From the album ‘The Bearer Of Bad News’ (2015) • Pay what you want tndr.lv/andyshauf
Wendell Walker was a friend of mine. We’d stain our teeth in the summertime, and with lips of purple, the winter would roll past the boarded windows into our souls and shake our weary bones. Now this past winter was the coldest in years. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never lived here, but it locks your doors and starts your mind thinking in circles just to pass the time, and breaks your weary heart. Now Wendell Walker was a man of God, but he didn’t care much for his sober mind, and when the cold mixed in he was turned around. Heard the voice of God and the angels sound a message just for him: “My son, my son, she is the devil’s child. Won’t you save her while you can? Cut down the other man.” Now Wendell Walker was a friend of mine, but he married too young in the summertime. Their hearts weren’t ripe so they fell apart, and I found myself with a joyful heart as our secret lives began. We found our moments in between the hours when Wendell Walker drove his car to town. But one day he found a letter that I wrote for her on the top of her dresser and in his winter mind he heard the voice of God say: “My son, my son, she is the devil’s child. Won’t you save her while you can? Cut down the other man.” With the voice of the Lord ringing in his ears and the note to his wife that confirmed his fears, he sat down on the edge of the bed, read the letter again to see who’d sent it but it was signed ‘Forever Yours.’ He stood up slow like he’d just been hit, walked into the kitchen where his wife was sitting he said, “My mother called on the telephone. She says she needs some help so I’ll be back in the morning,” and he grabbed his heavy coat. My phone rang while I was watching the news. She said the house was ours to cure these winter blues. So I made my way, and we turned the blinds and Wendell walked in just in time to see our secret die and say: “My son, my son: I’m gonna have to cut you down.” He pointed his rifle to my eyes, but his hesitating hands were shaking from the cold. So I pushed his gun away just as he found his strength, and the bullet kissed her lips, and I cried: “My God, my God what have I done?” And he reloaded his gun, and he put it in his mouth, and I stood in the room that I’d created.
Meticulously written over four years and recorded over one in a makeshift studio set up in his parent’s basement, Shauf, whose delivery at times reminds of Elliott Smith or Paul Simon, plays nearly every instrument on The Bearer of Bad News. The album was crafted on his grandfather’s timeworn guitar and heavily influenced by the aforementioned-and newly learned-clarinet, which was a Christmas gift from family. In spite of his modest recording set-up, Shauf imbued The Bearer of Bad News with an enduring warmth and redolence that lingers long after the album ends.
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andyshaufmusic
3 фев 2015