Writings: “Native Album Piece” by Bobby Markos

We asked Bobby Markos of Indiana based 4-piece Native to write a few words about the bands upcoming record (Dropping early 2013 via Sargent House) and told him he could write whatever he wanted. What we got a was an intimate, poetically abstract, stream of consciousness approach to the bands recording process. Without spoiling it, or interjecting my own interpretations, read what Bobby had to say below.

Bobby Markos
Native album piece

He sat in front of the building with his head buried in his hands.
The faint sound of passing traffic surrounded him from the highway sitting just south.
The scent and uncomfortable warmth in the small room where the four of them sat became
too much, so they all moved into different locations.
They all had the same question, “Why are we doing this to ourselves?”
A question never answered. There is no conceivable answer.
That night a major milestone was met. The seventh of eight compositions was completed.
As they sat in the dark and listened to what they had just written, a bleak happiness settled
onto the party of four.
Bleak because of the fatigue felt, bleak because they all knew that the same torment
would be met again in such a short time.
But for the time being triumph was here, and would linger until next Tuesday.
Each note heard took each of them back through the timeline that led to here.
Where it began, in a stuffy summer warehouse with terrible sound and rodent neighbors.
Arguments blown out of proportion by the summer heat, quickly followed by a temporary
victory: first song completed.
Winter writing where breaks were taken in the restroom, since it was the only room in the
building with heat.
A long lull where progress was missing, tensions were high, actions were made out of
spite.
A short journey that found praise and reignited a flame, only to be stifled by old habits.
Long nights spent in a gorgeous sounding apartment, where five and six were completed.
Listening for sounds across the street, going on walks to stimulate the minds.
Watching re-runs of cancelled television shows as rewards.
Up to the present day location, and past through the following weeks.
The deadline put its hands around their four necks, but it was finished.
As they drove south to capture the sounds, none of them could believe what was next.
Was it really done?
As the days slid past, they all realized it would never be truly done.
This work had taken a life of its own, and it would never allow the cover to be closed.
They sat in silence, watched the tape roll by and heard the sounds they created in a whole
new light.
A light that couldn’t be described.
A feeling that could not be accurately captured by human language.
The next session brought new hardships.
A cycle of emotions, between acceptance, hatred, happiness and acceptance.
This work will never be an open and shut case unfortunately, it will never be black and
white.
Too much has been invested, but at least there’s reassurance in that.
He laid in bed and talked to his friend from Iowa.
In response to a question, he said “There are no words.”
“I wish I could tell you about it.”