Picnic in the Sun
It was 112 in the Valley of the Gods
And I made a tuna melt on the dashboard of my car
I remembered what you said about the mayonnaise
When it looks like glue you better throw the jar away
There was nothing left to drink but a warm Coca Cola
The landscape was surreal, and the sky was full of vultures
I spelled your name out with potato chips
And I drew a heart around it with the onion dip
Picnic in the sun, there’s no shade to be found
Table for one for a lonely fool from out of town
On the road to Gallup there was nobody for miles
Except some grazing sheep and a couple Navajos
In the sky a thousand angels were lounging on a sofa
And in the ancient rocks I saw the face of my grandfather
Oh, the ants they finally made it, I wondered where they’d been
Maybe they took the day off and went drinkin’ with their friends
Now they’ll finish up the job and leave nothin’ left behind
And I wish I could do likewise and erase you from my mind
Goodnight Sylvia (For Sylvia Plath)
Your best friend was the typewriter
For your sanity you were always fighting
There was nothing anyone could do for you
All around you a shadow kept on growing
You grew tired of that awful rowing
Against the waves of paranoia
I’ll never know the pain you felt inside
I’m not gonna judge you for your suicide
Goodnight, goodnight Sylvia
On the back of your book I saw your photograph
So sad and serious I wondered if you ever laughed
Laughed at life…
Forever Ago
The girl with the red hair in a red dress is dancing
She’s dancing in a trance on a hot July night
While the drummer is pounding out the poison
That burns through his veins that he caught from a spider bite
Under the full moon they played for some spare change
In the little town square where I met you
Outside the museum the tourists have gathered
They wait patiently for the time to come
For the guards to throw open the vaults of a culture
That’s only a shadow of what it once was
What good is Picasso, Pollock or Rothko
When you’re an ocean away?
I want to know where does the time go?
Cause it feels like forever, forever ago
Now the TV is blaring in a bistro in Dubrovnik
Where the old men sit around and smoke
And I wonder where it all went
Was it worth it, was it well spent
Or were the gods playing some kind of joke?
Your laughter rings like the song of a siren
As my little boat washes ashore
From Robert Christgau: John Kruth & La Società del Musici: Forever Ago (Ars Spoleteum) The book-length celebrator of Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Rubber Soul and leader of the departed TriBeCaStan is a native New Yorker who gets around. So having upped his game with two albums rooted in summers spent with his Croatian-born wife in the holiday port of Split, he crossed the Adriatic to cut 14 of his songs in Spoleto with a Neapolitan mandolinist he met in Manhattan. Thematically and geographically, the material gets around too, from a Milwaukee pal loading up a bag of Christmas goodies for poorer folks across the river to a tuna melt heated up on a desert dashboard to a cautionary reflection on Croatian Catholicism: "There's only one thing that I fear / When the old communist goes to church." Switching among seven instruments including his own mandolin, honoring Sylvia Plath's paranoia, or playing checkers with his cat, he's no kind of singer except the kind Dylan let in the side door with his everyman impressions. But he sure has a broad compass. And he lives to convince anyone who’ll listen that that's the best kind of compass to have—by miles. A MINUS
The Story of Forever Ago - John Kruth & La Società dei Musici
I first met Claudio Scarabottini three years ago in the Autumn of 2014 when we played the music for Shakespeare’s The Tempest for the New York-based experimental theater company, La Mama. We became fast friends, working together daily under the direction of Liz Swados (to whom this album is dedicated). While Claudio and I are multi-instrumentalists, we are both mandolin players that draw from different traditions. Claudio mostly plays in the classic Neapolitan style, where my approach draws from American roots music: folk, blues, bluegrass and rock. Whenever we played together there was never a shortage of enthusiasm and fresh ideas to share.
Three years ago, while I on my annual summer vacation in Split, Croatia, Claudio suggested I come to visit Spoleto and play a few shows with him and his friends, the folk singer Massimo Liberatori and his great group La Società dei Musici. We all had a great time making music, eating and drinking and I soon returned again to play with Massimo and his gang, and to record on his new album Tratturo Zero. Soon after the sessions Claudio and accordionist/record label director, Gianluca Bibiani suggested I return again, this time to do an album of my songs, backed by La Società dei Musici.
As a singer/songwriter I have released ten solo albums over my career, when I haven’t been busy either writing books or leading the New York-based world music ensemble TriBeCaStan. While I had a handful of unrecorded songs, I needed to write another six or seven to comprise the new album. My recent travels in Italy, Croatia and the U.S.A. helped provide the inspiration for many of the lyrics, which reflect my impressions, from the American Southwest in “Picnic in the Sun” to the Everglades in Florida, in “Drivin’” as well as the piazza in Campello, where I witnessed “the girl with the red hair in the red dress” dancing the Tarantella one hot July night. Other songs are dedicated to the late, great poet Sylvia Plath and the Austrian painter/architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser.
Working with an Italian band in an Umbrian studio has been great fun (and sometimes a challenge as I don’t speak the language)! While many of our musical styles – employing mandolin, guitar and accordion fit hand in glove, our differences helped create a new wonderful fusion of sound and poetry.
I enthusiastically look forward to returning to Umbria again in the Summer of 2018 to perform the songs from Forever Ago with the wonderful La Società dei Musici.
Truly,
John Kruth
Notes on the Songs to Forever Ago by John Kruth
Picnic in the Sun was inspired after a road trip to the American Southwest, where I once lived in the late ‘70’s. The lyric reflects the fever dream of traveling alone through the primordial landscape of Arizona and New Mexico. The sun was so hot, an egg or your brain could fry on the dashboard of your car.
Goodnight Sylvia is dedicated to the late, great poet Sylvia Plath who could no longer endure what her friend and fellow poet Anne Sexton called “that awful rowing towards god,” and took her own life. Too many friends of mine have also chosen the path of suicide over the years, and my feelings about it found their way into this song.
Forever Ago was inspired by watching “the girl in the red hair in the red dress” dancing the tarantella in Campello “on a hot July night” last summer. I have been doing a lot of traveling in recent years, playing music from Los Angeles to New York and around the Mediterranean. Each verse of this song reflects the loneliness on feels at times, despite the beauty and wonder of their surroundings.
Waiting by the Window captures the freedom, uncertainty and excitement of the road (complete with a gypsy mandolin riff). Sometimes driving late at night can trigger all sorts of thoughts and memories: “In the rear-view mirror is your mind any clearer now?” This tune was written from the perspective of the one left behind – the mother, or lover, while the wanderer is out having adventures, discovering new aspects of their self.
The Wild Birds of Heaven was written when a loved one was facing a serious surgery, and the thought that I might never see them again in this life. Into the Forest Alone is a penny whistle tune I wrote climbing around the mystical hills and caves of Skibbereen, Ireland. It just seemed like a good coda to an emotional ballad.
Mr. Crow is just another installment in my on-going obsession with the big black bird that has figured into just about everything I’ve written, from poems to songs and stories. Sometimes the best music is made with as little as possible – a couple of harmonicas and handclaps.
Drivin’ was inspired by another hallucinatory road experience, this time driving across Alligator Alley down in southern Florida, getting lost in the gloaming and missing my flight.
Vacation is another fever dream, not mine, but one I imagined after witnessing a nun faint on a hot summer afternoon while she was waiting to board a bus in Split, Croatia. The exhaust fumes and her habit proved too much for her to bear in the oppressive heat and she passed out. The lyric tries to evoke what she might have experienced while unconscious.
Share the Failure is just another minor-key breakup song with a Russian death dance tacked onto the ending.
Christmas Eve is a true story about my old friend Paul Finger from Milwaukee, who loaded up some bags full of toys, fruit and candy and trudged through the falling snow to “deliver to some folks who lived across the river.” Claudio Scarabottini’s beautiful choral arrangement was a real thrill to sing to!
Blonde is a fun and funky jam, an ode to what those pretty women will do to you, whether blonde, brunette or…
Checkers with My Cat portrays a broken-hearted loser, all alone after his lover has gone, and even his cat has had enough of his sorry routine.
The Old Communist was written in Milna, on the Isle of Brac, off the coast of Croatia where my sweetheart, Marilyn and I spend our summers at her family’s ancestral home. She thought she had better go to church as everyone in the small town was sure to gossip if she didn’t make an appearance. I stayed home, playing banjo on the porch, bewildered by the notion that the church pews were filled with former communists.
Hunting for Water is dedicated to the wonderful Austrian-born artist/architect/visionary/ environmentalist Friedensreich Hundertwasser. The bits of vocalese are a tribute to the late-great composer/author Elizabeth Swados who introduced me to my co-producer/musical collaborator Claudio Scarabottini in 2014.
credits
released January 13, 2019
Forever Ago
John Kruth & La Società dei Musici
1. Picnic in the Sun - 3:06
2. Goodnight Sylvia - 3:09
3. Forever Ago - 3:53
4. Waiting by the Window - 4:25
5. The Wild Birds of Heaven/Into the Forest Alone - 6:13
6. Mr. Crow - 2:44
7. Drivin’ - 3:19
8. Vacation - 5:01
9. Share the Failure/The Grinning Reaper - 4:13
10. Christmas Eve - 6:34
11. Blonde - 2:56
12. Checkers with My Cat - 2:24
13. The Old Communist - 5:00
14. Hunting for Water - 6:03
John Kruth – vocal, mandolin, 12-string guitar, banjo, flute, harmonica, tin whistle, Jews harp
La Società dei Musici: Claudio Scarabottini – keyboards, Neapolitan mandolin, vocal and choral arrangements. Gianluca Bibiani – accordion. Paolo Rosichetti – bass. Stefano Trabalza – Classical guitar, 12-string guitar, lead guitar. Maurizio Catarinelli – guitar, bouzouki, harmonica. Eric Halvorson – drums, percussion. Raphaella Pannebianco – vocal on Waiting by the Window, Forever Ago, The Wild Birds of Heaven and Share the Failure. Massimo Liberatori – vocal on Forever Ago. Viviana Anuarithe Sigismondi – vocal on Drivin’ and Vacation. The Bisse Choir on Christmas Eve.
Lorijo Daniels – cover and disc photos. Marilyn Cvitanic – back cover photo.
Rita Gentile – booklet cover photo. John Kruth – Castel Ritaldi photo.
Glenn Wolff – graphic design
Recorded at Strumenti & Musica Studios, Castel Ritaldi, Italy, February & March 2018. Engineered by Claudio Scarabottini, Stefano Trabalza and Gianluca Bibiani.
Mix down Engineer: Paolo Chiari.
Produced by John & Claudio. Executive Producer: Gianluca Bibiani
All songs written by John Kruth, except Christmas Eve which is by John Kruth and Claudio Scarabottini – Copyright John Kruth/BMI 2018. Published by Ars Spoletium 2018. JK plays GHS strings.
Grazie: Marilyn Cvitanic, Federica Celesti, Ivana Colligiani, the Sisters of Monastero Di Santa Caterina, and Mike Warren. In loving memory of Liz Swados (Ooh wah ooh wah baba jika!)
Forever Ago
The girl with the red hair in a red dress is dancing
She’s dancing in a trance on a hot July night
While the drummer is pounding out the poison
That burns through his veins that he caught from a spider bite
Under the full moon they played for some spare change
In the little town square where I met you
Outside the museum the tourists have gathered
They wait patiently for the time to come
For the guards to throw open the vaults of a culture
That’s only a shadow of what it once was
What good is Picasso, Pollock or Rothko
When you’re an ocean away?
I want to know where does the time go?
Cause it feels like forever, forever ago
Now the TV is blaring in a bistro in Dubrovnik
Where the old men sit around and smoke
And I wonder where it all went
Was it worth it, was it well spent
Or were the gods playing some kind of joke?
Your laughter rings like the song of a siren
As my little boat washes ashore
Waiting by the Window
I’ll be waiting by the window, every night for your return
Though the promise remains hollow, still a single candle burns
You’ll be heading down the highway, through the long and lonely night
Shadows vanish with the new day, an orange sun ignites the sky
Now you’re on your own, miles from your home
Trying to find yourself, you don’t need my help
One day you’ll return, playing pipes and drums
Singing epic poems of the love you found
In a stranger’s arms on some cold October night
I’ll be waiting by the window by the Jacaranda trees
Branches dancing in the moonglow your laughter echoes on the breeze
Tears will dry, scars will fade as we keep marching in time’s parade
In the rear-view mirror is your mind any clearer now?
The Wild Birds of Heaven
Vultures may circle above you
The raven may rap at your door
When the wild birds of heaven sing darlin’
You’ll know you’re on that other shore
When the Cadillac pulls in the driveway
You know you never owned one like that
And you’re headed for that bend in the highway
Oh brother, drive on and don’t you look back
Where the wild birds of heaven sing with each new dawn
Over the River of Jordan where our fathers have gone
And it seems like forever, but I’ll meet you ‘fore long
Where the wild birds of heaven they sing
When rose petals fall all around you
And sycamores dance in the breeze
And the light pours like gold on your shoulder
Oh sister, I’ll see you in eternity
Mr. Crow
Big black crow, way up in the trees
Hey Mr. Crow, tell me what you see
Could it be my baby flyin’ home to me?
Big black crow, sittin’ on a pole
Hey now Mr. Crow, singin’ with a lotta soul
Where will you be now when the chilly wind blows?
Big black crow, high up in the sky
Hey now Mr. Crow, won’t you tell me why?
It’s so hard to live, and so easy to die
Drivin’
Drivin’, ja ja ja drivin’
I was drivin’ all night across Alligator Alley
When the long yellow line began to hypnotize me
It zigged, it zagged, it coiled like a cobra
I was headed for Miami, wound up in Sarasota
With no moon and stars and no signs to guide me
And the ghost of a Seminole in the seat beside me
He said, “Hey idiot you’re headed in the wrong direction
You’re gonna miss your flight and have a nervous breakdown”
Drivin’, I was drivin’
And all the palm trees dance in the breeze like aliens
And I’m hopin’ and I’m prayin’ for this nightmare to end
I got a sense of direction like Christopher Columbus
And I know I’d find that motel if I only had a compass
I need a little sleep, my eyes are gettin’ heavy
I want an air-conditioned room with a shower and a TV
Vacation
Oh, the sun was too much for the nuns
They started to swoon, they started to sway
Beside the bus, they knelt down to pray
Outside the station, on their summer vacation
They were miles from home, headed for Rome
When one had a vision of Saint Sebastian
His chest was pierced with arrows, pushing a wheelbarrow
Overflowing with water, as the bishop’s daughter
Bathed in the nude, covered with tattoos
When just then the tire became a wheel of fire
It burst into flame, as she cried the lord’s name
Oh, holy Jesus when will you release us
From sin and temptation and the sick imagination
Of that old demon Satan, who in the form of a fly
Landed on the pie that the mayor was eating
He soon began sneezing, he choked and turned blue
What could his wife do? She just watched him die
She cried and she cried as the devil’s laughter
Rang from the rafters, grew louder and louder
When the sound of the motor suddenly awoke her
A cold sticky sweat clung to the sister’s neck
As a little reminder that death walks beside her
With each step she takes, so it’s time that she makes
Peace with Sebastian and enjoys her vacation
Share the Failure
It happens so often I just can’t ignore
All of the omens and the wolf outside my door
There’s a constant conflict between your life and my dreams
Your knight in shining armor has rusted at the seams
We must share the failure, both of us have tried
No excuse can mask the truth so, drop your foolish pride
You could be a jester with your riddles so wise
And I the finest archer competing for a prize
But if I split the target it would be in vain
Cause we could live forever and never love again
Up in the attic, below the winter snow
There lies a memory, black as a flock of crows
Somewhere within us, there’s a jail we can’t escape
The bars on the windows won’t save us from our fate
Christmas Eve
Nobody was around, and the snow was fallin’ down
As he walked the empty streets alone on Christmas Eve
He had a lot of friends, but he didn’t have no family
And he spent his last dollar on a bag of toys and candy
Which he slung across his shoulder, determined to deliver
To some poor folks he knew, that lived across the river
He sang joy to the world and peace on earth
But when will we learn what joy is
And what peace is really worth?
He pulled up to a house, climbed the stairs and rang the bell
The woman at the door, her life was living hell
But she bought a little tree and wrapped a couple presents
She did everything she could to make the holiday more pleasant
For her old ailing mother and her two little children
Who didn’t have a clue just how miserable she was feeling
By the time he got back home the snow was getting deep
He had a little shot of scotch said his prayers and went to sleep
Blonde
She put the ooh in brunette, you put the ahh in blonde
She put the hell in hello, you put the go in gone
Like an earthquake you really shook up my mind
I’m spinning like a reel to reel and there ain’t no rewind
She put the ooh in brunette, you put the ahh in blonde
You put the sigh in goodbye, she put the bon in bon voyage
With a hole in my sock and rain on my roof
I gave you my heart now, but you wanted more proof
Who put the yes in yesterday put the blues in this song
Checkers with My Cat
Dressed up in my boxer shorts and my baseball cap
Eatin’ scrambled eggs and drinkin’ Johnnie Walker Black
I’m haunted by your face and our broken wedding vows
Every time I start to cry, the cat begins to yowl
Oh, I miss you baby, I wish that you’d come back
I’m stayin’ up all night, playin’ checkers with my cat
He sits across the table, his paws upon the board
When I try and jump him, I wind up gettin’ clawed
His green eyes glare as my mind begins to crack
He’s got a bowl of caviar and my men all in a stack
Oh, I miss you baby, I wish that you’d come back
I’m stayin’ up all night, playin’ checkers with my cat
Checkers with my cat, Ch Ch Ch Checkers with my cat
Checkers with my cat, Ch Ch Ch Checkers with my cat
Oh, I miss you baby, my tears fall red and black
Staying up all night, playing checkers with my cat
Love is just a game, but I ignored the rules
And now I wear a crown, ‘cause I’m the king of fools
Eating scrambled eggs and drinking Johnnie Walker Black
In my lonely kitchen, playin’ checkers with my cat
The Old Communist
They say I’m wise beyond my years
Perhaps I’ve lived to see too much
There’s only one thing that I fear
When the old communist goes to church
Joe Stalin used to be his god
But now he’s taken up the Christ
And dressing like a British fop
But every man must have his vice
Once we were fighting in the fields
With no shirt and with no shoes
Now we import their high-heels
And listen to their rhythm and blues
A line of widows all in black
Wait for the bell on Sunday morn
The vodka bottle seal will crack
Where has our former glory gone?
Nothing could stop the mighty red
We plowed the wheat and killed the czar
While they all cowered in their beds
Our rockets flew up to the stars
Hunting for Water (For Friedensreich Huntertwasser)
He went hunting for water, though it was all around him
He went hunting for water, though it was inside him
He sailed his boat around the world, hunting for water
He knew the magic of color that was all around him
He shared a sense of wonder that was inside him
He painted circles around the sun, hunting for water
They laughed at him and he laughed too
They dressed in armor, he showed up nude
Hunting for water, hunting for water
With 12 solo albums to date, multi-instrumentalist, John Kruth plays mandolin, banjo, guitar and sitar as well as flute
and harmonica. The former leader of the NYC "other-world" music ensemble TriBeCaStan, Kruth has played with Ornette Coleman, Allen Ginsberg, Sam Shepherd, John Prine, Rick Danko and Violent Femmes, and worked with producers Joel Dorn and Hal Willner....more
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