recordings
On the Other Side of the Window
released fall 2003
Review Records, catalog #rere97cd
songs | musicians | label/distributor | liner notes | lyrics | reviews
songs
On the Other Side of the Window
Good Design
I’m Here (Secular Prayer #1) (mp3 available on downloads page)
How To (vocal and harmonica by Karen Mantler) (mp3 available on downloads page)
Distance
Tea Time (Secular Prayer #4)
Phantom Limb
Self Portrait
Out Here (vocal by Sport Murphy)
Seem the Same (Secular Prayer #5)
Grip
On the Other Side of the Window (instrumental)
Pastorale
musicians
David Garland: vocals, acoustic and electric bass guitar, piano,
vibraphone, acoustic and electric guitar, flutes, chord harmonica, analog
synth, accordion, bowed psaltery, percussion, drums, Taliesen quartzite,
branches, etc.
Karen Mantler: vocal and harmonica on “How To”
Michael “Sport” Murphy:
vocal on “Out Here,” backup
vocal on “Tea Time”
Meredith Yayanos: violin; vocal melismas
on “I’m Here”
Ron Horton: trumpet and flugelhorn
chorus on “...Window”: Anne
Garland, Kenji Garland, John Michael Riley, Aurelia Riley • singing
friends on “I’m Here”:
Mark Abbott, Chris Abbott, Brooke Abbott, Nigel Rollings, Carol Murikami,
Rob Schwimmer, Marty Cutler, Cinnie Cole, Meredith Yayanos, Anne Garland,
Kenji Garland • The Four Bags: special guests on the end of “Seem
the Same”
Music and lyrics by David Garland, except “Good Design” (music by Sport Murphy, lyrics by David Garland) and “Out Here” (music by David Garland, lyrics by Sport Murphy). Produced, arranged, and mixed by David Garland.. Engineering assistance: George Wellington, Edward Haber. Mastered by Peter Katis at Tarquin Studios • recorded in New York City 2001-2003, except all sounds in “Pastorale” recorded around and on Woods Pond, Maine (loon echo 100% natural). Vocals on “I’m Here” recorded on location(s).
label/distributor
No Man’s
Land/Review Records
Gerhard Busse
Strassmannstr. 33
D-10249 Berlin
Germany
Fax 49-(0)30-427-9532
liner notes
On this CD I’m working primarily with acoustic instruments—real sounds, played by hand—and working with themes (both lyrical and musical) which connect and intertwine to create a varied but tight-knit group of songs.
I’ve recorded three prior albums of what I call “control songs”—songs about our need, avoidance, and manipulation of that sense of control we all use to help us function. For “On the Other Side of the Window” the unifying theme is communication. In fact, I suppose you could say the songs are about our need, avoidance, and manipulation of that sense of communication we all use to help us function. This may sound very serious, but there’s humor in my music, too.
Comments on a few of the songs:
In the title track, On the Other Side of the Window, the window is an elemental symbol—the portal that reveals and separates. These lyrics, like the lyrics for most of the songs, are a mixture of conscious and unconscious choices, and were used without much revision.
Good Design—I arranged a few of Sport Murphy’s songs for his 2002 Kill Rock Stars album ‘Uncle.’ This was one which I later expanded on and wrote my own lyrics to. I went to Rhode Island School of Design (back when Talking Heads were there as ‘The Artistics’), and worked for 10 years as a graphic designer and illustrator.
I’m Here is one of a few “secular prayers” that appear on the CD. The song is about what it is—a song sung about singing in different situations. Each verse was recorded where stated: in Times Square, on the NYC subway, and elsewhere.
How To and Out Here were custom made for the people you hear singing them: Karen Mantler and Sport Murphy. Both Karen and Sport are tremendous songwriters with wonderful voices, and it was fun for me to write with their strengths in mind. Since on “Good Design” I had written my own words to Sport’s melody, I invited him to write the lyrics for my music on “Out Here.” Sport has had three albums of his songs released on Kill Rock Stars, and Karen (the daughter of composers Carla Bley and Michael Mantler) has several albums on Watt and one on Virgin.
I know it’s not a new idea to end an album with environmental sounds. It’s certainly been done effectively, like on the Beach Boy’s “Pet Sounds.” For Pastorale I was lucky enough to record the sound of a Common Loon singing to his own echo, bouncing back at him from the far shore of Woods Pond in Maine. The loon and the rest of his sonic environment conclude the album outside, on the other side of the window.
—David Garland, New York City, 2003
lyrics
copyright © David Garland
On the Other Side of the Window
The lifting crane,
the crowded train,
the slap of glue,
the rendezvous.
The pavement laid,
the payment made,
the traveled mile,
the answered smile.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
the letter mailed,
the job that failed,
the great success,
the warm caress.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
What was your intention? (repeated)
The building lot,
the cultish plot,
the conference room,
the bride and groom.
Cross-eyed seer.
Van Goghish listener.
Insulated toucher.
Mute-buttoned talker.
(shoe shod shambler)
What was your intention?
What was your invention?
What was your contention?
What was your convention?
What was your dimension?
What was your
—Don’t mention it!
The lifting crane,
the crowded train,
the slap of glue,
the rendezvous.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
Out there on the other side
of the window.
Good Design
Form and function
follow purpose,
purpose formed in shape
and line.
It results from your intention,
intent defined in your design.
Make a mark on your blank paper,
take a look at what you’ve found.
If it fails, then start all over.
Over all, your design is sound.
Over all, your design is sound.
Take a pencil, make a drawing,
drawing on what we’ve discussed.
Good design requires planning,
and plans require hope and trust
—and a little bit of future.
Every plan presumes there’s time to reach an outcome.
Why design a future if I’m living without one?
Nothing gets designed when I’m feeling resigned.
Lots of factors offer input.
Put ’em in perspective and let ’em combine.
Subject it all to distillation.
Then what’s left is your design
—and a little bit of future.
I’m Here
(Secular Prayer #1)
In Times Square I sing a song
to the people passing by:
I’m here.
You’re there.
Late at night I sing a song
to the empty hallway stairs:
I’m here.
You’re there.
On the phone I sing a song
to the people I love:
I’m here.
You’re there.
On the train I sing a song
to the travelers underground:
I’m here.
You’re there.
With my friends I sing a song
in three-part harmony:
I’m here.
You’re there.
We’re here.
How To
Fold along the dotted line,
tab A fits in slot 9
like your hand fits in mine.
Turn the gasket to the right,
secure it good and tight,
like when you say goodnight.
I have been hunting high and low
for the instructions that
might show
me how to build a birch bark canoe,
or a life here with you.
I just want to know how to.
My instruction manual
is written by our years of gestures, each a clue.
Look me in the eye and then just follow directions
and you too can know how to.
On page two-hundred
and nineteen,
at the top there’s a diagram
marked figure four twenty-three.
Multiply the vector of my gesture
and just add the end result
to all the crazy things I’ve done,
and all the crazy things
I meant to do.
By this formula we’ll muddle through,
and construe how to.
I must say I have to doubt
that you could figure out
what we are all about.
Just remember it was planned,
we moved at fate’s command
when you first held my hand.
Fate or volition, I don’t know
how to decode the ebb and flow
that draws us near
and pulls us apart,
shapes us each, mind and heart.
I just want to know how to.
Close your eyes
and then you’ll view
the map from me to you,
the answer to how to.
Distance
I can barely remember trees
blowing softly in the breeze.
Based on my calculations
and well-informed evaluations,
I should be there soon,
or the moon’s not lunar.
I think it’s OK to be
on my way away.
Turn around, and see how far
I’ve come.
Finite increments elapse;
gauges, dials, and maps.
Read out the specifications,
and watch the universe collapse (expand).
Distance, like a lot of
defining measures,
offers arcane pleasures
to the statistician in our hearts.
Hold me closer, closer, closer,
closer still.
Now let me go.
There, in between release
and hold,
time stands still a while,
and then grows old.
High in the sky
stars exemplify
how hard it is to reply.
Antique starlight shines
on me now.
Light years further back,
where it came from,
new light is starting out.
Tea Time
(Secular Prayer #4)
Here’s my teapot.
It’s not so short or stout.
It helps me figure out my life.
When I’m uncertain,
doubting the worth of me,
pour me a cup of tea.
Let’s go, pekoe.
Phantom Limb
Out on a limb he sits
and saws away,
cutting off all his contact with the trunk, the tree, the roots.
And as his saw cuts through,
he starts to fall.
Leaves sigh as they spin around.
The wind blows.
The branch descends,
it arcs and twirls.
He holds, he floats and falls; they’re plummeting down.
When they land, if they land,
they’ll know how to fly.
Feel my phantom limb
as it reaches out
to hold your hand,
your phantom hand.
Hear my phantom limb
make a phantom fist
that knocks and knocks upon your door.
See my phantom limb
as it points the way
back home from here,
back to your phantom home.
Self Portrait
Miscommunication
and Mystery were wed,
and their miscegenation
made every word I’ve said.
Similes and comparisons;
words in other words,
in other words—and other words;
a sketch of what I meant to mean.
All my casual comments
can accrue in complicated ways,
Like a close-up benday abstract
that resolves into a face.
(As I walked out
on the streets of my city,
I spied on some spies
who were spying on me.)
The timid hesitation
always has a reservation here.
Knock on my front teeth
and maybe you’ll draw it out.
Draw some blood.
Draw a crowd.
Draw a breath.
Draw conclusions.
Draw a portrait of me.
Out Here
(lyrics by Sport Murphy)
Get from that terminal head
to this place.
Face thee cabooseward the whole rattled ride.
We’ll get you settled,
whatever it takes.
Sweet recline by eventide.
Green adirondacks right-angle the lake.
Draw the last sun rays down
bottles of wine.
Now the hours shiver down
dismal degrees.
Plastic bags return to their homes in the trees.
I’m not moving, even if I turn blue,
waiting on you.
Out here there’s nothing
to hide us.
At home right under them stars.
All we’ll need’s right here
beside us.
Ain’t no fun alone.
Get out here… it’s all ours.
Bring me a present,
accountable trace
of all that we built,
all we are hereupon.
I’m itching for something
I can’t hardly place.
It’s probably gone.
Probably gone.
Out here it’s silence and hex signs,
old songs, and deep reverie.
Milestones marking off the “last times.”
Everything is wrong.
Get out here and save me.
Seem the Same
(Secular Prayer #5)
Things may seem the same,
but they’re never the same.
Never again who, what,
or why they were.
Carry your little awareness
like a candle
as you go room into room,
out the door,
block after block, and beyond.
A line, not a circuit; one way, only one.
Pushed and blinded by the heavy hands of time.
I’ll go with you for a while.
Can’t I go with you?
I’m as happy as I have a right to be.
Grip
Grab a hold (hold, hold).
Hold on for dear life.
Where’d that handle go?
Get a grip,
or you’ll slip,
and go down.
Take a look (look, look).
Look out left and right,
and above and below.
From all sides,
it collides
and comes down.
Holding still, still holding
holding pattern,
waiting like the rings of Saturn.
Waiting to coalesce or disperse,
not knowing if I’m in forward
or reverse.
Take it in (in, in).
In case it’s encased,
keep it well contained,
or spill the cup,
’cause what goes up
must come down.
Let it go (go, go).
Let go for dear life.
If you can, let loose.
Let it slip,
or you’ll grip
and go down.