Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
Work Hours
Monday to Friday: 7AM - 7PM
Weekend: 10AM - 5PM
Cover art based on a photo by Tennesee Witney.
Inspired by the story of Carl Kamp of Worcester’s Union Music, I think it’s a song any musician can relate to (though maybe it wasn’t for you a nylon string). But my original motivation was having heard something astounding to the point of being emotionally affected and wanting to swim in that sound – to just be part of it. And that’s the feeling we attempted convey in our song – surrounded by a loosely-based narrative.
There’s a form, below, if you want the forthcoming physical Little Levity XX CD – it’s $20 with shipping. Or head to Bandcamp to download the Wooden Nylon String Guitar single for $1 cheap.
The lyrics go like this:
Who could see the same guy
with the shame-filled alibi
Saying how he’s hard-up and then duck into the next-door tavern?
“Don’t,” his dad said, “judge him, but you – use your brain.”
While he worked, he was troubled by,
On the countertop what caught his eye,
Beside the bound-up “Vanity Fairs,” and the child-size mohair chairs,
What the worst-of-times had made to … throw away.
A wooden nylon-string guitar
like he’d heard played-on in like a symphony,
And when he brought it by his heart,
his heart unwound in sympathy,
And he could play – in only sound that flies away,
So just like everything – isn’t that the way?
He ran through the streets we know
For his mother cooking at the stove,
Throwing open the parlor shutters, he couldn’t wait to show his mother,
“Lookit, ma, look what pa gave me today!”
“Would it provide us sustenance?
Just music? Just instruments?”
He’d failed to tell them he dreaded the view of his neighbors struggling, somehow he knew
Beatles were coming? when he told them, “yeah, that too.”
A dad and son, some years more,
Walked into the music store,
He gave his son one, showed him to strum, ‘now, how’s about a different one?’
“Don’t,” the son said, “please don’t take this … one away.”
A wooden nylon-string guitar
like he’d heard played-on like a symphony,
And when he brought it by his heart,
his heart unwound in sympathy,
And he could play – in only sound that flies away,
So just like everything, just like everything – isn’t that the way?