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Silent Reply

by Kevin Dorff

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thepirc
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thepirc Silent Reply is a heartfelt, personal album about missed chances and the intense, inscrutable ways loss can calcify in oneself. It's specific without losing broad appeal and triumphant without ever being saccharine. It's an emo record made by someone who is an actual adult. Favorite track: Family Friend.
martin corey
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martin corey I feel like I heard these songs before, but they were nowhere near as good. The lyrics are sad, funny, angry, clever; the delivery sure-footed, honest; the music emotional. The whole thing works as a song cycle about love, friendship and bereavement. It's an impressive achievement. Favorite track: Just Like That.
D. S.
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D. S. Man, I get a lot of Ben Folds vibes from these songs, but with smarter lyrics and cleverer phrasing. The songcraft here is top notch, a truly memorable collection of stories, memories, and melodies. Favorite track: Impossible Objects.
VAST DEFERENS
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VAST DEFERENS Wife and I were laughing at the absurd lyrics and rote-but-playful structure of these folk songs--you might, too. Favorite track: Just Like That.
copelandcory
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copelandcory Intensely personal song writing about people lost. Song writing skills to match David Berman, Jeff Tweedy or Townes Van Zandt. This honestly a very special record that I hope finds the audience it deserves because my god it hits hard and sticks with you. Favorite track: Just Like That.
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1.
DABDA 05:46
It gets hard to sleep When dreaming of you. Last year you seemed pretty clear, Thought I saw you too. But memories fail me again, I tug at loose threads, I staple your fragments, And I say things you’d have said. They say it’s called DABDA, I said, “That’s not a word.” “Well, actually it’s five,” “Yeah, no shit, This, that, and the third.” I’m not all that hungry again. I skip meals like stones. I raincheck a cry sesh For the next time I’m alone. Somewhere in Scotland, You got out of your car. There were sheep in the road Is about how far you could see, And I can’t help but picture you laughing. We went to Wyoming For a couple of weeks. And we watched The Birdcage, ‘Cause I hadn’t seen it yet. I said, “You’re my first real gay friend.” You said, “Yeah, I can kinda tell…” We snowmobiled through Yellowstone. We drove like maniacs, Like the park was our personal racetrack, And we were Dale fucking Earnhardts. Still, it feels too convenient To say we were friends, Cause you had a whole lot of friends And acquaintances, Some of whom knew you much better than I did. Has it happened yet? Are my eyes inside my chest? Well, yes, I guess Things make a bit more sense. You’re not a ghost. You’re just some guy I used to know, Knocked dead in the road By a bloke who could’ve slowed down. I'm in the deep end of my DABDA, A swimming pool of shit. I'm in the deep end of my DABDA, Stuck below the surface Take off your coffin. Walk through my mind. Show me you’re not really gone. This time I’ll try to believe it.
2.
Cut it with the turkey talk. Eat a bag of dicks if you can’t walk On the right side of the road. Had a hot dog at the Costco, Had to get some new glasses so We hopped in the Toyota and drove Way the hell up Nevada. Pitch nut in the parlor off the kitchen, Crack a cold one in front of the colonel She’s an easy-going cat if you can meet her where she’s at And I know just the way to pet her on the back Till she purrs, “Yeah, just like that…” We were bunkmates in LondonTown Took up space in Little Cairo cafés Pulling from a hookah hose to prove that we were down We liked the bookstores and the pubs a little more Carved out corners and set fire to the dance floor Rode on double-deckers and pretended they were roller coasters It might be said that we were acting like dickheads We ditched our classmates and we didn’t make our beds It’s easy to kill time when you’ve got nothing on the line And when you’re barely legal white guys like us, you don’t compromise Just like that. Our drama classes were a gas and a half If I was Hal, then that would make you my Falstaff Give or take your figure, which, you shall not find it so. I feel as though we really saw one another It was like we had this whole language of silence and eyes And if I didn’t always like you, well, that doesn’t mean you weren’t my brother. You’d clown around in absurdity like a playground Shave one side of your face for no one’s sake Cut your arm with scissors and insist it didn’t hurt It’s a scratch, not a gash. It’s my business if I crash, So you can get up off my back, or I can take your ass to task Just like that. Holy shit, could you argue. You made your point, and you pissed me off too. And wasn’t it just like you to get the last word. Your brain must’ve been burning something awful. You’d take a tumble and laugh yourself together. And whatever the weather, if it’s good enough for the birds. I heard you’d joined an improv troupe. I heard you were living with this guy I sorta knew. I thought that you were fine but never once dropped you a line, And I was sitting in my bed when Parker told me you were dead. He said you went up on the Golden Gate with something in your head. And I can guess what you were feeling, but it wouldn’t change the fact, That you never asked permission from anyone. You’d jump just like that. I wish that I had cared for you (just like that) I wish I could have caught you (just like that)
3.
Mirror 02:01
4.
Don't Follow 04:02
I didn’t know that you smoked. You joked you got yourself into cocaine. It was a catchy refrain I’d play again and again in my brain But situations make plain How far apart we had grown since eighth grade When you’d remind me my body had not yet changed And I was probably gay. You could be meaner than snake shit, And I’d relinquish the piss Each time you’d come to reclaim it. No need to get one’s undies in a twist. Unball those fists Don’t give me that face. Don’t fuckin follow me. You’re way too smart for that. My daddy called you a dirtball, And I had nothing to say. Just stood there dead in the doorway, My mouth most likely agape. I couldn’t blame him for caring, Scared for mistakes I might make, Things I might say to authorities, Things I might put in my veins Like you did that day. Don’t fuckin follow me We’re not even friends. Go back to your dad and tell him that I’m doing just fine, I’ve got my life, And I’ll try to get by Without his guidance.
5.
I sat behind you in AP Statistics Charting my daydreams, their characteristics. In each one you gave me impossible objects Like time on a string, an elephant’s wing. For all of their beauty, unspeakable, nameless, Their uncertain purpose, so happy and aimless, I feel that I know you, if only in dreams. But I fail to see us intersecting. So much for field trips, we all went to see A local professor slash actuary. He told us in five years, "One of you’ll be dead," But he didn’t say who, nor exactly when. So laughing and halfway scared shitless and sensible, We settled for topics less incomprehensible Like where to get lunch and who’s willing to drive. We all need to be back here by 12:25. Had I known you better, perhaps I could say More closely what happened on that July day. The car rolling backwards, impossible object, Pinned life to the fence in front of your friends. That night we got high and went to the movies. We talked about nothing, tried not to feel gloomy, Saw M. Night Shyamalan’s live-action catastrophe. We wished we had seen Toy Story Part III. It always surprised me to think you were older, Impossible objects you drew on your folder. Then there was your mustache, spread thin when you smiled. There’s no sense in shaving the face of a child. It’s been nearly nine years since that July day, And each day you’ve flashed through my mind in some way. No justice in dying when numbers are king. Maybe that’s why I cling to your elephant’s wing.
6.
Bucky rubs her buckeyes Didn't realize it was after midnight Cigarettes and Diet Pepsis Red wine and nineties comedies House is mostly clean And otherwise unoccupied Up the steps is the bedroom Right across from the playroom Puzzles missing half their pieces Good enough for kids' caprices Count to fifty 'cause you're younger than me And don't you freaking peek Bucky was a family friend A frequent host to our contentment Me and Brother sitting in the den While parents shout about the 43rd president Little Sister is out cold on the couch again Caught on cobwebs in your shed I thought of seeing friends but did your yard work instead For five bucks an hour and unlimited Fresca Holy cow it's hot, I sure could use a Fresca These afternoons are deadly humid Why else would you hire a kid? I trip on piles of twigs And other things that have died Inside your cloud of supposing Mourning that happens at night I must've thought if I could make you laugh I could save myself from hating myself I bore myself out of your gaze I made a personality to fit your praise I stayed up late on school nights Vainly hoping you'd remain Cancer came back with a culture grip I had just returned from Philly with an internship They'd moved your bed into the dining room Off the sun room that you never used And I knew I couldn't really feel confused But I couldn't make it real Mom and Dad drove out to Colorado Given circumstances that foreshadow: I was playing Death in a school production Of an Appalachian adaptation Of a cherished early work by Ibsen The writing was on the wall I guess it's not a surprise Easy to characterize Nothing some doctor and I Can't intellectualize In case that anyone tries To pry a tear from my eye I got this pretty disguise Nobody's business but mine The way I pray for a sign For everything to align A light to read every word by A kind of silent reply For when the truth doesn't satisfy I need an endless supply Someone to live in my life What if I learned nothing Measuring the silence Holding onto blue Holding onto you Stuck below the surface A swimming pool of shit I thought that I could drain it But I couldn't even contain it The rain rolled in and made a big old mess There's nothing I can't swallow, If given enough drink There's no one I won't follow, If it means I don't have to think anymore I'll close the door on closure Cover every mirror Disappear what might've been Disappear what was
7.
Ghost Mind 04:24
I got a bloody nose, lying at the top of the stairs. The other soccer boys are probably playing Harvest Moon in the basement. 10 years from now I’ll be back down there with the swimmers watching Inception, And my nose’ll still be bleeding. Pulling donuts in an icy high school parking lot, An early waveform for white male rage. 10 years from now I’ll be a failson faking his life into shape, And we’ll all still be angry. You’ve got a locker full of creatine And nudie pics to last a dozen teenage riots in your jeans. I mean I guess I believe you didn’t do it But it’s hard to unsee what I’ve seen. Can you believe we’re 22? I mean, at this point we’ve known each other longer than we haven’t... My little brother could buy himself some cigarettes if he wanted. He wouldn’t. But he could if he wanted. You’ve got a locker full of firearms and Jim Beam® in the trunk, you’d better let him out ha ha My mom told me I ought to send your mom a Christmas card saying I’m thinking of her. I’m still thinking of her. You’ve got a Honda full of Swisher Sweets and hormones like a watermelon, suck it and see. They say God won’t let you bite off any more than you can chew. You’re in the big leagues now, and everybody’s looking at you. You’ve got a commonwealth of secrets I’ll never get to hear It’s probably for the better But if the dead don’t really die And if you’ve got something on your ghost mind, Well I’m listening now. I’m listening now.

credits

released September 16, 2022

All songs written by Kevin Dorff
Produced by Maxim Elrod and Kevin Dorff
Engineered by Maxim Elrod at Oversea Recording
in Brooklyn, NY
Additional engineering by Anthony “AMMixes” Maldonado at
AMMixes in Des Moines, IA
Mixed by D James Goodwin at The Isokon
Mastered by Josh Bonati

Vocals, guitars, piano (tracks 1, 4, 6, 7), cello and horn arrangements: Kevin Dorff
Bass, guitars, feedback: Maxim Elrod
Drum set, percussion, engineering: Jason Burger
Piano (tracks 3, 5): Wes Braver
Cello: Stephen Dorff
French horn: Rachel Drehmann
Trumpet, flugel horn: Ryan Messina

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Kevin Dorff Brooklyn, New York

Kevin Dorff is a songwriter and playwright from Des Moines, IA. His debut record, “Silent Reply” considers the ways people we have known live in us beyond death. Inspired by the novels of Rachel Cusk, the paintings of Alice Neel, and the lyricism of songwriters like Craig Finn and David Berman, Silent Reply is a series of elegies steeped in 90s indie and folk rock. ... more

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