I'm terrible at mixing and to be honest, after a while I just gave up.

I'll never be a John Darnielle, but I do pay homage.

I sound a bit Iron and Whiney, though.

Love Love Love (cover)

In old war songs, they call soldiers Billy or Johnny.

Was the water cold, Billy?
Was the water cold?
Did it chill your bones, Billy?
Did it chill your bones?

I was never told
How the ocean rocks,
and I broke the blades when they gave my name
to the campus cops.

Was the sun still out, Billy,
or was it the moon?	
Did the fog come in, Billy,
Did it come in soon?

I was never brave
so I feared the light,
and I feared the wet, made a tourniquet
and I tied it tight.

What's it like to fly, Billy?
I hope it was grand.
Was your head held high, Billy?
I'd have held your hand.

Children shouldn't fight
in grown-up wars
But ask any kid, we know what we did.
we've been there before.

Was the water, cold, Billy
when you went to swim?
Did it save your soul, Billy,
like a baptism?

Children shouldn't fight,
but I've no right to ask
All I hope is that there was no looking back,
just a gentle splash.
 
All I hope is that there was no looking back,
just a gentle splash.

Jordan's River

A really old song of mine. This needs... drums. guitar. maybe something else.

--

I've been walking like a crab upon the dirt
I can feel beneath my holey soles the curving of the earth
And the pebbles break my skin, but they don't hurt
Not like the weight of fate I'm bearing, and the shame that it is worth

And if I had the choice, I'd just stand still
Find a home, and close the windows, nail the curtains to the sills
There I'd let the days become a box of pills
To be taken when I'd waken, and then after every meal

But there's a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the damned light gets in
The mouth that swallows also spits up acid in the sink
with fragments of your former life in it

There's a hole, a hole in every roof
It opens when you close the ones in you
The world would be so beautiful if it were not for truth
It'll find you, but I know you want it to.

Now I'm crawling like a christian to confession
That black box of self-pity and the comfort of depression
And if there is a god, then he will tell you that redemption
was nothing but a sinner's invention

If you'll take my hand, you'll find it's cracked and dry
It'll suck the moisture from you like the desert eats the sky
I will do my best to seek the rotten refuge of the night
Till the sun comes up from Hell and I will fry, fry, fry

There's a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the damned light gets in
The mouth that swallows also spits up acid in the sink
with fragments of your former life in it

There's a hole, a hole in every roof
It opens when you close the ones in you
The world would be so beautiful if it were not for truth
It'll find you here, no matter what you do
Each time that you have built yourself anew,
It'll rip the living liver out of you
But it's okay, because I know you want it to.

The Persistence of Emeryville (live demo)

I wrote this song ages ago thinking about growing up and graduating college, which, as the lyrics note, is about a year away. Well, now it's about two weeks away and I just turned 21. Gr8.

---

I'm a one-trick pony sitting silent in the parking lot watching teenage skaters
I'm a one-shtick phony reading dime-store paperbacks hidden in the evening paper
And I know someday I'll pay the alimony as the Saturday cartoons play on TV behind me
Don't remind me of the future loser I'll be
Don't remind me

For a couple dollars I could buy a wallet to keep all my expenses together
Receipts and ticket stubs and stupid notes I wrote myself in attempts to feel better
By the time I finish up the wall\
 of photos by my bed, I will forget that they were taken by me
Don't remind me of the future mess inside me
Don't remind me

And now even when I shut my mind down,
it'll find our autopilot
The pattern is getting ever clearer
And the mirror won't deny it
Why can't I even pick a fun hedonistic way of having a quarter-life crisis
Everyone's out there getting drunk with their bachelor's degrees and their songs from the 90s
Don't remind me

And the fireworks cracking in the distance take me back to my high school graduation
Some guy shook my hand, gave me an empty diploma case and his congratulations
In less than a year I'll have to rinse and repeat, with even more unlucky schmucks shuffling their feet beside me,
Don't remind me of the future loser I'll be
Don't remind me, don't remind me of the future's cruel irony

Congradulations, etc. (rough demo)

I'm aiming to rerecord this someday with real instruments. But for now...

---

I dreamt that we were two geese
and you were flying south with me
whoa-oh
You know

But nothing smelt like anything
Because of all the sulfur in
the snow
Whoa-oh

And as we flew the looming clouds
Dissolved to ashes in our mouths
Whoa-oh
So slow

The berries were green on the stem
So we had to abandon them
And go
whoa-oh 
If that's the price of love then let it grow

While pondering what path to take
We stopped and dabbled in the lake
Whoa-oa
It was cold

You saw two eyes behind a tree
Conniving as they followed me
So we rose
Whoa-oh

But bullets pierced our feathers
and we both went down together,
then I woke
whoa-oh

And that's when I remembered I'm alone

I hope
that someone else's tales can make you glow
Although
I've seen some things in dreams that seemed they could have been the scene to stop the show
And if so,
A finch in goose's clothing is the closest thing to love that we will know

The Price of Love (demo)

Written in my head in about five minutes while standing in front of my apartment, so take it as you will.

----

Right in front of my house there's a patch of sidewalk that's newer than the rest
Whiter than the other parts, you could say it's more innocent, I guess
and on it someone wrote, "David loves Alex forever"
they must have crouched there, and scratched it in together
And from my limited experience, the kind of people who do this
are most likely hormone-ridden, suddenly-smitten high school kids
And maybe I'm immature, but to me that seems somehow romantic
That infatuation that feels a bit like panic
And I wonder if some days
They still walk around out this way
And smile at the spot
But probably not
It's marked 2004
so in all likelihood, it's probably not true anymore.

David + Alex

I wonder if it’s better to have fans or to have friends
They say friends are a treasure, fans forget you in the end
But friendships ask for effort, which I’m far too tired to spend
‘Cause I used it all on love songs for people I’ll never meet again

Fans will adulate me without knowing my soul true
But friends will tolerate all of the stupid things I do
And I don’t want the pressure, I would rather feel removed
But I guess I’ve realized that even I require affection too

I just want to be liked, a lot
I just want to be liked, a lot
I just want to be liked, a lot
I just want to be liked, a lot

Not Even Kimya Will Love Me - Dorian Finch & Mr. Bacon's Big Adventure

As a sort of gift for my best friend Amy, I thought I'd try my hand at covering the already over-covered NMH fave.

Yeah. I don't know if I really added anything to the vast volume of existing covers but it was fun.

In the Aeroplane Over The Sea (Cover)

Do you know what I did today?
I looked at myself
all the stretch marks and hairy parts
all the wrinkles and pimples and bruises and welts

And do you know what I saw in me?
I saw someone else.
Do you know what I said to them?
I said go to hell

Do you know what I did today?
I threw up in the car
And I think in the mess I made
I left my breakfast, two pennies, some gum, and my heart.

Do you know where I went tonight?
I walked to the park
And after I’d drunk and cried,
I shit in your front yard.

But while I was plastered
I began to feel shame
so I went to my pastor
to confess my dastardly deeds and see if there was any escape

I said I am a bastard
and I cannot behave
He said my soul’s a disaster, 
headed for hereafter, already too late

But I went to a doctor
He said it’s a rare case
A predisposition for cardiac fission,
a fatal condition, extremely grave

He said treatment is urgent
But with his help I could be saved
I think I’ll be my own surgeon
And go under the blade

Don’t need anesthetic
Got no feelings in any of my nerve endings
And I’m not a doctor, all I need is patience
and plenty of booze for a smooth operation

Yes, I’m not a doctor, not even an actor,
I’m just a reactor on the nuclear scale
A box where things happen, a hollow contraption
manufactured for use and reuse and resale

so I’m going under, and now I can see that tunnel of light
Don’t know where I’m going, just onwards and upwards,
and if I get lucky, I’ll make it to somewhere, or at least I’ll get stuck in paradise.

Myocardial Infractions (demo)

And there it is, I covered another Andrew Jackson Jihad song.

Chandas Parker on ukulele. Me on everything else. I sort of tweeified it.

Self Esteem (cover)

Ugh, not too pleased with how this turned out. But w/evs, I can re-record it and I might just radically change the entire song.

---


On 15th and Mission
I saw a little girl in her mother's arms
Her hair up in pigtails
Her cheeks like balls of cotton soft and warm
And her mother looked frozen
In a pose just like a soldier's, stone in parts
And in the mist of smoke and piss she shouldered
her bags of groceries and moved on.

So I kept walking
I passed by your apartment on my way
But there's no stopping
for the prowling coward far too proud to say
what had been practiced
so doggedly, I got sick of the taste
but I hold no malice, it's just sometimes
there is no right time and place.

And out on Sanchez
The lamps in the convenience store made white
squares on the sidewalk
where you and I once stopped to flee the night
I was so panicked then
that I could feel my pulse throb through my eyes
and now it's vanished
but I swear I will revive it

I'll be new
You'll see through me
in the light 
of July
when the nights grow soft and long just like your roots

If rocks can soften
In the waves, if warlords can release their slaves,
If a broken father
can forgive the thankless children that he raised
If the battered bride
can still be brave, if god himself can make mistakes
then I have no excuse not to change

I'll be new
I'll break through
my own restraints
and paint my face
with ash until
the rash will be replaced

But I need love
Until the hate
is taken care of
And there'll be no more
traces in my blood

Ashes to ashes, lust to lust.

O Mission (Demo)

My little homage to The Magnetic Fields.
When all else fails, write about lip-biting, lost love, and arson.

-----

I am the lord
of a domain
mainly my flat
flattened by flames

Flames that I set
Fed with my sweat
Swore to forget
Forget your name

Your name is clear
Clearly engraved
On all the walls
of my new grave

Gravity calls
So I must fall
I'm sick of it all.

You are a knave
Neighbor to none
I am a slave
Slavering blood

Blood from the lip
Lip that you bit
Bitter and slick
Sick with your spit

Spit on my lawn
Long it has grown
Since you were gone
and I was alone

Lo and behold
the carpet's unrolled
a carpet of golden embers

Merrittorious Conduct

Remember this from my old Soundcloud account?

Yeah, I finally recorded it with my old guitarist Adam.

You can download it on my bandcamp. dorianfinch.bandcamp.com

Abort! Abort!

Grew up in Clovis, CA; based in the Bay Area.

My main genres are folk punk and "indie rock?" but I've been on a twee spree lately.

I can't sing.
I can't play a piano or a guitar, but I can play a piano like a guitar.
Lo-fi fo life.
 Double tracking too.
 Double tracking too.

WANTED: a drummer.

I'm currently working on my concept album "Young Ironsides" and I've just released a demo:

http://dorianfinch.bandcamp.com

Dorian Finch

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