Lee because it’s all about me
Flat because I tend to sing flat (although Ahren fixes it in the studio)
Augmented because all these songs were written with friends
Music and Vocals by Lee Chapman (except as noted below) Produced, Recorded, & Mixed by Ahren Buchheister Mastered by Mike Monseur at Axis Audio
Stream the full album here
or selected songs with commentary and lyrics below:
A Car for Real Men (2021) :
Lyrics—Ian Woollen & Lee Chapman from “RED ’68 IMPALA” by Ian Woolen
Ian and I are members of the Free Range Poets, a writing critique group. His poems are so good I’ve been reduced to writing “U R GOD” on them.
Lyrics—Ian Woollen & Lee Chapman from “RED ’68 IMPALA” by Ian Woolen
Mickey Eckman—Drums
Ahren Buchheister—Electric Guitar, Bass
I got time on my hands
I got some retirement money
I got a wife who understands
right, honey?
It’s probably too late
to buy a treadmill, lose that weight
but I could buy my time machine
the Chevy of my wildest dreams
a car designed for real men
with triple tails, two-barrel carb, real power
America is great again
for just about an hour
the Auburn, Indiana auction calls
I want the ’68 Impala with whitewalls
I want some wind in my hair
and yeah I still got some there
Bus Ride (2021)
Lyrics—Ian Woollen & Lee Chapman
from “RANDOM MEMORY” by Ian Woolen
“Silo silhouettes” is my only noteworthy addition to Ian’s wonderful poem.
Mickey Eckman—Drums
Brent Madsen—Trumpet, Flugelhorn
Ahren Buchheister—Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Piano
Just a random memory I’m twenty on the overnight bus Indy to New York back to college after Christmas window seat alone staring at silo silhouettes first Christmas after dad died dozing on and off I awake to find I am not alone someone must have boarded at Zanesville maybe Pittsburgh sitting next to me slumping next to me head on my shoulder he smells of sweat cologne cigarettes exhaustion and something else and something else fear fear fear he’s sleeping on my shoulder snoring I’d never smelled fear before I’d never smelled fear before five endless hours five endless endless hours I am a cushion I breathe quietly until dawn squealing brakes he jerks awake in Philadelphia he nods he smiles he exits like nothing happened but something did happen but something did happen I’d never I’d never I’d never smelled fear before I’d never smelled fear before
Marjorie & Frank (2022) :
Lyrics—Ian Woollen & Lee Chapman
from “FATED TO MEET” by Ian Woolen
Only Ian knows exactly what Marjorie did behind the ticket booth, but I have my guess…
Nick Bertling: Drums
Ahren Buchheister—Electric Guitar, Bass
People say this story's real
their first encounter
somehow he found her
spinning on a Ferris wheel
Frank, her childhood foe
Frank, one seat below
never good at chitchat
Marjorie above
on the prowl for love
worrying she'll get fat
People say this story's real
a chance encounter
somehow he found her
spinning on a Ferris wheel
Spilling Diet Coke
on his cowboy hat
“That your idea of a joke?”
They duck behind the ticket booth
Marjorie is feeling cool
and then she drops her bombshell
“Son of a bitch! Holy crap! What the Hell?”
People say this story's real
a close encounter
somehow he found her
spinning on a Ferris wheel
Quiet Christmas (2012) :
Lyrics—Jack King & Lee Chapman
from “Quiet Christmas” by Jack King
This is the second time I recorded this song from Jack’s wonderful poem. Through the brilliance of Ahren this recording is far superior. Listen to the sleigh bells!
Ahren Buchheister—Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Sleigh Bells
Brent Madsen—Flugelhorn
A quiet Christmas. No crying tots. No boisterous boys, no buzzing robots. No joyful noise. A quiet Christmas, old-folk Christmas, quiet night. A quiet Christmas. Blue skies above. No plows, no shovels scrape the silence. No jingle bells. A quiet Christmas, old-folk Christmas, quiet night. We can pray Santa Claus won’t come next year. Who can say which in-laws will share the cheer? Maybe we’ll move out of our comfort zone. Let’s learn to ski! The kids will not approve. But we will be alone for another stress-free Quiet Christmas. A TV Christmas, no-fight Christmas, quiet night. We can pray Santa Claus won’t come next year. Who can say which in-laws will share the cheer? Maybe we’ll move out of our comfort zone. Let’s learn to ski! The kids will not approve. But we will be alone for another stress-free Quiet Christmas. Not white, but brown. No “How come he got more than I got?” No melting down. A quiet Christmas, old-folk Christmas, quiet night.
Miss You (2022) :
Lyrics—Jerry Smith & Lee Chapman from “A Bare Footprint” by Jerry Smith
Jerry, another Free Range Poet, wrote his poem in collaboration with photographer Patty Alheim.
Ahren Buchheister—Piano, Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Synth
Brent Madsen—Flugelhorn
CHORUS:
A footprint
in the sand
of an ocean beach
and two words:
“Miss You”
Passersby
wonder who
wrote that tender phrase
or cliché
Widows and
widowers
friends and lovers too
college kids
(CHORUS)
Only one
little girl
will receive that card
only one
In twenty years
she’ll pass it on
with a mother’s love
to her son
You Don’t Want To Be My Friend (2021) :
Lyrics—Barb Brown & Lee Chapman
from “You Can Wear A Mask, But If You Are My Friend, It Won’t Do You Any Good” by Barb Brown
Barb is a fellow member of my writing critique group BLOT (she came up with the acronym: Beyond Laura Oliver’s Tutelage). Her poetry always makes me feel shallow in comparison.
Ahren Buchheister—Acoustic Guitar, Upright Bass, Piano
Mickey Eckman—Drums
Brent Madsen—Piccolo Trumpet
You don’t want to be my friend.
I’m too kind
and so accommodating.
You don’t want to be my friend.
I’ll watch you,
what you take,
what little you give.
You don’t want to be my friend.
You don’t want to be my friend.
I will marvel at
your small cruelties,
your callousness,
your greed.
You don’t want to be my friend.
You don’t want to be my friend.
I will think perhaps
that’s what
being normal is.
I will wonder why
that part’s
missing in myself.
You don’t want to be my friend.
You don’t want to be my friend.
I will study you
very carefully,
I hope to learn
how to be tougher
tougher
tougher
In this world.
Not Mac (2021) :
Lyrics—Suzanne Sturgeon & Lee Chapman from “not MAC” by Suzanne Sturgeon
Suzanne, another Free Range Poet (she came up with the group’s name), wrote this fascinating little soap opera.
Ahren Buchheister—Electric Bass, Keyboard
Mickey Eckman—Drums
From his window
the prisoner sees
College Avenue:
the traffic,
the trees,
the sidewalk.
A woman bends over,
legs splayed
like a giraffe
eating grass,
ass in the air.
CHORUS:
I heart you, Mac.
I want you back.
While you’re inside
outside’s
out of whack.
I really, really want
you back, Mac.
She’s got a big box
of giant chalk:
every color.
She draws
quickly
on the sidewalk.
She stands,
rubs her hands
on her jeans,
pulls her jacket close,
opens a pack
of Salems.
(CHORUS)
She looks up
at the jail.
She looks down
at her coral-colored heart,
she exhales,
and looks beyond the trees.
She flicks the butt
and grinds it out,
walks away
with a man, not MAC,
who was
hiding behind a scarlet oak.
(CHORUS)
It’s not
her first time.
Not Mac’s
first time.
Not Not-Mac’s
first time either.
Not-Mac
is not too bad at least
Not-Mac
is not locked up but then
Not-Mac
ain’t Mac
Penguin Walk (2012) :
Lyrics—Antonia Mathew & Lee Chapman from “Penguin Walk” by Antonia Mathew
My wonderful friend Tonia and several of our colleagues staged this piece in Bloomington, Indiana. We all wore plastic beaks and waddled. It was a challenge for me to get poets to chant in strict rhythm—doing so is against their DNA.
Ahren Buchheister—Bass, Tambourine
If you must take a hike on the ice our advice to protect your neck, knees, hips, and shins: learn to walk like the penguins. First, take small steps and walk slow, with no random limbs akimbo like a penguin, not a dodo. Just suppress that superego. Second, it is recommended that you walk with arms extended outward (like that well-dressed bird) from the side. Forget your pride. Third, a rule you must not flout: walk with both feet pointed out. Be a proud, if odd, biped Waddle, waddle flatfoot-ed. Penguins walk not 'cause they’re lazy, but because flying's so easy. They prefer to be a land bird, showing off techniques they’ve mastered: doing the penguin waddle If people dare make fun of you don't worry, dear, you're right to fear the consequences of a fall can be especially severe on nasty blue Antarctic ice and you, not they, will pay the price. But if you fall you have a goal: land on your side and try to roll. When you walk wear heavy clothes from your beak down to your toes. Smart penguins don’t put hands in pockets. Their way is best, so do not knock it. When in a hurry penguins flop down upon their bellies and they slide quite a ride This would be suicide Here in South-central Indiana It’s windy and a one-inch thick slab of sleet coats my trees and my street Feeling so much more than brotherly penguin hoards are marching southerly For the best possible reason It will soon be breeding season I am doing the penguin waddle I am a stable biped. doing the penguin waddle I know to walk slow. doing the penguin waddle I am always flat-footed. doing the penguin waddle No limbs akimbo. doing the penguin waddle Join me. We will walk tall. doing the penguin waddle. Every step will be small. doing the penguin waddle Join me. We will not fall. doing the penguin waddle. Now that we know it all! Doing the penguin waddle Scary / scary / scary Waddling around the Monroe County Public Library Doing the penguin waddle Falling / falling / falling Falling like a maple tree Landing on the BBC Doing the penguin waddle Sliding / sliding / sliding Sliding past the post office Between the wheels of a bus Doing the penguin waddle
Iron Lung (2017) :
Lyrics—John Slidell & Lee Chapman from “Iron Lung” by John Slidell
John is a novelist and fellow member of BLOT. His novel-in-progress, informed by his service in Vietnam, is riveting.
Nick Bertling—Drums
Ahren Buchheister—Piano, Electric Bass
Brent Madsen—Trumpet
I cannot move my body
no feeling in my toes
This capsule’s breathing for me
a tube runs down my nose
My mother stays beside me
she sleeps here every night
She is my inspiration
to not give up the fight
CHORUS:
They say I might get better
play basketball someday
I dream of cold spring waters
ride rockets to the Milky Way
I think I’m getting better
that’s when the pain begins
It takes all spring, all summer
Sometimes I feel my limbs
My mother stays beside me
she sleeps here every night
She is my inspiration
to not give up the fight
( CHORUS)
I’m choking
No one’s around
I’m choking
Starting to drown
I bang on the bars, can't scream, can't shout
the nurses came running
before I escape to the mountains
they suction me out
The feeding tube’s removed
It’s time to break away
and my first taste of ginger ale
yeah, my first taste of ginger ale
stays with me to this day
Beyond The Forest (2016) :
Lyrics—Andrew McDowell, from his novel Mystical Greenwood
It was a stretch and a true pleasure for me to set Andrew’s lyrics to music. This lovely lullaby is from Andrew’s fantasy novel Mystical Greenwood:
“Dermot is a fifteen-year-old boy in the kingdom of Denú. He has always longed for more in life.
Then everything changes after he sees a gryphon and crosses paths with a reclusive healer…”
Sahffi Lynne—Vocals
Beyond the forest this path goes, Where spirits roam wild and free. A seed so deep forthwith grows. On high be great and mighty trees. Ever so deep there is to see. A kingdom for their sacred kind. Fur and feather, groves of green, There’s so much more that ye may find. And something special there’s to be, For when a gentle breeze blows, ‘Long by great and mighty trees, Beyond the forest this path goes.
Men Of The North (2016) :
Lyrics—Andrew McDowell, from his novel Mystical Greenwood
A rousing fight song from Andrew’s novel!
Robert Green—Hurdy Gurdy
Erin Snedecor—Cello
Ahren Buchheister—Percussion, Vocals
James Von Lenz—Vocal
When the call is heard across the land, With great heart ye go forth, O’er mountains high or valleys low, Ye be the men of the North! Come many lads and fathers all. Thy courage will prevail. Around the flame on winter’s nights, They henceforth tell the tale. Return again to hearth and home, Where all will know your worth! The best to hold on high above, The bravest, the bravest, the bravest: The men of the North!