Song Effusive Episode 10 – Molybdomancy By Pythian Whispers

Song Effusive Episode 10 – Molybdomancy By Pythian Whispers


By Cherie Rae Cobbs

The dust is what I think of first, for it bled into every pore.

The amber light, the trapped heat of deserted buildings, industrial equipment piles, chaotic clusters of tumbleweed, insipid trash, the wind caressing the tops of skinny trees and the somber shadows cast in the orchard by endless, orderly rows all set to a serenade of some distant, wild animal.

We were a collective of sorts (especially at night) just castaways tucked into a sprawling ranch house that could eat you whole without regret.  The place was thick with energies, it was a series of well-appointed secret-keeping bedrooms, winding hallways full of right angles, brute heavy doors and locks of all kinds.  There were a surplus of exterior doors, maybe 14 all told and nothing typical about them either.  There were doors with thicker outer doors and rusted metal bars that would moan and swing without reason all day and night.

But we found comfort there.  We found routine.  We had a splendid sort of sanctuary at the end of the day once exhausted from idea, experiments, collaboration and music.

At this –my favorite time–we all sought something in the middle of that lonesome border house, community or a little conversation.

So we find solace and calm at a table as heavy as any I’d ever known.  I would scrape together a meal for us there, our sweet little restless family.

And in that way we were fleeting.  The “we” that set our group apart from our everyday.  You were mine, I was yours, a gentle domesticity blooms from nothing at all.

One would pour wine, another would dim the lights, the wind hushed into darkened corners, light heady music lulls us into drink and our spirits create wavelengths that tie us to the night.

Energy exchanges, we laugh full-throated or slip in comments that could be missed under our breath.  I don’t remember the stories now and I barely recall the food.

I remember your faces lit by a lone candle and I know that room.  I feel the closeness of a passerby at the kitchen sink or a tilt of a smile on your lip…still.

You have been listening to Pythian Whispers and this is the Song Effusive podcast.


Song Effusive Episode 9 – True Love Knows by The Changing Colors

Song Effusive Episode 9 – True Love Knows by The Changing Colors Monday September 21st, 2015 By Cherie Rae Cobbs


We fell out into the dusty, spirited streets that night ushered by a massive band of believers.  One man, eyes full of truth reached out his hand to me on Palace Avenue.  He had children in tow, wearing glow-in-the dark necklaces and their voices were a sweet sing-song volley.  My thoughts were gauzy, for I had been swimming in gin.  The city center was animated and dense and we were mobbed by the energy of a thousand ghosts.  

This is the wild of the west.  These warm bodies welcomed us on impulse to join the collective and come out reborn and we felt helpless to resist.  We were clouded but vibrant, we would follow as a curious witness.

After miles of navigating twists and turns, we came upon a clearing and were able to take in the infinite sea of a hundred-thousand people.  We wove our way through the maze of families on the ground and on their feet, a prairie of picnic blankets, endless pairs of kissing lovers and traffic cops. 

I was breathless, over-stimulated, fevered and anxious.

It is here that strangers said over and over again that we should leave all that ails, all that hurts and aches, all the gloom, all we regret, for here our woes will burn in a pyre of flames 100 feet tall.  The tension was building as we grew impatient for the darkness which proceeds the burning of this bogeyman.  In a frantic fury an army of torchbearers circle the marionette, to the beat of a million drums, dancers in sequined headdress, come the fireworks and finally the promised flames.

Old man gloom goes up in a bonfire like nothing I’ve ever seen, he raises his arms to the sky, he fights and screams.  I can still feel the heat on my face, the exotic shock of a 91 year old tradition now mine.

You’ve been listening to True Love Knows by The Changing Colors





Song Effusive Episode 8 – A Love Sincere by Covenhoven

Song Effusive Episode 8 – A Love Sincere by Covenhoven Thursday July 30th, 2015 By Cherie Rae Cobbs

After a long drive up I-35 the pines grow lush and thick, knowing and tall and we fall quiet because we are almost home. This might be the only home we have ever really known. This place is unpolished, erected by industry and it barks, smokes and bellows. It is punctuated by stone beaches, it weeps of bygone dreams, ideas born come to lay in silence, where stain-glassed churches stand through generations on every other corner. There are bridges that are said to sing, rust-covered railroad tracks headed always someplace else, the solemn, ghastly deep of countless ice water graves, where ships saddle up to the shore and dwarf one and all. It is here though, on this sorted frontier that I feel the most myself. I am invigorated, conscious and stand with purpose in my legs. My blood runs through these streets. It is here that my grandpa gave me sweets and tried to teach me how to draw, where I would double-over in joy because of his wild expressions and tall tales. It is here that my parents first met as kids. It’s this house that always smells the same. We sit at the same small table, we celebrate and mourn in the same Belgian hall. It is defined by countless chest-crushing hugs and laughter and a story that is well-understood amongst one and all. It lives on for me eternal, as a mystery and the truth. You’ve been listening to A Love Sincere by Joel Van Horne’s Covenhoven. IMG_20150729_223240

Song Effusive Episode 7 – Little One by Strawberry Runners


Song Effusive Episode 7 – Little One by Strawberry Runners

Wednesday June 2nd, 2015

By Cherie Rae Cobbs

I lay in a warm bath at the end of an early summer day in an empty, settled house.  The window is open and there is a slim, cool breeze lurking through the fevered air.  Outside there is a concert of sound.  We have a measured bass line provided by the vigorous bounce of a basketball two houses down, the awkward, wobbly cadence of a young child on roller skates out in the road and some sort of shrill battle cry waged by an industrial strength drill echoing for what feels like miles.

I spent the day quietly in the way that one does when you’re alone.  I picked up the tangle of clothes on the floor and found a way to right them.  I shook out the rugs and a sea of debris flew across the yard. I washed the dishes and polished the piano too.  

I enjoyed a long swallow of silky vodka outside in the sun and brought a book filled with stories of ghastly discoveries by anthropologists from far away lands, in far away times.  I read as long as I could before fatigue started to set in.  

In this tranquil state I heard a bee fly up from behind.  He buzzed past my face and I thought I heard your name.  He was the first I’ve seen this season and it married with my drink, the emerald green of my yard, the chestnut bamboo of a nearby shade and my restful, roaming heart which welcomes it all over again.

You’ve been listening to Little One by Colorado’s own Strawberry Runners and this is the Song Effusive podcast.


Strawberry Runners

Song Effusive Episode 6 – Say by Distant Correspondent



Song Effusive Episode 6 – Say by Distant Correspondent

Wednesday May 13th, 2015

By Cherie Rae Cobbs

One evening we set out for a walk into the woods with our friends.  I was wearing crisp, white Keds and heavy charcoal eyeliner and felt pretty and happy to be near you. The air was muggy and the sky was lit with streaks of saffron.  The scene ahead was dense, wooded and covered by emerald, velvet moss.  It was the end of a hot summer day, when the baseball field lights out in the distance start to glow and kids are called in to take baths and settle for sleep.

 We all walk single file, our arms stretched out to our sides so as to balance ourselves over rocks, refuse and branches and we’re choking on laughter and supposition all the way up the foothill.  Here as always, I am the quiet one simply smiling at the back of a line of jesters.  I am reserved, well-mannered, and I abide the rules.  I do not stay out late or cause trouble. I walk in this pretty daisy chain without caution or concern because I am following you.  Where you go, I want to go.  The path you cross I will too.  You leap over a mud puddle and laugh so I do too.  You grab a tremendous stick as to fillet the night’s air and I watch fascinated.

 We climb out of the wood into a clearing and our group of six start to pair-off and disperse.  We are parted by instinct, we are set apart by some undefined belief.  You are absurd and brimming with stories and you’re happy.  For once, for a moment, we are far from all that would reduce us below.  I don’t want to leave and it is exactly here that I remember you most.

 There is nothing else that matters.  You are tall and beautiful and for a tiny second, you are mine.  I wait an eternity for something to happen in this state of bliss and panic.  I think you might be holding my hands but I can’t be sure.

And just like that, the spell is broken.  My senses catch up to me in a rush like an analog videotape engaged in fast-forward mode and I know it’s time to go.  Our friends have already started running, laughing and tumbling down the backside of the hill and we will be soon, too soon follow suit.

You’re listening to Distant Correspondent and this is the mesmerizing song, Say.


Song Effusive Episode 5 – Winter In The Pub by Kissing Party


Song Effusive Episode 5 – Winter In The Pub by Kissing Party

Wednesday May 6th, 2015

By Cherie Rae Cobbs

One night the ground was a veneer of February ice.  I was walking with my best friends and we were loading gear from the venue to the van in the dead of winter this one last time.  “…Once more unto the breach, dear friends…” whispers Shakespeare into my heart.

We all piled into the hollow of our army green van and the heat was slow to blow out of the dusty vents.  Our collective breath begged the fog to crawl up the windows and in no time, all we saw were the blurs of highway lights on the deepest, darkest night.  Inside we were animated, alert and alive.  We recounted the music, our friends, and our siblings in song.

Here it is always an exaggeration of emotion, reliving the highs and lows.  The energy rises and falls like wild ocean waves with each aspect revealed and the moments become bigger because we share them in this way and it is somehow religious.  We tell and retell so as not to forget?

Of course we knew that this treasured time was slipping out of our hands or hearts or lives in one way or another.

Of course we understood that nothing would ever be the same again.  But there are times that you feel so much love that every single nook that might allow for doubt is taken, occupied, cannot be moved, amended or altered.

Here for a minute we are flying high.  In this perfect hour at the end of the longest day, we are in love in the way that we may never know again.  I’m terrified of the dawn.  I want things to stay the same.  But there is nothing to stop what is happening and there is no way to undo.

So I lock them up inside, in repose or relief, so that no locksmith could ever defeat and no one can ever replicate or even reach.

You’ve been listening to ‘Winter in the Pub’ by Kissing Party and this is the Song Effusive Podcast.


Kissing Party

Song Effusive Episode 4 – Rebirths by Joseph Childress


Song Effusive Episode 4 – Rebirths by Joseph Childress

Friday, May 1st, 2015

By Cherie Rae Cobbs

I sit out here sometimes before the sun gets too low in the late afternoon sky.  I think of you here sometimes too as I lay down lazy on this feeble wicker bench that’s too short to accommodate the length of my legs, so I tuck and tangle them for comfort. 

 There are pillows too that I arrange just so and my face folds into one now to afford a deep, earthy breath.

 It smells very simply of outdoors.  It smells of the seasons I suppose, some potpourri of dried leaves, rainwater and whatever the wind from the western slope brings into this secluded cove.  This material is worn and faded but still quite ample and firm, so it supports my head which is often racing and uneasy until it resolves to quiet itself into a managed lull.

 And from this spot, I recall the times we’ve spent here together.

 I see you through a dreamy kaleidoscope.  You’re saying something to me in the way that you do, without quite looking at me, with your head tilted which allows the light into your pretty eyes.  Here you squint, intimate and shrug, you look away and then come back and meanings are easily understood.

 You are perfect.


Joseph Childress