1. |
Smoke Season
08:57
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When the windows broke you got glass in your mouth.
It's fine, it's fine — it's like you bit your cheek.
The sickening crunch of your blank hitting blank.
It wasn't that bad, there was
just so much blood.
What is the sky for?
What does the sky do?
Seeking and not finding is still finding.
Blank squares of black paper in marbled envelopes.
Succor comes from unexpected quarters.
A song about loss that
isn't about grief.
What is the sky for?
What does the sky do?
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2. |
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You hate recounting your dreams,
so we'll do it for you.
You dreamt of ravages, and the screams
of the damned, and your indifference thereunto.
You dreamt of knuckles scattered like seeds,
broken down doors,
a swarm of starlings that hungered for the eyes
of your loved ones,
and told you so, and told you so, and told you so.
And nothing to do but wait.
Nothing to do but wait.
You can't sleep when it's quiet,
but it's so loud now.
The wrenching out, the caving in, the hoving to
of great dark shapes on a dark ground.
As a child, everybody in your life
told you constantly and with apparent glee how
at any moment the sky would open up
and something awful and implacable would scream down.
And nothing to do but wait.
Nothing to do but wait.
In the morning, a curve a curve a curve:
three great downed limbs in your front yard,
and the things that came through here long gone,
leaving you standing and blinking.
When you should have
locked your fingers
into their matter fur
and ridden like a burr
into whatever night remained.
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3. |
Spider Season
05:20
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Unknown co-conspirators, overcome by fumes, unknown co-conspirators.
Unknown co-conspirators, the Distant Early Warning Line, unknown co-conspirators.
Banking steeply off to the east away from the population centers.
A morning full of falling down.
A morning full of falling down.
When you got back to the car, the situation had changed:
the difference was like night and even darker night.
Your gathering awareness of a dull, hollow, intermittent slap —
as of someone splitting wood.
A morning full of falling down.
A morning full of falling down.
You presented your credentials for safe passage.
The guard gave you the evil eye but waved you clear.
You presented your credentials for safe passage.
You feel so fortunate that this isn't happening here.
A morning full of falling down.
A morning full of falling down.
The celebration of raw power, the denial of truth —
normal people in the grip of bizarre ideas.
Wound, flay, butcher, slay, murder without let or stay.
Wound, flay, butcher, slay, murder without let or stay.
A morning full of falling down.
A morning full of falling down.
And spider season starts earlier every year,
and there's more of them, and they're bigger,
and maybe you should move back to Colorado.
But there are black widows there.
A morning full of falling down.
A morning full of falling down.
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4. |
Vargtimmen
06:25
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In vain, in vain, in vain.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
To briefly wear a crown made of your hands.
A necklace of your thumbs.
In vain.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
Thrown from the car,
thrown to the wolves,
unrepentant to the end.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
Night night, Anne, night night.
Say bye, Heather.
Night night, Anne, night night.
Say bye, Heather.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
You didn't kill him, he drowned.
You drowned him.
You didn't kill him, he drowned.
You drowned him.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
Invisible hands in invisible houses
invisibly rip limb from visible limb.
In vain, in vain, in vain.
In vain, in vain.
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5. |
Null Season
05:22
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6. |
Burning Skies
06:29
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And the air was alive
With piercing sound and burning skies
The horror did me good
The magic was on my side
And hot and cold ideas
Were running onto your eyes
Your sinking grey eyes
She shook his head like so much meat
The horror did me good
Time to exercise
Like ice about to melt
You empty yourself of everything
It's cold and grey again
Your body begins to fall
The color blinds your eyes
The flavor dulls your taste of anything
You try to break out
But something's just locked the door
You'll get blue eyes
If you stand too close to him
And if I jump for help
You'll die inside your dream
I love you like you love me not
I love you like you love me not
And the air was alive
With piercing sound and burning skies
The horror did me good
The magic was on my side
And hot and cold ideas
Were running onto your eyes
Your sinking grey eyes
She shook his head like so much meat
The horror did me good
Time to exercise
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7. |
Cannibal Season
05:37
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You've started sleeping on the floor
a couple nights a week.
Every day's emergence of a new worse thing.
You jerk your arm back involuntarily
at the unexpected touch.
You have to eat.
Everybody has to eat.
Feel yourself slip into magical thinking
about summer, about fate,
about how much you're drinking,
about the bruises, about the scrapes,
about the screaming.
You have to eat.
Everybody has to eat.
Your halfhearted pursuit of beauty or whatever.
The trail choked with foxglove swaying in the sun.
The moment has passed — all moments have.
You have to eat.
Everybody has to eat.
Good news: stop dreading, start grieving.
Good news:
you can stop dreading,
you can start grieving.
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8. |
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At the end of it all, you will ask yourself:
Why this particular beach?
Why this well-dressed man?
Why this scrap of paper,
with its distinctive font,
found months later in your
sewn-up fob pocket?
Evidence of itself, if of nothing else.
Has beauty fled this world?
Has beauty fled this world?
Shall you follow?
Shall you follow?
A sudden illness is slipped
into your food one night,
from which you will never recover.
A sudden sense of well-being
in this wan sunlight,
from which you will never recover.
At the end of it all:
a comb, some gum, a bus ticket.
Evidence of themselves, if even that.
Has beauty fled this world? Yes.
Has beauty fled this world? Yes.
Shall you follow? Yes.
Shall you follow? Yes.
Digitalis, digitalis, ouabain, ouabain.
Tamám shud, tamám shud, tamám shud.
At the end of it all, you will see yourself
carried to this beach
by a well-dressed man.
From a distance you'll watch
him lay you on your back.
From a distance you'll watch
you limply move your hand.
From a distance you'll watch
your pockets fill with sand.
From a distance you'll watch
your pockets fill with sand.
Has beauty fled this world? No.
Has beauty fled this world? No.
Shall you follow? No.
Shall you follow? No.
Has beauty fled this world? Yes|no.
Has beauty fled this world? Yes|no.
Shall you follow? Yes|no.
Shall you follow? Yes|no.
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Erich Zann / The Shrander Seattle, Washington
"His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, and the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, unrecognisable orgy that no pen could even suggest." — H.P. Lovecraft, The Music of Erich Zann
Erich Zann / The Shrander recommends:
Parallelograms
by Linda Perhacs
Beautiful and intensely idiosyncratic and essentially unknown for decades.
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Stretcher - USA Stretched Version (MR-060)
by Severed Heads
One of the first bands to baffle me in that special way that makes you want to remain forever confused.
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In 1993 my college roommate wordlessly handed me some cassettes that I still am not entirely sure were real. How could they be?
go to albumIf you like Erich Zann / The Shrander, you may also like:
In The Shadow Of The Monolith
by Doors In The Labyrinth
Grim atmospheres abound on this darkly gorgeous goth/darkwave LP from Pittsburgh’s Doors In The Labyrinth.
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The new album from L.A.’s Wayne Everett leans heavily into shimmery California pop, songs centered around beatific melodies.
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A Loveless Sunken Sun
by Corey King
Playful, cerebral, slightly off-kilter pop with rich sound detail and expansive atmosphere.
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