Get all 8 The Invisible Teal (aka Todd Hoover) releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Amygdala, Debt and Quandaries, A Bottle of Wine, The Whole Spirit: Redemption Songs, Thoughts from a Foxhole, Todd Hoover & the Invisible Teal, One Day at a Time and No Alternatives, and Happy Accidents EP.
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2. |
One Hundred Rings
03:27
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I was so deep inside a dull black dream,
I barely heard my bedroom door burst open.
They jumped around and bounced me out of bed;
two figures grabbed each of my hands and said, "Time to go!"
At first, I wrote it off as my alarm
to drag my chains into another county ...
but then, I saw the two-tailed fox and heard the hedgehog say,
"My boy, we've missed you so back in Mobius!"
Half a blink, and then I screamed with joy
to see the beauty of a floating island.
I nearly cried to see the old gold rings,
put on my sneakers and was nearly first to 100.
Knuckles showed up and we nearly flipped;
he smiled and said, "I don't feel too protective."
I'm happiest whenever I forget the way echidnas look and act
in the kingdom of debt, death, and sciences.
But then the robots nearly spoiled our fun --
metallic armadillos, wasps, piranhas.
But all we had to do was curl and jump,
and with our force, we brought the creatures back to their happiness.
Robotnik followed close behind,
his sickly smile inside an egg of terror,
but there ain't no robot that could beat our love.
Laughing and cheering,
speeding and singing, "Nothing can hurt me!"
But then a beep, and with a jolt,
I saw my wrists and heels were back in shackles.
The speeding creatures all had disappeared.
I wished my shackles would just turn to razors ...
but then I heard the hedgehog's voice:
"Don't worry! You've still got 100 rings left.
You'll always have them in your heart and head,
and we can see them through your eyes --
please don't let them tarnish!"
Laughing and cheering,
speeding and singing, "Nothing can hurt me!"
Hear me laughing, cheering, speeding, singing,
"Under a bushel? No! I'm gonna let 'em shine."
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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3. |
Heaven is a Library
02:53
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In my sweetest dream,
there are a thousand clones of me
collapsing amidst a genocide
waged without a rhyme or reason.
In my sweetest dream,
there are a thousand clones of me
contorting inside a labor camp,
all gassed without a proper hearing.
In my sweetest dream,
there are a thousand clones of me
molesting the ghosts of ancient souls
who fled with ample rhyme and reason.
In my sweetest dream,
heaven is a library
and every audition is a primal scream session ...
and there I am, BNM'd
with a picture of me sobbing without spectacles
at the world I've spent a lifetime murdering.
(With each rush of endorphins, divine intervention.
Some deem it distortion, but I'm at attention ...
and it isn't it up to me to design
every guardian angel's disguise?)
Watching tits to numb the sorrow;
eating Ritz like no tomorrow.
Watching tits to numb the sorrow;
eating Ritz like no tomorrow.
(And it isn't it up to me to decide
whenever the Word preaches personal pride?
And it isn't it up to me to identify
any old prophecy as a waiver signed in case of deicide?)
'Twas a damned good year.
'Twas a damned good year.
once again, I'm quite the lucky man ...
(Great commission: Holding my breath 'til blindness or death.
Good luck!)
... but good luck is just one more thing that you can't fuck.
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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4. |
Alert / Alive
03:25
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Movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up.
Movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up.
Movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up.
Movin' on up, we're movin' on up, we're movin' on up.
I don't know where ... but I really hope you're there.
Speaking with a mouth of nails.
Bobbing like the heads of quail.
I can always chase my tail,
though it's always at the pace of snails.
But no more thoughts of long-lost loves
or those choirs made of mourning doves.
It's not that I don't dream enough,
but I had no idea what I was dreaming of
until I caught a glimpse of the sun.
Blue eyes turn to friendly knives.
Looking past the bags of Chai.
Traitor of the coffee high ...
but blue eyes, I am satisfied.
'Cause I get such a wicked buzz
from staring down at what I was.
And yes, the climb was fairly rough,
but at the top is all the stuff I'm dreaming of
and a view of the sun.
Inverted highlights in her hair ...
and when she laughs, her nostrils flair.
A Midwest nest, and it's not fair!
She hugged me hard -- I ceased to care.
Boy, I get such a wicked buzz
just from staring down at what I was.
Yes, the climb was fairly rough,
but at the top is all the stuff I'm dreaming of
and a very lovely view of the sun.
Let your freak flag fly.
I said, "Let your freak flag fly,
and keep yourself alert, not just alive!"
Let your freak flag fly,
and keep yourself alert, not just alive!
Let your freak flag fly,
and keep yourself alert, not just alive!
(Let your freak flag fly!
Comfort's just a curse that tells you pain won't make you feel it.
Let your freak flag fly!
Pain is all you need to keep yourself alert, not just alive!)
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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5. |
Willy Siegel
04:00
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I am beautiful --
indisputably beautiful.
I am a brilliant dancer ...
no longer a brilliant actor.
I am the patron saint of awkwardness,
and I don't need a T-shirt to prove it.
This face deserves to breathe freely
after singing the blues in my trunk and back pocket,
in my trunk and back pocket.
I just want to be Willy Siegel,
seemingly in love with everything ...
flip the world off with my dancing,
scream my head off when I'm happy.
I want to be, I want to be,
I just want to be Willy.
I am imperfect --
just about as imperfect as it gets.
I oftentimes misspell "misspell,"
and my pen is always running out of ink ...
but the idea creek never stops flowing,
and my arm doesn't mind a little extra poisoning.
It'll happen when I make it happen.
IT HAPPENS 'CAUSE I MAKE IT HAPPEN!!!!
ALRIGHT, WE GO NOW!!!!!
I just want to be Willy Siegel,
shamelessly in love with everything ...
flip the world off with my dancing,
scream my head off when I'm happy.
I want to be, I want to be,
I just want to be Willy.
Forever in the friend zone, I am free ...
I am finally the prophecy
foretold by a young man's ode to Saul Williams.
I am finally a prophecy
fulfilled beyond a young man's ode to Travis Morrison.
I am me.
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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6. |
OMG
04:00
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Time to seize ass and kill your master.
(Baby, I'm crazy 'bout your ... )
Neon Christmas lights leading me in,
my heart soon awoke, then arose and broke into a sprint.
Again obsessed, you're truly blessed ...
that perfect chest pressed against mine and --
(Oh dear! Oh my! Oh yes ... )
-- nearly barren.
(Not much of a trek between angel and demon --
just one decision and you're there.
Ho ho ho! Hee hee hee! Ha ha ha!)
Five seconds later, I resumed my routine,
keeping it shallow and short like a grocery store magazine.
Some playful jokes, dumb alky jokes ...
but soon the legs of language broke.
(And what do you know?)
Off we go to the drinks!
(Feeling comfy as an erroneous Thelonious,
enchanted by little more than clumsy clusters.)
I stood in the kitchen with a fair weather friend;
turns out reciprocal laughter goes half-decently with gin.
Two games of pool, one pair of fools --
I felt so cool and independent!
(But don't forget the kinds of meetings you attend:
"It works if you work it, and you're worth it."
But it doesn't feel that much better just to say "I" instead of "you" ...
why can't it be an everlasting "we"?)
I lost again, then simply sat there and watched,
but my eyes nearly escaped the millisecond I saw you walk toward me
like you wanted ...
(WHAT!?!?
Nuh uh. Really? Me!?)
She sat in front of me and started to talk!
(March on!)
(Fizzle out!)
And with all of the grace of an accidental "dislike,"
the electric child cried at the loss of all but one response:
"OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
My darling, tell yourself what you want,
but you know and I know you didn't wear that tonight
just for the sake of "expressing yourself."
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
(My brain's sole transcription
would be the worst kind of friend fiction.
Each red flag is just a ribbon
for a song that has yet to be written.
This fruit is out of stock, this fruit is out of stock now.
This fruit is out of stock -- you're welcome.)
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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7. |
Wayward / Awkward
05:22
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Wayward, awkward people
at a small apartment party:
This is all that I expected
from a Saturday so long ago.
Your hair gel and your glasses
made a slightly late arrival,
and those fits of manic laughter
from your tiny, wiry stature
waved a dagger at my loneliness.
Pretty soon, there was some coffee
and two sets of seven numbers;
hourly meals of Daniel Johnston
with a side of "Transsiberian."
And drunken, we all staggered
to your latest fling’s apartment.
When you tripped and fell on top of me,
and told me that you loved me …
what a strange sort of serenity.
He’s a surely passage-worthy definition of affection –
more legitimate than women,
more considerate than God could ever try.
There were bold, suggestive movements
and outlandish little comments
to invite the jealous world
into our wayward, awkward kingdom.
But I left it for another
where I knelt for different reasons,
and I knew you wouldn’t follow,
so I shunned you as a heathen,
our affection as indecent.
Pretty soon, that apparition
that I blamed for all existence
led me miles and miles away
into the land of debt and quandaries.
You sent a private message
just to ask about my journey,
and to tell me of another
with a different kind of body
and no history of arguments.
She’s a surely passage-worthy definition of affection –
more legitimate than wenches,
more considerate than I could ever try.
I was civil when I met her …
such a quiet smiling creature.
But that smile disappeared
the night I let desire conquer.
Lost within a joking moment,
lips in tandem, quick and drunken …
and thereafter, no more comments --
just some wayward, awkward banter,
and no talk of "Transsiberian."
I forgot about the wedding --
what a rich excuse for drinking!
Though I know it was forgiven,
still don’t feel like it’s forgivable.
But now and then, I’ll see you two
at wayward, awkward gatherings,
and suddenly, I’m hypnotized
by old suggestive movements ...
not as bold, but still quite beautiful.
I’m a surely passage-worthy definition of affection:
not degenerate, but smitten
with the liberty that comes with knowing why.
Knowing why.
Knowing why ...
oh, why, why, why, why, why?
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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8. |
Corpse
04:32
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Our love is dead as dead can be,
and it has been that way for what feels like an eternity.
But now you drag its corpse to me …
and don’t you proudly flaunt that rigor mortis
like your latest favorite position?
Oh, the time it must have taken
to complete the excavation
of a desperate little doggy
blankly panting for a petting hand ...
... but our love is dead as dead can be,
and it has been that way for what feels like an eternity.
Oh, my frantic cadaver, do us all a favor:
Just take your vacant corpse and leave.
Well, a shooting star absorbed my will –
its big, bright beam so beautiful –
and in a daze, I reached in vain to catch it.
But instead of keeping fingers warm,
it burned a hole right through my palm,
and back into the empty sky it blasted!
And I gazed astounded
as it charted out a wholly random pattern
of white and blue and red and blue and red and white
and red and white and blue and white and blue and red,
blue and red and white and red and white and blue
and white and blue and red and blue and red and white,
red and white and blue and white and blue and red
and blue and red and white and red and white and blue ...
(Blinking, blinking, blinking, blinking.
Blinking, blinking, blinking, blinking.
Blinking, blinking, blinking, blinking.
Blinking, blinking, blinking, blinking.)
HUH!?!? Wait!
I think I fell in love with a plane!
Yes, our love is dead as dead can be,
and it has been that way for what feels like an eternity.
Oh, my ancient disaster, do us all a favor:
Just take your filthy corpse and leave.
'Cause I won’t settle for another rigor morning
or racy photo torn apart in bitter loathing;
oh, and to think I really used to fantasize about you
crying while insisting you love me.
No, I won’t settle for another rigor morning
or racy photo torn apart in bitter loathing;
oh, and to think I really used to fantasize about you
crying while insisting you love me!
Now I’m losing all my patience –
the only proper situation
is decaying in a coffin,
never, ever to be seen again.
R.I.P.!
R.I.P.!
Oh, sorrow!
A weaker me would have surely beamed
to see your legs still spread wide open ...
but now I know, too,
that that is not where my heart belongs.
(Do us all a favor,
do us all a favor
and please just leave!)
'Cause our love is dead as dead can be,
and it has been that way for so long.
So long!
You’re just as elegant as murder,
so won’t do us all a favor
and please take your fucking corpse and leave?
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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9. |
Line of Dots
03:02
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If I took a breath to let you see
there isn’t a whole lot wrong with me,
would I disappear like sinking sand?
Would you vanish from my master plan?
With the longest life comes the faintest sparks.
No exclamation points or question marks –
just one line of dots and some average bands,
a thousand miles from your master plan.
Well, children starve
and sell their bodies in darkened cars (join hands in dark cars) ...
but really, it’s not that hard
to adopt every one of their scars.
Rearrange that dirge into a decree:
“There will be a whole lot wrong with me!”
'Cause a broken man is still a man,
and a laureate soldier in the master plan.
(Those were some miserable but necessary years.)
Well, children starve
and sell their bodies for jars of nard,
but even the faintest sparks
will outshine every one of their scars.
This line of dots is proudly ours.
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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10. |
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As you proclaim your prose in peace,
I sit deaf to every word
pouring toward this spot of ground
where I catch them with my mouth.
No utensils in my hands,
and just the faintest wraiths of plans:
To absorb, perhaps internalize that smile.
It isn’t too hard.
When I wake up to check the time,
nostrils flaring as I sigh,
turn my face from left to right,
then I open up my eyes …
after months, I’m still surprised.
When I clutch my pillow tight,
hear it sigh and, seconds later, there’s that smile.
This isn’t too hard.
And every sordid past life
dissolved in knowing blue eyes
while multitasking on our way to another time ...
then every sordid past life
expired from a child’s brown eyes
while multitasking on our way to another time.
As you proclaim your prose in peace,
I sit deaf to every word
pouring toward this spot of ground
where I catch them with my mouth.
No utensils in my hands,
and just the faintest wraiths of plans:
To absorb, perhaps internalize that smile.
No need to worry or to hurry –
there are no reavers here.
May every sordid past life
descend like scales from our eyes
while multitasking on the way to a better time,
and may all impending new lives
prevail like crooked doves’ eyes
while loving faithfully and learning to fly!
Both of your shoulders are shaking?
Well, here is some comfort – bangarang!
All of your spirit is breaking?
Well, here’s a new language – bangarang!
If, in the end, the best we can do
is raise a hypocrite’s hell with the relatively righteous,
we might as well burn with a smile!
Both of your shoulders are shaking?
Don’t you grieve, ‘cause here is some comfort – bangarang!
All of your spirit is breaking?
Don’t you grieve, ‘cause here’s a new language – bangarang!
But when the mystery dissipates,
will you still say I remind you of the ocean?
Don’t you grieve, don’t you grieve.
Remember when you agreed to adventures,
‘cause danger is the father of flight!
Both of your shoulders are shaking?
Don’t you grieve, ‘cause here is some comfort – bangarang!
All of your spirit is breaking?
Don’t you grieve, ‘cause here’s a new language – bangarang!
I believe that when I fall,
it will be forever,
because now I see
the world is round.
Don’t you grieve!
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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11. |
We Vessels
03:26
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I say my prayers in silence.
I think nothing but good for people in need.
And I’m fairly sure you hear them,
but you know how it goes: We vessels need to see.
I cry for my poor uncles.
My heart, it just hurts for holy war.
I explain my roommate’s troubles
and the path of my sister, which looks a lot like yours.
Please show that path to me,
‘cause every night I dream about that castle and her bed,
or whatever other pretty face is smiling in my head.
Still a sin, ever since I was 15 …
but it’s what I want to see.
(Hallelujah!
Who are you? Who? Who?)
Every selfless thing, my friends and family,
consumed by every mask that occupies an ages-old routine –
is that me?
Is that me?
I am done – this life is not for me!
Won’t you please make my face clean
with a love, a love that I can see?
Please show that love, why won’t you show it all to me?
Oh, Sweetest Sound, when shall I see?
(C) 2018 Made to Make Music
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The Invisible Teal (aka Todd Hoover) Phoenix, Arizona
Creatively written and arranged art pop from the heart and loins.
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