This year I am recording twelve songs to my 4-track tape machine and sharing them exclusively with subscribers to this newsletter. This is track number four. All songs in the series may be downloaded for free by clicking the three dots to the right of the play button on the media player.
This was the first time a song’s title came to me before any of the lyrics. I was walking through Victoria Park in downtown Halifax admiring the multicoloured grackles at play in the grass when the thought occurred to me: songbirds can be harbingers of apocalyptic revelation as much as horsemen. I found the notion so delightful I laughed out loud, stopped where I was, and wrote the idea down in my pocketbook.
I like to think that this song belongs to the “guy with a guitar” tradition. To honour that orientation, I thought about doing the entire song in a single take with one mic on one tape track. In the end, I couldn’t help myself and used up all four tracks featuring some bass guitar and synth sounds that are not at all reminiscent of 60s Dylan recordings. Even so, I’m really pleased with how it came together.
I initially wrote a much longer version of the song full of somewhat confused and overlapping images. The song felt stuck for about eight months. It was nice to sing at open mics (which are increasingly becoming necessary to my writing process), but the lyrics hadn’t yet achieved that oracular sense of givenness and belonging-in-the-whole I really hoped the song would achieve. I tried including a verse dedicated to each of the senses. I tried redacting weaker verses into one another. In the end, it took my desire to record the song for this series and the gentle end-of-month pressure to pull everything into place.
Recording to 4-track tape continues to be a learning experience. When mixing and mastering the song, I was surprised to discover how high the tape-hiss noise floor was on my recording of the guitar and vocals. In the end, I liked the performance in that take so much, I decided to keep it, noise and all. I’m glad for an opportunity to explore a recording medium where imperfections can add to the texture of the work.
Lyrics, “The Four Cuckoos of the Apocalypse”
The title, as you no doubt understood immediately, is a reference to the four apocalyptic horseman of the Revelation of St. John. This song is about the ordinary kind of apocalypsis (a Greek word that means “uncovering” or “disclosing”). It’s the kind of revelation in which one realizes all of a sudden that the ordinary is not really ordinary at all. These little moments of rupture often seem to happen in moments of lack and limitation which, if the grace of the moment allows, open into the understanding that to exist at all is to be in communion with such abundance that simply to be is enough.
What can you say to the blood red morn,
to the cuckoos up singing at dawn?
What can you say to the frost or balm,
to the whispers that rise into song?
Are there listening ears in the blossoms of spring?
And really, what good would my talking bring?
My son, tell them anything.
What can you find in the newborn child,
in the aged, the sickly, and dying?
What shall I seek in the mountain’s snow,
or the tide that’s turning below?
Is there something to seek in the darkest night,
or in the new moon that hides from the light?
Go find there the source of everything bright.
What will I know when my blood runs cold,
when my bones are dried up and old?
Will there be something new when I loose my breath,
and the life runs from out of my chest?
Tell me, what will death say to me?
Will I be present there to hear it speak?
My son, every winter awaits the spring.
What can I taste in a bright green stem,
in the oceans, the rivers, and winds?
Can I touch my tongue to something glad
and savour the flavour it has?
Is there purpose in the breath that we breath,
or a gesture to express what it means?
Just rise up and sing.
Updates
The New Canadiana: Don’t miss the wonderful conversation I had with Halifax singer-songwriter, Andrea Cormier. Andrea seems to have captured one of the recurring themes in the series: songwriting is a participation with something that comes from outside.
An academic shout out: This month, I was delighted to discover that some of my Academic writing has been quoted at length in a beautiful essay on the Neoplatonism of Proclus and the metaphysics of polytheistic religion (the subject of my Master’s Thesis) by Oluwaseyi Bello. I am very glad to have discovered his substack:
An unexpected gift: Our year just came to a close at the University of King’s College here in Halifax. It was a wonderful year of reading and discussing everything from Homer to Heidegger. The students from one of my main tutorial groups made me this beautiful hand-painted guitar strap. Thank you for this precious gift! Highlights include the Ancient Greek word for “homecoming” (nostos), and an iconographic representation of the procession and return of Plotinus’ primary hypostases. Astounding!
As always, thank you for reading and listening. See you next time.
—Matthew
Previous Tracks
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