A Bothersome Injuries Forty (Vol. 4) - EP

by James O'Brien

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1.
Who's On Your Shoulder Now? (Live 2004) 04:12
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Something's wrong here, I feel like every molecule granted is spent. I've been living so long at the edge of myself, I forgot what the middle stuff meant. Living like a lion with a thorn in its paw, like a lethal eagle locked in cage; I tried to write your beauty in this song, then I saw you mistook every letter for rage. Like a warship with the engine gone cold — a burned out wreck and it's smoking. You turned your cheek on a critical week, when the danger was real, not a token. You should know Yeah, muscle through somehow One hand above you Got one below Who's on your shoulder, now Well, you better not show me that blade, babe, ‘less you plan to cut some kind of seam, one that starts at the base of your neck — carve out the spine that we had at nineteen. Nobody here looks like I remember, my heroes no longer walk straight; they just wander their personal deserts, bent over, hoping for some kind of break. Like that wandering Jew in a hailstorm, like that weeping Christian in chains, like those sheiks selling presidents oil wells: man, the dunes in your wasteland don't change. You should know Yeah, muscle through somehow You got one hand above you Got one below Who's on your shoulder, now The best idea I had in six weeks, now the banquet is under-attended. You tipped over the table like James Dean in Giant, wearing mustache and dark sunglasses. We all tap on the dashboard at two in the morning, odometer light on our cheeks. Man, this spinning, exploding, imploding discovery: maybe we'll never know peace. When a bird sings, it gets ugly, and it will kill you; it's a definite curse. Then they'll idolize as they ignored you; the dead never let on which one is worse. Hey, you should know Whoa, yeah, muscle through somehow You got one hand above you You got one below Who's on your shoulder, now Whoa, who’s on your shoulder, now
2.
The Last Time (Live 2004) 03:36
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He came in like a plane, he went out like a ‘Goth; he said, “This drive could kill kings, call your war of worlds off.” He was a strong man. His words were long, man. He was a poet;, the job was for con men. So spread the ointment, collect your coins, man; this world is a big disappointment. This is the last time I’m gonna write to you This is the last time I’m gonna write to you He grabbed his jacket, realized the racket, said, “It’s my dream, take it back I can’t hack it. I’m in the board room. I’ll take the flesh wound. I bled to death in the executive bathroom.” He was a big shot, a double space-shot, an aging junky … armchair astronaut. You want outta this place, then, you’ll have to crawl, man. Would you like to make an appointment? This is the last time I’m gonna write to you This is the last time I’m gonna write to you This is the last time I’m gonna write to you Oh, it’s the last time I’m gonna write Go watch the pigs march down to the car wash; they think they’re clean but they’re so full of claw marks. Go write the novel. You go grovel. They’ll give you enough, you can pay for your hovel. It’s the last time I’m gonna write to you It’s the last time I’m gonna write to you This is the last time I’m gonna write to you This is the last time I’m gonna write to you
3.
Amber Wave (Rehearsal 2007) 05:11
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My country tis of thee, back broken by industry, of thee I sing. You spat me forth a wandering child, you made me hungry for your wild, wild, wild, wild blood. When once there ran through every vein that lonesome hobo’s rattling train — you could hear that steel rail hum. What have you done? What have you done? It’s an old man when he stumbles It’s a young man when he struggles It’s an amber wave It’s a young girl when she accepts you Such a long line when she rejects you It’s an amber wave Oh, say can you see the ugly stain of bravery by the dawn’s early light? And the righteous in their white parades are stained red by the motorcades. The cameras clatter — stop, clack, stop. All the blind men with their paper cups, the ghosts on the boulevard looking up — there was a flash, there was a bang. It’s an old man when he stumbles It’s a young man when he struggles It’s an amber wave It’s a young girl when she accepts you Such a long line when she rejects you It’s an amber wave An amber wave And my eyes have seen the glory; yeah, they’re coming with the swords: no, it won’t be long. But there’s beauty in your eyes tonight, so sing what you’ve got and get it right. this is the life you’ve made, the straw you’ve drawn. It’s an old man when he stumbles It’s a young man when he struggles It’s an amber wave It’s a young girl when she accepts you Such a long line when she rejects you It’s an amber wave An amber wave
4.
Speak Clearly (Live 2002) 07:10
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Sundays, thinking you should eat more fish than you do. Me think conversations sometimes feel just like they used to. Mondays, when you dress, it’s a nice way to wake. Don’t open your mail; wash your hands a lot, OK? You think that logic’s a little fuzzy; me think if I could touch you, baby, what a wonderful world it would be. So, if I get your number right on the first try I’ll speak clearly at the beep If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep Tuesday’s child’s a devil in a smokestack, grinning. He don’t kill you — it ain’t luck, he’s just beginning. Every day you live is a day when you grow stronger; but every day you live, you learn, is a day when he might hurt you. Wednesdays, I’d rest. Wednesdays I had off. Now, Wednesdays, I work harder than ever since the devil won the toss. Wednesdays, I press court since the devil won the toss. So, if I get your number right and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly at the beep Thursdays run red. The oceans fill with blood. God gave man missiles, and they flew, and it was good. You want to see freedom, try a mixed neighborhood on Friday. You want to see slaves, try six o’clock on any American highway. The engineers have four wheels and the cotton fields just turned to SUVs; they’re littered with spreadsheets, littered with memos, and they’re littered with gold teeth. So, if I get your number right and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep beep beep beep beep beep beep If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep “Saturday,” says NORAD, “we all pay our dues.” Matthew Broderick’s in the bombardier’s seat; he don’t wear no shoes. We’re all eating Whoppers. WOPRs ain’t food. Me, I’m in the cockpit with the tombstone blues; thinking, man, if I could touch you, what a wonderful world; if I could taste you, paste you, waste you, make you, face you, baste you, erase you, erase you, what a wonderful world. If I get your number right and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep beep beep beep beep If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly I’ll speak clearly at the beep If I get your number right, and it’s still the first try I’ll speak clearly at the beep
5.
Touch You (Live 2002) 04:58
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Nine o'clock in the morning, September eleventh, the finger of God came down — and it touched you, and it touched me. A tongue of flame shat forth from that hole and it spoke and we listened. It said, "Ye shall not forget me, or I shall burn ye to a one. Your planes shall not fly unless darts from my hand. Plummeting bodies thrash to pavement like puppets. I cut the strings. So, have I touched you? You thought you knew me. You knew only my touch." Can I touch you Would you touch me, too Can I touch you Would you touch me The double spine of America trembled and crushed, reversed its ribonucleic construction, rushed to the center and gave forth a cloud for to touch you. In a rain of iron, steel, paper, and glass — on fighters and healers — an American jet banked once and disappeared. Then, all afternoon spent counting the airplanes, whispering, “Arabs. Pearl Harbor. Pearl Harbor.” The beast shrugs its shoulder of war under three inches of ash. Some real symptom of our own disease; on a cellular level, the system it did slow; those blood banks could throw open their doors and cry, “We are empty.” The National Guard pointed rifles at faces and hissed, "Get back.” The faces dissolved into mist. The soldiers held each other and wept. The finger of God had confused them. Can I touch you Would you touch me, too Can I touch you Would you touch me In the center of Dallas, at the hush of the day — the skies empty as coffins — the ghost of JFK walks silent and alone. In the darkness of Harlem, stars flicker back into vision. A girl turns a chunk of white sidewalk chalk and colors a luminous arrow onto her chest. Can I touch you Would you touch me, too Can I touch you Would you touch me

about

I’m not sure what kind of voters drank at The Underpass in Elmwood, New Jersey, back in 2004, but they seemed keen to hear a singer play songs about the national general. I had this new song, “Who’s On Your Shoulder Now?” We were right on the cusp of it. I was back on the road alone, playing a full tour — what would turn out to be my last tour — and I was without The Church of the Kitchen Sink. It was a glorious little bar with a good stage and a shit-hot little sound system. Shout out to Brian Fitzpatrick, who is a true son of New Jersey, and he helped me find little rooms like this one.

Second track on this collection takes us back to The Point, in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Bruce Springsteen played some kind of long, glorious, endless set in the same spot, back when he played little rooms in the early 1970s, back when it was called The Main Point, about thirty years before this recording. “We did alright with him, but not as well as we’d hoped,” the booker told The Sun Bulletin, in 1973. As for me, “The Last Time” wasn’t the last time, but we’re getting close to it. I don’t think these lyrics are quite, quite finished … but I was onto something. I like the structure of it. I like the horror-scape of corporate entrapment and escape. If I’d kept going, I think songs like this were likely to be the core of a record that would have followed The Church of the Kitchen Sink.

“Amber Wave” was a song that strove to take its place. Looking back on it, I think I wrote one or two that proved just a tiny bit beyond my powers. If you listen to this track, which is a fine example of what the band — this is Bikini Radio in 2007, I’m eighty-five percent certain, but it might also be The Church of the Kitchen Sink in 2004 … this is the danger of storing these things on hard drives and putting them in boxes for thirteen years — could do when it was on the right track. I might’ve tuned my guitar a little more carefully, however. I might’ve cleared my throat.

“Speak Clearly” is a snapshot from the anthrax scare — those years. There are a few recordings in this whole, giant collection that freeze a moment in place for me. This is one of them. All of what you need to know about how it felt and what it sounded like is in this recording. Some others, too, but this one is an example. Thanks again to Steve Friedman for being an amazing live-recording engineer. He’s so crucial to this collection. You’ll hear more of his work in the volumes to come.

“Touch You.” Sitting on a footstool in a hallway in my apartment in Boston on September 11, 2001, listening to the news on an antique radio from the bedroom. Something opened up. I wrote the words and the music in one take. Not everyone loved that I wrote it, or that I performed it, or that I went on tour starting September 12 and that I told people that I would be on the tour in the wake of the events that had just transpired.

This is how it went down. On the night of September 11, I called the booking agent of the Sidewalk Cafe, where I was scheduled to play in Manhattan. I asked him what I should do. He told me that his club would be presenting music, and to get down to his stage if I could. I drove to Cos Cob, Connecticut, and then took the commuter train into the city. The club was packed, in fact. Not for me, specifically; people were out and looking for something, anything maybe. They were a little more quiet. They were highly focused. Their attention was a gravity and you could feel it. But it still felt just like New York. I told them that I felt that way.

I walked south, after the show. There were still a lot of people out. A lot of us seemed to be walking south. National Guard on corners. I took one paper mask after another from boxes outside fire stations and drug stores. You needed the masks to filter the poison, to keep breathing; the air smelled unreal, I’ll never forget it. The masks ran out somewhere below Union Square. You couldn’t keep going after a certain point. You turned back.

Up north, the stars really were coming out, and you could see them for a while. I ended up at a gathering in a high-rise apartment. I don’t remember where. A girl called people on a landline, trying to find a way to get to the Hamptons. She kept saying that her city was under attack. A man in a chair in the corner of another room told me about coming up the stairs from his subway station; a body shattered on the ground as he surfaced.

It rained steadily, the next morning. I drove west to Philadelphia, and I could see two towers of smoke in the grayness out one window of my Jeep.

This take of the song was recorded several months after all that. The words come from before my trip into New York. It all sounds true to me, still.

All these tracks were mastered in 2017 by Matt Girard.

The artwork is by Joe Kowan.

credits

released December 1, 2017

Who’s On Your Shoulder Now?: c. 2004 ; Recorded/Mixed by: onstage recording to laptop ; Venue: The Underpass, Elmwood Park, New Jersey ; Mastered by: Matt Girard, Transference Audio, 2017 ; Artwork: Joe Kowan

The Last Time: c. 2004 ; Recorded/Mixed by: unknown (possibly onstage recording to laptop) ; Venue: The Point, Bryn Mawr, Penn. ; Mastered by: Matt Girard, Transference Audio, 2017 ; Artwork: Joe Kowan

Amber Wave: c. 2007 ; Drums: Richard Adkins ; Electric Guitar: Travis Richter ; Bass: Matt Girard ; Recorded/Mixed by: rehearsal recording ; Studio: Jamspot, Somerville, Mass. ; Mastered by: Matt Girard, Transference Audio, 2017 ; Artwork: Joe Kowan

Speak Clearly: 2002 ; Recorded/Mixed by: Steven Friedman, Melville Park Studio ; Venue: Club Passim, Cambridge, Mass. ; Mastered by: Matt Girard, Transference Audio, 2017 ; Artwork: Joe Kowan

Touch You: 2002 ; Recorded/Mixed by: Steven Friedman, Melville Park Studio ; Venue: Club Passim, Cambridge, Mass. ; Mastered by: Matt Girard, Transference Audio, 2017 ; Artwork: Joe Kowan

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James O'Brien New York, New York

James O’Brien toured the U.S. and the U.K. from 1998–2004 playing politically aware songs, sometimes solo and sometimes with a band, sharing billings with artists such as Hamell on Trial, Dan Bern, Michael McDermott, John Sinclair, Bill Miller and Freedy Johnson.

In 2017, after a 13-year hiatus, he began to release archival and new material, expanding his catalog to fourteen albums as of 2022. ... more

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