Get all 18 Cannonball Statman releases available on Bandcamp and save 50%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Hard to Break, Icepick (9th Anniversary Remaster), Miracle on Neon Clown Avenue, Rhinoceros Crossing, Interdimensional Ice Cream Cake, Modern Elephants, Playing Dead, Outa / Orda, and 10 more.
1. |
Winter in Brooklyn
03:05
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Ace, it's been a long night,
and it's time to go home.
Where are you going?
Where are you running to?
Our friends are far behind,
and they may never find us.
You make it so hard to be your friend
in these cold, cloudy days;
why do you make it so hard to be your friend?
Ace says,
"it's been a long night,
and I'm going home;
and I don't know just where that is for me,
but tonight's my last night on Earth.
Maybe I'll end up living in the tunnels,
maybe I'll end up living in the storm.
Maybe I'll end up in a forgotten room,
smothered by the arms of the state;
or maybe I will make it to the moon,
or the sun,
and around the universe again."
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2. |
East River Sunset
01:07
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Ghosts are living in the gas stations of America.
Went to the public park today;
was the first time I'd been outside in years,
and the sun shot through the December sky like a drone bomb
with its democracy and guns,
liberation and tyranny,
and I said,
“Mr. President, I refuse to take part
in your dinosaur fossil death cult,”
and the sun, he just stared down at me and said,
“baby, I refuse to leave you be;
I refuse to leave you be.”
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3. |
I'm Gonna Explode!
03:05
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Love songs.
You're singin' in the background,
but I can't hear you breathin';
I wanna hear you screamin',
'cause I've got this crazy feelin'
like I'm gonna explode.
...to our friends, while we're eatin';
wild hearts beatin'.
We’ve got this crazy feelin'
like we’re gonna explode.
Nothin' could tear me away from you;
you're the best, man.
No, nothin' draws me in like you do;
you're the top, man.
My eyes have been tethered to you
since I knew you were here;
cut from a cosmic cloth,
cut out of the blue.
...I'm eatin' bad clam chowder;
couldn't you be louder?
you’ve got this crazy feelin'
like you’re gonna explode.
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4. |
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Yeah, I see you;
there, but you're not.
So unreal, huh?
But it isn't.
So cold,
so hot.
I live at the foot,
I do what I want.
Last week was the best week of my life,
I was a song.
Yesterday, I was a racecar,
orbiting the moon.
Today, I'm territorial and strange.
I think I will dispose of your remains.
You're dead, not even breathin';
even the doctor couldn't fix your little problem.
Call him on the telephone, and tell him,
tonight, where you're sleepin'.
There's always something to eat in my box.
Everything I need to know's in my box.
Been around the omniverse with my box.
You’re gonna love it in my box.
Divorciados divorciados
divorciados divorciados.
Last week was the best time of my life,
it felt so wrong
Yesterday, I was a pigeon
flying around your room.
Today, I'm feeling cynical and vain.
I think I have to pour you down the drain.
There's always fish to eat in my box.
Everyone I've ever known's in my box.
I've got plans for you in my box.
Now you go down into my box.
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5. |
My Violent Brush
03:31
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You could talk to my friends,
but they won't tell you what day it is.
Let them all into my house,
I don't think they'll ever get out;
they got locked inside my house. Yeah.
I wanna paint with my violent brush,
I don't wanna know what day it is.
Paint it over all your doors,
I don't think you'll ever get out;
you got locked inside my house. Yeah.
I wanna play guitar like Violent Paint,
they don't even know what day it is.
Paint paint paint paint Violent Paint;
even Houdini couldn't get out;
he's still locked inside my house. Yeah.
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6. |
Prospect Park Song
01:59
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Why don't we do this?
Instead of getting our instruments involved,
we'll have a party,
melt some faces,
and, hey!
Go out, and
turn the lights on in the park;
I'll make dinner.
I'll watch the wind
sweep you away from this city,
like a street sweeper
rakes the leaves.
You'll be with the lights in Prospect Park,
you with the lights on;
you with the lights and in the park,
you with the lights on.
You, with the lights in Prospect Park.
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7. |
This Neolithic Hole
04:00
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In civilised obedience town,
plutocrats hold every body down;
brand new bands make the same old sounds.
Nothing ever happens in this town,
and sometimes I think I'm going insane;
doc says something's wrong with my brain.
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I'm in pain.
Do I even need to explain?!
No, nobody’s head stays on for long
in this Neolithic hole.
I've got a friend in New York town,
spends his life in the underground;
seems to know his way around,
but these are hard times in New York town,
and all his friends say he's insane,
'cause he's got a job, but it ain't payin',
so he stays under the roof of the E train
to protect his head from the freezing rain.
No, nobody sleeps inside for long
in that Neolithic hole.
Sun sets over this creepy old town;
dogs cry wild laments to the loons.
I could not find a fucking room;
there's no place I can sleep in this town,
and sometimes I think I'm going insane,
like there's something wrong with my brain.
Neutered on a moving train;
now I can’t stand still again,
and nobody hangs around for long
in this Neolithic hole.
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8. |
Neon Clown Revisited
05:36
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There's this place, the Neon Clown,
perched at the top of Neon Clown Avenue,
in the center of this old town;
the center of our hometown.
And it sounds funny, but I know,
'cause you're the one who can't say "no,"
you'll see a familiar face,
and you won't come out of that place
again.
Tonight, checking into the Neon Clown,
at the top of Neon Clown Avenue,
to catch up with an old friend
from the heart of our hometown.
Millions of people stuck in that place,
all staying alive just to save face,
see the bar staff, walls, and weirdos,
and grab one last drink for the road,
but when you're the puppet master
holding worlds on strings,
and you see a familiar face
in a most peculiar place,
you are the puppet master,
you hold worlds on strings;
you've just seen a familiar face
in the most surprising place.
Hey there,
old friend,
I've come
to retire you.
There's this place, the Neon Clown,
perched at the top of Neon Clown Avenue,
in the center of an old town;
the center of our hometown.
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9. |
Pit of Worms
05:25
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It's time for ice cream with Phoebe,
at Denny's in Virginia,
the room at the end of rooms.
tooth hurty in the morning, December,
tour over,
chronic back pain, armchair anthropology;
let's take a dance
behind your eyes.
Liberate us from the madness of reason;
this is no time for thin king thinking.
Embellish your corpse, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms.
Your apartment is an ashtray and a bed you sleep in at night;
your kitchen is an ashtray and a microwave you put the cat in.
Let's take a dance behind your eyes;
somebody's home behind your eyes.
The Boy with the Blue Guitar is at war, MIA;
your best friend's a spy for the FB Eye.
The Boy with the Blue Guitar is at war, missing in action;
your best friend's a spy for the FB Eye,
compiling a dossier;
let's take a dance
behind your eyes.
I thought you loved me
in the American convention
of love that doesn't exist;
I imagined myself telling all my friends,
in our churches of insubstantial substances
what an incredible human you were,
until you dropped me like a Silicon Valley success story,
under the inevitable influence of reason.
There’s no time; stop thinking, thin king.
Be yourself, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms.
Your existence is an existential crisis from start to finish;
why are you so terrified of me, Amsterdam?
...on the Girl with the Voice of an Angel.
Sing yourself crazy, and someone will love you
in the Pit of Worms;
the Pit of Worms.
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10. |
(A Brief) Intermission
03:00
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A donde vamos?
Cada día, siempre el mismo.
Where are we going?
Every day, siempre el mismo.
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11. |
Detour: Pizza School
04:02
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You left your backpack at pizza school
on your way to the metal show;
you sprayed perfume on everyone in the pit,
we all woke up smelling it,
you broke our strings,
and the skins of our drums.
You said, "OK, I played in North Korea; I'm fucking good,"
and your backpack waited for so long at pizza school.
I wanna build a thing
worth building.
I wanna build a thing;
I wanna build all of these things.
The singers flew all the way to Brooklyn,
and all they saw were trees,
trees, trees, trees. It was all there was;
this was the sticks.
And one of these trees said,
"hey, sing us a song! It's occupational."
And this singer looked over this shoulder and said,
"what am I? A fucking showdog?
Jeez Louise.
I wanna build a thing
worth building.
I want a roof
over my head.
I want coffee
in the morning.
My sonic twin is with me tonight.
I found him on the steps below the highway.
We spoke without words, and we knew
we were no longer alone.
We want an end to all suffering.
We want coffee in the morning;
coffee is best enjoyed with someone you love.
We are in love;
it's the most terrifying thing we've ever felt,
but we are terrorists,
and we reap what terror we sow.
We want an end to all suffering.
We want coffee in the morning,
afternoon, and evening."
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12. |
The Doomsday Clock
08:16
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Who didn't wanna be the Boy with the Blue Guitar,
and the shiny blue suit, and the greatest rock and roll band in town?
Everywhere he went, boys in shiny blue suits lined up
to ask him for his autograph; he'd say,
"hey! Who do you think you're foolin' in that cute blue suit?
I've got ten million fans, and you all look the same."
Who are we? What is this strange confluence?
Thrown into this world in the shadow of the doomsday clock;
five minutes to midnight, and counting.
Who didn't wanna be the Girl with the Voice of an Angel?
She's my best friend in the whole wide world.
Singin' in the sunrise, wakin' up the neighborhood;
the agnostics on the block asked her,
"do you come from heaven above?"
She said, "how would I know? I can hardly see the sky from down here."
...three minutes to midnight, and counting.
I heard a voice outside my window tonight;
I hear strange sounds in the dark sometimes.
Nobody wanted to be the Boy with the Blue Guitar,
Christmas morning, waking up to find three smiling old men running off
with his old Blue Guitar; they sold it for whiskey,
he cried an ocean of rage,
and took a vow,
never to play again.
And nobody wanted to be the Bassist or the Drummer
of the greatest rock and roll band in town
the day the judge gave 'em life without parole
for the brutal murders of the smiling old men who stole the old Blue Guitar.
...two minutes to midnight, and counting.
Let's get this whole town together,
march on down to the prison gates tonight;
we will stand outside these prison gates
tonight, and every day and night, for the rest of our lives,
we won't eat, we won't sleep,
we will stand outside these prison gates
until everyone is free,
'cause everyone deserves to be free.
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13. |
Sleepwalking Into Town
15:15
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Thank you,
you know my brain;
you're the rain in this hell
that keeps me sane.
You're the fallen tree
in the empty woods.
What gives way
to the wolves of this world?
Know it's been awhile, and I owe you;
you're not around anymore.
No, I didn't mean to unfold you;
you're not around anymore.
Behind your eyes, there's nobody;
nobody's home.
Thank you,
you know my name;
the pain of these years
was not in vain.
Take me into your heart,
show me the way;
your strange dreams,
your USA.
My friend works in the black paint factory
in the USA.
She's got a cubicle of cement,
and a faucet.
Turn on the faucet,
black paint runs through the veins of the great beast
into the can; fill up the can,
pass it on down the line.
Repeat today:
yesterday, and every day,
screamin' "ooh ooh, baby, I wanna be
in the black paint factory; doesn't everybody?"
In town, the fuzzy old couples come and go,
screaming of Marilyn Monroe
and JFK and a UFO;
where they all come from, I don't know!
My ex-co-conspirator in the corner
is a shadow of a man
of a shadow; talk to him,
he is a shadow of a shadow of a shadow of a shadow
of a shadow.
Horse tranquilizer kissed the manager of our bar,
so nobody's getting paid; nobody's getting paid.
He's sleepwalking into town from the mouth of a lion,
and the traffic is picking up; he might not last much longer now.
Our sister is alive and well. I got the phone call;
she lives in the ecological district, in a jar.
Horse tranquillized her; she lost so much.
The real stuff; what you can't buy.
She's sleepwalking into town from the mouth of a lion,
but the dragon is firing up; she might not last much longer now.
But tonight, she's alive and well. I got this phone call;
she lives in the ecological district, in a jar.
Horse tranquillized her; she lost so much.
Didn’t we all?
Confined to your room;
your apartment complex.
You're complex;
what isn't?
Confined to your room;
your flat.
You're flat;
get sharp.
Confined to your room;
your bedroom.
You're dead;
get up.
There's this place, the Neon Clown,
perched at the top of Neon Clown Avenue,
in the center of this old town;
the center of our hometown.
I can no longer empathize with you.
I wanted to meet you on your home court;
hot cement stood there to greet me,
with the self-made men, who asked me what I'd give
to be a cell in the mouth of one of their miserable fuck machines.
In the Neon Clown,
at the top of Neon Clown Avenue,
I catch up with an old friend
from the heart of our hometown;
millions of people stuck in that place,
all stayin' alive just to save face,
see the bar staff, walls, and weirdos,
and grab one last drink for the road.
I can no longer empathize with you;
there's no one who’d empathize with you.
But I'll hold you gently, as you fall
off the edge of Neon Clown Avenue.
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14. |
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Did you know the
People's spokespeople's billionaire donors drive weird motorcycles, and
bum cigarette bums from real bums with tired bums out on the street, and
throw small dogs and children off cliffs in the middle of winter.
It's gonna be a long lonely winter 'less I'm with you, Boy;
without you, I go MAD.
We love our Dog, he is not a policeman;
we love our Dog, he is not border patrol.
The psychoanalysts say we hate God, but maybe we just wanna live.
You suckers wanna get ahead. We will stay behind, and water the Dog;
the Dog will grow branches, the branches will grow leaves in Springtime,
and the leaves will turn chaotic colors and Fall off the Dog.
We love our Dog, he is not a charlatan;
we love our Dog, he is not border patrol.
MAD! MAD! MAD!
MAD!!!
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15. |
Sunrise: Where's Ace?
13:03
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I took a slow trip from the heart of the Earth to a place that doesn't exist;
I moved through a million seasons and songs, burning oceans,
and cold streets decorated with puddles of broken glass
and the disintegrating men who stand on street corners, shouting,
"graveyard, graveyard, this here's the graveyard!
Get your fresh graveyards here, only $15.99, that's right!
Everybody needs a graveyard, 'cause everybody dies!
Tomorrow morning, it could be you."
I always wanted to be on the run, or on the road,
depending on how the story is heard.
I wanted to be completely alone, except for the people I cared about,
who I might've seen passing through, in a small cafe, a pizza shop,
or the side of the road, next to the bus station;
it's a cold Christmas Eve, here on the westernmost edge of Manhattan,
the sun buried under the Hudson River till morning,
which feels like forever.
But it's warm over here, in the skylight diner;
we eat corned beef hash, drink black coffee,
and stare into each others' eyes.
The peculiar electrical charge that often lies dormant in your heart
invites me to know its true nature,
before scurrying from my sight in shock
as a disintegrating man bursts through the door, screaming
"love! Love! Love! Love! What is it really?
Every last one of yous is a product of love,
that's amore, the moon hit your eye but it felt like a kiss,
the sperm hit the egg, while the other guy missed;
that's what it's all about.
Did you know millions of Americans die every year,
due to chronic love deficiency?
And you, my dear listener, have got to be
one of the loneliest motherfuckers on the planet
tuning in at this hour, on Christmas Eve of all nights.
So call right now, you filthy degenerate,
or tomorrow morning, it could be you."
I'm so happy you found me;
I just got laid off at the black paint factory,
and OMG,
do you see what I see?
All my degenerate friends and I want to do is be
in the light of love, infinitely.
And the smiling old men without room service
to bring them to their knees,
they can no longer tie their own nooses;
what a tragedy this all is.
But this is not my song;
this is not my world.
And we all scream "na na na na. Hey!
I've got no time for this shit when it hits the fan.
This is not my song;
this is not my world."
You're dreaming;
looking into windows from the train, and wondering,
because everyone surrounds you,
like parasites, or mutual friends,
depending on how the story is heard,
and Ace spends his last night on Earth
with the people he cares about,
in small cafes, in pizza shops, in diners.
Yes, even in diners.
Ace wished the night would never end,
just sitting there, talking.
He knew that land was just a prison;
a prison with no guard, but gravity.
Through a twist of fate, he found a way out;
they found him there.
...but we all scream "na na na na. Hey!
We’ve got no time for this shit when it hits the fan.
This is not our song;
this is not our world."
In line at the grocery store,
in the middle of a forever war;
I don't wanna be at war no more.
I don't wanna be at war no more,
I don't wanna be at war no more;
I don't wanna be at war no more.
I want to die by the ocean, at dawn;
to be stabbed and mutilated by a trio of smiling men.
I don't want the ocean to swallow my remains
like some clever Hollywood bullshit;
I want to vanish into the air,
and the men to follow to who-knows-where,
almost as if we were never there,
in that old harbor city by the ocean, at dawn.
I don't wanna die on the street in Manhattan;
not London, Vienna, Trnava, or Toulouse.
I don't wanna die in assisted living.
I don't wanna die in a hospital bed in Cologne.
I don’t wanna die in an aeroplane or a ship.
I don't wanna die at night on the highway, alone.
I don't wanna die with dignity or with grace.
I want to die by the ocean, at dawn.
I love the sound of the ocean at dawn.
I love the taste of honey on a man's thumb,
the smell of chocolate factories from the street,
and all the secret melodies in a song.
I love to cry watching soap operas on repeat,
I love the promise of arsenic and a gun,
I love the great sidewalk mosaics of used bubble gum,
and I want to die by the ocean, at dawn.
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16. |
Fika with Cannonball
09:41
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There is no sky.
There is no ocean.
There is no mountain
to shout down from.
There is no land.
There is no woman.
There is no Earth
to stand up straight on,
and I don't wanna stand up straight on your Earth today.
There is no man.
There is no woman.
There is no king.
There is no kingdom.
There are no clothes.
There is no empire.
There are no elders,
but they are wise.
And they are wise;
they are no wise guys.
They've got crazy eyes.
Some of them aren’t circumcised.
There are no lies.
There are no fairy tales.
There are no eyes
to shoot fire from,
and I don't wanna shoot fire from my eyes today.
There is no past.
There is no future.
There is no floor.
There is no altar.
There is no you.
There is no alter.
There is no me
to depart from.
There is no shell.
There is no seashore.
There is no vessel
to depart from.
There are no jobs.
There are no workers.
There are no coffee shops.
There is no fika, but,
oh! Don't you wanna do fika with your authors?
All your authors came to meet you in your living room;
Ace, Ganesh, and Cannonball.
There's coffee and cinnamon rolls for everyone!
Take a seat;
calm down, babe!
Everything must change;
hummingbirds don't fly over this town anymore.
You're dreaming...
Don’t you wanna do fika with your authors?
All your authors came to meet you in the skylight diner!
Say hello to Cannonball!
There's coffee and buttered rolls for everyone!
Take a seat;
calm down. Hey.
Everything must change...
...there is no town.
Ace wished the night would never end...
...through holes in his sky.
There is no sky.
There is no motion.
There is no road
for us to live on.
There is no search.
There is no purpose.
There is no world
to forget us.
There is no shirt.
There is no service.
There are no shoes.
There’s no president.
There are no hands.
There are no organs.
There are hearts.
There are no promises.
There is no war.
There is no peacetime.
There is no court.
There’s no order.
There is no dog.
There is no microphone.
There’s no home
to go home to.
Everything must change...
So, don't you wanna do fika with your authors?
All your authors came to meet you at the crossroads!
Give a great big kiss to Cannonball!
There's coffee and devil dogs for everyone!
Take a seat;
calm down, love!
He set off from the station;
he left that way.
The other night, he’d had some crazy dream;
and it all went up from there.
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17. |
Ocean (at Dawn)
02:53
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In Virginia, Cannonball and his sonic twin Ganesh rest under an intricate tapestry of fabric, love, and friction, invisible to Phoebe and Denny, who live furiously in the kitchen. Denny dreams out the window into space, scouring the far corners of the galaxy for his own sonic twin, Ace, the Interdimensional Diplomat, and the love they once knew; their peculiar electrical charge, the secret melodies in their song, their hours shared by the ocean at dawn.
Denny ’sfalls to the floor, screams out the window; he curses the name of every human, god, and insect who brought him to this point of no return in his slow years on Earth, and a dedication to all those who brought small moments of joy and meaning to his final days: the Boy with the Blue Guitar, the Girl with the Voice of an Angel, and the hearts of Clare, Courier, Phoebe, Cannonball, Ganesh, and Ace, the Interdimensional Diplomat, swallowed by the rivers of America. HEY
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18. |
Christmas Day Kisses
03:18
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You make it so hard to be your friend
in these cold, cloudy days;
why do you make it so hard to be your friend?
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Cannonball Statman New York, New York
Romantic punk.
Cannonball Statman recommends:
Dogs vs. Cats
by Cannonball Statman and Phoebe Novak
Split EP with the incredible Phoebe Novak, made in celebration of (and hopes of not going bankrupt on) our December 2013 US tour.
go to album
Songs of Experience
by Blue Pear Projects
5 NYC antifolk luminaries, and 1 Cannonball, all did a couple live recordings for William Blake's birthday in 2014. I got a concussion jumping off a chair during my first song. It was tons of fun.
go to album
Live EP recorded in Berlin during my 2017-'19 world tour, a few hours after Cannonball (the Labrador retriever I was named after) passed on to the next dream.
go to albumIf you like Cannonball Statman, you may also like:
2022 Tapes! Slices of Water (and Song Junk)
by Jeffrey Lewis
supported by 4 fans who also own “Miracle on Neon Clown Avenue”
Love these annual demo releases, the 2022 demos are beautiful
go to album
The London indie group's debut "mini-album" is filled with self-described oddball pop tracks.
go to album
Before The Day Has Gone
by Bellini
Ten years may have passed since the last Bellini record, but the math rock group sound as fierce as ever.
go to album
