—Hayop Ka 031713 Final
First version of Hayop Ka (You’re an Animal). Listen with headphones.
chorus: hayop ka/sino nagturo sa’yo/na saktan siya ng ganito/madilim ang buhay mo///hayop ka/laruan mo siya hangang/’yong kalaluwan maging/itim ang kulay
“You’re an animal/who taught you/how to hurt her like this/your life is dark///you’re an animal/you play with her until/your soul becomes/the color black”
—Raise the Dead naked end FINAL
notes: I tuned my banjo to make it as an open chord in the key of the song, then used it as a “melodic drum” by banging on it with two capped Sharpie pens like a snare drum.
I added the xylophone part as an arpeggiated ascending line first when i redid this song, and built alot of my ending ideas around it.
The really cool harmony idea (panned right) was made by my friend Rorie Kelly, the amazing singer-songwriter who i met at a Borders Book store in Syosset, Long Island (where Natalie Portman is from) years back. I was content with my harmonies, but Rorie added that ridiculous harmony to the song, and she took the ending up a notch.
Marcos Sanchez, and Michael Martin of Thin Skin Jonny were awesome too in singing on this tune. Thank you mucho.
- foxfur
—Raise the Dead Truly Final
Getting out of my cave a little bit to show you what I’m working on. Then getting back into said cave.
Nick Jenkins on drums, Rorie Kelly on vocals, Michael Martin on low vocals, and Marco Sanchez on higher lower vocals.
Album that this song will be on will be out in a few weeks.
- foxfur
I made this silly video after a fun show at Hunter College last night. Can you believe I used to be a professional dancer?
—Days Like No Other April 1, 2012
New song. Also, “lolo” means grandfather in Tagalog.
I played and sang all the parts.
Listen with headphones. Lyrics are on the post right below.
If you like it, tell a friend.
- foxfur.
lyrics:
I read from the Good Book
is this where I’m going?
you said “if we don’t know Him, but we still got time…
you leapt in the hammock
we made from a parachute
(that) we found in the attic after Lolo had passed.
vs 2:
you said “come and get me”.
I did, yelling “Timber!”
and fell into the blanket punctuated with light
that took look to reach us
and when it arrived here
it lit up my fingers on your infinite back
ch: if ever I’m hiding
please remind me of days like no other
invite me to gaze in your eyes
then I will remember
and I will surrender
together, igniting the stars in the sky
vs 3:
we painted the evening
stayed up til the morning
as if we were dreaming in conversation and fire
that dripped from the maple ghost tree that you loved so
you said “don’t let me go”
as my lips sung in praise;
battle hymns gone ablaze.
lyrics, words and music by John-Flor Sisante 2012
Wise words from friend and fellow singer-songwriter Brian Sendrowitz of Beat Radio. He consistently makes music that etches its lyrics on my heart. Look up his songs “Golden Age”, “Fearful”, “Mexico”, “Planes Fly By”. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant writing.
the endeavor of making music is weird. sometimes you get hung up on the idea of “success” or “money” or being “famous” and sometimes it feels like that’s happening and other times it feels like that will never happen but after a while you get used to the emotional rollercoaster and you just decide that either way, you’re going to make the whole process an awesome, joyful, beautiful experience. i’ve been doing this for like, forever, but it took me a while to learn how to keep my sense of humor through all the ups and downs. i’m sitting in my basement studio. i can make any kind of record i want to make. that still feels like a miracle to me.
—
Ukulele music love song (sorta) that I wrote last year.
Listen with headphones.
As a Filipino-American and Asian-American who’s lived in New York almost his entire life, the last and only time I’ve been a New York Knicks fan was during the early 90s. I remember fondly how my my father, little brother, the occasional relative or family friend, and I would would watch the Knicks after mom’s epic mealtime of rice, Filipino dish comprised of something meaty with very little vegetables, and coke. Sometimes when my brother and I did schoolwork in our bedroom and couldn’t watch the game, I would go out to the living room, ask my dad what the score is, and then would ask him what the specifics are which led to the current state in said basketball game. A lot of the times, this would be the only communication that I would have with my dad the whole day, besides the mano po (a part of Filipino culture where you gently take your elder’s right hand, and place it on your forehead as a sign of respect.)
Not only did we watch the Knicks, however; my brother and I wanted to be future New York Knicks. We both joined a Catholic Youth league basketball program for a season, with very mixed results; while my four-year younger brother was undoubtedly a much better basketball player who can do all those cray-cray crossover and dribble-between-the-legs-to-make-your-opponent-guarding-you-look-like-a-moron moves, I was one whose slow athleticism meant that I perhaps had a minute or two of game time, where during the whole ten game season I can count the number of times on my hand I’ve been passed the ball (thrice) and scored. (does -2 count? because not only did I never officially score a point in that youth league series, but I also attempted to shoot the ball on the wrong net. Oops.) My brother was a young John Starks in the making. I was not as fortunate, so I immersed myself into playing saxophone and trumpet scales instead.
Yet for all those hours watching the Knicks after mealtime, and wanting to be in the Knicks, my basketball fandom eventually would be crushed mercilessly when the Knicks were defeated in the 1994 NBA Finals. {John Starks, why did you forsake us with your 2 for 18 FG shooting in Game 7? Honestly?} During my lamentations after the game, I swore to myself to never be a Knicks, and thus, basketball fan. My heart couldn’t take the utter evisceration of following the Knicks, ever again.
My disavowal for the Knicks and basketball seemed unbreakable, and I wasn’t ever interested in the Knicks or basketball since. I’ve moved my illogical hopes and dreams to other sports (I’m a Mets fan, for Pete’s sake.) and other areas (I’m a musician, for Pete’s sake).
Then Jeremy Lin appears out of nowhere, emerging as if by teleportation, and then proceeds to outmaneuver everyone and everything in his path; it’s as if he was Captain America running around the ship obstacles and landmines on D-Day, then picking up a whole company of Nazis and tossing them, like pebbles, into the Atlantic Ocean. And yet the BEST part, which I think is what so many Asian Americans such as myself feel akin to, is that this Captain America is Asian-American.
The Legend of Lin has all amazing stories that comprise it. How he sent videos of himself during high school to college scouts because none of the scouts had the foresight to see him play at his games. How he was picked up by the Knicks after not showing any promise with Sacramento Kings, only to have himself demoted because he “could use some work”. How he slept on his brother’s mythical couch. How he saved the Princess from the evil Gannon while simultaneously having a jam session with Yo Yo Ma, solving Poincare Conjecture independently, and making the most magnificent tofu scramble ever…while hanging out on his brother’s mythical couch. It’s insane. I’m sorry, I meant to say, it’s linsane.
So would you say that I’m now officially a part of Linsanity? Perhaps. I also wouldn’t be able to refute your staid argument if you connote me with getting on the Knicks’ bandwagon (which seems to also be a thread I’ve been seeing in Facebook the past few days from long-suffering, accusing Knicks fans.) Well, I am ok with that. The inner adolescent kid in me: who had buck teeth, strange glasses, and got bowl haircuts from dad; who considered it his mission to wear snap bracelets and Cavaricci pants while reciting in verbatim the poetry from the Leonard Cohens of our time, a.k.a., Kriss Kross; and who cheered so strongly for the Knicks, has come back after years of hiding. And we’re high-fiving each other, because of Jeremy Lin.
- signed,
john-flor sisante
—Night In Her Apartment 012912
A more final version of Night In Her Apartment. Still far from the final mix, but you get the idea.
Album will be released this Spring with a bunch of other tunes.
lyrics: we found her place in 4 Acts/crawled up the stairs on our backs/discovered secret cracks through the walls in the hall/they were were filled with letters/she slammed the door to make noise/I heard a thrill in her voice/ “hand over all your stuff”,and I did what she said- she’s a good cop/bad cop
for violating all laws/she pushed me down with full force/and tied me with her mouth to the base of the couch/nothing could be better/then spend our time together/I am humbled, filled with letters/I slip in secret cracks through the walls of her chest as she slid her sweater down
