I’m pleased to say that this album is now
available on iTunes and Spotify
Sons of Friction
Credo Epochula (1987)
And the Morning Turned to Shine (1984)
Hexagon Lake (1985)
Flagg Fallling (1988)
Credo Urbana (1988-89)
The italicized text in Credo Epochula was taken from the Joyce Cary novel Herself Surprised.
Except where specifically noted, all tracks composed, performed, and produced by Frederick Moore.
CREDO EPOCHULA
Love is my name./ On death I stand.
Within the woven void a beam of light exposed the fallen form and closing eyes./ Through the opening stream we perceived the joy and pain,/ Clearly an achievement too plain for us./ But still we counted them./ Amen, they counted,/ If only for a moment to share their breath and we were bound.
I sleep in this joy, Do not disturb me with admiration./ Chain me or I shall eat the earth bare./ I am death, from life I grow,/ Maids take my seed and bare./ You don't speak my language,/ I can't hear your voice.
They rise to survey their lawns and yards, /To count ten thousand morning suns./ Ten thousand sons! / Do they not loathe their garden walls? /Do they not detest the weakened grasp of emaciated arms?/ But still, to all who share their creed they respond, / "Unbending light will swallow all of us in time,/ A wall of harm will fall on all of us./ Unbending light.
Voices: Haruna Aoki Tuning Forks and Flutes: Chris Piper
Like most years, 1989 was a time of hope and anxiety. The Berlin Wall was about to fall; in Lebanon the horror of hostages, both civilian and military, being executed while in captivity felt like a disturbing new chapter; there was great distrust in Israel, but also hope for a two-state solution; and in my city, Los Angeles, there was growing tension regarding undocumented residents who desperately hoped for opportunities in America. CREDO URBANA was a somewhat surreal attempt to digest the hope but also the harsh realities of that moment.
Voices: Jan Abell and Cynthia Stahl
CREDO URBANA
The Place: We'd been walking for days when we came upon an area, / Nothing special really, a few trees, a well. / But it was as if we each came up with the same idea at the same time, / And that was that this is the place. / We should stop, build, and this would be the place where we would live. / We were here. / As far as we were concerned it was ours /And no one was going to take it away from us.
Will Be Born: Each time my mother coughed/ I'd kick the walls to make her stop and breathe very slowly. / Soon my father'd be upon us. / I will be born. The worn will dissolve into water, / The daemon, though born, is shred from the earth. / The world will always give water, / The word in the sky is born in the rain. / We will always be water./ (For these, these are my very happy days.)
Sons of Friction: These sons of friction, these daughters of fantasy, / And each one born the color of cohesion, / But never so light as the hand that grasps the shoulder. / And they will grow to keep what we have taken. /With muted songs of resentment they will subdue those who have incurred the spurs of the nation. / Because for these it can never be. / It will never be! / We are angels of light, we are angels of harm, / And this is my gift: / This wall of chastity, / The glare of missing teeth, / The troubled sleep of seething water, / A rusted rain, / Friction laced with fantasy. / These are my happy days.
Megapolis: From the river staggering come a group of men, / Darker than the grasping hand, / Darker than the rising sky of the desert morning. / They look to their guide. / With bent shoulders he stands to address them: / "You have been cleansed. / The soluble past has been washed away." / "But where will we go?" they ask. / He turns and points to the megapolis. / "But what will we do?" / "You will wash their cars, and you will feed their babies while neglecting your own. / You, the troubled sleep of seething water. / And you, the dream daemons, you will heal the wound." / "But for who?" / "Everyone on earth."
Angel of Light: Angel of Light, though you heed their prayers, / Remember to count the blindfolds hidden in the basements of saints. / Remember to drink the sobering wine of fermented tears as you close the wasted eyes of the young. / Hear the prayers of all, but do not dilute your cup with pity, / And do not weaken the resolve of the righteous, / For they do not know the hand that grasps the shoulder. / They only know you. / Angel of Light, hear their prayers.
A Wall Falls: Soon the father will rejoin us. / Senseless wall against senseless wall, / The smile of missing teeth. / We are stillborn. A rust-colored rain falls upon the iron gates with crowns of wire mesh. / Like blood-stained thorns they close their eyes and turn away from wall. / They creak with age but still they part like thighs for the city emerging. / They run quickly to the embrace of a misplaced sister. / With spray-paint the children deface the hated structure. / We will be born. / We will be a city of light. / The world will dissolve into water . . . It will never be. We are Angels of Light.
