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Does death promise truth and release? Has the sun deceived us with its warmth and light? Richard Wagner’s opera Tristan Und Isolde throbs with the dark shades of Schopenhauer’s grim philosophy: that while we strive endlessly for happiness and satisfaction, we strive in vain. Isolde attempts to poison Tristan, her mortal enemy, but her spell reverses, instead causing them to fall in love. Cursed in this life to be kept apart as mortal enemies, only in death can they be free, finally, to love.


Things are never as they seem; even names can conceal, misguide the hand that would heal the mortal wound. And when you fall on the truth, long to act on its proof, you would do well to avoid his direct gaze. It will undo you; you can never unlove.

The sun deceives, with her cruel eye.

When you hold to your hate, press your skin to its heat, indulge the need you can't sate, it will betray you. For in the book of revenge, the blind man wields his sharp pen, its ink a fountain unquenched; the night knows your heart – it will possess you; you have no recourse.

The sun deceives, with her cruel eye, with her cold fire.

Take me now. Take me now; I have lingered too long.

And when the shepherd's pipes play, when with those notes he awakes some long-buried dream, you will expect her. Into darkness we go, away from light and its woe, to pass beyond life's sad farce that has enslaved us. We will rejoice; in death we rejoice.

The sun deceives, with her cruel eye, with her cold fire.


from Death Waits I: Music And Fine Arts, released November 13, 2015



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Art Schop Brooklyn, New York

Contemporary rock that's "a mixture of Murder Ballads, Songs from a Room, and Hunky Dory."

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