Listen: “Don’t It Look Like Rain”
Weary Engine Blues, a tribute album for Jason Molina from Graveface Records, features contributions from Mark Kozelek, Will Oldham, Scout Niblett, Phil Elverum, and many more. All profits go to the Molina family.
Watch the video and read more about the inspiration behind it.
Buy All My Love In Half Light, Lady Lazarus’ second album. Available in limited edition CD and digital download at Bandcamp.
Thank you! -M.A.S.
Streaming now at My Old Kentucky Blog.
The holy dove
She will be caught again.
Bought and sold
and bought again,
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
All My Love In Half Light out 1/29/13. Pre-order & 2 song download available now.
“I think us here to wonder, myself. To wonder. To ask. And that in wondering bout the big things and asking bout the big things, you learn about the little ones, almost by accident. But you never know nothing more about the big things than you start out with. The more I wonder, the more I love.” ― Alice Walker, The Color Purple
Download the latest single, “Wonder, Inc.” Or pre-order the new album, All My Love In Half Light, out 1/29/13, and receive downloads of tracks “Wonder, Inc.” and “Lapsarian” now.
New album out 1/29/13. Pre-order available now in digital and limited edition CD with exclusive artwork by Sapphire Rose.
(It’s not often that someone articulates your visions so well, gifting you the grace of a mutual understanding and yet something beyond. Thank you so much, James, for this.)
Lazarus, The Elect
by James Kademenos
(a poem dedicated to Lady Lazarus)
Everything is dark and what it’s like to be light
is declaring in half measures a quiet, oceanic decree
that mercy is finding me missing from the book of leaves
that folds in torn carousels the storms and the fields of lakes
where I breathed the lining of her artistry and her means,
but daren’t sink. The muse spoke and silenced me like a knot
in a lost child, a lock where a hinge would be an oath,
a vigorous and young ruin falling like the blankets
from a fallen, mending confessional.
The red and cold bricks of her poems I love as my own,
her tone and her wandering homes belong to the fires
crying forgivenesses where all chosen angels are damned
to be seen and everlasting graces. I have tasted
Eve’s rib and mimicked her airs, yet am never elected
to be anything except her fair, meek gladiator.
The moon is a pearl in the mouth of a forsaken dove,
as are these feasts in exile, as is love.