2. Ceci n’est pas un ‘album booklet’
(This is not an album booklet)
C A N D A C E L E E C A M A C H O
K E N - I - P R O D U C E
A L B E R T O V A R G A S
A D A M B E A L
G H R Y Z L Y A T O M S
4. Foreword
BY ADAM BEAL
As someone who’s easily inspired, I’m fascinated by the stories that are strong
enough to shape our view of the world. I’m also fascinated by the moment inspiration becomes strong enough to create one of those stories. Everyone has felt the effects of inspiration. We love the feeling of its onset – the goosebumps, the daydreaming. We love
it so much we go out of our way to seek it. It’s why we watch movies and read books.
It’s also why we go to museums and hold up artists and actors in such high regards. They
have the ability to reshape our kingdom of possible.
So what separates them from the rest of us? Artists are the few who have figured out
a way to turn inspiration into something useful. They are easily affected and often full
of ideas. Their over-saturation shapes how they live and how they look at the world and
they swell with stories that they wish to share – stories that they hope will impregnate
their readers and viewers with the same energy that compelled them to create.
There are very few people as saturated as Candace Lee Camacho. So much so that those
close to her know that inspiration tends to weigh her down until she finds a way to get
it out, usually in song. Over the past few months I saw her swell like I've never seen
before. She visited the Magritte exhibit at MOMA and since then I've sat with her in
lonely piano rooms late at night, watching the songs that were stuck in her big, bright
eyes since the day of the exhibit come to life.
She says that each Magritte painting spoke to her in a different way and she recognized the voices as those of her friends. I think like all good art, the paintings
showed her something about herself. They were her mirror. And in creating this series
around those close to her, she becomes theirs.
4
5. ThisS IsY Not AAn EAlbum O
LYRIC B CAND CE L E CAMACH
PAINTINGS BY RENÉ MAGRITTE
T R A C K
L I S T
The False Mirror
(Le Perreux-sur-Marne, 1928)
The Eternally Obvious
(L’Evidence Eternelle, 1930)
Love Disarmed
(L’Amour Desarme, 1935)
The Lovers
(Les Amants, 1928)
Attempting The Impossible
(La Tentative de L’Impossible, 1928)
The Rape
(Le Viol, 1935)
The Titanic Days
(Les Jours Gigantesques, 1928)
Song Of The Storm
(Le Chant de L’Orage, 1937)
The Healer
(Le Therapute, 1941)
The Intermission
(Entr’acte, 1927)
6. The False Mirror
(Le Perreux-sur-Marne, 1928)
More than once,
I had the clouds in the palm of my hand.
From the womb,
to the tomb my tears they understand.
Now I gotta fly home,
just to take a lick of what I love the
most.
Now I gotta fly home,
just to breathe into a soul,
I want to call my own.
All at once,
there is a plane crash in my throat,
and the sky comes down with me.
I'm alone,
the city that never sleeps,
has got me wide awake tripping.
Now I gotta fly home,
just to take a lick,
of what I love most.
Now I gotta fly home,
just to ask the sky if,
she knows she's alone.
7. The Eternally Obvious
(L’Evidence Eternelle, 1930)
Your baby hairs rose in the sunlight,
caught my fingertips by surprise,
every single time I got to scratch your back.
You know me so well but it's my first time,
dreaming all day to just unwind,
and come undone inside your palms.
I hear you calling out to me my darling,
your touch is so loud but my body’s silent,
as you chop me up and paralyze my thighs,
all my limbs on your mind.
Take your time, we’re really quiet,
your touch is so loud but your lips are so honest,
chop me up and read into my mind.
Your baby hairs rose in the sunlight,
caught my fingertips by surprise,
every single time the ceiling smiled back at me.
I know you so well but its our first time,
dreaming all day just to unwind,
and come undone inside your palms.
I hear you calling out to me my darling,
your touch is so loud but my body’s silent,
as you chop me up and paralyze my thighs,
all my limbs on your mind.
Take your time, we’re really quiet,
your touch is so loud, your lips are so honest,
chop me up and read into my mind.
8. Love Disarmed
(L’Amour Desarme, 1935)
Wake up, but don’t move.
Your eyes are a sonnet, I’m onto you.
Softly, your lips are stirring,
I feel the light leave, the dark controls you.
And I am here,
fighting you away from your nightmares.
And I am here still loving the shadows,
that you left behind in my bed sheets,
when the sun arrived,
and you swept back through my door.
Wake up, but don’t move.
Your eyes are a sonnet, I’m onto you.
Softly, your lips are stirring,
I feel the light leave, the dark controls you.
And I am here,
fighting you away from your nightmares.
And I am here still loving the shadows,
that you left behind in my bed sheets,
when the sun arrived,
and you swept back through my door.
Wake up, but please don’t move.
I swear if you let me,
I’ll love every inch of you.
Softly, your lips debate me,
I feel you leaving, the dark controls you.
But I’m holding on,
holding on, holding on.
Your eyes are a sonnet, I’m onto you.
9. The Lovers
(Les Amants, 1928)
It dawned on me,
in the darkness of your company,
these sheets keep me awake,
your skin supreme hidden from anyone
else’s face.
And I can’t see you either,
but I feel so eager to know you.
And I can’t hide my face,
if you’re the only one,
I’ll show myself to.
You’re standing there,
completely wound up in my curly hair.
No one would ever guess this to be true.
And I can’t believe I’m kissing you,
lying to the moon.
And I can’t see you either,
but I feel so eager to know you.
It’s like we’re in the dark,
and you’re the only one,
I’ll show myself to.
We’re not hiding from anyone,
You’re just the only one I’ll show myself to.
10. Attempting The Impossible
(La Tentative de L’Impossible, 1928)
How tender you are, when the lights are off.
You’re like a quiet California wave.
The city is frost,for once I am lost.
I feel like I’m in someone else’s place.
How surreal, does it feel,
this Sunday in the dark? In the dark?
Your lips, on my hips,
shifting the tectonic plates underneath my skin.
How lovely you are, when we sin and toss.
You’re like a grumpy old tidal wave.
My body is frost, for once you are lost.
You keep losing your place.
How forreal is the feel,
this Sunday in the dark? In the dark?
Your hips, in my ribs,
thought it was impossible for you,
to paint me like this.
11. The Rape
(Le Viol, 1935)
The room tastes blue,
I’m looking at your soul in the nude.
You're beside me,
my whole torso becomes unseamed.
Have I been dreaming of you?
No, I've been waiting on you,
and finally my body feels complete.
Well take
take a
take a
I've been waiting
a good look at me now,
good look at me now,
good look at me now,
on you to welcome me back home.
Your room tastes blue,
I’m looking at our hips so in tune.
You're beside me,
and nothing feels like it seems.
Have I been dreaming of you?
No, I've been waiting on you,
and finally our minds are in sync.
Well take a good look at
take a good look at me
take a good look at me
I've been waiting on you to play
me now,
now,
now,
with my bones.
13. Song Of The Storm
(Le Chant de L’Orage, 1937)
It started in May,
the first time it rained.
Your cheekbones came sloshing down,
like God’s tears on my pane,
or mine on this page,
haven’t seen you since that day.
Your cheekbones came sloshing down, and
out of your face.
And you can’t see me standing out here
enduring the storm,
it must have hurt you,
to walk out on me too,
I can’t feel anymore.
And you can’t see me standing out here
drenched as it pours,
Do you even think about me anymore?
It went on to June. July, August too.
My cheekbones were on the floor,
and under your shoes.
I guess this is the blues,
what your spine put me through,
instead of squirming away,
we could have helped each other stay.
And you can’t see me standing out here
enduring the storm,
must have hurt you,
to walk out on me too,
I can’t feel anymore.
And you can’t see me standing out here,
drowning as it pours,
Do you even think about me anymore?
14. The Healer
(Le Therapute, 1941)
BY KEN-I-PRODUCE
There is nothing inside me, but peace.
Please let me sit here and spend time with my peace.
I’ve been carrying this weight for so long,
please leave me with my peace.
15. The Intermission
(Entr’acte, 1927)
I feel October’s cold,
but I can’t feel my limbs,
When I’m all alone, I feel it sink in:
What am I worth? Who can I be?
With all of this disease,
harboring inside of me?
I know death’s dance so well,
it’s like I taught it it’s steps myself,
I won’t stand in her way,
if she came to dance with me today.
Please won’t you touch me?
One little stroke of death,
would ease my mind,
would ease my mind.
I don’t deserve breath,
if I can’t feel the body beneath me,
and when I’m all alone,
I feel my arms, suddenly.
But it’s just a joke,
everything always is,
like the spring day
that got me here,
to begin with.
I know death’s dance so well,
it’s like I taught it it’s steps myself,
I won’t stand in her way,
if she came to dance with me today.
Please death won’t you touch me?
I’m ready to call it quits,
I’m ready to call it quits.
16. Thank You
Thank you all for listening to this project, and taking the time to view these paintings.
Whether you made it to the MoMA or not, I am glad you are a part of this project.
- - I must first thank René Magritte, I was so enthralled by him when I first saw this exhibit in
October. I thank him and his surrealist friends for starting a movement that resonates with me.
He lived and created almost a hundred years ago, and somehow we know each other so well.
My parents are the absolute best, along with my little sisters, they support everything I do
and I would be nothing without them. Thank you guys.
I worked on this project with four amazing and genius human beings -- Adam Beal, Alberto Vargas, Ghryzly Atoms and Kenneth Pineda. From nights by the piano to mornings brainstorming over
tea, my starting four have seen me at my best, my worst and my most delusional. These dudes keep
me together, grounded and safe. I love them so very much, and I thank them for sprinkling their
talents onto this project. This collaboration was a supreme dream come true.
Two amazing musicians supported me on this project: Sobina Chi graciously recorded the piano
tracks one December midnight and Spencer Kenney recorded the guitar parts all the way from Austin, Texas. You both sound amazing and I am so glad to have worked so closely with such seasoned
musicians.
Initially, these songs were sent in a private group chat to about 20 people, who commented on
the songs and how they related to the paintings. Joaquin, Pippa, Eric, Wayne, 21 Quest, Niambi,
Eleagle, David, Sara, Quiet Luke, Zuri, Liberty, Rich, Henry, Karima, Tamar, DGoD, Rose, Saba
and Cole, you made this journey really special, thank you for being in this experiment.
Thank you to Methods of Flight for the gorgeous cover art!! Thank you to my 85th family, your
constant support and love keeps me going. I am growing in every aspect and it’s because of you
guys. Thank you to my friends at The City Don’t Sleep and at ReMu -- I am so blessed to be surrounded by impeccable emerging artists every day.
ALL MY LOVE, Happy New Year, 8ight 5ive be the tribe, and shouts out to culture!
Candace Lee Camacho
