Carlo Melanson

Carlo Melanson


Bohemian Folk with layered, poetic lyrics, ethereal vocal melodies over dark-toned chord progressions, aimed at a literate audience.

Other Info

Cover band: 


Postmodern Magdelene

Written By: Carlo Melanson

there's always a sadness in her eyes,
she questions love like wine,
she says it's bittersweet.
she thinks her body's made of dust,
to dust she must return,
lest secrets let her out.
she feels so good sometimes
it hurts me
to brood upon her flesh
as if there's nothing else.

when she breaks out in a song,
her people sing along,
and then she says I'm not your baby.
but when she finally takes too much,
she'll know she's losing touch,
and float above the airways.

when there's a willow in her eye
she seeks the looking-glass
and sees herself look back.
she lights the incense on her desk
and smokes coke in her room,
the world just disappears.
I do my best not to abet her
she tells me not to care,
proviso's got no choice.

Incense and peppermints
was playing on the stereo,
The room turned to spirals made of sound,
She died in the magazines,
Postmodern Magdelene,
Fought with her silence till it broke her spirit . . .

The room still smells like cigarettes,
she left a lasting touch
on everything I see,
I feel like clay that's turned to dust,
My marrow soon will rust,
For me there's nothing else.
My better angels got the worst of me,
my spirit's spiraling down,
Proviso's got no choice . . .

The Dharma Bums

Written By: Carlo Melanson

Sounds like you've got a roundabout situation,
your failures keep you safe and sound,
you just love to chase your own mind around.
You got static stuck in your head all day,
living life on alms like a mendicant;
just a new-age bikkhu riding Midnight Ghost,
trying to feed your mind in a Dharma binge.

Seems like so many Yesterdays,
You predicted Fate never changes ways,
Hanging around just to hang around,
Just to find out where you belong . . .

Sounds like you got a roundabout situation.
Your talk is cheap, no one buys your fibs,
you just love when thrift trickles down to dibs.
You got chump change in your pocket
From that day you sold your vynil sets.
You got Diamond Sutra in your platitudes
For whoever bursts your bubble.

Seems like there's no end in sight
To the yarns you keep on winding out,
Seems like there's no time to spare
For the freaks you keep on freaking out . . .

Set List

Postmodern Magdalene
The Dharma Bums

Songs yet to be added:
Business Monkey
Hollywood Sappho
The Pianoman's Last Ballad
The Musical History of Time at Miser's Inn
The Velvet Room
Angel in Soho
The Fool
Devil on a Horseback