The Goldilocks Zone

The Goldilocks Zone

BandPopRock

Triangulate a position between Steely Dan, Sting and Tom Waits and you'll find an island. On that island you'll find men who design musical hooks and fish for ears; men whose lures are augmented with cheap and cheesy marketing materials which contain neither liquor, nor the promise of any.

Biography

We are extremely serious musicians, dedicated to the study and execution of sound in a manner suited to our illustrious educations, and planning major contributions to the Seattle music scene. We were also, everyone of us, hatched by the Zorgbots on planet Xoob.

Lyrics

The First Raindrop

Written By: Matt Dillon

yes it is fiction
remember the way you remember
the last time it rained
and feel the wind blow
from nowhere, and sky go dark
and shadows pass through
the first raindrop falls
know that this delusion
is all that is true.

And

Written By: Dillon and Dunscombe

pornographic puke green sweater
oh I like your fringes and your doilies better than peanut butter
dos equis, that’s what the golden thread makes
on your milk bottom drawers, cake,
and a fistful, stick shooter!
and, your hair gets gnatty in the rain
and, your lipstick has been smeared again
and you think that maybe you’re saner than your mother…
lithium, paintings on your wall
kurt cobain and marc chagall
prayers at night, “alright, alright!”
you thought it sad when the rain dripped on your cartier
but i know the difference between diffidence and true dismay
come on make this conjunction with me
another thread in a seamless life
another rule you can’t obey.

Snowball

Written By: Dunscombe

you know that i cannot see
you know that i cannot feel
you know everything there is to know about me
you know far more than you deserve
and so it should be easy to explain
just why it is that you fear the mad circus of my brain
you’re not talking to me, you’re not gonna talk to me
you’re not talkin’ to me, you ain’t ever gonna talk to me again

you know that i can see to distant galaxies
you know that i can feel you through sixteen feet of concrete
you know that everything is graded on a curve
you know far more than you deserve
and so it should be easy to explain
just why it is that it’s so insane it’s not insane
i’d have told you much sooner if i’d only had the nerve
but far colder than your shoulder was that snowball in its curve.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

Cranberry Juice, Aspirin

Written By: Dunscombe

cranberry juice, aspirin, I hope you understand my stated position
it bears repeating, I’ll say it again and again, ‘cranberry juice and aspirin.’
A friend of mine once made the late night edition.
he’d questioned jesus and they held him for sedition.
they deemed his interview unsuitable at best, then somebody dropped the dime and now he’s climbing everest.
my favorite tradition, cranberry juice and aspirin
my stated position, cranberry juice and aspirin.
it was six months ago, a decided inquisition.
you apologized maniacally for the reckless imposition
don’t look at me; you know i don’t agree with all your choices.
you’ll ride around in hatboxes pretending they’re rolls royces.
one day, mr johnson sent the uss liberty to assess
a certain sixties atmosphere, one of middle eastern unrest.
israel bombed the liberty, a sign of her rising power.
mr. johnson looked the other way and now there are no trade towers.
unqualified ambition, cranberry juice and aspirin
you’d better check your condition, cranberry juice and aspirin.
you say you want to respect my dearest wish
but i fear you more than i fear any terrorist
it’s no secret the shape you are in
cranberry juice, aspirin.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

Jerusalem

Written By: Dunscombe

flip the john with my leather tip, light a stuyvie with my pistol grip
it seems the weather’s gone tricky on me, get me to my apothecary.
mr. pistol whip departed amsterdam, couldn’t resist a visit with uncle sam, you cannot bank without the local green but mr. whip decided he was mean enough, his passport was made of kerosene, his toes of steel were filled with pills, he had some items for laundering and copies of four old ladies’ wills. he was teleported in from 1913, oblivious to all that has gone on in between then and now, “won’t you please parade the garbage as i guess there’s some he ain’t never seen!” jerusalem, jerusalem
tel aviv the driver checks his clips, he thinks he deserves citizenship
low beams and the wipers are on; he’s a half day out from lebanon
twisted hare lip and busted handicam, always and eye out for the latest viet nam, i’m pulling rank he says I am obscene, you want control when you’ve seen what I’ve seen this dream we have is no
no tangerine, upon its woe and weal we built our wills
the seaweed shelves are malingering, while the sand o’erruns our gills
he ordered in an half-dozen boston creams, delirious will all those mutant genes. holy cow! batman, won’t you please play the martyr? here comes robin with the limousine.
jerusalem, jerusalem.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

Julie

Written By: Dunscombe

she has got a lotta fun in the trunk of her car
i and i got hit by the same falling star
well that’s just capital, man. that’s just capital, man.
yes, the gas cap is on and the radio is hummin’,
you gotta tell me now about this business you’re runnin’.
my ensemble is slammin’ and everything is ok
but do you recall what her mother used to say?
“julie’s freaked out. she’s not taken her oxygen today, if you know what I mean. and if you don’t, well there ain’t no in between.”
julie’s freaked out! she’s had that cold now for a year,
and if she says she’s fine, her sign is my cosign.
well, there is no sun, not even a shooting star,
so pass me the gun and start farting in the jar.
tell the moonman that julie’s home, having spent a month or so out on carter dome. she’s older now but she still looks sincere
given you the business after five or six beers.
and the thing she failed to mention at the end of the day
is the same damn thing the green grocer used to say,
“julie’s freaked out.”

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

Crime of the Ancient Marinara

Written By: Dunscombe

you bovine little sycophant, i was there when you failed to salt the eggplant. you couldn’t sell your soul for a decent sauce, a necklace of garlic and of albatross. your dentist says you were divine, well you’ve practiced, you’ve had time to refine
your tepid lies and then to recant, you bovine little sycophant.
you pompous little fucking turd, you’d have had fun, but fun was the word. you bought six condoms and sold them at a loss; i have smelled that stinking albatross. that your sauce is the best, you maintain with glee: a foul-mouthed sailor, committing heresy.
you didn’t even know how to stuff the bird,
you pompous little fucking turd.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

The Bass

Written By: Matt Dillon and Jay C. Davis

all through the icy night, the full moon fingered her way to the top of the sky. only to be caught in her naked breathlessness by the dawn and i found her there, shivering in her silver chemise with the sparkling frozen glitter of crunchy meadow grass, bathed in the pink light of her embarrassment.
they just invented the mother tounge on this icy august morning and can I hold this potato ‘til it grows eyes and can i hold your melting skin, your melting skin until the morning light brings words, until it brings words? the bass comes as a child charging through the trees, can you hear him laughing?

Purple

Written By: Dunscombe

she earned six digits before the year, before the year before the war of love, the one where she one the love of people she can’t look in the eye anymore.
she earned her purple heart one week apart from the day she paid for her indigo shoes, a box of combs and wax to distinguish her blues.
and if you think she minds her purple, then you underestimate her blues, and if you think she wants her taxes back, you can make the check out to the suburban blues
he earned the way she left him, bereft even of the means to pay his dues, and he wondered at the wonder of the battlefield, strewn with all those perfectly good clues.
it seems he finally got the sack, he pulled his back, he slipped on a banana peel, damaged his achilles heel, but that’s the way the story goes, the river simply flows.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

The Riddle

Written By: Dunscombe

i guess that’s it we’re through, there ain’t no more me and you
it’s all over except for the recrimination.
i never liked your type; you scheming bitch you stayed out all night,
a ho for all generations.
what’s to do girl? you can’t afford your make up
what’s to do girl? who said it’d be easy?
what’s to do girl? your missin’ the super bowl
what’s to do girl? you got nowhere to go.
it’s a continuing fascination to me how you always come back to see if I am angry; it’s a stirling codependency, your mad ascendancy,
but girl you can’t abide this mystery
the cable tensions of diplomacy, I guess that’s all that’s really left to me, I don’t confuse it with a walking stick—there ain’t no final brick in the wall no place to crawl through
if you can rhyme it out that’s fine.
if you can find the time, that’s fine.
i knew this man with a dependency, we talked about his mad ascendancy, we talked about it berfore he died.
he liked his wax and the tracks were five miles wide.
the motherfucker had his fifteen minutes,
but who are we to say there ain’t no value in it?
like a fart in a mitten it’s gettin’ around,
a crime without punishment.
if you can do the time that’s fine.

Copyright 2007 Journey Agent Records

Discography

not too hot, not too cold, just right is our first effort.

Set List

The songs on the album are augmented by a few covers, like John Coltrane's Giant Steps, Tom Waits' Singapore, Sting's Consider Me Gone and a parody of Sweet Home Alabama about Star Wars called Sweet Home Tattooine. We can play for one to three hours.