Bob Gaulke

 Time’s secondhand 

we watch the film 

then talk about it 

listen to music 

consume cultural products 

we talk about 

your favorite novel 

and try to avoid 

politics 

all my memories blur 

with dreams 

actions I take 

copying screens 

I wonder if I ever 

felt anything that

 hasn’t been 

cued by hand

please give me 

new experiences 

something I couldn’t 

imagine myself 

these times have become 

predictable 

we all know how 

this movie ends 

 Compulsive list-makers 

I meant every cent I spent 

even the money I lent 

can’t have a good time 

while worrying about it 

now that I’m 

old broke and bent 

I miss everyone that I kissed 

even ones that are still pissed 

times good and bad 

pass like gas 

memories blur 

dreams in the mist 

still crave make art and pray 

to a goddess whose attentions I betray 

l just need more time 

to work on these rhymes 

it’s not promised 

but I’ll pay it back some day 

 Does it make you more human?

desiring speed 

craving beauty 

mortgaging futures 

out of vanity 

do you think, 

“does it make me more human?” 

turn your head 

to the shiny instead 

it invades your bed 

takes over your dread 

you never said,

 “does it make me more human?” 

everything delicious 

isn’t good for you 

many nice things 

would kill you 

not everything new 

has that ring of truth 

look out now 

it’s calling for you 

Does it make you fly 

does it make you swim 

does it take you from 

the heights to the depths 

does it make you more human?

Click Here 

“Hunger Taken by Thirst” now streaming. 

I saw Ivan Julian on stage with Shriekback on their 86 tour of “Oil & Gold”. Couldn’t take my eyes or ears off of him, as he was bouncing and weaving; guitar god version of Yannick Noah, smashing every note into the concrete. Formative hearing these sheets of sound over grooves, entangling the DX-7 onslaught by Andrews and Halliwell. Nineteen-year old brains were on wide-screen record.   

Internet-less in that era, information was scarce; moving via British weeklies, mags, vinyl, and tape. It’d be a few years before I’d hear the work with Voidoids that made his name. But I can still see that Syracuse night in my mind now. 

Decades later, I’m teaching in NYC, writing and playing; doing the two-borough hop into Brooklyn where Javier Hernandez-Miyares is holding court at 17 Frost. An art gallery performance space connected to Ivan’s studio, Super Giraffe Sound. 

I peek Ivan occasionally; silent, deep in thought. I’m too damn shy to gush elegies. Until the work makes things happen. 

“Hunger Taken for Thirst”. A meditation on how desire confuses us. Tunes written between Salvador, Yokohama and Bronx, scratched out with eccentric chord extensions, Brazilian funk influences, and spoken word.  Just some every day culture clashes, furtive romances, and random psychedelic musings of some dude with my name and face grasping at straws. I started building the arrangements in ProTools. There was a gap in the sound the size of a countrapuntal-Picasso -of-post-punk.   

Julian’s guitars go to places I couldn’t see by myself. Ripping dimensions up; painting skyscrapers orange; refusing to connect the dots. I just wrote and mumbled the songs, sketched on a napkin. Ivan and Co. sculpt the marble. 

“This reminds be a bit of “Fresh” by Sly and the Family Stone”, he suggests, as he sends me the files. I am flattered and humbled by the comparison. I wish I had the funk and the costumes. The parts are so hot, I have to let them cool on the sill for another decade.  You can now touch the still-molten pan and serve yourself.  

A meditation on how we misunderstand ourselves and the world. Notes from the underdog, wrapped up in sounds of the night. Trumpets by Rochesterian Emily Champion; keyboards by Leon Gruenbaum; bass by Paulo LePetit, and drums by Gil Oliveira. A stellar group that exists only on my fantasy roster. Guitars by Ivan Julian. 

It doesn’t do what it did 

It doesn’t do 

what it did 

you’ve tried 

to fix it 

now you want 

to get rid of it 

people will look 

at its condition 

and they’ll 

underbid it 

so you stay 

with it 

resenting 

its presence

yet you can’t think of it 

as broken 

as you live in the past 

as much as the present  

People want things 

everyone becomes 

their own industry 

people are disappointing 

quality varies 

there are brute inconsistencies 

we’re here to learn 

here to get burned 

only thing that interests me 

is your speed of recovery 

here to enjoy 

here to employ 

each other in arrays 

designs and shapes of the mind

My desires are changing 

I can’t pretend 

to understand them 

I capitulate to them

later coming up 

with reasons and justifications 

to be published in an expensive 

poorly-selling 

item on eBay 

 The Ideas

The idea that 

you were 

fully aware 

of how your

every move 

motion 

smile 

and conversation 

stirred me 

left me weak 

left me questioning 

my need to be free 

is truly 

frightening 

 The internet says, “In sociology, habitus refers to the deeply ingrained habits, skills, dispositions, and tastes that individuals acquire through their background and social experiences. It is the "feel for the game" that guides how we perceive, react to, and navigate the social world without needing to consciously think about it.”

I probably was reading something about it. I wrote these songs a while back and then worked with Stephen Ulrich (Big Lazy) again. We had some problems going between DAWs or perhaps my own parts weren’t convincing enough, but he did a typically tight, dazzling job on the guitars and basses. He asked me what style I’d want the parts in, so I said, “Andy Gil”, and he obliged. 

I dallied on putting this one out as I thought my post-punk roots were showing a bit too clearly on it. About a dozen years back, I was preferring working with lots of talented friends instead of playing things myself. Well, the savings account starts dwindling pretty fast and I’ve had to course-correct a bit. 

I write pretty compulsively and then finally decided to release a few of these “Guitar God” albums this summer before I highlight my current approach of playing the guitars, basses, and keys myself in a sound that sort of could be a native tribe of primitive Gaulkes trapped in a Bronx Co-Op with decent lighting. More to come on that front. If you’re curious about their meanings, here’s what I remember: 

1. Singing. I was hanging out with vocal teachers a decade ago while also visiting Brazil frequently; two groups of humans who sing at the drop of a hat. Why aren’t the rest of us like that? 
2. Social Work. Working in lower-income areas can be quite fulfilling and draining at the same time. This comes out in the form of a prayer. 
3. Misterbob. I taught adult basic education after being outed by the DOE for refusing to sign off on hours that weren’t delivered to kids. I really admired the adult students who were brave enough to go back and get their educations and put themselves in my hands for hours at a time. 
4. Untrained Eye. Sexual tension with an old friend. These nuclear powers make the planet spin. 
5. Daughters of Mars. Will humans ever evolve? How much longer will they continue being so stupid? 
6. All Dressed Up. I took a songwriting workshop with the great Martin Briley. One of the assignments was to write a tune based around a familiar turn of phrase or idiomatic expression. I like how this one came out and can see the video in my mind. 
7. Laughter. I read somewhere recently that people who take things lightly demonstrate a sophistication. About this. 
8. Habitus. Title track as a sexy scene in an imaginary sci-fi film. 

The musicians were: 

Stephen Ulrich: Guitars and Basses 

Kevin Cerovich: Drums and Trombones 

Leon Gruenbaum: Keyboards on selected tracks 

Paulo LePetit: Bass on selected tracks 

Emilia Cataldo: Backing Vocals 

Martin Scian: Mixing and Mastering 

Photos by Scott Nasburg

OK. I hope you enjoy these and can catch me live around NYC this summer playing solo, or with the band, “RobBanksWithLeon”

Best, 

Bob 

Habitus on Bandcamp

tell me stories 

stories about yourself 

I don’t care 

make them up 

I’m a character 

in someone else’s 

book I don’t care 

we die in the end 

but in the pages 

we can be happy 

illustrated and endings 

are open-ended 

what do you want to know 

know about me 

let me think 

of something 

can we begin with 

once upon a time 

don’t tell me 

you’re too old for that 

it happens all the time 

I tell stories all the time 

no, they’re not lies 

if they’re musicals 

what happens 

if you stop 

being busy 

I think about pain

the pain has a shape 

it’s the shape of the world 

all fears and violence 

flashing 

and I feel sad for others 

in their 

ignorant bliss 

and sad for myself 

that I can’t achieve 

that said 

bliss