the back story

It was the first time I'd rented a car. The first time I would be driving one in months, actually. I figured that not owning a car had been part of the problem with things, so I was looking forward to windows-down, music-blasting automotive mobility, and the boost of self-confidence that would surely come with it.

Unfortunately, the budget constraints of being a waiter in the off-season forced the fantasy down a few notches from the "Platinum Collection" to "Poor Bastard" models, although I was assured that in any case, my rental would have power windows and a CD player, so I was pacified. When I arrived to retrieve it, however, the car I was expecting had somehow transformed into a full-sized silver pickup with giant, road-chewing tires, a cab that could sleep four and an engine more suited for towing redwood stumps or construction debris than what I would be dragging along. Climbing up into the driver's seat, I felt it: I was ready to conquer some serious shit in this beast.

As unremarkable as the destination was, West Haven, CT was certainly farther than I'd ventured from home in a while, and the circumstances were more exciting than the daily static of the prior few months. With twelve songs ready to be recorded, an evil-genius friend ready to test out his new studio, and a cranky, sad-sack singer-songwriter ready to move on with his life, the elements seemed aligned perfectly for a marathon recording session. And that's what I was off to do.

Joe and I spent fourteen hours a day for four days locked in his basement studio, surfacing only to sustain ourselves with daily vats of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, Chinese food and Seagram's gin. We got into a pattern: Wake up, caffeinate, record, smoke cigarettes, eat, record, drink, mix, embellish, sleep, repeat. And it worked, so we stuck with it from Friday through Monday, spending the days recording "scratch" tracks, trying out ideas, doing and re-doing vocal and guitar parts, then spending the nights drinking, arranging, adding and subtracting this and that until finally on Monday afternoon, I drove back to NJ with ten rough mixes and a big fucking smile on my face.

And that's about it. Joe mixed it a few times (I'm a picky bastard), I passed some early mixes around to friends and family, and now, two years later, I'm finally ready to share it with all of you (or at least those of you patient enough to get this far). Yeah, things are a little different now---for starters, I have real brass and string-playing pals to perform the parts rendered in these versions by sampled instruments---but aside from a smoke-free vocal track, there's not much I would change about these versions if I had the opportunity. Each song feels like a complete thought unto itself, and that's enough for me.

I've stopped looking at it as a "demo," but more as a collection of songs I wrote between 2000 and 2005 that was recorded for posterity in one mad weekend's worth of work. Some got captured as works-in-progress and stayed that way, and some continue to grow and change to this day. However, there comes a time when you have to accept that "when the time is right" may never come around, and you just have to release your creations to the world. Enjoy, world.

I'll be posting new things I'm writing as they achieve some measure of completion, and as always, show dates and such are all listed here, but really, this page is just for songs. I hope they speak for themselves.

Dear Azalea Gwen

"Track 2, wherein the title character---our speaker's thimble-dwelling imaginary friend---discovers she's grown up faster than her human counterpart during a game of hide-and-seek."

I wrote this one with two friends one night, not my usual manner of writing, I'll admit, but it worked at the time. My friend and I were both fed up with our growing catalogue of songs about ourselves, and so the challenge was set: NO SELF-REFLECTION, NO GIRLS. I think someone came up with the idea of the song being about a little girl, then somehow it was twisted into this 'Puff the Magic Dragon'-in-reverse tale about a boy, his imaginary friend, getting older, life and what comes with it---but, reflective though it was, it wasn't about us, and it certainly wasn't about girls. Imaginary friend leaves her boy to face growing up, which he does with reluctance and anger. Enjoy.

Dear Azalea Gwen

I hid in the doorway, trying it your way---
So easy to find me.
Olly-olly-olly oxen-free!
Twenty Mississippi...
you must have just missed me.
I’ll extend my pardon
to the butterfly that caught your eye in the garden.

Azalea Gwen,
go hide in your thimble again.
So tired of playing pretend?
Then take your time,
‘cause life’s not threaded in twine.

Give me back mine!

Mistaken and simple, I looked in your thimble,
deciding to seek you instead.
Where else would you be besides inside my head?
From an old, empty tree-house a forest’s just trees now,
and you, my sweet absentee, would agree:
this poignancy is misery.

No penalty for loyalty to imaginary royalty.
My apologies to Azalea Gwen.

She’s off in her thimble again.
I’m tired of playing pretend
and I’ll draw the line
where our lives no longer entwine.
Just give me back mine!

- Justin Pope
(c)2005 Justin Pope Music
all rights reserved

Justin Pope - vocals, backing vocals, acoustic guitar
Joe Durniak - drums, electric guitar, bass

How I Got Through It

"Track 1, wherein the speaker urges himself from his Couch of Misery into the Chair of Acceptance."

The answer is: writing songs. I wrote it after a few weeks of sitting in a couch-fastened funk, watching reruns of NYPD Blue as the world passed my miserable ass by. I hadn't written in a while, so I set a challenge for myself in hopes that it would spark something worth getting up for. I tried to begin as many words in each stanza with the same letter without the song sounding silly or precocious*. I got through D, E and F, but not A, B, C (too obvious) or G and so forth (although there are some pretty comedic attempts at G in a notebook somewhere...). I highly recommend the "set a challenge for yourself" method of breaking writer's block...that's actually why I have this blog. Just getting something out on to a (web)page is usually enough to start the wheels of song back into motion, and even if it's doggerel, you're still one song up from when you woke. And that's always good. Enjoy.

How I Got Through It



Don't it make you tired, son,
don't it take the wind out of your sails?
Don't it drive the difficult decisions
deeper into their derail?
Don't it make the miracles
of simple sighs and lyrical devices
dive,
dissecting intellect
with devastating calls (collect)
and vices?

Elevate your eloquence with
embers left from self-defense and alcohol;
ever wander, ever wonder.
Everyone's got something underneath it all.
And even if you've ever earned
the privilege of being burned
by such a pretty noise,
everybody doesn't see it.
Better to exist than be its whipping boy.

For the sake of fear of flying,
figure out what part is dying fastest, then
forget your fears and amputate it.
You'll be thankful once you've made it past this.

- Justin Pope
(c)2005 Justin Pope Music
all rights reserved

Justin Pope - vocals, guitars, scraping sound, bass, choir
Joe Durniak - drums, far away guitar solo

from the forthcoming "a bottle from every case" CD release

* - and yes, I know it's a wee bit precocious. One out of two ain't bad.