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Archive for the ‘Salon De La Guerre’ Category

Tangled in the sun, the bird he flew
Came back, didn’t say what he knew
Came back with a song he knew only as a scream
Came back in a life he knew only as a dream

Wax in my ears, the siren quakes the sea
I don’t know what the sirens sing to me
Basaltic rock you wake dead or as a king
When you hear the sirens sing
Stuffed my ears with the wax from the bees
I don’t know what the Sirens sing

I ate a bird, something that flew
I wondered if it he knew he was through
I fly when I dream and that means I fly
People think they can’t, I don’t know why
Tangled in the sun the bird he flew
Came back didn’t say what he knew

Wax in my ears the siren quakes the sea
I don’t know what the sirens sang to me
Basaltic rock you wake dead or as a king
When you hear the sirens sing
Stuffed out ears with the wax from the bees
I don’t know what the Sirens sang to me

(Lyrics to the song “The Sirens,” now available on the Salon de la Guerre album From Sour To Cinnamon, copyright 2019.)

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We bounce on the Siberian ground
The snow absorbs the laughing sound
Your breath has shards and your voice is weak
And when the soil breaks, its gas will speak

Of the sometimes lips of Siberian birds
On their grocery rounds, speak in minor thirds
They too act with a unitasking brain
The gas on which they float is sane

Find its idiom in childish lungs
Stentorian notes and Götterdämmerung
Mingles and cocktails with poisons in the air
And the masses of people who once lived there

Gas gives its spirit, its spirit released
Its valediction, the ocean its priest
And when its moment of flower has ceased
The human hole seeks to close in peace

Find its idiom in childish lungs
Stentorian notes and Götterdämmerung
Mingles and cocktails with poisons in the air
And masses of people who once lived there

And it got too hot for us to live there
But our letters remain, its past we share
The flowers open, the flowers stare.

(Lyrics to “Methane Moth,” from the new Salon de la Guerre album From Sour to Cinnamon.)

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The latest Salon de la Guerre album drops this week. It’s called From Sour To Cinnamon, and it’s a slate of big candy-like pop songs with a dark center. Check out this track from the album, set to release Monday.

All the wrongs on this album were made by yours truly, including music, lyrics and production.

“Amphibious Grandkids”
By Eric Randolph Rasmussen
Copyright 2019

Take them to the aquarium
Take them to the Grand Canyon
Set your grandkids loose to swim
While you sit at look at ’em.

The froggy skin and the set of gills
You never knew we’d have them
But these fish were spawned from your loins
You’d never know to look at them

Your grandchild no longer walks the earth
Or plays his video game

A patronymic and a set of fins
And the memory of land
Your legacy in sedimentary rock
Your fossil of vestigial hands
Cause you bequeathed your sons a water world
While you drove your car around

Your grandchild no longer walks the earth
Or plays his video game
Now he plays with a set of flippers
But still has your name

A patronymic and a set of fins
And the memory of land
Your legacy in sedimentary rock
Your fossil of vestigial hands

Cause you bequeathed your sons a water world
While you drove your car around
Once you thought you’d take Manhattan
Now it’s all Long Island Sound

I don’t believe that he glitch-killed me
It was crazy enough to kill you
Amphibious grandkids swim away
Too hungry to be mad at you

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Last week, I sent my 300th song to the U.S. Copyright Office.

Of course, a few of those hundreds of songs are repeats and reprises from my two classical albums, but if you add in the smattering of songs I’ve thrown away, it’s a wash, and 300 is a good official number. And of course, I have proof of this on my Bandcamp page, if anybody wants to fact-check me. Go! Count them! (The last 10 are going up within a week or two.)

I have a new milestone in a couple of months that also has a zero in it. That one I have less control over.

And that’s led me to a message for older people out there: I wrote more than two-thirds of this music in the last three years, a period of explosive growth for me as a songwriter, and during what people would call middle age. In my 20s, I wrote only a few dozen songs, and perhaps doubled that number in my 30s. But since 2016, at which time I was well into my 40s, I’ve made 14 albums, writing music everywhere–on the train, on the plane, on the treadmill, on the couch. I even tried to stop for months at a time while I worked on fiction, but it got to where I was writing songs unconsciously just walking around the store.

You might sniff and say it’s just the robot software doing it all. I have been, after all, writing stuff in GarangeBand–on my phone–and a lot of my work involves tape loops and buttons. But that’s the wrong conclusion. My guitar playing, both in speed and nuance, got three times better in 2016. And I suddenly started playing piano with no training in 2018. The iPhone is helping me, but it’s not writing the music or arranging it.

How have I become so prolific later in life? I don’t know. I have no idea why it all suddenly came to me. It’s been said and demonstrated to me over and over that we’re all supposed to lose inspiration and start sucking at art, and especially uptempo music, when we get older. We lose our muse. We get complacent. We resist the new ideas; our minds are less malleable, less playful, less able to assimilate new truths and discoveries and all else that makes you a great artist. That’s the conventional wisdom.

It’s also a crock of shit. Your ability to discover new talent within yourself has no age limit. Your style has no age limit. The idea of your imminent deterioration as you age is largely a mental and social construct–not unlike the fabrication that high school was the best times of our lives. Both ideas, we ought to suspect, have more to do with other people’s pitch to sell us stuff, and less to do with essential truths.

So this is something new I hope I could offer, besides my music itself: I can tell you unequivocally that I found an ocean of inspiration in my 40s, that these have easily been my peak years as an artist, peaks I hope will be eclipsed in my 50s.

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Another song from my album Air Is a Public Good.
Music and lyrics by Eric Randolph Rasmussen.

“Under the Wing”

The devil now I know walks among us
The devil has a condo on Lake Tahoe

I would never know the path
That bell I can’t unring
And the devil had me under his wing

I was selling real estate
To a couple from Sulphur Springs
And the devil had me under his wing

They wanted more than a town house
They wanted to share their lonely love
With me

And now I know the darkness
And now I know the need
And the devil had me under his wing

They wanted to use my body
And prey on my clean living
And the devil had me under his wing

God you can’t sell real estate in this
Sinful town
Heaven don’t have a toilet for fallen angels like me

They wanted to use my body
And prey on my clean living
And the devil had me under his wing

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A song from my album Air Is a Public Good.

Music and lyrics by Eric Randolph Rasmussen.

 

Bet her life on No. 4:

“Nothing Like A Dame”

And ever since she won

The woman’s life is not the same

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

 

Suddenly she’s found herself

A kind, forgiving hand

Enough to change her address

And her name and her homeland

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Everyone forgets you

Do what you must do

 

She’ll go to where she’s free

To break some hearts and raise some Cain

She’ll never have to take men’s shit

Or ever take their names

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Suddenly she’s found herself

A kind, forgiving hand

 

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a painted desert

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a painted desert

And unwind

You can’t define me

 

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a desert

And unwind

You can’t define me

Or live inside my mind

 

Now I have the capital

And have a map to find the pines

I want to see a painted desert

And unwind

 

Her sister tracked her down and found her

Deep inside the pines

And said you are plumb crazy

Leaving everyone behind

 

Nobody to reach you

Without the social values

Nobody to teach you

Nobody to get through

 

But she said that I’m happier

To leave behind it all

A bitter race of humans

Bury me just where I fall

 

No one ever said you

Didn’t stick to values

No one ever said that you

Didn’t have a thought too

 

 

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Pointing to the surprise eggs hatching toys and puzzles

Helicopter to the rescue; found out about my Hot Wheels

Daddy, how will it ever rise the plane outside my window?

Cause the airfoil will lift it up, son, and that thought makes him humble

 

Daddy’s dancing, parts the dance floor like the Red Sea

Because I could not stop for death, he kindly did the cabbage patch for me

 

Plastic saucer spinning down

Snow cakes up the mountain

A toddler picks his daddy up

Someone had to be in charge then

Remember to keep pedaling, faster when you’re falling

 

Zipper ride, airboat, ice skates, checkers, Cyclone, teacup ride

Race with trains, jump from airplanes to keep the kid inside

 

I get slow and you get fast, but I work so hard to keep up

A threatening hill and a crashing bike, it’s OK just a little blood

And he hates sleep there’s a brittle moon and he cries cause he won’t see it

That’s OK—you’re sad right now but a new day will come and you can rise and greet it

 

It’s OK, we don’t have to play you can stare outside the window

There’s a whole world inside your head, much more than you’ll ever know

But I teach you and then you teach me things that I forgot from pride

I help you and you help me; don’t forget to keep a kid inside

 

Don’t forget Dad that you have to keep the kid inside

 

–Eric Rasmussen

(These are lyrics from my 2019 song “A Kid’s Inside,” from Salon de la Guerre’s upcoming pop-rock album, From Sour to Cinnamon.)

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From Sour To CinnamonThis might be a little surprising, since I just released an alt-country album two months ago, but my “band” Salon de la Guerre is now refreshed and relaxed after its (um, OK, my) vacation to Florida and is ready to rock again.

Perhaps it was five days of splashy pastels and silly amusement park rides, but I started writing pop songs on the plane ride home and soon had 11 of them to package into a new album. I pulled out the guitar a couple of weeks ago for the song I’ve attached here, a paean to youth and optimism and joy and nostalgia. Not the usual Salon de la Guerre stomping grounds, I’m sure you longtime (sometime, anytime?) fans will agree. It kind of sounds like something out of the ’90s, right?

“A Kid’s Inside” is slated to appear on my next album, From Sour To Cinnamon, a work of dark pop songs that I’m finishing up now. This is not only my 21st album, but the one that helped me mark a new milestone: my 300th songwriting credit.

Please enjoy this taste of my next phase. Because let’s face it, by the time you’ve digested it, I’ll probably be in another phase.

(FYI: My gifted 8-year-old son Xander helped me with the artwork on the new batch of songs.)

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Salon de la Guerre’s 20th album, Air Is A Public Good, hits the music services today. It’s my first album dedicated entirely to country music. You can now find it on Amazon, iTunes and Spotify. Enjoy!

And if you’d like a more long-winded explanation about why I made a country music album (it has nothing to do with “Old Town Road,” no disrespect) please feel free to read my post on the matter from last week.

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There are a lot of Eric Rasmussens in the world, many of whom I’ve recently discovered are tilling the same fields that I am. I’ve seen Eric Rasmussens at work in journalism, law, literary criticism, polemics, music and fiction. That’s bound to create confusion.

Again, my full name is Eric Randolph Rasmussen. I’ve written a companion piece for this post telling you who I am. Out of respect for the other Eric Rasmussens, I felt the need to give you a list of the ones I am not:

Eric Ralph Rasmussen, pro baseball player.

This one seems pretty obvious. This was the only other Eric Rasmussen I’d ever heard of growing up. I never worried people would confuse us. I can barely pitch, catch or bat.

Eric David Rasmussen, physician, medical ethicist, humanitarian

Again, I’m not too worried about you getting us confused. This guy has an interesting career and is worth your attention.

Eric Rasmussen, writer, editor of Barstow & Grand

This Eric Rasmussen is a Wisconsin-based fiction writer and very nice guy who sent me a nice note and has an excellent blog and lots of excellent fiction. I do not wish to steal his thunder.

Why the confusion: We are both literary fiction writers. I do not see any novels on his resume (he mentions an unpublished manuscript), and I have never published any short stories (outside of a few bad experiments on my blog) but there are obvious reasons people are going to confuse us. For that reason, I have made sure to put “Eric Randolph Rasmussen” on most of my fiction, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to see it on my journalism.

Eric Rasmussen, jazz saxophonist, composer, band leader of the Eric Rasmussen Quartet, director of instrumental music at Scottsdale Community College

Alto saxophone player Eric Rasmussen has played with a number of big jazz names (you can find some of his music here), and his musical focus is jazz while mine is alternative rock and punk, but there are several reasons people might get us confused, especially if they knew me back in the day in Oklahoma.

Why the confusion: Several reasons. We have both been New Yorkers, we have both lived all over the country, we are both composers and we both play alto saxophone (though he actually worked at it his entire career while I gave it up for two decades). I have mostly stayed away from jazz on my albums, but Salon de la Guerre fans know that I have experimented with all sorts of genres, and I finally dipped my toe into jazz a few years ago, yanking out my long-dormant alto sax chops for the eight songs on Salon de la Guerre’s album Hot Tears. I also play alto sax on a song called “Red Clay Moses,” which you can hear on YouTube. Jazz sax player Eric Rasmussen deserves his many accolades, but Hot Tears and “Red Clay Moses,” a cross between jazz and Sonic Youth guitar, are all mine.

Eric Dean Rasmussen, associate professor of English literature at the University of Stavanger.

I first followed Eric Dean Rasmussen for a couple of reasons: He was a literature guy and, more important, he was the first of us with the cunning to grab the Ericrasmussen.com domain name. There can be only one, Highlander!

That said, most of his work, as far as I can tell, is literary criticism and theory, subjects I’ve studiously avoided since college. I never worried too much people would confuse us. Besides, he was in Chicago and then later, apparently, Norway.

Why the confusion: Still, we are both lovers of literature, and we both somehow at some point met with (and wrote about) famous superhero literary publisher Barney Rosset, founder of the Grove Press and publisher of Samuel Beckett and Henry Miller. Eric Dean met Rosset through his work at a literary organization. I met Rosset at a bar. Though the other Eric was seemingly better prepared for the encounter and knew more about Rosset to begin with, I must give myself some points for not misspelling Rosset’s name. (I have some advantages being a journalist.)

I see that Eric Dean and I also have a very tenuous connection through the website Altx.com. He has articles posted there, and I used to be associated with a literary magazine called Io that had links to the site as well.

Eric Rasmussen, internationally renowned Shakespeare scholar, foundation professor at the University of Nevada at Reno

Again, I wasn’t too worried about being mistaken for a Shakespeare scholar, though we are both authors and we are both on Amazon. He’s even on YouTube!

Eric Rasmussen, actor.

I took an acting class once and I’m enthralled by the subject, but I have mostly left that field to my wife.

Eric Rasmussen, professor of communication.

I don’t see much room for confusion here, though I do have a communications degree (in journalism) from the University of Texas, and it could be somebody somewhere gets us confused.

Eric Rasmussen, Twin Cities broadcast news investigative reporter, KSTP TV

This guy’s been in Boston and Minneapolis. I’ve never been in front of a camera, but we are both journalists.

Eric B. Rasmussen, business professor at Indiana University. This guy is known for tweets deemed by many to be sexist and racist, and the university itself has called his online sentiments “vile.” I won’t link to him, and I am only including him here because I want to make sure people never confuse me with this person.

I will leave it at that. I recall seeing other people with my name also pursuing music journalism (an old part-time vocation of mine) and statistics and hockey, but I’m not too worried about being confused with those people. I’ll add names to this list later if I think anybody is going to mix me up with someone else.

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