PREVIEW: Hurry Up Please It’s Time

hurry up please it's time album cover

Welcome! This is the private link to preview the new album by Buggy Jive, HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME. (Shhhh!) Mr. Jive has quietly been working on this project over the past year. A few of the songs are only a few weeks old.

The album is tentatively set to release Wednesday, June 19, 2024.

The album was recently announced on social media in anticipation of Buggy Jive’s opening set for Shayna Steele’s June 14 show at Universal Preservation Hall in Saratoga Springs. The show is part of UPH and WEXT’s “In the Round” singer-songwriter series; the announcement included a preview of the album’s first single, “Scheherazade of Schenectady.”

You can listen to the album at the following links, or use the embedded player below.

Many thanks.

THE ORIGIN STORY

Hurry Up Please It’s Time quietly began in the spring of 2023 with Buggy Jive’s submission to NPR’s Tiny Desk Contest, “Don’t Quit Your Day Job.”

The performance video – with Buggy singing in 360 degrees alongside three versions of himself on guitar, bass and drums – was selected from more than 6000 entries as a “Top Shelf” featured submission, and subsequently named Music Video of the Year at Upstate New York’s 2024 “Eddie” Awards.

The new album includes a studio version of “Quit” and 11 more acoustic soul rock songs contemplating songwriting and storytelling, love and literature, and the festering fear of a so-called woke planet.

For extra credit, listen closely to the new album’s title track: it’s effectively a sequel to “Quit,” featuring more spoken word divine wisdom and disappointment.

CREDITS

Guitars and keys and vox and stuff performed by Buggy Jive. Songs copyright 2024 (1,2,4,9,11), 2023 (3,5,6,8,10,12) and 2014 (7) by Bryan Paul Thomas. All beats courtesy Yurt Rock except track 10 beats courtesy the Drum Broker. “Alien Robot Love Song About Love” contains a public domain sample of “O Souverain, O Juge, O Pere!” from Jules Masenet’s Le Cid (1885), sung by Enrico Caruso for the Victor Talking Machine Company, 1916. “Hurry Up Please It’s Time” contains a sample of “Anymore” by Bryan Thomas, copyright 1999, used by permission. Cover art by Jean Luc, from the music video “Don’t Quit Your Day Job.” Back cover includes public domain art from the 1837 music sheet for “Backside Albany” by Michael Hawkins, which some historians say is the first song of blackface minstrelsy. Copyright 2024 WT3 Records and Radical Plastical Music. All Rights Reserved.

TRACKLIST

1. Monsters Write Pretty Songs (2:26)
2. Scheherazade of Schenectady (3:56)
3. Don’t Quit Your Day Job (4:36)
4. Another Song I Ain’t Allowed to Sing (3:17)
5. The Music is Beside the Point (3:20)
6. The Calendar is a Liar (3:33)
7. Autumn is Burning (4:53)
8. Old Man Screams at Sky (2:46) [Explicit]
9. Ignore Them Fools (4:11)
10. Alpha the Beta (4:54)
11. Alien Robot Love Song About Love (5:14)
12. Hurry Up Please It’s Time (4:42) [Explicit]

hurry up please back cover art

the waste land

LYRICS

1. Monsters Write Pretty Songs

Good luck making art
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.
Guitar pulls and open mics.
Good luck writing a song your daughters will like.

And the good guys get it wrong.
And monsters write pretty songs.
And vampires sing lullabies.
They will suck your blood to “Rock-a-Bye Baby”.

It’s just a song and nothing more
But it’s good enough for who it’s for.
It’s just for me and you and the Holy Spirit
Cuz we’re the only ones ever gonna hear it.

And the good guys get it wrong.
And monsters write pretty songs.
And vampires sing lullabies.
They will suck your blood to “Rock-a-Bye Baby”
And rock and roll. Now you’re a ghost.
And the worst poets mean it the most.
They get too close.

2.  For Scheherazade of Schenectady

Allegation allegory,
Teach me how to tell a story.
The stakes are high to tell the tale.
We gonna die in the morning if we fail.
She say: “Don’t tell me.
You betta be showing me.
If it’s dirty, you betta make it poetry.
And if it’s pretty, you betta make it messy
For Scheherazade of Schenectady.”

To tell a dirty American fiction
She’s erasing all the exposition.
A monk who do not know no jazz.
Son of Ellis cannot see through man.
She read the book, but she ain’t seen the movie.
It’s a parody of the buggy bougie.
Lovely layers so messy messy
For Scheherazade of Schenectady.

Show don’t tell.

Mac Ho’s driving sleepy Shay Shay home.
I’m riding shotgun; I’m looking out for muses.
My guitar’s in the back with Shay Shay in her coma.
And Mac is all excuses.

He locks the keys inside the car.
He said he owns the thing, but it’s just rental.
She is sleeping with my guitar.
Fluorescent tacky transcendental.

And I’m writing the song from outside the car.
I’m writing the song from inside the dream with no guitar.
A novel within a novel inside a dream outside the car
Without my guitar.

But God is love and love is God
For my baby Shay Scheherazade.
It is allegorical ecstasy
For Scheherazade of Schenectady.

3. Don’t Quit Your Day Job

I’m just another singer-songwriter.
 Raging. Navel gazing.
Angry belly buttons don’t impress.
Yet all my friends every year this time be saying:
“Ain’t you gonna enter Tiny Desk?”

I try too hard but also not hard enough.
Maybe I should pray to God.
Help me shoot my shot, shoot my shot.
Give it everything I got.
The Lord says: “Do not quit your day job.”

I’m just another songwriter
Who thinks he’s clever going meta
But four of me is kinda grotesque.
Four of me surely ain’t four more times better.
Is it more enough for Tiny Desk?

I try too hard but also not hard enough.
Maybe I should pray to God.
Lord, help me shoot my shot, shoot my shot.
Give it everything I got.
The Lord says: “Do not quit your day job.”

The Lord gives and he taketh away.
Blessed be thy name.
This is what the Lord says:

“Mic check one, mic check check,
Buggy, check your ego behind that tiny desk.
You got the nerve to compare your day job to Job’s distress?
Regret sucks when it comes with success!
You wanna retire by the loophole of five-four
And join that FIRE community gang.
But be wary of them backyard gold burying libertarian contrarians
Seeking immunity from everythang.
Seeking actions without consequence. Acting with impunity.
Even though equality ain’t equity ain’t equal opportunity.
They quote the dreams of a King without fail
But they ain’t never heard of no letter from no Birmingham jail.
Actin’ a fool like Atticus in Act Two,
Seeking Tom Robinson’s acquittal
While getting paid 15 million dollars a year
To tell all y’all to shutup and dribble.
So stand yo’ ass up!
 Summon your ancestors’ fortitude.
Put your back and your whole ass into it,
Cuz baby you still gots work to do.”

I try so hard but also not hard enough.
I try so hard but also not hard enough.
I’m trying and trying and trying and crying and crying.

So I’m shouting up to the heavens.
I ain’t trying to betray God.
So I’m shouting up to the heavens
Cuz I’m kinda trying to sway God.
Turnin’ it up to eleven.
The Lord got slay goals for his slay squad.
And he shouts down his eleventh commandment:
“Thou shalt not quit thy day job.”

4. Another Song I Ain’t Allowed to Sing

Of banjos and fiddles
And moving too cautiously
Of Jim Crow and riddles
And the “Back Side of Albany.”

Of break beats and vinyl
And Ironweed mythology
Of deadbeats and winos
And the “Back Side of Albany.”

She ain’t not never been my lover.
She’s too busy plucking them strings.
She’s writing a song I can’t cover.
Another song I ain’t allowed to sing.

5. The Music is Beside the Point

I fell in love with a melody.
I fell in love with a sudden change of key.
I’m trying not to lose it.
I fell in love with a melody.
I fell in love with the things that can’t be seen.
I swear it’s all about the music.

Listening blind, listening cold,
Pluck out my eyes to flip Van Gogh.
Eyes wide shut like Stanley Kubrick.
I don’t need no distractions from the music.

I fell in love with a melody.
I fell in love with a lyric and conceit.
I’m trying not to lose my mind.
I fell in love with a melody.
I fell in love with a syncopated beat.
I’m trying not to shake my behind.

Listening blind, listening cold,
Pluck out my eyes to flip Van Gogh.
Pretty people, ass too thick,
I don’t need no distractions from the music.

Sonics and sound and noise.
Is the music beside the point?

Falling down with falling chords,
Falling on subjective swords.
Fall in love with song and artist.
Falling, longing falling farthest.
Longing for a separator
Of the art from its creator.
Frankly fab and falling feigning
And rob the soul and blame the raining.
And the song’s the least of it.

Sonics and sound and noise.
Is the music’s beside the point?
Pretty people and grinding groins.
Is the music’s beside the point?

6. The Calendar is a Liar

Days never seem like the days that they are.
Calendars just be lying on the moon and the stars.

Same old same old same old.

Thursdays trying to be Sundays.
Hours trying to be minutes.
Fridays acting like Mondays.
This calendar is a menace.

Same old same old same old.

And the calendar is a liar.
And the clock on the wall is a liar.
As we retire into the fire.
Last week is both a year ago and yesterday.
Tomorrow isn’t promised but it’s already today.

Damn.

We never seem to be the way we should be.
But she keeps on dreaming about the way we could be.

7. Autumn is Burning

Summer to winter
Sweet Mary Magdalene
There is no center
There is no in between

Autumn is burning.

She looks for passion
Like Rickie singing “The Magazine”
First or the last one
There is no in between

Autumn is burning

How long to get to know someone?
How long to understand a song?
How long to keep a secret?
How long to get it wrong?

The groom toasts our vanity
For flying in sky machines
The bride asks to dance with me
September on the one and three

Autumn is burning
We are flying and falling ascending descending

Love changes minds of pretenders as stars steal the night

Summer to winter
Cremaster Vaseline
Weep for pretenders
There is no in between

8. Old Man Screams at Sky

Stop, y’all, put down your diaries.
Put ’em away before someone gets hurt.
You have the right to remain silent.
Keep ’em to yourself, we don’t need your dirt.

Old man screams at sky.

You ain’t got to tell me how good you are (sexy sad boy)
You ain’t got to tell me how good you are (sexy sad girl)
Of course you’re good.
I mean, look atchya.
The bar is super low for me, anyway.
The worst sex I ever had was still fucking amazing.

Old man screams at sky.

I’m just a watered-down version of the water
X generation photocopy degeneration.
I’m just a photocopy of a photo of a watered down
Mixed metaphor abomination.

One. Five. Six. Four.
One. Five. Six. Four.
Four-and-a-half.

Stop, y’all put down your diaries.
Put ’em away before you break my heart.
You ain’t gotta sing about how sad you are
You ain’t gotta sing about how sad you are
We’re all sad.
We’re all sad.
We’re all sad.
We’re all sad.
Everybody’s sad.
All the time.

9. Ignore Them Fools

Some of these people
Ruin it for the rest of us
Some of these people.
They be testing the best of us.

You got to learn to ignore them fools.
Can’t let their ignorance get you down.
You got to play by your own rules.
Or else these fools are gonna win.

Some of these humans
They know how to aggravate.
Some of these humans
Make a brother wanna activate.

You got to learn to ignore them fools.
Can’t let their ignorance get you down.
You try to fight them, you’re bound lose.
That’s how these fools tend to win.

Accept what I can’t change.
I try to change the things I can.
I try to accept what I can’t change.
I try to change the things I can.
But it’s hard to know the difference.
It’s hard to know the difference.
It’s hard.

You try to stay cool.
You try to retreat.
But some of these fools
They need to have their asses beat.

Sometimes you cannot ignore them fools.
Sometimes you just got to take em down.
Sometimes you just got to break the rules.
Or else these fools are gonna win.

Sometimes you cannot ignore them fools.
Sometimes you just can not mess around.
Some fools should be met with attitude.
Some stuff obliges your neck to move.
Sometimes these fools is gonna need to be schooled.
So school these fools with all of your negritude.
Or else these fools just might win.

But it’s hard to know the difference.

10. Alpha the Beta

It’s kinda funny just how quick you can go from
Alpha to beta.
You think yo honey she be diggin me mo.
Alpha to beta.
My history should assure I ain’t that bold
You got that cash cash money but no sense of control.
Alpha to beta.

This is what you’re most afraid of:
Finding out that all you’re made of
Ain’t enough to love the one you love.

I was tryna get a handle on just being a man.
Beta to alpha.
Six-teen candles and black Trans Ams.
Beta nostalgia.
Damn, Samantha rolls her eyes and laughs
It’d be a scandal before it even began.
Beta to alpha.

Scorcese rage in the back of a taxi
Fifth grade McMahon, reverse black Gatsby
A mezzanine above a would-be love.
Could this be love?

Let a tucket be sounded on the hautboys.
Enter the king and queen.
Let a tucker get hounded by them po’ boys.
Yolo Bolo and his Kween.

And make it funky.

It’s kinda funny just how quick you can go
From laugher to hater.
It’s kinda funny just how quick you can go
From master to baiter.

Sure, I’m kinda beautiful but you don’t have to hate me.
I swear I ain’t tryna get with your lady.
I ain’t had that spirit in me since 1980.
So you got noting to worry about from me, maybe.
My past is your guarantee of future performance, maybe.
I know you kinda fixated on the way she
Looked me up and down so unchastely.
Lickin her lips like she think I could be kind of tasty.
But I swear I ain’t tryna get with your lady.
Swear I ain’t tryna to get with your lady.
Swear I ain’t tryna to get with your lady.
But keep acting a fool, you just might make me.

Like Chris Columbus and King Bolo
We Alpha the Beta.
Like Chris Columbus and King Bolo
We Afro the Beta.

11. Alien Robot Love Song About Love

1.

I love her.

I love her skin.

I love the softness of her skin.

I love the way the deepest layer of her skin affixes to the muscle and the bones inside her head to make her face.

That’s what makes her look like that.

It could have gone wrong in so many ways. but the muscle and bones in her head have conspired with the skin to make her a classic beauty.

I love her skin.

I love her.

2.

I love her nature.

I love her carefree nature; she is always smiling.

A life free of trouble, a healthy lack of interest in the world outside her bubble.

A life free of drama, free of childhood trauma, and a pile of money from her daddy and her momma.

She’s of a different class of beauty.

She’s a classic beauty.

She is so free! She is so carefree!

I love her carefree nature

I love her nature.

I love her.

3.

I love her genes.

No, not denim jeans with a “J”.

I’m talking about that DNA.

Although now that you mention it:

I do love the way her jeans accentuate her seat; how they grip the skin affixed to the fat and muscle and blood and bones beneath.

The fat.

The curves.

The jiggle jiggle jingle jangle.

And that’s what I mean about the genes:

It’s her genes that make her jeans look like that.

The genes help the fat and the muscle and bones to conspire with the skin and the denim to make her ass a beauty.

It’s a classic booty.

This has really turned out to be the perfect example of what I mean about the importance of genes!

Linguistically?

More gimmickry than wizardry.

But it is comically and homonymically serendipity.

Some genes invent people who are not so nice.

Some genes invent people who are not so nice to look at.

Her genes did all right.

Inventing her skin and her face and her carefree nature.

And the aforementioned money maker.

I love her genes

And her jeans.

I love her genes.

4.

Love is art and art is science and love is art and love is science and science is science and love is art is science is love is art is science and love is love is love is love.

5.

I love her.

 

12. Hurry Up Please It’s Time

My man Paz is insisting baby
That Buggy get his ass to Kansas City baby.
The news fell first to Robin Goodfellow 25 long years ago
And I surely do not need to be here no more.

Hurry up please it’s time.
Hurry up please it’s time.
Why land when you can fly?
Hurry up please it’s time.

Is retiring into the fire just a slower way of dying by your own hand?
Is it selfish and irresponsible to give it all up
For the solo soul rock songwriter singer thing?
The wind blows fresh to the homeland.
Little black boy, why are you lingering?

Hurry up please it’s time.
Hurry up please it’s time.
Why land when you can fly?
Hurry up please it’s time.

Buggy, Buggy, Buggy, you know that ain’t right.
You act like my commandment was just optional advice
Well that’s all right, boy. That’s my plight:
Ain’t nobody listening to the lord tonight.
Ain’t nobody following me for real no more,
So maybe all y’all ain’t worth fighting for.
If y’all just be using my name to do your awful human shit,
Then maybe it’s time for your lord to quit.
So you quit yo day job, Buggy. I’ll quit mine.
I’ll take some time for myself and step away from the divine.
Most of y’all be like: I thought he had already gone!
Well then, no more spankings from the lord
To let you know when you done wrong.
Y’all will just have to keep on paddling your own behinds.
But in the meantime, in the meantime,
I ain’t mad at you if you can find
Some type of way to let your little light shine.

Hurry up please, it’s time.