Even Clothed

by Marmalakes

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This is our second release. We hope you enjoy it!

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released November 15, 2011

All songs written and performed by Marmalakes.

Recorded by Gary Calhoun James at White Owl Recording
With additional recording by Mike Vasquez at Sweatbox Studios
Produced and Mixed by Gary Calhoun James and Marmalakes
Mastered by Erik Wofford at Cacophony Recorders

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING!

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Marmalakes Austin

MARMALAKES is a rock band from Austin, TX. Dynamic and lyrically-attentive, their songs carry folk-pop sensibilities.

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Track Name: Geneva Hall
Even clothed animals need nocturnal fixes,
When the only wish is to be at odds with light

Doused in the ditch is any grand scheme thinking,
Rectangle turn-arounds are no accidents

Geneva Hall, it was as if it was looking for us
The clean floor called, seeking a supply of scuffs
Slurred even sober voices bounce off boots and starch
Would you like to dance; it’s only our part

Blind-man Andy installs shutters by day
But windows will have to wait
Because he’s busy with his glass

Electrician Tristan, I see him sparking up with Suzie
I think he’s got her in his coozie
I think she’s got him cherry-picked

Ink-spill tar avenues have taken me
Through the routes,
Eggshell letters on algae metal do
Lead me to
The neon-speckled wooden walls
Just east,
Of “Highway Narcolepsy”
And the handwriting reads:

Geneva Hall, it was as if it was looking for us
The clean floor called, seeking a supply of scuffs
Slurred even sober voices bounce off boots and starch
Would you like to dance; it’s only our part
Would you like to dance in the dance hall dark
Track Name: Colour of Defeat
I’d hate to die without any scars
So I hope to fall running in the street
After dark, pitched to pitch asphalt
Yelling “to the wall” excitedly
And then from my knees
Comes the colour of defeat.

The ground has offered pebble fractions of itself
Cordially, a warm gift of collision
The denim round the wound
Has found the former spool of blue
Unsuitable, and runs now with another
With no other
Than the colour of defeat

Finite is this night
It runs out like I will
But I’m leaving something still
In seconds built of thrill
Smeared into the street
Stained into the weave
Is the colour of defeat

I’d hate to die without any scars
So I hope to fall running in the street
After dark pitched to pitch asphalt
Yelling “TO THE WALL!” excitedly
And then at my knees
Clearly I see

The colour of, the colour of
The colour of, the colour of
To the wall, to the wall I
The colour of, the colour of
To the wall, to the wall I

To the wall, I do embark
Through the night fallen autumn park
I march
Track Name: Turquoise Balloons
If nothing else this is meant to mark this domino day
Collecting handfuls of balloon skin parts
Ungluable, randomly splayed

The air that left
Really got the best
Of the bloated latex lung

Body of a string, held by a thumb
And a single finger
Wrapped in presence, wrapped in prints
Insides merging with the winds
Gust or gale, she is gone, and so is it

El Paso woman wearing turquoise stones
On eight-decade-aged bones
That cradle, twist, and tie
And hand over her sigh
The heir goes in with ease
But takes more than he sees

Body of a string, held by a thumb
And a single finger
Wrapped in presence, wrapped in prints
Insides merging with the winds
Bursting breast, equals death, for a friend

These moon-shades match the ones
From when you could
Keep your years on
What you have attached
Track Name: The Adventures of Jubilant John in Giggle City
Spectacled his fair white face, thick glasses in black Beatnik frames
Straight-haired and honest-eyed, skinny as a saltine side
The fellow’s got a swell set of ears

He listens like a journal, but he won’t make your carpals cramp
As I sit spouting ‘bout how there’s no way to get a handle on

Jubilant John (Jubilant John)
Jubilant John (Jubilant John)

He’s one of just a few I know who will go to Giggle City
And even show you around

Well now he’s oceans away on a working holiday in Australia
Packing boxes, spinning spokes, acquainting with the Aussie folks
They call him ‘Aden’ there

And though his moniker is his middle name
Parted by the sea, he is still the same

Jubilant John (Jubilant John)
Jubilant John (Jubilant John)
Jubilant John (Jubilant John)
Jubilant John (Jubilant John)

He’s one of just a few I know who will go to Giggle City
And even show you around
‘Cause we’ve all been to Giggle City
It is a hell of a town
Track Name: Red Metal Rescue
In a suburban neighborhood, grid laid way before the war
Out of windows smoke billows, nearly every day it seems
The oaks and elms keep the soot down, but they can’t contain the flames
And roofs are only mighty crowns, when they run off the rain

Red metal rescue, sirens in song
Ground laying clouds, heavy and long
Grown men ascending, dressed in custom costumes
Red metal rescue, red metal rescue

The regulars drinking it black, sit and stir conversing
“Did you hear the explosion? It happened in the night”
“Where exactly? Were you there?”; “No, but I was close”
“I could see it tearing up the sky, the air still reeks of a roast”

“Was anyone caught up in it?” His response was slow
“An elder lady and her husband both; they were in their tenth decade”
They’d lived there for sixty years, their parents there before
They both limped out with canes in hand, but collapsed there on the porch

Red metal rescue, sirens they whine
Crying for those they may not get to in time
In the seasons ignited, equipped with heavy hearts
Red metal rescue, ascending the dark

Neighbors emerged instantly, thinking they’d been bombed
They all witnessed the tragedy, as the frame fell bright and loud
And water rushed down faces, but could not tame the flames
Or ever hold the places of the hands that held the canes

Red metal rescue, sirens they whine
Crying for those they may not get to in time
In the seasons of fire, equipped with the heaviest of hearts
Red metal rescue, red metal rescue
Track Name: Auctioneer
The auctioneer, he spoke it clear
After running back in from the rear
Of the words, learned, turned into stirring ramble

Presenting hatted at a stand
A podium hinging his hand
But his tongue, young, flung out his whirring timbre

The farmer was a schoolboy once
The carpool painter, a naval paver
The tractor reins, strange, are easier to handle
Than the flag arms up, abrupt, quickly with candor

His spit chimes out of speakered poles
Amplifying silver teeth
Feeding back, slack, smacks the Ross Point Picnic

Lensed eyes lean over styrofoam
For final bites of neighbor pies
Chewing on the rattles roam
Adhesive teeth, creep, sweetly wide

More than all
More than all to
More than all to me
An auctioneer, an auctioneer
More than all to me
Track Name: Balmorhea
I awoke in Balmorhea
To the echo-shouts of shotguns
In the distant desert haze
Every bird pretends it’s not one

Two companions bearing blood
Not the same but it may as well be
The quiet here may be enough
To make up for the shells now empty

Blown and covered in dust
These stones are not to be trusted
But they won’t bear blame if we bust
Unraveling
At our sore feet
Are the Barilla Hills

I fell asleep in Balmorhea
To a bellow-less breeze
A foul death morning has been replaced
By the winging in of eve

In the stillness that is here
There is a different kind of gun
The shots of silence almost pierce
And every word pretends it’s not one
Unraveling
At blistered feet
Are the Barilla Hills