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The Bukes

by The Bukes

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1.
All this time we’ve been looking for First Avenue, where I first met yo. We were too young to feel the floor, down the street we walked, how the people talked. And when they asked me, “what became of you?” all I could say was ”last time I saw her she was headed for First Avenue.” Going right out of my mind too. Don’t tell me I’m blind, now I…wonder why all the shops on the Boulevard closed down? Guess someone made a bundle, guess others left the town. Where all around us was the sound of whispering and faded traffic, now there’s a road, but it only goes, back to the places once upon we knew–I dont care what you say i’m going back to 4 First Avenue. Going right out of my mind too. Don’t tell me I’m blind, now I’m…4 First Avenue, just got to be the place where we used to play, everytime we’d walk down Boulevard laughing, everyone would say, 4 First Avenue’s the place, the way, today. Never thought too much about what they meant, but now i find all of a sudden there was nothing else but you, and all the things you had to offer, well i couldnt refuse. When all around us was the sound of whispering and faded traffic, now there’s a road, but it only goes, back to the places once upon we knew, aw, we were too young. And though you turned your cheek the other way, you were looking for First Avenue, 4 first avenue, well bless my shoes, 4 first avenue, goin right out of my mind too. Don’t tell me Im blind, now I’m, now I’m, now I’m goin back to 4 First Avenue.
2.
We grew up in Stoddert Park, just before the war closed down. Skipped to the playhouse fields, walked across and never came back. One day, long ago....Somewhere back in Stoddert Park, summer ’68 walk through Georgetown. Starry-eyed freaks in the morning, some were sent across–you know they never came back. One day long ago, down in Stoddert Park. There’s a man with the morning papers–the girls walk down from the Collonade Apartments–always something waiting, somewhere back in Stoddert Park one day. We’d take off early from school, catch the bus and we’d hang around the shops off of 34th & M Street, watching the people pass by. Now I know I can never forget, I remember Stoddert Park–sitting, waiting for the light to fade, soon we‘d be leaving trails across the sky you know we’d never get back. One day, long ago, down in Stoddert Park. Down in Stoddert Park, walk up through the street. Down in Stoddert Park, sidewalk merchants’ psychedelic. Down in Stoddert Park, always something waiting, somewhere back in Stoddert Park one day. Mister, can you tell me, what happened to days spent sitting in the park on the hill, was the world waiting only to pass by? Now I know I can never forget it. I remember Stoddert Park, waiting for the world to fall. Orange skies in the evening, how could we have known that we would never get back. One day long ago—we would go…if you ever need me, I’ll be down in Stoddert Park.
3.
Met in the corner cafe last night, they were drinking and having the time. Blotting the death of a memory, with a laugh and a good port wine. Some said guilty, others knew the frame, but the writing was always on the wall. And the sound of the shovel in the dirt, the waitress says “last call boys.” Play the old songs one too many times, because the companys not hiring anymore. They sold off the young man’s dreams one by one, for the love of a good clean war. They say just be something, but its something they can use, now all that glitters is not gold. And the sound of the shovel in the dirt, they’re filling up the holes. And its no subtle punchline, just the crushing of bone. And the sound of the shovel in the dirt, they’ll put you in the ground. Yeah, down in the ground. Well they’ll put you in the ground.
4.
Climbing up the back wall the sunlight peeks up over the edge, brightens up the daybreak surrounds her, gently calls her name, she can tell you why the sun shines. Without a word she walks down the hallway, tip-toes down the stairs, makes herself a world where the rules are breaking, frightens all the players. They cant believe this is happening, so they have to go away for awhile. Welcome to wonderland, please don’t ask why your world’s about to float away. In the morning light where you make me understand, I should tell you “cause i said so” but the thousand million things, there’s a thousand million things. What’re you doing off in the corner, hiding that green piece. Making sure you win’s not half the game, don’t you know you better get that out of your head. She cant believe this is happening, so she has to go away for awhile. Welcome to wonderland, please don’t ask why your world’s a plastic cherry pie! In the morning light where you make me understand, I should tell you “cause i said so!” but the thousand million things, theres a thousand million things, theres a thousand million things. Welcome to wonderland, please take the time take a look around!
5.
Everyone knows her name, come Saturday she’ll be far away. What can I say to her that she hasn’t heard a thousand times–Julia’s waiting, Julia’s waiting. One thing I know it won’t be long before someone comes to meet her, they’ll run away, but if you should see her, don’t think that you have a chance, don’t think you should even ask–Julia’s waiting, Julia’s waiting. Julia knows that its only a matter of time, before I run right over. Julia waits for me to see her point of view, I know we must be out of our heads. Nobody knows her name, come Saturday, we’ll be far away. But if you should ask us just what we’ll do, don’t wait for an answer–Julia’s waiting, Julia’s waiting. Julia knows that its only a question of time, before I run right over. Julia waits for me to see her point of view, I know we must be out of our heads–Julia’s waiting.
6.
In her collage, you won’t believe yourself. In her collage, a clock with a face strikes twelve. Matchbook numbers, paperbacks coffee-stained with shellac. Newspaper headlines crash into her front and back. In her collage, all the others are there, you won’t believe yourself, in her collage, floating in air, while children play the cat sits on the shelf. Rubbings from the ancient ruins, something I cant quite make out the words, under a faded photograph. Hidden meanings pressed in paper cigarettes, like smoke he can’t catch. And in the window a painting by Soutine, two lovers ripped by the wind and glued together again. Angels heralding, trumpets softly pounding Allenbrook’s “Ode to Dreams” and I know just what they mean, but I dont know what the time is for. In her collage, all the others are there, you won’t believe yourself, floating in air. Sitting on the basement steps I must have dozed off for a minute or two. Dreamed of the cities we’ve lived in, walking round, somebody had started to say, words were falling out of your mouth like rain and the world was in the palm of your hand. On a piece of paper something I can’t quite make out. In her collage.
7.
Walking up the Ivory Tower, I never saw the fall I was about to take. Birds were calling louder and louder, the songs that beat, I thought my heart might break. Swept up in the sound, it felt like I was flying through the clouds and the trees, a monkey on a silk trapeze. Back down on the ground, the crowd down below, never saw the show. I was always lost, off in a contemplational clause, always drifting away. You can’t squeeze blood from a stone, you can’t, call it love when you’re all alone you can’t, see we’re living in it. Locked up in the Ivory Tower, I thought I heard you say my world was fake. Words kept getting louder and louder, with every single breath, I thought my heart might break. Swept up in the sound, it felt like I was falling through the clouds and the trees, a paper bag in the breeze. Back down on the ground, the crowd down below, waiting for the show, I was always lost, off in a contemplational clause, always drifting away. One thing I’d like to know, one place I’d like to go, one thing I’d like to see. And then we get to the part, where I’m always wondering which way to go? Living in thee Ivory Tower, where there’s a will there’s a way, I’ll never get out of. Living in the Ivory Tower.
8.
Let’s get to bed there’s nothing better than to feel the warmth upon the pillow’s waiting there at the top of the stairs. There’s nothing else that we should do, everybody’s gone now its up to you. Let’s get to bed, the early morning light’s upon our heads’ much too soon to think about tomorow anyway. There’s nothing else that we can do, don’t you think we ought to run to the place at the top of the world. Where we can fall asleep at night, on top of the world, where we can fall and sleep together. I’m sure that there’s a reason to find. Tomorrow morning when the world turns upside-down, we’ll be waking up to the sound of cars and telephones ringing, won’t be long before they’re singing: oh my dear, don’t you want to go upstairs (jump into the fire, out of the pan, over your head, jump into the shower, late for the train you’re officially dead) jump a little higher. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could go away together. Jump a little higher, always a chance we’ll get away for awhile. Let’s get to bed, let’s get to bed, don’t you want to go. Let’s get to bed, let’s get to bed, don’t you want to go.
9.
You can draw the line and move it just a little to the left. You can pull the rule back over just a little to the right, but don’t start talking about it—that’s how people get hurt—better stop muckin’ around, leave it alone. You can draw the line in the sand, you can start a fight. You can go up and down up into the talk, until you don’t know whats wrong or right. Looks like you’ve done it this time, you won’t even have to even the score, stop fuckin’ around, leave it alone. First they take a little orange and they mix it with a little gin. I’ll be in at eight in the morning, wheels falling off and the walls caving in–leave it alone. You can take your time, take a good look because its gone before you know it. You can cook by hook or crook, but you might be a kook and not know it. Why can’t you just have a good time, why do you always have to even the score–stop fuckin’ around, leave it alone. First you take a little orange and you mix it with a little dream whoever’s here in the morning, turn on the lights and don’t let anyone in. Sunday you’re too busy to call me, Thursday I’ve got nothing to do. Put me down for a Friday, just to say I don’t have a clue. First you take a little orange and you mix it with a little green, I’ll be here at eight in the morning, wheels falling off and the walls cavin’ in
10.
You asked me why, but I’m at a loss to even tell you what the day is, the way its gone all I can say is, better luck next time. And I don’t know what to tell you, because I don’t know what to do, I always walk into walls everytime we talk, I’m always walking, walking into the walls. I don’t want to tell you all about it, because you’ve heard it all before. It starts out with me down on my knees, ends up with you leavin’ and me begging for more. But I guess I know how you feel and I guess that you’ll always be the one with the talk, they won’t even have to look after dark, they won’t even have to fill you in. But somehow someone saved your life, but I wouldn’t be too sure about who holds the clock, yeah, who holds the clock. And somewhere in the middle, where you lose control, you tell me you love me while you’re slammming the door. I wouldn’t mind so much but my hand’s so sore and I don’t have the stomach for it anymore. But I can still hear the sound, ten thousand gates crashing down, with you its always the falls and I’m always walking into walls. So I guess this means goodbye and I guess I’ll have to cry myself to sleep each night, lie myself to sleep each night. One day you’ll wake up and find its gone, that you’d been bought and sold all along–was it just a song? Yeah, was it just a song? You ask me why, but I’m at a loss to even tell you what the day is. All I can say is, I’m always walking, walkin’ and talkin’ to the walls, I’m always walkin’, walkin’ and talkin’ to the walls, I’m always walkin’, walkin’ into the walls.
11.
She came in drunk again late last night and crawled into the bedroom, drunk out of spite. The love I’d stolen such a long, long time ago, had come back now to haunt me, I failed her so. Fore she believed that I’d finally find a way, but her father n’er forgave me, not even on his judgement day. Drink to me boys, drink for my soul. My love is dead, now my love lives no more. Drink up boys, drink for my soul. I killed my love, now my love lives no more. I wrapped my fingers around, oh around her throat and squeezed until the blood flowed, I saw her soul float up, up to the heavens where now she lays and dreams of the blackblue roses I threw upon her grave. And now my son comes to kill me I know he will. Pray he comes here soon, I’m afraid I’ll die a natural death. And when the blade cuts deep, deep, deep in my chest, be no more pretending, no one can lay my soul to rest.

about

The Bukes exploded into the early 21st century about 25 miles west of DC, in the rolling Blue Ridge foothills of Northern Virginia. An impromptu recording entity that ended up recording 13 Zenone originals, described by a local sage as “oxymoronic blends of existential hope and dystopic euphoria song-gas.”

Big Cellar Studio 2006. With drummer & bassist Bob & Bruce laying down a souped-up engine for Larry’s super-groovy guitar takes—both acoustic & electric, and my nobody-would-quite-call-it-singing “vocal approach,” we didn’t have to hunt for a sound. Some charts and two bars into the first song we recorded, Stoddert Park, and much like the traffic my parents told me to go play in, i knew it was buckle up motherfuck.

The notion, that The Bukes could pull off anything resembling a live album, should’ve immediately been deemed ridiculous, grossly presumptive, and filed quickly under “brazen naiveté.” And it was pretty much, for quite awhile. But like a phoenix…yeah, you know. And here we are. But hey, no foolin’, these cats could really play. That simple.

Turn out the lights and enjoy this musical voyage that is “The Bukes.”

credits

released October 20, 2022

Larry Benade–Acoustic & Electric Guitars
Bob Gibson–Drums
Bruce Thomas–Bass Guitar
Mark Zenone–Vocals & Keyboards
& Bass Guitar on Ivory Tower, Let’s Get to Bed
and Leave It Alone

Recorded, Mixed, & Mastered by Larry Benade
at Big Cellar Studio 2006/2007

All songs written by Mark Zenone
Arrangements by Benade/Gibson/Thomas/Zenone

Published by Zenone Design
© 2022 Zenone Design
All Rights Reserved

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Mark Zenone Washington, D.C.

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