[NOTE: Audio updated 3/30/26 — I equalized the first mix a bit]
I typically do not distribute song posts via E-Mail, but thought I would this time. If my musical self-indulgences are not your cup of tea, you can stop here and please accept my apologies. Garden of Words is a personal journal of sorts, and music is part of what I do.
Still here? Here’s the story:
A song from 1987, updated forty years later. I wrote Empty Wrong and Right in a couple hours on a summer day, around the time of the Iran-Contra hearings. I recorded it the next day in my basement studio, pieces of which are part of the current recording. More on that in a moment. It was an attempt to write something with a rockier edge, without devolving into three chords and a cloud of dust — sort of taking off my Donald Fagen hat and putting on my Pete Townshend hat.
The song portrays a fictional terrorist attack on an American facility, told in part from the perspective of a victim forced to lie on the floor face-down and silently review his or her life. It considers the folly of extremist brainwashing, countered by rote western political rhetoric. Humans talk past each other a lot, and they train their tribes well, without much regard for the consequences. I think we’re now seeing what that looks like when amplified by 24/7 communications, social networks and AI deep fakes — all of which were sci-fi fantasies when I wrote this song. Things were scary enough back then.
This particular recording is a solo effort — 100% me from start to finish. I recently transferred the master multi-track tape of the ancient original recording to digital. After listening to the tracks, I thought that maybe it was worth a fresh look.
The 1987 recording was crude. The bass and drums needed help, but I liked the edge and energy of everything else. Thus, the updated recording is a sneaky brew of old and new sound. The drums and bass are new; the vocals and jangly ‘80’s guitars are from 1987 (except for the end). I considered re-recording the vocals because I used to sing with an affected style that I now find cloying and icky at times. Probably too much Beatles growing up — wait, is that heresy? Forgive me, Sir Paul, forgive me… But there was a certain edge to the performance that is more difficult to muster in these days of age, fatigue and perspective. So in the end, I decided to stick with the original vocals.
The new recording is flawed but vastly improved, and closer to what I imagined forty years ago. It has the punch I sought, certainly. Depending on your sound system, you might hear some thunderous bass frequencies here and there. That’s intentional. I mean, it’s a heavy subject. As Spinal Tap sang… “Heavy! (heavy!) Duty! (duty!) brings out the duty in my soul…” So a “big bottom” was needed. <ahem> Sorry.
I played with the recording off and on over the past few months, experimenting with extra vocals and some additional parts. But, in the end, I prefer it raw. All new material was left on the cutting room floor, other than bass and drums. The one structural change over the original is that I extended the ending. I wanted the song to slowly deconstruct, ending in a drumbeat that dissolves into a mechanical beating heart. Because hearts do get lost in all the rhetoric sometimes, don’t they? Even the ones sculpted by machines.
Lyrics below. Enjoy. And thanks for listening.
Note: I do not use AI tools with my own music. I create the content using physical and digital instruments and home studio recording methods, using standard hardware and software. I do not aim to sound “current”. I would fail miserably at that. This is more about process than polish. Me being me. Asking an AI system to sanitize the sound would be self-defeating.
Empty Wrong And Right
Face near the ground in the aftermath. Feel the pain and hate of third-world wrath.And the sweat pours freely from my brow.
Automatic shots ring through the air. Human life is gone without a care.And the rhetoric flows from the White House.
You must believe -- should faith redeem your life. The endless sad absurdity of empty wrong and right.
Hours pass, you’re gathered on the floor. Man-child guard from hell stands neat the door. Does he even know what he stands for?
Can he believe his ways must rule despite the endless sad absurdity of empty wrong and right?
[The terrorists respond]
Days pass – a hollow compromise. A look of bored resolve is in their eyes. Fanatical faith complete with corporate lies.
We can’t be free with self-directed sight. The endless sad absurdity of empty wrong and right.
Memories… memories… memories…
Copyright © 1987-2026 Tom Marchione
