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Spirit House

by Marian McLaughlin

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1.
Sea salts and kundalini hope it’ll help me with my breathing. Did you know that Harry Houdini died in his sleep from internal bleeding? Well, the Master of Escape could not foresee his very last day due to his own delay he met his doom to our dismay. Merlin, from Arthurian legend told by the tongues and the tales of the peasants chose emotions first and potions second a choice he learnt from a horrid lesson When the Lady of the Lake entombed our wizard in a cave. Lust she took, trust she did break much to our wizard’s own mistake. Gandalf the Grey strayed too soon fighting with pride on the bridge of Khazad-dûm. Doom...doom...doom…
2.
Your Bower 04:43
You lure me into your bower yet I notice you cower as my eyes do devour all your hard-working hours. Twigs bent like arcs and vectors natural architecture. Conscientious collector, I’ll be your inspector. Wistful for my affection, whistling with pure intention. Triplets in your inflection, I listen, as you sing, as you sing, as you sing, sing for me. I’m impressed by your generous gesture, you’ve expressed interest far beyond measure. By request, I’ll take this token, your song and your structure’s whimsically woven. And it’s won me over, it’s won me over. It’s won me over, it’s won me over. It’s won me over, it’s won me over. You’ve rendered a splendorous thing. Your tremolo turns me to trembles. What treasure to hear you sing.
3.
Kapunkah 04:49
Eating mangoes by the mangroves we dipped our toes into the Andaman sea. There was so much for both of us to see but we were rendered lazy by the heat. Like a water buffalo lying in a puddle of repose. Onward to our bungalows we noticed that below our bed there was a black and red spider. She made her web and built her nest, but I didn’t really mind her. For she was not dangerous, she’s just our neighbor. She’s not poisonous, just an acquaintance. But remember that King Cobra does exist on this island. So when you’re walking through the brush and hear something you do not trust do the cobra step, do the cobra step do the cobra step, do the cobra step. High foot, high knees, thank you for not biting me. That’s the cobra step. Eating mangoes by the main road, with sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves. They sold them just for 20 Baht a piece, so I bought three, a filling snack, a little feast. And with 20 Baht I got a coconut cracked the top and drank it all right up with a straw on the beach high applause I was pleased. And every house in the south had a rambunctious kitten or an anxious chicken, and every porch in the north sported an orange chow. And the most beautiful sound amongst all sounds that I heard more enthralling than the calling from the local birds more curious than the yells that rose from the vendors in the crowds. Was the sound of the cows’ bells ‘round their necks as their heads were bending as they bowed to graze on the maze of grass along the path in the back of where we stayed five minutes away from the cave.
4.
Ocean 04:58
Sailors at bay in the harbor today, but later we'll trek deeper waters. To pause is such grace, but our anchors will raise, and the currents will tug us out farther. But if I were a river, if I were a lake, if I were a pond, well, perhaps I would make a habitat that I could solely contain, no need for control; just to self-sustain. But the maritime bounties Astound me each day. The ocean is potent, I'm obliged to stay. A glacier which glides at a gradual pace, carves cirques and moraines and abandons all haste. If I were a glacier, of rock and of ice, my stillness I'd savor, how it would suffice. But the maritime rhythms will always remain. No need for division, I know my terrain. If I were a channel, a canal or a strait, They'd travel my waters, they'd pass through my gates. But the maritime boundaries wrap 'round me the same, the ocean's my docent, my guide...my domain. So I'll bow at my bow with each nod and each turn. I'll stay strict and firm at the rear of my stern. For I am of ocean which I cannot feign. To change my devotion would go against grain.
5.
A celebration! For a cetacean Calm canary of the Arctic Sea has learnt to speak, through imitation! Let us rejoice, a sentient thing has mimicked the voice of a human being. Calm canary of the Arctic Sea front and center of a media frenzy. The age-old question that leaves us restless and constantly, and constantly, and constantly guessing. And pushed man to endlessly seek for consciousness that’s beyond our reach Is, do you reckon? Is there life on Mars, or beyond the stars in this galaxy of ours? Well it breaks my heart, well it breaks my heart, well it breaks my heart. Well it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces the way we treat countless species on this planet that we call Earth our home, our Earth. By birth our rights have wiped out more than we will ever know. Well a simple start well a simple start, well a simple start is the archetypical dodo dodo, dodo, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. May all who’ve passed and are deceased may you rest in peace, and in our memories. And before the disaster does increase May we remember that we as well our beasts. We are beasts. Resuscitation before extinction or extermination of any more creation. Calm canary of the Arctic Sea, interpreter ‘tween the creature world and humanity. Calm canary of the Arctic Sea, speak once more, I implore. Calm canary of the Arctic Sea, what on Earth have we done to thee?
6.
Fourth Son 05:08
Cardinals in the garden startled when I spotted them nestling with the starlings, those speckled, restless darlings. Old world seed-eating songbird. Are you somber in slumber? Are you stronger in numbers? Are you starving with hunger? The tanagers are managing to prove themselves as scavengers but the old oak tree. They're opening up all of the acorn seeds, stealing them in high quantity. From the sterling silver-colored squirrels, with their shaded earl-grey bushy tails. All the tanagers, all the tanagers, all the tanagers... those brightly colored chested males... So go forth, fourth son. You were not the chosen one. Go forth, fourth son. You were not the chosen one. By birth, there was before you the first, the second, and third. No place in the estate, no duty in the church. No work, no worth, no work, no work, no worth, no work. No title to inherit, no bounty, child, no merit. But take your coat of arms and bear it. Marlet stuck against a star-lit sky never settles... well, his prize is to quest for the rest...of...his...life…
7.
Alexander 05:56
Standing on a jetty admiring waves and eddies that’s when I lost track of Alexander. Well it always seemed to be that he was on an Odyssey, full of curiosity how that child would meander. I tried to keep a watchful eye but he would always stray. I should of been more diligent more vigilant that day. They say a mother, she knows best, but I was never sure. I always second-guessed myself even when I felt the first stir from Alexander. That day it was as if the sea has cast some kind of spell. It called you in, much to my chagrin. I wish that I had been fast enough to catch you as you fell. Well, then I’d have a different kind of story to tell about Alexander. I was frantically panicking I couldn’t absorb this. And all the moments that went by were making me nervous. Is there anything that I could possibly do that could summon him back to the surface? A cormorant, the only witness to my shock, it’s head thrown back, as if it laughed as if it mocked me from its rock. And if the cormorant could speak well, it would preach through soiled beak, “True life shall not be regained.” And all the hours that went by they seemed to lose purpose. But I held up my vigil, I stayed there until my son was summoned back to the surface. And there you were, in the sand, Alexander. Covered in sea-foam and brine. And there you were, in the sand, Alexander. So I ran down to the shoreline to reclaim what was mine. And I carried you back and I drew you a bath and I lathered you lovingly with lavender. Then I wrapped your body in linen.
8.
Mysterious will-o-the-wisp, ethereal spirit appearing. What possible sense could be made of this figure in the clearing? Past the wisteria, and the hyacinth, I saw the phenomenon of the will-o-the-wisp. In the mire growing tired and getting lost. My feet trip over the peat, and I slip by the creek on rocks covered in moss. While collecting kindle my sight begins to dwindle I wish I gave this fire more forethought… I need a light, I need a light, I need a light, I need a light, to guide me… I need a light, I need a light, I need a light, I need a light, to provide me… with heat for the night… As if it sensed my despair, a glowing orb came to view. I approached with caution and care Not knowing what it would do. I'm entranced by this phantom. Like a candle in a lantern. I watched it dance and I watched it burn. I watched it dance and I watched it burn. Foolish fire, will you make a fool out of me? Curious why you hold that smoldering spark… Are you a demon, or are you a lark? Should I engage in this game with your flame? Or will you do me harm? I watched it dance and I watched it burn. I watched it dance and I watched it burn. I watched it dance and I watched it burn. Then I took my own turn. Foolish fire, will you make a fool out of me? Curious why you hold that smoldering spark… Are you a beacon, or are you a mark? No, you are misleading me Farther and deeper… down into the dark.
9.
He was a legend of the neighborhood always walking his black dog around, and when I’d see him with his headphones on I’d call out “Aaron Brown! Aaron Brown, what’s going down?” Oh that boy be a walking but he’d stop and start talking to anyone who came around. In his camo jacket his music was a racket his headphones blared with sound. And in summer and spring he never thought such a thing of shoes he walked barefoot through town. Oh, that was our Aaron, that was our Aaron, that was our Aaron Brown. And you’d be in luck if you saw his blue truck barreling right down the road. ‘Cause he’s smile and wave and he most likely gave stranded walkers a fun ride home. With his foot on the pedal he blasted country or metal with him it would always change. And in his overalls with a slight southern drawl he was anything but strange, ‘Cause he was our Aaron, he was our Aaron Brown, he was the silliest guy you could ever be around.
10.
I sat by the paint-chipped windowsill silently watching winter slowly spill. Dispersing, worsening washed out by whiteness and wind. Having just woken up I wondered when did it begin? Why am I inside locked away and warm? Where do deer and mourning doves go to weather off the storm? Where do squirrels go to bury their souls when trees are stripped and bare? Why am I inside instead of being out there? The need for shelter as we skelter to warm up our shivering skeletons. And will this weather get better? I'm sure there will be a day when it will be warm again. So I sat by the paint-chipped windowsill. Silently watching winter slowly spill.

about

Spirit House is a continuation of my musical partnership with double bassist and arranger Ethan Foote. Our work together represents an adventurous and original endeavor in the meeting of experimental folk-rock, chamber music, and lyrical vision. Using my classical guitar work and lyrics as a foundation to a song, Ethan adds a new dimension, conceiving instrumentation, texture, color, and other possibilities of sound.

credits

released September 23, 2015

All songs written by Marian McLaughlin with arrangements by Ethan Foote

Recorded by Michael Okusami and Peter Fox
Produced by Ethan Foote, Michael Okusami, and Marian McLaughlin
Mixed by Michael Okusami
Mastered by Jeff Gruber

Marian McLaughlin - voice, nylon guitar, and electric guitar
Ethan Foote - double bass, bass guitar, twelve-string guitar, electric guitar, and auxillary percussion
Alan Kayanan - drums
Nick Montopoli - violin
Zach Matteson - violin
Karl Mitze - viola
Geoff Manyin - cello
Matt Hotez - trombone
Neil Brown - trumpet
Brian Falkowski - flute, saxophone, and clarinet
Michael Okusami - electric guitar and auxillary percussion

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Marian McLaughlin Baltimore, Maryland

For booking or any other questions or comments feel free to email me at marianmclaughlinmusic@gmail.com

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