The Happiness Moon

by Andrew Preston

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Charles Lauer
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Charles Lauer This album is a gleeful game of genre hopscotch, from the heartbreaking "The Mountain Wayfarers" to the quirky, irreverent "The Amygdala Goes 'Auck! Auck! Auck!'" to my personal favorite, the eerie and haunting "10 Watt Moon." There are treasures in here. Do yourself a favor and listen. Favorite track: 10 Watt Moon.
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credits

released April 17, 2015

Andrew Preston - writing, recording, mixing, vocals and instruments, album art
Harrison Hobart - vocals on "Don't Burn that Bread (So Help Me God), "Cranberry Lane", and vocals and banjo on "The Wind and Rain"
Jeffery Kestner - saw on "A Hook"
Katrina Petty - printer
Melissa Ratliff - bass on "Don't Burn that Bread (So Help Me God) and autoharp on "10 Watt Moon".
Wyatt Smith - whistling on "Cranberry Lane" and jaw harp on "Don't Burn That Bread (So Help Me God).
Jesse Wells - mixing, recording on "Ariel"
Sarah Wood - arrangement, "The Wind and Rain"

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about

Andrew Preston Kentucky

Andrew is a former psychologist folk musician with a passion for experimentation. He is half of The Woodsheep.

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Track Name: The Overthere Chair
We're without care in the Overthere Chair!
Arrived at new heights on the Everywhere Stairs!
Doing quite fair neither here nor there!
We're all together now in the Overthere Chair!

Wrap myself within your sunshine.
Bonsais hovering through the walls.
A prelude for the Happiness Moon.
Verdant hills, albescent skies, and subtle-smiling dolls.

The swampland yields the Violet Root,
to supplement our appetite.
No one else I'd rather share this with.
We look out o'er the Strawberry Ocean from the pier all night.
Track Name: 10 Watt Moon
When I stirred in the afterlight,
I found myself in the dusk askew.
As the light ebbed out, I saw that broken bulb,
my heart did croon for the midnight moon.

The bad men had come quite fast,
I should've waited up,
stopped them myself.
Where a brilliant sphere once hung so high,
they replaced our muse with a 10 watt moon.

We woke up, it was very, very late,
he was gone so soon, he was gone too soon
had we known this would be his fate,
We wouldn't have sold our tune to the 10 watt moon.
The 10 watt moon, the 10 watt moon.

The artists craft from nocturnal thread
a semblance of our familiar friend.
The photographer's have done us right,
sold us cheaper prints of our former light.

The wisest advised us to persist,
“The 10 watt moon will help our eyes.”
But I can't see a damn thing in the dark.
I suppose that's why I'm not wise.
Track Name: The Mountain Wayfarers
I know when I grow old
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
I did not foresee a lonesome soul,
who'd melt me even when the cold wind blows.

A voice as deep as the river runs,
he told me, “Sir, I've lost my gun,
I've lost my home and my stores are none.
I'm wayfarer with the waning sun.”

Well, I said, “Friend, please come this way,
to the camp where my daughters wait.
We've come to trawl at the river's base.
We're wanderers too, these days.”

He came with me in the shade of night,
a pair of mossy eyes in the moonlit pine,
a lion's mane and a tender smile.
“Got the wild of the mountain in you, child.”

My youngest ne're did leave his side.
My eldest grew to be his pride,
for a vacancy he did subside.
We met beneath the wintertide.

On our fifteenth winter year,
he said to me, “my darling dear,
you must retire and leave me here,
for a dreadful wind is approaching near.”

Our children too soon had aged,
when we plucked a hazel bloom bouquet,
knelt at ease near a quiet grave,
wherein my finest memories lay.

I know when I grow old,
I'll grow like hazel in the cold, wet snow.
There I met a lonesome soul,
and I still melt when the cold wind blows.
Track Name: Andrew Preston & Harrison Hobart - The Wind and Rain
There were two little sisters walking alone.
O the wind and rain.
One spoke of rapture, the other of woe.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

And they both had love of the miller’s son.
O the wind and rain.
But he was fond of the merry one.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

So she plunged her in the river to drown.
O the wind and rain.
And the river wept as she floated down.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

She drifted down to the miller’s pond.
O the wind and rain.
dead on the water like a golden swan.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

And along came the road, came a fiddler fair,
O the wind and rain.
And found her body a-lying there.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

So he made a fiddle of the darling doe.
O the wind and rain.
Strings from her hair, and pegs from her bones.
O the lonesome wind and rain.

But the only tune that the fiddle would play...
O the wind and rain.
The only tune that the fiddle would play...
O the lonesome wind and rain.
Track Name: Hunting Hound
I worship you, my loving God,
and sublimate my gold and straw.
This has been my token for all my years.

I catch a glimpse, familiar faces;
spinning masks in Brahma's guise.
Each eye makes contact, compels my soul.
No recognition from the sky

I have built the elevator.
13 floors, I stop at each,
door to door, to sell my soul.
Please get in line to have a piece.

My colleagues have their bottles upright.
I am drinking, want for praise.
A waiting room devoid of sound.
I am an empty-handed hunting hound.

Soy naufragios del mar, ya ves?
If only someone could take my place.
This heart has steadily anchored down,
I am an empty-handed hunting hound.
Track Name: Cycles
I saw a rabbit die today in the imprint of the ceiling tile,
which did incite my realization of the heads of Easter Isle.

They'd fixed themselves on floorboards freshly swept by staff or boot,
and gazed skyward at the hare clinging to its mother.

Conventions of direction have no place in tricks of light,
but propagate a thinking in between a birth and life.

This is what I rehearsed as I took the etching pen,
a holy quill fastened to my goddess mother hen.

Cycles...

And I, a humble yellow page, upon the laundry wall,
a testament to her debut.
Alas, I surely fall.

“Looking for a Christian man. A man who'll work and slave,
I've got three kids for him to love.
I'm here midweek at 8.”

Awash amongst the cycles, I hope she does succeed.
A wistful man of 33, my duties shall he heed.

I see her often after close, her luggage in the car,
toting home the folded linen, no husband on her arm.

She pinned me here a week ago, upon the laundry board.
I saw a rabbit die today, and I turned to face the floor.
Track Name: The Amygdala Goes "Auck! Auck! Auck!"
The amygdala goes “Auck! Auck! Auck!”
all the way to the hypothalamus.
And the hypothalamus goes “Auck!”
and here comes CRF!
The anterior pituitary says “Hello CRF!”
“Meet my friend ACTH!”
And sends him out today.

ACTH stimulates the adrenal cortex at once.
They quickly send us cortisol that our body does not want
because the hippocampus hangin' out is attacked by gluccocorticoids.
And when you were stressed, you forgot,
because the amygdala goes “Auck! Auck! Auck!”!
Track Name: Fiction
Wishin' wells too deep.
Can't see my penny now.
My grandma gave me that to spend,
and I loved that penny but I tossed it in.

I lied when I came home.
It cut me to the bone.
Well my prayers never did come true.
I must've spent my chances on the one I threw.

But I couldn't stand to see her cry,
so that penny's in my care,
buried with my answered prayers.
Should I tell my children
that my stories are all fiction?

One day when I am old,
telling grandfather tales
about a love that passed with a happy end,
for a flame had dwindled to a dear old friend.

“Where is he now?”
They'll ask with intrigue.
I'll offer them a stoic smile,
as if the world we had was back for a while.

But I can't stand to cry,
so that flame will burn so blue.
But my prayers never did come true.
Should I tell my children
that my stories are all fiction?
Track Name: The River Drane
The River Drane will take away,
but just as so, will give.
So we must mend our aches and burns
before the River ends.

Tonight our youth will carry us,
ye rebels in the choir.
The River Drane shall keep us clean,
but never douse our fire.
Track Name: Ariel
*instrumental*
Track Name: The Wind That Blows Through Its Branches
An old oaken road, walnut grove,
That is where my truest love will go,
when the starlings hush their lovely crow.

I searched the roads on which you flew
til my roots were limp in the morning dew,
which absence sinks its teeth into.

Goodbye my wild wind passing by.
Plucked the roots from the pine,
the moon from the sky,
but I still feel you in air some nights,
when the wind blows through its branches.

A bayou, bay, in summer heat.
Amidst the cypress, brambles, rain that's sweet.
That is where our lips will one day meet.

I long to be an owl that soars,
I'd pine for you in the frightening storm,
til the wind blows through the trees no more.
Track Name: Don't Burn That Bread (So Help Me God)
Texty's in the kitchen with a bag of potatoes.
Ol' Skip is in the garden, his skinny legs a hurryin'.
There's a mission in the house tonight that's comin' true.
Texty an' ole Skip with their cookbook and their stew.

Don't burn that bread, so help me god.
Don't burn that bread, ol' friend.
Don't burn that bread, so help me god.
Don't burn that bread again.

Ol' Skip is in the kitchen, a-stirrin up the batter.
and pretty little Texty with the breadknife in her hand.
And every little chickadee is safe in the night,
for at the dinner table is a mother hen's delight.

The turkey and the cow and the great gray wolf,
and the bear and the stubborn, hateful, bitter, snarling cat.
Our brothers and our sisters, paws at the table.
Texty and ol' Skip ring the bell and serve the food.
Track Name: Cranberry Lane
Snoozin' time at Cranberry Lane,
I've been asleep for all the day.
My family's awake and laughing downstairs,
but I'm asleep in Cranberry Square.

Cranberry Lane, a-snoozing away.
At first I was sad when the sun went down,
but Cranberry Lane saved the day!
Nothin' like napping in Cranberry Town.

Snoozin' time at Cranberry Lane,
Nighttime came and the sun went away.
That's okay, just sing me to sleep,
the sun will soon rise over Cranberry Creek.

When I wake up in the early morning,
my family will still be droolin' and snorin'.
That's okay, they're givin' it a whirl,
all happily asleep in Cranberry World.
Track Name: A Hook
Prancing wild on the boardwalk of the table,
underneath lies the carpet sea.
Spread under the sun.

Dust waltzing in the beams through curtains-
particles, I can see them.
I wish that I could be them-
careful little circles turning.

I'm a cat chasing a yellow string.
Out of my reach
like God and the sea.
I found a hook...

When I saw the ocean for the first time at night,
I understood death in the blackened tide.
I had written about the sea before.

I had gotten the details right.
Funny that my books and my songwriting
are truer than my science.

I found a hook,
and it hooked me.
Track Name: Twinbeard the Trumpeter
When the fox gets hot, it crawls into the hole.
All the fellers in the evening say the trumpeter blows
to signal the drunks of the time to go.
Ol' Twinbeard says he's gonna save my soul.

Well I ain't no drunk, does a drunk think he,
but he rolls out the gold smooth as the sea.
Those big black eyes gonna set me free.
Ol' Twinbeard's blowing that trumpet for me.

I am sailing endlessly, set my ship on the foggy sea.
I can't escape that hallowed breeze.
Twinbeard's trumpet hollerin' for me.

I knew my place and I knew my time.
The heat of the day and a burning red sky.
“God almighty!” say the men from the mines
when ol' Twinbeard plays that trumpet so fine.

When the fox gets hot, it crawls into the hole.
All the fellers in the evening say the trumpeter blows
to signal the drunks of the time to go.
Ol' Twinbeard says he's gonna save my soul.
Track Name: Winter In the Tire Stacks
*Instrumental*