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The First Requisite Is Life

by Rosehall

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1.
Dialogue 02:36
It feels like this. Waking up with a lump in your throat. Going to bed with a pain in your side. It feels like this. There is love, there is love I swear it. Looking across the street and forgetting the sun shines there; it feels like this. Singing at the bus stop in the cold night, because you can't anywhere else. Subjugated. Put down. It goes like this. (There is love) Wishing one of us would go. Wishing one of us would go. (There is love, I swear it.) Wishing that I would suffer an accident.
2.
(...Singing The Dark-Eyed sailor, a song I learned about 1917, and forgotten where... and from whom) A sandbar grounds your boat three feet from the shore. There you are, hiding under the sail. You call for me, but the wind steals your words. I said; 'Spare me the lies, selfish heart! Spare me the tears, before they start! I want to be a different man! But you never gave the chance to explain that.' Said; 'Spare me the lies, selfish heart! Spare me the tears, before they start! I want to be a different man! But you never gave the chance to explain that.' Swallow your guilt. Said unto me, 'If you loved me, you would not let go, even as my decaying body rots too much to float.' I said 'of course,' pouring gasoline on the port. 'Spare me the lies, selfish heart! Spare me the tears, before they start! I want to be a different man! But you never gave the chance to explain that.' Said, 'I don't want to be that kind of man, But you never gave me a single chance.'
3.
Fragile 04:36
(Wait, you can talk, cause I mean this isn't official, but - ) Oh, hello, could you please let me in? I'm sorry, I didn't know this seat was taken. I'll go back to my place, I'll go back, take my place, I'll go back. Cause all of my dust-marked equations and notes have been set in stone. The hard-faced cross man on the hill has been left a home. (Oh, you don't know who I am? Let me try and help you with that. I'm the ill ease that you feel when you walk into a crowded room.) Fragile. Why'm I so, why'm I so, why'm I so fragile? Oh, hey! I'm outside the door and it's started to rain. I'm soaked to the skin. I'm not here, but this is happening. I'm not living, but I'm not killing time - it's more like the other way around. So, if you just let me in, I'll make it to the morning, and see my city, sterile, bleached in white. And be there, and take it in, but fuck the freeways, cause they're too fast. I'm alive at three and dead at seven past. Fragile. Why'm I so, why'm I so, why'm I so fragile? Why'm I still, why'm I still talking? It's pointless. I can't do this. It moves too fast. I can't keep up.
4.
Michael Lucey: Now, my friends, it's raining blood. Blood sun, blood lightning, blood thunder, blood snow. It's come, it's come to wash us clean. I know, I know, I know, I know. But who wants to be clean? Not I, my love. Not I. Close,crimson clouds, and clear your bloody sky. Blood comet, pass on by. Hope Charlotte: Holy, holy,holy. As much as the sunrise is holy, and the earth's life is holy, and it's water holy, perhaps the unholiest thing, even worse than a lack of such things, is standing among them and feeling them pass you by like currents. It's a tired, half-lit smile at a gathering of friends after not eating for days. It's seeing someone you adore with tears running down their face under a clear blue sky, and before rolling green hills. It's the moment of hesitation at the train platform and the balcony. It's the shaking of the head, the refusal to join the other boys and girls as they laugh and play. Sometimes the weather matches - An overcast sky dully lighting a fist-printed wall. A grey and grey-lit room silhouetting them as you fear what they'll do next. Holy, holy, HOLY. The second time I visited his house, a six-inch praying mantis, strong and brilliant green, was beside his pool. The biggest one I have ever seen - other boys had them too, but not all. I trusted the mantis was too big to fall into the filter and drown like so many bees and beetles had. I was wrong, I was wrong, I made a mistake, I was wrong, I was wrong. Why are you listening to me? Why do you listen to me because my voice is low? I know plenty of idiots whose voices carry too far. Further than mine ever will. No more virgin births, and no more immaculate preconceptions. No more virgin births, and no more immaculate preconceptions. Only guilt.
5.
You don't know how hard it is to feel how you made me feel for all these years. You said, 'come over,' I said, 'sure, Sunday's cool.' You said, 'are you kidding me? come now you fool!' Rip it up, burn it down, dust to dust in the ground. Yeah, I don't need to change. It's you that's wrong. Growth is healthy, but cancer is not. Rip it up, burn it down, dust to dust in the ground. Burnt in disarray, obey your bible. Finally, I can see that you're not meant for me. Why should I feel anxious? Why should I fear the dark? Why should I fear a lover's touch? Why should I fear my own hand? The Sunday's cool breeze is on my face, I am at rest.
6.
Vines 04:54
The door cracks just in time with my stress-addled mouth. You ask me; 'Why are you awake? It's two a.m. - hey, what's the problem?' 'Oh, I was just having some dreams. In those dreams, the world was barren. Barren and cold.' All these business owners and entrepeneurs making their way. Making good money. Watching their faces as their buildings fall down. Why did you think it wouldn't happen to you? So please hold me in the broken bracken doorway, even as our veins dry out and our bones are scattered to the wind. If you want to find me, look for me in the vines. Look for me in the vines. Kill the mother, make the children suffer. Do you want to play a game called denial? If you want me you can find me in the vines.
7.
Frost 04:06
Narrator: It is a warm summer day, and an old man, wizened and wrinkly-eyed but sturdy, walks down a leaf-strewn path and sits on a bench. He checks his watch, exhales, and then settles. Across from the path is a gently flowing river, and upon that river is a young crane, separated from his family. The crane approaches the man, his legs dripping water. Crane: Excuse me sir, can you help me? Narrator: The man does not respond. In fact, he turns his head, ever so slightly, and watches as a great white dog, shaggy and muscular, approaches the bench. The dog sniffs the old man briefly before climbing into his lap. The old man sighs wordlessly, and holds the dog like a child, sinking into its fur. He stops moving. Crane: Sir? Narrator: The crane asks. The man does not respond. (It's too late) And, so, too anxious to leave, too scared to back into the water where there might be predators, too afraid it'll hurt or be hurt, he waits. And waits. Rooted to the spot. (You wanna make it right, but it's too late. You feel the only way is down.) Crane: Will you talk to me now? (Is down. Is down.) Narrator: He asks, as summer turns to autumn. The man on the bench withers away. Crane: Please sir, I'm all alone. Can you help me? Narrator: Autumn turns into winter, and the rain freezes in the crane's feathers, and in his joints, and he is frozen to the spot. Shivering, he watches as the old dog finally saunters away. The old man is barely more than a skeleton now. Crane: Why do we have to die, sir? Why do we have to suffer? Hope Charlotte: It's been almost exactly a year and a month, and it still doesn't feel real. God, I thought that you could have been hit by a train and survived. Such a clever, kind, strong, young man. I was so jealous of you just months before you died. I'm glad to say to your memory that that faded before the last days. I just wanted you to be okay. She held the blanket, as she held before - to care, or to strangle, I don't know, though I often think on it. But there was no blanket that could have caught your fall; grey, or blue, or orange. You didn't have to die, and I don't know if you did. Four years ago, I would have happily taken your place, but now I'm sad, and I'm here, and I'm standing in the place that you've left, untied. You deserved more peace than you were ever willing to give yourself. You deserve more peace than you are ever willing to give yourself.
8.
Spiders 05:50
Have I left the keys in my car? Does it even matter anymore? All my life's work gone in vain. Does it even matter anymore? When it came down to it, it didn't matter what I wanted or what I needed, if what you wanted or needed was different. Because, in the end, it didn't matter what I wanted to do, or whatever I felt, you always turned it into something that was against you, that was wrong with me, and I was never in the right, and I always felt guilty, every single time. Wrong with me. Wrong with me. Spiders, they come for me. They kiss me. They bring me flowers. And all these good men have gone away. Send me out, I'd love to meet you. How can I live in such decay? Living for a better day. ???????? Spiders. Have I left the keys in my car? Does It even matter anymore? Will you still be there when I wake up in the morning? Will she still be there when I'm trying to sleep? Will he still be there in my dreams? I just want some peace, for God's sake. I think it's coming, I'm just praying it's soon. Please.
9.
Some people never change, but, I'm afraid, such people can only be found buried in caskets underground. We don't call anymore. Swept it under the rug and out the door. I regret nothing, cause there is love, I swear it. I navigate this borderline, wondering if after you'd be mine. And, in the occurrence of that, I would be satisfied, and nullified. Lost in the grey. That shape stands in my doorway again. (You're a person - you're not a machine. Machines just do the same thing over, and over, and over again. When you're a person, you can grow, and change, and feel.) I regret everything. There is love I swear it. There is love I swear it. There is love. (All these days.) There is love. The grizzly bears in the far-above footage on the nature documentary look tiny against the vast sheet of snow. Outside, the sky is grey, but the trees are green, and the wind sighs in acceptance of this; this melancholia, this ache. How I long to feel that summer I felt as a child, that ease of living. To hold his warm hand, just as I did so few days ago. There is love, I swear it, even when it feels like this. (Ethan: *laughter* Timothy: What Ethan: Nothing. Timothy: You alright? Ethan: Yeah - yeah I'm fine. We'll restart that, cause... Timothy: Okay.)

about

“One hundred religious persons knit into a unity by careful organization do not constitute a church any more than eleven dead men make a football team. The first requisite is life, always.” - A.W. Tozer, Christian author and pastor.

This is not an explicitly religious album - in fact, it details somewhat of a struggle with religion - but I hope that idea of the quote above shines through. Most of these songs could be taken at face value to be quite sad, and while that may be true, I've tried to inject a lot of joy and hope into them along with the sadness.

I have put many hours of work and years of writing into this album. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it helps you. As a final preface, this is a reminder that this album was recorded on what is and always will be Whadjuk Noongar land.

- Hope Charlotte.

credits

released April 26, 2018

Hope Charlotte - vocals (1-9), nylon-string guitar (1, 2, 5, 7-9), electric guitar (2, 5, 6, 8, 9), prepared guitar (5, 7), 15 dollar Gumtree keyboard (1-5, 9), sampling (1-9), bass guitar (3-6, 9), piano (4, 5, 9), steel-string acoustic guitar (3), clarinet (7, 8), toilet roll holder (2), xylophone (9), shaker (5), 50 cent Chinese flute from Ebay (7)
Ethan James - tenor saxophone (5, 6)
Ezra Padmanabham (of GAZEY) - drums (5, 6, 8)
Sam Watson - tenor saxophone (9)
Michael Lucey - spoken word vocals (4)

All tracks written, recorded and produced by Hope Charlotte.
Masterfully mastered by Will Long (of Mister Long Records) at NOBELO Labs.
Cover image taken by D'Artagnan van Domselaar and edited by Hope Charlotte and Daniel Yeung.

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Rosehall Perth, Australia

Rosehall is an experimental folk pop band from Perth, Western Australia.

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