Stewart Delo

Stewart Delo

 Halifax, Nova Scotia, CAN

I write experimental acoustic rock songs, and cover music from across the history of popular culture. My studio albums are conceptual and richly arranged, and my live show is comedic and unpredictable.


I have released two studio albums independently, playing every instrument myself. Their chief influences are the rich compositions of Frank Zappa, the theatrical album rock of Peter Gabriel and David Bowie and the textural experiments of Brian Eno. My live show is significantly more stripped-down and funny, and has proven marketable over seven years of playing live in Halifax.



Written By: Stewart Delo

My lady is a colony queen.
She makes a million in gasoline
Every time she puts her foot on the ground,
And one of these days, she’ll do it when I’m around.

She calls me on a rotary dial.
She keeps all my responses on file.
We’re not power-hungry people at heart,
We only want to have our rightful part.

She can raise an Empire, she can make it last
She can raise a sail, tie it to the mast
She can bring the planet down sink them in the sea,
But I can take her for what belongs to me.

My man is a lover of facts.
Sugar cane and able backs.
We talk business with steel guitars,
We love Romeo and Juliet cigars.

He can raise an Empire, etc.

My little girls are quiet stormers.
Burlesque rifles and 12-gage performers.
When they start in on their pirouettes
The gunshots click like heavy metal castanets.

They can raise an Empire etc.


Written By: Stewart Delo

Today has been a simply perfect day.
I have passed the hours in my way.
It didn’t go too fast or last too long.
Today has been a simply perfect song.

A tasket, a trick and a hundred stone of brick.
A gentleman can really live the life.
A toast to absent friends and to tying up loose ends
And soon we all shall cease from mental strife.
As the bluebird of pain had his happy brother slain
For sitting where the sunlight meets the tree,
So it is with one shut away without the sun
And the usage of a gruesome little key.

It doesn’t fit the notches of an ordinary lock,
But arteries and muscles and the old grandfather clock.

Someone’s seen the garden that I keep.
Flowers grow where fertilizers sleep.
Someone’s caught me digging in the bone,
And I only want a heart to call my own.

Your case has been cracked and your vehicle’s been jacked
And you’re hiding from the raindrops in the mud.
The microbes attack. From the front line to the back
They’re foaming at the vesicles for blood.
The appetites got rough when the feast was not enough.
Windows turned to walls at the display.
And even the meat opened up its mouth and screamed.
The vegetables, in terror, looked away.

The wine escaped the goblet and it trickled to the door
To find the greatest horror was concealed on the floor.



Written By: Stewart Delo

First fire of a gun
A September sun
A beautiful decade is born in God’s own country.
There’s a justice to life
A knife for a knife
A hand in defense for a finger in friendship and stone.

Walk as wide as the road is long.
March as heavy as the water is strong.
Rational animals, national field commanders,
Real Badlanders.

Away from the shade
There’s lots to be made,
Gold on delivery, redemption on recommendation.
But under the head
Of a dead fellow’s bed,
There’s harsh will and unfriendly testament, the rest of it’s gone.

Twenty-one guns in a ten-gun gang
Eleven men hanging where the hard men hang
They cut up whatever the touched, Goddamn scissor-handers
Real Badlanders.

Inspiring to see
Grows like a gas fire, strangles like morphine addiction.
It’s garbage and smoke,
Brazilian coke,
Rigs and containers that suck all the sweat from your back.

Peace and sweetness get lost in the throes
Of opium-addled experimental prose,
And nobody sings of the golden-age contrabanders,
Real Badlanders.


Skinned Alive and Bone Dried (studio album, 2011; available on itunes and other retailers)

Un-American Gothic (studio album, 2012; online version forthcoming)