We've updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Plumed & Desiccated

by William Ryan Fritch

supported by
Dr. Beaf
Dr. Beaf thumbnail
Dr. Beaf This has moving collections of compositions. The unique vocal style William has is haunting. My favourite track has him playing a bunch of instruments with such class through complex musical structures that is echoed throughout this album. I'm very impressed and in awe of such talent. Favorite track: cells and class systems.
Lost Tribe Sound
Lost Tribe Sound thumbnail
Lost Tribe Sound A good tale is told in this collection, documenting the humble beginnings of one of my favorite composers in music today! Really an essential album. More musical ideas packed into 5 minutes than most have in a lifetime. Favorite track: transmigration.
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $4 USD  or more


all her sinews sing human; neath even my calloused hands. kneading butter & honey, a layer cake of psaltries cloyingly sweet. whilst my body sounds of, abrupt plastered walls; splicing every circle. still melodies haunt me like cholicy ghosts, and my pores are clogged with want. a scalded tongue only pretends to taste sweet. lest we be birds, let us not roost over great abysses. and lest we be wolves, we know not the envy of toothless dogs . throw coins to deep murring wells and sour churches. they fill our fattened paper minds, but we are as thin as the skin of garlic. I ve sought any primal rhythm filth-footed on sonorous corpsed and fetal soil only to founder mutely. where will your colts run, when the barn is burning? raze the honor and roman permanence of ant heaps with plows drawn by our battered and unresponsive horses. power walks on crooked legs, no empire endures, the pendulum swings both ways; and the roots and germs are still at work.
the tempests' unrest stirs from mottled clouds of milk, and all of our collisions fall on a body of wings. teeth of marrow may gnash, as sweaty scales wave plumes and thrash at the deceitful air, and gravity senses our skeleton. May our iron and arrogance corrode in the honey drench that we sought to filch (with our broken hands in the lion's skull) the bees may again be born from the earth's soaked and pregnant guts. as nests of parted lips will kiss the pulse of her nape. ………the earth bellows for its arthritic plates it's hell metals forging grim and new may all we devils; with bat wing lungs, minds of bleach soaked sponge taste the drip of far reaching roots of ether
glut our paunch on offerings of shining fat, cloaked in the name of gourmet. if not bought sight unseen then oversold, by a siren's song of cellophane, who's crumpling harmonies throw temporal dust back into the air all confined and borrowed. long eared, red cheeked and short sighted. we breathe on clay and yoke its soft shoulders. we bite the dry gun powder pulp of easy fruits; but the dregs of our threshings have no debt of birth and the plastic wont remember. Ignorant fumes is the only sap they will spew. unlike the pines that weeped milk & honey. rashly surfeited all my swelling tastes ... till ive become a consumptive dog, mirthless and perfumed. our keen quiet noses are forced to smell our own animalism. dominance recessed yields flightless prey, and the plastic wont remember. We devour one another, but can't digest ourselves and slake the gloom of stomachs with rare and useless gold and pray we're a little more than what we've been sold. Lionize confectioners, but ruin bakers of daily bread, cherries dipped in poison and bitter flies drowned in wine. But our millgrist is cinder and gravel we share only grief and foundations in common stone, yes .. only grief and ground in common. breathe lavender rags to mask the sulphur of snoring lies, men speak from their nostrils and the bellows of their minds are puffed up and made more empty. Voluptuous hollow words may enkindle prodigious flames, but every engine must combust on something. we devour one another and yet can't digest ourselves. ...and nary a soul will remember We lust for heights, deceived by false ceilings and in moiling for gold, dig up much earth; only gleaming red tooth and claw. we festoon scabs to garlands round our necks, and tongue irresistible cavities, kiss novocain cheeks with raving lips, and incite the stillest hour with smoke and mirrors. (the architects of sawdust and soot) - ghosts in the gale, feckless and asunder
Men fall hard who walk on stilts and stand on soapboxes, may gravity forgive me my long legs. Those who trumpet blazenly are made to teeth aluminum and forfeit parted lips. The same breath blows hot and cold, but our hides of dead skin can't distinquish. peel back, peel back, with our fingers pointing and counting. peel back, peel back our husks all ivy drained, of our verdure and virile... our sore chafed hearts sing different timbres but our hollow bellies drum the same, all hollow beliies drum the same. to the rhythm of frenetic bulls and the hum of pathetic machines. what salutary salt has been culled while we sleep? We are bodies of elbows that in envious ulcers dream of wings. May all our inconsequential parts be dressed in labial skin and revel in our new found sensitivities.... but such innervating kisses of caramel will blister our temples with the constriction of burnt sugar. and the ebb and flow of our infant senses will gnaw at us for distended years, leaving to die a confounded, caustic knot of veins. not even our echoes will remember. Men fall hard who build houses with many windows and nearly no walls, and run on sand as if stone. if we were all made to fall, may we at least learn to dance. Every tendon twixt your bones, they were made to move, and each bound chapter of your spine resounds fraternal notes. wet with suspense of such human discord. hear that, Hear that, with our brain's spun silk, hear that, all is electric we cull from skin and sea. hunger pangs of an azure bell.
Sot among whispers, casks of thickening kisses, fleshy fruits with a center of stone. neath the patina there lies shards of glisten. Our pulp lined gums taste no bitterness (be it from bile or silk) Open mouths are for kissing and chewing, but our imbricated teeth aren't meant for ruminating on such cuds. They say he that's born to be hanged will never drown, but I will still tie myself to the mast as long as the sirens keep singing and preachers keep preaching, swaying me to the rocks. This nasal breath pins a song to my starch, but its tempest forfeit my sleeve. Serpents may dress smartly in plumes but those darting pigeon eyes burn like a pill in my throat or a coin in my hand. sot among whispers, the helms ill-turned for our rudderless senses leave us clipped winged birds. thrown the bread of loam, and with salted eloquence feast on the adulation of sychophants and be draped in tailored garments of invisible thread. how can one sleep till there made aware of their nakedness; the prince's rash of silver sensed not the weight of his usurped crown , if all has turned to smoke then only our nostrils can distinguish. (we were borne of vanilla, all since has seemed noxious) Sot among whispers, there is no harmony in these confounded tongues, but many melodies competing for space. Sot among whispers, as an abandoned coal. what will become of the carbon Sot among whispers, thick like wards of sick soldiers. sot among whispers, like bodies of expressionless lovers - oppressive and petroleum. Sot among whispers, I can find no silence in my lion's arrogance, no worthiness in my pinchbeck forging. but i am warm of matted hair, sot among whispers.
plums, saccharin and syrup on a gnat's mangled onion wing. wince for the fruit of absent threshings, our starch bellies and plastic minds will never be sate, abandon in droves, the temples and groves of our domineering gods, till cracked be the lips that had ambrosia dripped from the rafters to the lion pits. allay the bile and bitter,
I cannot sleep in these nervous knots, nor dream other than frustration until ive tasted all your salt and sweet. warm hands thumb-pressing an exasperated accordion that bellows ..…..gasping organs.
These walls are numb. thoughts that come on dove's feet may guide the world but there is no perch here. the stillest words may bring the storm, but our ears are not atuned to the coughing of ghosts; but for the odor of dusty eternities. My narrow chest struggles , cant respire my own empty branches. No supple persuasion, that fig did not grow from my tree. quickening & turning on the threshing floor. But I still hear the tooth-rot of silver in the rattle of my empty pail. When the diet soda hounds smell a dollar, all men talk big and unimaginative. when the fowl's dusty eyes see blood, pecking party begins. Make all thats hollow. resound of rhythm and we will dance and collide together All we want is bread and circuses, but when the currency is debauched we'll feed off pennies of blood from tragedies, bullfights and crucifixions, neither courage or cowardice saves us. Caress the pomp and parlor of our peacocks pride , and we'll be frog marching off cliffs. I pray for a vacant synapse, so that I may never see red or green again. Every wall winces, for the corners are colluding. Stomachs are remorseless minds and seas. though i throw my throat to anchor, it will surely flounder or rust altogether in the briny pits of my salty seething weight. All that is anchored, can flounder or rust altogether, neath the salty seething weight
There are moles that have whittled a mountain down. Tthere are trenches, that war-dug, shall never be filled. We've kissed and we've killed just for the salt and the thrill. But we shall always be alone and thirsting for more. There are flies that climb, die and spawn a thousand times, just to reach the fruitless summit. and the only beasts we've left alive are ones to be yolked and collared. there are wolves remembered as bellwethers, when the flock sticks to their ribs. ....but with such close-shorn sight we are soon to forget


Plumed & Desiccated was written, recorded and mixed in 2006 when I was living in the mountains of Flagstaff, Arizona


released October 17, 2011

William Ryan Fritch: all Strings, woodwinds, percussion, horns, keys, samples, and vocals.
John Wagner: Drums at the end of tracks 9 and 11


all rights reserved



William Ryan Fritch California

William Ryan Fritch is a composer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and producer currently based in Oakland, California. His compositions are characterized by his unique range as a multi-instrumentalist and audio engineer, allowing him to realize large ensemble arrangements found in folk, Indie-rock, electronica,
Hip-hop, World and orchestral music as a solo endeavor.
... more

contact / help

Contact William Ryan Fritch

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

William Ryan Fritch recommends:

If you like William Ryan Fritch, you may also like: