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Song Sources: The Language of Flowers

March 2, 2023

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

Throughout human history, people used to send coded messages to each other using flowers. In Victorian England, the practice was called the language of flowers, and it was common enough that there are books and, for the slightly less curious, a Wikipedia page dedicated to the history of it. The song doesn’t really have anything to do with sending coded messages, but the main character is a gardener who vaguely remembers, and recites, some of the symbolism associated with plants in their garden.

Floral Poetry and the Language of Flowers (1877)

The concept of this was someone tending a garden as the last person on earth. They’ve reached the age where they can’t properly take care of the plants anymore, and the garden is dying. They know they aren’t far behind. It’s largely serene but has a pretty big climax for ending with a bit of a whimper, kind of like the end of the world should.

Read more: Song Sources: The Language of Flowers


All my life I’ve been a gardener
This year the lilac won’t grow
And the rose is devouring the arbor
And the cypress trees will bow to see me go

Once I thought it’d be fire
Once I thought it’d be cold
But it turns out we just get tired
It turns out we just get old

Marigold to make the sour wine
My Bella Donna make me go to sleep
Keep Rosemary to remember me by
And baby’s breath to make my Mary weep

The first verse is simply scene setting. The line about the lilacs and roses gives a vague timeline as summer, since lilacs usually bloom in spring and they didn’t. This was somewhere near the Pacific northwest in my mind, which is the reason for the cypresses, in part because I thought it was less likely that someone would survive on their own in a typical 4-season area like where I live.

The chorus has an Eliot reference:

This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but a whimper.

T.S. Eliot “The Hollow Men”

And to Frost:

Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice

Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”

I’ll side with Eliot on this one.

The second verse uses the actual language of flowers, though the symbols aren’t historic, except Rosemary for remembrance. Marigold is edible and has occasionally be used to flavor wine. Belladonna is poisonous, of course, and maybe that’s the narrator pondering if they want to choose their moment of expiration. The last line in the verse is a reference to the spiritual “Mary Don’t You Weep,” but I wanted some implication that the narrator might have had a family, and I think this was about as much as I could fit in a few words.

Music and Recording

There’s not a lot to mention about the music itself except to note that the song uses a highly unusual 12-bar 6/8 form where there are four lines of three bars. I did this to give a little more room to sing the lyrics (it would be very rushed without the pause of the extra bar on each line), but not so much room as four bars would have given.

The original 2013 February Album Writing Month version didn’t have the bridge with the crescendo in it, and I also did it in a lower key:

I added that a little later when I started making the original demo the next year (which Jen Parde played piano and sang on). The band and I worked out the dynamics and the hard stops in the verses while practicing with Chris Hamilton, so what you hear on the recording was a lived-in organic arrangement.

Chris Hamilton, Joe Scala, Rick Veader, and I recorded the bones of the track with a scratch vocal live in Chris Freeland’s studio back in 2016. I replaced the guitar parts and vocal later on of course, but if you listen really, really carefully you can still hear the original guitar part from that session bleeding into the drum overheads in certain parts. Early on I had the idea to have a cello playing the instrumental, but when I set to work arranging the song I decided what I really wanted was something more dramatic.

So the “tiny orchestra” was born. It’s a good dozen guitar tracks, a midi harp, and synthesized strings and horns. It was increasingly less “tiny” the more I got into it, and ended up being 45 instruments.

Some friends told me that they were convinced the horns weren’t real until the “BLAT” at the end of the bridge. So without further ado, here is one of the most fiddly things I did for the record, a midi trumpet squeal:

That’s all it was. It took a long time to find it and make it sound right, though.

There’s also a very, very nasty synth part on the last chorus. We ended up taming it volume wise on the finished product but it’s a low tearing, rumbling sound underneath everything else. Chris Freeland also had the good insight to use some more piano slams for the percussion at the end — we’re just mashing the bass end of the piano on the accents.

It took a while to get the vocal timbre, and many takes over the course of several days, in part because it tears my voice up, but I need to tear it up a little to get there. So the first several takes each session weren’t any good, and eventually things started to hurt and I’d have to stop. Joe said later that he had to change his normal vocal part but I think he did a good job on the harmonies. I did always think it was strange that I insisted on harmonies in a song about a person all alone, but I’m addicted to harmonies.

Oh, and the horn fanfare in the bridge? Joe actually sang those. I converted his voice to midi.


Song Sources: Won’t Grow Here

December 8, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

I wrote a short story a long time ago about a town under siege for years during a perpetual war. The main character’s mother is killed early on by a hail of arrows and the brother goes over the wall. I used the plot as loose inspiration for a couple songs during FAWM 2014, when (I kid you not) the random words that popped up for me to use as thematic touchstones were “siege” and “fantasy.”

This song in particular when I wrote I knew it was going to be a Midway Fair song. We were in the middle of recording “Most Distant Star” during February 2014 and I felt so strongly about the song that if I’d had more time to rehearse it and a desire to put more than four songs on that release, this might even have ended up on the EP. Two good things came from waiting: Joe made an important lyrical fix, and I think sticking with a the two-guitar version was a better arrangement than it would have been with piano, since it more closely keeps to the folk roots of the song.

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Song Sources: Common Ground

November 15, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

I struggled with this song for years, writing a first draft in 2015 and working on the song a little with Joe in 2016. Even right up until the point where I was determined to get it on The Habit of Fear it was a very different sounding song, much more downbeat, with a monotonous strumming pattern and completely missing the kind of angry decisiveness hiding behind an otherwise sweet exterior.

Much like its protagonist.

This one took a bit of digging to get to the heart of it.

We have some live footage of this one from the album release as well. I’m not sure if we’ll ever play it again live

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Song Sources: Dyslinguany

October 30, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

“Dyslinguany” is a made-up word that would mean, if it were a real word, an absence or corruption of language. It also contains mixed roots (Greek and Latin), referencing the subject matter of the actual story in the song. I realize this is a ridiculously pretentious title, but such is life.

In the story, a teenager nearly drowns, and suffers a peculiar form of brain injury that causes them to forget how to speak English — they speak what sounds like gibberish instead. The story is narrated by his younger brother, desperately searching for a way to communicate again. The narrator is dealing with the anger and frustration that comes with not understanding someone he looks up to and a deep jealousy of the other people who are able to communicate with the older brother.

The condition in this song is fictitious, but there are a few real-life accounts of things like this happening. Sometimes it appears as a semi-gibberish language and sometimes it turns out to be a language that they once knew but had forgotten (for instance of a man who it turned out was speaking I think the Belorussian of his grandfather). The song was inspired by those stories and also by a near-fatal crash my cousin was in when he was 17 (he emerged with a personality shift — almost completely different person) and by an essay called “Feet in Smoke” about someone whose brother was electrocuted on stage by a faulty microphone while standing in a puddle of water and suffered a personality change. In some of the stories, people forget how to speak a language they’ve spoken all their life.

This is the oldest song on the album — it goes all the way back to my first February Album Writing Month in 2013. And while it’s very close to its original version, this song got the biggest facelift when the band started playing it.

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Song Sources: White Noise

October 24, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

Inspired loosely by Don Delillo’s novel of the same name, the lyrics share one of the themes in the novel, such as fear of death, and of whittling away at the things in your life while simultaneously hoarding things with the thought that they can somehow save you from death. For the song in particular, the narrators fear truly simplifying their life because they worry that it feels like dying, even though they feel suffocated by the amount of clutter in their life.

By Author Don DeLillo; publisher Viking Adult.Original uploader of image was Csuper at English Wikipedia – Photo of book cover, widely available online, Public Domain,

Chris Freeland called this song one of the “corners” of the album, something that helps define the edges of the album’s content. It’s another from the pile that I gave him in 2020, and another song that despite a literary connection (which I’m quite fond of for Midway Fair), probably wouldn’t have ended up on an album without outside influence. Chris’s work on the recording made a big difference in this case, resulting in a much more sophisticated track.

Apparently the book has been adapted to a film. Maybe I’ll get some extra plays from confused moviegoers …

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Song Sources: Altai (Falls the Last Night of Snow)

October 19, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

This is a story of someone burying a loved one, and thinking about how some things that are supposed to get buried forever never really go away.

By GanKo – Wikimapia, CC BY-SA 3.0,

Cold weather definitely has an effect on songwriting. This is hardly the only song I’ve written during February that uses bleak winter imagery. But in this case, it’s a thaw that inspired the words: The permafrost graves in Altai are important archaeological sites because the remains are so well-preserved. Unfortunately, the warming climate has started exposing them as the permafrost has started melting.

In the 2019/2020 winter, I was working on some running training in the hopes of doing a half marathon in the Spring. Despite one or two days requiring a scarf and hat, the weather was pretty mild for what’s supposed to be the coldest month of the year. And either some wiki surfing or Atlas Obscura led me to find an article on the Pazyryk permafrost burials, and I had the clearest mental image of a perfectly preserved body at a funeral suspended in ice.

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Song Sources: I Am Not in Control

September 9, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

This is a love song on an album about fear, and so you’re correct to be a little suspicious of it.

On the one hand it provides some relief from the heavy subject matter surrounding it — the track before it is “Hold Tight,” and the song after it is about a couple being separated by war. But the genesis of this song is something very serious to me, which is my deep fear of not being in control of myself. (I’m perfectly happy not being in control of other things. Freedom from responsibility is the best.) I’ve never been drunk, for instance, for much the same reason. I was prescribed Valium one time when I hurt my back, took one, and decided that I should probably avoid ever doing it again.

In this case the song is about not being in control of yourself because of your love for someone else. It’s both romantic and dangerous.

I used “yourself” and “your” in that last paragraph as a defense mechanism. I mean myself and my.

Despite the popular depiction of fears having some traumatic origin, I doubt there’s anything that ever happened to me to trigger this. It’s not a phobia or anything. I have had jobs where I had to watch what I say, but I remember in high school being in … well, social situations where other people did not share the same fear and even sought out ways to lose control of themselves. So it goes back further than my adult life. I wasn’t tied up in a box by some kids and thrown in my locker at school or anything like that. Maybe it’s just my general level of anxiety.

The spark for this song wasn’t this particular aspect of my anxiety but rather the kind of paradox that loving someone deeply presents: that you can’t imagine your life without them, but you still have to be your own person. Many people are scared of some aspect of this. Some people of commitment, some people of rejection, and in my case simply of the proposition that you have to somehow let go of yourself.

I kept using “you” in that paragraph, too. Of course I mean “I.”

No regrets of course. It’s just a description of a fear, set to the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds I could muster.

I made a video for this one, but of course you can still get it on Bandcamp or elsewhere.

The yarn handwriting lyric video.
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Song Sources: Ringing His Bell

August 5, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, so this song makes me feel nostalgic despite its events being made up and its musical style (70’s blue-eyed soul) being over a decade removed from my childhood. “Ringing His Bell” is fiction, but the places in it are real: Mary Street in the song is Mary Avenue in Hamilton, two streets over from the street I grew up on, and the stream is either Herring Run, which winds through much of northeast Baltimore (past the house where I was born), or Stemmers Run in Parkville. My friends and I would ride our bikes and drop them next to the stream in the summer, and try not to fall in too deep when we hopped around on the rocks in the stream bed. There were a couple spots where it was deep enough to be chest high so we’d wear our swim trunks if we planned ahead. You know, back at the age where you’ve probably never even heard the names of the bacteria that make them unsafe to swim in. But if my memory is reliable, the “no swimming” signs didn’t start appearing until I was in high school.

Written just before “Hold Tight” in February of 2014, this song has made it into many live set lists throughout the years, always sounding just a little different than what you hear here. It was slated to be recorded for the album that became Monsters, and even almost missed inclusion on The Habit of Fear — it was the last song recorded for the record, added because I thought we needed a both positive and upbeat song somewhere in the mix.

Read more: Song Sources: Ringing His Bell


| Fmaj76 |
In and out of reverie
| C6 F | C6 F
What will and will never be
| Bb6 C6 | Bb6 C6sus2
In his mind he’s thirteen
| F |
He’s a king and she’s a queen

| F6 F |
They roll on (ooh)
| | C
Da da da da da da
| F |
Down the hill to Mary Street
| Bb6 C6
On his handlebars his girl
| Bb6 C6sus2
Sunlight in her curls
| F | Fmaj76
And she’s ringing his bell

She’s still a hard act to follow
She’s his today and his tomorrow
They’re waist deep in the water
She’s a queen and he’s a pauper

They walk on (ooh)
Da da da da da da
Down to wade in the the stream
Her fingers laced between
Sunlight on her skin
She’s ringing his bell

| Bb | | F |
Concentrate on the moment
| Bb | | F |
Concentrate on the moment
Be a child at play

People say you always remember your first love, so that’s what this is. I didn’t have a girlfriend at this age, but some of my friends did, and some of them, let’s just say, got in more trouble than they should have, but for the most part this is meant to capture that nebulous moment where you can’t figure out if you’re a grown-up or a child. When we’re children we often wish we were grown-up, and then once we’re a grown-up, sometimes we wish we were children. The imagination of an adult is often little better than remembering things, like here, where it’s essentially remembering being able to imagine things, imagination by proxy.

The centrality of the bike is actually something from something specific: One of my elementary and middle school classmates mentioned riding bikes a lot with one of my best friends. Funny thing was, I never remembered hanging out with her … but my memory for things I went through at that age isn’t always the best. I also often remember people in my childhood differently than they were, since I was awkward and had low self-esteem and often didn’t understand whether people were being sincere or making fun of me. Maybe this made me less likely to think about it shortly after and more likely to forget as I got older.


The music is based around 6th chords, like any good soul song should be. The chords are colorful (major 7ths, 6th chords, and some inversions I’m not going to write out in the chart), but there aren’t any modulations or other tricks — the song owes more to the folkier Van Morrison albums of the 70s than the Stax records of the 60s.

| Fmaj76 |
| C6 F | C6 F
| Bb6 C6 | Bb6 C6sus2
| F |

| F6 F |
| | C
| Bb6 C6 | Bb6 C6sus2
| F | Fmaj76

| Bb | | F |
| Bb | | F |

One oddity in the recording is the instrumental, which is only 7 bars instead of 8. The reason is that it started early when I recorded the demo back in 2014, but by the time I got around to making the real recording, it sounded wrong to fix it. The guitar solo is mostly outlining the chords; it’s almost intact from the original demo — in fact, I reamped part of the original guitar parts that were recorded direct to the interface — but I replayed it to clean it up the performance.

Our regular drummer, Tim, loves this song and was really bummed that he didn’t get to play on the recording. I love the part he plays, but I couldn’t get him over to the house during the pandemic, and I also couldn’t remember his part well enough to try to duplicated it. Chris Hamilton had written a completely different part for the song that sounds much more modern, a very sparse part with a heavy kick drum emphasis, which was good in live sets where we wanted something more chill sounding, but didn’t work for the reason I was putting the song on the record (to get something upbeat on there). Chris Freeland was sort of done recording drum parts for this record, and I didn’t want to have to both write a new part and score it out or try to teach it to someone, so that left me. We all play very different parts to the song; the original demo was just me hitting a guitar case and clapping, so there was a lot of room for innovation. (I think the only thing we all do the same is the ride bell after “She’s ringing his bell.”) I did a lot of takes over several days as I tried to get each part of the song to feel right — since I didn’t have an exact part in my head I was trying to get out, this meant a lot of experimentation, especially seeing how sparse I could make the parts. Avoiding the snare completely in the verse does help with the song’s dynamics. Uncharacteristically, I wrote a fill (the big fill in the chorus) that uses a third (high) tom.

With the bones of the song down, I started looking for the right color to add with the electric guitars. The main lead and rhythm guitars weren’t substantially different from the original demo, but the delay guitar in the left ear of the choruses helped pick the song up (taking it out results in a radically different feel), and some quick extra overdubs helped reinforce the hook — the guitar response to “She’s ringing his bell” at the end of the choruses.

It’s been hard to get the band to do the falsetto backing vocals live. Maybe someday!


The recording process essentially involved replacing the original demo, so there isn’t much exciting to talk about here.

One thing I did that I had never done before was reamp one of the guitar parts — the original lead guitar — even though I didn’t keep most of it. In the demo, the part was recorded to the interface, without even using an amp sim. I sent it back out to the amp and while it helped a little, the original performance wasn’t great so I relearned all the parts and replayed them.

The guitars are the red tele for the the lead guitars, and the Don Quixotecaster for the rhythm parts and the delay-heavy guitar part in the chorus, both always run through the Sakura amp. The bass is direct to one of my FET preamps (it almost always is), and the drums are my Sakae kit with overheads, bass, and snare miced (no tom mics or room mic).

Hopefully this evokes in some other people some of the same feelings it does for me.

Song Sources: Hold Tight

August 5, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

This song has an odd — possibly even embarrassing — genesis, one I’ve kept secret for years, based on a TV show. I never even told people in the original liner notes during February Album Writing Month in 2014 when I wrote it! (Oooh, mysterious!)

The official story was that it came from one of the “muse tools” on FAWM, which describes the structure of a story. The generated structure was that it’s told in the first person, there are two characters, and they’re in a moving vehicle.

Since this is a song where one character is driving his brother to the hospital after being shot during a drug deal gone wrong, and it takes place in the desert, you might suppose it was inspired by a 5-year-long critically unassailable show involving a pair of drug manufacturers taking place in New Mexico, but you’d be wrong. (At the time I’m not sure how much of that show I’d seen, and I’ve never watched all of it.) Instead, it came from the characters Merle and Daryl from The Walking Dead. And since that show was continuing its slow but noticeable decline in its 4th season at the time, this might seem especially lame, but in my defense, I had only just started watching the first and second seasons (still good), curled up on the couch dealing with a stomach problem for most February. Merle’s character has a history of selling (and using) drugs, and he calls Daryl “little brother” all the time, and that’s where the chorus and part of the story came from.

I did think it was worth an honorable mention in my 2014 FAWM wrap-up …

This could have been a Midway Fair song in 2009, but now it would probably be out of place. There are a couple lines that need a tweak or two, but overall I think it’s strong, especially for how few words I used. It’s about a drug deal gone wrong, and the older brother is rushing his younger brother to the hospital, but they’re out in the middle of nowhere.

My 2014 FAWM wrap-up

… but I cooled on it afterward and didn’t pick it back up on my own. Then Joe asked to cover it, and I was jamming with someone else at their house one time and they said they wanted to play it, and then eventually, maybe a year later, Joe asked if we could add it to the Midway Fair setlist. So I thought maybe I was wrong to sleep on it. Audience members liked it, and it’s become one of our most popular songs. And in a way, since Rick and Joe loved singing the harmonies so much, they made it one of my favorite songs of ours.

Want it on iTunes, Spotify, or somewhere else instead of Bandcamp? Try here.

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Song Sources: The Habit of Fear

July 9, 2022

This is part of an ongoing series about our recordings. To read more in this series, click on the category “Song Sources: Stories behind the recordings.”

In Feburary 2020, I was serving on a murder trial jury in Baltimore (for the second time), and finished rereading One Hundred Years of Solitude during the breaks between courtroom time. Near the end of the book, the last living illegitimate child of Colonel Beundia appears on the doorstep of the family’s house seeking refuge:

One hot dawn they both woke up in alarm at an urgent knocking on the street door. It was a dark old man with large green eyes that gave his face a ghostly phosphorescence and with a cross of ashes on his forehead. His clothing in tatters, his shoes cracked, the old knapsack on his shoulder his only luggage, he looked like a beggar, but his bearing had a dignity that was in frank contradiction to his appearance. It was only necessary to look at him once, even in the shadows of the parlor, to realize that the secret strength that allowed him to live was not the instinct of self-preservation but the habit of fear.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude, translated by Gregory Rabassa

The family doesn’t recognize him and chases him into the street, where he’s killed by his pursuers as the child of a political enemy.

The passage gave me a title and a chorus for a song that I originally started after a conversation with other artist friends about damaging our hands. Obviously a hand is not truly necessary for the survival of the body, but it does feel like it’s necessary for the mind (or soul, if that’s your thing). It’s a fear I experience regularly: I worry about accidentally cutting a finger, even a little, when making dinner, because especially in February (when I do so much recording), I can’t fret or pluck a string with a bandage on the finger, and the time lost is so precious. One of my pinkies is permanently misshapen because I broke it in college. I broke a thumb in middle school. Both were left hand injuries. If things had gone slightly differently, I might not have the use those fingers, and it could have changed whether I was able to play an instrument that gives me so much joy. The fear that I’ll do something permanent is kind of always in the back of my mind now. The fear is practically animalistic.

It’s easy to imagine that, within weeks of writing this song in February 2020, some more pressing fears changed the meaning of the song.

Want it on iTunes, Spotify, or somewhere else instead of Bandcamp? Try here.

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