Some Notes on Bach and Haydn (Acoustic Demo)

from Twelve new songs from "The Graveyard of the Atlantic" sessions by The Ataris

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It is quite something to turn your radio on
at 4:30 in the morning
in an apartment house
and hear Haydn
while through the blinds
you can see only the black night
as beautiful and quiet
as a flower.
and with that
something to drink,
of course,
a cigarette,
and the heater going,
and Haydn going.
maybe just 35 people
in a city of millions listening
as you are listening now,
looking at the walls,
smoking quietly,
not hating anything,
not wanting anything.
existing like mercury
you listen to a dead man's music
at 4:30 in the morning,
only he is not really dead
as the smoke from your cigarette curls up,
is not really dead,
and all is magic,
this good sound
in Los Angeles.
but now a siren takes the air,
some trouble, murder, roberry, death . . .
but Haydn goes on
and you listen,
one of the finest mornings of your life
like some of those when you were very young
with stupid lunch pail
and sleepy eyes
riding the early bus to the railroad yards
to scrub the windows and sides of trains
with a brush and oaktie
but knowing
all the while
you would take the longest gamble,
and now having taken it,
still alive,
poor but strong,
knowing Haydn at 4:30 a.m.,
the only way to know him,
the blinds down
and the black night
the cigarette
and in my hands this pen
writing in a notebook
(my typewriter at this hour would
scream like a raped bear)
knowing the way
warmly and gently
as Haydn ends.
and then a voice tells me
where I can get bacon and eggs,
orange juice, toast, coffee
this very morning
for a pleasant price
and I like this man
for telling me this
after Haydn
and I want to get dressed
and go out and find the waitress
and eat bacon and eggs
and lift the cofee cup to my mouth,
but I am distracted:
the voice tells me that Bach
will be next: "Brandenburg Concerto No. 2
in F major,"
so I go into the kitchen for a
new can of beer.
may this night never see morning
as finally one night will not,
but I do suppose morning will come this day
asking its hard way --
the cars jammed on freeways,
faces as horrible as unflushed excreta,
trapped lives less than beautiful love,
and I walk out
knowing the way
cold beer in hand
as Bach begins
this good night
is still everywhere.

- Charles Bukowski



Chasing signs and chasing lines
but you're the only girl that's on my mind
You're as golden as every sunset
I've saved in my mind

The Skies they burn with perfect fire
and the shadows dance in the smoke of this violent midnight
And the rattle of this broken axle.

Two hearts come alive to the sound
of old helicopters and perfect sirens,
And who the hell ever said we don't get a second chance at life?
All of this pain in my heart's been replaced by a delicate voice and the smile on your face,
And let us say one last farewell to all our hardest goodbyes.

Wolves they chase the motor's hum
These arms outstretched sweet black like opium
As we drift through scenic pastures.

This city dreams at 4am
The moonlight peaks in, fills up the well of your heart
These fragile cracks in my skin.

Starlight spills out onto my lips.
Resuscitates a heart that has long ceased to exist,
I've wanted you to be mine ever since we first met.
All of this pain in my heart's been replaced by a delicate voice and the sweetest of face...
And let us say one last farewell to all our hardest goodbyes.



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The Ataris

Honest rock n' roll, played loud, recorded to analog tape.

Founded in 1996.
Nearly twenty- five years later still going strong, traveling the world doing what we love.

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