The opening salvo of meowing from the
hungry cat on the nightstand has devolved
from homage,
a la the barn house cock,
to an incurable trope within the group.
They have started the last six hundred or more
albums in this way.
But when the house limbers up, after the initial
popping in the old walls like sore muscle
and crackling bone, we hear that familiar sonic range.
The wood floors creak with character and consistency,
an enveloping timbre in the timber.
Like a marble rolls down soulless bowling alleys,
the sliding door tracks open to the back porch.
Water hits the flowerbeds with a couple loud smacks,
and the dirt’s gurgling roots are dwelt on.
Ponderous silence follows, perhaps the artist’s remark
on the morning’s long battle with alcoholism.
The preference, it suggests, is in water.
Tuesday Morning, 6AM-8AM is easier
on the car horns than some other Brooklyn
recordings of this era, and only hints
of road rage mark this offering.
The album trades the tumultuous for the timid,
the accosting for the accommodating.
Sunshine is captured with a classic low-fi fizzle,
and trust me, it’s tough not to hum along.
Layered in, behind the splashing of shower water,
the inner monologue rises, a risky
stream of consciousness, soft spoken word.
In the past, throughout the group’s oeuvre, we’ve seen
a tendency for the flagellant, for the self-dismantling.
Here, it’s different. It sticks itself out with this excerpt:
“You are woken up good, you are good. You are woken up clear.”
It’s a patient morning. That pensive moment recedes,
and we’ll see if the mood holds in later albums.
The day, after all, is a long, long thing.
Sean Lyon is a native Texan living in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn. He has a story published online at ‘Cleaver Magazine’, and poems in print and online at, ‘The Main Street Rag’, ‘Washington Square Review’, and ‘One Sentence Poems’. Twitter: @Tisbutehname
–Art by DML
