedies, five were romantic Plugged the phone in on Monday / hungover and hungry, It took seventeen rings ‘til you answered / and I said, What the hell happened to us? We used to be perfect together And what the hell happened to you? You went and you changed And what the hell happened to life? It used to be better And what the hell happened to me? Well I’m still just the same Soon as we got off the phone ya caught a case of pneumonia And didn’t come home for a month So I drove up to see ya / brought a jar of tequila, And I sat on your porch and got drunk. Your friends said you had gone out / they did not know your whereabouts, Nor whom you were likely to see Said you were looking quite well / they didn’t know you were ill, And they’d never heard you talk about me So now I don’t go to work and I don’t go to church and I Don’t hardly get out the house But I been writing these letters to my elders and betters I see fit to deliver myself / And they say, What the hell happened &c.? So now I’m on the phone with my lawyer / you’re out in the foyer I can hear you stomping your boots But I won’t come out to kiss you / or tell you I missed you Cause what is the point of the truth? And when one thing is over / another begins It’s the second one this song is for And so starting today I wrote seven more plays But I guess that you’ve read them before Cause they say, What the hell happened &c.?
6.
Jericho 05:37
Sat on the porch / Watched the telephone wires Throwing sticks in the yard / I’d like to light the whole place on fire Made me a drink / Now I’m watching the ice cubes dismember If this city burns down / I wonder if I will remember I lived here Built me a wall / I’d like to hide out behind it Break my guitar / Put it where no one can find it And when the war begins / I’ll be up high in my tower Contemplating original sin Throwing sticks o’er the wall at the top of each hour And watching the masses / Huddled below Darling young lasses with faces aglow As they gather the willows / Tie them with lashes Lighting the torches to burn me to ashes And if your name was Woodrow / And my name was Katherine Would we still be sitting here / Hopped up on aspirin? And smoking our cigarettes / Drinking our whiskey Each wondering, will the good lord e'er forgive me When the walls, when the walls come tumbling down When the walls, when the walls come tumbling down When the walls, when the walls come tumbling down When the walls come tumbling down When the walls When the walls come tumbling down And if I told you I loved you Would I be a liar? And would you light the match For my crematory fire? And if you had a trumpet Would you raise it to your lips? Would you blow?
7.
Everyone makes a mistake or two I don’t mind waiting for you You be the hammer, I’ll be the nail Everyone’s got a secret to tell Some of them happy and some sad as hell I’ll be the raindrop / you’ll be the pail I’ll be the bird flying over the city at night if you’ll be the electrical wire I will land I’ll be that old pocket watch Tucked away in the drawer that is locked Trying to find how to get myself back in your hands Everyone can’t sleep at night The sky is a flickering light I’ll be the kettle if you’ll be the flame Everyone’s got their ear to the ground I’ll be here when you come back around You be the steam engine, I’ll be the train I’ll be the bird &c. On the day before the day I go I will sit with you beneath the falling snow You be the hourglass, I’ll be the sand On the day before the day we part You will lay your head on my beating heart I’ll be the ocean if you’ll be the land And on the day before the day I die Won’t you take me down to the riverside Let that cool water run through my hands

credits

released October 3, 2013

All songs written by Rob Anderson
and arranged by Day Laborers & Petty Intellectuals
© & ℗ 2013 Robert Anderson
Recorded at home in Georgetown Heights
between January and July 2013
Mixed by Don Farwell at Earwig Studios
Mastered by Levi Seitz at Black Belt Mastering
Band photographs by Sam Smith

We are grateful to Alice Pedersen, Daimon Eklund, Gray Pedersen and Anabel Cole, and all of our friends, family, and supporters who made this record possible. Thank you.

Rob Anderson - guitar, lead vocals
Jessie Kindig - flute, piccolo, glockenspiel, vocals
Tim Thomas - bass, percussion, vocals
Kirsten Snyder Eklund - violin, cello, vocals
Alex Hoeplinger - drums
Peter Jordan - trumpet

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Day Laborers and Petty Intellectuals Seattle, Washington

Day Laborers and Petty Intellectuals is a six-piece folk-apocalypse band from Seattle, WA, featuring cello, violin, theremin, bucket drumming, and four-part harmonies, not to mention heartfelt songs about love, life, and the end of the world. DL&PI has been bringing their cacophonous blend of indie rock, folk, punk, country, and jazz to the barrooms and bedrooms of the Puget Sound since 2012. ... more

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