We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Wrestling

by Warbler

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Ultra HD digital download also includes liner insert pdf of lyrics and credits.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $7 USD  or more

     

1.
Am I a stubborn child, just a little boy, screaming for access and order— for blood? No, I am a wrinkled man, just a bag of bones, sitting with scoffing accusers watching the world go to hell. God, how can I see and not see? How can I hear and not hear? Believing is easy, but living’s impossible... Here, towards the open sky, I pray, “God, take the stone away.” Is it true that You conquered the grave? Like a thief in the night You will come. No one can know what time. How will I know You if I cannot see You and live and war with myself, that part of me that tells my father I hate him for bringing me into this world— so full of evil? Declaring war on my old man. He buries my head deep in the sand. He spins the truth to weave a lie. He feeds on death to stay alive. Declaring war on my old man. The stumbling grumbler, broken hands. Softest worm tongue, friendly ghost. The parasite that drains the host. Inventing evils, full of scorn. Stuck in a mirror, devouring porn. Bows before the gods of war. He holds his worth in empty form. His no is yes; his yes is no… Thank You for bringing me into this world of mystery. Thank You for releasing me from my own fantasy—random chance. Thank You for the hardest times, the lessons learned, the nursery rhymes. Thank You for freeing me from the clutches of my enemies. Thank You for the well-placed word, the winter swell, the hummingbird. Thank You for blessing me in Your universe full of glory.
2.
Loosen up, son. I’m a Californian. There’s not enough time to waste in a day. I lay awake; talk shows tickle my ears. I pat myself on the back. I’m not like those rednecks. I love my own demise. I keep a pleasant little lie. It’s better to be left here than standing over there. On my own judgement, I’ve read all the right rags. I merely operate on data; I only analyze the facts. Who are you? Your rulers are children. Who are you? Your ministers rapists. Who are you? Your pundits comedians. Who are you? You’re scared of your brother. Who are you? Who am I? Listen up, son. I am an American. My ancestors worked so hard to spoil you blind. You lay back and take it easy. Everything is under control. My progeny will pay for what you take today— you deserve it. To pay for your policy, let us all bend the knee. Let the new priestly class divvy up the cash for the grifter. Who are you? Our prophets comedians. Who are you? Our priests are pedophiles. Who are you? Our kings are bad actors. Who are you? We’re scared of each other. Who are you? Who am I?
3.
Great Reset 01:25
————
4.
Who pays for the strip malls, parking lots, and corn walls that line the freeway? Who pays for the poison food, the protests, the channels used for nightly programming? Who commissioned those obnoxious ads that autoplay while I’m pumping gas? If we’re at peace, then why do we wage war to eat the heart out of the land? I don’t know. Is this home? Why do all the greatest minds just waste their time to read and write click bait? What happens when democracy consistently selects our greatest morons? Is it me, is it you? Who pushed all this policy to force the poorest in the jaws of necessity? How can we sit comfortably in our TV command stations bombing other nations? I don’t know. I guess I’m slow. We don’t make quite enough to set aside our trust. We want a safety net, so we won’t have to ask You. You gave us fish and bread. You got into our heads. Inside our hearts were cold; we will not let You touch them. And all the counterfeits, they feel as real as this. Would we risk all we’ve known when we can’t tell the difference? We come for fish and bread. You offer life instead. We don’t believe we’re dead. You’d leave us empty-handed. No, we’ll take up the stones that You left untransformed. They cry out for Your blood. They’ll cry out till we cast them. We know we know what’s best; we put You to the test. Crucify Him!
5.
Why is your ambition to destroy us? How do you drag me in with your suicide and your fire? How do you steal my will, ache my back, drown my heart? Why do I try to reason? You’re irrational and slippery. I cannot forget you. Oh, I cannot forget you are not me. Why do you follow me around as a jester, as a clown? You are the eye that makes me stumble. I should pluck you out of my weary head. How do you slip in through the bottle and hold my head down, cross my feet up? Why do I want you around still, around until I’m dead and in the grave with the foolish and the shamed? I cannot forget you. Oh, I cannot forget you are not me.
6.
The Sixth 03:50
The talking heads have taught me to hate the other team. Critique the symptoms of their sickness, then contract the same disease. I put an ad out for abusers: got so many mean replies. I’m a newly-minted victim even you will recognize. Murder takes hold in the heart, tearing people apart. You don’t need a knife. You don’t need a gun. Yet the damage will be done. We want compassionate programming, so we can keep our fingers clean. Won’t put a face to the statistics: they should be heard but never seen. It’s an executive order from the president of pop: “You’ll be ostracized forever if you entertain independent thought. Let murder take hold in your heart. Rip this country apart. You don’t need a gun. You don’t need a bomb. Let the damaged will be done. Let murder take hold in your heart.”
7.
Stop Them 04:27
Lord, please. Stop them from killing— the legion contriving to murder children. Send them to the fire. Soak the whole earth with their cold blood. Slay them, God, please, or save them Make the earth clean; deliver the just reward. In the graves they hollowed out, let them go down. Let them go down. Lord, please. They won’t stop hurting, rationalizing, self-justifying. They will not repent. Your people are sleeping. They will do nothing. They let them run away into the fire where the worm never dies. Stop them. Slay them and save them. But keep them from killing Your beautiful children. If it be Your will, spare one from death as You did for me. God, please. I have no children, and You watch the bloodshed. What are You doing? Why won’t You stop them? What should I do? What can I do? Lord, please. Why are You waiting? Wipe the earth clean of those who kill babies. Let them turn from murdering, or turn them away, if they’ve chosen death. How long must we wait for You? Are You still watching? Are You still listening?
8.
Cry, Wolf 05:01
I’m not sure how we got here— this temple’s filled with lies, with wolves in shepherd’s clothing, with sheep with wolves inside. Now they are so damned, hungry— they eat their young as bread; they break our bones and grill us when we do as they’ve said. They cry against His Spirit; they play like God is dead. I must’ve been heard when I cried out. The more I understand, the smaller I become. Now that I can see, I see I know nothing. The misery of man, I leave it in Your hands. Don’t let me be sorry for trusting Your story; I’m constantly holding my breath. O, my God. I’ll wait for the sky to split open; my hope is I won’t fall asleep in the way. O, my God. I know what You did though to poor Jeremiah; I fear You’ll be doing the same with me. O, my God. But I’m done trying for the city to lift me up to jump from a high rise. O, my God. The wisdom of this world is folly. I’m gonna be recognized as crazy— a crazy fool. I must’ve been heard when I cried out. You opened up the sky; scales fell from my eyes. Now that I can see, I see I know nothing. Let Your Kingdom come. Let Your will be done. I don’t care what they tell you: They trust a clever lie. They think they will not answer for ripping up His bride. Again, they crucify Him. He turns it on its head. He makes His murderers holy. He overcame the dead. And though you don’t deserve this— angry and feeling judged— He offers freely life now…
9.
Front Line 04:42
O, Lord, please give me a child. May I find favor in Your sight. I want to be; I want to be a father. I want to train soldiers for the battle. Why, Lord? Why withhold Your grace? I know I have hid from Your face, but You called me; You called me anyway. O, Lord, why open my eyes and keep me broken? You called me; You called me to the battle. Is this it? Is this the battle? ’Cause I don’t want this; I don’t want this battle. O, Lord, give me rings like a tree with many years and a progeny. Give me sons. Give me daughters. Let them drink; drink from Your waters. O, Lord, please give me a child. Or put me, put me on the front line.
10.
Though we are both crazy, though we are both numb, we can hush the grumbling; the battle has been won. The Lord can bring us children, build up for us a home— a life beyond the wealthy in the family of the Son. If we focus on the problems, if we center on the pain, we’ll live like this forever; we’ll always be insane. Let us peak through the curtain at the source of the light through the lies that made us certain we could live by faith in sight. And I am horribly afraid, dumbstruck and agape. I will always be in awe of Your glory. A sea of glass and fire rising up in a wave; politicians screaming, their monoliths ablaze. The riches of the world bring cancer of the flesh, but the riches of the heavens give life by way of death. I am terribly afraid, horrified and amazed, by the immeasurable things You have made in Your glory. We go out on a road trip to all the stunning parks, hear the rumbling of Old Faithful, gaze upon the stars. We stand atop a mountain, cry out into the wind, give thanks for forgiveness and the conquering of sin. Till we have faces, who can comprehend the majesty of beauty and the jealousy within? Has Psyche lost her senses to the Mountain God unseen? The truth is surely crazy in the broken minds of men. I am trembling in Your grace, thunderstruck before Your face. What is all this You have made for Your glory?

about

Wrestling, the third full-length album from Oakland-based singer-songwriter Sean Sullivan’s efforts as Warbler, explores the crises, doubts, and resolutions of a life lived before the face of God.

credits

released September 22, 2022

All songs by Sean Sullivan with lyrical help from Michael Minkoff and Justus Stout, musical input from the session musicians on parts, and string arrangements by Philip Hodges

Produced by Sean Sullivan
and Jimmy Smith & Michael Minkoff

Mixed by Jimmy Smith & Michael Minkoff
at Clubmen Recording Studio in Blairsville, GA

Mastered by Matthew Barnhart at Chicago Mastering Services

Cover artwork/layout by Rusty Hein, Derrick Otis, and Michael & Vanessa Minkoff

Players:
Sean Sullivan: vocals, guitars, mandolin, charango, glockenspiel, piano, Wurlitzer, synthesizers, percussion, maniacal laughter
Philip Hodges: guitars, piano, bass, backing vocals
Kaleb Garrett: bass, electric guitars
Michael Minkoff: drums, percussion, bass, backing vocals
Jimmy Smith: guitars, omnichord, electronic drums, mellotron
Everett and Caroline Hardin: strings
Justus Stout: trumpet
Max Butler: pedal steel
Justin Craig-Kuhn: B3 organ
Bill Sullivan: bowed upright bass
William Bates-Minou: drums (track 10)
Cory Starbird Singer and Holly Patch: backing vocals

Special Thanks to:
Charlie Mudge who wearied his soul screaming, yelling, and whispering “Crucify Him” to create a crowd layer at the end of “We Know What’s Best.”

Fred Jennings, Jeremy Shanok, Jasper Heart Skydecker, and Dup Crosson for tracking drum concepts for this record. The ghosts of your performances live on in and will forever haunt (quite happily, I assure you) these songs.

Anton Patzner, in a similar vein, for your contribution on the violin idea for “Soft American/Great Reset.”

Eliot Curtis, for his engineering vision and his excellent bass line for Declaring War.

David Bergman, for his extensive contributions on album and single art.

Renew the Arts for their assistance, love, and ever-present cheerings on.

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Warbler Oakland, California

When you hear the name Warbler, think of a folk-programmed bionic song-bird perched with joyful simplicity on the fresh rubble of a musical Apocalypse. Warbler’s self-titled album, the second effort of singer/songwriter Sean Sullivan, is an enjoyably off-putting cocktail of pure organic spirit set on electric fire. ... more

contact / help

Contact Warbler

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

If you like Warbler, you may also like: