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Ross Pullen
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1.
Living Inside of a Whale 01:44
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There's no yard to maintain Mowing's a pain anyway Close to the sea where I sail The rent is very cheap No electricity Because I'm living inside of a whale Blubber warms me at night A blow hole for my sky light As many bathrooms as I have pails Zero H.O.A. dues Yawns mean ocean views Because I'm living inside of a whale I get my laundry clean Grinding it on his teeth Endless supply of shrimp cocktails There's room to entertain Though the smell is quite profane Because I'm living inside of a whale People stop and stare When he comes up for air And I'm in his mouth Reading mail For me it is my home Wherever we may roam Because I'm living inside of a whale
2.
I Don't Wanna Walk the Plank 01:36
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I'd saunter, skip, jaunt, or roll, but I don't wanna walk the plank I'd limp, hopscotch, scoot or stroll, but I don't wanna walk the plank I didn't lead the mutiny Don't know why you blame me It's not my fault we're lost at sea I don't wanna walk the plank I'd saunter, skip, jaunt, or roll, but I don't wanna walk the plank I'd limp, hopscotch, scoot or stroll, but I don't wanna walk the plank On the end of this board I feel the breeze Precariously balanced above the sea Won't be the last you see of me I don't wanna walk the plank Yo ho ho, Don't wanna go Yo ho ho, Don't wanna go Yo ho ho, Don't wanna go Yo ho ho, Don't wanna go I'd saunter, skip, jaunt, or roll, but I don't wanna walk the plank I'd limp, hopscotch, scoot or stroll, but I don't wanna walk the plank
3.
Kelp! 01:45
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I heard 'Ban shuffleboard!' When you screamed 'Man overboard!' So I'm sure you can see Why I did nothing I'm not passive aggressive I just missed your message I thought you were shouting 'Kelp! Kelp, kelp, kelp, kelp, kelp!' So sorry you floated away I just don't know what else to say Think about, it you might see it's funny, in, hindsight You know how, I hate seaweed No way you were, talking to me I thought you were shouting 'Kelp! Kelp, kelp, kelp, kelp, kelp!' Think about, it you might see it's funny, in, hindsight You know how, I hate seaweed No way you were, talking to me
4.
Sea Anemones (aka Shark Wigs) 02:39
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Some sharks are self conscious Some sharks are vain Not every shark is blessed With a long flowing mane Shark wigs are great To hide a chrome dome For an instant ponytail Or an aqua afro When a shark is bald There's one thing that they need They need a shark wig They need a sea anemone A sea anemone WIG OUT!! Down by the reef They wear tentacle dreadlocks Hairless punk rock sharks Sport anemone mohawks For a real virile look They need a full head of hair They've got to look their best Because the lady sharks care When a shark is bald there's one thing that they need They need a shark wig They need a sea anemone A sea anemone
5.
The Greatest Pyramids 02:36
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Pyramids are breathtaking I certainly agree Their precision and balance Majestic symmetry Greatest pyramids in Egypt? Not if you ask me They can’t beat Wisconsin’s Pyramids on water skis A feat of engineering Achieved by humankind Seen people stack At least five high Greatest pyramids in Egypt? Not if you ask me They can’t beat Wisconsin’s Pyramids on water skis "Oooh, ooh, ahhh!" Is what you'll say As you take in the show Speeding above the lake King Tut is all the rage But to me he ranks below The Dell’s Tommy Bartlett And his water skiing show Greatest pyramids in Egypt? Not if you ask me They can’t beat Wisconsin’s Pyramids on water skis "Oooh, ooh, ahhh!" Is what you'll say As you take in the show Speeding above the lake
6.
Eight-Fingered Pete 01:51
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Hand-less Pirates really need Much much more clever accessories No way I’d pick a metal hook So I’d attach An octopus Nicknamed Eight-Fingered Pete Multitasking across The seven seas Other Pirates would plea Spare me your hand Eight-Fingered Pete I’d swab the decks And post-date checks Massage some necks As Eight-Fingered Pete I’d swash buckle Build sand castles Fight Seagulls As Eight-Fingered Pete As Eight-Fingered Pete I’d write reviews Of Mannequin 2 Ink some tattoos As Eight-Fingered Pete I’d shuck some clams Check Instagram Compose email scams Sauté some yams Solve cryptograms Correspond with madams With my octopus hand As Eight-Fingered As Eight-Fingered Pete
7.
Another Man's Treasure 02:10
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I bury my possessions Up and down the coast Make cryptic maps in paces For the stuff I like the most Precious Moments figurines Unopened junk mail A half scale Yoda With exquisite details One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure No laundered cash But some dirty clothes for sure And collector plastic cups I'm such a connoisseur Will they stay in mint condition? Of that I am distressed In hindsight I tend to think Should’ve used treasure chests One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure Weird finger puppet monsters Matchbooks from tiki bars Dr. Pepper knock offs Like Dr. Phizz and Mr. Aahh I searched every weekend At the garage sales For Herman Melville pogs They were my white whale One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure One, one, one, one man’s trash is Another Man’s Treasure
8.
You Were Mermaid for Me 02:21
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The way the bubbles Float up when you laugh The curvy features Of your human half The way your hair Swirls around your face The way you swim With so much grace Sure there might be Other fish in the sea But I know that You were mermaid for me Whoa oh, oh oh, Whoa oh, oh oh, Woah oh Being with you Turned my life upside down You don’t seem to mind When I almost drown Our conversations Really make me think You’re the best thing About having my ship sink Sure there might be Other fish in the sea But I know that You were mermaid for me Whoa oh, oh oh, Whoa oh, oh oh, Woah oh

about

As a seeker of new sounds, I’ve traveled the world searching for someone who could channel the ocean into song.

Everywhere I find singers singing about the sea, but I want something more, something purer: a singer who is the sea, its ebb and flow, its tidal depths. Thus I found myself once again at the Bawdy Barnacle, a notorious sea-shanty club on the waterfront, its stage lit by whale-oil and littered with shattered grog-mugs. The crowd was as ever: surly sailors, most short a few teeth, limbs, or both, the smell of the sea upon them.

The first act was a salty-voiced fellow who sang of a fight to the death with a killer sturgeon. He concluded, and the curtain descended briefly before rising again on another singer, twice as grizzled as the first, his beard half-kelp, eyes black as deepest ocean. He sang of a ghost ship that stalked the seas with a crew of cursed souls. When he finished, the curtain descended again, and a dense silence gripped the room.

The curtain rose again, and before our eyes stood a robot, its chrome glinting in the whale-oil lights, a curious lab-coated accompanist manning the keyboards at its side.

From the looming robot came a voice I’ll never forget: metallic as the hull of an icebreaker, haunted as a lost cove in the Azores, wild as a school of flying fish, impenetrable as sargassum. The first tune was a reel about being swallowed whole (“Living Inside of a Whale”) followed by a raging barn-burner of topside betrayal (“I Don’t Wanna Walk the Plank”).

They mourned a lost comrade (“Kelp”) – who, in hindsight, perhaps needed assistance – followed by a trio of aquatic wonders: vain sharks (“Sea Anemones”), wild Wisconsonian waterskiers (“The Greatest Pyramids”), and an octopoid accessory to merge piracy and productivity (“Eight-Fingered Pete”). They sang a rousing penultimate anthem (“Another Man’s Treasure”) before diving back into the depths with a melancholy finale of interspecies love (“You Were Mermaid For Me”).

The silence that followed was like a wave before crashing. Then came something I’d never experienced at the Barnacle: applause, first sparse, then roaring. Weathered sailors rose from their seats, cheering and stomping until the nets and buoys that lined the rafters threatened to come crashing down. A legend was born that night, whispered in grog-halls and on docks and piers throughout the seven seas: a robot and human who, at long last, had given voice to the sea.

JOHN K. PECK
Writer for McSweeney's, Salon, The Toast, and others
Bassist, American Steel
Editor, Degraded Orbit
Co-founder, Volta Press

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released August 14, 2020

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Satanic Puppeteer Orchestra San Diego, California

Absurd satire? Experimental performance art? A glimpse in to our robotic future? A novelty act gone too far? Comedy gold? Yes. Join mad scientist Professor B. Miller and singing robot SPO-20 as they take you on an infectious musical odyssey. Their brand of quirky electronic rock songs is like no other. ... more

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