Soft Wings

by Anawan

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"This Is Real Life"- A 'review' by D. Sean Adams and Eric Conroe

These songs you're holding in your hands are filled with stuff like pianos and guitars and voices - many voices, provided by Trevor's very talented ensemble - which themselves are filled with stuff like bees and babies and donkeys and mothers. This music, held up equally by the harmony and dissonance Trevor creates with his ensemble is, as he says in the song "Colin", blanketed in choices.

Trevor is, above all else, ambidextrous. One arm shoots straight and true as the other punches through rhythms and genres without scruple. The noises are true and human, so much so that the listener recognizes them as sounds of her own throat. Rarely does there emerge a musical voice that conveys such authority and such empathy - while doing so in a truly experimental way.

Trevor's an expert craftsman, but he doesn't use a throwing wheel. His songs are pinch pots. In places they feel inches thick and in others he's squeezed them so thin that you might worry they'll break. But don't, because Trevor is a master pincher, and he'd never make something that couldn't hold your soup.

Trevor's music doesn't pitch its flag and claim ownership. Nor does he wave his flag around. Instead he carries it folded neatly in his back pocket, and he'll show it to you if you ask him, but more likely than not you'll be astounded when you hear him at work. Trevor is only 25, yet he's already clearly joined the proud lineage of the great hollerers, yawping down through the ages. This is not background music or a sonic knick-knack. This is real life, harmonious and dissonant in the same heartbeat. We have the good fortune to be around when Trevor is writing music.


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released March 20, 2012

With performances by Michael Chinworth, Jessica Green, Will Lulofs, Eliza McKelway, and Alice Tolan-Mee.

Painting by Kate Mc:

Mastering by Bailey Math and Mike Rugnetta.




Trevor Wilson North Carolina

Experimental pop music, centered around heavy vocal harmonies. Recently re-located to Western NC from Brooklyn NY.

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Track Name: Soft Wings
Soft are the wings
me on, me on.
Soft are the wings
me on, me on.
Me on... me on.

Blood on your wings, says my dark lover.
Flickering ohms, I almost told her...
Track Name: Snake and Boy
Lost in the wake
of a venomous snake.
He has bold, he has scales
he has cold, he has tales.

Copper, with your head with your water,
twist your neck, form a crystalline shower,
in the meadow, in the meadow;
in the meadow, in the meadow.

both the snake and the boy.
Track Name: Bee and Her
I have a dead cut left in my backdrop
Covering wires, decomposed plank piles
Cradling displaced light it has allowed.

And pausing production, hosted on sprung floors,
I take surrender. I am a turtle,
Not peering through that hole, not finding out.

And she is a ladle, she is a keeper,
I am a beehive, she is a rabbit.

Her naked paw found a nest between the wood.
Paused samurai raise to kamikaze on the approaching raid.
Stung by their test, she races to the stage.
Flailing, she pounces upon my back.
Starved calcium flakes and cracks.

What is a turtle without its marrow?
What is a keeper without it's control?
Track Name: Magic Donkey
Sheriff, father, constipate,
Stabs my donkey at his gate,
Rolls his entrails out to dust,
Pounds a tamp upon my lust.

Bone on the meadow, my tooth was a sinner
For raising a donkey not on the law.
Sheriff is grinding an axe on his wheel,
As he eyes on my donkey to settle up.
Pain is a magical spell under cumin,
The state has the power to revenize.
Bone on the meadow, my tooth was a sinner for
Sewing a jick, or to fornicar.

Donkey dead and ghost afraid,
I will summon what you made.
Though your neck is spayed and frayed,
Sons and daughters storm the stage.

Donk lives on in magic;
Son lives on in magic;
Daugh lives on in magic;
Ter lives on in magic.
Track Name: Colin
Fall in place, my soft-winged doll.
She was in a bad place, she had no job,
Crying in her kitchen, bleeding in her pot.

Colin fills her 4-ounced eyes,
Brimming with a tired heartless disguise,
Sucking on their cafe's meager-teated ma.

Fall into rest, burrowed in your voices,
Trapped in your nest, blanketed in choices.
You're a prosperous wench.
You're a lump on a bench.
You nurse a dull flacid inch.
You sold your smile
To stand beneath the shadow of a greater hand.
Track Name: Home
On the street on which my home
crouches, perched, happily gesturing to traffic
Oh, my breathing slows there.

Right away, at the end of the road,
When I round the bend, leaving that friend,
The debris of home scatter throughout my mind.
They appear like curious chestnuts in fall,
And the shadow of the trees that keep this road so remote also
Harbor the debris, harbor the debris,
Clutching them in their thick, spiny leaves.

And when their claws retract,
Freeing the debris-

It takes one day to fall and a week to decompose
One day to fall and a week to decompose
One day to fall, or it may progress to
Roll on the street and be crushed to expose
the oily fruit within.
Track Name: There She Is
Your father is a loving man,
he wraps his arms around me.
And I contain the light your mother shined
On days before she broke free.

No, he won't go, he won't go away!
He will peek through my top every day.
And he'll say:

'There she is.'
Ringing bells on her thin haired arms,
'There she is.'
Making dull satisfaction from sorrow.

Your father is a curious man,
He confounds his own shadow.
And when he flew away to Maui,
He forgot to take me in his travels.

So one day, you will find me.
You'll have woke, arms around me.
In my clear plastic wall, you will see
A faint torso.

Over time, loss will form her.
You'll be tempted to grasp her.
She'll have different sighs and regrets,
But you'll still say:

'There she is.'
Track Name: The Bad Man
The bad man,
He takes my bags
And runs away
And sprees all day.

The officer,
He couldn't stand.
he'd melted legs
On years of dregs.

And the second time
I see that man,
He wears a crown.
Falling me down,

I bend my knee,
To praise this lord-
He's taken my name
And thrown it to the wind.
Track Name: Babies
The hard man broke his car,
resigning in the bar.
The soft man carries on,
And hides his templed gun.

The dark days had returned.
They take us out to lunch.
Their 'handsome', their 'because',
They feed us yesterlove.

Babies on a parade of
Expert eyes from the past of
Yesterlove, yesterlife, yesterlull, yesterlight.

Senchontoo sacree masking babies,
Cradl'on creatyl creeonyl babies,
Track Name: Meriden
Call me not the doctor; I need a wife,
Who'll cut my heart open without a knife.
She will take my breath away, she'll stay my blood,
And take my smiles and run away, spilling on the rug.

She's the royal procession that wades through trees
That split the moonlight.
I'm the hound behind the mound that waits to snatch
The gem upon her pillow.
The wearing guards have never heard the whispering wind
So wild as it is tonight.
And by the time they've waxed their ears,
I've already taken their poor queen to my soft mound.

She awakes, and my shoulder quakes,
And my reason breaks.
So I flee.

I am not a frightened fox, I am a man,
Whose hardening face is forming one obvious demand.
Call me now a criminal, for I'll steal away,
And form a towering barricade 'round where I lay.
Track Name: Hold Me
Warmth is a gun to hold my weight, my wing
Bracing my crystallized reject, rescind

I was in the bank with my back turned
Pausing at the poster putting on my backpack
When I heard the crack of the building on the corner
Then I was alone on a dirt road facing
Towards the shore, towards the shore
Towards the smell of a mother with her child
I forgot I was waiting for my card
and the paper that it contained
Mother, your child stands on its own

Hold me
Track Name: Patience
Patience my doe
Patience my da