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Allen Ginsberg​’​s The Fall of America: A 50th Anniversary Musical Tribute

by Various Artists

/
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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Complete 20 tracks and liner notes booklet with poems.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Allen Ginsberg’s The Fall of America: A 50th Anniversary Musical Tribute via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    The track listing for the vinyl is as follows:

    Side A
    1) Scanner - Elegy for Neal Cassady
    2) Shintaro Sakamoto - Manhattan Thirties Flash
    3) Thurston Moore & Lee Ranaldo - Hum Bom
    4) Ed Sanders (The Fugs) - Memory Gardens
    5) Mickey Hart - First Party at Ken Kesey's With Hell's Angels (Drones Du Jour)
    6) Howie B with Gavin Friday - Death On All Fronts (America is Falling)
    7) Disco Pusher - A Prophecy

    Side B
    1) Angélique Kidjo - Uluru Song
    2) Bill Frisell - Over Laramie
    3) Andrew Bird - Easter Sunday
    4) Devendra Banhart - Milarepa Taste
    5) Yo La Tengo - Bayonne Entering N.Y.C.
    6) Lang Lee - Pain on All Fronts

    Includes unlimited streaming of Allen Ginsberg’s The Fall of America: A 50th Anniversary Musical Tribute via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ... more
    ships out within 7 days
    Purchasable with gift card

      $19.98 USD or more 

     

1.
from Elegy for Neal Cassidy "Can ya hear me talkin? calling your spirit god echo consciousness, murmuring sadly to myself. Happy as light released by the Day Spirit become spirit, or robot reduced to Ashes. Tender Spirit, thank you for touching me with tender hands When you were young, in a beautiful body, Such a pure touch it was Hope beyond Maya-meat, O Spirit. Sir spirit, forgive me my sins, Sir spirit give me your blessing again, Sir Spirit forgive my phantom body’s demands, Sir Spirit thanks for your kindness past, Sir Spirit in Heaven, What difference was yr mortal form, What further this great show of Space? Sir Spirit, an’ I drift alone: Oh deep sigh. Hadja no more to do? Was your work all done? Had ya seen your first son? Why’dja leave us all here? Has the battle been won? the world is released, desire fulfilled, your history over, story told, Karma resolved, prayers completed vision manifest, new consciousness fulfilled, spirit returned in a circle, world left standing empty, buses roaring through streets— garbage scattered on pavements galore— Grandeur solidified, phantom-familiar fate returned to Auto-dawn, your destiny fallen on RR track My body breathes easy, I lie alone, living After friendship fades from flesh forms— heavy happiness hangs in heart, I could talk to you forever, The pleasure inexhaustible, discourse of spirit to spirit" 10 Feb 1968 5-5:30 AM Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers credits
2.
from Hiway Poesy L.A. to Wichita "PAINTED DESERT, petrified forest Leslie Howard’s scratchy ’30s image … eating jurassic steak Petroglyphs over there the Man in the Moon, the guy with four fingers … over there, this is the sun, with two spikes out the North, two spikes South, two spikes ray East & West Milky way over here, the Moon, … and all the animal tentacles Nebula spiraled “… Roger 1943” And I hit Julius for eating his avocado cheese sandwich too fast. Gas flares, oil refinery night smoke, high aluminum tubes winking red lights over space ship runways petrochemical witches’ blood boiling underground— “Looks like they’re getten ready to go to Mars.” Approaching Thoreau— Fort Wingate Army Depot entrance— and there’s the Continental Divide. Anti Vietnam War Demonstrator soldiers sentenced For Contempt of President: Hard Labor— Learn thyself in Shell Refinery’s Oil Storage Seaboard Rackets, Lying back on the car seat, eyelids heavy, legs spread leaned against the table, Oh that I were young again and the skin in my anus folds rose, “La illaba el (lill) Allah bu” Finally bored, Over a hill, singing Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram Albuquerque Sparkling blue brilliant more diamonds & pearls of electricity running out of power-plants than ever heard of Turkey or Israel— intense endless iridescence on black velvet desert— Ah what a marvel orange blue Neon Circling itself Solar System’d Speed Wash Texaco 19¢ Famous Hamburgers Lion House Italian Village Pizza ah! radio warbles Electronic noise echo chamber vibrations— Albuquerque streets’ fantastic Neon Stars collapsing to bright red blinks Satellite Globes plunging their tiny lamps in and out— the eyeball. * * * * Space stretching North dotted with silver gastanks to Sandia Range Hitchhiking student supported by National Defense Fund with his black horn rimmed glasses, thin blond hair, “If your country calls you, would you go?” “If my country drafted me … then I would go.” Selfish young american always interested in his own skin —and blue car speeding along the highway sticker on back “I’m proud I’m an American” right front seat, a 10 gallon hat driver a fat car salesman— Sitting icy tipped distant earth peaks over Hilltops & here’s an ugly little oasis, used car tractors fenced off by barbed wire below roadside— Evenings cool clear, sharp brilliant blue stars— Just what we needed, State Penitentiary! Two miles off into the brown furze rolling East of the highway “This is Ford Country what are you driving?” Be a Ford dealer? Great snow meadows roof Sangre De Cristo clouds, North, dipping misty rivulet tails of pointy fog. ……………………………………………………… It’s a hard question … which would you rescue, your mother-in-law or the last text of Shakespeare?” January 28- 29, 1966 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
3.
Manhattan Thirties Flash Long stone streets inanimate, repetitive machine Crash cookie-cutting
dynamo rows of soulless replica Similitudes brooding tank-like in Army Depots Exactly the same exactly the same exactly the same with no purpose but grimness
& overwhelming force of robot obsession, our slaves are not alive
& we become their sameness as they surround us—the long stone streets inanimate, crowds of executive secretaries alighting from subway 8:30 A.M.
bloodflow in cells thru elevator arteries & stairway glands to typewriter consciousness, Con Ed skyscraper clock-head gleaming gold-lit at sun dusk. 1968
4.
Hum Bom! I Whom bomb? We bomb'd them! Whom Bomb? We bomb'd them! Whom Bomb? We bomb'd them! Whom bomb? We bomb'd them! Whom bomb? We bomb you! Whom bomb? We bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do! Who do we bomb? What do we do? You bomb! You bomb them! What do we do? You bomb! You bomb them! What do we do? We bomb! We bomb you! What do we do? You bomb! You bomb you! May 1971 II For Don Cherry Whydja bomb? We didn't wanna bomb! Whydja bomb? We didn't wanna bomb! Whydja bomb? You didn't wanna bomb! Whydja bomb? You didn't wanna bomb! Who said bomb? Who said we hadda bomb? Who said bomb? Who said we hadda bomb? Who said bomb? Who said we hadda bomb? Who said bomb? Who said we hadda bomb? Who wantsa bomb? We don't wanna bomb! Who wantsa bomb? We don't wanna bomb! Who wantsa bomb? We don't wanna bomb! We don't wanna we don't wanna we don't wanna bomb! Who wanteda bomb? Somebody musta wanteda bomb! Who wanteda bomb? Somebody musta wanteda bomb! Who wanteda bomb? Somebody musta wanteda bomb! Who wanteda bomb? Somebody musta wanteda bomb! They wanteda bomb! They neededa bomb! They wanteda bomb! They neededa bomb! They wanteda bomb! They neededa bomb! They thought they hadda bomb! They thought they hadda bomb! They thought they hadda bomb! They thought they hadda bomb! Saddam said he hadda bomb! Bush said he better bomb! Saddam said he hadda bomb! Bush said he better bomb! Saddam said he hadda bomb! Bush said he better bomb! Saddam said he hadda bomb! Bush said he better bomb! Whatdid he say he better bomb for? Whatdid he say he better bomb for? Whatdid he say he better bomb for? Whatdid he say he better bomb for? III Armageddon for the mob Gog & Magog Gog & Magog Gog & Magog Gog & Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog & Magog Gog & Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Gog Magog Ginsberg says Gog & Magog Armageddon did the job. February-June, 1991
5.
War Profit Litany To Ezra Pound These are the names of the companies that have made money from this war nineteenhundredsixtyeight Annodomini fourthousandeighty Hebraic These Corporations have profited by merchandising skinburning phosphorus or shells fragmented to thousands of fleshpiercing needles and here listed money millions gained by each combine for manufacture and here are gains numbered, index'd swelling a decade, set in order, here named the Fathers in office in these industries, telephones directing finance, names of directors, makers of fates, and the names of the stockholders of these destined Aggregates, and here are the names of their ambassadors to the Capital, representatives to legislature, those who sit drinking in hotel lobbies to persuade and separate listed, those who drop Amphetamines with military, gossip, argue, and persuade suggesting policy naming language proposing strategy, this done for fee as ambassadors to Pentagon, consultants to military, paid by their industry: and these are the names of the generals & captains military, who now thus work for war goods manufacturers; and above these, listed, the names of the banks, combines, investment trusts that control these industries: and these are the names of the newspapers owned by these banks and these are the names of the airstations owned by these combines; and these are the numbers of thousands of citizens employed by these businesses named; and the beginning of this accounting is 1958 and the end 1968, that statistic be contained in orderly mind, coherent & definite, and the first form of this litany begun first day December 1967 furthers this poem of these States. December 1, 1967
6.
from Memory Gardens: ... “I threw a kissed handful of damp earth down on the stone lid & sighed looking in Creeley’s one eye, Peter sweet holding a flower Gregory toothless bending his knuckle to Cinema machine— and that’s the end of the drabble tongued Poet who sounded his Kock-rup throughout the Northwest Passage. Blue dusk over Saybrook, Holmes sits down to dine Victorian— & Time has a ten-page spread on Homosexual Fairies! Well, while I’m here I’ll do the work— and what’s the Work? To ease the pain of living. Everything else, drunken dumbshow." October 22–29, 1969
7.
First Party at Ken Kesey’s with Hell’s Angels Cool black night thru the redwoods cars parked outside in shade behind the gate, stars dim above the ravine, a fire burning by the side porch and a few tired souls hunched over in black leather jackets. In the huge wooden house, a yellow chandelier at 3 A.M. the blast of loudspeakers hi-fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles Jumping Joe Jackson and twenty youths dancing to the vibration thru the floor, a little weed in the bathroom, girls in scarlet tights, one muscular smooth skinned man sweating dancing for hours, beer cans bent littering the yard, a hanged man sculpture dangling from a high creek branch, children sleeping softly in their bedroom bunks. And 4 police cars parked outside the painted gate, red lights revolving in the leaves. December 1965 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
8.
An Open Window on Chicago Midwinter night, Clark & Halstead brushed with this week’s snow grill lights blinking at the corner decades ago Smokestack poked above roofs & watertower standing still above the blue lamped boulevards, sky blacker than th’ east for all the steel smoke settled in heaven from South. Downtown—like Batman’s Gotham City battleshipped with Lights, towers winking under clouds, police cars blinking on Avenues, space above city misted w/fine soot cars crawling past redlites down Avenue, exuding white wintersmoke— Eat Eat said the sign, so I went in the Spanish Diner The girl at the counter, whose yellow Bouffant roots grew black over her pinch’d face, spooned her coffee with knuckles puncture-marked, whose midnight wrists had needletracks, scars inside her arms: “Wanna go get a Hotel Room with me?” The Heroin Whore thirty years ago come haunting Chicago’s midnite streets, me come here so late with my beard! Corner Grill-lights blink, police car turned & took away its load of bum to jail, black uniforms patrolling streets where suffering lifts a hand palsied by Parkinson’s Disease to beg a cigarette. The psychiatrist came visiting this Hotel 12th floor— Where does the Anger come from? Outside! Radio messages, images on Television, Electric Networks spread fear of murder on the streets— “Communications Media” inflict the Vietnam War & its anxiety on every private skin in hotel room or bus— Sitting, meditating quietly on Great Space outside— Bleep Bleep dit dat dit radio on, Television murmuring, bombshells crash on flesh his flesh my flesh all the same.— The Dakini in the hotel room turns in her sleep while War news flashes thru Aether— Shouts at streetcorners as bums crawl in the metal policevan. And there’s a tiny church in middle Chicago with its black spike to the black air And there’s the new Utensil Towers round on horizon. And there’s red glow of Central Neon on hushed building walls at 4 A.M., And there’s proud Lights & Towers of Man’s Central City looking pathetic at 4 A.M., traveler passing through, staring outa hotel window under Heaven— Is this tiny city the best we can do? These tiny reptilian towers so proud of their Executives they haveta build a big sign in middle downtown to Advertise old Connor’s Insurance sign fading on brick building side— Snow on deserted roofs & parkinglots— Hog Butcher to the World!? Taxi-Harmonious Modernity grown rusty-old— The prettiness of Existence! To sit at the window & moan over Chicago’s stone & brick lifting itself vertical tenderly, hanging from the sky. Elbow on windowsill, I lean and muse, taller than any building here Steam from my head wafting into the smog Elevators running up & down my leg Couples copulating in hotelroom beds in my belly & bearing children in my heart, Eyes shining like warning-tower Lights, Hair hanging down like a black cloud— Close your eyes on Chicago and be God, all Chicago is, is what you see— That row of lights Finance Building sleeping on its bottom floors, Watchman stirring paper coffee cups by bronzed glass doors— and under the bridge, brown water floats great turds of ice beside buildings’ feet in windy metropolis waiting for a Bomb. January 8, 1967 (Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers)
9.
Death On All Fronts “The Planet Is Finished” A new moon looks down on our sick sweet planet Orion’s chased the Immovable Bear halfway across the sky from winter to winter. I wake, earlier in bed, fly corpses cover gas lit sheets, my head aches, left temple brain fibre throbbing for Death I Created on all Fronts. Poisoned rats in the Chickenhouse and myriad lice Sprayed with white arsenics filtering to the brook, City Cockroaches stomped on Country kitchen floors. No babies for me. Cut earth boys & girl hordes by half & breathe free say Revolutionary expert Computers: Half the blue globe’s germ population’s more than enough, keep the cloudy lung from stinking pneumonia. I called in Exterminator Who soaked the Wall floor with bed-bug death-oil: Who’ll soak my brain with death-oil? I wake before dawn, dreading my wooden possessions, my gnostic books, my loud mouth, old loves silent, charms turned to image money, my body sexless fat, Father dying, Earth Cities poisoned at war, my art hopeless— Mind fragmented—and still abstract—Pain in left temple living death— Cherry Valley, September 26, 1969 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
10.
O Future bards chant from skull to heart to ass as long as language lasts Vocalize all chords zap all consciousness I sing out of mind jail in New York State without electricity rain on the mountain thought fills cities I’ll leave my body in a thin motel my self escapes through unborn ears Not my language but a voice chanting in patterns survives on earth not history’s bones but vocal tones Dear breaths and eyes shine in the skies where rockets rise to take me home May 1968 Courtesy HarperCollins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
11.
Wales Visitation White fog lifting & falling on mountain-brow Trees moving in rivers of wind The clouds arise as on a wave, gigantic eddy lifting mist above teeming ferns exquisitely swayed along a green crag glimpsed thru mullioned glass in valley raine— Bardic, O Self, Visitacione, tell naught but what seen by one man in a vale in Albion, of the folk, whose physical sciences end in Ecology, the wisdom of earthly relations, of mouths & eyes interknit ten centuries visible orchards of mind language manifest human, of the satanic thistle that raises its horned symmetry flowering above sister grass-daisies’ pink tiny bloomlets angelic as lightbulbs— Remember 160 miles from London’s symmetrical thorned tower & network of TV pictures flashing bearded your Self the lambs on the tree-nooked hillside this day bleating heard in Blake’s old ear, & the silent thought of Wordsworth in eld Stillness clouds passing through skeleton arches of Tintern Abbey— Bard Nameless as the Vast, babble to Vastness! All the Valley quivered, one extended motion, wind undulating on mossy hills a giant wash that sank white fog delicately down red runnels on the mountainside whose leaf-branch tendrils moved asway in granitic undertow down— and lifted the floating Nebulous upward, and lifted the arms of the trees and lifted the grasses an instant in balance and lifted the lambs to hold still and lifted the green of the hill, in one solemn wave A solid mass of Heaven, mist-infused, ebbs thru the vale, a wavelet of Immensity, lapping gigantic through Llanthony Valley, the length of all England, valley upon valley under Heaven’s ocean tonned with cloud-hang, —Heaven balanced on a grassblade. Roar of the mountain wind slow, sigh of the body, One Being on the mountainside stirring gently Exquisite scales trembling everywhere in balance, one motion thru the cloudy sky-floor shifting on the million feet of daisies, one Majesty the motion that stirred wet grass quivering to the farthest tendril of white fog poured down through shivering flowers on the mountain’s head— No imperfection in the budded mountain, Valleys breathe, heaven and earth move together, daisies push inches of yellow air, vegetables tremble, grass shimmers green sheep speckle the mountainside, revolving their jaws with empty eyes, horses dance in the warm rain, tree-lined canals network live farmland, blueberries fringe stone walls on hawthorn’d hills, pheasants croak on meadows haired with fern — Out, out on the hillside, into the ocean sound, into delicate gusts of wet air, Fall on the ground, O great Wetness, O Mother, No harm on your body! Stare close, no imperfection in the grass, each flower Buddha-eye, repeating the story, myriad-formed— Kneel before the foxglove raising green buds, mauve bells drooped doubled down the stem trembling antennae, & look in the eyes of the branded lambs that stare breathing stockstill under dripping hawthorn— I lay down mixing my beard with the wet hair of the mountainside, smelling the brown vagina-moist ground, harmless, tasting the violet thistle-hair, sweetness— One being so balanced, so vast, that its softest breath moves every floweret in the stillness on the valley floor, trembles lamb-hair hung gossamer rain-beaded in the grass, lifts trees on their roots, birds in the great draught hiding their strength in the rain, bearing same weight, Groan thru breast and neck, a great Oh! to earth heart Calling our Presence together The great secret is no secret Senses fit the winds, Visible is visible, rain-mist curtains wave through the bearded vale, gray atoms wet the wind’s kabbala Crosslegged on a rock in dusk rain, rubber booted in soft grass, mind moveless, breath trembles in white daisies by the roadside, Heaven breath and my own symmetric Airs wavering thru antlered green fern drawn in my navel, same breath as breathes thru Capel-Y-Ffn, Sounds of Aleph and Aum through forests of gristle, my skull and Lord Hereford’s Knob equal, All Albion one. What did I notice? Particulars! The vision of the great One is myriad— smoke curls upward from ashtray, house fire burned low, The night, still wet & moody black heaven starless upward in motion with wet wind. July 29, 1967 (LSD)—August 3, 1967 (London)
12.
Ayers Rock / Uluru Song (from Sad Dust Glories) “When the red pond fills fish appear When the red pond dries fish disappear. Everything built on the desert crumbles to dust. Electric cable transmission wires swept down. The lizard people came out of the rock. The red Kangaroo people forgot their own song. Only a man with four sticks can cross the Simpson Desert. One rain turns red dust green with leaves. One raindrop begins the universe. When the raindrop dries, worlds come to their end." Central Australia, March 23, 1972
13.
Over Laramie Western Air boat bouncing under rainclouds stippled down gray Rockies Springtime dusk, Look out on Denver, Allen, mourn Neal no more, Old ghost loves departed New lives whelm the plains, rains wash Rocky mountainsides World turns under sun eye Man flies a moment Cheyenne’s dry upland highways A tiny fossil brachiapod in pocket Precambrian limestone clam fingernail small four hundred fifty million years old Brain gone, flesh passed thru myriad phantom reincarnations, the tiny-ridged shell’s delicate as hardened thought. —over Laramie, Front Range pine gully snow pockets, Monolith Cement plume smoke casting dust gas over the red plateau into the New World. April 12, 1971
14.
Easter Sunday Slope woods’ snows melt Streams gush, ducks stand one foot beak eye buried in backfeathers, Jerusalem pillars’ gold sunlight yellow in window-shine, bright rays spikey-white flashed in mud, coo coo ripples thru maple branch, horse limps head down, pale grass shoots green winter’s brown vegetable hair—washed by transparent trickling ice water freshets earth’s rusty slough bathed clean, streams ripple leaf-bottomed channels sounded vocal, white light afternoon sky end—   Goat bells move, black kids bounce, butting mother’s hairy side & tender tit one maa’ing child hangs under Bessie’s udder ducks waggle yellow beaks, new grass flooded, tiger cat maeows on barn straw, herb patch by stone wall’s a shiny marsh, dimpling snow water glimmers, birds whistle from icecrystal beds under bare bushes, breeze blows rooster crow thru chill light extended from the piney horizon. 1969 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
15.
Milarepa Taste Who am I? Saliva,                          vegetable soup,                                    empty mouth? Hot roach, breathe smoke                          suck in, hold, exhale—                                         light as ashes. Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
16.
Bayonne Entering NYC Smog trucks mile after mile high wire Pylons trestled toward New York black multilane highway showered w/blue arc-lamps, city glare horizoning Megalopolis with burning factories— Bayonne refineries behind Newark Hell-light truck trains passing trans-continental gas-lines, blinking safety signs KEEP AWAKE Giant giant giant transformers, electricity Stacks’ glowing smoke— More Chimney fires than all Kansas in a mile, Sulphur chemical Humble gigantic viaducts networked by road side What smell burning rubber, oil “freshens your mouth” Railroad rust, deep marsh garbage-fume Nostril horns— city Announcer jabbering at City Motel, flat winking space ships descending overhead GORNEY GORNEY MORTUARY Brilliant signs the 10 P.M. clock churchspire lit in Suburb City, New Jersey’s colored streets asleep— High derrick spotlites lamped an inch above roofcombs Shoprite lit for Nite people before the vast Hohokus marshes and Passaic’s flat gluey Blackness ringed with lightbulbs. Blue Newark airport, Lights at the field edge, Robot towers blazon’d Eastern Air TWA above the lavender bulbed runway across the barrage of car bridges— I was born there in Newark Public Service sign of the twenties visible miles away through smoke gray night over electric fields My aunts and uncles died in hospitals, are buried in graves surrounded by Railroad Tracks, tombed near Winking 3 Ring Ballantine Ale’s home where Western Electric has a Cosmic plant, Pitt-Consoles breathes forth fumes acrid above Flying Service tanks Where superhighway rises over Monsanto metal structures moonlit Pulaski Skyway hanging airy black in heaven my childhood neighbored with gigantic harbor stacks, steam everywhere Blue Star buses skimming skyroads beside th’antennae mazes brilliant by Canalside— Empire State’s orange shoulders lifted above the Hell, New York City buildings glitter visible over Palisades’ trees Guys From War put tiger in yr Tank— Radio crawling with Rockmusic youngsters, STOP—PAY TOLL let the hitchhiker off in the acrid Mist— Blue uniformed attendants rocking on their heels in green booths Light parade everywhere Cliff rooms, balconies & giant nineteenth century schools, reptilian trucks on Jersey roads Manhattan star-spread behind Ft. Lee cliffside Evening lights reflected across Hudson water— brilliant diamond-lantern’d Tunnel Whizz of bus-trucks shimmer in Ear over red brick under Whitmanic Yawp Harbor here roll into Man city, my city, Mannahatta Lower East Side ghosted & grimed with Heroin, shit-black from Edison towers on East River’s rib— Green-hatted doormen awaken the eve in statuary-niched yellow lobbies— zephyrous canyons brightlit, gray stone Empire State too small to be God lords it over sweet Macy’s & Seafood City by junkie Grant Hotel— Ho Ho turn right by the Blackman who crosses the street lighting his cigarette, lone on asphalt as the Lord in Nebraska— Down 5th Avenue, brr—the irregular spine of streetlights— traffic signals all turned red at once— insect lamps blink in dim artery replicated down stone vales to Union Square— In silence wait to see your home Cemented asphalt, wire roof-banked, canyoned, hived & churched with mortar, mortised with art gas— passing Ginsberg Machine Co. th’axhead antique Flatiron Building looms, old photographs parked in the mind— Cannastra your 21st Street lofts dark no more raw meat law business Tonite Naomi your 18th Westside Stalinesque madstreet’s blocked by a bus, Dusty your 16th (drunk in yr party dress) walls emptiness Hudson River perspectiv’d Dali in London? Joe Army yr brokenbone Churches stand brown in time— How quiet Washington Monument! & fairy youth turns head downstreet crossing 5th Avenue under trafficlite, doorman playing poodledog on brilliant-lit sidewalk No. 1. an old reporter w/ brown leather briefcase leaves the shiny-pillared apartment— Gee it’s a Miracle to be back on this street where strange guy mustache stares in the windowshield— Lovely the Steak Sign! bleeps on & off beneath Woman’s prison— Sixth Avenue bus back-window bright glass Lady in kerchief leans backward, corner Whalen’s Drugs, an old Beret familiar face nods goodbye girl Humm, Macdougal I lived here, Humm, perfect, there’s empty space Park by the bright-lit bookstore— Where I’ll find my mail & Harmonium, new from Calcutta Waiting I come back to New York & begin to Sing. March 1966 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
17.
Falling Asleep in America We’re in the Great Place, Fable Place, Beulah, Man wedded to Earth, Planet of green Grass Tiny atomic wheels spin shining, worlds change Heavens inside out, the planet’s reborn in ashes, Sun lights sparkle on atomic cinder, plants levitate, green moss precedes trees trembling sentient, Stone eats blue skies solar dazzle with invisible mouths & flowers are the rocks’ excrement— Each million years atoms spin myriad reversals, worlds in worlds interchange populations— from worm to man’s a tiny jump from earth to earth souls are borne ever forgetful— populations eat their own meat, roses smell sweet in the faeces of horses risen red-fac’d. Consciousness changes nightly, dreams flower new uni- verses in brainy skulls. Lying in bed body darkened ear of the bus roar running, only the eye flickering grass green returns me to Nashville. April 1969 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
18.
Continuation of a Long Poem of These States S.F. Southward Stage-lit streets Downtown Frisco whizzing past, buildings ranked by Freeway balconies Bright Johnnie Walker neon sign Christmastrees And Christmas and its eves in the midst of the same deep wood as every sad Christmas before, surrounded by forests of stars— Metal columns, smoke pouring cloudward, yellow-lamp horizon warplants move, tiny planes lie in Avionic fields— Meanwhile Working Girls sort mail into the red slot Rivers of newsprint to soldiers’ Vietnam Infantry Journal, Kanackee Social Register, Wichita Star And Postoffice Christmas the same brown place mailhandlers’ black fingers dusty mailbags filled 1948 N.Y. Eighth Avenue was when Peter drove the mailtruck 1955 from Rincon Annex— Bright lights’ windshield flash, adrenalin shiver in shoulders Around the curve crawling a long truck 3 bright green signals on forehead Jeweled Bayshore passing the Coast Range one architect’s house light on hill crest ……………… negro voices rejoice over radio Moonlit sticks of tea Moss Landing Power Plant shooting its cannon smoke across the highway, Red taillight speeding the white line and a mile away Orion’s muzzle raised up to the center of Heaven. December 18, 1965 Courtesy HarperCollins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
19.
Death On All Fronts “The Planet Is Finished” A new moon looks down on our sick sweet planet Orion’s chased the Immovable Bear halfway across the sky from winter to winter. I wake, earlier in bed, fly corpses cover gas lit sheets, my head aches, left temple brain fibre throbbing for Death I Created on all Fronts. Poisoned rats in the Chickenhouse and myriad lice Sprayed with white arsenics filtering to the brook, City Cockroaches stomped on Country kitchen floors. No babies for me. Cut earth boys & girl hordes by half & breathe free say Revolutionary expert Computers: Half the blue globe’s germ population’s more than enough, keep the cloudy lung from stinking pneumonia. I called in Exterminator Who soaked the Wall floor with bed-bug death-oil: Who’ll soak my brain with death-oil? I wake before dawn, dreading my wooden possessions, my gnostic books, my loud mouth, old loves silent, charms turned to image money, my body sexless fat, Father dying, Earth Cities poisoned at war, my art hopeless— Mind fragmented—and still abstract—Pain in left temple living death— Cherry Valley, September 26, 1969 Courtesy Harper Collins Publishers / City Lights Publishers
20.
From “Falling Asleep in America” Tiny atomic wheels spin shining, worlds change Heavens Inside out, the planet’s reborn in ashes, Sun lights sparkle on atomic cinder, plants levitate, green moss precedes trees trembling sentient, Stone eats blue skies solar dazzle with invisible mouths & flowers are the rocks’ populations eat their own meat, roses smell sweet... populations eat their own meat, roses smell sweet... Consciousness changes nightly, dreams flower new uni- verses in brainy skulls. Lying in bed body darkened ear of the bus roar running, only the eye flickering grass green only the eye flickering grass green only the eye flickering grass green returns me to back to Nashville populations eat their own meat, roses smell sweet... populations eat their own meat, roses smell sweet... April 1969

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All proceeds from the sale of this album will be donated to HeadCount.org promoting voter registration and participation in democracy through the power of music. It is our tribute project celebrating the 50th Anniversary of Allen Ginsberg’s “The Fall of America: Poems of these States 1965-1971”

Special Thanks:

Taylor Deupree at 12k, Nathan Moody at Obsidian Sound, and Scott Petito at Scott Petito Productions, for mastering, astute ears on the highest level. Scott and Sarah and all at AtoZ Media. Darryl Norsen for visually nailing it with his stunning album design. The musicians for selflessly offering these gems & whose dedication to their craft is a perennial inspiration. Peter Wright for pushing for this project to happen and encouraging us every step along the way, and his crew at Virtual Label: Miguel Gallego & John Allen, Dennis McNally for guidance and encouragement, Weston Pagano, Paul Miller aka DJ Spooky/That Subliminal Kid for enthusiastic support and guidance, Rose Solomon, Megan Mann, Antonio Pagano, Rick Blything, Maria Garcia–Teutsch, Peter Shapiro, Andy Bernstein & Sophie Webb at HeadCount, Ken Weinstein of Big Hassle Media, Ian Brennan for producing The Good Ones (Rwanda) and delivering our first track. Barry Miles for compiling original audio of Ginsberg’s poetry. Stanford University Libraries, Maki Hakui & Yasutaka Minegishi at Presspop inc., Norio Fukuda at Sweet Dreams Press. Stacey Lewis and the whole City Lights Crew. Peter London at HarperCollins. The Estate of Fred McDarrah & Timothy McDarrah for use of iconic Ginsberg Uncle Sam Hat image, and The Estate of Elsa Dorfman for photo of Ginsberg in Cherry Valley.


A Peter Hale & Jesse Goodman Production in Association with the Allen Ginsberg Estate presents:

Allen Ginsberg’s The Fall of America: A 50th Anniversary Musical Tribute

Dedicated to Hal Willner

This exciting tribute celebrates the 50th Anniversary of beloved poet Allen Ginsberg’s “The Fall of America: Poems of these States”, 1965-1971. In the fall of 2020 with the 50th anniversary of those poems fast approaching we reached out to many of Allen’s musician and artist friends. Many responded enthusiastically about interpreting these poems to music; even those poems that presented more of a musical challenge.

Our model for this exciting project was Allen’s 1989 “The Lion for Real” produced by the masterful Hal Willner. We had hoped that he would offer us his guidance and with some musicians on board he might have been persuaded to join us as he had done with other projects over the years. Sadly, fate intervened and Hal became one of the first casualties of this deadly pandemic. Although we cannot come close to the genius he would have brought to this project, he will forever be our guiding light, our guardian angel and inspiration for this project . He has left us a model to work with and we will shoot for the stars as his spirit guides us. His blueprint for unexpected combinations and looking in unexpected places inspired us and to our surprise we found international interest from around the world including Ghana, Nigeria, Rwanda, South Korea and Japan.

Music has an incredible power not only to move but also to unite people. With that in mind, all proceeds from the sales of these tracks will be donated to HeadCount.org, an organization which promotes voter registration and participation in democracy through the power of music.

The Fall of America is the warning and the world is listening.

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released February 5, 2021

Cover photos by Fred McDarrah c The Estate of Fred McDarrah, by Elsa Dorfman, c The Estate of Elsa Dorfman, "Buddha's Footprint" symbol drafted by Harry Smith, Cover design: D Norsen.

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Allen Ginsberg New York, New York

Renowned poet, world traveler, spiritual seeker, founding member of a major literary movement, champion of human and civil rights, photographer and songwriter, political gadfly, teacher and co-founder of a poetics school. Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) defied simple classification.

Ginsberg parlayed his fame and network of connections into a modestly successful career in music.
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