We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Choral Soliloquies (II)

by Stephen Mead

/
1.
You're Asleep 03:37
lyrics
buy track
You're Asleep I think On automatic pilot In a commuter plane. Flying at night is the most peaceful thing. These lights are our own Tivoli, A cathedral of sky. Going so deep While floating as if through glass As it forms, is to apprehend How significant smallness can be, Meaning us in this vast cavern, Meaning those spires, T hose good window faces—Look—down there in the dark. That dark is as good as chocolate & maybe we are almonds For some god to swallow, Unless perhaps it’s already happened & here we are in the thick Of god’s roomy bowels.… When I say God I mean you, so Move over, you air-bound Dutchman, Dozing at the controls, Your headphones on Wagner. Someone’s paging us from his booth On another jet I cannot see. Listen, it must be long distance & I think you better wake up. I think maybe we are like prayers That voice now needs.
2.
Long Ago 02:12
lyrics
buy track
Cold hands Warmed by another, Always someone warmer In that once going on... Returning is a glass path Across that bridge With no thought of: Make it different. Not then anyway. Not this time, Its particular past lasting Long as it takes to put One finger against still lips. Ssh. But they do not tremble. Ssh. But they do not speak, & time Curves over, holds the warm heart Inexperienced but for fear & Liking that slight touch More than many things given, More than the giving back by Nature anyway----- Being there, yes, just All for the being
3.
Curfews 03:25
lyrics
buy track
Curfews Fountain over granite, the engraved names ripple: time, in their own time, and the time running past… Black outs, the heavy drapes, edges pressed smooth, almost rigid, so the light couldn't couldn't—— What was that? Ssh. Ssh. Every rustle gives off footsteps voices breaths like a match and there's a lot of branches, vines to be caught in as if by a search light in the middle of the street We met I remember a parachute's descent, the too vulnerable skin and thinking, though scar soft, I'd cut hair, wear a uniform, board the train, plane, tank or go down in trenches dreaming a campfire under nights (curtains) so close (curtains) no rocket (the names) could hope (names we) to explode us (whispered)
4.
What the Good Soldier was Told not to Recall 03:55
lyrics
buy track
What The Good Soldier Was Told Not To Recall Down in the dirt, mud oozing, miles of inches, bodies, khaki-coated but flesh, close, emitting steam, open wounds Over which some surgeon warms hands… Rains, bullets, hit swamp basin silt, limbs Grapple., grope guns, spill pell mell… Fingers ripple, black reflections, come across Dog tag, wedding ring, thumb… Above copters whoop----- If photographed, stumbled upon, this would be a document The saner world salvaged. But People forget war means taking sustenance, leaving It orphaned, shell shocked. Witness it, buddy, give breath Here in these trenches… In a minute, leap, jolted Frog trembling, falling, choking Unconscious on alien American-stained land. Afterwards, weeds flower, flourish, the voices Of souls silenced in asylums homegrown
5.
Grand Adventure 04:36
lyrics
buy track
Grand Adventure Which life is this? Like stars, a little snow’s drifting by: flakes, flakes. From them I settle down, now in a jungle, suddenly some freedom fighter. Pretty interesting liberation, for a woman. For once I can do more than cook their gruel or apply a soothing compress when fevers proliferate. Not that such things weren’t enough. I’d be doing them still if all the men in my family hadn’t been taken, and “for questioning”. None came back. So what is this cause, just some delusion to which I may, like a voice, have some small part? This gun feels like power. The militia comes in. I make my target. My, how death comes in, undistinguished, too quick to be sharp. Here is my next phase, transported, a gypsy, to some gymnasium ballroom, a dollar a dance. It’s not much, but it pays, pays for my kid’s lunches, helps Mama fight the roaches and the landlord, like these guys, my “clients”, rather lost and a bit pesky. It’s amazing though, how easy I can make them smile. Only twice has someone wanted more. The first time I just let it happen. After the second I developed instinct, took a course and now know how eyes can be gouged, throats broken, noses bloodied. Quite useful stuff I never hope to use. Instead, I dream of leaving, work at not being a victim while, hovering above, some new incarnation waits. Often I think it’ll be a comic fantasy. I’ll become a crusader wearing some big furry pink rabbit costume hopping down upon armies or, more importantly, their Presidents. Mostly though, I plan on flying, unbound, high and alone. I’ll keep clear of civilization. I’ll consort with the angels, a celestial primitive with very deep, if weathered, faith.
6.
Hard Sell 02:58
lyrics
buy track
Hard Sell The big turn on. How much you put out? Honey, open 24 hrs., a regular crackejack rbox. Cash up front. Easy does it. Don’t want to forfeit the prize now, do you? We’ll make it smooth .. No. I ain’t fakin. I aim to please. You wanna ½ shell, pom poms, a nun’s habit? Pretend then. Set down that belt. All right, but it’ll cost extra. Stretch marks? Yea. So what? Gotta kid too, lives with my Mama. She keeps his nose clean, sends me pictures. Care to see? Didn’t think so. Nah. Nothing personal. Of course this is business. Used to it? Sure. Hell, what else you expect me to say?
7.
This is not a Mine 02:26
lyrics
buy track
This Is Not A Mine Is it thunder, that rumble, or more heaving like before? How many days it has been since the ceilings slid, sealing this basement. We were fortunate in a way. At least here there are tins, pickled preserves, & my smart sister with her candles, with her jack knife, who knew... When the tremors started she said it felt like a premonition and hurried us, all of us, even the cat, scratching while being pulled along. Later, we waited, in fact are still waiting now, singing songs, telling stories to ward off the silences, those claustrophobic coats. How much air, time is left? Did our parents survive? What’s it like up above? Listen. Again there’s that shaking, dust from the rafters, the baby crying and, “Move to the wall!” My sister orders. “Or the archway. It’s strongest.” How can she do it? My god, something’s clawing, cracking in—— voices , a flashlight. I thought I was too numb even for these
8.
Assassinations 03:23
lyrics
buy track
Assassinations I’m not totally unconscious. I know that, & that The something awful has happened, The too-often inevitable, the one of Love’s worst fears. I’m not quite afraid though of course The shock system has taken over, The rush of dopamines, all that Science stuff----- & yet some senses are lingering Certain neurons, the nerves Tangential tips…. From this point I mostly hear, hear The picture, winds of murmurs at first A roar, a form of jostling Becoming a car, a platform, stair-like, Now a flat conveyer lowered As I rise-----I am rising, aren’t I----- But in the deep, mainly spirit, cradled Supine, my head on some lap, the tender Feathers of fingers sweeping (hold) Beseeching (on) nearly or Suggesting (ok) it’ll (let go) Be all right… I know that voice, now mainly a Whisper, nearest dear There’s such a flood I’m above Tunneling like waves stars over How dark the boat’s glass hull Remembering entirely finding Almost there (light) every Summer on the river (light) now (light) I am embarked
9.
Victim #29 04:19
lyrics
buy track
Victim #29 They brought his body on a forklift Because there were so many crates, So many names to keep track of As if this was a factory which, I see now, maybe it is. Last night I had that dream again: A silver bird in the night sky, serene Over the Atlantic. Strange, trying to Wake, but I knew what was coming, How the immense belly, in close up, Would open & then, as though filmed From a distance, seem so small, Almost a dot though Something else happened: a suspended Spider, say, laying eggs Except this was a plane & the confetti Dropped Were lives before the explosion which, Last Christmas, was the only actual thing. It still is, this year too, though I try To make an effort every day, those blessed Moments I’m not pissed at the government, The air lines, who were warned, who should Have looked, knowing the make, a SONY Radio which encased the bomb… No use blaming just the terrorists, who believe They are at war, really feel it as so, with the innocents They take simply soldiers unassigned yet Dying because war is about loss. Yours has been the hardest, yours & The others I think of these nights, breathing the fire, The stars, cold flares I must see with your eyes, Must see & keep with me so as to hold all you loved & you did love life
10.
Deserter 02:31
lyrics
buy track
Deserter Prove me wrong—— the charges, the light brigades too quickly dimmed: on either side, advancing uniforms, picked picked off—— Numbers ticking on a work camp list, names misplaced & then the pages—— Letters, novels, biographies, who will write history? Snow songs, sand songs, tropics of green, of mud, an ocean, these landscapes, waves singing lives. Shelter, food, loved ones smuggled, deported, sold—— People will do anything, anything, & I have no more taste for war, Mother Courage.
11.
Heading Home 02:52
lyrics
buy track
Heading Home Lying in the back seat, my parents, up front, murmur now and then. Mom criticizes Dad's driving. Dad speeds up just to egg her on or, perhaps, appeases—— "Yes dear, yes." Turns on Easy Listening. Their voices go lower. The rear window rises, gains prominence, darkens for stars, for blinking jet lights. Different trees wave, encircle this portal, a still clear screen amid motion. It rocks, rocks imperceptibly as I watch shadows rippling over. Later, older, alone with each other, we inherit these expected front seat positions. It's a graduation of sorts, this cruising over blue moonlit highways, a rite of passage detailed by Frankie crooning, a small second hand companion to keep us from falling asleep at the wheel.
12.
721486! 03:59
lyrics
buy track
721486! Clock on. You’re being paged, A year, a movie reel. Tin sealed It in, a nice cool quiet slumber. That was the life! We were “The Misfits”. Montgomery Clift. Marilyn, at their good ripened Cheese stage, one the thin-skinned Punch drunk poet, the other tender as ever. Off the set, their personal worlds Were crumbling, human, a surplus of Dichotomy. Now, On the wall, projected flat cut outs, Two figures writhe: Clark Gable and his Horse, a rope between tethering both. To wrestle the majestic and have The toughness be sensitive----- To get dragged, dodge hooves, then Bring down the stallion bucking, is To know wildness has dignity: Gable, bleeding, winded, honoring Respect, cutting Pegasus loose. On The road, driving back, Monty, in my mind’s Eye, a stray to be held, Clark and Marilyn, A pair dissimilar but oddly connected by some Dog and three horses in front, the car, a Seed pod, the wind, a runway, home-delivered By the largest star in all of that black, and us, Just a couple of screen hounds equally searching For meaning amid a sticky floor and creaking Velvet seats… Oh movie buff, matinee chum, can you dare Envision, remember? I can and speak of it. Instead of a number, We each had a name
13.
Ringings 02:59
lyrics
buy track
Ringings These are bells. These are candles, & hands Play their part, hands from the library, Hands from the garden. They have much work, much work: A laying on. Something’s to be rung, lit. Something’s to be kneaded, consoled: A flesh summons. What is it they want? For nothing have they come? I have seen them in brass, in ivory slopes. I have seen them painted & in close up, unnamed. Saints have so many transformations From which light emanates, ready to show A white potato to someone who’s been flogged. Out of darkness, roots, the febrile streams. They dig ditches, brew tea, make beds. They are dignified as wood. What circle are they joining? What songfest on the lawn? Are they tending to a ritual, cutting swathes, Winding sheets? There’s a sort of bird catching up to them, A sort of dragon wheeling over, baring sound, Winds of wings ‘til the pitch is overwhelming & they reel in a fury of radiant slow motion. Look up. Look up. The terror of it, the glory.
14.
Stories 04:47
lyrics
buy track
Stories “Smashing things, girls”, and sometimes he meant it literally, with roses and presents afterwards… That was the man at the table next to us: A rooftop restaurant, revolving big picture Window views, the dark sparkling and slowly Blotted by fog…. Horns, I imagined or playing rainy pans Those cold watery days, with the mind still, By voices, sandblasted----- “Just let me see your face,” said the kid when, “Don’t look at me,” the woman’s fire-escape shaded head turned away… “Couldn’t you just love me?’, asked the song, some sincere background vocalist… “I’m surprised to still be alive.”----- Accidental involvement: martinis clinking, the bands waltz plucking the blare of taxi cab fanfare for the luck of lovers spilling out upon streets… susceptible wintry skin above clothing consumed enlightened or disfigured by thought… “Stormy Weather”, again went the stereo, my happiest Christmas so far, when you read me your poetry, whereas now, with an almost stranger, driving back, the wake behind….. “Please, I must ask you, would you like, if only you wouldn’t mind, my (your hands on the steering wheel) head (so firm and so steady) to simply rest it (the wipers and lights whooshing) there there (and shoulders) friendly-like, you see (such a good set) no come on, no (encyclopedic really) power play and thus he… (smashing things…your face…) I, (just let me see…don’t look) we all, (couldn’t you just…I’m surprised…) went (Stormy Weather) to sleep
15.
Lost 02:15
lyrics
buy track
Slow as congress, as war, Though the inner pace careens, A business, the same leftover Business picking up as if The start were different-- This is the rumor of change, This, a fresh breath, Blowing progress back Backwards angel, Progress, the storm, & I saw a guy, sweet Jesus, fallen Streetblown Onto a sewer before      Some bus Picked him up then      Circled, circled 'round & 'round 'cause it was lost      but he didn't know this      he was sleeping      sleeping easy, salvation      in the motion, dark      windows,      night city, lights      kind of like tears, star      spirals, star echoes, the speed of sound, & I, a seat behind, just as quiet, listened & watched for the way an angel may wake, come together with this pattern blowing blowing over the sky oceans old
16.
Four Spiritual Poems for Carillion 08:09
lyrics
buy track
Yellow Stephen Mead © 2005 A light to wake to, The eyes not open yet Though there is That particular cove Against the lids & Maybe a voice, husky Warm butterscotch Which is the sun Of whom, what The day may love Opus Cello melting, grey hazy purple in veins of emerald which drip & well later lucent on lips just left, eyes fading softly but for their glow hovering resonant towards some sun, sun, love, beyond reach Susurration The Bell of Mindfulness is what Buddhism tells of for us seeking peace as a forehead hand. Yours’ is laid blue as a dove's shadow and from it comes the quiet where I can hear song as prayers. Then the visions come true as stepping stones just barely visible under rapids. This name, that catches up to the faces as breeze to leaves in the reeds of these bones. Blow on souls so that my own spirit's straw turns to transparent pewter and tongue in the mouth of god. Stairs of Prayers one After another Built up As whisperings, The susurrus To God’s ear Being birds whales waves Of living in The littlest cells Busy with the work Of universes In ascension descension As we climb Slide on each other’s Faith of flesh Hoping for the answer, Love, that is already Everywhere

about

To order CDs via VISA or PayPal please visit stephenmeadmusic.weebly.com

More pieces-in-progress from my most vulnerable secret life:
Samples, loops, music as a layering, a pastiche...the sound collages which comprise "Choral Soliloquies" owe a great deal to those who created the samples and loops in the first place. I simply spent a lot of time with them as if given a sonic paint box to play with. Changing speed, pitch, volume, direction, or deciding to leave as is...trying one sample in conjunction with another, and with the poems as songs, trying to find the chord which resonated best with the words and timbre of voice...these aural experiments were also an experience for the spirit. I consider it fortunate to be immersed in these astral cinematic dreamscapes and to live in a time where such technology exists; where collaborations can occur between souls who have never met but are given an internet platform to put their creativity out there, often while remaining anonymous. In many ways that is why I still find the process of such works-in-progress to echo, oddly enough, old school ...the choral and the solitary, the alchemy of coming together for something larger... calling to both.

credits

released May 21, 2017

In addition to sounds/ instruments recorded in and around the house other sound files, before "tweaking", except where noted, are from FreeSound.org, contributors I.D. from site is in bold

You're Asleep mixed with 106830__cormi__sighed-01m, and gates of heaven_arigoth
Long Ago mixed with 161580__cormi__veena-a2-060
Curfews mixed 107847__cormi__restless-01a and 90182__timbre__remix-of-34301-vann-westfold-secundotempore2-1stbit-remix-3
What the Good Soldier was Told not to Recall mixed with Winston Churchill Excerpt, fifties web.com, 214340__cormi__oape-075, soldier cadences mixes clip.dj
Grand Adventure with 41691__hanstimm__thib02a-gh-m3-f1
Hard Sell with Arcadia slow, Kevin MacLeod, Incompetech.com
This is Not a Mine with 90182__timbre__remix-of-34301-vann-westfold-secundotempore2-1stbit-remix-3
Assassinations with 34301__vann-westfold__secundotempore2
Victim # 29 with 123810__piet-candeel-pandora-be__funeral-bells, 50087_ chipfork__chant01
Deserter with 184353__qubodup__martial-arts-u-s-army-training, arlington_David Sowers-soundscrapers, 124000__calpomatt__fallensoldier
Heading Home with 116801__cormi__impossibledream1-a
721486! with 50444__fruitcake-hotel__fh7 x 2 and 61521, 110423__sandyrb__female-vocal-unisono-e-02
Ringings with 105197__cormi__monks-04, 29933_ erh__amen
Stories with 41618_ loop_jus__cellos-down-down, 37737__quilt__quilt-electro-choral-pad
Four Spiritual Poems for Carillion, originally for Hack the Bells contest, edited music provided by Andrew_S._Allen, Andrew_V._Ly, Jenn_Wang, Paul_Coleman, 176130__maerkunst__sun Additional Choral samples with speed, direction, pitch etc, changes from Chrystomos

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Stephen Mead image

Stephen Mead Albany, New York

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published outsider artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. If you are at all interested please place his name in any search engine in conjunction with any of the above-mentioned genres for links to his multimedia work and merchandise. To order CDs via VISA or PayPal please visit stephenmeadmusic.weebly.com ... more

contact / help

Contact Stephen Mead

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

If you like Stephen Mead, you may also like:

Bandcamp Daily  your guide to the world of Bandcamp

On Bandcamp Radio

Saxophonist Isaiah Collier chats about his new LP and the influence of Pharoah Sanders.
listen now