“Something, Nothing, Everything” features a Phil Calvert urban field recording.

“Maybe We’ll Fly” was written by Laura Marks and Frederick Moore.

“Waves” was written and produced by Phil Calvert and Frederick Moore. 

“A Dream Loop” was written by Anna Homler and Frederick Moore.

Except where noted, all material was written and performed by Frederick Moore.

1. Something, Nothing, Everything

2. The Sermon on the Crawl

3. A Nation in Decline

4. Quay

5. Heimweh

6. Maybe We’ll Fly

7. Oswego

8. Waves (with Phil Calvert)

FM, voice and electric piano

Phil Calvert, guitars and bass

Mark Griskey, drums

Recorded by Phil Calvert

9. A Silvertone Serenade

10. Coffee Cup/Ash Tray

11. A Lewiston, New York/70’s Thing

12. A Dream Loop

13. The Zoe Elevator

Karl Voss and Everett Rosecrans,  pianos

14. Carmelita

15. Ricercar


 

Something, Nothing, Everything

Heimweh

Released in 2013

Quay

In the bay

Could be seen a hint of something floating.

From the quay

An iridescent patch of shifting ocean.

The sun and smog had found their way

To turn to sepia a fading day in time.


In the breeze

A dozen pelicans went warm and gliding.

On the waves

A tide of consequence had sent them climbing.

In a form of perigee,

Like spheres aligned in syzygy in time.


In the bay

The eddies spun away in soundless motion.

Breaking waves 

Struck the jetty’s side but stilled an ocean.

The sun and smog had found a way

To turn the water to a purple shade in time.

Oswego

Three rented rooms upstairs from a pawnshop,

Two plastic bowls filled with plastic fruit.

Her stay-home dad obsessing on watergate,

Her nightshift, stay-out mom sleeps until noon.

In tenth grade she sleeps with her boyfriend.

He likes to talk, and when he breaks it off,

She becomes the village lewd dream.

Strange calls from passing windows,

Whistling and laughing shadows,

Older girls openly mock her,

Condoms taped onto her locker.

Humiliation humor,

Her name the standard punchline.

Prudish, acquiescing teachers

Tolerate the grotesque rumors.


For two full years she moves to a zombie song.

She learns to walk as if she doesn’t hear.

The other girls go out with their boyfriends,

With whom they do what normal girlfriends do.

Graduation day, a bunch of them puke on her.

She’s had enough of this cold town. 

She steps onto that gorgeous greyhound.

Ride west out to Chicago,

Southwest to Colorado,

Start a life where no one knows you,

Live in periodic motion.

Tend bar just north of Ogden.

Phone bank out west in Stockton.

Move down south to San Diego,

Just don’t think back to hard Oswego.


In the times of the old they were bred and then offered, 

Anointed in oil, sacrificed to the meanness,

That brought them together, vindictive and focused;

They stood on the sideline and watched it happen. 

He could see from the side her intelligent eyes, 

They were open and wide with a need to confide.

Just a wan little girl with her face in the snow;

He stood on the sideline and let it happen.

We stood on the sideline and let it happen!


Two thousand one, she works for the home loan.

Her Portland home consisting of two rented rooms.

There’s an old cat, who follows her everywhere,

But the men go off–or she sends them off–too soon.

On her bad days an image can take her down:

That little girl, face in the snow,

She falls into that looping head dream.

Stray dogs and yellowed dentures

Hiss hate from dripping shadows.

Feral childresn strip and stalk you.

Feral mother loathe and mock you.

Go west, out past Chicago.

Move on to Somewhere, Nowhere.

Make a home where no one knows you,

But don’t look back to cold Oswego.

                    The Sermon on the Crawl


We’d done our best; we’d seen and done it all,

Like guitars left untuned for silhouettes of ourselves.     

But it was there; it was there as it had always been there.

Still, we might have hoped for something bigger than ourselves.

He was tiny, he was hungry, he was drifting like a spore.

His mother and her boyfriend lying passed out on the floor.

“It’s a lovely day.”


I did what I did; now what about you?

How had we become so unfamiliar with ourselves. 

Like feralized children who can never look back,    

Till in time their black ball of bland, objective truth implodes.

The big guy’s words are from his Sermon on the Crawl:

“It’s not the time to line our swine against the wall.

On such a lovely day.”


We’ve never looked back; we’ve thrust ahead,

We’ve been groping through one slow-moving cloud,

    cold but beautiful.

Now we’re going dark where the patterns can’t lie.

Even now I’d have to say there’s goodness all around us.

Losers and their losses,

Explain to me in one voice how all of these things

     can be true at the same time.

It’s all around us, there’s goodness all around us.

So let’s forget it all, there’s goodness all around us.


Heimweh

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Return to Burned Tongue Recordingshttp://burnedtongue.com