The tinge of cold in the back of your nose, not quite bracing yet, mingling with the homey smell of a woody burn, unlike that of the waxy-wicky shabbat candles - or maybe birthday; the pregnant curve of the spongy foam that buffers your lips from the gas station cappuccino on the long drive back from Massachusetts; the constant motor of purrs and the limply lilting kneads from your cat on the wool blanket; the consistency of the drips of chocolate that pool under your croissant you promised yourself you wouldn't buy when you can no longer cope with the unique pain of everyday-feelings; the rush of cool calm in the pit of your tummy when you first saw the way the sun shines off the water through that tiny corridor between the stucco units of Villa Charlotte… These are little things, little stories, little feelings, little songs; but that doesn’t mean they don’t matter.

Seven months after Gare Du Nord Records' release of Joel Henry Little’s dense and knotty third album, “Ephphatha," comes something slightly breezier: "Little Songs" - a group of 16 short, mostly-unrelated tunes ranging in subject from Greek mythology to a Proustian moment at a CVS sparked by a can of Arizona iced tea to a fictional oil baron's conflicted love of his trade, with a couple detours into 19th-century poetry in between. Recorded from April 2019 - April 2020.

All songs written, performed, produced, mixed, and mastered by Joel Henry Little, except:

*Violin on tracks 12, 13, and 16 performed by Amy Dulsky Little
*Track 12 based on "You Left Me" by Emily Dickinson
*Track 13 based on "Dupont's Round Fight" by Herman Melville

Thanks to Franck Zeisel for the mastering advice, and to Ian Button and Gare du Nord Records for facilitating the distribution/PR!

Dedicated to C.N.B.

Purchase on Bandcamp

Little Songs

And the dimwit child's running through the highway as his mother scolds the road cause the traffic-wavers weren't waving and cause the sinner priests aren't saving him. And I don't wanna hear about him anymore. 

And the seasick sailor's gone off to stare at the sun and the Arabian jeweler's gone off to craft the perfect pun. And the politician's writing off future babies and the writers are writing off the politician. And I don't wanna hear about them anymore. 

(Instrumental)

Cause the needy need love too, and the Wall Street gamblers are stealing money from you. Cause even Jesus has heart attacks. Cause my newspaper's written all in black. I don't wanna hear about it anymore. And I don't wanna sing about anything anymore.


I Don't Wanna Hear About It

The first track from The First Annual Little Family Hannuka EP.

Words by Levin Kipnis transliterated and translated by Gila Ansell Brauner of Jerusalem, Israel. This is an original arrangement of the piece, but the original melody was by Daniel Sambursky.

Ner Li

Blinding lights, dizzying heights, and those smiling frowns...
Oh big sister, couldn't you let me down?
Hold the line, have no fear, put your trust in me;
First I saw, oh brother, now you'll see.

Later on, when the storm came in,
You told me, "Quit your worrying,
It's not all this or that,
The pendulum swings back
Like a seesaw."

Little life, miniature things, little falls and springs...
In our little village, we're queens and kings.

All the wonder of growing old -
We do precisely as we're told.
And now I see
How it dies:
Bark and it flies,
Kick and you''ll rise
On a seesaw.

You hardly distinguish spring from fall.
You barely remember me at all.
But there are only so many words
And I'd hate to think you could wear 'em out,
I'd hate to think you could wear 'em out.

I thought about calling all today.
I thought of a million things to say.
But there are only so many words
And I'd hate to think you could tune 'em out,
Neglect or reject or impugn 'em out.

Back in our paint-covered smocks
(Remember the faint smell of the phlox?)
With our quaint little box;
Though pueblo it ain't, more like a...

How can we ever get back?
Can we reset
Back to the sweets and the swans
And the swing sets,
The seesaws?

The world isn't all that is the case.
I see it in every single face.
But there are only so many words 
And I'd hate to think you could wear 'em out (x3)

Blinding lights, dizzying heights, and those smiling frowns...
Oh big sister, couldn't you let me down?

See / Saw

Link to my original short story upon which this song is based: https://medium.com/@joelhenrylittle/ephphatha-47355a67d1b5

[Ephphatha! Ephphatha!
Just open up your eyes...]

See these sycophants and their various means of vain pursuit;
See the mother weeping alone as her children kick the pew;
See the man offering a key;
See the steam rise from your tea;

See the dome above and around you and how it never ends;
See the light slow down to a crawl and how it starts to bend.
I am all; I am everything.
Hear me now; hear what I sing.

[Chorus]

Ephphatha!

Don’t call me lady; I’d never call you a sir.
Don’t tell me which of my tones you may or may not prefer,
You lowly cur.

I know the ways of the world; I’ve played every card.
You won’t appease me, this isn’t Sunset Boulevard.
It didn’t have to be so hard,

Simpatico...

Those little men with their little hands on the door -
I tell you, Sheila, I don’t know if I can take it anymore;
I’m losing my form.

Each morning I wake up just dreading the day,
And spend the nights resenting how I just let ‘em slip away.
Remember how we used to pray?

Well here I go:

[Can you hear me, Lord?
Would you kill me now?
I’m so tired.
I’m so tired all the time.
I’m so tired and alone.]

They never ask if I really need to be here;
Is it my womanhood or my brain that they really fear?
It’s almost too clear...

I used to twiddle my thumbs and make all these plans,
And now I sit by the window counting the minivans...
Here’s to the endless wringing hands,

Too weak to sew.

[CHORUS]

Don't Call Me Lady (Agnes' Jeremiad)

Caught in my eye,
I see red and purple faces screaming
As the light returns.

And I'm stuck paralyzed,
Counting all the dots upon the ceiling
'Til the thought occurs - 

What if I
Never died
Satisfied by this:

[When I'm with her,
I'm an oversized teddybear.

When I'm with her,
I don't need a disguise.

When I'm with her,
I wish all the time she were there.

When I'm with her,
I don't wanna die.
I don't wanna die.]

Songbirds outside
Being slowly drowned out by the traffic -
Won't it ever cease?

After all, I can't hide,
They could never leave one so seraphic
In its comely peace.

But if we
Can't agree
On the easy things
Then it's better I move,
And I think that she'll approve.

[Chorus]

With Her (Agnes' Awakening)

Pale sun rising, covering the meadow in gauze,
The meadowlarks diving, and buttercups bow awaiting applause
In Huckleberry Hollow.

I tell Johnny, "Boy, I love you more than the sun.
It's feeling so funny withholding my heart and telling no one
In Huckleberry Hollow."

He tells me, "Charlie, I don't see how
Telling a soul would help things now.
Just hold my hand and everything's fine
Here in the meadow, Here in our time."

Distant thunder rolling in from over the hill,
The clouds buckle under; I've never seen heaven looking so ill
In Huckleberry Hollow.

We hum the tune to Shenandoah 
Over the howling winds that blow.
We pray by morning it'll be past,
Then to the hills we carry at last.

Huckleberry Hollow

"There is a warm heart beating somewhere in Greece,
Somewhere the gods would kindly grant us peace.
One thousand doors we came to, one thousand shut.
Blessed be the ones residing in this hut.”

Said Philemon, “We have more than enough to spare!”
Though it’s profuse to call what they had threadbare.

He filled a beechwood basin, bathing their limbs,
She lit a fire as the sky went dim.
Seeing their bowl was ever-filled to the brim,
They begged indulgence and they sang their hymns.

Offering a goose, their guardian, Jupiter refused.
Said he, “For you’re deserving of our gratitude,
Take to the mountain ere we have destroyed this place,
Leaving a temple fit to satisfy your grace.

Is there anything you’d ask?
Give us any plea or task,
Anything you want or lack
Before I go.”
“I think so…
For if we should die apart,
Pray bestill my beating heart,
I would not know where to start,
So let us go
In tow.”
“It’s so.”

“Rest now my love, dear Baucis, let come the leaves.
Sup of the earth below these hallowed eaves.
My love for thee is like no other before,
And, like the trees, will grow forevermore."

Baucis and Philemon

I'll meet my quota today,
For once in my life I'll really earn my pay.
I'll tell Samantha that she
Can finally be proud, as proud as she can be.

I got caught up in the long con years ago, 
Thinking that I could outrun
All the boxes and the falling dominoes
That determined what I've done.

I'll eat as much as I want:
A marshmallow-covered, chocolate-filled croissant.
I'll start a series of talks -
A step-by-step course on building building blocks.
I'll be part of something real
And I'll feel how it feels
To have purpose like the spokes on a wheel.

I got caught up in the long con years ago
And I'm here to tell you all
We've been living in the constant rodeo
And each clown has got to fall.

The Constant Rodeo

Arizona lemon tea, 99 cents from CVS -
I haunt those aisles - little boy, buttonup shirt and sweater vest.
On Saturdays - synagogue, upper west side in the freezing rain
I’m thinking of going to Arizona on the next plane.

2012 - all of my cousins are there, my sister too.
We’re in the pool, wearing my Illinois shirt to hide from view
All of the scars - I’m ashamed! I’m ashamed of them! I’m ashamed of me!
I’m not that shy, not a man of very few words; I’m somebody.

Arizona lemon tea, 99 cents from CVS -
They scan the bars and would I like a receipt? I answer yes.

Arizona Lemon

Jonathan fears being left on his own.
Lately he’s taken to jogging
Hoping that someone will notice his pain,
Frowning at all who pass by.

Jonathan resents most everything
But most of all his appearance.
He would be dead but for telling himself
Maybe someday things will change.

Jonathan Hero

Featuring my mom, Amy Dulsky Little, on violin

Villa Charlotte

Cradle-baker kneading on the sheets,
Gently snoring in the moonlight, moonlight.
Ballerina shadows overhead
Swaying to the distant sirens - I’m waiting for a call
To let me know when she gets to Montreal;
And even though she’s a frequent flier,
Pilots get tired...

Motor-purring, Sascha leaves the room
And I feel my iPhone buzzing, buzzing.

Cradle-baker

1965 - you were 24 -
I remember drives down the Jersey Shore,
And the linen frocks you wore
When you’d pass, unannounced, through the door.

Late September came with the marigolds -
It’s a waiting game with those types of colds,
So you said, “Wait a while, porcupine,
I’ll be here, I’ll be fine.”

[I’ll be waiting there, waiting there.
I’ll be waiting there, waiting there.]

Smoking in the hall of St. Adelaide’s
With the Kashmir shawl that your grandma made -
You’ve been sleeping twenty hours
Through the day, in a bed ringed with flowers.

[Chorus x2]

1965

A rusted fleur-de-lis sits high on the garden wall
Above a canister of Everclear grain alcohol.
I take the hammock and prepare for a long-distance call.
Someone is running from something -
Weight of anxiety’s crushing me.

I left the company a year ago, more or less,
After near 7 years of feeling perpetually depressed;
My parents took me in and ever since, who could’ve guessed,
Nothing has changed for the better.
Anna has called and I tell her this:

Do you ever miss stars
The way that I do?

Do You Ever Miss Stars?

Little songs are all that I have to offer,
Little more than something to fill the coffers.
Barely marketable things I wrote while I was walking
And it makes me kinda nervous feeling like I’m singing to the void.

Some days, I think I could’ve been a lawyer,
Something more equipped to combat the horrors,
Really anything that gives me some more sense of purpose
Cause it makes me kinda nervous having to defend being unemployed.

Little songs for the end of the universe
Little songs when the depression’s getting worse
Little songs that all sound just like “Let It Be”
Little songs that have little to do with me

Little songs for the hipsters in 40 years
Little songs that get 4 likes and disappear
Little songs taking themselves so seriously
Little songs that all end in a major key

Strip of satin overflowing
Out the hatchback, on the parkway,
Waving like a little child
As she pulls off into Cheesequake.

The attendant does his service
Without speaking, without looking.
She takes off with no eye contact
On to Cape May, no more stopping.

Up ahead, the rain clouds gather,
Just a few drops, then it’s buckets
As the Sufjan Stevens CD 
Starts replaying with the trumpets.

She remembers Cracker Barrel,
Playing checkers with her father,
And the fighting with her sister,
How they threatened her poor mother.

She is rounding exit zero,
Her thoughts racing, her heart pounding.
Lying down, the sun starts peeking;
With a breath, she begins crying.

Cape May

The algorithm has been kind to me,
Or so the numbers have me thinking.
And if I can contain the message,
I will drink gas station cappuccinos on the road,
I’ll make a quilt for everyone who ever showed me
Sympathy.
Oh I’ll be a star, come 23.

But can I still return to wilderness
If ever I should go astray?
And if the rotting becomes copious,
I will make a topiary from my brittle bones;
I’ll populate the empty plots with microphones;
I’ll learn to play gin rummy with the garden gnomes and
Then I’ll lay
Down upon the grass beside the midway.

Oh in the podunk caterwauling of the breeze,
Low rhododendrons seem to weep for want of bees,
And in the wake of Hyades,
Here comes the dribble and the pitter-patter from above;
The storm is near.
I can wait it out another year.

The algorithm has been kind to me,
Or so the numbers have me thinking.

The Algorithm Has Been Kind To Me

New album "Little Songs" available now: http://kud.li/gdndl046

Singer-songwriter from New York. Influences include: Joni Mitchell, Joanna Newsom, Roy Orbison, Josephine Foster, and Richard Dawson.

Joel Henry Little

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