Dan McCarthy: piano, guitar, banjo, singing
James Maakestad: upright bass, guitar, singing
Ben Brodin: drums, pump organ
Bram Rosenfeld: mandolin

Recorded March 5 & 6, 2011 by Ben Brodin at ARC Studios in Omaha, Nebr.

except Bram's mandolin, recorded by Stephen Bartolomei at The Itch in New York City

and “Theoretical Love Song,” recorded February 26, 2011, by A.J. Mogis at ARC.

Gus & Call is James Maakestad, Aaron Markley, Daniel Ocanto, Matt Owens and Mike Schlesinger.

Mastered by Doug Van Sloun at Focus Mastering in Omaha, Nebr.

Fresh Blood

You were smoking a cigarette
When you figured out you were pregnant.
So I drove you to my house
So that you could lie down.
That smoky old barroom,
It sure does miss you,
But not half as bad as I do
Since you moved out of town.

The barroom and I sure miss you.
The beer's not as cold.
They won't let you smoke.
Every joke is old.
All the whiskey tastes sour.
It's a cheese-paring pour.
There are no smiling faces
When I walk through the door.

That baby is walking now,
And there's another on the way,
Their daddy standing there handsome
On your wedding day.
You moved to California –
That's where you've always belonged.
The kids can swim in the ocean,
And you can sit in the sun.

The bartender thinks I'm a creep.
Most of the time I agree.
Though I've tried to convince him,
He will not believe
That your leaving had nothing
To do with me.

The Barroom and I (Sure Miss You)

An attic apartment with a wooden staircase fire escape –
Now that he's moving, he's glad that everything heavy stays.
He's leaving the woman with the expensive suitcase,
The one she asked for last Valentine's Day.
You could tell she was the type who'd never settle for a card.
You'd have to have a hard heart not to feel sorry for her now.

He's taking the vacuum. He's taking the broom.
She never expected to have to clean those rooms.
He's got a couple of milk crates of old LPs.
Judging from his records, he's too much like me.
She's letting him get away with 6- and 12-string guitar.
You'd have to have a hard heart not to feel sorry for her now.

She's staying with her sister for a couple of days.
They agreed that it'd be easier if she just stayed away.
I never trifled with them, and they never bothered me –
That's the best way of being neighborly.
Though she did call the police in the middle of my best party.
Still, you'd have to have a hard heart not to feel sorry for her now.

They shared a car, and they got a little dog.
You can't ask the figures where the arithmetic went wrong.
Maybe it was her job that made her so unhappy lately.
Maybe the puppy was practice for a baby.
Never did I once see him take it out in the yard.
You'd have to have a hard heart not to feel sorry for her now.

Hard Heart

You can't always count on sober and serene,
But you can count on me.

I'd give up reading and writing, quit doing math even,
Before I'd stop being your friend.

You can't always count on clever and cheery,
But you can count on me.

If blood is thicker than water, then what we got is oil
Within this mortal coil.

You can't always count on consistency,
But you can count on me.

You Can Count on Me

Oh Nancy, I'm sorry, we're doing things you despise:
Pinball and poolhalls and getting drowsy while we drive.
I've got a few thick books with me, but they haven't come in handy yet
Unless like that old Russian, you're rolling your own cigarettes.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know where I am:
On the road in a 15-passenger van.

Oh Nancy, I'm sorry, we're doing things you abhor:
Whiskey when you want it, and beer when you're bored.
I could make the excuse that it makes my brain numb,
But the beer ain't doing nothin' the road ain't already done.

Oh Nancy, I'm sorry, we're doing everything you hate:
Staying up till hours that ain't even late.
Smoky motel rooms with two men to a bed –
Don't tell me about the folly of being comforted.

We kill time and make time, and spend time and save time,
Waste time and pass time and keep time in stop time.

Oh Nancy, I'm sorry, I'm doing things you don't like:
Spending all my money any given Monday night.
I'm not proud to admit it, but I've been hanging around bars
Where the girls aren't too pretty, but they leave their clothes in the car.

I know what I'm doing, I'm becoming an old man
On the road in a 15-passenger van.

Oh Nancy

When I heard your voice on the phone,
I was more than a little surprised.
It'd been a long night of collapsing-building dreams,
And I'd barely opened my eyes.

The questions you were asking me
Reminded me of when we were together:
How much are you drinking, and how's your family?
At least you didn't ask about the weather.

My mom, she's been doing well.
Dad's been getting dizzy.
I'm not drinking as much, but not not at all.
Such tail-chasing has been keeping me busy.

That and picking at scabs to see fresh blood.
It's all right, we can laugh about this stuff.

We laughed about the first time we were in bed
And I was such a mess.
You knew I wasn't that drunk,
So you asked me if I was religious.

It was a decent question, I guess,
Though it made me even more nervous.
Like you'd invited the Almighty himself
To testify to our congress.

In the morning you only had that dress
That you'd worn for the games out on the lawn.
I'd say we were both ready to run
Once you put your blue tennis shoes on.

Picking at scabs to see fresh blood.
It's all right, you can laugh, but I'll call your bluff.

That time we drove out to the country
‘Cause my folks were draining the pond,
And we thought we'd catch a couple catfish
Before they faced their Armageddon.

You held the pole and I rowed the boat,
And when I brought us back to the bank,
My dad showed us how his grandma cleaned ‘em
By nailing their heads to a plank.

We were gonna be living high:
Fresh catfish and cottage fries.
But we both knew from the first bite,
Those fish's Kool-Aid was laced with cyanide.

So putrid it was hard to describe.
There wasn't enough beer in the house
To make it seem like a good time,
Or to wash the bitter taste out of our mouths.

So we went around the corner to the grocery store
To pick up some more beer and fried chicken.
While I was over grabbing a six-pack,
You were at the counter being propositioned.

In overalls and a motorized cart,
He didn't look like he could do too much harm,
But whatever he said about sexing chickens
Made you never want to go back to the farm.

Picking at scabs to see fresh blood.
It's all right, you can laugh. That's about enough.

When I heard your voice on the phone,
I was more than a little surprised.
It'd been a long night of disastrous dreams,
And I'd barely opened my eyes.

I probably wouldn't've picked up the phone,
But I was waiting on a call from a plumber.
You still had our old area code.
I didn't recognize your number.

Picking at Scabs

The end of your life, it don't mean nothing to our love.
Neither does the end of mine.
If the world should end in 2012,
We still have plenty of time.

Time is just a construct.
It's relative to the speed of light.
Even Einstein's theories only apply
To the universe where we find ourselves tonight.

We will weather the nuclear winter.
We will welcome the second coming of Christ.
When the sun's fuel is spent and it becomes a red giant,
The love between us will survive.

So what if this is all an illusion,
And the universe is only one
Of an infinite number of universes?
I'm gonna love you in every single one (+1).

Credits

Fresh Blood

1. The Barroom and I (Sure Miss You)

2. Hard Heart

3. You Can Count on Me

4. Oh Nancy

5. Picking at Scabs

6. Theoretical Love Song (with Gus & Call)

7. Wants