ing

6

A frank portrait of what it takes to be a musician and a testment to the power and importance of "having a good song."

This is a reflection on the life of the musician - songwriter, spelling out in no uncertain terms the harsh reality of what it takes to "make it" and also casting a more than somewhat cynical eye at the machinations of the old school "industry" that has consumed and spit out so many talents. It is not all glamour and glitz. In fact, most of the time it is far far from that. But we continue writing because we must.

Miracle Song
By Mark Smotroff, Sean Mylett and ing
(c) 2003 Sonic Gloo Tunes (ASCAP)

So you want to be a rockstar?
Well, I gotta laugh.
All the fame and the fortune is a massive gaff.
Stuff the polls with opinions.
Feed the media gas.
All the tired contortions.
And that push star crap.
It may take a while, for the cream to rise.
It may take some time, for your spotlight.
So just keep on writing songs
In the early morning light.
Stay up all night.
Stay up all day.
Make a miracle song.
Make a miracle song.
You say you've bent over backwards?
Well I got news for you.
Better get a new position.
And get used to it!
Borrow money from your mama.
Borrow money from your fans.
Tell the world you're a genius.
With a visionary stance.
It may take a while, for the cream to rise.
It may take some time, for your spotlight.
So just keep on writing songs
In the early morning light.
Stay up all night.
Stay up all day.
Make a miracle song.
Make a miracle song.

13

This is about finding the strength within to continue in the face of adversity or any situation where someone has taken unfair advantage of another individual.

Music came out of a band jam at the end of practice, lyrics formulated out of heinous work situation where it became clear that a so called long time friend and boss was taking advantage and manipulating a situation and hurting numerous along the way, including the author.

Not Dead, Not Dying
By Mark Smotroff, Sean Mylett and ing
Copyright (c) 2003 Sonic Gloo Tunes (ASCAP)

I'm so tired of the vicious cutting down.
Stuck inside this hole, while the dirt is pouring 'round.
Reaching up for air, suffocating, so I'm told.
I'm turning in my grave before my body's even cold.

Not dead, not dying
But not for trying
There's no denying
And I'm tired of lying (lying to myself)

Way too many paces
Not enough new shades
Completely out of patience
Can't get in my way

Not dead, Not dying
I'm high, I'm flying
They say they're trying
And I know they're lying (lying!)

Just before you sleep
Take a deep breath of air
And stop to think of the peace
That you have, that you have
And right before you dream
Take a good long look at life
And right before you scream
Face the truths the world denied you

Not Dead, Not dying
Over time, I'm implying
Lost in flight I'm crying
In your arms, I'm dying

Not Dead Not Dying
And you're so inviting
And I'm through with fighting
I'm not dead, not dying

6

see story behind the song....

The phrase "Better Don't Do" was reportedly used by former NY Ballet director George Ballanchine (who spoke broken English) when trying to say that he didn't think a particular activity was a good idea. This was being recounted by his friend, the noted illustrator and writer Edward Gorey in his posthumous biography. So, working off of that wonderful phrase, I imagined other broken phrases Edward Gorey might have imagined whilst talking with his friend Ballanchine, and this resultant barrel monkeys resulted, chockful of double negatives and such. It means nothing in particular but individuals may find their own meaning contained within. It is really all a bunch of non sensical fun set to a Beatlesque/XTC-flavored melody, with an utterly infectious beat invented by our drummer, which catapults the song into another space.

Better Don't Do
By Mark Smotroff, Sean Mylett and ing
Copyright (c) 2003 Sonic Gloo Tunes (ASCAP)

You better don't do
I'm sure I won't tell
You better don't do
I'm sure time will tell

You can go for broke, selling smoke
Mirrors that reflect nothing
You can hold your breath, get really wet
Drown and out set for the count

You better don't do
You better don't do

You mustn't not say that
Everyone will shout
You haven't prefigured
For elementary clout

You can say "Oh no! There he goes
Again, he's selling Sundays"
Any other day, would make you pray
For solemn, peaceful blood plays

So you sit and stare
And wonder 'bout the distant past
Can't remember when
The pieces fit so neatly
And the pages were born on glass

You better don't do that!
Nevermind, don't sell
I'm not gonna follow
On your trip to hell.

You can run and turn from things that burn
Winters steamy Sundays
Change your life with fire and ice
The old man screams the end is near