Sweet Oblivion – Lyrics & Notes
All songs (including lyrics) -©2002 by John Finan, except where otherwise indicated.
Contents:
Name In The Paper
Glory Up Ahead
Warning Signs
Through The Night
Invisible Man
So Warm
The ORPS Confusion Blues
Statue At The Starting Gate
Sweet Oblivion
State Of Bliss
T.O.Y.L.
Absentee
A Sky That Wasn’t There
Name In The Paper
Some of my musician friends and I are unaccustomed to seeing our names in print. This song is based on our different reactions to seeing our articles.
Got my name in the paper,
Got my picture on a page,
Where they wrote of my profession
And my home town and my age,
It was in the music pages,
Near the list of new CDs,
It will probably be as close as
Britney Spears will get to me.
Got a story in the paper,
And it was all about me –
It must’ve been a slow news day
In the land of the free..
They screwed up bad
With the black and color ink
So it looked a little off,
Like I’d had too much to drink.
The text was light
And the header was loud,
But my friends and family told me they were proud
That my name’s in the paper,
Though I wasn’t certain why,
I was scared it was the obits
But I did’t qualify.
And it wasn’t in the want ads-
I’m not trying to sell a boat,
And it wasn’t it the personals –
“White male seeking goat”…
Got a story in the paper,
And it was all about me –
It must’ve been a slow news day
In the land of the free..
It wasn’t too short
And it wasn’t over-long,
They got my name right
And the names of all my songs,
They did a great job
But it still bugs me-
Why would anybody want to see
My name in the paper
Just for playing my guitar?
I wasn’t even in a scandal
Or ejected from a bar,
Got a story in the paper,
And it was all about me –
It must’ve been a slow news day
In the land of the free..
I wrote this song in 1995 or 96. It”she closest thing to a spiritual song that I’ve ever done. This is not to say it’s religious, by any means – I hope there will always be a difference between “spiritual” music and “religious” music.
When the one I love is distant
And the distance can’t be closed,
I walk steadily towards her
On a path she never chose,
Turn the beacon on within me
And follow where she’s fled,
For I can see the glory up ahead.
When clutching hands surround me
And my patience pulls apart,
I can gather my emotions
In the strongholds of my heart
And tie them down securely,
My love will act as thread,
For I can see the glory up ahead.
The cynic deep within me
Says I must’ve lost my mind,
That I see hallucinations
Or I’m simply going blind,
But I can leave these feelings far behind.
When bitterness and anger
Make me less than what I am,
I can walk alone a while
And return a calmer man,
Wipe away the bitterness-
Leave love there instead,
For I can see the glory up ahead.
This is another older song – the lyrics date from the late 80s, and the music is from around 1994 or thereabouts. These are a series of unpleasant images, the likes of which are seen too often.
There were razors on the dance floor,
Waiting for a ballerina’s shoes,
There were riders on the coaster,
Unaware of all the missing screws,
There were swimmers in the river,
Miles from where they drove into the tide,
There were crooked politicians,
Getting re-elected as they lied.
And the warning signs were always there,
Devoid of all disguise,
But only to be seen with open eyes.
There were campers in the forest,
Trying to light a fire in the breeze,
There were lovers in an embrace,
Carrying a terminal disease,
There were preachers at the pulpit,
Trying to set the prices of our souls,
There were killers in the prison,
Smiling as they waited for parole.
And the warning signs were always there,
Devoid of all disguise,
But only to be seen with open eyes.
There were cracks in the foundation,
Long before the structure ever stood,
There were soldiers in the army,
Sworn to fight, but scared they ever would,
There were lines upon the pages,
Words that could destroy if they were read,
There was movement in the rubble,
Long before those buried there were dead.
And the warning signs were always there,
Devoid of all disguise,
But only to be seen with open eyes.
My wife had some rough times over the past year. This was my attempt to try to help her through it. (The jury’s still out on how effective it was, but it was the thought that counted…) 🙂
It’s midnight and you still can’t fall asleep,
Your worries and your stress are rooted deep,
When peace of mind is nowhere in your sight
Lay down and I’ll hold you through the night.
The people in the world all seem so cruel,
And you’re searching for exceptions to the rule,
There’s comfort here, beneath the moon’s soft light-
Lay down and I’ll hold you through the night.
You’ve been taught to hold back stress that you can’t show,
But no one ever taught you how
To let it go.
You feel the world exists to block your way,
And there’s nothing you can hope for through the day,
If you’re trapped inside a tunnel, here’s a light-
Lay down and I’ll hold you through the night.
It hurts me when you hold on to your pain,
And all my words of hope and comfort
Seem in vain.
I cannot change the way your world revolves,
There are mysteries that I can’t help you solve,
But, though there’s nothing I can do to make it right,
Lay down and I’ll hold you through the night.
I wrote this song in 1998 (I think) after again reading “Memoirs of an Invisible Man” by H. F. Saint. I’m still fascinated by the detail in which the author describes the “real” issues of being invisible. If you can find a copy of the book, I highly recommend it. (Avoid, however, the terrible movie version with Chevy Chase. I doesn’t come close to doing the book justice.)
Invisible man on his very first day
Pauses at the window, heard him say
Somebody help me, I’ve faded away,
Nobody knows I’m here.
Invisible man, walking in the street
Learns not to hide from everyone he meets
No one can see from my head to my feet,
Nobody knows I’m here
(C):
Gotta be quiet, got no friends
Everyone thinks I’m just pretend,
Nobody knows, nobody knows,
Nobody knows I’m here.
Invisible man with time to kill
Steps in a locker room, looking for a thrill,
Can’t do anything, gotta stand still,
Nobody knows I’m here.
Invisible man with his cupboard bare
Goes to a restaurant, gourmet fare,
Cook passes out from spaghetti in the air,
Nobody knows I’m here.
Invisible man falls in love one day,
Tries to tell her and hears her say,
I don’t believe in ghosts, now go away,
Nobody knows I’m here.
Invisible man crossed between the lights,
Driver heard a thump but there’s no one in sight,
Broken at the curb and lost the fight,
Nobody knows I’m here.
The only other song that I know written about THIS particular subject (sometimes referred to as “afterglow”) was “After The Lovin” by Englebert Humperdink. I thought I could do better, so…
So warm in here…
We cover ourselves
With the shadows of a venetian blind
And a single rumpled sheet,
Scented with our mutual perfume-
We warm the room.
So warm in here…
We cool each other
With our gentle sighs of satisfaction
And the movements of the sheet,
Fanning dry the droplets on our skin-
So warm within.
And there’s no rest,
As moonlight draws my gaze
Across her tender breast
Rising with the day,
I find it so surprising,
Like secrets that we keep,
The joy of realizing
That we still don’t want to sleep.
So warm in here…
We press together
Like hands of one devoted clasped in prayer,
In a cathedral of our own,
Filled with only blood and flesh and bone,
Built on things gone by, of things unknown,
Sheltered from the hopelessness and fear-
So warm in here…
In most other instances, I’d probably side with an artist who was complaining that a BIG record label was screwing him. But after hearing the complaint that racism was responsible for the failure of his latest album, I’ll make an exception. Besides, he’s really getting creepy.
Once upon a time came a kid named Mike,
Grew up singing songs the whole world liked,
“I Want You Back”, and “I’ll Be There”,
and one called “Ben”,
We all kept hoping that he’d do it again,
But when I see him now, I don’t know what to do-
I’ve got the The Over-Rated Pop Star Confusion Blues.
“Thriller” came out and the public drooled,
“Billie Jean” and “Beat It” just sounded so cool.
So what’s a guy to do with all that love?
Put on flood pants, glitter socks, and just one glove.
And that’s the hand he’s grabbing himself with, too-
He’s got The Over-Rated Pop Star Confusion Blues..
I’m not sure when, and I don’t know why,
But he started wearing makeup all around his eye,
His nose got smaller, and his face got pale-
Something like the shade of a beluga whale,
He’s looking like a geisha girl now, it’s true,
He’s got The Over-Rated Pop Star Confusion Blues..
He’s got a great moonwalk, and I like his voice,
But his habits are a matter of a different choice,
Building rollercoasters out in Neverland,
Bidding on the bones of the Elephant Man,
Hanging with his friends from the nursery and the zoo-
He’s got The Over-Rated Pop Star Confusion Blues..
Now he’s staging a protest with The Reverend Al,
Because his label doesn’t treat him like their favorite pal,
Well, it wasn’t racism, and it wasn’t bad luck-
News flash to Michael: “Invincible” sucked.
And if you’re going to point fingers, then shame on you-
You’ve got The Over-Rated Pop Star Confusion Blues.
I had just finished studying the WRONG material for an exam, and discovered this fact about 15 minutes before the beginning of the exam. I spent that time sitting perfectly still in my car- not sleeping, but in a state of almost-meditation. It didn’t help me on the exam (I seriously bombed it), but it kept me from taking it while having a panic attack.
Another holding pattern-
I’m suspended in the air,
Ready for my destination-
No idea where.
Floating while absorbing
Every inch of atmosphere,
Poised and ready, showing
Neither bravery nor fear.
But there’s no sign of movement-
All I can do is wait,
Standing like a statue at the starting gate.
There’s motion all around me,
A blur that leaves me blind,
Exaggerates the stillness
In my body and my mind,
Like a raindrop on the highway
I can only run in place
While the traffic rushes by me
At a supersonic pace,
But there’s no sign of movement-
All I can do is wait,
Standing like a statue at the starting gate.
My destinations call me
With a warm and friendly voice,
The pathways there are open
To my will and to my choice,
I can wander any forest,
I can walk on any street,
I am clear of any barrier
That may fall beneath my feet.
Chalk it up to laziness,
Call it lack of skill,
Call it mere confusion-
You can call it what you will,
I’m only showing interest
In the way the world revolves,
In the souls of those around me,
And the puzzles left to solve.
But there’s no sign of movement-
All I can do is wait,
Standing like a statue at the starting gate.
An ode to good ol’ CRS (polite translation: Can’t Remember Stuff) – also known as Alzheimer’s Lite. There are way too many instances in life that this disorder would really come in handy…!
Too many flowers as expressions of regret,
Too many incidents I’m trying to forget,
Too many scars that were inflicted by my hand,
Too many arguments I still don’t understand,
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Too many chances that I didn’t think to take,
Too many lovely dreams from which I had to wake,
Too many one night stands and lovers from my past,
Too many heartaches that I thought would be my last,
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Let it rest, let it heal,
There’s so much that I don’t want to feel,
Let it fade, let it go,
There’s so much I wish I didn’t know.
Too many hours spent away from family,
Too many of their smiles that I could never see,
Too many sad songs that I’ve written through the years,
Too many letters written through too many tears,
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Won’t you take this all away?
Oh, sweet oblivion,
Let me start again today…
Written at BlissFest (Cross Village, MI.), July 2001. I skipped an evening of shows to force myself to write. Charlie came up with his harmony and mandolin part later that evening.
Sunlight through the dust along the road,
Painting brilliant colors on the clouds,
I’d love to paint from that same brush,
But I don’t think I’m allowed.
I am near the meeting of the lakes,
Where the waters move so quickly and so clear,
Where the sound of my own footsteps on the ground
Is the only sound I hear.
Am I dreaming?
Only wondering
How I ever came to this
State of Bliss.
Straining as the daylight fades away
To write down the unusual and rare
Feelings for the places that I go
And the souls for whom I care.
Am I dreaming?
Only wondering
How I ever came to this
State of Bliss.
I premiered this song to a group of musicians jamming at my friend Art’s house in 1999. What made it a bit uncomfortable was that, as I started the song, ALL the other men in the group left to get snacks, beer, etc., leaving me to sing the song for an all-female audience- most of whom I had just met. Leslie Frederick has the most accurate description of the song, but I can’t print it here. Ask her sometime.
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
When you close your eyes, it’s like a forest in the rain,
You’re falling through the bushes, but you feel no pain,
As the skies split open and threaten to drown,
And you dance in the waterfall coming down,
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
It’s like trying the water with the tip of your toe,
Trying to decide just how far you’re going to go,
You splash around so curiosity’s fed,
But you dive back in until you’re over your head.
It’s like walking through the Louvre, but it’s all “hands-on”,
The ropes are all down, and the guards are all gone,
Touching every landscape, just to change the season,
And making Mona Lisa smile for a reason.
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
It’s better than French, and easier to swallow,
It’s better than Greek, and easier to follow,
It’s better than Thai, but your tongue ain’t burning,
It’s better than butter, but you do less churning,
It’s better than Cajun, it’s better than Creole,
It’s more than a mouthful, but a hell of a meal…
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
I’m hungry for the taste of your love, hungry for the taste of your love…
This is another song written just before a class. During this particular week, I was probably home only 2 days. I was going to write about coming home and having my wife and daughter greet me as “John who?”, but this came out instead.
The streetlights come alive
With the setting of the sun,
The evening winds inhale
For the job they haven’t done,
It’s dead and cold and dark
In the place we call our home,
When you walk back through the door,
And you find yourself alone,
And late tonight I’ll come home
And hold you close to me,
And try to show I’m more
Than just a loving absentee.
The time is passing quickly-
All the months have longer names,
My skin and bones are changing,
While my habits stay the same,
Following a schedule
My youth could never keep,
Grasping out at passing life
And letting go of sleep.
When sleep arrives, I feel like
A man I shouldn’t be,
Which leaves you feeling like I’m
Just a loving absentee.
We’ll find ourselves together
In some other time and place,
Away from our distractions,
And without a need for space,
Without the hours of waiting,
Without the miles to drive,
Without the pain of wondering
If our love can stay alive.
How soon this can happen
We can only wait and see,
But let me prove I’m much more
Than a loving absentee.
This song broke a 6 month writing block and got the ball rolling for the rest of the songs on this CD. But if events such as those on 9/11 are what it takes to accomplish this, I’d gladly give up writing for good.
This song was the last one I recorded with my old 4-track system. I upgraded to digital shortly afterwards, and considered re-recording this song. Since I really didn’t have the heart to go back there, I decided to include the 4-track version as my own small memorial.
They’re climbing over concrete
And massive chunks of steel,
They’re climbing through a triage
For a hurt that cannot heal,
They’re climbing through a building
That vanished into air,
They’re climbing in the sunlight
From a sky that wasn’t there.
They’re asking lots of questions,
They mention lots of names,
They’re screaming accusations
Of hatred and of blame,
They’re crying out for closure
To endings so unfair,
Their voices only rise
Into a sky that wasn’t there.
If wishing on a shadow
Could bring back even one,
I’d make a wish in New York
That I’d never see the sun.
They pray for Washington D.C.,
And Pennsylvania, too,
They pray for those who saw the end,
And did what they must do,
They pray for all the volunteers,
They pray for those who care,
And hope that someone hears them
In a sky that wasn’t there.
ALL SONGS WRITTEN BY JOHN FINAN
Recording and songs © by John Finan
GEEK STUFF:
Recording Equipment:
Fostex VF-16 Digital Recorder
Apple iBook SE (Macs rule!)
Felt Tip Sound Studio software
Cad/Equitek E-200 microphone
Electro-Voice RE20 microphone
Behringer Eurorack MX1604 mixer
Johnson J-Station (guitar processing)
dbx 266XL Compressor/Gate
Tascam 246 4-track (original equipment for Track 13)
Polk speakers (muchas gracias to Jim Anderson)
Instruments Used:
(guitars)
Ovation 1861 Standard Balladeer
Ovation 6751 Standard Balladeer 12-string
PRS Santana SE
Rickenbacker 330/12
Abilene mandolin
Ensoniq SQ-2 keyboard (also for percussion)
Kramer bass