Dryer Than You'll Ever Be

by John Tabacco

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1.
Maybe I... 03:22
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
2.
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.
3.
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
4.
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!
5.
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...
6.
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..,
7.
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
8.
9.
10.
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...
11.
Shoot It! 08:37
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
12.
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.
13.
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)
14.
15.
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
16.
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)

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™

CD design © 1998 by Farben Fosfeen Art Werks
Pony Flowers Montage by Laura Tabacco
Black and White Photos by Sirka Wolvek Pfister
Drawings © 1986 by Arty Rukidin

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John Tabacco Stony Brook, New York

John Tabacco is a composer, singer-songwriter, producer, recording engineer, and visual 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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