The Journalist is a rock opera written and performed for piano and voice. It tells the story of a photojournalist caught in a conspiracy as he attempts to find meaning in his life. In Part I, he travels overseas and takes a picture of a map that can tell the future. In Part II, he returns home hoping to escape his fate and the burden of the image he carries with him.
The CD was finished on 5 Aug 2003.
The original Web site was here.
The CD is available at the following Web sites:
The songs were originally recorded in 2003. Below are the lyrics, MP3s, the score (in Finale's MUS format), and MIDI files. Use the Finale Reader to view the scores (download my copy if you don't want to register).
I believe... (repeat)
Dropped down in town,
There are many ways to lose although
It takes some skill to get here.
Simple reasons,
If I find enough to photograph
It just
might make more sense.
Local stories
The bar serves a surplus
They're a dozen
for a dime.
Remember the promise?
You spoke of flight and fancy
But they never came together.
And I believe if I could leave
That I would take the first
flight out now.
But I believe if I could see tomorrow
With some kind of map
of the future
I'd still end up here.
When I hit the street, I know how to go with the crowd.
The
death I saw yesterday, I'm not ready for this.
I take a
shot...
I'll meet you at five and we'll have a round for the road
To
calm the day-have another on me.
I take a shot...
You'll never believe the trouble I had getting here:
A man
with blood on his hands holding onto a map.
I take a shot...
Here's to my beautiful day.
I'll see you here tomorrow
If you still remember me.
Here's to my beautiful day.
My head will clear tomorrow,
But will you be there for me?
Oh, what a story,
Two pale figures on the grass.
What
were they thinking?
A thousand words lost.
But every moment I linger trying to understand
Another light
passes.
It's like a vision:
The lens imagines what will be.
But am I the creator
Or just the message?
And then I fell, and the picture took a part of me.
And then
I fell into the story written into me.
Oh, what a morning,
I wake but find I have returned
To
all the moments
That drinks abandoned.
But in the picture I've taken, something lost in translation
Or in the taker.
Get on the first flight.
Get on with nothing but the hope
Of two quick glances
Quickly receding.
And then I fell, and the picture took a part of me.
And then
I fell into the story written into me.
And then I fell for
the image melting down like a river flowing down into my short
future.
In the air, only hours to go.
My kingdom for a ticket back to
springtime.
Pick up the phone again.
I know.
At 40-thousand feet, helpless in the cabin,
Maybe it's the map they're after.
What have I done?
I got the phone call at the airport on the plane.
My parents vanished like a spacecraft wiped away.
Goodbye Chicago,
Goodbye Detroit,
Goodbye San
Francisco,
Goodbye New Orleans.
Goodbye Cincinnati,
Goodbye LA,
Goodbye to Yourtown,
Goodbye USA.
Goodbye my conscience,
Goodbye to who I am,
Goodbye
Atlanta,
Goodbye Birmingham.
Goodbye Chicago,
Goodbye New Orleans,
Goodbye America,
You're not what you appear.
Goodbye America...
Here I am.
Looking like I need guidance,
I landed in
the mean city,
Looking up an old friend.
Here I am.
I've got the photograph,
But this pace
can't last.
No reply.
I manage to escape notice
But with another
friend missing
I'm running out of ideas.
Here I am
Where we met before.
I've got the
photograph.
Call me, call me.
Call me, call me.
Just to hear a
voice...
It's the map that got their attention.
It's the map that
brought them to me.
Stranger things have happened-haven't
they? Haven't they?
What can I do with this photograph?
It's the map that charted the future.
It's the map that pulls
me along.
If I could control it subtly, fatally...
All
I'd achieve for what I believe.
We'll give him one last chance now.
Maybe then he'll get the
message.
We took away his family,
And he never knew what hit him.
We took away his living
He had nothing to believe in.
Nothing to believe in...
Nothing to believe in...
In the map, I see them approaching
As the lines converge to a
point.
But does the skyline know the outcome?
What do
I have in this photograph?
Through the woods, I'm going.
Another doubtful day
And
another hope receding.
Whatever happened to all my friends?
Through the woods downtown.
Construction covering
As I
flee from those pursuing.
I've made a mess of my hurried
life.
Through the empty building.
The dusty mezzanine.
There's a ladder through the ceiling.
Voices that speak of an
easy end.
Through the woods, I'm going.
What do I still believe?
With the map in hand, its power, and
All of its followers
closing in.
Through the woods, I'm going.
Another doubtful day
And
another hope receding.
Whatever happened to all my friends?
No, there's no other way, must destroy the map.
And no one
can help me here, on the roof, my chance.
Through the fourth floor window
I see an opening.
I
can jump across the alley.
Where was I when the world was spinning?
Where was I when the
road rushed at me?
Could it be that my memory's giving?
Where was I? Was it just a dream?
Check my hands but there's something missing.
Check my head
but the focus goes.
Where was I when I needed someone?
Where were you when I hit the road?
I must destroy it.
I must destroy it.
They carried me away to a hospital. Hmm.
They told me not to
fear, that they would handle everything. Hmm.
I looked into the light and felt the needle go. Hmm.
If I
should die before, my hopeless heart is weakening.
At midnight
They came for me
Alone.
I hear
messages from the Ether coming down
Into my short future...