Year of Wistaria

by Trochee Trochee

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Debut release (Cat Cassettes Purr 013) from Brooklyn-based Trochee Trochee.


released June 30, 2014

All songs written by Trochee Trochee

Levi John Wolf: Backing vocals on tracks 2, 3, 5, 7 (thank you!)
Erica Low: Backing vocals on tracks 1, 2, 3, 5 (thank you!)
Mullarkey: Executive Producer/Lender of 4-Track/Fairie Godparent (thank you!!!)
Stan Hall: Cover layout (wisteria image by Google Images)

Thank you to Gary's Place, The Trunk Space, and William Faulkner.



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Trochee Trochee Brooklyn, New York

Try harder, Trochee.


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Track Name: Once There Was...
I remember hitting my head with my own hands
To even out the number of times I'd been pegged by the kickball.
Then for a second I died
And then I was outside
And it smelled like wistaria
And all of my friends were there.
Track Name: Good Grief
On this blow-up bed (the only bed I've got)
I notice that I'm sinking through its skin.
I notice that you wrote me like you said you would.

It's a miracle you reached out first.
It'd take six months more if you were me but you're not me.
Most days I retire after one failed kick.
Good grief.

Well I thought about you when the summer hit.
The desert bloom in the desert heat was redolent
Of a time when we would park and walk around
But that's over now. We hardly talk.
I guess it's just as well.

I missed the kick.
There were times among the aisles of
The idols of San Xavier del Bac
When we were one.
We were one body, blood, and desperate novelist.

There were times when you would talk prescription syrups
And I kept quiet and you kept talking and I was barely listening.
We forgot there was no one else at the bar
Except holy ghosts that make me sick and make you cry in public.

I know there ain't much time because I'm miles away from a world without and end so give me a sign give me a pass give me a clue.

I've got these scales and I've got these clocks around my feet.
I know you've changed a lot and so have I so all I'm trying to say
Is yes, I'll meet you halfway
On the road to acclimation
But there's no direct translation.
Track Name: Pinetop Perkins
This time last year I was sleeping at the crossroads.
Playing Pine's piano,
I was trying hard to like myself.
My dad drove from Oxford to Clarksdale: not that far from Nashville.

This time three years ago today
in Waitomo Caves,
You sang "Hallelujah" the Buckley (not the Leonard Cohen) way.
You knew the difference.
You knew all the verses.

I know now that sounds they never stay
Underground. They reverberate away and
Bring the rocks down on my sorry head.
Track Name: Your Z-Axis You
I'm sure I can't relate to the terrors she's recounting.
She's lost time and neurons to places I've never...
Shell-shocked Texas joint. Withdrawn ten credits short.

I can't sleep well and OCD swells but it's never, never THAT bad.

I'm sure you can relate.
I know because I've seen you relate.
Locked down and out of time.
That night I slept just fine.
You slept with other minds.
I dealt with only mine.

I watched you buy her dink.
The clinics came up quick.

Oh what fullness when mental illness ceases its inexorable grip long enough to become a talking point that I'm not privy to.
Nor could I hope to know you on that third side of you:
Your z-axis you.
Track Name: (Wish I Could Climb Like) Michael
Rock climbing with a friend of mine...
Even inside, I don't want to go.
It's not the rocks. They're fine.
It's not the physical activity. That's good for me.
I once did it consistently when I was young in Tucson
But I don't want to leave my room tonight.
Track Name: Dactylic Hexameter
I think you mistook me for someone who knows
What to do when someone's alone.
Well, I don't know I don't know I don't know.

I think you mistook me for someone who shares
And tries to inquire as to what makes you scared.
You loved me before you realized there were other kinds of people.

You're a dead language whose scope and cadence isn't clear.
You're easy to look at but talking's like talking in dactylic hexameter
With no direct translation.
Track Name: ...A Summer of Wistaria.
I try to remember back when I was younger
But all I can picture's the summer I stayed home
And drowned in a head of wistaria.
Once there was scent on a summertime morning.
Its aroma was power and glory.
The scent was the story.
Once there was sense now there's story.