Robin the Oriole

12 Oct

Composed by Ric Albano on April 19, 2020
From the album Out There Somewhere by Ric Albano
Released October 24, 2020

Listen to the Song:

“Robin the Oriole” is kind of complex lyrically because it has two interweaving themes going – a narrative inspired by a trip down south but my wife and I took back in February 2020 right before the whole COVID thing hit and some slight political commentary about dramatized, vapid arguments. I suppose the moral of the story is “no matter how much hysteria there may be out there things will be all right” and this is portrayed most clearly on the very last line of the song.

Musically “Robin the Oriole” has quite a few layers, including about 3 or 4 electric guitars over the core, acoustic, bass, clavichord, and drums. Those drums are probably my most proud moment recording (I don’t really play the instrument) as the rhythm varies between a straight up rock beat to some jazzy swing movement along with dramatic rudiments in the middle section (special thanks to rum guru Ron Simasek for coaching me on the fly on how to get this done). Finally, there are the multiple vocals, most natural but there is in fact an electronically harmonized part where my own vocal is tuned up a perfect fourth.

Ric Albano – vocals, guitars, keyboards, bass, drums, percussion

Lyrics

I have got to chill, haven’t got anywhere to go but I just cannot sit still
You possess my brain,
I want you out of my head but I’m unwilling to face that pain

Breakfast will be served in my favorite dive diner
Just a few miles north of North Carolina
I can hear the distant calls of virgins by the sea,
The rousing, rising sky signals it’s spring…

Springtime has come
The land rejuvenates life with with a subtle, lime-green hum
Hazily we’ll proceed
Towards that tangent, mid-song bridge in another key

Time to throw shade at arguments that were never made
To gain hand, to pack that bigger bite,
With the sharpened words, crass and blight
A field full of straw men to knock down,
A field filled with straw men all around
Ole’ grumpled head, the monster underneath the bed
Echoing all those words I never said, until that stone is bled

Music will be played on a well-tread wooden porch
Just slightly north of central Georgia
The soaring notes are each harmonized so fine,
Keep us oblivious to the signs…

Signs of the times
Cracked open my Benjamins’ box but its now filled with dimes
You destroyed the dream
And I’m still reeling from your deft, elaborate scheme

But I just cannot stay angry with you