Liner Notes

I had a dream last night that troubled me
Involving John F. Kennedy
I got a drink of water, went back to bed
I couldn’t get it out of my head

Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee, Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee

I came down a flight of stairs
And I saw him lying there
An undertaker standing by,
He was naked and about to die
As I gazed upon the face of death
JFK took one last breath
It was a desperate gasp that frightened me
Anguished and unearthly

Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee, Goodbye John F. Kennedy

I saw terror in his eyes
As if he had realized
He had lived somebody else’s life
And he was not prepared to die

Lie-la-lie-la-lie-la-lie

I believed it when my parents said
One day you could be president
The day I realized I was gay
That dream went sailing far away
I suppose I could have been
But there was no one out back then

I always wished that I was someone else
Somebody greater than myself
Someone adored by everyone
For everything that I had done
Always looking up from down below
To people that I didn’t even know

Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee, Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee

What if that dream was trying to say
Something old was going away
Something that was dear to me
That it was gone and I was free
Something that was defining me
That it was gone and I was free

Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee, Lie-la-lie-la-lie-da-dee

I had a dream last night that troubled me
Involving John F. Kennedy

Malcolm Burn: Dulcimer, electric guitar, bass composition
Mark Browne: Bass
Steve Decker: Drums
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals

Special thanks to Steve Earle for editorial assistance. Recorded at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles and Mark Browne, Los Angeles. Additional thanks to Malcolm Burn for the foundational mixes.

Track Name: John F. Kennedy
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Jon Gordon
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings
JFK Photograph by George L. Honeycutt

Monday they announced
They were shutting the papermill down
Newsprint trading under
Seventy cents a pound
Back in the day
This place was renowned
Now it’s just a charity town

Nine hundred people let go
And there’s no other work to be found
They put up a chain-link fence
And a sign just says to keep out
There’s nothing left for anyone here
But a burial ground
Nothing but a charity town

Boarded up stores and donation cans
Discount clothes from the Helping Hands
Salvation Army makes a final stand
And there ain’t no sign of Superman

It’s hard and it’s sad
And it’s real and profound
The future’s got plans
And the future isn’t fucking around
The carey deck crane is
Taking the big letters sign down
Down to a charity town

I lie in bed thinkin’ ‘bout
The kids and the house
Had a dream I was up in the air
Trying not to look down
Then everything broke
I felt the rush of the ground
Woke up in a charity town

Boarded up stores and donation cans
Discount clothes from the Helping Hands
Salvation Army makes a final stand
And there ain’t no sign of Superman

Monday they announced
They were shutting the papermill down
Newsprint trading under
Seventy cents a pound
Back in the day
This place was renowned
Now it’s just a charity town

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Mark Browne: Percussion, drums
Dan Lutz: Acoustic bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Sage Smith-Pallotta: Percussion composition
Soozie Tyrell: Violin
Jane Scarpantoni: Cello

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording at Jon Gordon Studios, Beacon, New York, and by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Charity Town
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

Ernie and his brother lost the farm
Never found a way to get back home
Never did nobody any harm
Only worked when alcohol ran low

Sometimes they’d cut firewood or hay
Shacked up on the Androscoggin River
Umbagog Lake gives what it takes
On to Hackett Mills she is delivered

The brothers never married, no surprise
People used to laugh and put ‘em down
The smell of pine pitch, sweat, blood red eyes
Fall that far you just get used to ground, uh huh, uh huh

He retreated after Ansel passed away,
No one gave Ernie Hodge another thought
Until one bitter cold December day
Behind the fiber mill at 4 o’clock

The whistle blew and the whole town came to life
Wilber Haskell’s oldest boy had fallen through the ice
The waterfall’s ferocious appetite
People screaming he was going to die, uh huh, uh huh

Out of nowhere something smacked the icy air
Ladder dragged real hard from off a roof
Grab the rope, grab it right there
Ernie screaming loud and bulletproof

Ten-year-old True Haskell’s life was saved
Who rescued him the paper wouldn’t say
‘Cuz Ernie didn’t have a hero’s face
He didn’t care
He didn’t read the papers anyway

Words by Freeman T. Frank & Dan Pallotta
Music by Dan Pallotta
Inspired by and adapted from the short story, “Drunk,” by Freeman T. Frank.

Rob Allen: Mandolin, organ
Mark Browne: Bass, mandolin
Malcolm Burn: Bass composition, violin motif composition, melodic rhythm guitar, shaker
Steve Decker: Drums
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Soozie Tyrell: Violin

Recorded at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Bulletproof
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Jon Gordon
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

Postcard from Aunt Josie
She’s in Colorado Springs
If it ain’t in an envelope
I read everything
Yellowstone was wonderful
And we left Cheyenne last night
Love and see you soon
I’m running out of room tonight

I’m a man of letters, good times and the bad
I can see the future through my letter bag
No wind or sleet or rain
Or snow upon the ground
Can keep this lonesome courier
From his appointed rounds

Notice of foreclosure, Monday afternoon
Mrs. Edwards mailbox will be
Someone else’s soon
98 degrees one day she came with lemonade
What’s the worst could happen
If I wait ’til Saturday

I’m a man of letters, good times and the bad
I can see the future through my letter bag
No wind or sleet or rain
Or snow upon the ground
Can keep this lonesome courier
From his appointed rounds

Fast as August passes
Like little weeds they grow
Tricycle comes flying up the drive to say Hello
Tricycles to bicycles and then before you know
College letters saying yeah and others saying no

I’m a man of letters, good times and the bad
I can see the future through my letter bag
No wind or sleet or rain
Or snow upon the ground
Can keep this lonesome courier
From his appointed rounds

Birthdays and condolences
And cards at Christmastime
Crooked cursive letters
From another place and time
Then one day you notice
No one writes her anymore
She slipped up to heaven
Through the mail slot in the door
I’m a man of letters, good times and the bad
I can see the future through my letter bag
No wind or sleet or rain
Or snow upon the ground
Can keep this lonesome courier
From his appointed rounds

She still gets the circulars
From all her favorite stores
And the mailers with the discounts
For refinishing her floors
Automatic correspondence to a mother on and on
Heartlessly remind them every day
That she is gone

Wedding invitations always make me smile
Cordially invited to tomorrow for a while
Groom and bride a dream inside
A pretty envelope
Empty mailbox waits for me to fill her up with hope

I’m a man of letters, good times and the bad
I can see the future through my letter bag
No wind or sleet or rain
Or snow upon the ground
Can keep this lonesome courier
From his appointed rounds

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Dan Lutz: Acoustic bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded by Malcolm Burn at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: The Mailman
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

Billy drove into the city every day at six am
Spent his whole life working on
The dreams of other men
Never took the chances that he always wanted to
Lived his life through heroes
And his heroes never knew

He said, don’t put me in a suit and tie
When my time comes for me
Don’t put me in a box
With all the dreams I never dreamed
Put me in a t-shirt and my faded dungarees
Turn me into fire into something
Unpredictable and free

Billy understood why he was angry all the time
Everybody loved him
‘Cause he never spoke his mind
Got down on his knees said to his God deliver me
Take away this other man that I pretend to be

He said, don’t put any words
Inside of my mouth when I’m dead
Don’t put me in a box
With everything I left unsaid
Don’t say anything
You don’t know what was in my head
Turn me into fire, let the fire speak for me instead

Billy met a man transcended
All his hatred for himself
Billy asked him how he did this
Billy asked him how it felt
Before he got his answer
Something woke him from his sleep
Man was just an apparition it was just a dream

He said, don’t play no haunted dirges
In the church when I am gone
Don’t put me in a box
With all of my unwritten songs
Let me lay a while with my favorite records on
Turn me into fire
Something faithful to itself to gaze upon

Half-moon casts a brilliant light
Upon the autumn leaves
Searching through his failings
Looking for his destiny

Billy took the filter hose and went into the garage
Pulled it through the window
Started up the car
Sat there with the taste of life and death
Inside his mouth
Turned the engine off and went back in the house

He said, don’t put me in a column
In the paper when I’m gone
Don’t put me in a box
Where I can never see the sun
Bring me down the river, let me hear the river run
Lay my askes on the water
Let it turn me and the river into one

Don’t put me in a suit and tie
When my time comes for me
Don’t put me in a box
With all the dreams I never dreamed
Put me in a t-shirt and my faded dungarees
Turn me into fire into something
Unpredictable and free

Billy drove into the city every day at 6am

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Peter Davis: Drums
Dan Lutz: Acoustic bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Soozie Tyrell: Violin

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded by Malcolm Burn, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording at On the Fringe Studios, West Newbury, Massachusetts, and by Jon Gordon, Beacon, New York, and by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: The Prisoner

Artist: Dan Pallotta

Written by Dan Pallotta

Performed by Dan Pallotta

Produced by Rob Allen

Mixed by Rob Allen

Mastered by Jon Gordon

Published by CThings

We were finishing supper when
somebody pulled up
Winter was turning to spring
Two young salesmen in a brand new truck
From the York Pickle Comp’ny

There was nobody else in the market up here
They were the only ones
There wasn’t an outfit bigger than theirs
Closer to Lewiston
These two guys said we had a helluva place
A lot of opportunity
They were looking for growers and we stood to make two grand, maybe three

That field had been empty a long time
So mom and dad agreed
If we tended the crop the comp’ny would plow
Fertilize and seed

Mom and Dad only had nine years of school
But they didn’t suffer no one
Still they figured better to be somebody’s fool
Than never to trust anyone

We worked that crop from dawn to dusk
In the summer of ’49
It didn’t rain for ten weeks straight
Everyone else’s crop died

But our land intersected the Worthley Brook
On the eastern side
We brought buckets of water from the brook for a week, and our cucumbers survived

It was a bumper crop bigger than we hoped
When all was said and done
There wasn’t a small farm that even came close
Closer to Lewiston

The letter came in November,
On company stationery
An accounting of all their time and expense
The phosphate, the lime and the seed

It said we didn’t have any money
Coming to us coming to us
It said that they had money coming to them
We owed thirty seven dollars and best of luck
Pay by November the 10th

There was even a charge for baseball hats
With the company name on the front
But the hours we spent with the sun on our backs
They didn’t count even one

The next year came the communist scare
It didn’t worry us none
We knew now that there were other dangers
Closer to Lewiston

Inspired and adapted from the short story, “Other Dangers,” by Freeman T. Frank

Words by Freeman T. Frank and Dan Pallotta

Music by Dan Pallotta

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Mark Browne: Mandolin, electric bass, bass drum
Malcolm Burn: Shaker
Steve Decker: Drums
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Mikaela Telesfor: Violin

Drums, vocals and acoustic guitar recorded by Malcolm Burn, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Jon Gordon, Beacon, New York, and by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Closer to Lewiston
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

Drove to California
When they shut down the mine
Left the Blue Ridge Mountains
And the life we had behind
Mister cutting coal’s
The only thing I ever did
Now I can’t find a thing
Pays even close to half of it
Siren never sounded
Selling prices caved
House went underground
With everything we saved
Living in my pickup
With my wife and little son
I can’t shake this feeling
Of the failure I’ve become

American pictures, American life
American dream, unrealized
God shed his grace on thee
From sea to shining sea
We’re waiting down the lumber yard
Hoping they got work for me

I work the airport snack bar
In St. Louis every day
Stare out of the window
Watching people fly away
Never been no further
Than a hundred miles from here
And the two-room flat
Where I was born back 37 years
Sometimes I dream about Paris
Sometimes I dream about Rome
Sometimes I go to China
When I’m on the bus back home
My God  I'm going to die
Before I ever see those things
The midtown bus is fast
But it ain’t got no wings

Oh beautiful, oh beautiful
For spacious skies
Amber waves of grain
Subsidized
American pictures
Poetry and rhyme
Purple mountain’s majesty
Far away from this world of mine

I come across the border with my family
Clean houses for a living
About a hundred dollars each
I bring my vacuum cleaner with me
Everywhere I go
Life is hard but better
Than it was in Guerrero
I’m grateful to this country
I hope that we can stay
I lie awake imagining
Them dragging us away
Land of opportunity
I ain’t asking for a hand
Why’s this little dream I got
So hard to understand?

American pictures, American lives
American dream, mythologized
This land was made for you and me
Beautiful song
Everyone looks at me
Like I’m singing it wrong

America pictures
America pictures
America pictures

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Mark Browne: Mandolin, drums, electric bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Mikaela Telesfor: Violin

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded by Malcolm Burn, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: American Pictures
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen and Jon Gordon
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

House fly, circling around
House fly, coming back around
Big dark shadow cast against the ground
Movin’ all around

Low moon, big clouds
Low moon, big clouds
Said it’s s’pos to rain but it’s holdin’ out
For now

Same story, this town
Same story, this town
Said I’s gonna leave
But it’s too late now to get out

House fly, where are you now
House fly, nowhere to be found
Time it took to write this
It found a way out
I don’t know how

I don’t know how
I don’t know how

Rob Allen: Electric guitar, banjo
Mark Browne: Drums
Dan Lutz: Acoustic bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded by Malcolm Burn, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Acoustic guitar composition by Dan Pallotta and Andrew Cooper.

Track Name: The Mailman
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

I can’t get ahead in this life
It ain’t because I don’t try
I see through my children’s eyes
Everything I can’t provide

Crowned with brotherhood no more
Cable news and civil war
Don’t need the likes of me no more
You can check yourself out at the store

Broken dreams we used to dream
Broken bells that used to ring
Broken songs we used to sing
My country ’tis a broken thing

This land was made for you and me
Saturdays from noon to 3
We line up for groceries
As far as the eye can see

Broken dreams we used to dream
Broken bells that used to ring
Broken songs we used to sing
My country ’tis a broken thing

Hard times come again no more
But they won’t leave my cabin door
Staring at my kitchen floor
Sharing sorrow with the poor

Joe Hill was a union guy
They said that he never died
Came to me in a dream last night
Told me he did not survive

We shall overcome they said
Jackie held her husband’s head
Before they killed him Bobby said
Martin Luther King is dead

Broken dreams we used to dream
Broken bells that used to ring
Broken songs we used to sing
My country ’tis a broken thing

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Malcolm Burn: Bass, slide guitar
Steve Decker: Drums
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals
Soozie Tyrell: Background vocals

Recorded at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Broken Thing
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by: Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Jon Gordon
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

They threw me out of Harvard in 1921
My name is Keith Smerage, I never hurt anyone

I grew up north of the city
My mother managed the local inn
She saved every penny she earned
Just to get me in
The investment in me was something
I felt I had to answer for
Nobody went to college
In my family ever before
My father never said much
I was a quiet kid
I never went in for the things
That the other boys did
I wanted to work in the theater
Make something out of my life

Harvard had a reputation
A secret that lived underground
A savage administration
Determined to shut it down
I attended some of the parties
Had encounters with some of the boys
I was haunted by my nature
And a punishing voice
I had a thing for a student named Nathan
A thing that I grew to despise
We had a feel for each other
Harvard could never abide
President A. Lawrence Lowell
He had it in for our sort
He ordered an inquisition
Created a secret court

The room didn’t have any windows
One dim light by the door
Five against one they questioned
Each of us for two hours or more
How old were you when it started
Give us the other boys names
How many times in a week
How many times in a day
32 interrogations, Seven days after that
Fourteen of us convicted
Twenty-four hours to pack
Letters sent to our parents
All of our records erased
Anyone asking about us, details of our disgrace

My mother wrote eloquent letters
Please to the deans she implored
A little bit less of your justice she said
Jesus a little bit more
But they never showed any mercy
They never did from the start
Mercy was not in their nature
Jesus was not in their hearts
No remorse for their devastation
No quarter for leniency
They had a job to preserves and protect
Their Ivy League fantasy
President A. Lawrence Lowell
Unrepentant and unreconciled
They said that he had a loveless marriage
He never fathered a child
Born to a Brahmin family
He knew he had God on his side
But the road to heaven is narrow
The road to hell is wide

Most of us never recovered
Some of us didn’t survive
The weight of the guilt and the shame and disgrace, three of us took our own lives
Goodbye Eugene and Cyril
They never mourned your loss
They built the devil a city
They put their sons on a cross
I held it together a while
But I never found my way
I held it together exactly until
1930 September the 8th

Glory be to the father, Mary, full of grace
Say goodbye to my mother
I’m sorry to leave her this way
The Pine Grove Cemetery
I lie with my name on a stone
Buried next to my mother,
On a rise overlooking our home

They threw me out of Harvard, in 1921
My name is Keith Smerage
I never hurt anyone

Rob Allen: Electric guitar
Dan Lutz: Acoustic bass
Dan Pallotta: Acoustic guitar, vocals

Vocals and acoustic guitar recorded at Malcolm Burn Studios, Kingston, New York. Additional Recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Keith Smerage
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings

She saw the clock stop
At 3:30
She was washing her hands
They’d gotten dirty
From being out in the yard
Weeding the garden
She heard a voice at the door
Begging her pardon

He was a younger man
She’d never seen him before
He broke the handle
Off her storm door
She saw him slip inside
She ran upstairs
He heard her moving
Followed her up there

Her skin was feather-soft
She made the sign of the cross
He turned the corner
She blew his head off

Down a white wall
His blood was running
She told herself that
He had it coming
They took her statement
Gave her a drug test
Taped up the crime scene
Gave her a Xanax

He’d been employed at
The local Pizza Hut
Across the street from where
She got her hair cut
Woman he worked with
Said she was worried
He’d had a bad day
Left in a hurry

Sun sets and, the moon rises
People are full of danger and surprises

Rob Allen: Banjo, electric guitar
Mark Browne: Drums
Dan Pallotta: Vocals

Vocals recorded on an iPhone 13 Pro Max by Dan Pallotta, Topsfield, MA. Additional vocal recording at On The Fringe Studios, West Newbury, MA. Additional recording by Rob Allen, Los Angeles, and by Mark Browne, Los Angeles.

Track Name: Surprises
Artist: Dan Pallotta
Written by Dan Pallotta
Performed by Dan Pallotta
Produced by Rob Allen
Mixed by Rob Allen
Mastered by Jon Gordon
Published by CThings