The Bloodmonths

by Boy Rex

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about

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These songs were written between September and December of 2015. They were finished and recorded in January 2016. Thanks to Ely for being an incredible drummer, and my dad for being my dad. The trumpet is the best part of the whole record. Thanks also to Jon Lervold, who made everything sound how it does, and for putting up with my wild neurosis for two weeks. These are my songs, but they wouldn't be what they are here without them.

Lastly, this is an album set during a concentrated period of my life. While I am ultimately grateful for the experiences, I'm sure glad that period is over. Thanks to my best friend in the whole world for listening to me play the same parts over and over and over again while I figured out how to make sense of it all. Thanks for being the the only thing that really makes sense.

credits

released February 16, 2016

All songs written and performed by me, Jack Senff
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Drums written and performed by Ely Potter
Trumpet on 2, 5, 7 written and performed by my dad, Scott Senff
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Recorded and mixed by Jon Lervold at Big Name Recording Studio in Olympia, WA
Mastered by Bill Henderson at Azimuth Mastering
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Cover, tape, and back jacket art by Alex Brown
www.alexbrown.com

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Boy Rex Traverse City, Michigan

The songs of Jack Senff

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Track Name: Mount St. Hella
We march through a meadow of wildflowers the color of the sun, an orange hue of gold and blood a shade above the selfsame setting on a summer night. And there's greens, and blues more pale than light. The grass grows tall and the morning bright. It's just he and I, two brothers on a mountain who have lost their smell for wildflowers. I ask if he can hear the music playing soft between the colors....
Track Name: Windsong
If you listen close there are songs that come and go like whispers on the wind. They send and recede with the faintest melody to the wellspring. To our hearts. And though I've tried and try to fight they always break me apart. With letters strung together we sing what lives inside. The timbre of our voices rise and fall in time with the heart-chord-thrum of life, and death, and love. Now, imagine if you can a memory you have still as vivid as when you lived it. Hold it up. Let it all come back. Watch the light bend and refract. Now pretend you choose to give it up, and you may never get it back: would it hold it's shape and integrity? Or would it stand as an empty poem for your punk rock band? With letters strung together we sing what lives inside. The timbre of our voices rise and fall in time with the heart-chord-thrum of life, and death, and love. And by we I mean me. I mean all of us with an ear to the sky. How else are we to make sense of this life we live if not with the melody whispering on the wind? I may move "to the rhythm," but I'm craving harmony. I can feel a breeze but I don't know what it means. For her, for us, for me. But oh the songs I'll sing.
Track Name: Sunday Spiritual
I've told lies, I've cut ties, and I've fled my life without a last goodbye. But I'm alive, here, where the shoreline meets the cliff side in the splendor of stalled time. Where the air is sweet like it's always been. I'm taking steps towards permeance, towards the "now" and away from "then" in the hope I'll "find myself" again... In the shadow of a cliff I'm different, farther down the beach than we ever walked together. I stand in the shadow of a pact: we said we'd meet in Port Townsend "no matter what might happen." But all I see behind me is history dividing -- a single set of footprints splitting off from two and trying to find their way back from hiding into the strange plunge of the exciting. Later I am breathless as I turn my back to The Moon, flashing smiles and meeting eyes with someone new. To find my way back from hiding into the strange plunge of the exciting.
Track Name: Real Cool
Let's go the lighthouse. All the the lights've gone out and we won't need to whisper in the dark. I'll tell you about me and you'll tell me about you, and maybe just tonight I'll forget about The Moon. I'll play it real cool, but underneath the surface oh my god you'll make me nervous and I'm sorry if I'm not that cool. I'm just trying to impress you. We'll stand real close, the sea to our knees, and I'll never find the courage to say what I mean. Like oh, I know "Spokane is a wasteland," but I would drive there every week. All you'd have to do is ask me to.
Track Name: P.T. Blues
I've got wringing hands and they're raw. A tanned leather red I never asked from the sun. Maybe it's a penance for the sins I've committed? Or maybe it's just the way things are gonna be now that I've lost my mind. The world's all on fire and I won't make the water in time... I've got wringing hands and they're raw. A hold over burn from the last good sun . Maybe it's prophetic? Or I'm just pathetic. Or maybe it's just the way things are gonna be now that I've lost my mind. The world's all on fire and I won't make the water in time to save myself from the bloodmonths calling at my window. From thrashing limbs against the glass. I'm rattled. The earth is roaring/ I'm resting eyes inside of my palms -- I'd rather put faith in flesh than the bloodmonths calling at my window. I've got wringing hands and they're raw.
Track Name: Where the Wood Grows
From my stone bench throne I survey the sea below and find the morning tide has returned me to a ghost. (we're on my bed and we're laughing, your voice like a windsong, creased eyes when we pause for breath. I look down, I look anywhere but at you, and you look nowhere else but at me, and I'm wondering what you might think-) sails cap the white waves in the beginnings of a new day, where the morning tide has washed the night away. (-if I told you how beautiful you look with flushed cheeks and pulled back hair. When I speak I'm breathless, my hands sweat. I say I want to kiss you, and you say you want to kiss me. but we both know it's not meant to be....)

**self indulgent instrumental part**
Track Name: Hello from Montreal
This morning I sent a postcard to the left side of the world. It said, "I'm thinking about you," and, "I hope you're well." It's crazy to think I thought I could fall in love with someone other than my best friend. The one I love. I've been gone a long time looking for the right sign, something that could validate this mess I've made. Spilled my guts out, threw my heart up, and all I've got to show is a postcard. I put pressure on empty gestures to fill the void with purpose and pleasures, to pull it together, but I just can't keep up... Somewhere across town there's a boy having his first drink with the guys. I wonder if he's nervous what I'll think now that he's not like me. But then again I'm not like me. I'm someone else. I'm "in between." It's crazy to think I thought I could fall in love with someone new... Elsewhere I'm stumbling down an alley, alone. I'm tired, so tired, I just want to come home.
Track Name: Everything Happens
High above the Earth we sit at a lake on the mountain, in the middle of it. Our legs are tired, our skin is warm, and music plays on the wind in the form of ripples gliding across water, like a whisper except softer. And I ask him again if he can hear it playing between the colors. I tell him of the bloodmonths at my window, ask him if he knows a way I could go without setting the world on fire. I ask him of the blues, and of the golds, the sun, the future, and what they might hold. He looks away and doesn't say a word. He looks at me and says he doesn't know.