Quackhammer: Bass & vox
Zebulun: Keys, drums, supplemental vox
Q, Z, and Amber: Handclaps!

Where I live, it's Saturday, and up my stairs here come the Latter Day Saint guys
Let 'em come, I don't care. I'm in my underwear, and they can stare all they want 'cause
I'm not one for modesty. And anybody's odd theologies are gonna be lost on me
This is my monarchy, in a minor key, where I am free to be the royal We
(The royal We, that's me)
Half the time I wake up, half the time I don't
Half the time I wake up, I don't know where I am
Hallelujah goddamn
All dolled up for tragedy
And magically managing to manifest a melancholy majesty
While preaching anarchy but that philosophy's just a haircut
And I don't wanna come when you call or even be the one you call
I know a collar is a crown you wear further down
A woman is a hole and a guy's just a dog
Who'll jump in and get diggin' like the dog that he is
Imagine god as a gnome made of concrete or stone in a garden of our own design
That's fine by him, I know, this I know 'cause he told me so
And I said it was good to know, 'cause I thought it was good to Know
Turns out, it's better to Do.
Sweet stupid beautiful you, and I'm stupid beautiful too
The whole stoopid beautiful crew can all crawl back into the womb
'Cause heaven is hellbound and doomed and hell is all outta room
(As they say)
So you may as well stay where you stand, if you're gonna be that kinda man
And holler hallelujah goddamn
That's the kinda fella I am
Hallelujah goddamn

Hallelujah Goddamn

Sackerson The Bear

Hollerin' Poe

Shut Your Beautiful Mouth

Quackhammer: Electric uke, vox.
Zebulun: Drums, bass, theremin.

What if the devil loves your song?
What if he sings it to his kids?
You say "I'm afraid you've got it wrong" but he's like "Naw, this is my favorite thing you ever did."
What if the devil loves your voice?
And he adores the way you sing?
And you're his vocalist of choice while he's preparing to do some scary and unconscionable thing?
What if he's your biggest fan?
What if Jesus thinks you suck?
Buddha, Zeus, Odin and Vishnu say you sold out and they all wish you would just shut up.
What if the devil's got your back?
With all the money in the world.
What if you know that you're a hack but accolades rain upon you on the strength of his referral?
What if the devil likes your style? 
What if he digs the way you dress? 
And he assures you it's in earnest and not just some perverse sense of contrariness.
What if the devil gets your point when everybody else does not?
What if the enemy of everything angelic in the world is the only friend you've got?
What if you wanted to be good, but the devil loved your song?
What if you threw your soul and heart and passion into your art but you just happened to be wrong?

The Devil Loves Your Song

Django's Thumb

Seventeen Syllables

Come to bed, Calumny
When you have said your prayers
Remember that your enemies have also all said theirs
And though the curses that you've hurled into the world cannot be broken
The tongue in which you've summoned them is one that's widely spoken
So some to bed, Calumny
You've done enough today
You sank the Lusitania, you're victorious, hooray
Now the world will go on burning on its own while we're asleep
We have sown, and in the morning we will reap as we may reap
Come to bed , Calumny
Your battlecry grows hoarse
You're hurtling into cannonfire, spurring your poor horse against the forces of a foe 
that no one knows about but you
Won't you come to bed, Calumny? You've done all one can do
Come to bed, Calumny
You're running short of friends
And forlornness is the one thing you're not fortified against
I wish you'd listen to my warnings but you love to hear me beg
There's always someone digging deeper, with a bigger powder keg
Come to bed, Calumny
The wars will have to wait
You're a hard woman to love but you're a lot of fun to hate
I suppose I'll wear your rose upon my shield until we die
Come into my bed, Calumny
Where all you do is lie

Come come come come to bed
Calumny fall on me Calumny fall upon me
Cast me in your tragedy
Wrap me in catastrophe
Fall upon me


Come To Bed, Calumny

Electric uke, long-mistreated, frets-yanked-out bass (AKA The Terrible Old Man), Alesis Samplepad loaded with kitchen noise. 

You Can Call It a Victory

Archy and Mehitabel are characters created by Don Marquis and famously depicted by George Herriman. This song is sort of a work of  fan fiction, you might say.

archy and mehitabel got a divorce i didnt know they were married they were married yeah of course their love was written in the stars or in a stall for the sake of clarity it said mehitabel hi its archy for a good time marry me and she did cuz she was like that or for him she thought she could be cuz he wouldnt write a thing like that if he didnt mean it would he and by mean it i mean forever and by forever i mean with her just the thought of his warm buggy lovin made her stretch and purr mehitabel was a cat you may remember and archy was a roach he rode her like a studebaker and she wore him as a brooch she loved to get him into trouble then let him grant her sweet asylum theirs was alove uncluttered by quibbles over age or size or phylum hed say youre the cats pajamas and shed answer youre the bees knees and thats as close as they ever got to talking differences in species he got her giddy as a kitten she made him comfy as a bug shed give him little nibbles and hed holler back off ya big lug and then hed run around real fast and shed pretend to hunt him down the kinda game they could only play with no other cats around theyd spend their days in a heady haze of poetry and wine and games there was no way to win and lines that didnt rhyme at night hed write some verses and shed work up a little dance hed brew her cuban coffee as she sewed patches on his pants theyd go singin and drinkin outta inkpots and waltzing on the roof mehitabel lived for gaiety and archy for the truth well it sounds like they were happy yeah for the longest time they were she gave him everything and hed do anything for her so what happened nothing happened man sometimes these things go sour and todays bouquet is tomorrows solitary dry and dying faded flower in a vase beneath the staircase in some dim abandoned hallway hey i love it when it all works out but look it doesnt always our two lovers were as puzzled as you as to why it fell apart she said i dont know how it happened but ive let you break my heart he said hey we had to try it this doesnt mean it wasnt worth it kid but his lover discovered to her disquiet that she rather thought it did is there any sadness sadder than the passing of what you had the things that seemed to matter then now matter not a tad the good and bad play out in arbitrary strange proportions if someone loves you you better thank your lucky stars for your good fortune if anybody tries to tell you different take a hard look at the source cuz archy and mehitabel got a divorce



Archy & Mehitabel Get a Divorce

I like homunculi
I'm not an automaton
I like homunculi
I'd marry me a marionette, you bet
I like homunculi
I believe I am a leviathan 
When I stand among homunculi
I like homunculi.


I Like Homunculi

Quackhammer is me, Androo Robinson. The twelve tracks you see here happened in a chilly basement in Valparaiso. I wrote these songs, played ukes (electric and acoustic) and sang. My friend Amber played cello, and my friend Zebulun played everything else. I did some of the less competent bass parts, including the washtub bass (spot it!), but other than that, nope, 'twas all him. We hope you enjoy this goofery.

Quackhammer

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