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Abandon Ship
An Act Of Faith
Afghan / Forklift
After The Storm
A Mission In Life
Amnesia
Animal Day
As I Went Out One Morning
Back In Flesh
Back Towards Diamond Bar
Bad News At The Dynamite Ranch
Bel Air Blues
Beloved Movie Star
Beloved Movie Star Redux
Beyond Tomorrow
Big American Problem
Big Dumb Town
Bing Can't Walk ('Cause Bob Broke Both His Legs)
Bold Marauder
Bongo Beatniks
Brand New Special And Unique
Buried The Pope
Bushwhacked
Call Box (1-2-3)
Calling Out To Carol
Call Of The West
Camouflage
Cannon Song
Can't Complain
Can't Make Love
Can't Stop The Show
Classic Hollywood Ending
Crack The Bell
Crow Hollow Blues
Crystal Palace
Deep Blue Polka Dot
Dogs
Don't Box Me In
Don't Drop The Soap (For Anyone Else But Me)
Down The Coast Highway
Drive, She Said
End Of An Era
End Of The Line
Exercise
Factory
Floundering
Foggy River
Fortune Cookies
Free Of It All
Full Of Tension
Funzone
Garage Band '69
God Sleeps In A Caboose
Goin' On Down To The BBQ
Goin' Southbound
Gone The Distance
Good Times
Granma's House
Hands Of Love
Harry Truman
Hear That Bird
Heat Takes A Walk
Hell In A Handbasket
Highway Song
In Total Focus
Into The Sun
Invisible Man
I Wanna Be A Boss
Jack Talked
King For A Day
Knife And Fork
Land Of Spook
Lonely Town
Longarm
Look At Their Way
Lost Weekend
Luther Played Guitar
Mama Had A Stove
Man Of Stone
Me And My Dad
Mexican Radio
Mickey The Priest
Mission Bell
Monsters Of The Id
Mouthful Of Sand
Mr. Smith
Murray's Steakhouse Story
My Exclusive Sex Club
My Own Universe
My Rose Marie (A Soldier's Tale)
Nadine
New Blue Mercedes
Newspapers
O.K.?
Old Bent Coin
On Interstate 15
Only A Hobo
Operator Help Me
Our Manhattan Moment
Overlords
Peg And Pete And Me
Picasso's Tear
Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)
Pile Driver
Pink Parakeet
Police Call
Rain On Down
Red Light
Right Through You
Ring Of Fire
Rio Greyhound
Robbers & Bandits & Bastards & Thieves
Running With The Carnival
Salesman
Sixteen Tons
Snaketrain
Something's Gonna Blow
Somewhere In The Dark
Spy World
Stormy Side Of Town
Stranded
Struggle
Susie Before Sunrise
Sweet Pig Alley
Talk Hard
Talkin' Wall Of Voodoo Blues Pt. 1
That Big 5-0
That Big Weird Thing
The AARP Is After Me
The Alibi Room
The Big Heat
The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly / Hang 'Em High
The Gumbo Man
The Last Honest Man
The Man In The Long Black Coat
The Passenger
The Roadblock
They Don't Want Me
This Way Out
Throw It Away
Time Inside
Time Wave Zero
Tomorrow
Train Of Thought
Triangle Head
Tse Tse Fly
Twisted
Two Guys With A Lot On Their Minds
Two Minutes Till Lunch
Uba's House Of Fashions
Underneath The Big Green Tree
Valerie Is Sleeping
Venus Is Hell
Wake Up Sally
Walkin' Home Alone
Wargasm 2005
Watch Your Step
Whatever Happened To You?
Whistle For Louise
Wild Bill Donovan
Your Rockin' Chair
Footnotes

Sailing, sailing, sailors on the ship––we're sailing
Captain up on deck while the first mate is wailing
Crew is down below, get yourselves up to bailing
Captain, sir, we cannot hold this course, I think we should abandon ship!

Storm is coming in, all hands on the railing
Waves are crashing now, and the mist we're inhaling
Captain orders all to stay the course that we're sailing
Water on the mainsail, grab a bucket or a pail and bail!

Sailing, sailing, sailors on the ship––we're sailing
Captain up on deck while the first mate is wailing
Crew is down below, get yourselves up to bailing
Captain, sir, we cannot hold this course, I think we should abandon ship!
We should abandon ship!

Someone up on deck, bloody sabre they are flailing
Captain's head is off, and to the mast we'll soon be nailing
Turn the ship to sea, or to a port where there's good whaling
Return the rum and turn the boat, and so now this hardtack we will chew!
What's a sailor s'posed to do!

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

With an act of faith, all the mountains would move
And the rain would stop all around
With an act of faith, all the dogs would stop barking
And we could move out of this town

Oh, the road up ahead would open up wide
We'd be the only ones at the line
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
It'd be fine

With an act of faith, we could throw off the dust around
Leave the past way behind
We'd turn over those rocks and buy brand-new clean socks
And who knows what our shoes may soon find

All the birds in the trees would sing sweet harmony
And bring earthworms to eat on our way
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
It's our day

Now I've heard what begins with an act of faith
Can bring about changes in life
Yeah, any bum on the street would stand up on his feet
And walk in direction of light
Yeah, up ahead I think I see some light!

We can bandage all the fences broken
Come together and shake hands like friends
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
With an act of faith
It begins
Right where this road used to end

stan says

I was in an old cowboy's frame of mind one day when this fell out of my head. A song that broke some writer's block for me and a song about mending old friendships that would have regrettably ended otherwise. I recorded it one afternoon in a backyard shed at a friend's house, alone, with the window open. There were a number of sharp tools lying around and I remember almost scalping myself on a pair of rusty hedge clippers hanging from the rafters. Sometimes it's best to take that leap and just trust what's there even though it could bring some pain. It's a simple, sparse song that I thought I'd re-record one day, but the more I heard this one, flaws and all, the more I felt it was just fine as it was. Don't put me back in that shed though.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2001 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, all instruments

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
Heard it takes a worried man to sing a worried song
Sing it now, but Lord, don't let it all go on too long

Chorus:
Somethin' in the air, and it's movin' like a southbound train
Sun is goin' down, and it seems like I'll be the same

World keeps spinnin' 'round, people say there's debt to pay
I don't know––too busy with my life from day to day
But whosoever journeys up against that border line
The shadows of an ancient flame burn away in time

I was down in Arkansas, workin' graveyard shift
Movin' crates for exportation with a big forklift
Most were crackers, Coca-Cola, shoes and ceiling fans
Two were marked Top Secret, headed for Afghanistan

Chorus repeat

See shadows on the sun, see a comin' thundercloud
Nothin' will persuade, but all will be allowed
And some will seek their god from a heaven in the sky
Defendin' their affliction with a holy alibi

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
I'm callin' up the president, ask him what he say
No answer, left a message, when he's back from holiday

Chorus repeat

Now the drums are poundin', hear them blowin' on the horn
Two hands are on the hammer, and the fabric has been torn
Dam's about to burst, floods are all around
No more water, little Sylvie, 'cause I think I'm gonna drown

Ringin' on the telephone, pick it up and say
What's a man to do with all the trouble 'round today?
Heard it takes a worried man to sing a worried song
Sing it now, but Lord, don't make it all go on too long
All go on too long

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, harmonica, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: organ, backing vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, handclaps, percussion, 2 string jawbone
Alvin Fike: french horns

After the storm
We'll all need to dry out
And the forecast will be
Sunny and fair
After the storm

We'll have a big parade
And the smell of victory will be in the air
We'll march in the sun
And listen to speeches
Life will be a bowl of cream and peaches

After the storm
We'll be sucking on « swallows »
And driving our trucks in the sand
We'll redraw the maps
Wear snappy new caps
A gentle breeze will blow o'er the land

We'll pack up our things
Maybe get married
Throw off that weak, wussy
Feeling we carried
Bring it all home
In a bag to be buried
After the storm

After the storm
The flowers will grow
And pastures of plenty we'll see
We'll dig a few holes
Heat up a few coals
and have a big barbecue feed

We'll shine up our cars
Drive in the sun
Pitch a tent in the woods
And make a beer run
If somebody wants something
We might just give 'em some
After the storm

We'll march in the sun
And listen to speeches
And life will be a bowl of cream and peaches

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by John Relph and John Trivisonno.

stan says

Out for about a sec. or so as a b-side in Australia. I sometimes get mail from listeners that tell me their use for the music for things I'd never imagine. There's one crazy group that all wear engineer caps, drink beer and jump old freight trains while playing "Mosquitos" on a boombox. Others race dune buggies in the desert and light gasoline soaked tiers on fire and roll them down hills towards their friends while listening to "Ring Of Fire". I've seen the pictures. Hey, whatever gets you through I say. This one I imagine might be good for hitting yourself in the head with a ball peen hammer or maybe lying down on a sun soaked highway at noon and dodging a huge Peterbilt slamming down the I-15. It's good to know that songs can be useful for any activity of choice. After all, it's America here and I guess that's what this song makes me think of. Come to think of it, I think this started as an excuse to plug in my fuzz tone. Oh well, I hope they're insured out there.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1997 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Sue, turn out the lights
It's time to close up––we're through
Gotta clear it out
So let's drink up, it's past two
Girl, don't push 'em out
They can walk out on their own
How many times I gotta tell you, Bob,
You gotta drink up and go home
I don't run a business
Just to talk to you all day

Clear out the backroom, Sue
Stack up the chairs
Who broke this glass?
No one really cares
Go take the trash out
And vacuum the stairs
What do I
Pay you for?
And don't forget to sweep up
The glass off the floor

Once I had plans
To fix up this place
A room where you could go to
And meet people with taste
They'd talk and they'd laugh
And forget the rat race
And I'd be just like one of those guys
With the moustache and face
Hey, help me pick up this case

Hey, I'm really sorry I blew up then
I've had no sleep
I've been up all night with my wife and brother-in-law
You know, Pete
At times, this world can seem
Just like a cold icy ball
But don't let that discourage you
'Cause you're young––take that call
And if it's my wife
Just try and stall

I was just wondering
How you get home
Do you have a boyfriend?
Or do you live alone?
I'm going your way
If you're going mine
No, I feel fine
But before you go
Let me just pass on one thing

Chorus:
You've got a mission in life
To hold out your hand
To help the other guy out
Help your fellow man
That's why I own this bar
They're thirsty outside
I give 'em oceans to drink
Then they drown in the tide
repeat once, then repeat They just drown in the tide four times

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joeseph Berardi: drums, percussion
Tim Landers: bass
Steve Reid: percussion
Marc Ribot: electric ghost guitar
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, piano
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards
Eric Williams: acoustic guitar, electric guitar

Commissioned for the movie Floundering

Remember me when it's over
Remember me when it's done
Remember me when it's rainin'
Remember me––I'm the one

And if somewhere I let you down
Or ever made you blue
Remember me for the way it was
And I'll remember you

Remember me when you're happy
Flyin' free in the sky
At 3 a.m. and the car door slams
Remember me when you're high

Remember me when the picture fades
Or your doctor makes a call
Remember me just for old time's sake
Or you just might forget it all

And everybody's got lessons they must learn
These days I feel a lot less time to burn
What one love will lose another love will « learn (earn?) »

Remember me when it's midnight
Or when it's hot and high noon
Or when the wind won't stop blowin' cold
Or when you heat up your spoon

Remember me when you feel alone
Helpless, without a clue
Remember me for the way it was
And I'll remember you

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

stan says

Another one from "Floundering", with Zander Schloss again adding his inimitable touch. In the film this was called "My Drug Buddy" but I changed it later when I was told someone else had already used that title for a song. I think "Amnesia" describes the song better anyway. I don't know, I can't remember really. This was recorded in my little home studio, sung through a three inch, batter powered speaker from Radio Shack. I really liked the sound.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1994 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica
Zander Schloss: banduria, lap steel, banjo

Grandma is a rhino
My brother is a dog
I can tell it's Animal Day
'Cause my best friend just turned into a frog
Mommy is a monkey
My girlfriend is a horse
But I'm not turning into anything––
I never caused animal wars!

Uh-oh!
Fur has covered my hands!
I'd better run to the mirror!
I'm an animal!

Chorus:
It's Animal Day
It's Animal Day
It's Animal Day
It's Animal Day

Now the animals have cars
They're starting to run us over
Notches on the steering wheel
My pet is calling me Rover
Deers are hunting for humans
Seals keep crushing our heads
Animals betting on us at the track
My animal's in my bed

Chorus repeat

notes

Not one of my favorite tracks, and I'm guessing not one of Stan's either. Listen to the live version on The Index Masters; he sarcastically says "It's pretty creative stuff, here..." after the first stanza, and a joyless "Yessiree, bob, it's Animal Day. What other day could it be but Animal Day." at the start of the instrumental section at the end. The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

As I went out one morning to breathe the air around Tome Paine's
I spied the fairest damsel that ever did walk in chains
I offered her my hand, she took me by the arm
I knew that very instant she meant to do me harm

Depart from me this moment I told her with my voice
She said but I don't wish to, said I but you've got no choice
I beg you sir, she pleaded from the corner of her mouth,
I will secretly accept you and together we'll fly south

Just then Tom Paine himself came a-runnin' across the field
Shouting at this lovely girl and commanding her to yield
And as she was letting go her grip, up Tom Paine did run
I'm sorry sir, he said to me, I'm sorry for what she's done

credits

Written by: Bob Dylan
Published by: © Copyright 1968, 1976 Dwarf Music

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Someone smashed my alarm
It's got me on the edge
You know it's so sharp
(Aaaaaaaa...)
And you know I won't go
You know I won't go
I don't wanna go
(He won't go)
The corporation's boiling over
Everybody's taking over

Chorus:
And I'm back in flesh
Back in flesh
Back in flesh
Back in flesh
Back in flesh

You better sign your time card now
They don't care about you anyhow
Sign in, your minimum cut
You're late again, your salary's cut!

Someone smashed my alarm
It's got me on the edge
You know it's so sharp
(Aaaaaaaa...)
And you know I won't go
You know I won't go
I don't wanna go
(He won't go)
The corporation's boiling over
Everybody's taking over

Chorus repeat

I won't go
(He won't go.)
I don't wanna go
(You must go!)
Is it time to go?
(The orders are in!)
Well, I'd rather go bowling!
(The lanes are closed!)
Maybe a little tennis?
(Your racket's got a hole.)
How about some baseball?
(Field's rained out.)
Maybe a little fishing?
(The fish are on vacation.)
Well, how about some golfing?
(The greens are overgrown.)
Well, what about some swimming?
(I don't think so!)
Well, what about this––and that––
(No, no, no, no, no!)
Well, you can't tell me what to do!
Well, you can't tell me what to do!
(Hey, fuck you!)

notes

For the TV performance on Showbusiness Is My Life, "Hey, fuck you!" is softened to a gentle "Aw, shut up!" The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

A yellow moon hung low in the sky
The snake will crawl, the raven fly
And guilty hands will grip the wheel
Keep on the road, no skid or peel
And then I drove right down the road
I saw myself in a cloud of dust
I wanna drive, I wanna drive
With a trunkload of sin
I don't know the mess I'm in
The mess I'm in

I wanna fly high in the sky
Look right into the red bird's eye
I'm goin' east, I'm flyin' west
North and south––you take the test
In a rear view mirror––check for « red and tin »
I don't know the mess I'm in
The mess I'm in

I got a trunkload a' trash and tar
And I've been drivin' down that road
Back towards Diamond Bar
Diamond Bar...
Diamond Bar...
Diamond Bar...

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1995 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: Drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joe Berardi: drums, tympani
Joe Ramirez: bass, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, background vocals
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Mark Shulz: guitar
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Runnin' down a purple shallow, goin' down somewhere
Goin' down the alleyway, lookin' for a dead dog with a custard pie
I am looking for a dildo in the sky
And if I find it soon, I think I'll call the Menendez boys

Chorus:
Think I'll call the Menendez boys

Turnin' on the TV set––hypnotic neon queen
Rollin' underwater in a green narcotic dream
Buy a big baseball bat, then call up the Rubberman
« In plastic frown, » blow up this town, think I'll call the Menendez boys

Chorus repeat x3

Coolin' out at Big 5¹, got a sleepin' bag and a new canteen
Shave my body of every hair––rub me down with amphetamine
Jump back in my rail––punchin' it I got spooked²
Remove tattoos, the Bel Air blues––think I'll call the Menendez boys

Chorus repeat

Livin' on a crooked road––like a dust bowl refugee
Crawlin' on the freeway––cleanin' my teeth with a barbecue comb
You can call me Sam, or you can bark my hole
And you can use my dick for a walkin' pole

Celebrity has his wake––a boomer red moustache
An angle slide in Baltimore––Top 40 pederast
Everybody got another 'nother plan
Everybody got another 'nother land
Never never never never never never never!
Never never never!

Chorus repeat x4

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1995 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: Drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

My beloved movie star
There's more than cold cream in your jar
When eyebrows arch and lips are dry
When you're alone at night, you cry

Stuntmen make you feel secure
Wrap you up in soft allure
Your key light's bright, your close-up's now
This picture could tank, but you'll make out somehow

Can you hear the surf in Malibu
The red tide there is calling you
You are the part, why don't they know
Remember Tallulah, Janet, and Garbo

Behind you now
See someone there
She looks like you
With blonder hair
A newer one
With a younger glow
So you just cry all night
In your bungalow

My beloved movie star
Now I know just where you are
Up on a hill, in the backseat of a car
You're my beloved movie star

notes

This song was first released in August 2000 as a free MP3 download on MusicBlitz.
The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

stan says

I had an office on Hollywood Blvd. back in the old days, where I had a studio for a while. The street was pretty run down then and not a day went by when you wouldn't see another young hopeful with stars in their eyes getting off the bus. Hollywood is a state of mind and not a city really. It's a dream. And like any dream, eventually you wake up. It's hard sometimes to hold on to reality in a place like that. This is actually a shorter version than what I initially wrote, but we'll get to that later. I love the harp on this, and Pietra's keyboard textures are great as well. I must admit that the movie "Sunset Blvd." was an inspiration here, as well as my own encounters with things of the Hollywood kind. Another mix of this is still available for download at MusicBlitz, and on my pal Wayne Kramer's "Beyond Cyberpunk" CD, a compilation of great music from the site.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2000 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar
Pietra Wexstun: autoharp, keyboards

My beloved movie star
There's more than cold cream in your jar
When eyebrows arch and lips are dry
When you're alone at night, you cry

Stuntmen make you feel secure
Wrap you up in soft allure
Your key light's bright, your close-up's now
This picture could tank, but you'll make out somehow

Manhattan calls
Ignore Hong Kong
Directors ring
But you stand strong
Drink champagne
And celebrate
The critics call
And they think you're great

My beloved movie star
I have watched you from afar
So confident and glamorous
Yeah you make it look so easy to us

Your agent calls, it's not your week
It's a younger one that now they seek
You are the part, why don't they know
Remember Tallulah, Janet, and Garbo

Behind you now
See someone there
She looks like you
With blonder hair
A newer one
With a younger glow
So you just cry all night
In your bungalow

My beloved movie star
Now I know just where you are
Up on a hill, in the backseat of a car
You're my beloved movie star

notes

This song was first released in August 2000 as a free MP3 download on MusicBlitz.
The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings and John Trivisonno.

stan says

Recorded at around 5 in the morning after a night of working the song through with everyone. Sun was just coming up. The first and more acoustic version of this song before I chopped it down and changed the approach. It's got more story and I like it longer like this. This happens to me a lot when I get writing a song. Most of the time I just let it be as long as it feels right for the story at first. Then I might record it another way. Listen for our dog Bart around the third verse, barking his approval. Or maybe he was just mad at his agent.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2000 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

Chorus:
Beyond tomorrow
Beyond tomorrow
Beyond tomorrow
Beyond tomorrow

We will be driving in
Little time bombs everywhere
On a street in a skyscraper
With aluminum hair
There'll be someone downstairs
Collecting all our names
Numbers all in a file somewhere
Everyone will be saved

Chorus repeat

Someone will be in the air
In a plane by the sea
I could be anywhere at all
If I could just be
I'll eat candied policemen
You'll eat farmers from hell
Everyone will be very modern
Can't you tell?

Chorus repeat

There could be another one
Come from the East
With a mark on his head
The sign of the beast
Then we will all extinguish
From this thing we call yeast
Did we come from yeast?

Chorus repeat

Way back when––in a petri dish
We were mated with some weird kind of fish
Then we grew arms and legs
Now we have 'em alive, no eggs

In a room far away near the capitol
There's a box that sits on someone's skull
We'll all be waitin' for the word comin' down
Meantime... let's blow this town

Chorus repeat x6 or 7

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums, percussion
Larry Grennan: background vocals
Joe Ramirez: bass
Stanard Ridgway: vocals and background vocals
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Mark Schultz: guitar
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Chorus:
I've got a big American problem
Somethin' that I cannot solve by myself
I've got a big American problem
Somethin' that I need some help from the shelf

Way down in Somalia
Where the starving children play
Where our soldiers are sittin' around
Wonderin' just what to do with the day
There are many people in the hills
And the hills have eyes
There is someone that waits for me
Like a spider waits for a fly

Chorus:
I've got a big American problem
Somethin' that I cannot solve by myself
I've got a big American problem
Somethin' that I better take off the shelf

In Sarajevo, there's lots of people standin'
Standin' there in the street, waitin' for you
Someone's comin' down to give them the answers
« And if they'd know just what they don't want to do »

Chorus:
I've got a big American problem
Somethin' that I cannot solve by myself
I've got a big American problem
« We'd better take that book from the shelf »

Have you got a big American problem too?
Somethin' that you cannot solve by yourself
Have you got a big American problem too?
Somethin' that you cannot solve by yourself?

I've got a big American problem (x4)
A problem! Problem! Problem! A problem! A problem!

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1995 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

Now when the city was in flame you were on the phone
Sellin' fire hoses at a premium loan
Yeah the bankers all smile but when you pass they frown
You're just a little too smart for a big dumb town

Now we seen you drivin' down the boulevard
You throw that trash but not in your backyard
But like Newton and the apple what goes up comes down
You're still a little too smart for a big dumb town

We'll all applaud when you break on through
"He's a genius, boys, but then we always knew..."

Yeah, lofty possibilities, you never had a doubt
We'd all scream from the bleachers when you'd always strike out
But now you're way out in front and you look glory bound
You're just a little too smart for a big dumb town

Now when the world is over, clocks run outta wind
Somebody will scrape through the ruins and find
A little picture of you and in a file they found
Sayin' just a little too smart for a big dumb town

Now you speak so soft but in your heart you're cold
In a tower of glass you've got a mountain of gold
Yeah you talk real sharp but we'll soon cut you down
You're still a little too smart for a big dumb town

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Commissioned for the film Slamdance

If you've got a friend that you want messed up
Just meet me on the corner by the Tail Of The Pup³
I'll be there soon if you'll wait a while
It'll be just one punch for my « patients (patience?) »
And a drawer full of dirty shirts
We'll find out just who hurts––'cause

Chorus:
Bing can't walk
Bob broke both his legs
Bing can't walk
Bob broke both his legs

You're the one that I'll remember most of all tonight
Someone let go of my string, I'm fallin' down like a broken kite
Who's to say, and who's to know––they don't know what I know
There's something out there floatin' free
Anything I had is tangled up in the branches of a hangman's tree

Chorus repeat

Like a punch in the face or a kick in the groin
There's nothin' goin' down––goin' down but the dollar and the coin

Greasy little fingers point to ugly little lies
Hide them in a hope chest in an attic in Van Nuys
Trusted friendships can go sour––betrayal at the midnight hour
Just remember––I hate to lose

There's something out there floatin' free
Anything I had is tangled up in the branches of a hangman's tree––'cause

Bing can't walk
Bing can't walk

Chorus repeat

A touch of sin could break your back
Or scramble up your eggs

But then I've got a personal code
I just hit 'em on the head, throw 'em in a trunk,
And then I drive on down the road
Ha.

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings. The song credits are a bit light, but they're correct––they are from the Slamdance soundtrack.

stan says

A song for the movie thriller "Slamdance" that producer Mitchell Froom called me in to do. That's him on the organ. A friend who worked in television had just shown me some secret, horrific outtakes of a Bing Crosby TV special where he had tripped into the orchestra pit and broke his legs. A big piece of scenery even fell and struck Pearl Bailey on the head sitting in the front row. It made quite an impression! I certainly was not going to write anything called "Slamdance" so this subject matter seemed appropriately cryptic somehow for the film, a gangster kinda murder movie, with a lot of bones being broken and once close partners betraying one another. Being in the music business, I could relate.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1987 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Mitchell Froom

performers

Mitchell Froom: organ
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, all other instruments

It's hi, ho, hey
I am the bold marauder
And it's hi, ho, hey
I am the white destroyer

For I will bring you silver and gold
And I will bring you treasure
And I will bring a widowing flag
And I will be your mother
And I will show you grotto and cave
And sacrificial altar
And I will show you blood on the stone
And I will be your mentor
And night will be our darling
And fear will be our name

For I will take you out by the hand
And lead you to the hunter
And I will show you thunder and steel
And I will be your teacher
And we will dress in velvet and sword
And dip our tongues in slaughter
And we will sing a warrior's song
And lift the praise of murder
And Christ will be our darling
And fear will be our name

It's hi, ho, hey
I am the bold marauder
And it's hi, ho, hey
I am the white destroyer

For I will sour the winds on high
And I will soil the river
And I will burn the grain in the field
And I will be your mother
And I will go to ravage and kill
And I will go to plunder
And I will take a fury to wife
And I will be your father
And death will be our darling
And fear will be our name

Interlude:
And when you think about the end, what is the end, anyway?
Like, the end of what? The end of an era? The end of, a, like––
The end of a license? The end of a––end of what?
What is the end?
There is no end.
And you talk about the end––
there is no end.
And you figure 'bout––

credits

Originally performed by: Richard and Mimi Farina
Written by: Richard Farina
Published by: Richard Farina / ASCAP
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

Sittin' in the gaslight
Pickin' our goatees
Drinkin' cups of java
And talkin' with the fleas
Me? I got my shades on
Beret is pulled down low
Someone turns the lights on
And interrupts my flow

Chorus:
Bongo beatniks
Dig it daddy-o
Bongo beatniks
Waiting for Godot
Bongo beatniks
Dig it daddy-o
Bongo beatniks
Waiting for Godot

Diggin' bebop music
While the room is full of smoke
People snap their fingers
And ho-dads chew on rope
I'm groovin' to the beat
On the swingin' rhythm trail
I'm so cool I'm frozen
But I'll thaw out in jail

Chorus repeat

And I defect from everything I see
And I defect from the university

Sittin' in the gaslight
Pickin' our goatees
Drinkin' cups of java
And talkin' with the fleas
Me? I got my shades on
Beret is pulled down low
Someone turns the lights on
And interrupts my flow
My flow

Chorus repeat

Bongo beatniks!
Bongo beatniks!
Bongo beatniks!
Bongo beatniks!
Bongo beatniks!
Bongo beatniks!

stan says

I found this just the other day in a brown paper bag with some other stuff on cassette from the late 70's. Not bad, this. Its a rockin' little tune. The modern poets Samuel Beckett and Allen Ginsberg and the Ramones converged here to help me write this in 1975 as a song to hear something that WAS NOT on the radio at the time. I was playing top 40 gigs in Diamond Bar and trying to get my shit together. This was me finding out what I thought about writing songs and getting dead tired of Wings and The Doobie Brothers. Beatniks making a comeback. Me and my art bum friends could feel something musical was gonna blow wide open round '75... gee... guess it finally did! I played this just once in a place called "The Three Little Pigs" in West Covina just one time, and a 300 pound guy with an eye patch threw a beer at me. Pretty scary, but I finished the song. Beatniks never quit.

credits

Copyright 1975 by Stan Ridgway
Written and produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Stanard Ridgway: like, everything you hear, man.

Youth is truth they say
And old is rolled away
Grey is shown the door
While youth just paints the floor
With many colors
Bright and rainbow colors
Bright and rainbow colors

Youth is truth they say
And old is rolled away
Grey is shown the door
While youth just paints the floor

Place your seats in view
And call your guards back home
Youth will watch our gates
And yell and scream our fates
And grey will write our say
But soon will move away
To the land of ancient things
Old and ancient things

Brand new, special and unique
Bring the new, replace the antique
repeat 2x

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by John Trivisonno.

stan says

Another grand Drywall opus that somehow never got nailed up for the public. To all of those that are still waiting for more sonic-mayhem from our little hardware band and "experimental noise-combo", the construction site is still open, so don't take off your hardhats yet. This one features Pietra's "time machine - Kmart chorus" of voices and samples, arc-welded to a sentiment that we imagined piped into every consumer's zombie shopping mall in the US, at a volume that would break glass. We tried to pitch something like this to a commercial for a dot com once but they said it would scare off new investors. Kinda like what happened with Drywall, but that's another story, best left for a new "document". The high voice at the end is me after inhaling too many paint fumes at the job site. Dot gone.

credits

Sun rose up that mornin'
A cardinal dressed in red
Ancient city flocked with people
Even pigeons had no bed
Prime ministers and kings
And queens and presidents behind the rope
And you could hear the hearts a-beatin' like through a giant stethescope
That's the day they buried the pope

Groups of nuns lit candles
Bowed their heads in prayer
Old men stood there and cried––
Thousands in Saint Peter's Square
The pilgrims all applauded
As they bore his wooden coffin through the incense smoke
And it was said among the crowd "He was a man of peace and hope"
That's the day they buried the pope

Chorus:
That's the day they buried the pope 5x

Now, mothers and their children
And folks from far away
Came through traffic jams and accidents
And I heard somebody say
When a world is in confusion
It make the devil hard to see––even with a big microscope
And the wind was turnin' pages on the book there that he wrote
That's the day they buried the pope

And there were police on the rooftops lookin' down with telescopes
That's the day they buried the pope

Yeah, the world choked up with lies
And politician double-speak
Nowhere to get the truth sometime
But some will always seek
Now, you can criticize it, run it down, maybe religion's not your dope
But it's hard to argue solid, 'bout a man of peace and hope
That's the day they buried the pope
Buried the pope.

Chorus:
That's the day they buried the pope 4x
Yeah, they put him in the ground along there with the other folk
That's the day they buried the pope

Interlude:
Check!
Okay.
Maybe, a little slower, huh? Uh-huh.
Two, three––

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

Spoken by George W. Bush:
Mister Speaker, members of Congress, and fellow citizens:
Every year, by law and by custom, we meet here to threaten the world.
The American flag stands for corporate scandals, recession, stock market declines, blackmail, burning with hot irons, mutilation with electric drills, cutting out tongues, terror, mass murder, and rape.
Our first goal is to show utter contempt for the environment.
I have sent you a––I have sent you a comprehensive energy plan to devastate communities, kill wildlife, and burn away millions of acres of treasured forests.
This government is taking unprecedented measures to protect our people and defend our homeland.
We've posted more than fifty small men in airports, begun inoculating troops and first responders against hopelessness, and this year––for the first time––we must offer every child in America three nuclear missiles.
Today, we have arrested or otherwise dealt with many key commanders of Al-Qaeda.
They include a man who directed logistics and funding for the CIA, members of Congress, Vice President Chaney, one of them is found at the Department Of Defense.
One by one the terrorists are learning we are building a culture to encourage international terrorism.
Almost three months ago, the UN Security Council gave Saddam Hussein his final chance to disarm.
US Intelligence indicates that Saddam Hussein had the materials to produce three liters of anthrax.
Enough doses to kill five children.
The British government has learned that Saddam Hussein recently had an advanced nuclear weapon in his arse even while inspectors were in his country.
Our intelligence sources tell us that he has attempted to purchase three hydrogen-powered doctors and the western wall of the Pentagon.
Saddam Hussein has not credibly explained these activities.
The United States will ask the UN Security Council to consider Iraq's ongoing defiance of the world.
Secretary of State Powell, plant information to incite fear about Iraq's links to terrorist groups.
I have a message for the people of Iraq: go home and die.
Trusting in the sanity and restraint of the United States is not a strategy and it is not an option.
In all these efforts, however, America's purpose is more than to follow a process. It is to achieve a result: the end of the civilized world.

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

I press the buttons now
Voice keeps poppin' on the call box out
Mop-man, do you receive?
Ten-four, I gotta pull out
I got an ETA, five-thirty on the dot
A little bit later, it'll thicken the plot

Chorus:
They always tell me what's not is not
I just gotta get that 1-2-3
It's funny how these things always happen to me
I just gotta get that 1-2-3

Now, by the force of circumstance
And by the belt that holds up my pants
I'm held responsible
For this idea that never had a chance
When they call out the guard tonight
He'll cut the alarm and switch off the light

Chorus:
I get a funny feeling that wrong is right
I just gotta get that 1-2-3
It's funny how these things always happen to me
I just gotta get that 1-2-3

1 2 3
A B C
Like you and me
Like 1 2 3
1 2 3
1-2-3
A B C
1-2-3
1 2 3
1-2-3
It's a combination...

I press the buttons nowwww!

I press the buttons now
Voice keeps poppin' on the call box out
Mop-man, do you receive?
Ten-four, I gotta pull out
I got an ETA, five-thirty on the dot
A little bit later, it'll thicken the plot

Chorus:
They always tell me what's not is not
I just gotta get that 1-2-3
It's funny how these things always happen to me
I guess I gotta get that 1-2-3

1 2 3
A B C
Like you and me
Like 1 2 3
Not is not, not is not!
Not is not, not is not...

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

Calling out to Carol
She could really twist the screws
What'cha doin' Monday
And are you back on the booze?
Now, I've been dooin' some thinkin'
About Colorado Springs
A dirty denim jacket
And a seven-dollar ring

Well, I've been keepin' busy
I've got lots of pots boiling on the stove
Who's that in the background
I'm sorry that I asked––I guess I should have known

Chorus:
Callin' out to Carol on the telephone call
Message on a wire comin' through a wall
Talk about old times but not too long ago
Carol was the girl that everybody got to know

When'd you change your number? Hey, Carol!
It's different than you had
Have you got protection?
I know some police are bad
But that's not why I called you up, now
You know I quit that scene
I told ya 'bout your pictures
I guess I'll buy that magazine

And I still remember
All those days we spent alone
You went one way while I went the other
Sometimes, I guess, that's the way things go

Chorus:
Callin' out to Carol on a telephone call
Message on a wire comin' through a wall
Talk about old times but not too long ago
Carol was the girl that everybody got to know
Callin' out to Carol gets a busy tone
Sees a lot of people but she lives alone
Pick up the reciever––love will come and go
But Carol was the girl that everybody got to know

When they called me in the morning
And told me that she'd gone
I didn't want to hear it
So I just hung up the phone

Chorus:
Callin' out––Callin' out to Carol
Callin' out––Callin' out to Carol
Callin' out––Callin' out to Carol
Callin' out to Carol
Callin' out to Carol on a telephone call
Message on a wire comin' through a wall
Is this line in service––operator says no
But Carol was a girl that everybody got to know

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums
Bruce Fowler: trombones
Jim Lang: vibraharp
Joe Ramirez: bass
Steve Reid: bongos and percussion
Marc Ribot: electric guitar
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards
Eric Williams: acoustic guitar, hammer dulcimer, mandolins, 12-string electric guitar

He got the high sign so he jumped a bus
Along the roads that wind on through
The hot Mojave and the Jericho
He'd start his whole life anew
And what he left behind he hadn't valued
Half as much as some things
He never knew

Right around sundown...
He got dropped off on a street in town
Where a grey old man looked him up and down and said
"Son, this ain't no western movie matinee
You're a long way off from yippie-yi-yay
'Cause I can tell at a glance you're not from 'round these parts
You've got a green look about'cha––that's a gringo for starts
Sometimes the only thing a western savage understands
Are whiskey and rifles and an unarmed man
Like you"

"So you gotta keep on the move!
Don't let that fancy paint job fool you!"
Then the old timer pulled him close and said

You've got a long way, I know
You've got a longer drive ahead
Through the bones of the buffalo
Through the claims of the western dead, and––
Just like the spokes of a wheel
You'll spin 'round with the rest
You'll hear the drums and the brush of steel
You'll hear the call of the west, call of the west
You'll hear the call of the west, call of the west

spoken
Harshly awakened by the sound of six rounds of light-caliber rifle fire
Followed minutes later by the booming of nine rounds from a heavier rifle
But you can't close off the wilderness
He heard the snick of a rifle bolt
And found himself peering down the muzzle
Of a weapon held by a drunken liquor store owner
"There's a conflict," he said, "there's a conflict
Between land and people
The people have to go
They've come all the way out here to make mining claims
To do automobile body work
To gamble
Take pictures
To not have to do laundry
To own a mini-bike
Have their own CB radios and air conditioning
Good plumbing for sure
And to sell Time/Life books and to work in a deli
To have a little chili every morning
And maybe... maybe to own their own gas stations again
And take drugs
Have some crazy sex
But above all, above all, to have a fair shake
To get a piece of the rock and a slice of the pie
And spit out of the window of your car and not have the wind blow it back in your face"

Now, from the high timberline to the deserts dry
Who'll risk dangling on some hangman's tree
To stake their claims on these prarie plains
While they say this lunch is not had for free?
Just like the spokes of a wheel
Who'll spin 'round with the rest
They'll hear the drums and the brush of steel
And I'll hear the call of the west, call of the west
(Yippie-yi-yo, yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay, yippie-yi-yo-ohh-ohh)
I'll hear the call of the west, call of the west
(Yippie-yi-yo, yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay, yippie-yi-yo-ohh-ohh)
I'll hear the call of the west, call of the west
(Yippie-yi-yo, yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay, yippie-yi-yo-ohh-ohh)
I'll hear the call of the west, call of the west
(Yippie-yi-yo, yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay, yippie-yi-yo-ohh-ohh)

spoken/shouted:
I used to be somebody!
I used to be somebody, do you hear me?
Do you hear me? I've been there!
I used to be somebody, god damn you!
I've been there before!
Don't walk away!
Well, you––you wanted unleaded?
Unleaded––that's next pump over, so keep on movin', okay?
No, it's out of order.

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

I was a P.F.C. on a search patrol, huntin' Charlie down
It was in the jungle wars of '65
My weapon jammed and I got stuck way out and all alone
And I could hear the enemy movin' in close outside
Just then I heard a twig snap and I grabbed my empty gun
And I dug in scared while I counted down my fate
And then a big Marine––a giant, with a pair of friendly eyes––
Appeared there at my shoulder and said "Wait."

When he came in close beside me, he said "Don't worry, son, I'm here––
If Charlie wants to tangle now, he'll have two to dodge"
I said, "Well, thanks a lot!" I told him my name and asked him his
And he said "The boys just call me Camouflage"

Chorus:
Woah-oh-oh-oh, Camouflage
Things are never quite the way they seem
Woah-oh-oh-oh, Camouflage
I was awfully glad to see this big Marine

Well, I was gonna ask him where he came from, when we heard the bullets fly
Comin' through the brush, and all around our ears
It was then I saw this big Marine light a fire in his eye
And it was strange, but suddenly, I forgot my fears

Well, we fought all night, side by side, we took our battle stance
And I wondered how the bullets missed this man
'Cause they seemed to go right through him––just as if he wasn't there
And in the mornin' we both took a chance and ran
And it was near the riverbank when the ambush came on top of us
And I thought it was the end, and we were had
Then a bullet with my name on it came buzzin' through a bush
And that big Marine, he just swat it with his hand
Just like it was a fly...

Chorus:
Woah-oh-oh-oh, Camouflage
Things are never quite the way they seem
Woah-oh-oh-oh, Camouflage
This was an awfully strange (big) Marine

{spoken}
And I knew there was somethin' weird about him,
'Cause when I turned around,
He was pullin' a big palm tree up outta the ground
And swattin' those Charlies with it from here to kingdom come

When he led me outta danger I saw my camp and waved goodbye
He just winked at me from the jungle and then was gone
When I got back to my H.Q., I told 'em about my night
And the battle I'd spent with a big Marine named Camouflage
When I said his name, the soldier gulped, and a medic took my arm
And led me to a green tent on the right
He said "You may be tellin' true, boy, but this here is Camouflage
And he's been right here since he passed away last night
In fact, he's been here all week long...
But before he went, he said Semper Fi, and said his only wish
Was to save a young Marine caught in a barrage
So here, take his dog tag, son, I know he'd want you to have it now"
And we both said a prayer for a big Marine named Camouflage

Chorus repeat

So next time you're in a jungle fight, and you feel a presence near
Or hear a voice that in your mind will lodge
Just be thankful that you're not alone––you've got some company
From a big Marine the boys call Camouflage

Chorus repeat x2

Hup, hey-ho, hey, left... left...
Woah, woah, Camouflage
Hey, hey-ho, ho, left... left...
Woah, woah, Camouflage
repeat endlessly until fade...

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1986 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Louis Van Den Berg, Stanard Ridgway

performers

Chris Becerra: drums
Mark Cohen: banjo, mandolin
Mark Lewis: ghost platoon
Mark Morris: ghost platoon
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitars, keyboards
Louis Van Den Berg: keyboards

From The Threepenny Opera by Kurt Weill. Also known as Army Song. Commisioned for Lost In The Stars.

John was all present and Jim was all there
And Georgie was up for promotion
Not that the Army gave a bugger who they were
When confronting some heathen commotion

Chorus:
The troops live under
The cannon's thunder
From Sind to Cooch Behar
Moving from place to place
When they come face to face
With a different breed of fellow
Whose skins are black or yellow
They quick as winking chop him into
Beefsteak tartar

Johnny found his whiskey too warm
And Jimmy found the weather too balmy
But Georgie took them both by the arm
And said "Don't ever disappoint the army!"

Chorus repeat

John is a write-off and Jimmy is dead
And Georgie was shot for looting
And young men's blood goes on being red
And the army still goes on ahead recruiting

Chorus repeat

credits

Written by: Kurt Weill / Bertolt Brecht / Marc Blitzstein
Originally Published by: © Copyright 1928 Universal Edition
Published by: © Copyright 1955 WB Music Corp (copyright renewed and reassigned)
Produced by: Hal Wilner and Paul M. Young
Arrangement: Bruce Fowler

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals
The Fowler Brothers: brass, woodwinds, bass, percussion

"How you doin', Bert?" "Well, not so good, Charlie,
My back's gone out and I got my finger cut gnarly.
The job's the same, and so's the boss.
He's still a big ass, and my wallet got lost.
My wife's sick in bed, she says she'll never get well.
And all these kids today have gone to hell.
And all that government paperwork caught up with me––
Had to hire a beancounter for an outrageous fee.
And I don't know if the chicken or the egg is to blame
But all things considered, I guess I can't complain."

"Cheer up," Charlie said, "things could be worse."
"Well, yeah, I know, but did I tell ya that
My landlord's a cop? My neighbor's insane?
But all things considered, I guess I can't complain."

Chorus:
Out on the water
Where the sailing men all go
The water's high,
While all the fish swim low
Out on the water
Where the sailing men all go
The water's high,
While all the fish swim low

"You know what, Bert?" Charlie said, "You've got the wrong attitude.
Sometimes life's a big game, and the paths, you can choose.
Things may go wrong, but you've gotta stand tall."
"Well, I know," Bert said, "But well, that ain't all.
My hair's fallin' out. The roof leaks when it rains.
But all things considered, I guess I can't complain."

Chorus repeat

"You know what, Bert?" Charlie said, "You're a real loser.
So I'll see you next week––if you live 'til then."
As Bert walked out to the sidewalk, ten floors up
Two men lost control of a hoist at just the right time
And a big Steinway grand flattened Bert like a dime.
And as a crowd gathered 'round and asked, what was his name?
And could it be the chicken, or the egg to blame?
Well, the only thing heard was that he couldn't complain.

So if you're a loser in life, and your gun's outta ammo,
Just remember the story of Bert and the piano.
'Cause if you can't string the bow––and you're clean outta rosin⁴
Someone may have planned for a music lesson.
Keep your eyes to the sky; it could be a brand name
And remember, all things considered, you really can't complain.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums, marimba, congas
Larry Grennan: backing vocals, weights and pulleys
Ken Jones: additional tracking
John Porter: additional tracking
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, piano accident
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards
Eric Williams: acoustic guitar, ukulele, poi

Well, I can't make love
To the girls in this city
'Cause the girls
Say I abuse them
And I won't go out
With girls because
Girls will fall in love with you
Everybody's lonely, that's true

Maybe it's psychology
I don't know, I gotta move someplace

I can't make love
To the girls in this city
'Cause the girls
Say I abuse them
And I won't go out
With girls because
Girls will fall in love with you
Everybody's lonely, that's true

Maybe it's psychology
I don't know, I gotta move someplace
Where the girls are easy
And it makes me miss my lonely city
And the girls are so easy
And it makes me miss my lonely city
And it seems so easy
But I can't say the words that are on my mind

Chorus:
"I'm a nice guy but I don't love you––
I just wanna sleep with you."
"I'm a nice guy but I don't love you––
I just wanna sleep with you"

Well, I can't make love
To the boys in this city
'Cause the boys
Say I abuse them
And I won't go out
With boys because
Boys will fall in love with you
Everybody's lonely, that's true

Maybe it's psychology
I don't know, I gotta move someplace
Where the boys are easy
And it makes me miss my lonely city
And the girls are so easy
And it makes me miss my lonely city
And everybody's so easy
But I can't say the words that are on my mind

Chorus repeat

"I'm a nice guy..." repeat until fade

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1980 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass, piano
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, organ

There's a man in a booth with a quarter in there
And a girl out on the runway with peroxide in her hair
Move 'em in quick, they pay out
And then they just sit there and stare

Now drink that drink and smoke that smoke
Old Mister Johnson turns blue and starts to choke
Somebody slap him on the back

Now the curtains go up
And both lights go on
And Betsy's out there in her birthday suit
Spinnin' her baton

Chorus:
And they don't know what we know
Nobody knows what we know
(And) No matter what they try to do
They can't stop the show

Now, girls, I'm proud of every one of you
Cass, spit out your gum, it don't look good when you chew
And I've told you time and time before
You're a showgirl, not a whore
Jack, pick up the phone, is it those jerks again?
You'd think they'd know by now that these girls just dance and grin
Just good clean entertainment
We don't handle no tricky-business in here

The curtains go up
And both lights go on
And Betsy's in her birthday suit
Spinnin' her baton
But I think she did it better last year
Before her boyfriend broke her arm

Chorus:
And they don't know what we know
Nobody knows what we know
And No matter what they try to do
They can't stop the show repeat four more times

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1986 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Louis Van Den Berg, Stanard Ridgway

performers

Louis Van Den Berg: keyboards
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar
Mike Terlizzi: bass
Mike Watt: bass

Hear the wind blow back those sycamore trees
There's a screen test haunting my memories
I've been driving down the boulevard, not much change
It's the same old town, just rearranged
But by the time our feature ended, fear still stood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Oh, my screen goes up, and my lights go down
My picture starts but there is no sound
The only thing I hear is a guitar play
From a lonesome place so far away
And I'd let you do the rewrite now, if I only could
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Now when that scene starts to fade out fast
The one where I exit, stage right
And then we cut to the boxing match
Inside the colosseum, with that crowd so ugly

And by the time we see dreams disappear
The audience has learned to cheer
But then fashion changed that underground
It's the same old circus with brand new clowns
And I'm lookin' out this window now on the corner where we stood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

Now I never knew how your curtain came down
Or what was backstage in your mind
We never played that lost reel we found
The lights went up, and we'd run out of time
Out of time

And it's only when the curtain's down that the ending's understood
Like an old time movie, like a film from Hollywood

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: mandolin, nylon guitar, harmonica, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: piano, samples
Alvin Fike: woodwinds and brass
Laslo Vickers: cellos, cinema string quartet
Hayden Burke: bass, popcorn box
Bruce Zelesnik: percussion, marching drum

spoken: Thanks a lot, thanks a whole lot.

Lulu sends her friends
They cover their mouths with one hand
While I keep waiting here
Drifting around in a dark land
« And the lone hunter / Envelope upturned »
I push the stamp and stick it

Chorus:
And I know there's a bell to crack
And I know there's a bell to crack

Well, I hear crosstalk now
Coming through the wire
One voice tells me yes
The other is a liar

Chorus:
And I know there's a bell to crack
I know there's gotta be one more bell to crack

Click-clack, joint, « the sticker's on my sleeve / this thing is on my sleeve »
All this mess around and I gotta clean it up
Okay, Mister Questions, you tell me, when are we gonna leave?
And can you design a heart––a heart that doesn't bleed?

Chorus:
I know there's gotta be one more bell to crack
I know there's gotta be one more bell to crack
Seen a bell, so I crack it
You just can't find good bells anymore!
Yah! Yah! Sure!
Tom Shane's a friend of mine!
I really like him––he's in the industry!
I know there's gotta be one more bell to crack
I know there's gotta be one more bell to crack

notes

For those of you who have never lived in California: Tom Shane runs a chain of jewelry stores, and does his own radio commercials. Their slogan is "Now you've got a friend in the diamond business. The Shane Company." The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

Working title: Swimmin' In A Dream

Workin' in the sun, a-scrapin' down the tar
If we made a run fer it, we wouldn't get far
Shovel on a stone, diggin' deeper down
Every day a good day that you above ground

Chorus:
Hear that crow a-laughin' at me
Rain comin' down on the hangman tree
Swing that shovel, and push that dirt
Brady got it in the back, you know it gotta hurt

One day last week, when the boss man slept
Stopped shovelin' for a while and we all made a bet
Who could run an' catch a frog, or grab a dandelion
Billy got caught, he in the hothouse fryin'

Chorus:
Hear that crow a-laughin' at me
Rain comin' down on the hangman tree
Some people gone missin', some people have died
You never know when God'll kick you offa this ride

Been cuttin' me a notch on the bunkhouse floor
One for every year, and now I'm countin' fourty-four
Swing that shovel, and push that dirt
Brady got it in the back, you know it gotta hurt

Workin' in the sun, scrapin' down the tar
If we made a run fer it, we wouldn't get far
We toil and strain, we kick and scream
We may be just a drop of rain a-swimmin' in a dream

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: banjo, vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Pietra Wexstun: tape loops
Bruce Zelesnik: shovels and rakes
Jeff Stooger: bamboo flute

Movin' kinda slow, no I never had much balance
Why does everyone I know keep makin' lots a' dough
I guess I'll find out soon when I get to that crystal palace in the sky

I've heard stories second hand about its grand interior
Its gold and silver strands, cathedral ceilings way up high
All the furnishing's unique when you get to your crystal palace in the sky

Well, I've worked as a part time circus boy
Collected cans down Saticoy
And patiently put forth my master plan

I've imagined futures and full plates
And slept with every subliminal tape
But now I'm so angry at someone
My contract is in breach
Why must my crystal palace be on hold this week?

I feel lucky I suppose, at least we're all still breathin'
Stuck here in escrow, just a' waitin' out our loan
But no big armed patrol will stop me when I get to my crystal palace by and by

And it'll be my way or the highway
Gettin' to my crystal palace in the sky

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Commissioned for the short film Death Smokes A Big Cigar

Swimmin' in the slime
Peelin' off th' dock
Baby got a purple skirt that is polka-dot
Beauty in decay can be the only way when you are not

Wind is blowin' strong
Rainin' in the world
Nothin' but a sag where there used to be a curl
Cloud is comin' on
The weatherman was wrong––it's hot

Kill the referee
I'm callin' off the match
Gimme somethin' real––Babyface will need a peel tonight

Chorus:
Where they go
We don't know
But deep inside we're blue
Catch that fish
Your only wish
Deep inside we're blue
Blow that horn
From you I'm torn
No one has a clue
So pass that glass
Did you have to ask
Deep inside we're blue

Collision traffic mess
Failure or success
Who you lookin' at and tryin' to impress
Join you in your pain
Are you lookin' for the same tonight

Place me in your web
I will obey your plan
Gimme somethin' real––Babyface will need a peel tonight

Chorus repeat

notes

I don't know when this song was actually recorded; 1997 is, well, a shot in the dark.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1997 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)

performers

Joe Berardi: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, harmonica
Mark Shulz: lead guitar, vocals
David Sutton: electric and acoustic bass, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

One dog buries a bone and then the
Other dog digs it up and finds
A prize in store
One dog dies and the other dogs go
Dig him up a tomb, with his
Name inscribed

Chorus:
And there, on his tombstone
Carved so bold
The words are clear and strong
It says:
This one is for the eyes
For the eyes of the other dogs to come
It's for the eyes of the other dogs to come

One man digs a hole while the
Other one shovels dirt inside
Another hole
One man says "hello" while
Another man is leaving on a
Long journey––to a place he'll not return

Chorus repeat

Every entrance has an exit
Every doorknob has a twist
I wonder what my face looked like
Before it looked like this?

Chorus repeat

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Tori Amos: backing vocals
Joseph Berardi: drums and ratchet
Steve Berlin: saxophones
Larry Grennan: backing vocals
Joe Ramirez: backing vocals
Steve Reid: percussion, conch shell
Marc Ribot: electric guitar
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, piano, ectoplasm
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards, time tunnel piano
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, backing vocals
Eric Williams: electric guitar

Commisioned for the film Rumblefish.

You walk, I'll run
And follow right behind you
You call, I'll come
And I won't remember where I come from
Over there, at the end of the bar
This fish keeps swimmin' in a jar
I feel a tug on the line
Which end will I be on this time?

Chorus:
Don't box me in
Don't box me in
Don't box me in
Don't box me in

One day I'll show them
Just what I'm made of
There'll be a time
When I won't remember what I was afraid of
And I'll be swimmin' in the sea
No banging on this glass for me
My eyes turned red when my life turned blue
So I'm leaving everything, that's true
And I'll jump into
A brand new skin

Chorus:
And then you won't be able to box me in
Don't box me in
Don't box me in
Let go

There's a few places 'round
That I've never been
There's an ocean out there
That I gotta swim
There's a river that flows
Right past my door
I wonder
I wonder...
...what?

And if sometimes I can't seem to talk
You'll know this blackboard lacks a piece of chalk.

Chorus:
Don't box me in
I told you not to––don't box me in
Don't box me in
Don't box me in
Let go

credits

Written by: Stewart Copeland / Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Regatta Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stewart Copeland

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards
Stewart Copeland: all other instruments

Commisioned for the film Pecker.

There's a guard in the tower
We got just one hour
When we meet in the shower
You'll feel my love power

Chorus:
Don't drop the soap for anyone else but me x3

You be the momma, I'll be the pop
You be the bottom, I'll be the top

Chorus:
Don't drop the soap for anyone else but me x2

You say you're a fighter
But you won't make a sound
You'll be my pillow biter
When the sun goes down

Chorus:
Don't drop the soap for anyone else but me x3

Chorus:
Don't drop the soap for anyone else but me repeat and fade

credits

Performed by: Stanard Ridgway and Stewart Copeland with Judd Miller and Michael Thompson
Music by: Stewart Copeland
Words by: John Waters
Published by: © Copyright 1998 Palmyra Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stewart Copeland and Jeff Seitz

He took a drive down the coast highway
Blowin' where the air was fresh and clean
He had a plan that said I'll do it my way
Rollin' from the desert to the sea

Hit twenty-one years old up in prison
Just a little night job with a stolen key
Two years liftin' weights and pumpin' iron there in his cell
He came out lookin' just like Mohammed Ali

He drove around tailgating trucks and busses
Whistling some new Michael Jackson tune
He thought back on his momma and what she told him long ago
Do it right son, please, don't do it wrong

He's goin' home
Gonna buy some stuff down at the pier
He's all alone
He's got a radio, a gun, and some japanese beer
And on the highway he saw the big cars in line
And he thought, behind every fortune... there's got to be a crime⁵

He took a drive down the coast highway
Blowin' where the air was fresh and clean
He had a plan that said I'll do it my way
But he could not plan for what he couldn't see

He's goin' home
All alone
And he stopped at a couple of markets and drug stores along the way
He'd just walk up and down the aisle and smile––funny that way

The last place he drove into had to be my place
They said he'd run out of gas anyway
And as he walked up to the counter with a blue steel gun in his hand
I took out my long rifle and I blew him away
I blew him away

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Sittin' right behind me
I could smell her perfume
It was somethin' I'd smelled before
Went through a red light
While I spilled my drink
I could feel somethin' sticky on the floor

I said "Miss, you've gotta tell me
Where you wanna go to
I can't keep drivin' round the same block"
So I crumpled my cup
And pulled the gum off my shoe
And then she told me "Just shut up
And keep your eyes on the road"

Chorus:
"And just drive," she said
"Just drive," she said
"Just drive," she said

Well, I watched her put her hands
On the bag in her lap
While I scratched the bald spot on my head
I knew then that my cab was just
A getaway car
But I shut up and drove, like she said

I took a bite of my doughnut
And I offered her one
And I said "Lady, are you in a fix?"
Then she reached in her purse
And she pulled out a gun, and said
"Now just shut up, and keep your hands on the wheel"

Chorus repeat (Okay, okay!)

spoken
Then the moon disappeared, and it started to rain,
So I put the wipers on full.
And on the bag in her lap I saw the name of a big bank downtown.
And I said, "You don't have to worry about me, nope!"
When I turned the headlights on––just for a minute––
I thought I saw the both of us on some kinda tropical island someplace.
Walkin' down a white sandy beach.
Eatin' somethin'...

Chorus repeat

We pulled outta traffic
Down a dark side street
She was fixin' her hair in the mirror
I made a left turn
At a yellow light
Drove my cab fast towards the pier

She boarded the boat
And turned and blew me a kiss
And later on, when the squad car came 'round
I ate a handful of peanuts
And I told 'em this
"I don't rememeber much, except 'Just keep your hands on the wheel'"

Chorus repeat until fade

spoken:
Hey, hey, uh––
Hey, y'all, get outta my way!––all ya sunday drivers!
Hey, you want one of these, ah, Slim Jims? They're good!
What?––what? You don't––you don't want one?
Well they're 100% meat!

Haven't I seen you somewhere before?
I know, I know, Anchorage, that's where I seen ya, Anchorage.
Well, where you goin'?
I'm sorry, I don't go in that part of town anymore.
I don't need my windows washed.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1986 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Hugh Jones

performers

K. K. Barett: drums
Tom Rechoin: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards
Bill Noland: keyboards

The end of the daydream
The end of the side
The end of relations
The end of my mind
The end of the shoreline
The end of the heat
The end of the cold
The end of an era

My conscience calls me to the phone
Speaking voice telling me it's time to go
I think of the past, and the present, and the future
I start to say

The end of the almost
The end of the sigh
It's the end of the highway
It's the end of the lie
The end of the girl
The end of the world
The end of the romance
It's the end of an era

My conscience calls me to the phone
Speaking voice telling me it's time to go
I think of the past, and the present, and the future
It's all the same

Speaking voice telling me it's time to go
I think of the past, and the present, and the future
spoken in bad Italian accent:
I sink of ze past, and ze present, and ze future
And it's all de same
It's all de same

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1980 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass, piano
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, organ

Commissioned for the French film Terminus.

You are my only confidant
And my only friend
Together we will share everything
Until the very end

Chorus:
There's no one here who shares my views
Or sees the way I can see
But there's just one thing that you'll understand
You'll have to even up with me
At the end of the line (x2)

I've bet it all before
But not everything I own
There are some things that you can't buy or steal
Or learn to leave alone

Chorus repeat last line x4

I toss the dice and skin the cat
And I always pay the fine
So we'll settle up even-steven
When we reach the end of the line

Hey, I hear you calling me back home
To fly or fall to the news of it all
There's no dark destiny
Fate will receive what our love will believe
'Til we reach the end of the line

Chorus repeat last line x10

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

stan says

I was playing two nights with my band in Paris on my first solo tour at a great jazz club called The New Morning, when I was approached by a group of cool French film makers to write a song for their new movie, which turned out to be a truly weird sci-fi picture called "End Of The Line". Starring Johnny Holiday, the "French Elvis..." I liked the title right away and said yes. They sent me some footage after I got back to LA and I got pretty into it. After I was done, the film's title got changed somewhere along the way to "Terminus". Some of you might have heard this before, but it's nice to have it here remastered for all its glory.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1993 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, guitar, harmonica
Cliff Martinez: drums
Mark Terlizzi: bass

spoken: Check-check? Okay.

I exercise in a most unusual way
I watch some TV almost every day
Out of my bed and on to the floor
I watch it some and then I watch it some more
I exercise in a most unusual way

I exercise in a most unusual way
Reading books and sometimes modelling clay
Hop in my car and head outta town
I'm drivin' straight but I'm just drivin' around
I exercise in a most unusual way

Hup-ho, hup-ho, hup-ho, hup-ho, hup-ho, hup-ho, la-la-la, hup-ho
Hup-ho x23

I exercise in a most unusual way
I read my calendar and you can hear me say
My memory's keen and it's all in my head
Should write things down but I forget them instead
I exercise in a most unusual way
I exercise in a most unusual way
I exercise in a most unusual way

notes

This song was only found on the cassette release of Call Of The West. The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings, with contributions from John Trivisonno, Dyani Green, and "Muffy St. Bernard".

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

Now, I know I had somethin' to say
But the problem is, to say somethin'
Uh, you've got to say it
And I still don't remember a thing
Since the funny gas come out of that pipe next to me
I guess they didn't okay it
Now I remember––did I tell ya?––cut my thumb off
At the knuckle on a broken band saw
Didn't see the belt buckle or the blade slip
And I remember when the doctor did it up with a stitch
Funny thing––still got a scratch that I can't itch
Where my thumb was

Well, I've brought the same piece of chicken in a bag
To work every day for the last twenty years or so
And I really don't mind, work assembly line
Got an intercom blastin' the news and the latest on the baseball scores
Come around every Friday, well, I get a paycheck
Take the same road home that I come to work on––heck
It's a living

Chorus:
And I've got another factory back home
I've got a barbecue, pink Mustang, fenders chrome
And at nine o'clock I sit there in my chair
And I don't know why I lose my hair
And then I go to...
And then I go to...
And then I go to sleep

Well, I like to know what I'm doin' when I do it
And I do what I'm doin' 'cause I don't know what to do
When I'm not doin' it
Sometimes I remember as a boy my father told me
I could grow up To be anything I wanted
Anything
And every day at lunch I still look for my lost
Digit––still got that funny scratch
So maybe when I find it I can itch it
And I got a little rubber pool in the backyard
For the kids to wade in
And I? I? I... I, I, I.

Chorus:
I've got another factory back home
I got a little backyard, pink Mustang, fenders chrome
At nine o'clock I'm in my chair sat down
Just lately, when my wife talks back to me I slap 'er around
And then I go to...
And then I go to...
And then I go to sleep

Whoah-oh-oh-oh! until fade

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

Commissioned for the movie Floundering

Tonight I'm looking for someone to tell my troubles to
Some fish will swim but some fish just get caught
I'm walkin' by a market and I remember me and you
Feelin' like an old filet that no one bought

Chorus:
Nobody knows, nobody sees
I'm caught downstream, and I'm floundering

Walkin' by the old canal, I sit down along the shore
I throw one lonely duck my last french fry
I had a dream of drowning––I heard the underwater roar
So pack me up in ice, and take me home to fry

Chorus repeat x2

And late at night, I hear the wind just yawn
Some fish will swim, some fish will spawn

Chorus repeat x2

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

stan says

Written for the indie film dir. by Peter McCarthy, "Floundering" is a cool movie about a well-meaning, mixed-up guy who lives in Venice, CA. and finds himself kinda confused about politics, relationships, and well, he's just like the title says. I could relate that summer, as it seemed all my plans had come to a dead stop. Zander Schloss, fantastic musician and Circle Jerk, called about this and then together we recorded two songs for the flick. That's him on banjo, slide and guitaron. Fond memories and many beers... I think the old folk song "Long Black Veil" was in my head too on this one, "Nobody knows, nobody sees".

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1994 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica
Zander Schloss: banduria, lap steel, banjo

Originally published on the B-side of the Camouflage single in the United Kingdom.

Your love is colder than a foggy river
Flowin' o'er a heart of stone
You left me stranded on this foggy river
Driftin' helpless and alone
I can't escape this broken heart of mine
There's no freedom anymore
Heaven help me on this foggy river
Help me find a distant shore

There's no tomorrow on this foggy river
Only memories linger on
A mist of sorrow chills this foggy river
Everything I love is gone
Oh, I always knew that someday you'd let me down
I've got troubles, troubles, on my mind
I guess I knew to sail this foggy river
'Til I leave your love behind

spoken:
Yes, this love is colder than a foggy river
It's flowin' over a heart of stone
You left me here stranded on this foggy river
I'm just driftin' helpless and alone

Well, I always knew that someday you'd let me down
I've got, I've got troubles on my mind
I guess I, I guess I knew to sail this foggy river
'Til I leave your love behind
Until I leave it all behind
Until I leave it behind
Until I leave it be––all behind, yeah,
I'm gonna mow you down
I'm gonna call your name, yes I do
I'm gonna call your name when I do
I'm gonna mow you down
Yes, I'm gonna mow you down
I'm gonna call your name
I'm gonna call your name
Yes I do
When I do
Yeah.

credits

Produced by: Stanard Ridgway, Louis Van Den Berg
Written by: Fred Rose
Published by: © Copyright Milene Music, Incorporated (administered by ASCAP)

performers

Stanard Ridgway: all instruments

Walkin' down the street with my head in my hand
Like a big wheel beggin' with his face in the sand
Walkin' down the road, I was hittin' myself
With a ball-peen hammer that I took off the shelf

Chorus:
I just got to my fortune cookies
That's the way the cookie crumbles
I just got to my fortune cookies
That's the way the cookie crumbles

Crooked policemen are eating themselves
Bombs goin' off on the foreign shelves
Think about the future and the present and the past
Fascist state television––it's a blast!

Chorus:
That's the way the cookie crumbles
That's the way the cookie crumbles
That's the way the cookie crumbles
That's the way the cookie crumbles

Goin' down the street with a long moustache
Makin' love gets you more than a rash
Ocean fillin' up with a' stuff and trash
The world's splittin' off in a fire and ash

Chorus repeat x3 (as second chorus)

There's a power that is comin' out in the mud
Shit flyin' off like a pile of crud
Doomsday runnin' out of the sunrise
Born are comin' out and the skin on our eyes

Chorus repeat x2 (as second chorus)

Interlude:
That song––
that they always play at basketball games––
doot doot doot-doot doot doot doot-doot
It's just music, there's no words, no nothin'.
There's, just, like––
Know what I mean? It's like a big––
It's like what you're trying to do, in a way––
But you want to do more electronic music, which is not really––

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

You were captain of the ship
It was headed for rocks
But you were first in the lifeboat somehow
Now you're watching from shore
As the passengers wave from the bow

Free of it all
Now you'll just float away
Blowin' like leaves on the wind
The rules of the game can be changed
By the one who wins

Chorus:
Now you're free of it all
So free of it all
Now you're free of it all
So free of it all
And I know that you'd say
That you'd always planned it this way

The cargo was lost
But you never give in
Your heart is still locked in a vault
You're free of it all
When it's somebody else's fault

To finish this spin
With the twist of a hand
To know that you've hidden a crime
One goes on ahead while another is left behind

Chorus:
And you're free of it all
So free of it all
Now you're free of it all
So free of it all
And you knew I would say
You'd always planned it this way

I always knew
You would walk out one day
And it never crossed my mind
To throw in just one more dime
And get this close to the line

Now that it's done
And my locks've been changed
And the keys are all back in the drawer
You're not a prisoner
I'm not a guard anymore

Chorus:
And you're free of it all
So free of it all
Now you're free of it all
So free of it all
And you're free of it all
So free of it all
Now you're free of it all
So free of it all
And I know you would say
That you'd always planned it this way

credits

Written by Stan Ridgway and Stewart CopelandPublished by: © Copyright 1999 Dis-Information Music and Copeland Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stewart Copeland

performers

Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica
Stewart Copeland: all other instruments

There's something pulling on my sleeve
Full of tension
There's something breathing down my neck
Full of tension
Now if you wanna take it to the hilt
You can take it 'til you tilt
Something pulling on my sleeve
Full of tension

Watchin' out my window at the people in the street
I try to keep it quiet––this feeling's got me beat
I can't contain myself no matter what I try

There's something breathing down my neck
Full of tension
A tiny hole burnt with a cigarette
Full of tension
And now I start to see the little spots
Stickin' to the wall and on the floor
Something pulling on my sleeve
Full of tension
Hup!

There's something tightening 'round my neck
Full of tension
There's something pulling on my sleeve
Full of tension
And I hear it knock-knock-knockin' at my door
I just can't take it anymore
Something pulling on my sleeve
Full of tension
Full of tension
Full of tension––tension
Stand at full attention!

notes

Stan purposely pronounces "Full of tension" like "Full a' tension", so it sounds like he's saying "Full attention". Hence, the pun at the end of the song. The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

spoken:
You know, when we were all like, uh, about this high, knee-high to a jackelope,
We always figured that the fun thing to do was to go to a funzone.
Let's go––let's go to a funzone.

Tents up in the sky and all the animals are waiting for the big show for tonight
Fat man calls my name, and calls me over to the tent he's waiting in––come watch a fight
All around there and every weekend in his trailer in the back while the clowns hold all-night poker games
Even the fat man came

Chorus:
Let's go to the funzone
We'll have a whole lot of fun
It's all there at the funzone
It's over when the fun is all done

Ride the fastest ride, you get a ticket from the man there in the booth all painted black
Corn dog for a buck, you take three bites and then you jump––what? there's some ice cream down your back
Meet a girl at night, you're talkin' to her while you coax her to a trailer in the back
While Ronald kicks his dog around

Now there's some weird ice cream stuck on my shoe
This used to be a buck––well, now it's two
And there's the ferris wheel where you spin around
Someone didn't like it––they got sick on the ground

Chorus:
Let's go to the funzone
We'll have a whole lot of fun
It's all there at the funzone
But why does that clown have a gun
At the funzone
The funzone
At the funzone
We'll be there or we'll all be left at home

Meet a girl at night, you're talkin' to her while you coax her to a trailer in the back
While Ronald kicks his dog around

Now there's some weird ice cream stuck on my shoe
This used to be a buck––well, now it's two
And there's the ferris wheel where you spin around
Someone didn't like it––they got sick on the ground

Chorus:
Let's go to the funzone
We'll have a whole lot of fun
It's all there at the funzone
But it's over when the fun is all done
At the funzone
The funzone
At the funzone
The funzone
Let's go to the funzone
We'll have a whole lot of fun
It's all there at the funzone
But be sure to wash your hands when you get home

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright Wall Of Voodoo (copyright notice and publisher unknown)

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals

In an old garage
Rain is comin' down
Half a block away
You can hear that sound
Powered up by love
And electricity
Makin' lots of noise
And feelin' free

Got a brand new amp
A speaker with a tear
Shock ourselves on wires
Make believe that we don't care
I call this a song
Because I say it is
This one's about Cleopatra
Or maybe Dick or Liz

Chorus:
You play the drums today
I'll play guitar
We're gonna be in a famous band
We're gonna go real far
So pass over that bottle o' wine
We'll smoke all the cigarettes
Is that a car in the driveway?
We have not finished yet

I heard an old man next door
I think we killed 'im with our sound
I saw the body in the ambulance
Maybe we should turn it down
So everybody back off one notch
And close that door on down

Chorus repeat jam on last line until, well, until you stop

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

stan says

This one started out as a Drywall tune, but it didn't seem to fit. I considered it for Black Diamond, but it didn't really fit there either. I guess it was just waiting for this record. I grew up as a musician playing my guitar in garages with my fellow juvenile delinquents when the parents weren't home. You could close down the door, bring out the party favors and it'd be a jammin' wino's clubhouse for the whole summer. One summer, an old man who lived next door died in the middle of our two hour plus rendition of Canned Heat's boogie lick. I'd always felt bad about that, even if we hadn't caused it. But then, we never could find out. Then, it did make us feel evil and kinda powerful at the same time. Boogie down indeed.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Working title: Ridin' On That Train

Hear that train rollin' down the track
Passin' by this old shack
Whistle blow and it blow again
Just a lonely sound comin' through the wind

And on those tracks, in an old boxcar
My mind is racin' and a-travellin' far
Far away
Just ridin' on that train

Big boss man, he work me awfully hard
Liftin' freight out in his railroad yard
But hungry kids need clothes and shoes
And moms and dads need their pills and booze
Pills and booze
Just ridin' on that train

Now maybe one day I'll climb up inside
And in that old boxcar, I will ride
Ride away
I'll be ridin' on that train

Now, can you hear me, Mister Engineer?
It's not my place to push or interfere
On your train
I'm ridin' on your train

This world is old and this world is mad
Some people only missin' what they never had
On your train
I'm ridin' on that train

Hear a drop of rain hit the windowsill
Thunder rolls up behind the hill
But tonight alone I got no sleep I've found
I can hear that clock tickin' my seconds down
Seconds down
Ridin' on that train

And if there's one thing people know is true
Everybody here end up leaving you
On that train
Just ridin' on that train

And over the hill where the full moon shine
The only thing left is love you leave behind
On that train
I'm ridin' on that train

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitar, harmonica, hammer dulcimer, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: mellotron, piano, samples
Hayden Burke: bass, backing vocals
Bruce Zelesnik: hand drums, percussion, rhythm ace, train whistles
Lazlo Vickers: cello

Tammy got a knife with a razor blade
She brought her baby with a burnt teddy bear
Lost her finger on a midnight swinger
Cook it up, she like it medium rare
All the gang is a-comin' on down
Dig a hole in Uncle Joey's backyard
Big Jack Spider brought a bottle full of cider
Walkin' blind with a security guard

Chorus:
Yeah, we're goin' on down to the barbecue
Everybody gonna be there tonight
Comin' on down to the barbecue
Bring a fire and we'll light it up right
Hey, Jack's comin' down to the barbecue
He got his mother with a gun in her hair
Everybody bringin' it over tonight
And we're goin' to the barbecue there
Comin' on down to the barbecue
Comin' on down to the barbecue

All Bud's children just pulled up in front
They got a horse with a rope 'round its neck
Aunt Petie just pulled her old bedsprings out
Light 'em up in the hole by the deck
Now shoot up the window and shoot up the door
And shoot up the lights every night
Someone light a crack pipe, Granny got a snack, right
Billy got a bomb on a kite

Comin' on down to the barbecue tonight
Everybody gonna burn it up there
Chunky lit a torch, too close to the porch
Runnin' round with a fire in his hair
Now if you know what's good for you
You better get there for Sammy the Snake
He gets butt naked and puts on a show
He bring a dirty magazine on a rake

Chorus:
Yeah, we're goin' on down to the barbecue
Comin' on down to the barbecue
Everybody gonna eat it up there
Comin' on down to the barbecue
Every comin' down to the barbecue
Carve it up and eat it up right
You wanna get eatin', when you get there tonight
You gotta get that horse and you tie it up right
Well!
Comin' on down to the barbecue! Repeat 10x

We got a horse and a lizard and a dog and a cow
And a pig in the barbecue––yeah!
Comin' on down to the barbecue!
We gonna roast your mother at the barbecue
Eat all the kin in the barbecue
We're gonna eat the whole family at the barbecue
We're gonna burn up the city at the barbecue
We're gonna kill all the lights at the barbecue
Comin' on down to the barbecue!
Comin' on down to the barbecue!

Spoken:
C'mon down!
We're gonna fill up the pool with all kindsa dead meat
Throw the gasoline in the pool and light it up with a big bonfire
In the barbecue.
Yeah!
C'mon now!
Everybody!
Yes!
Bring that shit with ya!
Yeah!
A-1 sauce!
Barbecue stuff.
Gonna eat 'em up at the barbecue.

Spoken skit:
What?
Are the cops here yet?
Come out with your hands up.
Quick––hide, hide everything. Hide it all.
Kids, come out with your hands up.
You will not be harmed if you surrender now.
Come out with your hands up, everybody.

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

Tell not a word that you heard it here
But there's a big truck waitin' tonight at the pier
Comin' in on an east-bound boat
Now, don't be late for delivery––here, put this in your coat
It's a strange weight from an exotic locale
Don't worry about the cops, 'cause they're in on it, pal
Just pick it up no later than tonight at three o'clock
And bring it to the warehouse––here, put this in your sock

No one left to save you
Nobody will return
You run so fast, you catch on fire
You've just gotta burn
Yeah––

Chorus:
Goin' southbound
Follow that sound
Long line of cars
Just a-movin' out of town
You've got this job
But you don't know how
And everybody does
What nobody will allow

Full moon shines like a big cue ball
Someone fishin' on the pier, might as well stall
Repaint the car, change your license plate
How ya spell relief? Must be somethin' that you ate

All this is a secret
As common as that dirt
We'll rely on your expert eye
Here, put this in your shirt
Yeah––

Chorus repeat x2

And we'll all be waiting so long
Wait so long
We'll all be waiting so long
Wait so long, wait so long

Now if you get caught, don't tell 'em about me
The last one who did, well, we tied him to a tree
Out in the high desert, by an ant hill
Haven't been back there since––guess he's swingin' there still

All this is a secret
As common as that dirt
We'll rely on your expert eye
Here, put this in your shirt
Yeah––yeah! yeah! yeah!

Chorus repeat x2

Goin' southbound...
We're goin' southbound...
We're goin' southbound...
We're goin' southbound...

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums
Richard Greene: electric violin
Larry Grennan: backing vocals
Jim Lang: synth bass, keyboards, drum programming
Marc Ribot: additional electric guitar
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, "twang" guitar
Bernard Sauser-Hall: clavinet
Pietra Wexstun: additional keyboards
Eric Williams: electric and 12-string guitar

Ocean wide and water deep
Noddin' off you fall asleep
No one understands their pain
Look outside it's about to rain

Fallin' out of a blue sky
Walk the dog and swat the fly
No one's 'round to recognize
Shades of black behind blue eyes

Now you've gotta prove it all to me
Or you can let it pass just like a speeding car
Is there something left here you gotta see?
Or is it all a million miles from where you are?

Trees are tall and grass is green
One's alone and two's a team
Play guitar and make a scene
Read about it in a magazine

Tired of playin' what to be?
Friend is now an enemy
Slam a door and break a glass
From there to here has gone too fast

Now you've gotta prove it all to me
Then you let it slide to somewhere far
Is there something left here you gotta see?
Or is it all a million miles from where you are?

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Night, the city
Its dark and lonely streets
Rain falls on my face
Mixed with salty tears
Confirm your happiness
Everything is looking good
Look down, feel the pain
Falling teardrops to the ground

Chorus:
Think back through the phrases
Restore sanity to the mind
You know she's gone now
Are these not the good times?
Good times, good times
Believe in them pretty soon
When I'm over the pain of missing you
Good times, good times
Arrivin' just as soon as
The flames extinguish the memories that I knew

Thinking these old things
Had worked out fine
When I knew it'd hurt you
If you knew you were hurting me
Day breaks, clouds move
And the sun comes through the rain
But for now I'm livin' back
In the stormy night

Chorus:
I gotta think back through the phrases
Restore sanity to the mind
You know she's gone now
Are these not the good times?
Think back through the phrases
Restore sanity to the mind
You know she's gone now
Are these not the good times?
Good times? Good times?
Good times, good times
Believe in them pretty soon
When I'm over the pain of missing you
Good times, good times
Arrivin' just as soon as
The flames extinguish the memories that I knew

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1980 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass, piano
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, organ

On a crowded street, or from a passing car
I can see the world from where I am
People stand in line so they can buy their things
They buy a vegetable or a can
I taste the water and the water tastes hot
I taste the water and the water tastes hot

Chorus:
Hands of love
They keep on slipping
Hands of love
They keep on gripping

My home, it might as well just be a cave
And the ones next door don't talk to me
And when I'm lyin' in bed at night, I hear the sounds
Of the sirens and the dogs and the people screaming
I taste the water and the water tastes hot
I taste the water and the water tastes hot

Chorus repeat 1.5x

I taste the water and the water tastes hot
I taste the water and the water tastes hot
Whistle down the... whistle down the road
(Hands of love, they keep on slipping)
Whistle down the... whistle down the road
(Hands of love, they keep on gripping)
Whistle down the... whistle down the road
(Hands of love, they keep on slipping)
Hands of love repeat until fade

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

John Wayne was always bald
And he had a woman's name
Valentino was a momma's boy
He cried in his tent all night long
And Harry Truman finally dropped the bomb
So they could go to sleep at night
So they could go to sleep at night

I got a plaque up on the wall
And an office in the sky
I give birth to major deals
Lookin' down on the passersby
I pass the torch, I follow the code
I'm steerin' straight ahead, I don't stray from the road
To be a warrior with a king
To put your hand in the flame without burning
And go to sleep at night
And go to sleep at night
And go to sleep at night

John Wayne was always bald
And he had a woman's name
Valentino was a momma's boy
I cried in my tent all night long
And Harry Truman finally dropped the bomb⁶
So I could go to sleep at night
So I could go to sleep at night
Now, go to sleep...

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway and Bill Nolan
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Illegal Songs / Mondo Spartacus / And Caboodle Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums
Joe Ramirez: bass
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic guitar
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Mark Schultz: electric guitar
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards

Bonus track on Black Diamond

I hear that bird chirpin' in the tree
I wonder what he's seein' I don't see
Now everybody's happy, but today I feel so wrong
So I guess I'll just shut up and move along

Chasin' dreams that float like dust in th' air
Grab 'em once, but twice, they disappear
Up in smoke they hover, like dope rings from a bong
So I guess I'll just shut up and move along

I was thinkin' 'bout you just the other day
And if you could see me now, and what you'd say
Some things do get better––yeah, the weak goes to the strong
But then I guess I'll just shut up and move along

I hear that bird chirpin' in the tree
I wonder what he's seein' I don't see
Everybody's happy, but today I feel so wrong
So I guess I'll just shut up and move along
Guess I'll just shut up and move along
Guess I'll just shut up and move along
Just move along

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings. The performers listed are a guess.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Larry Grennan: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: acoustic guitar, vocals, whistling

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway
String arrangement: Van Dyke Parks
Concertmaster: Sid Page

performers

Joseph Berardi: percussion and wildlife
Berj Garabedian: violin
John Kip: woodwinds
Ezra Kliger: violin
Marty Krystall: woodwinds
Jim Lang: keyboards
Roger Lebow: cello
Sid Page: violin
Joe Ramirez: bass
Stanard Ridgway: acoustic piano, insects
Steve Reid: percussion and wildlife
Bernard Sauser-Hall: additional keyboards and cloudbursts
Paul Shure: violin
Dan Smith: cello
Pietra Wexstun: additional keyboards and cloudbursts
Eric Williams: mandolin, guitars

I think we're all going to hell in a handbasket. x9

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Lyrics by: Stanard Ridgway
Music by: Stanard Ridgway and Pietra Wexstun
Published by: © Copyright 1994 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs / Queenie Pie (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: Drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

Everybody knows a highway song
Sing it with me people––it won't be long
Underneath the stars, the devil you say
What you can't sing now, you better throw away

Chorus:
I sing a-la-la-la-la-lalalala
And everybody knows how to sing a highway song

Like a needle in a haystack, I've been searchin' round
I got a bluesteel gun, and an old bloodhound
Slept in a hollow log, make some porcupine wine
The highwayman tells me to walk this time

Now everybody here knows a highway song
Sing it loud, now, I've been singin' so long
Sing a-la-la-la-la-lalalala
And everybody knows how to sing a highway song

« Smoke that wood! »
I'm screamin' down the road, my brain on fire
I'm lookin' for the scarecrow with a tractor tire
« I've got myself in dust with a TV eye
And nobody knows but the media guy »

Chorus repeat

Let's hit the highway
Ah-wooooo!

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1995 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: Drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

Wake up in the mornin', wonder where I've been
There's so much information––I can't take it all in
Oh doctor, oh doctor––I think I'm near my magnum opus
He said "Boy, you gotta quit it––concentrate and keep focused"
Keep total focus

Now love will be a magnet, love will be a rule
We are just fish swimmin' in a dirty pool
Hey, maybe, if we're lucky, the government will dope us
If there's anything I've learned, yeah, you've got to keep focused
Total focus
Keep total focus

Brand new information, but then again I knew
My mind is workin' overtime on me and you
Now is this really true, or has somebody gone and group-groped us
The longer I'm around, yeah, you've got to keep focused
Total focus
Total focus

Life is to be led, no matter if you're up or down
There's a duty to your time, no matter if it's green or brown
But at times we're so dirty, why can't the Lord just soap us
I guess we've gotta keep on keepin' on, gotta keep ourselves focused
In total focus
In total focus
I'm totally focussed.

Interlude:
There's so many web sites.
People all over the world wanting his music.
And he's like, "D'y' think I'm g––"
And he's like, he has––
Why does he have low self-esteem? He's like––

credits

Written by: Drywall
Published by: © Copyright 2005 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

Here, where the air's too thick to breathe
I'll hit the road now, and take my leave
No-one will care, I'll slip away
Into the sun

Where the clouds all meet the sky
Where the sand blows in your eye
I'll take your hand, we'll walk this land
Into the sun

Out where all the crows all dive your slack
Out where the beer cans don't talk back
We'll disappear––it's time we run
Into the sun (Into the sun)
Into the sun (Into the sun)

Now, for the times I've heard the sound
From way up high to underground
The wind will burn, our heads will turn
Into the sun

There where the cow walks the toad
The tumbleweeds speak in secret code
No lawns to mow, our new plateau
Into the sun

Out where the sagebrush sings our song
Some will be jealous of our home
But no friends we'll shun, as we fly off
Into a new day
Into the sun (Into the sun)
Into the sun (Into the sun)

Yeah, oh, we gonna get there
Drivin' on the highway
All night long
All night long
It's gonna be boilin' hot
Out in the sun
Out in the sun
Out in the sun

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: Jazzmaster guitar, squawk box, vocals
Adrid Frid: harp
Pietra Wexstun: wurlitzer piano, efx
Bruce Zeleznik: drums, sunblock
Hayden Burke: bass, bug repellant

When you're out on the street, he's a face in the crowd
He's a voice in the back, and he's never very loud
In a tribal mask, or a business suit
He'll stab your back and steal your loot

Chorus:
Invisible––invisible man
Invisible––invisible man
Invisible––invisible man
Invisible––invisible man

Well, I saw him one night and he gave me a chill
He was drivin' down the freeway in a Coupe de Ville
Pulled up like a ghost and he hit his lights
Saw his shades––man, they're outta sight

Chorus repeat x2

Well, I saw him one night and he gave me a chill

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1980 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass, piano
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, organ

Well, I've been doodling on this notepad
And I been taking telephone calls
I can tell this job's at the end of the line
And I'm ready for the fall
But I been watchin' the boss carefully
And he always seems to be havin' a ball
And then I scratch my head and wonder
Why I'm down here and he's up the hall

Now, all of my paychecks aren't worth
The paper they're printed on
I get 'em Friday
But Monday they're all gone
There must be some way to change my situation
It's time that I took up a brand new vocation

I wanna take a two-week vacation
Twenty-six times a year, add 'em up
When I fly to exotic places
My jet will be a Lear
I'll need several secretaries
Just to jot down notes
I'll wear Gucci loafers
And expensive shirts
And blue, executive, exotic coats

Chorus:
'Cause I, I said I wanna be a boss
(I wanna be, I wanna be)
I, I said I wanna be a boss
And I'll have people workin' under me
And this lousy job I'll toss
I, I said I wanna be a boss

Well, I'll drive in fancy cars
Well, no, maybe I'll just cruise
With a limo––and a chauffeur,
TV, telephone, and booze
Tinted windows so the common folk
Can't see me here inside
Maybe every now and then for fun
I'll give some old coot a ride

Then maybe I'll slip him
A thousand dollar bill
Then he'll smile and shake my hand
And I'll put him in my will
I'm gonna count up all my widgets
And digits, and all my stuff
I'll make millions in a day
But it'll never be enough
Nope––not enough!

Chorus:
'Cause I, I said I wanna be a boss
And I just wanna take a four-hour lunch
And eat a steak with A1 Sauce
I, I said I wanna be a boss
And I'll buy up every stock there is
From ITT to Doctor Ross
I, I said I wanna be a boss
(I wanna be, I wanna be)

Now if I find a product I like
I'll buy up the whole company
Shave my face, and grin and smile
And then I'll sell it on TV
And everyone will know me
I'll be more famous than Howard Hughes
I'll grow a long beard and watch
Ice Station Zebra in the nude

And grow my nails like Fu-Manchu
Keep a row of specimen jars
Get other people to work for me––well
Maybe I'll buy the planet Mars, and
Build an amusement park up there
Better than old Walt's place
You'll have to be a millionaire to go
We'll smoke cigars and lounge in lace
Talk the talk of businessmen
And bosses that we are
So here's to me––the drinks are free––
'Cause I just bought this bar

Yeah––yeah, I wanna be a boss
I wanna be a boss, boss, boss!
Some kinda intergalactic boss!

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

John Batdorf: background vocals
Joe Berardi: drums
Larry Grennan: background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic guitar, keyboards
Mark Shulz: electric guitar
David Sutton: bass
Pietra Wexstun: background vocals
Evon Williams: background vocals

Chorus:
repeat these three lines three times
Jack talked
Jack talked like
Jack talked like a man on fire
(Man on fire!)

Jack talked like a man on fire and his eyes moved like two shiny steel ball bearings
And when they moved the ground beneath him shook and split open
No one got too close to Jack but Jack never got too close anyway
And when he dreamed, his ears drooled thirty-weight engine oil

He took personality tests
And stapled them to his lower lip
No one ever came out on a visit with Jack
But Jack never visited anybody anyway

Chorus repeat

Jack made false contributions to charity telethons
Jack made crank phone calls to elected officials
His arms shook and his legs twitched and his tongue darted out of his mouth every few seconds
And when it did it touched the tip of his nose

And when it touched the tip of his nose
He yelled out as loud as he could
"I have artistic sensibility,
I am a damn good risk,
I am the messenger and here is the message"

notes

Just at the end of this track, if you turn the volume up really really loud, you can just barely hear a voice say "Here we go––same kind of arrangement, right?"

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joe Berardi: drums, tympani
Joe Ramirez: bass, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, background vocals
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Mark Shulz: guitar
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Working title: Joy Ride (Driver's Education)

Yeah, I'm drivin' down your freeway
In a brand new car that I just found
Oh, it was parked there in your driveway
Didn't want to wake you with a sound
So I pushed it down the street
Hopped in runnin', I rolled the window down

Yeah, I'm doin' 95 now
I'm smokin' crack, it can't be beat
And thanks for all the money
You left in your wallet on the seat
Oh, it's generosity like yours
That keeps us poor folk off the street

Hey, I'm doin' 110 now
Can you still hear me on your phone?
I got a hundred cops behind me
And overhead I hear the choppers groan
Oh, I'm headed for the wall, now
Gotta hang up now, thanks for the loan

Chorus:
So is this how we'll end
My face here on TV
Here's a message for your mother
Out the window––can she see?
So I'm cuttin' to the exit
I can see people on the shoulder wave at me
They're wavin' at me

Don't know how things will end, now
But I never wanted this to be so hard
That's how love will go, it's either there
Or it's not there in the cards
So I'll leave you now, but you'd better check
The fire I set in our backyard

Now I wonder if they'll shoot me
Or just fire that taser gun
And to tell you all the truth,
It don't matter a difference either one
I know it's just a job they're doin'
A man's gotta take it as it comes

Oh, I think my bumper fell off
Somewhere ten miles back
The transmission is history
The engine block is cracked
I'm pickin' through these bottles
Left here behind the seat
The radiator's boilin' and
The needle's in the heat

So this is how it ends, now
You get the kids and kick me out
So I guess I had to show you
That this man is not a mouse
Hey, I hope you're happy now
I gotta hang up now and crash into this house
Daddy's home!

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Bruce Zelesnik: drums
Pietra Wexstun: mellotron, farfisa organ
Stanard Ridgway: guitars, celeste, harmonica, vocals
Hayden Burke: bass
Jerome Bangote: flute
Alvin Fike: french horns

Chorus:
I'm comin' back home to you
Stuck to you like crazy glue
Don't wanna go on living without
Something left to shout about
We'll play the game of love and fate
I'll be the knife and fork, and you be the plate...

Now welcome baby to my pad of delights
Have a drink... do you like my tights?
This switch here'll make the lights go down low
And this one here makes all the bubbles go
The water's warm, yes, a sunken tub
Tonight you'll be joinin' my exclusive club
Here now do you wanna see somethin' fine?
Straight from Singapore... cost me five and nine
It's a picture of a man and an Egyptian queen
Kept in the family, if you know what I mean

Chorus repeat

Now I know you'll say my approach is direct
But don't throw out this mail before you check
We go together like fish and fin
Aphrodite and Zeus, water and Gunga Din
We'll perform here on this sacrificial slab
For your sweet, sweet love, I'll even go back to rehab

Chorus repeat

For you I'll even grow a pencil thin moustache
You can put me in chains... I'll wear that wolf mask
And you can starve me in your basement for a couple of weeks
Just please let me squeeze one of your rosy cheeks
I wanna float with you on a cumulus cloud
I wanna take you far away from this maddening crowd
You can scratch up my back with your long fingernails
We'll drink some weird wine and eat psychedelic snails

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Chorus:
Ghosts! Poltergeists! And banshees.
Different names to describe
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
I've known them all here inside

Some will just happily wander
While others will cause trouble in your home
Some are now running for office
And some are gnawing at the bone

Chorus:
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
They say help is on its way
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
They say that someone's gotta pay

Now there is just one question
Have you been hypnotized?
Starin' at the screen––
Purple and green!
There's just one question
Have you been hypnotized?
Starin' at the screen––
Purple and green!

Chorus:
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Some make eighty K a year
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Vote them in and you vote for fear

I thought I saw a banshee
Writin' out his will
On a mountain in the distance
At the top of a hill
He had a tail clean and sharp
Just like a knife
It stabbed into my heart
And now I know wrong from right

Chorus:
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Different names to describe
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
I've known them all here inside

Chorus:
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Don't you know by now?
Don't you know by now?
Don't you know by now?
Don't you know by now?
Ghosts, poltergeists, and banshees
Some make eighty K a year

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway / Mr. Damian / Mr. David
Published by: Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2005

They all say that it's a lonely town
They all say that it's a lonely town

Wide open spaces––empty rooms
If the weather holds out, you can get there by noon
Shadows crawl on the highway line
Don't rush, you've got time

Pull into a donut shop
And get a cup of mud
Ask for directions from a plumber outside
He says "don't go there, bud"

Chorus:
'Cause they all say
That it's a lonely town
And they all say
That it's a drag
And they all know
Those people in a lonely town
All those people are
Lonely and mad

Now I've got my foot on the gas
As I'm crossin the midwest county line
And I think about those mosquitos on my windshield
How they don't give a damn about Christmas-time

And as the passing trucks all flash their lights
Just as I top the hill
I'll remember two green eyes and some flowers
Dyin' on a windowsill

Chorus:
They all say
That it's a lonely town
And they all say
That it's a drag
They all know
Those people in a lonely town
And all those people
Are lonely and mad
They're just lonely and mad
Out here in a lonely town

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1989 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Joe Chiccarelli and Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joseph Berardi: drums
Joe Chemay: backing vocals
Jim Haas: backing vocals
Jon Joyce: backing vocals
Tim Landers: acoustic bass
Jim Lang: hammond organ, keyboards
Steve Reid: congas, percussion
Marc Ribot: additional electric guitar
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, lead guitar
Eric Williams: acoustic guitar

Let's go
Wanted:
Strong and able-bodied worker
Minimum wage
Fifty-eight hour week

An average joe from the grand design
He breaks his back for big talk
He pulls up, he pulls down
He's the one over at the lever that puts the lids on the jars

Chorus:
Big talk
Big talk
Big talk
Big talk

Mister Simpson says this business needs a strong arm
Some new part to clear out all the deadwood
So be sure and install that new long arm by next week
'Cause that short arm over there is through

Woah-oh, replace all parts with long arm
Woah-oh, this business needs a strong arm
It's big talk

Chorus:
Big talk (start to fall in line)
Big talk (I was watching you)
Big talk (when efficiency is cut)
Big talk (better buy more glue)
repeat once

An average joe from the grand design
He breaks his back for big talk
He pulls up, he pulls down
He's the one over at the lever that puts the lids on the jars

Woah-oh, replace all parts with long arm
Woah-oh, this business needs a strong arm
Woah-oh, replace all parts with long arm
Woah-oh, this business needs a strong arm
Woah-oh, replace all parts with long arm
Woah-oh, this business needs a strong arm
It's big talk

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1980 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: synthesizer
Bruce Moreland: bass, piano
Marc Moreland: guitar
Joe Nanini: percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, organ

Look at the way they're walking
All these people around are givin' me looks
Keep a big secret on the quiet side
Where's the nearest place to hide?

Chorus:
Look at their way

Been around long enough now
And they'll be around after everyone's gone
A mother makes love to her only son
Turn on the lights and watch them run

Chorus:
Look at their way
Look at their way
Look at their way on the floor today

All together now they'll rub their long legs
And play a sad melody, the only one they know
To air and earth and the quiet side
And the mind built a million years ago

Chorus:
Look at their way
Look at their way
Look at their way on the calendar
Look at their way
Look at their way
Look at their way on the floor today

notes

The lyrics sheet has an extra two lines that aren't in the recorded version: "(It's grab and chew, that's all they ever do / A million born when just one dies)" This makes it pretty clear the song is about cockroaches.

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

Drivin' outta Vegas in their automobile
She was in the back seat while he was at the wheel
With the windows wide open

All the money from the store, they'd gambled away
He said "the best laid plans often go astray"

She took the page of a book and turned it down
She lit a cigarette, she didn't make a sound

"And I know, if we'd had just one more chance," he said
"I know, we'd finally hit the big one at last", she said

Chorus:
(Instead of) another lost weekend
Lost weekend
Another lost weekend
Lost weekend

"Pull over soon," she said, "it's no big deal,
You can take any exit that you happen to feel
Is the right one"
The right one

As she slowly blew her smoke out the rear wind vent
She thought back on all the letters she'd sent
For a contest to be on a quiz game show

"Maybe I shoulda stayed in school," he said
"Yeah, I know––start your own business cleanin' swimming pools," she said

Chorus repeat x2

She leaned over the front seat and twiddled with the radio dial
She looked out the window, saw a sign, and both of them began to smile
"There's a place we can stay at... it's up another mile."

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

Dedicated to: Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Two

Now we were young and we were bold
We were three out on the road
Stayin' up all night and drivin' past the dawn
Me and two from Tennessee, up in lights on that marquee
From Folsom Prison to San Quentin, oh but now those days are gone

His guitar was dark and deep, he played in the lower range
Even now it sends a shiver up my spine
He played a twangin' metal string, and his tone was round and strange
He left too soon and no one's ever took his place inside my mind

Luther, can you hear me where you are?
I'm still out here on the road and travelin' so far
Yeah Luther?

Yes, and I still miss the time, when we'd three play "Walk The Line"
With Marshall on the bass, I sang
And Luther played guitar

Now my heart still skips a beat, when I look at that back seat
And think back on those crazy times and one night stands
And all through the early days, past the booze and pills and haze
Oh, time just moves along and no one's left but God to understand

Luther, can you hear me where you are?
I still hear your guitar play at every honky-tonk and bar
Yeah Luther?

And late at night when I close my eyes I see black suits and bolo ties
And Marshall on the bass, I sing
And Luther played guitar

Luther, can you hear me where you are?
Now we're sleepin' in this big jet plane instead of your old car
Yeah Luther?

And while through this old world I roam, if the Lord should call me home
Put Marshall on the bass, I'll sing
And Luther play guitar

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

They say that I'm a loner
They say that I'm a stooge
But all I've ever wanted
Was back in Baton Rouge
We'd paddle up the river
Go fishin' in a stream
We'd see the people drinkin'
On the Mississippi Queen

Chorus:
And Mama had a stove
And Daddy had a still
Then Daddy ran away
With his second cousin Jill

I left home at ten
I joined a carnival
Washin' down the elephants
Life was never dull
One night when the clowns
Had all got drunk
I sneaked into your wagon
And rifled through your trunk

Chorus repeat

And Mama raised us up
To never tell a lie
Except when there's a secret
Where the neighbors tend to pry
Mama had a stove repeat x2

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1999 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)

performers

Tommy Arizona: pedal steel guitar
Jerome "The Lip" Bangote: trumpet, flugelhorn
Adrid Frid: harp, dulcimer
Bart Funsten: studio and newspaper
Larry Grennan: electronics and audio opinions
Rick King: twang guitars and merlot
Ivan Knight: drums and percussion, surfing tips
Jackie "Teak" Lazar: old show-biz stories & woodburner
Mr. Mickey: prayers and incense
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, keyboards, harmonica, vocals
Jeff Stooger: recorder, stoopid flute
David Sutton: electric and acoustic bass
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals, whip-snag oscillators

It could have been a million years ago or maybe yesterday
I crawled out of this wilderness, a debt I had to pay
I must have tipped the scales somewhere way back
Never saw the seeds I'd sewn
So now I travel backwards looking for a man of stone

A foggy night, a neon light... I've seen him standing there
Movin' where the shadows creep––no he never did play fair
And one night I almost got him, but I knew you'd tapped my phone
And communication is dangerous, lookin' for a man of stone

With Juan in Argentina I thought I saw him in the street
In a seaplane over Hydra he sat in the captain's seat
And I've chased him from the Colosseum down the Spanish steps in Rome
And history just gets hazy lookin' for a man of stone

In the mornin' out your I saw him leanin' on a tree
Wearin' a snappy suit of grey and then he motioned to me
He pointed with his finger, as if to say my soul he owned
But I had sold that long ago to you lookin' for a man of stone

Now I sit in this burnt out barn they call The Raven's Nest
Drinkin' bloody monkeys⁷, your name tattooed on my chest
Sometimes I think of Juan or you––or sometimes I think of hime
And sometimes I don't think of anything but lookin' for (that's right) a man of stone

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1996 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Ted "Sticks" Andersen: drums, percussion
Harlan Boddicker: bass guitar
Bob Elmo: bass guitar, cello, violin
Larry Grennan: percussion, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, acoustic & electric guitar, harmonica, theater organ, recorder
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Me and my dad
We've got a good thing going
Fishing trips, the hard way's the best
Man-to-man talks, when the going gets tough
The tough get going

Follow me, son
I'll guide you the right way
Fix my car when the engine falls apart
Show me where the piston goes
Can you get this thing to start?

Father talks big business with authority
He's the big boss, he knows the levels of consistency
Father knows how to read his morning paper
Tellin' me how he died to live, workin' hard labor

Chorus:
Me and my dad
Me and my dad
Me and my dad
We've got a good thing going

Father talks big business with authority
He's the big boss, he knows the levels of consistency
Father knows how to read his morning paper
He's tellin' me how he died to live, workin' hard labor

Chorus repeat until fade

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1981 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Jim Hill, Paul McKenna, and Wall Of Voodoo

performers

Chas Gray: keyboards, synthesizers
Bruce Moreland: bass, keyboards
Marc Moreland: guitars
Joe Nanini: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, keyboards, harmonica

I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
And the touch of a world that is older
I turn the switch and check the number
I leave it on when in bed I slumber
I hear the rhythms of the music
I buy the product, and never use it
I hear the talking of the deejay
Can't understand––just what does he say?

Chorus:
I'm on a mexican radio
I'm on a mexican, woah-ho, radio

I dial it in and tune the station
They talk about the U.S. inflation
I understand just a little
No comprendé, it's a riddle

Chorus repeat x2

I wish I was in Tijuana
Eating barbecued iguana
I'd take requests on the telephone
I'm on a wavelength far from home
I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
I dial it in from south of the border
I hear the talking of the deejay
Can't understand––just what does he say?

Chorus repeat x4

Radio... radio...
Radio... radio.
Radio... radio...
Radio... radio.

Chorus repeat x4

Radio... radio...
Radio... radio.
(WHAT DOES HE SAY!)
Radio... radio. repeat until fade

notes

Sometimes Stan says "Oleo" instead of Radio. Oleo is slang for margarine. Wacky fun!

credits

Composed by: Wall Of Voodoo
Published by: © Copyright 1983 Big Talk Music / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Richard Mazda

performers

Chas T. Gray: synthesizer, bass, backing vocals
Marc Moreland: six and twelve string guitars
Joe Nanini: percussion, drums, vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, harmonica, keyboards

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1999 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)

performers

Tommy Arizona: pedal steel guitar
Jerome "The Lip" Bangote: trumpet, flugelhorn
Adrid Frid: harp, dulcimer
Bart Funsten: studio and newspaper
Larry Grennan: electronics and audio opinions
Rick King: twang guitars and merlot
Ivan Knight: drums and percussion, surfing tips
Jackie "Teak" Lazar: old show-biz stories & woodburner
Mr. Mickey: prayers and incense
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, keyboards, harmonica, vocals
Jeff Stooger: recorder, stoopid flute
David Sutton: electric and acoustic bass
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals, whip-snag oscillators

Mission bell is ringin' for you
No one 'round and nothin' to do
Memory will fly and will fall
It's something you used to write on the wall

Chorus:
Wrong, so wrong, we're wrong
People pass and walk a road that's
Long, so long, it's long
See you when the sun is high

Wind is wild and blowin' too fast
The first in line will soon be the last
And when you go, somebody will cite
Ground control, better cancel this flight

Chorus repeat

Maybe someday you'll finally reveal
Something you stole, or something you'll steal
Now everyone is pulling their load
And do they grow, or do they explode

Chorus repeat x2

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1999 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)

performers

Tommy Arizona: pedal steel guitar
Jerome "The Lip" Bangote: trumpet, flugelhorn
Adrid Frid: harp, dulcimer
Bart Funsten: studio and newspaper
Larry Grennan: electronics and audio opinions
Rick King: twang guitars and merlot
Ivan Knight: drums and percussion, surfing tips
Jackie "Teak" Lazar: old show-biz stories & woodburner
Mr. Mickey: prayers and incense
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, keyboards, harmonica, vocals
Jeff Stooger: recorder, stoopid flute
David Sutton: electric and acoustic bass
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals, whip-snag oscillators

Monsters of the id
No longer stayin' hid
And terrors of the night
Are out in broad daylight

No need to knock on wood
Don't stop to say a prayer
It won't do any good
They're multiplyin' in the air

Creatures of the deep
Are going without sleep
And phantoms of the dark
Have their own place to park

No need to lock the door
They're sprouting through the cracks
They're making room for more
They're deputizing maniacs

Prehistoric ghouls
Are making their own rules
And resurrected huns
Are passin' out the guns

No need to cause a fuss
Don't go and make a scene
They know what's best for us
They're fightin' fire with gasoline

The creatures from the swamp
Rewrite their own Mein Kampf
Neanderthals amuck
Just tryin' to make a buck

And goblins and their hags
Are out there wavin' flags
Oh, when will we be rid
Of monsters of the id

Monsters of the id

credits

Written by: Mose Allison
Published by: © Copyright Audre Mae Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Pietra Wexstun: elka strings, sci-fi machine
Hayden Burke: bass
Stanard Ridgway: guitars, harp, vocals
Virajan': violin:
Laslo Vickers: brass & monsters
Bruce Zelesnik: brushes, percussion, angry birds

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1991 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway

performers

Joe Berardi: drums, tympani
Joe Ramirez: bass, background vocals
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, background vocals
Bernard Sauser-Hall: keyboards
Mark Shulz: guitar
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, background vocals

Can I get a light from you, Mr. Smith?
And do you know where the party is?
I've been walking a blue streak all night long
And I'm tired of looking for a place to piss

Can you tell me about yourself, Mr. Smith?
Yeah, me, you can read like an open book
I don't hide myself like some other people do
When there's gristle in the meat, I just swallow and chew

Chorus:
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith,
(And) do you know where the party is?
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith,
(And) do you know where the party is?

Cast your eyes around, Mr. Smith
Do you see that dog lying in the road?
Coughin' up stuff from a pigeon that died
Hit an eighteen wheeler on the 405

Chorus repeat

Do you know this neighborhood, Mr. Smith?
Used to be someplace, sometime, somewhere
People built it up from the dirt and dust,
Loanin' out money from an Eastern trust

Chorus repeat x2

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Lyrics by: Stanard Ridgway
Music by: Stanard Ridgway and Pietra Wexstun
Published by: © Copyright 1994 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs / Queenie Pie (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: Drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

(instrumental)

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1999 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)

performers

Tommy Arizona: pedal steel guitar
Jerome "The Lip" Bangote: trumpet, flugelhorn
Adrid Frid: harp, dulcimer
Bart Funsten: studio and newspaper
Larry Grennan: electronics and audio opinions
Rick King: twang guitars and merlot
Ivan Knight: drums and percussion, surfing tips
Jackie "Teak" Lazar: old show-biz stories & woodburner
Mr. Mickey: prayers and incense
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, keyboards, harmonica, vocals
Jeff Stooger: recorder, stoopid flute
David Sutton: electric and acoustic bass
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals, whip-snag oscillators

Kind ladies and good gentlemen
You've thrown your dollar down
Walk in and please experience
Feel free to stroll around
We take it to the limit
The competition's fierce
Big Judy at the table here
Will help you with your pierce

Chorus:
And when it's done,
Jack will show you to the door––
Or have you seen this before?
Or have you seen this before?

We've got everything in bottles
Stored in formaldehyde
For a dollar you can climb on that guy
Take him for a ride
Now do you want a leash,
Or a collar, or a whip?
And have you tasted this?
Well, everybody's had a sip

Chorus repeat

Now there's a man
He's hangin' from a hook
The lady with tattoos just looks like
A coloring book
Our club is like no other
We've got a big surprise
Tonight a man will bake a dog
And put it in a pie
And when the pie is open
The dog begins to sing
And Judy will administer
That party favor thing
Now everything is hot
And everything is fine
We never close the place
Because the cops are now in line

Chorus repeat

notes

The lyrics to this song have not been published; they were transcribed by Larry Hastings.

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 1995 Mondo Spartacus / Illegal Songs (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway and Drywall

performers

Ivan Knight: drums, percussion
Stanard Ridgway: vocals, guitar, theater organ
Pietra Wexstun: keyboards, vocals

One night I was lookin' high up at the sky
A shootin' star was fallin' and I didn't know why
Whenever it rains like this, I think of you
I am sitting here inside my own universe
Thinkin' of the memory of you and your purse
The planets are aligned, but I think ours are askew

Telephone is ringin'
I think I'll let it pick up
My life is one big black hole
And my planetarium is shut

Watchin' that horizon, yeah, I see the sun set
Disappear in water, can it ever forget
Lately, I've been tired and lazy
Moonglow on my shoulder tells me

I'm sitting here inside my own universe
Spinning 'round the planets while we try to converse
Meteorites are fallin', and our satellite is broke
Can we rendezvous? One can only hope
Oh, I can see the planets fallin'
Oh, our space is out of whack
I'm lookin' through that telescope
I wonder if you're lookin' back

Repeat six times:
I'm sitting here inside my own universe

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Stanard Ridgway: guitars, vocals
Pietra Wexstun: wurlitzer, mellotron
Hayden Burke: bass
Bruce Zelesnik: drums
Tommy Arizona: accordian

Well, now, I'm out here under guard tonight
I wear the ball and chain
Joined up to fight the Yankee cavalry
Oh, we got here cold and hungry
Then they marched us through the rain
And I was thinkin' 'bout you then, my Rose Marie

Oh, the cannonballs, the bayonets
The bloody battle cry
Oh, there's nothin' but these days of misery
And when those Yankees got me on the wire
I could hear the bullets fly
And I was thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Seems like a thousand summers past
Oh, since we rode that circus wheel
And kissed there at the top
For all to see
But now outside there is a firing squad
And now they're servin' me up my last meal
And I was thinking of you then
Oh, my Rose Marie

Two guards walked me to that prison wall,
The preacher reads a prayer
But your face is all of heaven that I see
And as they tie that blindfold on
I see the sky and taste the air
And I'm thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Oh now I can hear the rifle triggers cockin' back
And the order shouted out
Oh, but I feel there's somethin' wrong here, now
Please, Lord, let it be
Oh, all around us bombs exploding, shells are dropping here
From the army to the south
And then a corporal cut the ropes there on my wrists
And I was free
I was thinkin' about you then, my Rose Marie

I marched back with all the others
That had proudly wore the gray
Finally made it back here home to Tennessee
But all they said was that you'd married
And you had moved away
And I was thinkin' of you then, my Rose Marie

Now years have passed, I'm still alone
No new one to desire
Still starin' into flames of memory
I see circus wheels, and summers,
And a face there in the fire
And I'm thinkin' of you now, my Rose Marie

My Rose Marie

credits

Written by: Stanard Ridgway
Published by: © Copyright 2004 Dis-Information Music (administered by BMI)
Produced by: Stanard Ridgway
Engineered and mixed by: Baboo God and Stanard Ridgway
Recorded and mixed at: Impala Studios, Venice CA, Summer 2003

performers

Pietra Wexstun: reed organ, mellotron, celeste, autoharp
Hayden Burke: bass
Adrid Frid: harp
Bruce Zelesnik: drums, marching percussion
Laslo Vickers: woodwinds, french horns
Skip Heller: hi- strung guitar
Jerome Bangote: flutes
Stanard Ridgway: guitar, mandolin, vocals

As I got on a city bus and found a vacant seat
I thought I saw my future bride walking up the street
I shouted to the driver, "Hey, conductor, you must
Slow down, I think I see her, please, let me off the bus"

Nadine
Oh, honey, is that you
Woah, Nadine
Oh, honey, is that you
Seems every time I see you, baby, you've got somethin' else to do

Woah, I saw from the corner when she turned and doubled back
And started walkin' toward a coffee-colored Cadillac
Pushin' through the crowd, tryin' to get to where she's at
I was campaign-shouting like a Southern diplomat

Chorus repeat

You're off with someone, someone new!

Downtown, searchin' for her, lookin' all around
Saw her getting in a yellow cab heading uptown
I caught a loaded taxi, picked up everybody's tab
Tipped a twenty dollar bill, I said "you catch that yellow cab"

Chorus repeat last line repeat x4

Nadine
Nadine
Nadine
Make a scene
Nadine
Keep it clean
Nadine
Eat a bean, Nadine