make blankets your yard

by jordaan mason

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07:00
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03:14
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01:57
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03:36

about

a small town and a lake. a hunter and a gatherer. a yard and a pack of matches. a real boy and a ghost. bed singing, beds stinging.

incredibly illiterate songs written during the transition from hometown to the rest of the world, a new home, a new language. confused as always, as always. lots of tape hiss + things recorded far too closely to sound good + screaming in the middle of the night.

credits

released December 15, 2005

jana hunter: vox on 'quiet'
jordaan mason: vox / illiteracy, guitar, piano, accordion, glock, tapes
shelby sifers: vox on 'snow'
matthew vail: clarinet on 'these ships,' vox on 'make blankets'

recorded between july-december 2005 and released as a CD-R with hand-painted covers, all of which were different.

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

jordaan mason Toronto, Ontario

a confused human being singing songs about being a confused human being.

*** if you would like a digital download but cannot afford it (for whatever reason, you don't need to tell me), just get in touch at the contact link below & i will get you a code. i sometimes take a minute to reply but if you like the music i want you to have it, so please get in touch. xo! *** ... more

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Track Name: snow
there's nothing on the ground but snow
so i'm sorry that i stole all your clothes
you're wet you're wet you're wet you have no clothes!

so come into my bed and we'll stay warm
we'll hide out away from the storm
you're glowing and you're starting to show
you're glowing but you just don't know

patrick the ghost!
get out of the snow; please put on your clothes.
Track Name: the bed still sings
my eyes are closed and the bed still sings.
my eyes are closed and the bed still stings.
Track Name: these ships
these ships are sleeping.
these ships won't wake up.
every locked cupboard
that we couldn't sing;
he didn't say a word.
Track Name: make blankets your yard
don't be afraid to lay in the grass.
make blankets your yard!
don't be afraid to have the window open.
make shirts your warmth.
make the heat come in.
don't try to spit out all the oil in your belly.
give lights to dark and don't wear that raincoat!

a song is a backyard with too many trees and not enough grass.
but if you sing it long enough, well, at least you'll be singing.
and maybe every note that comes out of your chest
will turn back from its noise and harmonize with your breath.

- - - - - - - -

soon, i will lose myself, lake erie.
i won't come back to shore without the light.
so give us all a song to sing for sleeping
and we'll etch our voices out into the night.
Track Name: happy birthday
a carved pear in my hands.
i am listening for the whales.
and they sing: happy birthday;
you're almost old enough to know better.

i am old enough to know better.
Track Name: skeleton
o my skeleton lover dancing in my mother's clothes
indelible, no wastrel
flasking through the redwood trees
holding onion peels and showing your bare chest
watching as my legs turn to wheels
and in my disguise, i am a stranger
the mountains hold their umbrellas high

but o my skeleton lover
i will keep you safe in the leaves
Track Name: burning the yard down
these are the floorboards where i first fell in love
these are the arms that used to hold so much
this was my shortcut and these were my hands
i used to walk and i used to know where i was going: 'nowhere!'
but i still live here in this room in this house made with delicate paper
cutting my arms off with useless engagements
locking the windows with flower arrangements
my mouth is still open and i am still speaking
but without my mantra i have nothing to say
my hands have always tried to dance first but now i'm ready
tapping my tongue on the roof of my mouth. 'burning the yard down!'
Track Name: when the lake hunts me down
when the lake hunts me down
i will call out its name
and i will swim from its shore
and i won't come back again.
Track Name: the bed still stings
my eyes are closed and the bed still sings.
my eyes are closed and the bed still stings.
Track Name: quiet
all of the raspberries gone from my hands
and when the water runs low
i sly against the house and hold the walls in my birchtree arms
the lake smells awful today
and every day
the birds come and take little pieces of my body away with them
we are the same underneath these stains
my portrait is still learning how to dry
and i am following them into the woods tonight
i will find their paintings and their cars
i will be quiet