Dryer Than You'll Ever Be

by John Tabacco

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08:37
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about

Dryer Than You’ll Ever Be ... What?

The majority of these demos were realized on a Casio CTK 6ll keyboard my mother had in her room that houses most of her “intricate miniature replications”. Depressed as usual, (which oddly enough brings out the creative in me) I sat there in front of this munchkin sized self contained sound replicator and jokingly said to myself: “Hum, a hundred rhythms on board.” “I guess I’ll write hundred tunes.” I ventured out into the garage and found an ancient boom box with a built in cassette deck. I psychically located a pair of cruddy Walkman™ headphones buried in a closet and plugged it in to the mic input of the box. The result was not a great sound to say the least, but good enough for me to hear my ideas back. I sat down all confident like and just went through each pre-programmed rhythm. I played bass patterns on my left hand. The bass notes would trigger a cute, generic accompaniment you could sing a melody over. I sang what ever came to mind. All of it subconscious stuff centered around sexual things, horses, religion and the word “sister”. In two hours I had about thirteen ideas for songs. Some more finished than others. I went home with this scratch tape and listened to it in the car about 20 times. Shortly there after, I brought the CTK 611 back to Sonic Underground studios and proceeded to dump in various rhythms of then solidified ideas, into a Apple™ Quadra computer. I edited them up, leaving me a good working two track mix to sing over. The finalizing of the lyrics came quickly and minimal overdubbing was obvious. This was just stupid fun while I awaited word from the people at Sony Studios about whether they were interested in licensing the SA3™ mastering process Bob Ball and I had been hawking since 1995. As it turns out they were only interested in schematics about the process. Eventually they gave up calling us after realizing we weren’t about to disclose any significant information without a legally bound contract .


The CTK611 keyboard was like having a new writing partner. But one who was not wishy-washy about the ideas it presented and of course as far as I could see not particularly emotionally attached to whatever changes I wanted to make. You get what you get and make the best of it. The challenge was to take generic sounding background stuff I would never think of and impose my own idea of what this style should sound like. Tabacconize it . Of course leaving it as a mere demo did not quite sit right with me. I executed fairly decent vocals on these suckers and if I decide to record these pieces with a “real band” I may still use them.


The catch phrase that runs through out: “Dryer Than You’ll Ever Be” is the kind of absurd commercial slogan some robot consumers would actually fall for without even questioning the logic. Typical Slip Code jive. Here it is. You need it. It doesn’t even work but you have to buy it anyway. We say so. You get my drift? So why is it in these songs you might be wondering? Well, my housemate Gian DiMauro wrote the word “dryer” in big letters on the erasable bulletin board we have in our kitchen referring of course to the state of his laundry. Not happy to leave well enough alone, I tagged on the words “than you’ll ever be.” We had a brief laugh about it and that became the phrase of the month. So I commemorated this bit of absurdity in this recording. Does it have any other real significance? Probably, but limited space here doesn’t permit me to go into any in deep cosmic details. Lucky you.

Basically, this collection of songs reflects the bullshit I’ve been going through, trying to advance my career in the music as well as the spiritual world. I’m pretty sure at this stage of the game that I am not welcome in "Music World" and I suppose I will float peacefully in the waters of musical obscurity as long as Sonic Underground Studios is around. As for spiritual truth, I think I’m getting closer to something wonderful the more I give up my expectations and read between my immediate reality. I think. Anyway, that’s about it for now. Bye.

- JT 4/4/99

This CD is dedicated to my sister Laura, Gian DiMauro, Marci Geller, Jamie Yarsky and George Harrison

credits

released September 6, 2014

Technical Schmutz:

Engineered, Mixed and Edited by JT at
Sonic Underground Studios - Stony Brook, NY,
mostly between May and June of 1998.
Basic rhythm tracks for songs 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,12.16,17
realized on the Casio CTK 611™
All other instruments / arrangements executed by JT.
Overdubs on track 17 completed at Suburban Hermit Studios II,
Stony Brook, NY in 2014.
Tracks 13, 16 recorded at Sonic Underground Studios in 2003
All music and lyrics © 1998 by John Tabacco except :
"World Of Stone" © 1975 by George Harrison - Pub. by Wix Music
"He Dies Again And Again" words © 1986 by Nick DiMauro

Lovingly mastered of course by Bob Ball for
Sound Archeology™

Pony Flowers Montage by Laura Tabacco
Black and Whites by Sirka Wolvek Pfister
Drawings by Arty Rukidin © 1986 by Farben Fosfeen Art

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license

all rights reserved

about

John Tabacco Stony Brook, New York

John Tabacco is a composer, singer-songwriter, producer, recording engineer, and graphic artist.

Like an unfolding musical diary / puzzle, Tabacco’s music and art are constantly being re-worked, juxtaposed and intertwined.

For more info : www.johntabacco.net
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Track Name: Maybe I...
MAYBE I…

Maybe I’m just stupid
Chasing dreams I can’t possibly reach
Maybe I’m just hopeless
Learning things I can’t possibly teach

Maybe I’m - Maybe I’m
Maybe I’m too retarded
To understand where I belong
Maybe I’ve - Maybe I’ve
Maybe I’ve been out smarted
And everything I know is wrong

Maybe life is simple
Mediocrity’s a comforting home
Maybe life’s a pimple
On the edge of Mr. Dammit’s nose

Maybe I - Maybe I
Maybe I ask more questions
Than one should get to hear in a song
Maybe I - Maybe I
Maybe I should stop singing
If everything I sing is wrong

If it don’t work
If it don’t fly
Can there be a reason to keep the thing alive
Does it have a purpose
Or is it just a freak who’s purpose is to die
Well it’s so unclear

Maybe I - Maybe I
Maybe I ask more questions
Than one should get to hear in a song
Maybe I’ve - Maybe I’ve
Maybe I’ve been out smarted
And everything I know is wrong
Track Name: Rumble Strips / Digit Fin Revival
THE DIGIT FIN REVIVAL

When the digit fin rebounds in glory
Better make friends really fast
No evil eyes or Bible stories will shelter us from the blast

Takes just a minute for the joker to crack
You know that we’re in it - It’s a matter of fact
When babies start speaking in tongues with a musical rhyme
When babies start speaking in tongues in a rhythm divine

When the digit fin rebounds in glory
Money won’t mean a thing
No special ties - no special juries will cover us from the sting

Takes just a minute for the joker to crack
You know that we’re in it - It’s a matter of fact
When babies start speaking in tongues with a musical rhyme
When babies start speaking in tongues in a rhythm divine

Please help me pray that the digit fin will spare us
Please help me pray that the digit fin will spare us
Bare us another day

DRYER THAN YOU’LL EVER BE!

Takes just a minute for the joker to crack
You know that we’re in it - It’s a matter of fact
When babies start speaking in tongues with a musical rhyme
When babies start speaking in tongues in a rhythm divine

Please help me pray that the digit fin will spare us etc...
(Go holy roller crazy and repeat ad nauseum)

Note:
The phrase “Digit Fin” was originally used in a tune I wrote with Gian DiMauro back in 1988. It was a cool idea that was never finished. Also, some of the melody from The King Of Preachers from the CD It Wuz And Still Iz Late Octobra, was lifted from this Casio tune.
Track Name: Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
FREEZE DRIED BABY SURPRISE

Down in the southern chins of Alabama
Lived a red neck stir fry
Balanced by a case of desperada
And his mama’s moon pie...
Headed upward to Halfbreedchester county
With a Christian money clip that he stole
Swaggered into the Litmus Bar Refresher
Where he dropped his missile
Where he whet his whistle on a

Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Mulch an unripe tomata in red eye
Little Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Add a dash of Viagra™ and dry ice
Little Freeze Dried Baby

The beverage mixer behind the pitted counter
Was a charmer of thirteen
Oversexed and a farmer’s spouse and daughter
Her shapely assets were pristine
Our feted furor was smitten by the prospects
Of soilin’ up her lily white fields
And all the dirt that this old boy had been missing
Was suddenly awaken
When another sip was taken of that

Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Mulch an unripe tomata in red eye
Little Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Add a dash of Viagra™ and dry ice
Little Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Like a sun spark penetration at midnight
Little Freeze Dried Baby

His dopey smile soon became contorted
And after a few rounds
He aborted his manual nature
He jumped on over the bar
And tried to squeeze this juicy child
But she grabbed herself a hanger
And plunged it through his neck
And he choked and rolled and stumbled
And as his last breath drew, he mumbled
For another: Freeze...

No paramedic could save this horny redneck
But the ending’s not as down as it seems
His spirit rose up and screamed above the lodging:
“In heaven there’s a nozzle
constantly discharging royal...”

Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Mulch an unripe tomata in red eye
Little Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Add a dash of Viagra™ and dry ice
Little Freeze Dried Baby Surprise
Like a sun spark penetration at midnight
Little Freeze Dried Baby - C’mon give it a try
Track Name: Sisater Quinn And A Horse Named Hobby
SISTER QUINN AND A HORSE NAMED HOBBY


Sister Quinn and a horse named Hobby
Did the twist in the hotel lobby by the Christian store
They got so riled up the ink came off the Easter cards

She was prized as the nun on fire
Twitch - a - floppin like a spastic wire off a broken pole
Her hobby bobby’s like a power pump Tesla machine

They heard the beat - They flapped their meat
Kicked up a storm

Sister Quinn liked to be on top - a
Like a humid sweaty teenage rocker in a Vatican van
While some sugar got her Hobby all funked up inside

She made him sneeze - He made her weeze
Get on your knees and BOOGIE!

Closet romancers and inhibited dancers
Come buy a ticket fast!
A Salvador Dali with a lama named Molly
Were even duly impressed

(pseudo sax solo as usual)

Closet romancers and inhibited dancers
Come buy a ticket fast!
A Salvador Dali with a lama named Molly
Were even duly impressed

Sister Quinn and her horse named Hobby
Spun a hole
Straight to the Bejing lobby in a China Grove
They got an appetizer free with every twist and roll

They couldn’t ying
But they could swing
Kick up a storm
They couldn’t ying
But they could swing
Kick up a storm!
Track Name: Hungry For A Pony Ride / Kindergarten Memories With JT and ND
HUNGRY FOR A PONY RIDE

My daddy was an upstart mathematician
A black jack surgeon general on the run
And he moved us to every state from Maine to Moscow
Until the brain police finally tracked him down

But even though those moves would kill my school friends
It’s not the saddest thing I miss at all
No, It’s a second grade remembrance that still haunts me
So I’m going back to try to get some more

I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry I start to swell up inside
I get hungry for a pony ride
I get horny - I get hard inside...Of my boots

Now one day my Momma said she needed new wheels
The old ones on her luggage bag were dead
She went into the 5 & dime to buy some
That’s when I saw the shiny spurs and plastic head

So I jumped on top - put a nickel in the coin box
And up and down went pony for a while
I began to feel a southerly sensation
From that point I was no longer a child

I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry I start to swell inside
I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry - think I’m gonna cry
I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry of this I can’t deny...
It’s in my roots...

It isn’t often when I love to ride alone
But special ponies like this thrill me to the bone

(Imagine a Les Paul like solo here)

I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry I start to swell inside
I get hungry for a pony ride I get hungry
Think I’m gonna cry
I get hungry for a pony ride
I get hungry of this I can’t deny...
It’s in my roots...
Track Name: What's Become Of Me?
WHAT’S BECOME OF ME?

Ah children can you see what I’ve become
Ah children - a bitter, lonely bum
I’ve dreamed of moving mountains
And helping everyone
But ah children I just can’t see the sun

Fell into a web of phonies
Tried to find the painted pony
All I found were tainted cronie clowns

I give up... children, what’s become of me?
I give up... children, where’s the truth I seek?
‘Cause I’ve been across the ocean of liars and deceit
Ah children, what’s become of me?

Ah children can you help me understand
Here I ask ya a broken faithless man
I tried to keep the focus but somehow I lost my plan
Ah children can you tell me what I am?

Jumped the gun not once but many
Followed thru without a penny
Can’t be bothered with this anymore

I give up... children, what’s become of me?
I give up... children, where’s the truth I seek?
‘Cause I’ve been across the ocean of liars and deceit
Ah children, what’s become of me?
Ah children, when will I be free?

(Fancy George Duke type keyboard solo)

I give up... children, what’s become of me?
I give up... children, where’s the truth I seek?
‘Cause I’ve been across the ocean of liars and deceit
Do I find myself no different than promises ya’ll find on TV?
Ah children, what’s become of me?
Ah children, what’s become of me?
Ah children, when will I be free?
Ah children, what’s become of me?
Ah children, what’s become of me?
Ah children, tell me what I be..,
Track Name: One Solid Answer
ONE SOLID ANSWER

Once I used to have a sister soul
Who’d played me jacks and wax about the future
When times were hardest
And my spirits were feeling low
She would tell me - kid you’ll always be loved

‘Cause love is:
One solid answer for one zillion whys
One solid answer that can’t be denied
Ya got a life full of questions but one true reply
That I know can make this heart skip a beat

Sister used to be my sunny world
Then she died and left me on my own
So I hit the road for the Chinese Rose
To feed my emptiness
And my fortune cookie read:
“Kid you’ll always be loved”

‘Cause love is:
One solid answer for one zillion whys
One solid answer that can’t be denied
Ya got a life full of questions but one true reply
That I know can make this heart skip a beat

Sister used to kiss my teardrops
Some would tumble down and dry up on her clothes
When I’d cry before the bus stopped
She would calm me down and make me feel at home

Sister I am calling from my dreams now
Sister all my questions have no fear now
Sister we will meet again when it’s my cloud...
That shadows the places we’ve been

‘Cause love is:
One solid answer for one zillion whys
One solid answer that always surives
Ya got a life full of questions but one sure reply
That I know can make this heart skip a beat

One solid answer for one zillion whys
One solid answer that can’t be denied
Ya got a life full of questions but one true reply
That I know can make this heart
That I know can make your heart
That I know can make our hearts
Skip A Beat
Track Name: Poor Freak Rudy
POOR FREAK RUDY

Rudy’s angry all day
He tries to hide it but his eyes tell stories
So I stand far away
In case he blows up I won’t be his target
Rudy’s angry all day
His parents never took the time to love him
Now when he sings he just screams
Sometimes the cops stop by for a song...

Poor freak: The shroud of innocence -
Torn up by arrows and slings
Poor freak: The rage of innocence
is one of the nastiest things
To be caught in the middle

So Rudy writes his reviews
His bold opinions tend to make me vomit
Not objectively viewed
His hate and anger color every subject
Rudy writes his review
The paper loves him ‘cause he’s controversial
He’s got nothing to lose
If there’s a fight he’ll pick up a chair

Poor freak: The shroud of innocence
Torn up by arrows and slings
Poor freak
The rage of innocence
is one of the nastiest things
Poor freak: Ignition hopelessness
Burning the skin from the wings
Poor freak: The rage of innocence
is one of the nastiest things
Poor freak

Now something’s bubbling in the trunk
In the dark cesspool of Rudy’s brain
Sid and Nancy and Raccoon punk
Cut loose with safety pin hearts that boil his blood
Poor freaks were cut off from life
before they could start...

Rudy wants to be friends
Sounds good on paper when I’m incognito
So I hope for the best
Human beings only live so long...

Poor freak etc...STILL GOTTA PLACE FOR YA...
Track Name: It's Just A Black Guitar
IT’S JUST A BLACK GUITAR

Out there in the suburbs where everything is dead
The kids need a religion to feed an empty head
At midnight in their bedrooms be sure the door is locked
Kneel down before those speakers and worship at the rock

It’s just 5 pounds of plastic with a finish painted black
Six strings, a bridge and tuners and a big ol’ Marshall stack
Some knuckle walking hero just sent’em to the stars
This ain’t no holy relic
It’s just a black guitar!

Up there in the school room nobody seems to care
Down there on the corner - dealers everywhere
But promo Joe the hack man has got a “jones” to sell
He’s workin’ for the company
He’ll send you straight to hell

50 years hereafter professors will convene
To lie about the future and tell where we’ve been
They’ll talk about the culture
They’ll swoon about the goal
They’ll drool about the good old days when we had heart and soul
It was a revolution - It was the best by far
It was the golden moment
That shiny black guitar

It’s just 5 pounds of plastic with a finish painted black
Six strings, a bridge and tuners (and a big ol’ Marshall stack)
Some knuckle walking hero just sent’em to the stars
This ain’t no holy relic - It’s just a black guitar!

And the goddamn thing won’t even stay in tune!
Track Name: Shoot It!
SHOOT IT!

So there you stand on the stage
With a string thing in your hand
You don’t believe in the chords you play
And neither does the band
But you’re convinced the audience understands
‘Cause you’re a manufactured fool who’s unaware

The words you sing are filtered via media machines
Spewing any fact you hear without examining scene
Well your meat is way too red
And your music way too clean
You’re a superficial dope - You’re unaware
You’re empty soul is all you ever share

So you hold the holy bible and shake your holy rod
But underneath the cover are the writings of De-Sade
You’re selfish and sneaky making personal deals with GOD
Like a god would even waste it’s time with you...
SHOOT IT!

Here on the outside away from intangible fears
A guardian angel watching you move through the years

Later on you’ll try to hang out
With the hip crowd and the rich
Pretend to shuck your white trash genes
And leave your father’s ditch
Well the clothes you wear might be trendy
But we can all see from the stitch
You’re just another desperate salesman with a pitch

You crawl back to your rented hole
When the mingling is through
Hide the pain of childhood:
The thumb nails and the screws
Call your TV patrons to come to your rescue
They’ll feed you with lots of burgers - lots of brews
Snakes dressed up as rabbits never lose

So you hold the holy bible and shake your holy rod
But underneath the cover are the writings of De-Sade
You’re selfish and sneaky making personal deals with GOD
Like a god would even waste it’s time with you...
SHOOT IT!

Here on the outside away from intangible fears
A guardian angel watching you move through the years
Here on the outside along with the rest of your tears


A guardian angel
Witnessing you through the years
Waiting for you to appear

When you go to sleep and dream
What do you dream?
When you scream for some relief what do you scream?
With all the bytes you’re fed each day
You don’t know what you are
But you think the world must owe you one
Like a billion bloated stars without a clue

The parking lot back stabs
The righteous reluctance to bend
The closet elections and wasted erections
Have caused you to lose all your friends

So we say goodbye to all your heroes
who at one time had a short run on the charts
They were in it for the moola - not in it for the art
They left you with countless songs to sing
but ones devoid of any heart
But you paid for them with your ignorance from the start

Which leaves your last day on this Earth
To ponder what you’ve done
Was the path you chose a given
or were the choices hit and run
Do you feel a worthless nothing
against the largeness of the sun
Or will you grow to learn the meaning of this crap
The strings of a guitar were meant to snap

So you eat your holy bible and you swallow your holy rod
And the puke between the covers made you feel closer to GOD
You’re clockwork and orange making creatures in your yard
Who will love you and lie about it too! SHOOT IT!

Well here on the outside
Free from intangible fears
A gift you can count on
Moving you swift through the years
Here on the outside
Watching you tackle your fears
A guardian angel
Waiting for you to appear
Waiting through infinite tears
A jury without any peers
You know who it is?
Ain’t it clear by now ?
That sucker is you
Track Name: World Of Stone
WORLD OF STONE
by George Harrison

Wise men you won’t be
To follow the like of me
In this world made of stone
Such a long way to go

We may disagree
We all have the right to be
In this world made of stone
Such a long way to go
Such a long way from home

The wiser you can be
The harder it can be to see
In this world made of stone
Such a long way to go
Such a long way from home
In this world made of Stone
Such a long way to go
Such a long way from home


© 1975 by Ganga Publishing B.V.,
c/o Loaves and Fishes Music Co.,Inc.
Track Name: The Holy Lan' Is My Ashtray
THE HOLY LAN’

The holy lan’
The holy lan’ is my ashtray
The holy lan’
The holy lan’ is my ashtray

They wail at the wall
They swear until it’s bed time
They sacrifice women and kids
They sweat in the heat painting posters of the savior
An odd behavior it is
Over smooth bumps of sand
And mirages with virgins doin’ the water hole dance
They’ll never understand
So I light another stogey with a sun where-ever I am

For the holy lan’ - The holy lan’ is my ashtray
Well the holy lan’ - The holy lan’ is my ashtray
The holy lan’ .............. The holy lan’ ........

Now what would they do without a place to make a battle? Toy soldiers love to feel that they’re in command
Little do they know that to kill off one another
just slows up my master plan

For the holy lan’ - The holy lan’ is my ashtray
The holy lan’ - The holy lan’ is my ashtray - The holy lan’
People always get excited when they own some dirt
Watch them pray - they’re so retarded
Simple reconfigurations of your silly Earth!
Your only Lan’!

(Imaginary Todd Reynolds violin solo plays here)...

Well not once - not twice but three times it’s over
Nuke around the world makes a pleasant aroma
(It’s over)
I think it’s time that I burn your diploma
And you’ll need a change of clothes
‘Cause out here it’s kind of cold...
Vast Holy Lan’

The holy lan’ is my ashtray - Well the holy lan’
The holy lan’ is my ashtray
The holy lan’ - The holy lan’
IS MY ASHTRAY

Words © 1998 by John Tabacco and Nigey Lennon
Music © 1998 by John Tabacco
Pub. by It Iz What It Iz Music (sesac) Nylon Engine Music (ascap)
Track Name: Sunrise Can Fool Me
SUNRISE CAN FOOL ME

Sunrise can fool me like a mystery kiss on Valentines
Sunrise can fool me like a serious fist of dandelions

Sunrise is truly one of nature’s best disguise
The start of a new beginning
The end of an old demise

Sunrise can fool me like a mystery kiss on Valentines
Sunrise can fool me like a serious fist of dandelions

Sunrise is truly one of nature’s best disguise
Sunrise can fool me
Sunrise can rule me

When I’m lost - I’m alone
With a dream that has been shattered to the bone
Yes the light from sunrise saves me now
From the fear of the dark unknown

Sunrise can fool me like a mystery kiss on Valentines
Sunrise can fool me like a serious fist of dandelions
Track Name: He Dies Again and Again
HE DIES AGAIN AND AGAIN

A most innocent turn of the left dorsal
And complete
is an image of the flow;
The altered brow

Forsaken is he whom
in ultimate sacrifice
Spreads the last vestige
of sharp defense

And to no avail is gulped away
By one so close and so intimately far

Mapped out so brilliantly before him
The “wrong”
The “dangerous”
The “fear”

But still,
Even in relinquished command,
Gladly
He dies again and again


by Nick DiMauro -
(on the road to Bend Oregon 7/30/86)