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Ruminations From Barrydise During an Apocalypse

by Rick Barry

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1.
Curtain Call 04:50
If this is the curtain call, I’m missing some cast I swear they were here before the drapery collapsed I’m still preparing for the heartbreak to hit Out where the absence is obvious I’m just missing all my friends And I have not forgotten But It’s so easy to pretend When hiding in the garden I Want terribly to go back to before. Like magically, just back to before. Everyday feels like a sorry and desperate crawl This room reeks of melancholy and rubbing alcohol People who just months ago, were full of liveliness Have now disappeared into some abyss I’m just missing all my friends And I have not forgotten It’s so easy to pretend when hiding in the garden Couldn’t even say goodbye to them Maybe I can come Autumn I Want terribly to go back to before. Like magically, back to before. Impossibly Back to before
2.
There’s a little orange baby, hiding in a basement, while the streets around him sing No Justice no peace, fuck racist police, but he can’t hear a thing. He’s safe and sound, reading his bible upside down, pretending that he believes in a God He’s doesn’t even have to pray, he’ll just quote the KKK and his white followers applaud The president has a tiny prick And we’re all gonna die because of it People are sick, people are dying, not him, he’s just fine and he suggests you try drinking bleach. I wish that he’d try first, just to make sure that it works, what a hero he would be. The president is an idiot With a tiny prick And we’re all gonna die because of it Losing track of days in quarantine, but among the social distancing there is unrest that stirs beneath And the nurses don’t have masks, But the cops got plenty of gas to cure the protests in the street. The president is incompetent He’s an idiot /With a tiny prick And we’re all gonna die because of it The cops, Instead of training them, we stocked them with grenades and then gave em more than they could ever need And they’ll be no more singing here, cause we put on our riot gear, so some one’s got to bleed. The president is a racist He’s is incompetent Yeah, He’s an idiot With a tiny prick And we’re all gonna die because of it Now the little orange baby, he wants the military to fight the people they protect And we might be filled with unease about the coming days, but that don’t mean we can rest Because The president is a racist white supremist The president is incompetent He’s an idiot He’s a giant dick With a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny prick And we’re all gonna die because of it
3.
Ruminations 04:50
Tried my best to set my mind at ease trying to make some sense of it all My prowess for dodging disease Now somehow feels impossible I was ready for this shoe to fall Boy Did it ever, like we’d never expect More ready than I thought possible But far less so than I could accept Still I can’t refrain from ruminating ominously But somehow I make it all about me, obviously There’s a ship on the TV They say that the crews getting sick Turned around and sent back to sea where they’ll stay until the end of it Still I can’t refrain from ruminating ominously And somehow I make it all about me, obviously A new normal, is what they say But that just makes no sense to me I want that oxymoronic cliche Extracted from my vocabulary A Narcissist in the apocalypse Is what I am It feels like we are in some grim noir Horror film Still I can’t refrain from ruminating ominously And somehow I make it all about me, obviously A new normal, is what they say But that just makes no sense to me I want that oxymoronic cliche Extracted from my vocabulary...please A Narcissist in the apocalypse Is what I am It feels like we are in some grim noir Horror film
4.
No Smoking 03:42
The Sign on the wall says no smoking The bartender directs you outside As you inhale the smoke you start complaining “Who are they to tell me how to die?” You say the world, well it’s ending You the planet has gone to shit And there’s nothing that we can do about it This world’s too broke for us to fix. You say it started when the planes hit the buildings You know the ones that dubya ignored Or you claim worse yet even orchestrated So that we would beat the drums of war. You say it’s sad, that no one sees it coming Everybody's got a false sense of hope But the politicians they are the drug dealers And fear is their dope Everybody wants to pledge allegiance Everybody wants to protect their home But if you’re withdrawing from your freedom Remember patriotism, it’s just like methadone I say look on the bright side darling When this world is gone if we survive the hunger and disease You and I, we will still be standing here And we can smoke anywhere we please Yeah we can die anywhere we please
5.
I wanted so hard to believe in the great mirage. We wanted so badly to feed, but we starved. Want to flood into the streets in a savage rage, Shake the forbidden fruit from the tree, Goddamn the plague. Singing in the basement in fearful detachment from my romantic best self’s tenacious enactments. Locked up Locked up and locked out You were brought here across the sea, in chains. Southern man wanted so bad to keep you enslaved. Then you fought to be free, free for a change. Then the cops put you under their knee and into the grave. Capital offenses with minimum sentences and public defenses, what we all pretend is that we can’t see history repeat, Lock them up and throw away the key. Locked up Locked up and locked out Try to explain this: There’s children in cages, if their skins a shade different, it’s okay to be indifferent. How very Christian is child incarceration with your justification based on skin pigmentation? Now history repeats, another man can’t breathe. “Turn the other cheek,” What is that supposed to mean? Things we don’t discuss much, the system that we trust is bound to collapse on its people, who are being crushed beneath the weight of an elitist class. If you’re not part of that entitled caste, when they’re done with them, you’ll be next, standing in a pile of ash. Upward class mobilization is a farce of a creation. It’s a fable that’s enabled to suppress a population. Where is the heart in heartland? Why is it I can’t understand? Class war is at the door from the beltway to the badlands. They continue to divide us with the shit they put inside us. Some subtle, some not, like everyone's got an equal shot at clawing out of poverty, not far removed from the slavery that built this whole society. Change is going to take bravery. And I’ll try better I promise, to be more courageous in the face of an injustice, but until then they just bust us up Locked up and locked out.
6.
Week Five 04:48
My voice is horse and ruddy from singing the same old song A song I’ve sung a million times before And my hands are cracked and bloody from holding on too long When things just ain’t that way anymore Friends and family laid to rest before the world fell apart I’m wondering who among them could have endured Some would do okay I guess, some it would just break their hearts That things just ain’t that way anymore Staring out into a crowd, fight or flight reflex aroused I try to remember what that’s like On these lonely, lonely nights. Last night I went out walking in the apocalyptic quiet The placidity dissolved me to the core I’m wondering how I’ll explain the how and when and why it just isn’t that way anymore Singing out, singing aloud, fight or flight reflex aroused All the chances I denied, now I’m wondering what if I had tried I just want to see my friends, all together once again But things just ain’t that way anymore We’re all used to pretending the weather is not changing As the sea walls collapse into the shore Now the storm that’s been impending is here, the deluge is descending, it’s clear that things just ain’t that way anymore

about

A collection of songs inspired by the events of 2020. Written and recorded at home during the isolation of covid 19. Produced and arranged by an eclectic group of friends from home studios all over the country.

Trying to make some sense of it all.

All proceeds to benefit NAACP, Movement for Black Lives, Poor People's Campaign, and Center for Popular Democracy.

credits

released October 23, 2020

Rick Barry - Words/Music, Vocals, Guitar

Art by Zach Westfall
Track art for “Sincere Critique Of 45” by Andy Bova

Curtain Call

Andy Bova - Drums, Bass, Keys, Guitars

Produced by Andy Bova
Mixed by Andy Bova
at Simple Sound Studio
Mastered by Francis Valentino

A Sincere Critique of 45

Justin Bornemann- Bass
Alex Haddad- Electric Guitar
Mark Masefield- B3, Piano

Produced by Rick Barry
Mastered by Jeremy Korpas
Mixed by Francis Valentino

Ruminations

Justin Bornemann- Bass, Guitars
Mark Masefield - OB6, Piano
Santo Rizzolo- Drums
Emily Bornemann-Vocals

Produced by Justin Bornemann
Mixed/Mastered by Francis Valentino

No Smoking

Jenn Fantaccione - Cello
Mark Masefield - Glockenspiel, Piano
Nicole Scorsone - Violin 1, Violin 2, Viola

Produced by Mark Masefield
String Arrangement by Mark Masefield
Mixed/Mastered by Francis Valentino

New Song RE: Old Problems

Rick Barry- Words/Music, Vocals, Guitar
Brother Love - Background Vocals
Judd Fuller - Bass
Alex Haddad - Guitars
Sarah Tomek - Drums, Percussion, Background Vocals

Produced by Brother Love, Alex Haddad, and Sarah Tomek
Engineered by Brother Love
Mixed by Brother Love and Tom Maxwell
Mastered by Tom Maxwell

Week Five

Tim Brickner - Bass
Grant Butts - Electric Guitar
Ian Gray - Flugelbone, Trombone
Mark Masefield - OB6
Francis Valentino - Drums, Background Vocals

Produced by Mark Masefield
Mastered by Jeremy Korpas
Horn Arrangement by Mark Masefield
Mixed by Francis Valentino

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