E Phant

by John Tabacco

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about

An EP of quirky songs / instrumentals / story telling, topped off with a subconscious audio montage with more clues as to what the hell is going on in my life. What else could you ask for?

credits

released July 4, 2016

JT : Vocals, Guitar, Drums, Programming
Jim Dexter : Dialog from a Stony Brook University hospital bed
Patricia Amendolia : Lead Vocal on "Customized", Voice on "Playing Jacks In The New House"
Joe Gioglio: Electric Guitar on "Customized"
Rick Cashman : Voice on "The Bansuri Waltz and Observation

Recorded and Mixed at Suburban Hermit Studios II, Stony Brook, NY by Tabacco

Bonus tracks:
Recorded by Bob Stander at Parcheesi Studios, Huntington Station, NY on Dec. 28th, 2010.

Teddy Kumpel : Vocals, Guitar
Bob Stander : Guitar
Saul Zonana : Bass, Vocals
JT : Drums, Vocals

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

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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Track Name: Sinus Cyst And Wisdom Tooth Extraction
SINUS CYST AND WISDOM TOOTH PROBLEM

I’ve got a sinus cyst
It’s something I can’t resist
It hurts my teeth - it hurts my nose
I cannot breathe
And I’ve got a headache 24/7
Got a headache 24/7

I’ve got a sinus cyst
And to make things worse I’ve got a wisdom tooth that’s pissed underneath it
And it gives me such a headache 24/7
I’ve got a headache

I got some x-rays and a biopsy
They ruled out cancer and other malignancies

When will they treat me?
Been eight long months!
When will they treat me?

For now I have a tiny tube going up into my gum
I’m feeling existential and my mouth is dry and numb

In a few months they’ll need to cut deeper into my cheek
Scrape out the cyst – yank out the tooth and there’s another cyst on my right side
that needs to be addressed and you know what?:
I’m so tired of waking up and wanting to pull my head off!

So let’s do it!
I just wanna breathe
Wanna breathe

I’m bankin on Medicaid – bankin’ on Medicaid
to pay for this – to remove this cyst…

Why? Because I’m a poor musician. That’s why.
And I can’t afford health insurance.

Dental surgeon: “A Dubious career choice my boy.”
Track Name: Divide By Wednesday / When The Fireman Squirts
DIVIDE BY WEDNESDAY / WHEN THE FIREMAN SQUIRTS

JT : So there are these three patients in a - maybe a psychiatric ward.
Doctor says to the three patients, "Look, gonna ask you a question."
"If you can answer the question I'll let you go."

Jim Dexter : (laughs)

JT : Right there it's kind of funny.

JD : Yeah...

JT : So he asks the first patient, he goes, "What's 8 times 5?"
And the person says, "139."
And the doctor looks at him and says, "Humm - not really - no."

JD : (laughs)

JT : Asks the second patient, "What's 8 times 5?"
The guy says, "Wednesday!"

JD : (laughs)

JT : Doctor says, "Nope, not yet - not yet for you."
Asks the third patient, "What's 8 times 5?"
"40!"
Doctor goes, "Wow, that's, that's good." "You did that fast."
Ha, how did you do that?"
He says, "Well, I divided 139 by Wednesday."

JD : (laughs)

When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
Everybody gets busted
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
Everybody gets busted
Everybody gets rusted but him

When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
Everybody gets busted
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
Everybody gets busted
Everybody gets rusted but him

Everybody gets rusted
Everybody gets rusted
Everybody gets rusted

When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
When the fireman squirts from limb to limb ah
Everybody get's busted
Everybody get's rusted but him!
Track Name: The Bansuri Waltz And Observation
THE BANSURI WALTZ & OBSERVATION

The birds are out tweeting "sun"!
It's been cold for months at a time...
No earth
it's been covered in snow!
Frozen below
But now it seems the wind has died
We can feel the heat
The heat as it touches ground
Not good news for worms though
They'll tunnel up no longer stuck
Making for a tasty little meal
It's a brutal life...
Oh well, tough
Nature's a bitch
There's no prejudice when it comes to keeping cycles
The fix is from within
As tight as your own skin
All the numbers add up perfectly
I never used to question it
But now,
But now it makes me think...
Who's in charge?
Maybe all this is is an "X-Box" game
And we're little SIMS running in a brain
Birds will tweet and worms they'll eat until this brain burns out!

Rick Cashman : Just keep kicking dirt into the hole and stop spittin'!
Track Name: Calamine Lotion Lottery Boogie
CALAMINE LOTION LOTTERY BOOGIE

Margret Inthrax:
Today I accidentally won the calamine lotion lottery.
You are inducing melanoma shingles.
Negative on the hot tuna substitutes this time you schmuck.
Tommy Agee and Mothra's little fairies.
Tommy Agee.

Ed McMahon in a jar : Hooo!

Margret Inthrax:
Please squirt me with some of that swizzle diet fluoride rat infested calamine soda. You know the kind. And please stop calling me Jesus.
Give it a break!
Track Name: Customized
CUSTOMIZED

Everywhere I turn I see that things are all the same
It's a wonder anyone can even know my name
That's when I realize your love is customized
Yes customized
Customized

Talking heads are everywhere filling us with greed
Salesmen on the telephone with things I'll never need
But your word is optimized
Your love is customized
Yes customized
Customized


When you made the stars above you
Called them all by name
But a man will sell his soul for just a ray of fame
They need to realize
Your love is customized
Yes customized
Customized

Satisfied and your lovin’ Is where I wanna be
No compromises here - Just love
Sanctified and your love is always in supply
It's the only thing that makes sense to me

When you made the stars above you
Called them all by name
Now I look around and see that things are not the same
That’s ‘cause I realize
Your love is customized
Yes customized
Customized
Your love is customized
Yeah, customized
Track Name: Drum Sola en Oddifax
DRUM SOLA en ODDIFAX

Chris Magri & JT singing in JT's St. James bedroom in 1981 :

Stamp a gypsy moth!
Stamp a gypsy moth!
Stamp a gypsy moth!
Stamp.
Them.
Out!

JT and Cathy Tabacco in her Stony Brook art room in 2008 :

JT : What is it you are doing exactly?

CT : I'm making something for Christmas for you.

JT : For me?

CT : Yeah, I'm finishing your - your drum set.

Tabacco drum solo plays here followed by an amazing guitar solo by Chris Pati from the song "Blvd. Of Broken Dreams"
Recorded at Modern Voices Recording Studios, Centerport, NY
© 1991 by Chris Pati, Nick DiMauro, John Tabacco and Ro Caplado


JT & Nick DiMauro in a rented car, outside QVC in Chester, PA in 1994 :

JT (parodying Danny Wilson's "Steam Trains To The Milky Way") :
"Brother you had best believe that your puke can drag you down...

ND : Stain a couch.

JT : Puke can stain a couch. I know 'cause we puked on my aunt's couch once.
All of us. Our entire family. Ah-er, in one full swoop we all puked on her couch.

ND : Fell swoop. Heh-heh.

JT : In one full circle of amendments

ND : It's fell. Fell swoop.

JT : One fell swoop, me, mom, sis...

ND : Georgette.

JT : And Ragtime our little - our little...

ND : Schinitzendoodle.

JT : Our little um...

ND : Schinitzenhauser dog.

JT : Ah, ha, our little hemophiliac...

ND : Ah - hah, puppy.

JT : Puppy. Spit up on my aunt's couch during Christmas.

ND : We had to have it put to sleep.

JT : They put the couch to sleep very quickly.

ND : You know...

JT : Can never get that stain out of there.
It's, It's brown. Burned a hole of acid...

ND : It's ground.

JT : Burned a hole right through the foam. The foam was peed on a long time ago.

ND : Shit, we got a two o'clock...

JT : Yeah.
Track Name: Playing Jacks In The New House
PLAYING JACKS IN THE NEW HOUSE

The most interesting aspect about our new house was the florescent purple and green triangular door that hid inconspicuously behind the “Squirt & Dry” in the basement. Dad told us of his surprise and slight suspicion the day he and mom scrutinized the basement framework.
The real estate lady quickly booted them away from this part of the house assuring them that the Swedish built home was as solid as quote un-quote “chrome slippers” ( a phrase I heard Dad cry out in his sleep over a two month period).

Within a week, we were settled in, soaking up the Christmas rays. Mom was spicing up her old style fluffy Duraflame turkey sausages. Dad was carving up his famous holiday soap pipes. Our little yorkie, was chomping on his leather rawhide buffalo, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, while the sweet muffled holiday sounds of “Itchygoomy” wafted from behind the thin fiberglass curtains. Renda and I were playing a relaxing game of jacks, this time in a spacious basement, floored in speckled black and white shiny tiles. I was in the lead (finally) getting ready to throw the final toss when all of a sudden I choked “gack!” on a Swedish gummy bear. The jack ball went flying hairy canary, almost hitting Renda in the teeth. It ricocheted off the furnace - off the dirty fish tank - off the Henry The Eighth Ladro - smack off the framed signed picture of Pope John Paul (cracked it) before rolling to a complete stop. Weirdly cool. Then as if by magic, the ball slowly levitated an inch off the ground, made an about face and got sucked under the “Squirt & Dry” like the Roadrunner on rocket fuel. Renda and I looked at each other in amazement - eyes a goggle. Then like over zealous chirping eggs we quickly scrambled upstairs to get Dad. Jeez, this was the championship game and neither of us could suppress the fever for victory. We had to get that ball back!

With his massive forearms wrapped around the “Squirt & Dry” Dad wriggled the machine away from the wall delicately ripping apart the complicated spider grids of purple and green. “Strange”, we heard him say. “There’s some kind of triangular door behind here with a rubber handle!” Not giving too much thought of the consequences, he gave a big tug on the handle with his one good Navy hand.

“Bizzzzzzz zizzzzzzztzatttttttttttttttttttttttattttttizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzpopppppppattt!!!”

We all saw stars. Dad’s hair lit up like a 4th of July sparkler on steroids and he let out a ghastly yell (it’s still ringing in my ear). Mom came flying down the stairs and tripped on the jacks, plummeting foot first into Renda’s private area. A thick brownish, silly cloud covered the room. Sausage everywhere - what a nightmare! Somehow, I managed to locate the princess phone and dialed for an ambulance.

Everything is fine now. The doctors think Renda might still be able to bear kids and we both got a 20% discount on our prescription glasses. The lenses are as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle but at least they won’t break if they fall off during one of our marathon jacks tournaments. And mom can almost get out of bed by herself with her new knee replacements although the pain is sometime so excruciating it makes her faint. As for Dad, well he’s up to the letter “T” now! Unfortunately, his hand is a piece of dead meat that I swear glows a “glowy” color and hums every now and then. Meanwhile, the Department of Homeland Security is investigating the real estate firm who sold us the house. And they say our temporary relocation to Plum Island will be a pleasant one with plenty of room for more jacks!

Whatever is behind that purple and green triangular door may always remain a mystery to us. But one thing is for sure - it ain’t nice.

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