Kavalier Calm's Crowdsource Inspiration

Hi. I'm Kavalier Calm. I write songs and poems inspired by the people I meet on the internet. Ask, and I’ll write something for you. Really.
  • Message
  • Submit
  • Archive
  • About and FAQS
  • Songs and Poems
  • Downloads
  • Social Media
  • Theme
  • Eli and I have decided to find devotees for his album tracks to help spread the word about Lonely, Hungry, & Throat Exposed. It’s the only way he’s going to find his lost love. For this special tune, Eli told me to find someone that knows about the beauty of trains or knows the pain of being cheated on. I was getting sick to my stomach reading all the bad posts about infidelity on Tumblr (searching the tag “cheater” is not recommended; bad vibe alert!), so I hunted for someone who knows trains and found this awesome blog—rageonrails—run by a Belgian train driver who posts images of trains tagged with graffiti (and has good taste in music). We are grateful for the images and so devote this song to you. Enjoy! — K.C.

    Tonight’s posting is for the blogger over at billygayvegan. For weeks, Eli and I have enjoyed this blog’s rock and blues-centric images. And then this post just came up:

    I really want something new.

    Here’s something new for you, and we hope you enjoy it as much as we enjoy your blog. The lyrics are based off an image of words that has been floating around the Tumblrverse lately: “Sex is not the answer. Sex is the question. Yes is the answer.”

    And remember listeners. Eli’s only going to find his lost love if you share his music. It’s the only way she’ll know he’s looking. Your help is priceless to us. — K.C.

    Eli and I went to see The Kills last night. It was a fantastic show. You can see a couple photos I took here. Here were the highlights:

    1. Watching Jamie and Alison’s shadows interact on the leopard-print backdrop; though they weren’t touching, the shadows were.
    2. They played Black Balloon, a long-time favorite, right after I called out for it (I don’t claim it was because of my yelling; rather, it was the set list gods smiling down upon me).
    3. When Jamie used the vertical metal shaft of Alison’s mic-stand to play slide guitar.
    4. Alison’s dark black denim.
    5. The two percussionists wearing red pocket scarves over their faces like post-Apocalyptic cowboys (and when Eli pulled out his and tied it over his face the same way; lots of high fives from strangers for that).

    When Eli and I got back to my place, we were exhausted, but Eli said we had to record, that he had a rhythm rolling around in his head. Thanks to whiskey, we hardly remember recording these tracks. They’re imperfect, and yet this is precisely the type of raw, inspired product we love most. There’s something to the rambling rhythm and blues riffs that hint at Jamie’s craft—now if we could just get a drum machine and an Alison. As always, our posts have devotees. So, this song goes to Jamie and Alison and to our favorite blogs with Kills content: thekillsareinlove, babyruthless, graspthesanity, thekillschile, getmeoutofamerica, and emptybrain. Enjoy, bloggers, and keep rocking! — K.C.

         Killer Soul

    I’ve got a soul,
    but it’s black as tar.
    Where I’m going,
    there’s no light.

    I know a place
    that’s never far.
    The home of the rich.
    The days are like nights.

    And I want to know,
    will you come with me?

    Tonight’s post is for all the Cinderellas in the world! Boys don’t often admit it, but just like girls would enjoy being swept off their feet by a prince, most boys would like to find a princess to do this for. This song realizes that impulse with a modern re-telling of the Cinderella story. It follows the classic story arch of unjust oppression/triumphant reward. I dedicate this song to these blogs with great Disney and princess content: deepdisneyconfessions, walter-disney, the-disney-difference, fuckyeahdisneyfanart, letterstodisney, disneyslove, and beliveindisneyforever.

         Cinderella, I Can Be Your Fella

    When the clock struck midnight,
    you ran out the door.
    You were in such a hurry,
    you left your coat at the bar.
    It wasn’t ‘til then
    I realized you came alone,
    and the key to finding you
    might be that coat.

    Oh, Cinderella,
    I can be your  fella,
    I can be your man.
    We can run away
    together, my queen,
    just take my hand.

    Well, we danced for hours,
    and I bought you a drink,
    and you told me
    you were paying your way,
    living as a maid
    with the ungrateful and rich,
    and you have an itch
    to just run away.

    CHORUS

    I remember your laugh,
    and I remember your walk,
    but I don’t remember
    where you said you’re from.
    So I’m gonna take your coat
    to every big house in town,
    and ask for the girl
    that cleans the rooms.

    Fans of this tune might like to know that this song will be a part of a larger album concept, which includes songs for Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and this one for Cinderella. Just send me a message if you’d like a heads up when the digital album is released. Oh, and this is the first project on CI to feature the banjo, played by Elijah Cash. Eli crashed at my place last week after a night of heavy drinking and gambling. He was missing his shirt—which he lost on a dice roll—but had this banjo—which he won on a dice roll. Now we all profit from his winnings. Enjoy! — K.C.

    Today’s song is for the beauty Eliza from Manchester over at radikool. An image of her lips was trending this morning. Eli and I noticed because they are quite nice lips. And then we checked out her blog and appreciated her taste in music. Eli knew it was time for a song. We wrote and recorded this in all of an hour. Hope you enjoy, Eliza, and anyone else listening! — K.C.

         Lips Like Yours

    I’ve been with more women
    than I care to admit.
    Good women, bad women,
    and some I forget.
    But I’d settle down,
    and I’d clean up my act

    if I could just get a taste
    of lips like yours.

    Yeah, I’m a drifting man,
    I move round and round.
    But I’d stay right here
    to fix that frown.
    I’d hold a steady job
    just to hold you

    and get a taste
    of lips like yours.

    Lips like yours
    are hard to find.
    Lips like yours
    will keep me satisfied.

    Now, I know what you’ve heard, darlin’,
    and it’s all true.
    But I promise
    I won’t leave you blue.
    Something in a man
    changes and breaks

    when he wants a taste
    of lips like yours.
    And I want a taste
    of lips like yours.

    When Eli told me he wanted to cover Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” I was taken aback. Firstly, we are cover-wary because they are over-done and, well, often boring. Secondly, Eli is many things, but a diva is not one of them. I never deny an impulse, though, especially an odd one, so I told him to give it a shot. A couple hours later he came to me with this. I should have known that Mr. Cash would make it his own; his natural bluesy tendencies give the song a new character, and his gravelly voice adds something a diva cannot. I toyed with calling this “The Rolling in the Deep Blues.” I was so enthralled by his performance, I decided to make the first video recording of one of the CI artists performing; if you care to watch it, view it on our YouTube channel here. As always, our posts have devotees. These are the blogs we’ve found with the best Adele content: myqueeniscalledadele, ourqueenadele, rollinginadele, efyeahadele, itsanadelebration, adeleable, and adelenyc. Enjoy everyone!

    Nothing you can buy loves you forever. Tonight’s song is two dangerous things: political and opinionated. But it’s also raw and real, and the only thing we’ve ever promised to be at CI is genuine. Eli was playing this song the night I met him, and I finally got him to record it tonight. He’s never told me who the old woman is—the one who woke him up—but he says the story in the song is real. I am proud to post this song because it speaks to the goal of our project—to be human-centric rather than money-centric in our crafting of music and in our giving it to others. This post is devoted to some bloggers whom we feel will appreciate the primary message of this song (the one in the title), if not its entirety: anticapitalist, anarchistart, fuckyeahmarxismleninism, the-fall-of-ideals, theamericanbear, and anarchei. Enjoy. — K.C.

         Nothing you can buy loves you forever

    Well, I was walkin’ down the street,
    when an old lady came up to me.
    She said, “Son, you need to get your priorities straight.”
    I said, “Mamsy, what do you mean?”
    She said, “You have no love to call your own.”
    I said, “Well I love plenty of things; just listen to this poem.”

    I love the shiny shoes I’m walkin’ in,
    and the cheap whiskey you smell on my breath.
    I love the water that I’m bathing in,
    and all the women that I’m bathing with.
    I love my car ‘cause she’s fast as lightning,
    and all the good times I’ve spent on friends,
    and all…

    "Listen here boy," she said.
    Those things won’t stick with you ‘til the grave.
    Nothing, and I say nothing, you can buy loves you forever.
    If you don’t see this now, then you’re really gonna pay.
    Listen to what I have to say.”

    A little rain’ll ruin them shiny shoes
    and eventually that whiskey bottle’ll be empty.
    Wells dry up if we misuse ‘em,
    and when you’re old, nothing in a skirt wants you.
    That car of lightning dies faster than thunder.
    And how many of those friends are worth being with?
    At the end of the day what memories are lasting?
    What kind of future are you setting yourself up with?

    I think I get it. All these things,
    all this stuff we can buy, cluttering up our world,
    it ain’t worth nothing.
    Nothing you can buy loves you forever.
    So where do we get love?
    Where can we find love?
    That’s right; in each other.
    All we gotta do is love each other.
    Love each other.

    Remember the old lady you helped across the street,
    and the hungry man you gave your pocket change.
    Remember the person who showed you how to make love.
    and the mother you haven’t called in months,
    All these people, they touch our hearts,
    it’s them, it’s them, we’ll remember.
    So stand up now and shake your neighbor’s hand.
    Stand up now and throw your wallet to the ground
    'cause nothing you can buy loves you forever.
    All we have now is each other.

    Elijah Cash wrote this song yesterday. We recorded the rhythm guitar and vocals in one furious take; I added a solo guitar track then slapped a bow on it. This raw, angry, hungry gift is for these blogs with great music/blues content: hotheartbeats, burdenofbees, greeneggsetmoi, coolriffings, crayonfactoryblues, and indierockmachine. We hope everyone listening feeds off the energy and honesty in this tune. — K.C.

          Marjorie

    Yeah, Marjorie, the jury is out on you,
    and you’re guilty to the Nth degree.
    Yes, darlin’, everyone, everyone here knows
    that you are guilty of loving me.

    Marjorie, everyone knows that you love me.
    Except for you.

    Yeah, Marjorie, I could make you mine.
    I could make you my—I could make you my wife.
    Yeah, Marjorie, we could marry.
    Right in front of God, the church, your mom, your dad—
    I’d give you my life.

    CHORUS

    Tonight’s tune is for JP over at lowfield. I recently found his blog where he posts some original audio. I’m always a fan of such initiative, but in this case, I’m even a fan of the music. We had a brief dialogue the other day and agreed to do a song swap. My man Elijah Cash has been working on this song we’re posting now for weeks (this is one of about six versions); we’re envisioning this—or some variant of it—to be the title track for his next album. It’s about not being afraid to create anymore, and not being afraid to share your creations. I encourage all my followers to let their inner giant wake up, but especially you, JP. Keep making music—and don’t be afraid to get loud. — K.C.

         Sleeping Giant

    I’ve been swallowing who I am
    all this time, all this time.
    I’ve been short on my fire and my pride,
    all this time, all this time.

    Well there’s a rumbling, a stirring growing loud:
    a sound, a volume that just wants out;
    and I’m about to let it out.

    I’m a mountain, a volcano,
    and I’m about to explode.
    I’m a new born baby’s cry;
    and I’m the rattle you’ll hear when you die.

    CHORUS

    I contain a sleeping giant,
    and I’m about to let him out.

    CHORUS

    This was the fourth song written in the CI studio last Friday; it was a very productive day that ended with Eli suddenly, furiously belting out this tune. The recording is raw because, per usual, I can’t get the man to sit down for longer than one take. It’s about that woman again—the woman who got away. You can read about her and his quest to find her in the description to Eli’s first album, here. Tonight’s track is devoted to these cool/interesting blogs we found searching #blues and #snake: girlvsthecynic, jake-blues, snakepeople (so wonderfully weird), fuckyeahsnakes, and s-n-a-k-e. Check them out! We’re dropping this post quick tonight; Eli and I had a dozen good song ideas today and got some great requests from followers, so we need to get to writing. Here’s to another four song night! Enjoy everyone. And, if you do, share it. — K.C.

         Cold Blooded Snake

    Why’d you leave? Was it for another man?
    Did he treat you right in ways I can’t?
    And now you’re back and expect me to let you in
    to the void you made when you left.

    You’re as cold blooded as a snake
    if you think I didn’t mourn your loss.
    But I’ve been better off
    since you’ve been gone,
    you snake, you snake.

    And you dare think that you can just slink
    back into this warm bed.
    But I remember you, all of you,
    that means the good and the bad.

    CHORUS

    You can take your venom elsewhere.
    I don’t want to buy what you sell.
    And if the choice is between you or living slow,
    I choose to skip your poison and die alone.

    CHORUS

    Tonight’s song is for themerchdude, whom I found spotlighted under music. I appreciate his blog for his unique perspective on the music industry, so I asked him outright what I should write a song about. He suggested:

    "Maybe you should write a song about bands that change everything about themselves after they get signed by labels so they can sell records and forget the main reason they made a band which was to play music they love."

    It was a great suggestion, and this is what I came up with. I got Eli Cash to sing it; it’s raw and frantic—recorded in just two takes—but I think that’s okay because themerchdude seems to value being real, like me. And I can’t get more real than this. Plenty of artists have written songs about selling out, so I decided to do it a bit differently by pretending it’s a good thing. The lyrics are satirical—subtly ridiculous. Except what’s sick, is that they are only partially a joke; this satire is self-judgmental, too. Because as much as I like to think I’m above selling out, I know that’s easy to say when I haven’t had the opportunity. I walk the line between genuine and phony every day (then again, doesn’t everybody?); and I’ve been leaning genuine so far, but nothing has tempted me to do otherwise. Let’s hope I’m man enough to stand up to temptation if it comes. I can say this: I think the good vibe I get from writing songs like this—for all you cool people, cool people like themerchdude—gives me all the backbone I need. I don’t want to get caught in the absurd catch-22 at the heart of this song. It seems so often that artists are happy making music, but then something in them wants to make music for profit. Why? So they can buy happiness—buy something they already had. I don’t want to sell something I already have to buy it again, you know? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Plus, wealth and fame seems to make people complacent. Desire is fire. When you’ve got everything you want, what will drive you to achieve? I think I’ll just keep working hard, here on the bottom, in the shadows. Enjoy everyone. — K.C.

         Record Man, I’ll Sell You My Soul

    I want my fingers in everybody’s pie;
    I want to be in everybody’s eyes.
    Give me the light, the light that’s lime,
    I’m tired of being unknown.

    I don’t care, record man; I’ll sell you my soul—
    'cause if I make it big, I'll have enough gold
    to buy another. To buy anything I want.

    I used to write for me,
    but that got awfully lonely.
    And now that I write for no one,
    I can buy all the friends I need.

    CHORUS

    Now, I have it all.
    There’s nothing left to want in this world.
    Yes, I have so much,
    I don’t even want to make music no more.

    CHORUS:
    including god, an after-life, meaning, and whiskey;
    including women, fast cars, new guitars, and love.
    I’ll buy it all.

    Today’s audio post is dedicated to these bloggers because their answers to our question are a part of the lyrics for this rocking and rolling song: greeneggsetmoi, w0rldescape, mymiseryworld, therealeusheama, and dreamwriteinspire. We are grateful to everyone else that gave answers, too; if you weren’t included, it’s only because we read your answer after we were finished recording! They were all great ideas and may be sung in the future. This song is perfect for improvising; when Eli performs it, he plans to ask women in the room for their name and where they’re from and just go with it. Man, this is upbeat and loud; you should have felt the bed vibrating from the amp when we were recording. (Eli laughed out loud as I typed that sentence.) I hope you all like it rugged and rough. (More laughing.) Turn it up and dance around, friends. — Kavalier

         Singing For Women

    Give me a woman’s name and where she’s from,
    and I’ll write a song that’ll make her come—
    come right into these open arms.

    You say Nicole from Nice, I’ll sing,
    Pardonne-moi, mademoiselle, but can I have a French kiss?
    You say Susie from South Dakota, I’ll sing,
    Sugar, I want to love every iota of you.
    You say Naomi from Wyoming, I’ll sing,
    Why, oh why, aren’t you lying next to me?

    Give me a woman’s name and where she’s from,
    and I’ll write a song that makes her give it up.
    Give it up—her heart. Give her heart up to me.

    You say Brena from Brazil, I’ll sing,
    Baby, I’m ill when you’re not near.
    Nora from Norway, I’ll sing,
    There’s no way I’m leaving here without you next to me.
    You say Sam from Sacramento, I’ll sing,
    Here’s a memento: a night with me.

    Some boys sing for fun, others sing for pocket change.
    But I sing for women each and every day.

    Eli wanted to write a song about how hard it is to believe in love again after getting hurt—because it is for him. But I challenged him to put himself in the other person’s shoes—write from the perspective of the new lover, the one who’s doubted though they’ve never done anything wrong. I think he learned a lot writing these lyrics. This song is devoted to these bloggers who responded to our post about having a hard time loving again after getting hurt: woodlandcreaturesatemypizza, naturesdopeflow, and hai1337. Eli hopes his upbeat plea rings in your ears. Find love everybody! — K.C.

         How Good It Can Be

    You doubt my words, baby,
    'cause you've heard them before.
    But I’m not here to hurt you then leave.
    Oh, your pain runs deep,
    and you just can’t believe:
    I’m not like all those other boys.
    And you’re afraid I’ll ask for control,
    but, baby, I won’t have to ask:
    you’ll hand it over.
    'Cause I know what you don't know:
    I’m not like all those other boys.

    And, sugar, I’d like to show you
    how good it can be when you love a man like me.
    Baby, you lack imagination;
    all those bad men stunted your mind.
    So, I’m painting this picture,
    so you can see how good it can be.

    What’d those men do?
    Not return your calls?
    Or is it that they called other girls?
    Well, I don’t even own a phone;
    I’ll just read your thoughts.
    Oh, you’ve never been with a boy like me.
    Did they show up late at night?
    Were they loud and drunk?
    Well, for you, I’ll sober up.
    And we’ll only be loud at night
    when you got that need.
    Oh, you’ve never been with a boy like me.

    CHORUS

    I don’t know how else to promise,
    how else to make it clear;
    I ain’t going to live up to your fears.
    'Cause I'm a man unlike them.
    Oh, you’ve never loved a boy like me.

    We all know what sells, right? This song is about who sells it. Eli dedicates this post to these cool blogs we found searching #sells: riverofawesome, beyond-sapphire-eyes, noregretsdude, no-other-way-but-up, iamthemarmaladewalrus, and bertiechattell. We hope you like distortion, friends. — K.C.

         What Sells

    Darlin, your goods live up to their name.
    You wear that dress like a candle wears a flame,
    and I want to be the hot wax pooling at your feet—
    dripping and drowning in your heat.
    I want to buy what sells.

    You don’t got a man; you got a dozen.
    And they all lining up to eat from your hands.
    All that power must come at a cost, honey.
    But the market will bear a price that’s fair.
    And I’m willing to pay for what sells.

    Darlin, I got coin just like them,
    and I don’t want to spend it on any other whim.
    For you, I’ll count out all my shells;
    baby, I want to buy what sells.

    Other boys might be scared—come to you shaking like a leaf.
    But I’ll walk right up to you, sure-footed as a thief.
    Preacher man says I’ll go straight to hell;,
    but I’m deaf to them church bells, sugar, when you’re near
    'cause I want to buy what sells.

    CHORUS 

    123Newer   →