EVERY LADY GETS A SONG 

About the title track… 

Years ago, I stood in the wings watching a fellow songwriter sing about his recent lost love. Oh, the injustice! Oh, the betrayal! Oh, the heartache! His performance was the very wail of pained humanity. 

I was in awe. The audience held their collective breath. 

 Then it struck me: WAIT A FUCKING SECOND! 

I knew his ex! I knew the real story behind the breakup! He had been the selfish cretin! He was the crazy drunk! He  was the one who cheated! 

Yet here he was, weaponizing music’s charms and turning a crowd of drunks in a club against her.

What a B-hole!  

Thus the seed for the title track was planted. Somewhere in 2010, I wrote Every Lady while writing other songs. It took about 10 minutes. Tops. 

By the by, the insensitive asshole songwriter  is now a stock character in my personal Commedia del 'arte. He has a dilly of a song waiting to see the light of day

 

                                                                                                       No Reason.

I rarely perform No Reason as it is emotionally draining. The chords pad a melody best described as the insistent monotone of despair. 

                                                                                                 The Same Great Guy  

Both Same Great Guy and No Reason were inspired by Purcell’s  Cold Genius. Struck by Purcell’s economy of melody and challenging chord structure, I experimented by reducing melody on both songs, letting the chords do the work.  

The inspiration for Same Great Guy came from a blurb on a can of soda: Same Great Taste With A Great New Look! It reminded me of many phases of my life.  Hence, Same Great Guy draws on my clueless arrival in San Fransisco’s punk scene in the mid-1970s. I paraphrased a line I heard at a 1978 Punk Rock fashion show: Don’t change the world, sneered the announcer, change your clothes…  

The girl who called herself  Coyote is, of course,  the legendary Ginger Coyote. This good soul attended everybody’s show in our early days.  Ginger took pictures and wrote blurbs in her self published Punk Globe. Some of us went on to have professional careers, yet we all saw our faces and name in print for the first time thanks to her. 

                                                                                                      Cry For Her 

I wrote a version of the first verse in 1982, long before I joined Voodoo. The chorus arrived during the pre - Sammystown 1984 writing sessions. It stalled at that point. The song evolved at a glacial pace. By 2010 I had lived long enough and hard enough to finish it. 

 

                                                                                      Your Free Complimentary Gratis Bonus Track!

                                                                                              The Ghosts High Noon  

                                                                                 

Oh, had we done this in Wall of Voodoo!  It would have provided an exquisite blend of our varied aesthetics: Sullivan's melody, the blueprint for all Ghost Riders in the Sky-like anthems, would have been a perfect platform for Marc Moreland’s twang and Blue Box distortion. The chord progression deeply appeals to my operatic leanings while Gilbert’s Gothic lyrics seem custom made for Bruce Moreland.  

Pity we didn’t….  

From Gilbert and Sullivans Ruddigore.  

I did this a few years ago as a Facebook Halloween treat.  I asked my many FB friends to add their voices to the international chorus heard here.

————————————————— 

NOTA BENE

The four main tracks were recorded in 2011, at Catasonic Studio in Echo Park. Mark Wheaton engineered and co-advised, 

Around 2013, I failed to renew the collection on iTunes and the songs faded into sweet online oblivion. So, Caveat Emptor: If you bought this collection on iTunes years ago, these are the same recordings. 

No re-masters! 

No re-mixes! 

Just re-issue redundancy! 

If these are new to you, I hope you enjoy them!

 

As always, I am deeply grateful for your support.

 

                                                                                       

                                                            I  HAD A NEW WAVE ACT 

                                                               From "Every Night of My Life"

The current glut of self-hagiographies by my fellow first-gen New Wave/Punk Rock peers was the inspiration for this song. The unreliable elderly narrator in I Had a New Wave Act can’t remember if he has already told you all about his great old band. Oh, what times we had! Did I already tell you? I was in a New Wave band! Did you know that? Well, lemme tell you ... 

Just be glad he isn't a recovering heroin addict or you'd have to hear that old yarn again. 

ANYWAY... 

 While a great deal of fun to compose, recording this fatuous canticle proved difficult. Playback would reveal it's true nature: just a dumb guy singing a dumb song. It needed a context in which to thrive. It couldn’t just be recorded, it had to happen. 

 On top of that, the arrangement seemed to require more than just one dumb guy: it craved the support of many simpletons in vigorous agreement.  Ideally, this mindless army would be made up of the idiot's brainless band and an imbecilic audience. 

But how…? 

Ah! Study the Masters! 

Thus, I paid homage to the glorious fake-live songs of my youth: Soul Finger, Hey Leroy,  and the flawless Skinny Legs and All. The difference is that those artists got all their peers in the studio to make a joyful noise. I just gathered all my imaginary friends instead. 

And yes, I am aware that it is not remotely a New Wave-type composition. That would have been the obvious choice.

Nota Bene: A few names mentioned in the song...and one not

1)  Barry Beam: a  gifted, kindly, creative soul who had a one-man art band. On the grim Mabuhay Gardens stage, he presented a complex, humorous one-man show using reel-to-reel music /rhythm tracks. The songs were often interrupted by the voice of his mother, insisting he makes use of all those tap dancing lessons she paid good money for. Barry would oblige and begrudgingly practice tap. In a punk club, mind you.  Mother's voice spoke through a little hat with flashing lights that Barry wore. He and my band, Eye Protection did a number of shows together. 

2)Crime: seminal SF punk band. 

After a year and a half of lame gigs, my band, Eye Protection was finally getting some notice. We were doing so well that Crime invited us to take the second slot on an upcoming show. Wow! Second slot on a Saturday night for Crime!? That was big time! Crime shows were events!

 That night, the Mabuhay was packed and we were great!.  We did so well, Crime asked us back for more shows! Wow! At last, recognized by the SF punk elite, we were on our way! We were thrilled. 

 Soon after, Crime was interviewed in the SF Chronicle, saying "'We always ask shitty bands to open for us. That way we will always look good." 

 

3) Jello Biafra. I'd see Jello around The Mabuhay our early days. We'd sometimes run into one another at the Cala Supermarket at 3 AM  and chat. He was a glib, friendly chappie. And before he became immortal, he did indeed, once or twice stand in the wings and watch my show, as I did his. Unlike the narrator, I highly doubt Jello ever envied me for a second. My guess is he was doing what I did: stand in the wings, watch the various singers and learn what to do and, more importantly, what not to do. 

Quite possibly he learned a great deal of the latter from me.

4) Chris Isaak: another immortal who came from my Mabuhay graduating class. I did not know Chris. Back then he sang and played guitar for The Silvertones. My girlfriend at the time would insist we force our way up front to stand in front of Chris where she'd look adoringly at him, her head about level with his crotch.

I said, " Woe,baby, you are really into that guy!" 

She said "Don't you know!? He is like that kid from Deliverance. He is a mental defective. An imbecile. A man-child. But he can play music like no one else. That's why I love looking at him: he is a miracle." 

Having learned all this, I looked at him with different eyes. God had bestowed the gift of music, stage presence, and movie star-like good looks upon this poor half-wit. Well, let her look! He is no threat to me! So I, too, looked adoringly upon this natural wonder. 

 It wasn't until years later when Chris  became a major star that I woke up in the middle of the night and thought, "Hey, wait a second...." 

5) Yes, that’s me in the photo.No I did not dress like that on stage. That is a still from a  low-budget New Wave film from 1982. I was a Martian or something. 

Like you didn't go through your own Bowie phase.  

On Tue, Feb 5, 2019 at 7:48 PM Andy Prieboy wrote: 

 

 

Caveat Emptor: Downloading music off this program may prove difficult on iOS devices. 

iMac/Macbooks, on the other hand, should be compatible. 
  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Photo by Bruce Birnbaum

I  am very happy to be back on-line and releasing these songs. It's been far too long.

Before I start, let me point out that the album’s cover features a photo of my piano. This is where I feel I have spent every night of my life. Gratefully so.

 

Okay! A  Quick Word...

Most of this was recorded over a very difficult two year period. It was a passage which brought the death of my mother, of my friend Tony Kinman and recently, the Woolsey Fire which we fled this past November. 

Somehow, in between and after all that, I got this done.

The newest song on the collection is the title track, Every Night of my Life, written just before the fires. The oldest, Perfect Stranger was created in 1981. I will tell you more about the others in the days to come.

To thank you for supporting this website, I have added a bonus track, Shine(for Henry). I recorded this informal version of the song late at night for a friend a few years ago.

The songs are 

Every Night of My Life 

Perfect Stranger 

I Had a New Wave Act 

Annalina 

Get Me Out Of This Town* (duet with Tony Kinman) 

(Bonus Track )

Shine (for Henry) 

 

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Andy Prieboy 

Vocals, Piano, Keyboards, Guitar 

Tony Kinman 

Bass, Vocals 

David Kendrick 

Drums, percussion. 

I have included the lyrics digitally should you purchase the album. I must apologize for the absence of design on those pages. The wildfires robbed me of the time I needed to prepare something better looking. 

As I said, I will be writing more about some of these songs. In fact, one of the songs crossed paths with Super Freak  Rick James long ago. But I will tell you more about that later.

For now, I am very happy to be back.

Thank you for stopping by.

Thank you for your support.

Andy Prieboy 

2/6/19

Album photo by Bruce Birnbaum.Lettering by Noah Markoe

 

 

Caveat Emptor: Downloading music off this program may prove difficult on iOS devices. 

iMac/Macbooks, on the other hand, should be compatible. 
  

 

For about two years I have been off-line. 

The decline and deaths of two souls who I deeply loved robbed me of my focus. I worked, yes, but it was difficult. As I recovered from losing one, I began to lose the other. 

Ask anyone who knows me: I don't bounce back quickly. 

But, sometime in mid-summer, I came roaring back to life. My mind and heart cleared.  I began writing, cleaning, tweaking and mixing songs that had been accumulating somehow over the past two dark years. Things were looking good. I planned a release in autumn. 

Then came the California wildfires in November. Quickly taking only dogs, clothing and cologne, I left instruments, recordings, gear, photos and everything else behind. 

We were away for almost a month. Some six hundred homes in my area were destroyed. Nine were lost one block over. Up the hill, an entire neighborhood was wiped out. Our home was mercifully, nay! Miraculously untouched. 

By mid-December, with the power back on and the smoke damage gone, I went back into the studio, putting the finishing touches on that aforementioned collection of songs. 

I will be releasing it within a week. It's called  Every Night of My Life. 

Look for it soon! 

That is if the wildfires don't return. 

Fingers crossed. 

And hey, don't fucking die on me, okay?  I couldn't handle another one.

                                                 
                        Heaven or Anaheim
                               -or-

"HAVE YOU EVER WRITTEN A HAPPY SONG?" 

Recently, my beloved, Merrill asked me if I had ever written a happy song. 

I responded, "If the question is 'Have you ever written a song about being happy?" , the answer would be  "once."
However, if you are inquiring whether I have ever composed music while being happy, that is another issue entirely.

I am like a character in a musical. When I am feeling happy,  I break into song.  I can not contain myself. All too often my joy spontaneously combusts into songs about my dogs and, in the past, kitties.  Inspired by their mindless goodwill and undimmable enthusiasm,  I am overtaken by a love expressed through silliness and play. What the Greeks called Ludis. Thus, my dog and cat songs are complex, melodic, multi-versed, often complete with a bridge and coda.They are very stupid and very fun to sing. 

                                                                  Andy sings Hooray for Lamby Gum, a dog treat distribution song- illustration by Merrill Markoe

 

So, have I written happy songs? Yes, and they are about Dinky, Puppyboy, Wally, Jimmy,  GinnyPins, Beany and Kittymouse. 

  
They can also be about pie.  Sometimes an odd phrase will ignite my asinine glee. While on a road trip, for example, Merrill and I saw a local restaurant touting its specialty: Pickle Pinto Bean Pie.
  

For the next three hundred miles, I fiddled with the phrase until I felt it scanned. I then improvised a hearty Civil War era marching song about that legendary delicacy.I imagined the Irish Brigade singing it as they made their way up Marye's  Heights at Fredericksburg  

Oh, I had a great time! 

Listen to Pinto Pickle Pie!

                                                                                              


But a happy song about a lover? 

Once .Just once. 

HEAVEN OR ANAHEIM 
                                                                                                                 Heaven or Anaheim -illustration by Andy Prieboy
Listen to Heaven or Anaheim

Coincidentally, my friend  Simon Walkden had just written and asked about a song of mine that has been floating for free around the internet since God created  Earthlink in 7 days.  It's called Heaven or Anaheim. It was never on a record. What's the story?

  I made demos of this song in 1993 and 1997. Someone entrusted with a copy traded it on-line and it's been downloadable ever since. Picking a phrase from the song, it was christened , vox populi,  Heaven or Anaheim. A much better title.

Originally it was called  Lincoln Mk V. 

Here is why:

CRUISING ON COCAINE:  

At the time, I owned an Arctic white 1977 Lincoln MkV. It was a massive Carter era creampuff almost 20 feet long with a soft white leather interior and 3-inch white walls.  These were one of the last, wasteful, unapologetic American luxury cars. And it did indeed have a Cartier clock inside.

A homeless man once looked at it, smiled, and said 'White body! White leather! White walls! That car look like cocaine!"
 I am not one to give my car an adorable nickname, but Cocaine stuck. 

SO...ANYWAY... 

I had fallen in love. We'd get in Cocaine and drive all over LA from midnight until dawn. Needing very little, pleased with each other's company, every mile was an adventure, every topic mesmerizing. We talked and talked and talked. We laughed a lot. 

One night on my way to pick her up, I just couldn't contain myself.  That scene from a musical struck.My heart blossomed and out flourished this delighted, innocent song. To answer the original question, yes, I did write a happy song and did so while being so.

DESTINY WAS UNKIND:

Oddly enough, eventually the car and the girl met the same fate: rear-ended by a drunken simpleton.
​​​​​

So, I let this tune wither and die.

I don't know about you, but for me, happy memories hurt way worse than the bad ones.

So, for now, it's back to writing lamentations, threnodies, and an occasional Lacrimosa or two.

And Dog Songs. 

  

It's way safer.


==========================================================================================================================
Timeline:

Haven or Anaheim was written in 1993. A very rough rendition with piano,vocal, and melodica was made on a Tascam four track at my home. It was titled 'We Can Drive" or 'Lincoln Mk V.

 In 1997 , I was brought to EMI Studios by my friend Desi Benjamin .We did a day's worth of live recording. This song was done along with many others. I believe the 1997 version  is the one most are familiar with.

Although it appears on a bootleg with other pilfered Voodoo demos, it was not a Wall of Voodoo song.

Recently, my friend JtL from WallofVoodoo.com wrote and asked for the lyrics of Blackboard Sky. I am including them here with a little backstory.Thanks, JtL!

I am also offering a  solo piano version of the song, gratis!

Download Blackboard Sky free here! 

THE BLACKBOARD SKY STORY 

So, December 1983. About 9:30 pm.  

A young man stops at the junction of Melrose and Cole. He waits to cross. He is tall, thin, and if you even noticed him you'd think"another trendy art- twat who works retail ..."  

If you looked real close, you might  also opine "that idiot  dyed his hair so much, all the ends are all breaking off on top..." 

What you can't possibly know, is that under all that hair dye and  proto-Gothic fashion broods a heartbroken young man who, for the first time in his life, has had a love affair die on him  

Poor soul.He is already struggling with a stalled music career. He has no band and no prospects. He is still new in town and is working retail for minimum wage. And to think, only a year ago, he signed a production deal and moved to LA. She came here with him to partake in that glorious future when (and if) he became a major label recording artist.  

And it all went up in smoke... 

No! Don't think of it! Don't think of it! Don't think of it! 

There is nothing now but the endless jog between regret and recrimination. A never ending battle of protecting his fragile sense of self from the dragon of truth. 

So, on the corner, he stops. He looks up at the dull night sky and thinks it looks like a dirty blackboard at the end of a long school day.  

And then something comes over him.  He lets it all go. To that ashen sky, he says, in effect, you take her. I can't carry this anymore.  

He imagines drawing her face on that immense dirty blackboard.  

Suddenly- in his mind, in his heart, he feels a little relief.  The leaden skies clear, and he sees her differently: majestic as a cloud bank, distant as the full moon. She is too far away now to hurt him anymore.  

Later that evening, he applies that moment to a song he'd already been working on.  

 'I draw your face on the blackboard sky" fits perfectly. 

Now if he only had a band he could show it to.  

1985  

'Oh, that's a very nice little Beatle song, Andy..." chided Chas.
"I think it's real pretty," Marc said ."Let's fuck it up."  

And so they did. And it ended up on Seven Days in Sammystown.  

 

And that young man, no longer young but still dying his hair,  plays it to this day. 

Lesley Morrall,  Adam Ant's Wardrobe Supervisor, thoughtfully sent me these wonderful photos from the 1985 Adam Ant/Wall of Voodoo tour. 
 

1985-A Little Back Story:

Our manager, Miles Copeland, had taken on Adam Ant as a client. With a new Ant album, Vive le Rock, Miles reasoned teaming Wall of Voodoo up as support would be an excellent way to debut  Seven Days in Sammystown as well.  The tour took us from Chicago to the East Coast, with Radio City Music Hall being the high point. From there, we worked our way south, concluding in  Ft.Lauderdale, Fla. 

I am deeply indebted to Lesley for sharing these photos.  Brilliant, kindly, and incredibly gifted, she was a true pleasure to hang with. We Voodoos would often stop in the wardrobe room to chat with her before going on, or while Adam was on stage. 

                                                                                                           Nov,27th,1985 Constitution Hall, Washington, DC.

                                                                   Lesley shot this from behind the monitor board. I love the glowing meters!
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Andy and Ned with Lesley, backstage somewhere, waiting to go on.

                                                                                                              Bruce in Ft.Lauderdale.
 

                                                                                                   Chas T.Gray, Marc Moreland, and  Andy Prieboy.  

                                                                                                             Note the Ole' and Rollo keyboards.

                                                                                         A beautiful shot of Marc. God rest his soul.

       I believe he is holding his phone list on top of the cigarette pack. Marc always carried an ever growing, constantly updated, weathered list of phone numbers in his wallet. 

                                                                                                               Aqua Net Poster Boy.

                                                                                      Chas T.Gray would often refer to me as Beauty Queen.
                                                                                                           


                                                                    Ned, Chas, Marc, and our good friend and road crew member, Dave "Kiwi" Burlace.
                                                                         I love this photo:  End of the Tour.Cleaning out the tour bus.Heading home.

I know these facial expressions far too well: Marc is walking towards Lesley, who is taking the photo. He is about to do something extremely funny. Ned, Chas, and Dave anticipate what is coming.

 Marc had a deadly sense of humor and an innate gift for physical comedy. Although demure, soft spoken, and often shy,   when Marc saw the funny he became confident,  sure of himself and quick. He'd pounce. His  suppressed smile seen here often proceeded his comedic assaults

                                                                       Chas and Marc: always with the schtick. A very deep friendship.



By the way, that mobile home was our tour bus, It was called D'Bubba Ho.

All Voodoo tour conveyances were called D'Bubba Ho.

Why?
 

The name came from a conversation Chas and Ned had with a man on a Florida beach about crabs. "You can try and catch that crab," the man said " but he goes down into the sand and gets away. Next thing you know, he's way over there, waving to you from the bubble hole." His southern patois had him pronounce "the bubble hole" as D' Bubba Ho. 

Thus, every tin can with wheels, choked with Voodoo smoke, smut, and stale boozy sweat was our nasty little bubble hole/bubba ho.

                                                                                       Marc and Lesley...and all the flotsam and jetsam from the bus.

                                                                        Marc is happy. I recall that pleasant, relaxed smile when he was at peace.
​
                                                                                                             If I may ne'er behold again 
                                                                                                            That form and face so dear to me, 
                                                                                                            Nor hear thy voice, still, would I fain 
                                                                                                            Preserve, for aye, their memory. 


I know I speak on behalf of all the members of Wall of Voodoo and our many fans: bless you, Lesley, once more, for sharing these moments with us.

 

Listen to When It Rains in LA

During the current California rainstorms, I revived this old, old song. 

The Short Story:

The sequel to Noah and The Flood in modern Los Angeles.

The Long Story:

1987

While gathering songs for the follow-up to Sammystown, I wrote a basic version of When It Rains in LA.  The lyrics were a simple-minded ode to love accented by a rare Los Angeles rain. Though I made a fully orchestrated model,  I never showed it to Voodoo.  It was just too common a chord progression and too romantic a theme. 

 

I never developed it further than a first draft and so, the song went into hibernation.

1990

By the time I was working on my first solo album in 1990, I became friends with Carlos, an El Salvadorian custodian at MCA Universal where I recorded. As I was there five nights a week, 8 pm until 3 am,  we'd often hang and shoot the shit on our breaks.

During a rainstorm,  I returned to the song with a new story: God,  in true Hollywood fashion, decides to make a sequel to The Flood. Sticking to the terms of His contract, He spares the world and just drowns  LA. However, our merciful God spares the outcasts in that city of dreams.  

I pictured Carlos, the humble, hard-working immigrant, in the role of Noah.

 

I envisioned long, detailed, sadistic narrative of a deluged Hollywood.
The first two verses and chorus were as far as I got.

And the song, once again, hibernated.

2013
At the piano one evening, I happened upon When it Rains in LA and decided to finish it. To hell with the long narrative. Noah gathers the losers and now what? Does he build an Ark? Oh, God, everybody does that. No. Too boring.

 

 I got it: God instructs Noah to hi-jack the Queen Mary. Fill it full of the unknown and unwanted.

Perfect.

Very Voodoo.

Done.

Well, almost. Sort of. There needed to be a coda or something. There needs be a little wasabi and pickled ginger at the end of the chorus. Some kind of chord change.

And nothing came.

And the song hibernates again.

February 2017.

It begins to rain. I sing the song. I figure out the end of the chorus. A little coda. A chord change.

Done:


And to paraphrase The Book of Genisis "...In the thirtieth year, on the twentieth day of the second month since it's  inception, the song came to rest upon the mountains of Ararat. "

 

                                                                                                                                                                          Photo by Reggie Ige 1990
I happened upon this old test Polaroid from the photoshoot of  Upon My Wicked Son .

There Is A Story Behind This Picture.
Of course there is.
But , long story short?   I can't tell it here .

Sorry.
Well,okay.  I'll tell you a little bit... 

In the photo, I am standing in my home.I am in the dining room.
It's winter, about 8 pm on a small, dimly lit  dead-end street in Echo Park. . 

What You Don't Know:

A thick, sharp, long knife sits on the lamp table in front of me.

I  had the knife  just in case the crazy  people came back with their gun.

It had been that kind of day.


 

The Night Before:

 Let me simply say The LAPD left the house at about 8:30 AM .   There was fingerprint powder everywhere.
The day went by in a fog of fitful  naps and phone calls. Crazy phone calls. Stalker-y phone calls .Spooky hang up phone calls.

When the photographer, Reggie Ige, showed up for the shoot, I was shot...metaphorically speaking.
 

The photo below?  Another test Polaroid, probably the first of the session  .

I used it for  my Virtue Triumphs album cover  recently.  What looks  like a nice sensitive rock boy photo is , in fact, a perfect capture  of a man who is  shocked,dismayed, exhausted and heartsick.  

Worried, too .

What if the crazy people  with guns come back? 

So next time you happen upon that old album...

Remember I am packing a chef's knife, guarding against gun toting  maniacs  while  posing for my first solo album .

Say cheese!
 

On a Brighter Note:
Here is where the photoshoot took place.


( A ) I stood in the dining room. Reggie Ige took  this picture with his back to the piano ( B ) which was near the  front door** .

( C ) My home where the photo was taken ..

By the way, in my late 30s, I had just learned to drive. That is my first car, a 1968 Thunderbird:V-8 Wonder of the Western World.

 

The photos of the house were taken about 1990. Echo Park at the time was a seedy, gang-y ,forgotten district of LA  . It was funky n' forlorn then.  It is ritzy n' white-sy  now. 

I shared this house with an extremely  gifted woman,  Gretchen Victor . We were strictly brother -and-sister best- friends. She had a fantastic  eye for decoration and collecting .  So much so, in fact,  that I credited her on the album . If you look closely, you will see that she  had hung a  portrait of the Virgin of Guadalupe next to the front door. Many times I would leave the house and find  the local gangsters  hanging out , looking up meekly  at The Virgin .  Talking quietly . Discussing Her. 

It was a very happy, productive time for me. When  Wall of Voodoo sank and the tormenting Eighties were over,  this is the shore I swam to . For the first time in ages, I found a degree of peace ,prosperity, and  sanity.

Give or take a few rough nights...or weeks...or months now and then.


**(Piano photo by Kim Bacus)

 

Happy new year. A gift for you.

Why this song? 

I could have used a lot more love- The idea behind the lyric  seems  simple. At first listen,
it appears it is a lament where I wish I had been loved better and more often throughout my
life.
  
That is not the case.   

What moved me to write this song was realizing  that I could have loved better. I could have loved more. 
So many times, I should  have used love first.   

I believe  it a  proper sentiment for the year we are  facing.  I offer it here to you . A small gesture of my
gratitude to you all. 

I wish you the strength to love in the year to come. May  tolerance and empathy always be your preemptive move.

Gratefully.

Andy Prieboy

A Lot More Love 

I've been walking all night 
I've been walking 'till dawn 
I've been a fool all my life 
I never fooled anyone 
And my summers have gone 
And my winter has come 
And the one thing that I'm thinking of: 
I could have used a lot more love. 

Right to the heart 
And a left to the jaw 
Bright were the stars 
They were the last thing I saw 
And I tried to be strong 
And I tried to be tough 
But I'm never ever tough enough 
I could have used a lot more love 

And when the moon comes up 
In a pool of blood 
I could have used a lot more love