Get all 7 Jason Vitelli releases available on Bandcamp and save 35%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of 1. Ambient Corridors, Exit Love Story, The Veil, Night Falls, Snazzy Cats, Head Above Tide, and No Photographs.
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1. |
The Worst Thing
03:33
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You may be the worst thing
that has happened to me.
I'm now crazily infatuated
and oh so lonely.
You stood in front of a roaring
flame; I miss you.
Your thighs wrapped around my
wanton frame; still miss you.
I look around now and feel so empty;
feel so empty.
I plead to you darling, your curves so
belonging, I think of them constantly.
'Cause you may be the worst thing
that has happened to me.
I'm now crazily infatuated
and oh so lonely.
The moment you stepped into my life;
mesmerized.
Climbing & driving to your doorway
ringing & ringing & ringing.
Spent all my money on fancy clothes,
just so I could see you strip them
down to your panties, oh!
Round about eleven PM
you come by my window.
Whispering sweet nothings
out from lips so soft and pure.
While lulling me to sleep,
only then could I breathe deeply.
'Cause you may be the worst thing
that has happened to me.
I'm now crazily infatuated
and oh so lonely.
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2. |
Last Rites
02:32
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Now we're reading these last rites
only for the chance
that it's our own found love
saving us from this last dance.
Throwing it all away
shouldn't be so hard
but it's our own found fears
sinking us into the floorboards.
Peeking out for only the reasons
we had known before
and as life passes us by,
we're hoping for more to hold on to.
Rivals are communicating
and keeping their tabs on our score.
If I try to find you,
could I be beside you?
Running all around with my lights
blown out in this crowded train.
Tripping over old ladies' suitcases,
their hot coffee spills and
just one slip and I fall over
with no dream left to hold on to.
Now we're breathing and heaving
in our lonely cell.
Our moment's passed us by
and left us prone on the floor.
It was a captivating, insane game
but lost upon our own.
If I try to find you,
could I be beside you?
Jumping all around,
kids screaming about,
I climb to my rue.
But I'm caught between cars
with both doors locked,
the wind's freezing my tears as I fear
my time's already over, save yourself;
save yourself to be somebody new.
Be somebody new.
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3. |
Apartment
03:33
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Many a time I wait at your door
and fall asleep on the floor
and as I awake,
all of these papers surround me.
The Times and the Post,
they help keep me afloat
with their witty interjections
about life in this boat,
this torrid boat called New York.
I wake up with my lonely person
and you are just a fascination
I'm dreaming of.
Lately I recall, I'm getting too old
to crawl or is it just pins & needles
that are falling off my bones?
Maybe I'm not tough enough
for this old town.
Apartment hall sleeping
isn't sleeping so sound.
I wake up with my lonely person
and you are just a fascination
I'm dreaming of.
I'm reaching for another life,
one that's sound and cozy
and you're my wife.
One day we'll stand up tall.
Rise upon a cool forest floor,
wondering if this is the place
we have always belonged.
And nowhere else to go
but down some musty old road.
Toward the unknown.
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4. |
June
04:00
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Everything in her shines,
from her dark, haunting leer
to her proud, rousing smile.
Everything in her shines,
it makes me so blind,
shines so bright, makes me so blind.
All that I've ever known
steers me toward her howling moan.
Oh, her moan.
Her name was June, that's all I knew.
I danced with her poetry,
tight black curls got me in a lock.
She put her foot down,
threw my head in the closet,
and a paper trail in this heat
caused a knife in my fire.
Care just explodes and zaps away
my poor unfortunate thoughts.
And now June slides on top of me,
twisty as a turntable,
silken sheets wear her wide set hips,
pouring paths so lascivious,
oh the miles of tastiness
are a haven to a Persian heiress.
And the prize
for which so long that I've sought
has given rise
to the crimes that I've wrought.
Everything in her shines,
though her spirit still breathes
while I'm parked in my car.
Everything in her shines,
as I drive my way towards
the riverbank to bury her charms.
Cold stones washing over our bones.
Thought I saw headlines beaming us
toward the road.
She's staring through the headboards
singing Billie Holiday
and I'm forever in her chords
folding body, mind into slumber.
Like the world's dimly lit lounge
we sit; her head resting upon my
shoulder.
And sweet as her scent is pure,
the guitars jangle and tambourine hits,
but I can't exist
until I feel the moist skin upon her lips.
And the drums begin to transform our
pulsing motions into such
pushin' and pullin'.
We take the cab downtown.
We take it all the way around,
beyond the Battery over the steel rails
holding us inland,
into salty seas,
will she remember me,
when I sing my song or when I awake
from this deep sleep?
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5. |
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Shooting stars upon a plastic moon
shiver as one cold breath
foggy and blue.
Blue as we maniacs crowding
round the street lamps.
A little kid wouldn't be caught
dead round our tracks.
And the blood in me boils
when yesterday's press
wraps around my stained pants
along this death trap.
Consorting loss and decay.
John Does once bright-eyed
and sane.
And I guess we've got nothing better to
do, how bout you?
In the splashes of polyester puddles
and nylon woes,
I eye those curvy harlots
from head to toe.
I take a turn down a putrid alleyway,
see if I may not have to stay alone,
tonight, I'm a midnight cowboy
exposing the rapture of all their tall lies
and piss upon another
orange peel of sighs.
And I guess I've got nothing better to
do, how bout you?
Soon she'll mount me,
bring me off these
slimy defecations and broken TV sets.
Into her, I slip into a wormhole
diseased with sorrowful egress.
But I found it; yes I found it,
the summer breeze beside a
sea sunset
away from the ground treacheries,
the dark recesses of another
tortured lane.
~~~
Instead, I roll away from this
misconception into a makeshift
bed; wipe the mucus off my face
from my spate.
And the shooting stars have dissipated
and I cannot anticipate the sun
nor the rain,
as I wallow in the mire
of my worthless empire.
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6. |
Locked
02:35
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(Instrumental)
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7. |
Morning Sun
03:15
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Trying to validate my intentions.
Trying to unleash insinuation
and wait until the morning sun.
Trying to fill the weight
of my obsessions
to allow them no absolution
and wait until the morning sun.
Someday I'll find that place,
where baby tigers sneak under
leaves and lie
in waiting for their morning sun.
Swaying as a little pony,
with eyes as wide as a roly-poly.
Just falling for the rolling sun.
Waking up to the lance of the lot.
As I fall backwards it feels so hot
rocking to the rolling sun.
They're running along the beach.
Waves a'shimmer and a'sparkle
until they drop.
Sleeping under lovely love.
Bits and pieces swelling to emotions
spin a tapestry of sweet conversation.
Wait until the evening's come.
Ships are sailing along our blue sea;
it's about time for afternoon tea.
Wait until the evening's come.
Someday we'll find that place
where those tigers sneak under
shooting stars,
waiting for their morning glow.
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8. |
Zeta Male
03:05
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Waiting for someone, something,
someone, something to cave in first.
Catching my breath, I catch my breath,
but can no longer speak.
But you called my bluff; it's all over
the news; all over, you can't lose.
My rights have been handed over.
Your condescension reigns all over my parade.
Now I must swear to you.
I must be as you;
I'll succumb to you.
Traipsing down the avenue,
I must hand over my precious lover,
my only fate!
As I resign,
I'm handing over the mainline.
It's too hard to make it.
I'll just erase it, me or myself.
I will rise up another day
and you will sorely pay.
But I'm a house of cards,
a tenemental ooze,
fermenting penitence sown through.
Your gloves are down and brass
knuckles spouting roux to ground.
Now I must swear to you.
I must follow you.
I'll succumb to you.
Traipsing down the avenue,
I will be given my love's derision,
my only fate!
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9. |
Broken
03:48
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Wish there was some way
to get outta this.
The boss got all swearing
with a head full of piss.
Wish there was a hole
that I just could climb away in.
Down in this mine,
a field of ashes and sticks
while the birds and bees
whispering heads above here,
my view's aligned by the rituals
that I live by.
I don't want to be
another broken man
hissin' and hollerin'
for the next paycheck paying for my
ticket to the promise land.
Im walking back miles to my
house on this hill.
My legs are so tired; my knees
aching rain.
The howling wind is all I've got
between me and my pain.
And the thought of pushing
my hand over fist
to make just enough that I can't quit,
oh could it be, can it be a wistful
dream that will lead me astray?
But oh I don't want to be
another broken man
hissin' and hollerin'
for a new chance to revel
in the fables of circumstance.
Oh I conjure her up.
I wish her up good
and steer instead to the one place
that will hide her real soon.
Set myself upon a seat,
the barkeep brings me my drink.
And it's the same old pride
that my lies have always feigned.
I'm spending all the bread so there's
room for no change.
Killing my time, forsaking verse and
rhyme for a mere play on words.
But oh I don't want to be
another enslaved man
hissin' and hollerin'
for the next paycheck paying for my
ticket to the promise land.
Yet I am.
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10. |
Announce Myself
02:12
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Why do I feel so sick of usefulness?
Sit myself down; call me a clown
and tell me which way I should file outta here.
Cause I'm running outta friends and
I'm running outta ways to be free.
Why should it be so hard to
announce myself to this world?
Why do I see emotion breaking
my legs free?
It suddenly arrives,
follows me around and shoves me
all the way toward the ground.
To the edge of my fears and the heart
of my dreams awaken me.
Why should it be so hard to
announce myself to this world?
I'm walking around, splitting image
of some kinda clown.
I reach for the doorknob.
Open that door and open my way
to another day's dawn
cause it's proud of my pain
as I whisper in vain to release me.
Why should it be so hard to
announce myself to this world?
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11. |
Long Way
03:38
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I've got a long way to go.
I've got a long way to go
before my eyes are reaching yours,
before my mind gets too roiled.
She can make it or break it
or lose her cool and just hate it,
but I got a long way to go
before my eyes are reaching yours.
For I been running out toward this sun
and I didn't think I could include anyone.
It's hard enough just being myself
so I'm gonna go it alone.
I'm gonna go it alone.
It's been happening too often,
this weight within my head.
This bus couldn't be too slow,
but I know I'd be better off at home.
She's a hard one to handle
and my mind's filled with scandal.
But I've got a long way to go
before I pass my stop once more.
For I been running out toward this sun
and I didn't think I could include anyone.
It's hard enough just being myself
so I'm gonna go it alone.
I'm gonna go it alone.
There's gotta be a better way,
as she flips back her hair gently
in the brake light haze.
It's been so long
that I forgot how it felt,
but as she stands up to go
I know my journey toward the sun
must go on.
I've got a long way to go.
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12. |
Upon the Dead Avenue
02:02
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(Instrumental)
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13. |
Stars Align
03:51
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It's finally here;
my sulking is through.
Once it hurt; now it stings
for now I'm not pretending, no.
It breaks in through my soul,
wreaking havoc on my whole life,
but it was worth it.
I shouldn't be afraid by making
promises that I cannot keep
cause this isn't about me;
no it never was about me.
It was about being free from this ego.
But I know it's a crime
to keep my stars align
and it's so hard to return here
when I'm second guessing
all that appears to be seen.
But I got to stay on the right path,
the path that follows me,
whether I'm rhyming to another
scheme or roaming the streets too late.
Cause there won't be a better day
than right now!
I'm shaking all over,
from too much stimulation.
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14. |
Lower East Sigh
04:00
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Set upon starlight,
sighing from the apathy.
It seems so funny
that I can't get no relief.
I try so hard to believe in this place,
but they all say that I can't stay this
way.
So I'm through.
The moment, each moment is all I
have left to breathe in.
No photographs, no future's left,
nothing is to heed.
But as I walk home, endless murmurs
pull the covers away
and the cold harsh vapor lamps
leech the fight right from out of me.
So I'm though.
Although I could never believe
admiration lingers beneath,
still my pride is conducting
a picture of a celebration.
But my bed is empty, my sights are
dim, the end is near and so I say,
that I'm through.
~~~
I spent all my time trying to become
something, cause I felt like nothing.
I thought this city could prove to
me that I was worthy of self-love
and recognition.
Instead I feel its derision while
climbing each staircase as a lonely
mountain crux,
toward the apex of Ludlow St.
So forgive me, this city,
for showing you who I am.
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Jason Vitelli New York, New York
Cinematic rock music with a vision; this is Jason's sound in a nutshell. His songs are vignettes, narratives, painting a picture with intertwining lyrics and melody. Much of his writing is influenced by the experimental rock of the late 1970’s, marrying folk sentiment with the avant-garde crosscurrent of Berlin era Bowie, Kate Bush, Olivier Messiaen, James Joyce and Eric Dolphy. ... more
Jason Vitelli recommends:
Live at Midday Jazz
by David White Jazz Orchestra
David's work as a big band arranger and composer is profound and magical. His music will stick with you; it abounds with soulful virtuosity. Check out the band interplay in this live album.
go to albumIf you like Jason Vitelli, you may also like:
Super Connected (2023)
by Tim Arnold
Tim Arnold's latest album of lushly detailed art-pop explores the insidious ways tech surveillance has become a part of our lives.
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The latest from NY’s David Nagler is a stirring chamber-folk record with rich instrumentation and vivid, evocative lyrics.
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Garland of Hours
by Garland of Hours
Cellist Amy Domingues' Garland of Hours project combines indie rock, chamber music, and medieval modalities for a uniquely mystical sound.
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Rundgren-esque rock with big hooks and a hint of the baroque, recommended for fans of Jon Brion and post-Kill Rock Stars Elliott Smith.
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Stuck in the Aching Again
by Fur Trader
L.A. singer-songwriter Andrew Pelletier goes full on Gene Clark with some woozy effects on this latest EP.
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