A poolside jam on a hill looking out onto Lake Michigan, in Michigan.
This is the first recording of this 1981 series of two (before we got loud).
It was our first tune, and I didn't even know we were doing a cover, but I caught on after finding my guitar tone.
This was recorded with a boombox.

Frank Zappa COVER Jam NANOOK RUBS IT - LIVE 1981 (Michalski-Snyder-Berg-Steele&Co)

From open to close, a musical journey through my Book of Shadows

The Flame and the Mirror - Guidance_Communion pt. 1

This song comes from a place of heartbreak, not hate. It’s me speaking as someone who still loves this country deeply, even with all the damage that’s been done. My grandfather was actually a big fan of Trump back in the day—long before he ever ran for office. I remember him watching that old Oprah interview where Trump said he might run someday, and my granddad said he thought he’d make a good President. If he were alive now, I know he’d be heartbroken and appalled to see what Trump has done to our country—to our people, our values, our sense of decency. This song is like a letter I wish I could read to him, and maybe to America itself. It’s slow, dark, and honest—part protest, part mourning. It’s about loving your country enough to call out the ones destroying it, even when it hurts to say the words: I never knew you.


LYRICS: 

[Intro]
This isn’t hate.
This is heartbreak.
The kind that burns slow.
The kind that makes you write a letter you’ll never send. 

[Verse 1]
I'm still glad to be an American
Even with the mess we're in
But I'm writing you to say you suck
'Cause you're just a nasty fuck 

[Verse 2]
It don't matter what your policy is
You're tearing down what we've always been
If I could see my granddaddy now
I wonder what he'd say to him 

[Pre-Chorus]
I can hear him now—
Voice cracking through the years—
Saying the words I never wanted to believe. 

[Chorus]
“I never knew you
I'm ashamed to have ever shook your hand”
You can't claim to be a patriot
While you're burnin' down this sacred land
This hateful letter's to you
I'm just speakin' the truth
I'm just speakin' the truth
We never knew you 

[Verse 3]
I don't care how much you paid in taxes
It ain't about what you owe
What you're takin' from us
Is worth a whole hell of a lot more 

[Verse 4]
And now you got folks hatin' on each other
We're more divided than we've ever been
It's time to pack up and go back to Mar-a-Lago
Or maybe we can build a wall around it 

[Final Chorus] 

I can hear 'em now,
“I never knew you
I'm ashamed to have ever shook your hand”
You can't claim to be a patriot
While you're burnin' down this sacred land
This hateful letter's to you
I'm just speakin' the truth
I'm just speakin' the truth
We never knew you 

Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh 

[Outro]
Maybe someday…
We’ll find our way back home.
But not like this.
Not like this. 

Not like this.

Letter to President Trump

"The Bar Where God Used to Drink" tells the story of a man searching for a bar where God once drank — a place beyond reason, where heaven meets the gutter. He sets out hoping to ask the divine why sorrow exists, only to discover that the voice he sought was his own. It’s a raw, Irish-tinged rock tale about faith, loneliness, and the moment we realise that redemption — and God — may live inside us after all. A confession wrapped in whiskey and rain, where the search for meaning ends in self-recognition.

They said there’s a bar where God used to drink,
On the road past reason’s end.
Where angels trade their halos in,
And prophets just pretend.
I walked through rain that smelled of rust,
My prayers all burned to coal,
And carried one last question up,
Inside a broken soul.

So pour one more for the heart that sinks,
In the bar where Heaven blinks.
If the Lord still listens when we bleed,
Then maybe He still drinks.

The door was red, the light was dim,
The jukebox hummed like sin.
A choir of ghosts sang barroom hymns,
While saints passed bottles in.
And there, behind the counter, stood
A man with weary grace —
A thousand storms inside His eyes,
And starlight on His face.

So pour one more for the heart that sinks,
In the bar where Heaven blinks.
If mercy’s gone and truth turns cold,
Then maybe God still drinks.

He said, *“One question — make it count.”
I laughed until I cried.
“Why let all this sorrow bloom,
If You could stop the tide?”

He looked at me and softly smiled,
His voice was cracked and worn.
*“I never left — I’m what you are,
Just tired, and reborn.”

I woke outside, the bar was gone,
The street just smelled of rain.
The angels’ cards were scattered leaves,
Their laughter soft with pain.
Now every night I walk that road,
To find that place again —
*And what I called His voice that night
Still burns beneath my name.*

So pour one more for the heart that thinks,
In the dark where Heaven blinks.
If God’s just me, and I’m just dust,
Then let us share one drink.
Yes, pour one more — for all who sing,
In the bar where God still drinks.

The bar’s still open… somewhere in the dark.

The Bar Where God Used to Drink

Cinnamon rising
Windows fog
Oven humming low
like it's half on the job

Flour on the counter
flour in her hair
He brushes it off
like he meant to be there

Butter sizzles
Pan clicks shut
Radio crackles
through static and cut

She taps the spoon twice
tastes what's left on her lip
He sneaks a bite
before the sugar can drip

Rolling pin stutters
Table creaks
Dough keeps sticking
every few streaks

She presses harder
he steadies the board
No big talk,
nothing forced

Orange peel. Ginger
Sharp, then sweet
Steam curls around
their legs and feet

He burns his thumb
she blows on his hand
Sting goes quiet
No plan

Cut-out stars
with crooked sides
Trees leaning over
like they're tired

A gingerbread loses a leg
she laughs at the fall
He eats the piece
like that was the goal

The oven breathes heat
Slow. Thick
Cookies lift at the edges
getting glossy, quick

Sugar turns amber
The room turns warm
Spice in the air
like a quiet storm

They frost too soon
The icing runs
She tries to fix it
he says it's done

Ghost-shaped snowflake
Crooked hat man
They let the mess be
just what it can

The cat jumps up
nose to the tray
Sniffs a star cookie
knocks it away

It lands on the floor
icing smudged thin
She curls around it
purring like it's her kin

Cooling racks ticking
Kettle starts to sing
Steam climbs slowly
fogging everything

No need for words
The room already knows
They share the first cookie
before it cools

Cinnamon Rising (feat. cat cameo)

I’ve never been one that worried too much ‘bout the future.
What’s gonna happen, is happening, not much to say. 
I know you might disagree. I know you care more than me. 
I know you think I don’t care at all, maybe I should

Maybe it’s you - you think way too much ‘bout the future.
You truly think that you’ve got it all under control. 
You find it so hard to trust. Maybe I don’t care enough.
Maybe I’ll make it all work, maybe I won’t

But trust me when I say, “I’m trying.” I’m doing all that I can.
I’m not giving up, with a little luck, we can stick tight to the plan.
But know this before we get started, I know you’re counting on me.
What you get is what you see. 

One day we’ll look back at what we keep calling the future. 
Looking back makes it much clearer, easier to see. 
I know you think I don’t care, you say it’s too much to bear.
Give it another look when it’s history. 

But trust me when I say, “I’m trying.” I’m doing all that I can.
I’m not giving up, with a little luck, we can stick tight to the plan.
But know this before we get started, I know you’re counting on me.
What you get is what you see.

Trust

MUSICIANS
John Beckmann: all music, and production
Lux Astralis, New York: recording studio
Atomix LA: mastering

LYRICS
Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum
A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum
To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum.
So to honour Him, pa rum pum pum pum
When we come.

Little baby, pa rum pum pum pum
I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum
I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum
That’s fit to give a King, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum.
Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum
On my drum?

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum.
Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum,
Me and my drum
Me and my drum
Me and my drum
Me and my drum

LITTLE DRUMMER BOY

Black Christmas

A Little Lonely

Caged Echoes

This song goes deeper into the meaning of our existence. It is dedicated to my sister who is very sick. 

Now I belong

Retired the beginning of 2023. Been writing music seriously for about six years. Thanks for listening - and sharing!

Trust

Scott Orr

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