Release Date: May 03, 2011
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“Never Come Undone,” the split 12” release from Harrisburg, PA singer-songwriter Andew Koji Shiraki and Grand Rapids, MI outfit La Dispute is, above all things, an attempt to transcend musical differences; to show that, where a middle ground exists ethically and emotionally, differences in genre and style are rendered irrelevant, and the greater truth is made apparent. Birthed from a friendship grounded more in similarities in intention and approach than in musical commonality, “Never Come Undone” seeks to highlight those important similarities by exploring a new congruence musically while discussing separately the same topic. Featuring two songs from Koji (one original and one cover) and two songs from La Dispute (one original and one re-imagining of a track from 2008‘s Somewhere…), the record reflects heavily on the two artists’ individual experiences with loss and their reaction to it. Through that, the aforementioned emotional and personal similarities shine through, showing that while contrasts may exist between people on the surface, a common thread binds them. At the same time, and perhaps most poignantly, some differences still exist (and differences always will) but neither the record, nor the friendship that inspired it, suffers. Recorded separately at Drasik Studios in Chicago, IL (Koji) and at StadiumRed in Harlem, NY (La Dispute) “Never Come Undone” shows Koji and La Dispute at the peak of their friendship exploring new personal ground both musically and lyrically.

Sunday Morning, at a Funeral

Sunday Morning still
laid innocent in sheets,
barely half asleep.
Sunday Morning I was dreaming I was turning from a busy street
into a parking lot.

Sunday Morning broke
and dragged me out of bed,
slightly less asleep.
Sunday Morning I was warming all the cold parts of my head
in cups and coffee pots.

In the Winter I wonder
what it’s like to be anywhere else,
to be anywhere but here.
If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full
of people making furniture, with
the river running clear.

Sunday Morning fell
apart and back to sleep,
where I was running late,
where I looked out of place.
Sunday Morning pace of steady, nervous feet
headed for the church doors.

Sunday Morning dressed
in suits and shades of black.
Sunday Morning soft in Sunday best.
Sunday someone’s never coming back here
to this place anymore.

In the Winter I wonder
what it’s like to be anywhere else,
to be anywhere but here.
If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full
of people making furniture, with
the river running clear.

Sunday Morning stared
at rows of crowded pews.
Half or all asleep,
looking for a seat.
Sunday Morning waiting for a call from you
but didn’t hear my phone ring.

Sunday Morning had
to sit and watch you bawl.
Sunday Morning left the ringer off.
Sunday Morning missed it when you called and
couldn’t do a thing
but watch.

In the Winter I wonder what it’s like to be where you are.
In the Winter I wonder what it’d be like if you were still here.
Would the factories fill?
Would the river run clear?
Would the river run?

Sunday Morning dreamt
about a moment passed,
about a time I failed.
Sunday Morning I was staring at a clock, trying to push it back.
Sunday Morning wished to be a kid.

Sunday Morning shook
me all the way awake.
Stirred me from the dream.
Sunday Morning I was thinking of a phone call I should make
but never did.
I never did.

Last Blues for Bloody Knuckles

“My Precious Wife, I am in shambles. I am crumbling. I am—was it something I did bid the tide to climb so high that it ripped our shore up?

I can fix it, I swear, if you trust me, I am old and I am rusting but I care, I care.

My Precious Wife, we made a promise, pledged our flesh to be one. How can you doubt a love that stood so proud as we raised our children?

I believe in it still. It has faltered, and it is faded, but I know it’s there.

How’d it change? The way you thought of me? How strange to think we once were lovers.
Now we’ve wrapped the past up in broken glass and when you speak my name you shudder.

Oh, Precious Wife, believe I’ll save this, I’ll revive it, I will—we’ve built a family from this marriage, why would you tear it apart?”

“Oh, speak now, Precious, your silence screams you’re giving in to failure.
Hear me, the promise that you made was meant to live forever,
Until our deathbed, you’re not allowed to change your mind.

Was there nothing in that promise?
Are you listening to me?”

“Oh, Husband, I could not control it.
Husband, I could not abstain.
One cannot stop the wind from blowing—nor refuse the falling rain.
Love stirred up a storm inside; wrapped its arms around my waist.
I failed you, dear, I’m sorry—oh, I’m sorry.
There was nothing I could do.
No, there was nothing I could—
Sure as the rain will fall, some love just fails without a reason.

There is nothing you can do.