Your Hair

by Cannonball Statman

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about

"At the corner of Space Street and Illusion Avenue". Come, enter the world inside Cannonball Statman's brain.

It's our world but his mind is cold. Seeing our world through Statman's mind we inhabit a haunted place where we exist, but as ghosts inhabiting flesh. Which is what we are. Cannonball's vision is illuminated and frightening. Is this really where we live? Are these really the people we encounter? The strangenesses we deal with every day are displayed here in vibrant color. The color of our dreams. Cannonball hands you your world and says, "Look. We share much. Let's come together in this nightmare landscape and we can be free."

He channels animals, his sympathy with sometimes helpless creatures echoing his life, the life of a prodigy, a miracle, captured and medicated, institutionalized, his indomitable spirit screaming at barriers, vaporizing walls with his jackhammer guitar work, delivered at sometimes lightning speed. His guitar, tuned like a sitar, creates an eastern/punk setting for his amazing tales. I have never heard him recorded better than here, live, every word and note, every multi dimensional chord resonating like never before. Captured like this, he doesn't require a band to deliver his heavy sound. I can say this as I was in his band for almost two years, an experience I could never forget if I tried and will always treasure. Listening to this record is like hanging out with the man, all the while bludgeoned by his desperate energy and attack.

"Your Hair" is totally live, in studio and before amazed and appreciative audiences. You have never seen anything like Cannonball Statman onstage. I have seen a lot, a whole lot, and never have I witnessed anything like him. Buy the record, come to his shows. He might be coming to a town near you, leaving your inner landscape changed forever.

- Stu "chickenleg" Richards

credits

released 22 October 2014

Tracks 1-3 produced by Brian Speaker at SpeakerSonic Studio, Brooklyn, NY in 2013.
Tracks 4-12 produced by Cannonball Statman on USA tours & shows around NYC in 2014.
All music & lyrics written by Cannonball Statman, except:
Track 9, which is based on “Ed's Song” by Debe Dalton.
The impromptu monologue by Joe Crow Ryan during Track 12.
Album artwork by Cannonball Statman.
Photo of Cannonball Statman & his hair taken by Mallory Feuer at DV8 Espresso Bar in Greensburg, PA.

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Track Name: Tiger (SpeakerSonic Session)
My neighbors and I used to raise cats.
A monster stole them, took them to the woods to die.
I was so angry, I cut off my hair.
Then someone told me, they're better off there.
In the woods. In the woods.

Last night, I went thinking about your eyes,
and I had a dream of your life.
The frightened storm, dark skies.
Full moon rose tonight.

My friend lost his true love, standing in the garden.
She was taken by a tiger.
That could never happen to me,
I am the tiger. You're staying with me.
In the woods. In the woods.

Last night, I went thinking about your eyes,
and I had a dream of your life.
The frightened storm, dark skies.
Full moon rose tonight.

This is the story of my friend. Yeah, he didn't last long.
In my woods. In my woods.

Lost in the night, I went thinking about my past.
With one eye closed, had a dream of your life.
The garden gates shut, yeah, I took you away.
I came back to life that night.

Last night, I went thinking about your eyes,
and I had a dream of your life.
The frightened storm, dark skies.
Full moon rose tonight.
Track Name: Tom Turkey (SpeakerSonic Session)
There's this guy. Calls my phone.
He won't leave me alone.
There's this woman. Sharpens pencils.
She is bored, but she pays the bills.
There's this dude. Throws me a bone,
and I catch it. I have twenty days left to live.
I'm getting ready.
There's this girl. She is freezing.
I am broke. So is she.
I'd rather be a tree than pick up the phone.
I'd rather be a talking tree, who is guarding the bridge
to the other side of town.
Me and Tom Turkey.

There's this boy. Was suicidal.
And he was jumping out the window.
And I know. And he is me.
And let's get lunch. I'm never free.
There's this dude. Throws me a bone,
and I catch it. I have five days left to live.
I'm getting ready.
There's this girl. She is angry.
And I am tired. So is she.
I'd rather be a tree than jump out the window.
I'd rather be a talking tree, who is driving the bus
on the other side of town,
when the bridge is exploding.

There's this lady in my room.
It is dangerous, and it's too soon.
And there's this blindfold.
And I can't see. And she thinks she's so funny.
There's this dude. Throws me a bone,
and I catch it. I have one day left to live.
I'm getting ready.
There's this girl. She is crazy.
And I'm insane. And so are we.
I'd rather be a tree than have a baby.
I'd rather be a talking tree, who is changing the world
on the other side of town.
Cooking Tom Turkey.
Track Name: Shark (SpeakerSonic Session)
I'm not in town, I'm out on the road,
but everyone I know is gathered in the city tonight.
I'm on a mission, headed to the ocean.
To waste a life with a fishing pole.

There's too many obstacles in my path.
Too many demons in my head.
Cats and rats hanging out on my bed,
but there's a shark in the ocean. I've got a fishing pole.

I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
There's something I'm gonna catch.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
There's something I'm gonna catch.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
And it's funny, 'cause I know exactly who.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
That something I'm gonna catch is you.

I'm not in town, but I'm patrolling the streets.
No one I meet ever has a choice.
Sitting on the subway, without a voice.
Wasted away by the MTA.

Too many obstacles in my path.
Too many demons in my head.
Cats and rats hanging out on my bed,
but there's a shark in the ocean. I've got a fishing pole.

I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
There's something I'm gonna catch.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
There's something I'm gonna catch.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
That something I'm gonna catch is you.
I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
You'll become the history that caught up to you.

I'm going fishing, and I'm gonna catch something.
That something I'm gonna catch is,
that something I'm gonna catch is,
that something I'm gonna catch is,
that something I'm gonna catch is,
that something I'm gonna catch is,
that something I'm gonna catch is you.
Track Name: Serendipity (Live at Crossroads, Garwood, NJ)
Insects hungry for the light and the dark, in the room.
Watching this floor all the time, bah duh dum.
Serendipity took me out for a walk.
Serendipity took me to its side.
Thought it was too late, but it's so worth it.

Insects circling the streets for the way inside.
Watching the people come and go in my life.
Summer comes, and I run through the park,
and I hope they're eating me alive.
Thought it was too late, but it's so worth it.

I think I'll walk myself away from this.
I think I'll walk myself away from this.
I think I'll walk myself away from this serendipity.

I found the garden inside my house.
Now I don't know what to do.
Secretly, I got tired of finding a way out.
Thought it would drive me insane.
Thought it was all right, now nothing is worth it.
Now nothing is worth it.
Nothing is worth it.
Track Name: Mud Therapy (Live at The Fire, Philadelphia, PA)
She's buried in the corner, waits for dinner.
Doesn't speak Chinese, she can't help decipher
the mysterious book I got in the mail.
The man with the gold, in the mouth of the room
sits beneath the martian. The boy from space camp,
living poisonous dreams. But he's a free man now.
I am a ghost, in the body of a human.
Watch me crawl, wait up for the morning.
I'm the center of attention, in my mind.

Watch me crawl, wait up for the morning.
I'm the center of attention, in my mind.
The center of attention, in my mind.

Then I took the train to another country,
and I met a local woman who talked kind of funny.
I knew we'd die in the end.
Threw paper at each other, like a one hit wonder,
in the motel room. Lightning, thunder, fire, ice,
and piercing screams.
Woke up in the morning with gunfire out my window,
and oh, my demons, follow me where I go,
and I'll follow until I'm dead.
I'll follow my demons until I'm dead.

I'm sitting in front of a wall, early on a Monday morning,
every day those weird, pink puzzles of bone and ego
spill like manic paint into the New York City Transit System.
One goes here. One goes there.
Everyone is from somewhere, and now they are nowhere.
Liquids and kids campaign for the right to be solid.
Bernard's pale lavender voice remains glued to the back of my TV screen.
Holy ghost, holy ghost, holy ghost!

Bernard's pale lavender voice remains glued to the back of my TV screen.
Holy ghost! Holy ghost!

(Thanks, everyone!)
Track Name: Strasbourg (Live at Spike Hill, Brooklyn, NY)
(I'm gonna slow things down a bit, for this next one.
This song's inspired by the fact that I have a doppelganger.
Do any of you have doppelgangers you know about?)

I steal from the rich, and I give to the poor,
and I never, ever get caught.
My roommate's doing well. She was sick, but now she's better,
and now she has everything she wants.
Time is moving slower here. Maybe I'm just getting older,
maybe I'm just having less fun.
I haven't changed much. I still look like a psycho,
and I sit in the basement, collecting dust.

I live in my mind. That's where I spend my time,
and I never, ever get lost.
My roommate's getting old. Now she sits in a wheelchair,
and complains about Yoko and John.
John didn't die, Yoko covered it up,
now she lives in a nearby hotel.
Tries to sell her soul, no one will buy it.
Souls don't come cheap. Not here in Strasbourg. Yow!

I woke in the morning with a pain in my shoulder,
and it stung and it burned like the devil himself.
And I talked to a doctor, in my dumb American accent,
and he smiled, and ran through some standard tests.
He said, "Judging from the results, and your medical history,
I've got a diagnosis for the problem you have.
You're carrying far too much weight on your shoulders.
Maybe it's time - take the weight off."

I'm having all these dreams, where I get good at swimming,
and I'm better at swimming than I have ever have been.
I win Olympic medals, and I swim the English channel
ten times in one year. Yeah, ain't that some shit?
And I work for the French government, go on secret missions,
and they pay me to swim to the edges of the Earth.
And one day, I drown, and I know that I've failed.
Wake up right here, back home in Strasbourg. Ow!

(Thanks, everyone! I'm gonna speed it back up again.)
Track Name: Hunger Strike (Live at Northside Festival 2014, Brooklyn, NY)
If anything could open my heart, then it'd be a broken machine,
concealed by an electric mask, and a seventy-five inch screen.
The pain of standing on the Earth is worse than being eaten alive.
When I open my eyes, I wanna go blind.
So, Bobby stapled his brain chemistry to a scrap of sheet metal
at the intersection of Space Street and Illusion Avenue,
and flung himself into the force of the traffic,
as he pissed his last pair of blue jeans, and screamed
"I'm ready for the die-off! Are you ready for the die-off?"

If anything could open my heart, then it'd be a butcher's knife.
I'd sell my heart at the butcher mart, and then I'm goin' on a hunger strike.
I'll protest the consumption of human meat, by not eating anything.
I'll go totally mad.
So, Jennifer ran the entire length, width, and height of Manhattan in a matter of minutes,
to deliver dollar pizza to her grandma.
This narcissistic chronicler of caffeinated capitalist deliciousness reports,
"You can cure your lust for chronic insomnia when you're dead!"
New York's ready for the die-off! Are you ready for the die-off?

If anything could open my heart, then it'd be a thunderstorm.
Paralysis Alice, in the palace of the phallus told me she would rather have never been born.
Plants, animals, yellow jackets on crack, it's a tragic universe. And then there's humans.
So, one day, I cut off all seventy-four of my fingers, in a strange exchange for a slap in the face.
Ghosts entered my apartment, took up space. Hadn't eaten or slept or felt the weight of the world,
yet they stood, like wood at my door, and screamed.
"Get ready for the die-off! Better get ready for the die-off!
Better get ready for the die-off! The die-off!"

(Thanks, everyone!)
Track Name: Pyro vs. Poison Cat (Skyscraper, NY) (Live at Spiral Cannoncase, Brooklyn, NY)
I've already got this problem, and it's starting to freak me out.
You know, I live inside the doughnut store, and she lives on the seventh floor.
If I jump out the window, will I go up or down?
And if she doesn't like me, will she cut off my legs?
It seems like a joke, but it's not a joke.
People say they worry about me, but I think they want me dead.
I try to be myself, but I feel like someone else.
Am I breaking the wall with my forehead for Jesus or Lucifer? Ahh!

I've already got this burden, and I'm already six feet tall.
Soon I'll be taller than the ceiling, and the landlord will kick me out.
He plays Dorian modes, smokes cigarettes, and he castrates the town.
But with a solid state amp, mutilated guitar, and some rage on a stage,
I'll burn New York City to the ground. (Arf, arf!)
Tried to get out of the mirror, 'cause I always look the same,
and I tried to stop looking into your room, inside my dreams,
and I tried to stop talking to your face, and I'm spitting on your face,
and the Winter is burning me.

The center of the Earth is where I'm from, and I live there.
It's my home. Fire shoots out from my skin, but every now and then,
when you'll let me in, I'll visit the ocean in the sky above my head.
I'll visit the ocean, and I'll dive in.

End of the year threw me in the air.
But by next Fall, I'll fall just like all the others.
End of the year sent a current through my hair.
By next Fall, I'll fall all the way, a bullet through the ground.
And if I don't fall further than the others, I won't have a roof over my head.
I'll never see the moon again. And I'll drown, and I can't move.

This weird world is rewiring me to speak and think like a human man.
To walk the streets like a citizen. And talk about the weather, whenever I can.
Did I tell ya? We found an alien, outside of Niagara, on the way to Odessa.
She stood outside, smoking an e-cigarette, drilling silence and words into the tip of my head.
"Don't go anywhere! Stay scared! You can't breathe! Man, you don't even want to! Think about it!"

I felt a sensation of billions of blood cells, magic spells, spirit, and vibrations of lust,
from some four dozen post-death meatball heroes.
It was sinister and strange, drove me to the edge,
from a metal to a magnet, and then a black hole.
And here comes some asshole, in the mouth of the room,
with the head of a lion, and the heart of a mosquito,
mourning the severing of his gut, with a burp of bourbon, and a tragic scream!
"Don't go anywhere! Stay scared! You can't breathe! And I don't even want to! What about you?!"

Sometimes, I must admit, I hear a voice calling me from afar.
I can't comprehend the words, but the message is clear, and it penetrates me like a chainsaw.
I know what it means, and I know what to do. Yet I cower in the temporary warmth of the pack.
When will I start running?
When will I run from the pack, to that dissonant shriek of a freak,
who howls alone in Riverside Park?
And upon my arrival, in that wild, uncharted volume,
whatever will I do?
Will I erase these questions from my mind?

You can't break the ground in manic town, but you can smell the suicide. Ahh!
I had somewhere to go, and I ended up at the TPM show.
There's absolutely nothing that stitches can't sew.
Oh, whoa-oh-oh. Dropped all my shit, in a puddle of spit in Tompkins Square.
Took it back, bolted off like a poison cat, straight into the arms of the electric chair.
Born in the shadow of Moloch, it was written on my forehead.
Taken by the hand of the quicksand. Fell in, and never got out.
Snakes and spiders in my legs, they're not going away.
I hear sirens and screams from the rooftop, and I feel better.
Tonight, I'm gonna die, in front of your eyes.
I've got nothing better to do.
The train station's closed, and the landlord doesn't know,
and I love you.

At night in Skyscraper, New York, a bullet rings through the air.
Through landscapes of dirt, and panoramas of lazy eyes.
There is something else behind these walls, and doors leading into breakfast.
At night in Skyscraper, New York.

A party emerges in Skyscraper, New York. The lonely club singer becomes physically demented.
But the man behind the wall was dying in room, with saturated blues and cigarette smokin'
illuminated by black and white camera flashes from photographers in tuxedoes.
At night in Skyscraper, New York.

A hospital in Skyscraper, New York is fluorescent greens and whitened walls.
A man in a gown loses all character inside of him at the sight of a syringe,
but manages to remain calm, in front of doctors,
campaigning for the next parade of infants to march in their doors.
At night in Skyscraper, New York.

He died on the street last night, in Skyscraper, New York,
fueled by the messages on the billboards, starring signs of the apocalypse,
and silver screen dreams of a last chance at the road to fame,
through the back entrance at the theater, where the rocket ship went off.
And the ashes of Hi8 video tapes of the crash sent everyone back to bed.
A memorable moment in the days of looking out the window into a golden sky.
He was no more, his soul sinking into the stained cement.
The raindrops in the mud. The friends with mouths wide open.
The bluest sky from the oceans of his entire life.
At night in Skyscraper, New York.

He had made an acquaintance, through vast networks of people,
who did things, which sounded like things they'd done before,
stared into the mirror, pulled out his teeth, one by one,
bought into the trap of his previous self, lost control of his own better judgement,
his own best interest!

At night in Skyscraper, New York, people never change.
They're stuck inside, prisoners to the silver screen deja vu,
or the gold, which fuels madness and obsession, in the city.
At night in Skyscraper, New York.

(Thanks, everyone!)
Track Name: Bob's Song (Variation on Ed's Song by Debe Dalton) (Live at Sidewalk Cafe, New York, NY)
Well, here I am at another open mic. It's what I do every night.
And it's keeping me crazy, but it's keeping me sane,
I've got nothing to lose, I've got my life to regain.
And I listen, and I wait.
And I listen, and I wait to play.
I have to play. I have to play.

(This is a Debe Dalton song. I changed some of the lyrics, though.)

I do my eight minutes, and I'm not half bad. But how fast did I drink those two Cokes that I had?
And I'm packing to leave to go find my friend Bob, when a guy in a tie comes over to me, and he says that he's
always loved the Frankenguitar. And he likes my style.
I take his card and say, "thank you", with a smile.
Well, it was more like a smirk, but at least I didn't call him a jerk.
Yeah, thank you, I said, and quickly left, to go find Bob.

Well, it's not that I don't think anybody can like me.
It's just the word "style" I find a little frightening.
It's a little too vague, it's a little too lame.
It's a little too Turnstyle, I can't play that game,
there's no way! Yeah, sure, VMA.
I have to play. I have to play.

The music I listen to for inspiration. The musicians I have the utmost admiration,
are the ones who are sincere, the ones with passion,
the ones who're in sear. Hell, most are right here,
waiting to play. I have to play.
(It's only three chords.)
(Debe - "Yeah, it is.")
(I have to play, though.)
Waiting to play.
Arf! Arf!

Well, here I am at another open mic. It's what I do every night.
And it's keeping me crazy, but it's keeping me sane,
I've got nothing to lose, I've got my life to regain.
And I listen, and I wait.
Oh, I listen, and I wait to play.
I have to play. I have to play.
Track Name: Frostbite (Live at DV8 Espresso Bar, Greensburg, PA)
Eli sat by the window, with his fingers on the table.
All the brains, paper, pencils circled 'round him, tried to zero in.
Mental image of the fretboard on his right hand caught his eye, like the sunbeam from the window,
and the glass hit his face.
It made sixteen cuts above his jaw!
It was said, he was dead.
He remains on two inch tape.
In the storm of poison that rode South through Yonkers,
beat Manhattan, like a skull beats its mirror.
Did you see that? Hey, there.
The black coat and the white hair.
Frostbite is in the air.

I'm not afraid of that man, I'm not afraid of the beasts who killed him,
I'm not afraid of the box I live in, or the holes I sleep in.
I'm afraid of the bleeding in my brain, and the rusted metal in my chest.
When the glass hit my face,
it shot eighteen years of energy out of a cannon!
Crystal said, when I'm dead,
I'll be remembered by my friends.
As a machine, so efficient,
I was almost living and breathing.
Did you see that? Hey, there.
The black coat and the white hair.
Frostbite is in the air.

Mental image of the steel strings on my right hand struck a chord,
like the electric man behind the wall.
and a hand hit my face.
It sent raging up my ribcage!
Sparrow said, we're all dead,
and there must be something wrong in my head.
When I shot out of that cannon,
I was almost living and breathing.
Did you see that? Hey, there.
The black coat and the white hair.
Frostbite is in the air.

(Thanks, everyone!)
Track Name: Theme from Cannonball Statman (Live at Nick and Heather's House, Mount Pleasant, MI)
(And thanks, Nick and Heather, for, like, letting us use their house for this! Lots of fun.)

You and I have a problem. We don't even know it. You told me you'd come to my show, but
you ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
You ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
You told me that you'd come to my show,
you ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
Care, I don't care. I just like living in this city,
I don't care about clothes.
My name is Cannonball Statman, I'm a labrador retriever,
and I don't care about clothes.

You and I have a problem. I don't even know it. I told you, I'd come to your show, but
I ended up somewhere else, playing my own show.
I ended up somewhere else, playing my own show.
I told you that I'd come to your show,
I ended up somewhere else, playing my own show.
Care, I don't care. I just like living in this city,
I don't care about shows.
My name is Cannonball Statman, I'm a labrador retriever,
and I don't care about shows.

(Third verse, same as the first! A little bit louder, and a little bit worse!)
You and I have a problem. We don't even know it. You told me you'd come to my show, but
you ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
You ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
You told me that you'd come to my show,
you ended up in the shopping mall, shopping for your clothes.
Care, I don't care. I just like living in this city,
I don't care about clothes.
My name is Cannonball Statman, I'm a labrador retriever,
and I don't care about clothes.

(This is the last verse.)
You have a problem. You don't even know it. You are only human, but
I'm part human and I'm part dog.
I'm part human and I'm part dog.
You are only human,
I'm part human and I'm part dog.
Arf, arf! Arf, arf!
Care, I don't care. I just like living in this city,
I'm part human and part dog.
Arf, arf! Arf, arf! Arf, arf!
My name is Cannonball Statman, I'm a labrador retriever,
and I'm part human and part dog.

(Thanks, everyone!)
Track Name: Cannonball Becomes the One Armed Man (with Joe Crow Ryan) (Live at the Summer 2014 NYC Antifolk Festival)
(Speaking of things falling off and growing back, um, this song's called Cannonball Becomes the One Armed Man.
It's about that time my left arm got amputated. It grew back. Obviously.)

My friend got drunk at a poetry reading. We went down to Union Square.
We were hungry like a New York City band, and I cut off my hand.
It grew back. My hands are like that.
Yeah, sometimes, my hands grow back.

The world was small. The size of a house.
But the world was always out to get us.
You're probably just a pathological liar, and I don't trust that type.
You're just another clinically proven formula to drive me insane.

Someone in the mud tonight stole half of my heart.
And I sold my art.
Recently, my tendons have been severing themselves,
and I once was lost. Now I'm found.
Recently, the surgeons amputated my left arm,
and the one on the right is as good as new.
Dancing in the woods last night,
we saw a giant bat.
I screamed, "what is that?!"

So make some fucking noise. You've only got a few more years.
Everything you do will outlive you.
So make some fucking noise. I know you can do it.
I'm the one armed man. Even I can.
Don't think you're safe!

Don't think you're safe! I want everyone to be obese,
except for me, 'cause I can't do that to myself.
Don't think you're safe.
Don't think you're safe! I want everyone to be obese,
so I can feed them to the parasite living in the shadow of the door,
to the room where I was handcuffed, beaten, and
taken away, by a group of rogue federal agents.
Almost killed me completely.
Thanks to the dissociative fugue state that I'm in,
and a lack of sleep and hydration,
I am here, with my guitar, singing to you.

(2, 3, 4!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(10, 5, 7!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(5, 5!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(Random number!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(2, 3, 4!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(2, 3, 4!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(10, 5, 7!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(Happy birthday, Interstate! 1, 2, 3, 10!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.
(10, 5, 4!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.

(Has anyone ever lost an arm before? Wait, hold on a sec.
Oh, cool! That drink was empty.
So, if you've ever lost an arm before, what did it feel like, when you lost that thing?)

(Ben Krieger - I got it, I got it. Keep going, keep playing, keep playing.)
(OK, cool.)
(Ben Krieger - Keep playing, keep playing.)
(Oh, yeah, thanks Ben! Ben Krieger on sound board!)

(So, has anyone ever lost an arm before, and would like to live to tell the tale,
and would like to tell the tale into the mic? Or to the crowd, or something like that?
Joe, do you want to tell the story?
Joe Crow Ryan, everybody!)

(Joe Crow Ryan - I'm minding my own business. Living my life. I have a platform bed in Brooklyn.
I'm in my bed, and I say, gee, my arm hurts. And I move it around.
And this goes on, and I'm sleeping, so I don't really pay attention, but then I realize,
you know, my arm has hurt for about three hours, and I haven't really gotten any sleep,
and I said, you know what? It really hurts a lot, this is my left arm.
So I say to myself, x number of years, smoker, butter. Nothing wrong with butter. I'm Irish, it's cool.
But that was when it came to my mind, and not so much heart attack, I'm thinking,
I think I'm having a stroke, like J.R. Richard. The great pitcher, J.R. Richard.
Six foot seven. And he was a lefty, with Houston. Led the league in strike-outs, four or five years in a row.
And he goes "it just doesn't feel right. Don't feel right."
And they said, "Ah. Walk it off."
And J.R. Richard pitched, and he said to him,
"Dare I say, don't make excuses."
And he said, "It just doesn't feel right!"
J.R. Richard pitched again. And he had a stroke. He shot a clot. He survived.
He tried to come back to baseball, and didn't.
So here am I, in Bed-Stuy. I made a mistake, I went to Woodhull Hospital.
I had to do a ceremony to, uh, get rid of that part, but the upshot was, it was a Radiculopathy!
Of course, when the doctor said, "you have a Radiculopathy", what was the first thing I thought of?
What a cool word! Radiculopathy! From the radix - Latin, root. Iculopathy, something's wrong with it.
Speaking of a nerve! And I lost my arm for a little while!
I had to just, go like this a lot. Take Vicodin. My friends at the bar in Bed-Stuy checked in for me, because a little bottle of Vicodin was so expensive.
And so I was able to do that, and I was able to rest. And I eventually recovered, and have grown a fine head of hair.
And the arm works. And I have the arm back. The moral of this story is, if you ever lose your arm, don't look for it at Woodhull Hospital.)

(That was Joe Crow Ryan, everybody!
So now, what's about to happen, is something pretty crazy.
You're all about to lose your arms, for a very short amount of time. That is, seven milliseconds or less.
And you have to scream at the top of your lungs, at the count of three, which is a very specific number.
It's not two and a half, it's not three and a half, it's not four and a half, it's three.
When I shout the number three, you're gonna scream at the top of your lungs for the rest of the song.
If you do that successfully, then your arms…well, you won't really feel a thing.
If your arms do fall off, I'm not paying your medical bills, unfortunately.)

(Fan - I have the right to bear arms!)
(Yeah, you do! As do we all. If you do lose your arms, tonight, then I'm not paying your medical bills, but I will send you a nice letter, and visit you in the hospital.)
(Fan - Bring alcohol!)
(I will.)
(Fan - Bring Vicodin.)
(Fan - And weed!)
(Yeah. You're probably not gonna lose your arms tonight. They will grow back. On the count of three, you have to scream at the top of your lungs, for the rest of the song.)
(Interstate Johnson - Are you the one armed man?)
(I am.)
(Interstate Johnson - I thought you were the one armed man.)
(I am the one armed man, and my arms grew back, so there's hope for all of y'all.
There's hope for all of y'all, eh?
So that's the number three. And you're gonna scream at the top of your lungs.
If you don't have lungs, you can use Stephen Hawking, your iLungs, your diaphragm, your voice, or Siri, I guess.)
(Fan - My gills.)
(Your gills. Arf, arf! If you're a dog, you can do that.)
(Joe Crow Ryan - B-kawk! B-kawk!)
(If you're a bird, you can do what Joe just did.)
(Ben Krieger - Hey, I'm the one armed man.)
(And?)
(Ben Krieger - I'm Stephen Hawking.)
(Oh, yeah. Ben can take care of you, I believe. He seems to be good at that.
So is everybody ready?
That's the number three, which is a very specific number.)

(One! Zero! A hundred! A thousand! Three!)
Ahh!

(Thanks, everyone!)