This album was written and recorded over the course of approximately two and a half years.
Its production began in the spring of 2008, when a trip to Amsterdam sparked the motivation to move forward on an album title I had decided on some months earlier. This is why I stole the letters K, G, W, S, and T from the house of our gracious host, whose name also begins the record, but that came later.
I started writing songs that spring, and come October, I was ready to demo them. And demo them I did, in a hotel in St. Louis on my honeymoon/at a wedding (long story).
During said honeymoon/long story, we stayed at a charming B&B in southern Illinois which was a) awesome, b) acoustically unique and interesting and c) available for takeover by loud, finicky, and amiable rock musicians at a reasonable rate. The three A's of customer service, as it were.
So I spent some more time writing, did some more demos, picked up a new drummer/producer, and went back EXACTLY one year later with Matt, Thayer, and Ryan to record the basic tracks you hear here.
We took it back to NYC where we did overdubs and one last song (Track 5, which was recorded live in one take in Matt's bedroom).
Now we're releasing it. The first "real" (?) Klccncx Girl Wonder album in almost if not exactly a decade is here.
released March 8, 2011
Matt LeMay, Thayer McClanahan, Graham Smith, Ryan Smith
Tjeerd does not smoke weed--
He says it makes you dull and boring.
Well, I don't speak no Afrikaans,
But I know from exploring glitter:
Diamonds in a poor man's litter
Blind, embarrassed and embittered
Crying in Paris, dead of Winter
Fly to Amsterdam and get fucked!
Take me by the wrist. Feel my pulse
As I make a fist.
Whispering dulcet tones in your ear...
"I'm a terrorist. You're a saint, and a therapist
Listening to bullshit loaded with fear!"
But it's nice just to know you can hear, so
Tell me where to go
Tell me where to go and help me get there now
Sell your stereo
Sell your stereo and scream as fucking loud as you can
Moroccans on the street beat a tattoo
That keeps the sleep away.
Rendering obsolete the plot you brewed
To not smoke weed today
But you are still a wreck, just a shade of a silhouette.
Some things may never get old, but you will.
Get a motorbike and a joint, go to Sloterdijk
Catch the last train to Schiphol while Dru Hill sing:
"How deep is your love for me?"
How sweet is your subtlety?
How cheap are your luxurious frames of mind?
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
What To and What Not To Wear?
Cut yourself and wash your hair at the same time.
Bob does not play dice.
So tell me where to go!
Tell me where to go, and help me get there now!
Sell your stereo! Sell your stereo!
Everybody knows nobody needs a friendly sound
To bend around the empty house
You sit in screaming let me out and
Your teenage dreams are ending now
So put the Unrest records down.
Track Name: Thanks!... For the Emotional Disease
Crazy is a disease;
It passed from you into me
And now it flows in a continuous stream.
I need a little release
To feel a bit of relief but
I can’t let go–literally,
I hold on too long
To foregone conclusions.
So if you’re wrong, I’m right
Let’s move on.
Because you’re wrong,
And there’s a price to be paid
Plus there’s a war on;
It’s only right to get laid.
So this can go on record
As a minor mistake
And a couple of Botox sessions
Will wipe the lines from your face.
No more questions
Or forced confessions
Or Russian Roulette
With cold war weapons.
I guess I thought
You had learned your lesson
But I’m always wrong, so
No more guessin’.
Ahh! Life is a bag of chessmen,
And each one’ll get to you
If you let them.
Ahh! Ahh! This part is the best–
When he carves in his chest
With a blunt Sheaffer Crest pen:
HATRED IS SELF-ESTEEM
EXPRESSED IN BINARY
AND CRUSHED AND MAGNIFIED
SAINTHOOD IS AN EXTREME FORM
OF HATE SPEECH
IT ALL DEPENDS ON
YOUR DIRECTION AND SPEED.
But you cruise through
In the 2-door with the 22’s
And the humidor in the dashboard.
Let loose the gas pedal,
Fast forward to the past.
Get a handle on yourself, you brat.
The long way home is
A lonely path.
So I hope you have
A rote rehash
Of a thought-provoking quote
From a grocery bag.
Or a rope, and a gag,
And a goalie mask
And I only ask for
What you owe in
Back emotional blackmail withholding taxes
In cold hard cash,
And my Boeing glasses.
Thanks for the flashes of Mozart madness
And the Ozark folk art
And soul dispassion.
Oh! I’ll get you back...
O.K., I got you, thanks!
Track Name: In This Way
Carry on, highways.
In high-waisted pants, wasted.
Hi. Made it back to where I could make blanket statements.
Merry-- happy holidays!
In my day, we tried to take the piss with the Perrier;
Give it a fair shake.
Carry on, marionettes-- get your lines straight!
In this way, we move just like an industry.
Indiscreet as a seething snake, and in this way
The symbol keeps its shape.
Like rigid clay in viscous fluid--
In this way, there's nothing to it.
Humanely savage through and through,
The shadow saves his place.
So we were drawn to world's beyond the moon.
At light speed slipping through a wormhole towards infinite doom.
Are you intending to receive what I am sending through
The cosmos upon wavelengths blue and red--
I'll include a plain text too.
In this way, we struggle to communicate-- confuse, degrade,
Humiliate until we drift away like memories of shame
Into the night. But we manipulate our light, or "lie," and manufacture fate
To fight flames as mandated by this way of life.
So we have burned through two weeks worth of perfume.
But now, the peach trees are in bloom! You're sorry?! Well, I'm sorry too!
But I have nothing to disprove, no clever twists I let slip through
The cracks in the walls of your extra room. So tell me:
Who's overbefriending who?
In this way, our minds were locked together
So that at the proper time
We'd be drawn to cuckoo crackers.
In this way, we died to all our friends.
"No" never meant "forever."
And "now's just not the time."
For those who live life backwards:
In this way, we lied.
Track Name: The Last Step of the Stairs
Stumbled down the last step of the Stairs
into the center of a spoiled surprise.
Something about you screamed "debonair"
With your disheveled hair, you were so alive!
And you let it hang there without hope of reply.
Opened your eyes and pointed to me,
told me "Come quick!" I made you come clean:
"We've seen an uptick, we're up to umpteen!"
Don't be a dumb dick, you know what I mean!
You fell down the last step of the Stairs.
You couldn't practice the principles in your affairs.
And you couldn't believe there was a god up there
With all of the love to be found down here...
...you got up in the middle of the flight.
Hubris will do this; you didn't see the light.
Made a list, took the piss, made the kids feel alright
but now you just bow down in fear and
Pray the sounds you hear disappear
Or run around, cause what the fuck does he care!?
He's got better things to envy than that.
He took her look but left the rest of her there,
laying dead in his chair or in bed with his cats.
What's a head full of hair to a bald man
In a Red Bull-impaired nutter logjam?
Just an abstract, and that's about all.
And as a matter of fact, it was always your call
so call me back. It'll fall in your lap. You're always
a backpack away from a fallback plan so relax.
You'll get to the top of the Stairs
And admit you were wrong. But then what got you there?
Was it the twentieth shot that you bought on a dare
or the steely resolve that you gleaned from it?
It doesn't take much to inventorize. You can get a ballpark
in the blink of an eye. And if the pink inside makes you think
you can try to be different,
Why not drink 'til you die?
Track Name: You Know You Want It, Anyway You Can Get It
Somewhere, there is someone for you,
And they are awful for you.
And all you can do is say they're thoughtful.
And it's unfair that it's unclear to you--
It's just so stupid to you. You laugh,
Think it through, and then you just do it.
But by the time I find the time to write
I hope the wind will guide this kite
And tell you I'm just fine, alright.
Oh, I'm not inclined to fight.
So my life is improving. I like what I'm doing
And what I'm not doing. The way time is moving
Is just about right. Just not quite...
But you know you want it
Anyway, you can get it
And you got it
But now you're not so sure it's what you wanted.
If it's not, do you even know what you want?
Some time, you should hear yourself talk--
You say some ignorant shit for sure
And I'm no Sunday columnist.
One mind, one mouth, all bets off.
Less talk, more vigorous lipwork.
Come on, grind and polish it until it shines!
Where do you get off the line?
Downtown, where you waste your down time?
You get enough love without mine.
Seriously, I'm sure you'll be fine.
Limit it to baby steps, it'll take a minute
Maybe less-- Oh, what am I saying!
I think it's my soul that you're saving,
But it's only your breath.
And I'd settle for a fate as good as death.
But I know I want it.
No matter how much it makes me cry and vomit.
No matter how many times I give up on it.
Come on, as if I know what I want when I say
I want it!
Even if it's only a wink and a threatening promise.
Even if it's less than it seems which is grim and dishonest.
I want it.
Any way I can get what you've got?
Track Name: Does Your Back Hurt?
Does your back hurt from stooping so low?
I can see up your skirt, and the grass it does grow
Greener on the other side, as on your soft white underbelly.
Now I see your mother's pride! I tell ya, I'm so good at telly
Kinda like Armando Iannucci.
Alright, let's make us a movie:
I'll get Bruce V and Aung San Suu Kyi
For the metaphysico-political nude scene!
Do you understand, as a man,
You can't fuck with a body like you can with a band?
But you can't stand around with your dork in your hand!
You need feet on the ground. It's important to plan. So:
Does your back hurt?
From lying on it
and lying to me
and all the acid you took in 2003?
Oh don't answer, it's fine with me--
I'm not trying to be what you need, but
I might be.
I see layers of Mandelbrot sets-- must be the ototoxins
Or perhaps the oxytocin.
But Benoît Mandelballs I'm dosin'!
Move close in. Lose focus.
Hope she's too nice to notice.
It was written cuz I wrote it on the bus downtown in a Moleskine:
I will never leave you, Owens.
Catch the protractor I'm throwin'.
Hold out hope for mostly good bits
And when you see only one set of hoofprints
That is when I carry you.
So does your back hurt?
Track Name: Secret Thinking
Whistle when you need dismissal,
Or approval, or a little psycho-critical strüdel--
Just yodel. When you're mixed-episodal.
-episodic, whatever, just holler when you're psychotic.
I'll get a motel.
It'll go well, probably.
Doesn't take much to move me to touch you--
Just a brush will do what it does do.
It's not love that lets me trust you.
I have a manner of speaking to just you:
Secret thinking, as they call it;
Interior dialogues we whisper prophetically.
Subliminal interdiction speeds the flow of information.
With automatic intuition, we forego communication.
Listen! I'm on a mission from Jesus
To fixed what's borked between us.
So what is it? He's only omniscient.
He can't hear your heartbeats!
And I hid your car keys! So can he pencil you in for a visit??
It'll only take a minute-- before you know it,
You'll be finished.
It's not love unless you're in it.
So let's deprecate this business.
The secret thinking that you promise doesn't mean anything
Is leeching all my agency and draining my energy.
So when you have a moment open up and lay it all on me.
Let's put the "Hot! O my!" back in our dichotomy 'cause
You're just a dic (sic).
And the forest is thick, for the trees are tricks
And the sea just reorganizes our anxieties.
But I never sought to silence the beast,
Or be frozen in my most sublime memory.
I just climbed off the island while the sea was asleep.
And now it's like I shut off my mind when I speak.
But secret thinking somehow saves me,
I know not how or why.
So don't say a word now, baby,
It's alright when sweet things die.
No one can know the answers or the questions you seek.
Every interaction is a de-duplicated unique.
Track Name: See the River and Raise It
Naked. I saw you naked,
and it made my face red. What can I say?
I see what I like and can't take it.
Face it. We're in the matrix.
The only way I can explain it, is
we're trapped in a cave and there's a shadow
on the wall where the hunt was painted.
No visistors, no solicitors.
No comment, no inquisitors.
No brothers and no sisters
No love for passive resisters
Laying on the pavement,
Saying exactly what they should be saying.
I say change is what you make it.
I see the river and raise it.
Hey kid, no need to go apeshit.
There's a will and a way to be flagrant;
The ancients gave us some PowerPoint training
Way back when you let Pat Sajak spin
In the name of fame and entertainment
You win a trip to Dubai and a delayed arraignment.
No touching. No discussing.
No phone calls, e-mails or fucking
Anything is much like nothing.
The value prop is stuffed with suffering.
Take it from a sadist:
Most pain is wasted on the wasted.
I always say hatred's a ten-layer cake
Because love isn't made for you.
It's like Satan is just a brainstem:
Complacent, efficient, and faceless.
And it's not his place to be racist--
Kinda like how all Jamaicans hate gay men--
And his day is totally made when
You spend more time constructing the things you say
than you do saying them. Pray then
That you may have the patience
To behold Phlegethon and raise it
and appraise it.
Track Name: Come Thru
If I may interrupt, and I may do that.
You say you'd like to figure some things out--
I say, too bad!
You could be out of your mind, too,
Bad news all you ever knew.
That is that, 1 + 1 is 2
Much of you will come through.
You say an emptiness you can't fill
Stresses the processes that guide you.
More like a nemesis you can't kill
That desperately wants itself inside you.
You can't forget it but you know you will
At least until something similar reminds you.
And even though you say you won't, still,
Mountains trump molehills
Even when they're behind you.
So we should ask them what they want
Like Montel Williams.
And if we get no response, we'll fucking kill them.
I could be out of my mind too. But
I'll do what I have to do:
Kick off my shoes and hide in my room 'cause
I know you will come through.
You'll come through. You'll come through.
You're gonna come through.
All your life is just a cup-and-ball game
With a ball gag when it's not a dry hump.
Oh, but when it rains, which is fucking always
You'll back down like a salted slug.
You spend all your nights on the telephone, talking all loud--
Have you ever tried shutting up?
I've watched your mind turn to Jello while your bank account drains--
Oh, can you hear me now?
Am I screaming?!
Save your teary howls, I'm just teasing.
You can be held against your will,
But you can't pretend to be yourself.
It IS that, it isn't the guts you spill
On the off chance you cast your spell.
But you could be of your mind too bad
It's the data you consume: That is it. One plus one is.
All of you must come through.
In the past tense, but for the truth,
You could have everything under one roof
Which covered up what the light couldn't lose
But the darkness needs to come through.
Does the sun move?
Is there more than one moon?
Will you come through?
Track Name: Private Language
"There's only one way out of town.
You say this Mavis Beacon teaches typing--
Well I teach thinking out loud. And I think we should quit
Cut straight to the climax, where the planets align
And it's time to get God or get down."
Alright, alright, OK, OK--
Faith isn't a one way street, no way.
All night, all night, all day, all day
You don't have to be crazy to creep people out, but it helps.
"Hey now, you're toeing the line!
Not all of us are wigged out on weed and Wittgenstein.
We just let our word games play out like living Lichtensteins.
So you best be on your way now-- let's hear that engine grind!"
Now the rush dies down...
When they're all speakin', I start freakin' out.
I should probably get clean this weekend or lie down.
I should probably end it all. Or give my friends a call.
Or simply burn this fucking place to the ground.
Or not. Or no! Or stay, or go.
I could learn to accept the pain. Yeah, no.
Yeah right. Yeah, right! Yeah yeah, no, yeah, listen
I gotta catch a train--
Or could I crash downstairs on the couch?
Just another night.
My girlfriend flaked the fuck out when I pawned her brother's bike.
Oh you got nothin' to say now?! Fine, alright--
I've never had a breakdown.
I just don't know what to do.
So I leave it up to you.
"Oh who cares? We'll just throw up a few flares
and maybe finally let the snakes out of our hair."
Oh, that sickening crunch. "Do you think he can see us?
Because I can't do nothing but stare."
At how he's weighed down, snaking through the snow.
It's been days now, he breaks through your window.
The tide is way out, I'm raring to go.