The Ahs

The Ahs


A symphonic chorale, cello section recitative, pleadful songwriting, compassionate love and marriage, banjos, cellos, voices, and claps.


The Ahs found each other during the winter of 2005. It was a beautiful winter, Tony’s first in New Hampshire, full of adventure and creativity. Amy was in her final semester of grad school. They made an album, fell in love, traveled to Portland, Oregon and now reside on a farm in Appalachia.

This second record was recorded during 2007 and 2008, mostly in Portland, Oregon at various locations. The record combines layers of cellos, banjos, and voices to create a symphonic fabric of deliberate and honest songwriting.



Written By: Amy McIntire

I was thinking about rhododendron
How they only grow on the north bank
I was looking at my hometown
at the way things have changed

Tissue paper blossoms, girly pink lampshades
dripping from their light bulbs of swollen pollen grains

There was a place on the Nubanusit
Down under a fickly waterfall
Sometimes there'd be just a trickle
sometimes there'd be nothing at all

I was thinking about my hometown,
and the way things have changed.
I was thinking about the shell of your heart.
The way it fractures like a hard boiled egg

Why should not a rhododendron hold its leaves throughout the year?
Why should not I save my breath for things I know you'd like to hear?

If Chips Could Fly

Written By: Amy McIntire

If chips could fly off sticky shoulders
and if beauty never lied to its beholders
and if the honest sun came up and said we're done
would you walk?
Would you walk?

Held in time on a spider's thread
your words are dew on a busted web
some have fallen seeped and pooled
some have clung puzzled and fooled
but if memories never lied we'd all commit suicide.
We would walk.
We would walk.

Would you walk real slow
and turn your head back as you go?
would you walk real fast and abandon all that's passed
every pleasant reverie has a reason that it ceased.

So here's to then, and its lousy diction.
Here's to all our masterminded works of fiction.
and may anger fade to stories
and may all our blues be morning glories.

May we just walk.
May we just walk.

Come Home

Written By: Amy McIntire

Oh the altar is altering
and the faulted are faltering.

From the pew, your grandmother sings songs about coming home.

Coming home, my only son!
Come back where you started from.
Don’t you think you tried it all?
You’re too far to hear me calling.
Coming home! My only son!
Come home, come home.

Well the bullets are fired from the Sunday bulletins
Into the great unknown where we borrow all our sins
But under the roof, the church bells cleanse those that want to come home.

Mother learned to sew, and to saw, and to solder.
She makes these home improvements ‘cause she cannot upgrade father.
And the babies are training in their bassinets for the shows mother watches while she
sneaks her cigarettes.
Don’t you see how grand life gets? Why don’t you want to come home?

And the shrouded are shrouded in mold.
Their folded hands wait dutifully for the fold
Across the land the church bells scold those who will not come home.

Leonard Cohen's Victory

Written By: Amy McIntire

You are a masochist.
I am a lyricist.
We make the blue exist.

So strike me with all your blows
And I will bleed romantic odes.
Hit me again. Do anything.
The more you break, the more I sing.

Here is the mule you scorned.
Here is my unicorn.
Here is the final word.
Here is my phoenix bird.
Here is the way you took.
Here is your leaving look.
Here is the sound
of turning around.
Here I am. Gone.


Less Than Half a Second, 2005

Leonard Cohen's Victory, 2009

Set List

Who Said to Me
Come Home
Yonk Uh
Leonard Cohen's Victory
Water in the Wine
If Chips Could Fly
The Wedding Song
New Song
Into the Garden
Red Balloon
Taste it All
Bad Radio
Same Situations

+ covers:
Creep (Radiohead), I Gave You (BPBilly), Once Opened (JBuckley)