You are on page 1of 10

JON BROOKS

& THE OUTSKIRTS OF APPROVAL


Moth Nor Rust II
Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth,
where moth and rust doth corrupt,
and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven,


where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt,
and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

– Matt. 6:19-21

Page 2
All songs written by Jon Brooks, Fallen Tree Songs (SOCAN)
Produced by Jason LaPrade and Neil Cruickshank
Recorded, engineered, mixed and mastered by Jason LaPrade
at Crystal Clear Sound, Toronto
Additional recording in Vancouver at Neil’s place
Paintings by Claire Wilks from Out of the Cave: Series III
Live Photography by Victoria Lidia Ilgacs
Layout by Christine Peters
The Outskirts of Approval: Neil Cruickshank | John Showman | Vivienne Wilder

Page 3
Page 4
Thank you:
Arlene McLean | Douglas McLean
Jason LaPrade
Neil Cruickshank | John Showman | Vivienne Wilder
Ed Hanley | Christina Hutt
Sean Cotton | Joe Ernewein
Barry Callaghan
Peter Chapman at Fallen Tree Records
Bill Garrett | Grit Laskin | Alex Sinclair | Linda Turu at Borealis Records
Dave Gallant | John Larocque
Christine Peters | Michael Callaghan
Every ‘Schmidt’ I’ve ever met | Bill Heffernan
Jack Brooks | Kay Brooks
Sandra Alves
This album was made possible by generous and private patronage
and we dedicate it to the memory of:
Gary Cruickshank
Shirley Cruickshank
James Gray
Rosemary Phelan
Greg Quill
and
Claire Wilks
You are loved

Page 5
Page 6
WHEN WE GO We are the bad backs doing all the heavy lifting, And we’re the academics hooking up the draught tanks;
The children mentoring the elders. We are your hosts here: “We appreciate your business, thanks!”
No, we can’t take that old letter from our first lover. We’re the engineers wearing the nametags
No, we can’t take anything unto that Some Great Other. And we are soldiers trained as welders. We are the shamans preaching the Gospel,
Every lone sock and every diamond – we can’t prove it, ‘cause everybody We’re the Christians arming for war.
knows: We’re fishermen on the tar sands, We are the men, the women, the first children
If it’s not love we can’t take it when we go. The night shift dragging into day. Living at the end of metaphor.
We are the millwrights doing telemarketing
But we can take our ex-wives’ laughs, and our mothers’ worry lines. In a call centre still called Thunder Bay, We’re administrators in the pulpits;
We can take all that which we gave to those of whom we had to help, In a call centre still called Thunder Bay. Decisively agnostic in the pews.
And of whom that taught us most: We’re the journalists working at The Second Cup.
That if it’s not love we can’t take it when we go. And if we keep what’s within us, And we’re the statisticians reading us the news.
If we keep what’s within us,
No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go. What’s within us will kill us; We are the profs but the students have fled
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go But if we give what’s within us, For safer space – no conflicts –
To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust – Ah, if we give what’s within us, Like Instagram where they’ll be calling us out
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go. What’s within us will save us. With all the power and prestige of identity politics.

And all our prizes and impulse buys: they will be fast appraised, We were nurses back home in Kingston, Jamaica – We’re farmers building the suburbs,
And into one bargain bin they’ll be casually thrown. We’re cleaning ladies in Toronto tonight. Enumerators telling us the hard truths.
Until what’s favoured and/or forgotten We’re the single moms shopping at Walmart – We’re the contractors drawing up the town plans.
Will delicately be told: “if you’re not love, kid, we can’t take ya when we We can’t afford the luxury to do what’s right. We’re the shy girls tonguing in the kissing booths.
go.”
We’re pitchers at bat, goons on the power play, We’re the plumbers getting rid of the knob and tube.
No, we can’t take it when we go, when we go, wherever we go. We’re the fans that can’t afford a seat. We’re wannabe models showing us our new homes.
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go We are the dieticians serving up the all-day breakfast We’re MBA CAs, minimum wage BAs
To that place where moth nor rust cannot touch us past this dust – And the vegans that are hanging up the near dead meat. And we’re “team building” but we’re all alone.
If it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.
We’re lawyers but we are in business. We are historians at the front desk.
Jon: vocals, guitar Yes, we’re corporate but we are “individuals” by law. We’re the social workers counting up the till.
Neil Cruickshank: bass, guitars, vocals We’re the babysitters that are raising our kids And we’re the crane operator with the English degree
Christina Hutt: vocals And we’re free to vote to be enslaved by it all, And we know we got a book or two in us still.
Jason LaPrade: programming Yes, we are free to vote to be enslaved by it all.
Rosemary Phelan: vocals We’re the copywriters doing the curating.
John Showman: fiddle And if we keep what’s within us, We are the doctors driving the cabs.
If we keep what’s within us, We are the specialists and we’re trying to change a tire.
WHAT’S WITHIN US What’s within us will kill us; We’re your union delegates working as scabs.
But if we give what’s within us,
If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you, Ah, if we give what’s within us, We’re anaesthetists but we’re faith healing.
what you do not bring forth will destroy you. What’s within us will save us. We’re sportscasters with political views.
- The Gospel Of Thomas, 70 We’re the snake handlers advising elites -
And we’re the actors teaching our kids at school. We do that downtown voodoo on the dollar for you.
We are the artists sweeping the floors. We are the dancers waiting on the tables.
We are the poets sending out the spam. We’re the new and well-lettered illiterate We are retired but we are still working.
We’re the prophets doing all the dishes. And we’re looking for a parking spot for the spiritually disabled. Yes, we’re linguists teaching business-speak.
We are the misemployed and we’re working for the man. We’re the bards eulogizing Tradition –
We’re the service charge that used to be interest; O, the time is up for you, easy irony.
Yes, we’re the grifters that are managing the banks.
Page 7
Let’s bring on a brand new shared suffering! The crying of the times, SMALL
Bring on a brand new something heavy! The crying of the times.
“Bring on the brand new renaissance,” Gord1, How can we hear the stories of people, My name’s Jamie, I’m a pretty good guy.
‘Cause we know we’re ready. Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times? Y’ask me “how I’m doin’’ I’ll tell you “I’m doin’ alright.”
Yeah, ‘cause we know we’re ready. Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times. I got a job but I don’t like to go.
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times. I don’t tell you nothin’ you don’t know.
And if we keep what’s within us, And yes I wanted to be an astronaut,
If we keep what’s within us, Jon: vocals, guitar, organ I wanna do everything that I have not,
What’s within us will kill us; Neil: programming And I wish I could see how small we really are.
But if we give what’s within us, John: fiddle
Ah, if we give what’s within us, Vivienne Wilder: bass, vocals Yes, and I used to love her, I used to let her know
What’s within us will save us. But I guess I let it slide a couple years ago.
IN THE ALLEYS Now it feels like we’re livin’ in a ring;
Jon: vocals, guitar We fight about just about everything.
Neil: bass, guitars, vocals Where she counts her tips and gets a cigarette. O, and if I was an astronaut –
John: fiddle Where he finds the cans and bottles the night left. Me and the problems that I got –
Yes, there will always be despair; there’ll always be a doubt I could see how small we really are.
From the song, Three Pistols, by The Tragically Hip and Gord Downie, 1991.
1
But in the alleys and in love there is the truth.
Yes, in the alleys and in love there is the truth. How small we are.
THE CRYING OF THE TIMES #3 How small and hardly at all we are.
for Bill Heffernan Where he stops to bum a smoke and then a light. How small we are.
Where she finds the time to hope her kid’s all right. How small and not really at all we are.
How can we hear the reel and the raga? And there will always be a sadness; life will leave a bruise And if I was an astronaut –
How can we hear the dirge and lament? But in the alleys and in love there is the truth. Me and the problems that I got –
And how can we hear the blue note rebelling? Yes, in the alleys and in love there is the truth. I could see how small we really are.
And how can we hear the forced cadence?
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times? Tomorrow’s sun will light the sky How small we are.
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times. Under which this world will lie again to you, How small we are.
But in the alleys and in love,
How can we hear the umlaut and the accent? In the alleys and in love, We got a son in the middle and he just turned four –
How can we hear the unstressed vowel? In the alleys and in love there is the truth. He’s the only reason that we’re not divorced.
And how can we hear the sibilance and plosive? One night he asked, why a couch was a bed?
And how can we hear the voiceless howl? Where the secret and the sacred still collide, So I sat him down and I said:
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times? Where all stumbling and grace and trust abide. I said, “kid, if you were an astronaut,
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times. Yes, there will always be facades down all our avenues You could see what I cannot
But in the alleys and in love there is the truth. ‘Cause you could see how small we really are.”
The crying of the times, Yes, in the alleys and in love, How small we are.
The crying of the times. In the alleys and in love, How small and hardly at all we are.
How can we hear the stories of people, In the alleys and in love there is the truth. How small we are.
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times? How small and not really at all we are.
In the alleys and in love there is the truth. And if I was an astronaut –
And how can we hear the God song of humpbacks? Me and the problems that I got –
How can we hear the Igloolik ping? Jon: vocals, guitar I could see how small we really are.
And how can we hear the bow shock of Jupiter? Neil: organ
And how can we hear Saturn’s rings? John: fiddle Jon: vocals, guitar
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times? Vivienne: bass, vocals Neil: vocals
Yet we can’t hear the crying of the times. Christina: vocals
Vivienne: bass
Page 8
THERE IS ONLY LOVE I could shoot thirty six out of forty. HIGH FIVE
O but I’m not studying war no more, for Andy Gullahorn
We are the earth and we are its oil. No, I’m not going back to Rapid City.
We are seeds; we are gifts to the soil. One morning I was out with my dog, Job, walking the Martin Goodman
We are hope’s blood and bone that we’re never alone – We left Anzio base housing Trail.
That is to say, there is only love. With the dishes in the sink, Nga and Liam. The waves, the wind, the monarchs, the spandex running high;
I’m a bike courier in Toronto now, Ah, beauty, yer eternally new every time – all else dies.
We are the air that sings through the trees. I got a secret that I can’t tell.
We are each other and we are on our knees. My conscience is making me a criminal. An older Mediterranean skinned man with an interesting face,
We are the mystery and the wind in all beauty and suffering – And my hands, they shake with the Peridol. In anticipation of our approach, raised his right hand,
That is to say, there is only love, I asked Allah and I asked God’s Son: And intuitively we high-fived, high-fived.
That is to say, there is only love. “What’s freedom worth if it’s bought with a gun?”
And: “breathe, trigger, squeeze,” High five.
We are fire and sometimes we are light; A voice inside of me High five.
We are passions that sometimes are right. Said, “I’m not studying war no more
We are brick, we are mortar, we’ll be ashes tomorrow – No, I’m not going back to Rapid City.” We’ve been randomly high-fiving each other now for a decade.
That is to say, there is only love, I’ve not yet heard the tone of his voice or the accent of his speech.
That is to say, there is only love. Was born, Jeremy Hinzman, Rapid City. Nor have I ever come up with a better justification of God.
South Dakota, I still miss you.
We are water and we are the rain. High five.
We can know by only what we can name. Jon: vocals, guitar High five.
We are salt, we are cane, and we’re never the same –
That is to say, there is only love, SAFER DAYS Jon: vocals, guitars
That is to say, there is only love, Neil: bass, guitars
That is to say, that there is only love. I was last seen at The Cecil dancing with an Indian girl Christina: vocals
Down at the corner of 4th Avenue and the end of the earth. Jason: electric piano, programming
Jon: vocals, guitar It was built in 1911 for transients and working men John: fiddle
Neil: bass, guitar, organ Who rode the western rail to the East Village Station.
John: fiddle And may we hope for better, may we always work and play. WHEN WE GO REPRISE
Vivienne: bass, vocals And may we meet again in safer days.
These brick and sandstone draught rooms scar all south parts of every town; Jon: guitars
WAR RESISTER Where Italian shoes and the Kodiac boots trip over the same ground. Neil: bass, guitars, organ
And as inside all churches a moral code will rule. Jason: programming
Was born, Jeremy Hinzman, Rapid City – He said, “I’m good with faces, kid”– and then he followed me into the Rosemary: vocals
South Dakota, I still miss you. men’s room. John: fiddle
Bought war cards as a kid. And may we hope for better, may we always work and play.
Never knew mom or why she did what she did. And may we meet again in safer days.
I went to Fort Bragg, Benning, too –
Yeah, we don’t know why we do what we do – And if we’re young in this life may we never fear a chance
It’s just: “breathe, trigger, squeeze.” And should we learn a better age may we learn vigilance.
And may we hope for better, may we always work and play.
And I was trained to kill – “Kill we will, And may we meet again in safer days.
In the 82nd Airborne we exceed the
Standard...” (of soldiering) – I was last seen at The Cecil dancing with an Indian girl.
And my hands they’d shake with adrenaline.
We’d shoot at circles until they grew legs, Jon: vocals, iTanpura
Six weeks later we’d be shooting at men – Neil: bass, guitars, vocals
Just: “breathe, trigger, squeeze.” Ed Hanley: tablas
Page 9
When We Go [4:06]
1.
2. What's Within Us [6:55]
3. The Crying of the Times #3 [4:05]
4. In the Alleys [3:07]
5. Small [3:41]
6. There Is Only Love [3:41]
7. War Resister [3:37]
8. Safer Days [4:10]
9. High Five [2:59]
10. When We Go Reprise [2:44]

FALLEN
REE
RECORDS

Page 10

Related Interests