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Catalog | Solo Album | Rebecca Luker: Greenwich Time

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Album Release Date:
 October 20, 2009

what the critics are saying

“A spellbinding soprano, effortlessly charming and unfailingly sweet of sound.”
–The Washington Post

“As her voice swells, it gains in beauty, textural fullness and emotional power.”
–The New York Times

“The combination of songs, singer and emotions makes Greenwich Time a very special collection of gems.”

Rebecca Luker
Greenwich Time

(Michel Legrand, Alan & Marilyn Bergman)

So often as I wait for sleep
I find myself reciting
The words I’ve said or should have said
Like scenes that need rewriting,
The smiles I never answered,
Doors perhaps I should have opened,
Songs forgotten in the morning.

I relive the roles I’ve played,
The tears I may have squandered,
The many pipers I have paid
Along the roads I’ve wandered.

Yet all the time I knew it,
Love was somewhere out there waiting.
Though I may regret a step or two.
If I had changed a single day,
What went amiss or went astray,
I may have never found my way to you.

Yet all the time I knew it,
Love was somewhere out there waiting.
Though I may regret a kiss or two.
If I had changed a single day,
What went amiss or went astray,
I may have never found my way to you.

I wouldn’t change a thing that happened
On my way to you.

2. OHIO, 1904
(Paul Loesel & Scott Burkell)

I’ve seen those boys before.  
They own that little bicycle store
Just down the street.
Wilbur’s the taller of the two,
Orville is handsome, with eyes as blue
As they are sweet.  

Some folks say they’re crazy,
Some folks say they dream too high.  
I think they’re amazing,
For they’ve built a machine to touch the sky.

This town can be so slow.
It makes me giddy just to know
The two of them are there.
In that shop, side by side,
They’re finding a way to take a ride
Up in the air.  

Some folks say they’re crazy,
Some folks wish they’d both keep still.
I think they’re amazing,
And if anyone can fly, those two will…

High above the world below,
Let the one’s below you know
Dreams can come true.
Take a flight just for me.
Promise me that I could be
Just like you.

My mama says she’s scared.  
I’m afraid my mama just isn’t prepared
For a world that moves so fast.  
A century’s new day,
Electric lights will light the way
Out of the past.

Some folks think like mama,
Some folks are afraid of what’s new.
I think the world is amazing;
So many things for a young girl to do.  

High above the world below,
Let the one’s below me know
All I can be.
If those boys can touch the sky,
Maybe one day so will I.
Just wait and see.  
I will fly!
Just wait and see.

(Joseph Thalken & Marshall Barer)

There are billions of beautiful boys in the world,
But all I want is…two.

I could float through the air with the greatest of ease
With just one perfect partner on each of my knees.
Picture you and you upon a knee apiece,
Enjoying tea for three,
And three on the aisle,
And three cigarettes in the dark.

In our elegant triplex on Third Avenue,
Floating high above Trinity Park, we’ve a view
Of the Triborough Bridge,
Triple sec in the fridge,
And a loo that is truly divine.
For it’s rub-a-dub-dub
I in a three-corner tub
With the towels marked “his,” “his” and “mine.”

I’d adore to go soaring too high in the sky
In a tri-motor plane with a guy and a guy.
But I ask for no more
Than to gaze into four eyes of blue
In a cottage for three.
Only four eyes of blue
In a one-bedroom cottage for three with you two.
That’s for me!

(Jule Styne & Carolyn Leigh)

Filling spaces, killing time.  
Making small talk, faking pleasure, killing time.
Punching pillows, lunching late and missing you.
Kissing someone, missing you.

Dealing aces, feeling old.
Matching socks and hatching plans and catching cold.
Don’t it slay you knowing I’m spending nights, or is it years,
Dulling senses, lulling fears,
Chilling drinks, spilling tears.
Killing time.

(Jeff Blumenkrantz & Beth Blatt)

Are you done, mama?
Have you said your piece?
It’s the same old question,
Regular as daddy’s digestion:
“When will you give me some grandkids?”
Now, don’t get all huffy,
I know you care.
And by the way, I like your hair.
And breakfast was great—
Sit down, mama—
The dishes can wait.
It’s time for us Southern belles to talk straight.

In the South you’re raised on a mountain of grits and a whole mess of pecan pie—
No, I don’t want no pecan pie—
In the South you’re raised on heaps of hymns hollered up to the sky.
Sing your way out of sin, or at least you try.
Where mothers keep pretending not to know
Their respectable husbands are getting drunk in the cellar down below.
Pursed lips and sideways glances and glazed-over eyes,
And a lot of lovely lies.

In the church you’re raised full of fear of a Lord who sends sinners to burn in hell—
Wear a tube top, you go to hell—
In the church you’re taught that desire’s a word you don’t even dare to spell.
Look at Eve, she gave into desire and paradise fell.
A boy and girl pray the Lord will bless their date,
Then the next thing you know that boy is trying to bust through her personal pearly gate.
It’s a wrestling match, a hand job, then a burger, coke and fries.  
What a load of lovely lies.

I had to get out of here.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t wait to be up north,
Where it’s okay to say “hand job,”
Okay to wear jeans and drink gin,
And live in sin.

In the South girls are taught we are put on this earth to be fruitful and multiply—
It’s our duty to multiply—
In my heart, I know I’m not meant to have kids; mama, I can’t explain why.  
It’s something I’ve known since I was yay high.
I know what you’re thinking, “Once you feel that life growing,
’Til you’ve felt it inside you, there’s no way of knowing.”
Well mama, I felt it.  
And mama, I knew what I had to do.

I want to know you, and I want you to know me.
’Cause I’m looking forward to many more years of your company.  
And long talks ’cross a mountain of grits and a whole mess of pecan pie.
And one less lovely lie.
At least one less lovely lie.

(Sam Davis & Randy Buck)

The village on a Sunday morning,
Baking ’neath a clear June sky.
No one’s out of bed for hours.  
Let us go then, you and I,
Down a street where sunlight hangs suspended,
To a corner with a shady tree.
There’s a café we’ve long since befriended,
Where we’ll sip iced cappuccino and sit content.
For we know we’re masters of the world this Sunday morning;
Arts and Leisure, Book Review.
Let other people crowd the Hamptons,
Leave us Seventh Avenue.
Can’t afford a trendy country cottage,
But who cares, as long as there is you.
We’ll share a month of Sundays,
Sticky, sultry and sublime,
Two sweethearts on Greenwich time.

A languid afternoon to laze together,
Strolling slowly hand in hand,
Jazz guitarist on a park bench,
Drowsy browsing at the strand.
Not a soul, but long as you are near me  
I’m the richest lady in the land.
With Sunday so seductive,
Monday morning seems a crime.  
Lover, let’s stay lost in Greenwich time.

(Steve Marzullo, Poem by Christina Rossetti)

Remember me when I am gone away,  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.  
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:  
Only remember me; you understand  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
Than that you should remember and be sad.

(Maury Yeston)

In a very unusual way, one time I needed you.
In a very unusual way, you were my friend.
Maybe it lasted a day,
Maybe it lasted an hour,
But somehow it will never end.

In a very unusual way, I think I’m in love with you.
In a very unusual way, I want to cry.
Something inside me goes weak,
Something inside me surrenders,
And you’re the reason why,
You’re the reason why.

You don’t know what you do to me.
You don’t have a clue.
You can’t tell what it’s like to be me looking at you.
It scares me so that I can hardly speak.

In a very unusual way, I owe what I am to you.
Though at times it appears I won’t stay, I never go.
Special to me in my life,
Since the first day that I met you.
How could I ever forget you,
Once you had touched my soul?

In a very unusual way, you’ve made me whole.

(Debra Barsha & Mark Campbell)

As I bathe in the afterglow of some pretty remarkable sex,
His breathing is heavy,
His eyes become slits.
He starts to drift off,
Then it hits:

He never did that before.
He put a twist in our bedtime story.
He never did that before.
That isn’t part of his repertory.
It’s something that he must have learned
And now I’m wide awake and concerned.
He never did that,
Never did that,
Never did that before.

He never did that before.
No, that was totally unexpected.  
He never did that before,
And yet, it’s not as if I objected.  
In fact, not long before he drowsed,
Suspicion wasn’t all he aroused.
No, he never did that,
Never did that,
Never did that before.

When did he have that business thing in Akron?  
Though it’s not like I really care.  
And anyway, that’s too advanced for Akron,
Unless he met some Brazilian there.  
Or did he learn it from his secretary,
The one he always calls “da bomb”?
Or Monday’s overly familiar waitress,
Or on the web at  

And now he begins to snore
And I could smother him with my pillow.  
Though it’s silly to be so sore
About some possible peccadillo.  
I need to chill and count to ten…
Who cares if there were other women?  
After all, he never did that,
Never did that,
Never did that before.  
And he could never do that,
Never do that,
Never do that again.

(Zina Goldrich & Marcy Heisler)

When you fall out of love
There is so much to do
There are so many closets to clean…
There are boxes to stack, dreams to take back
Ultimatums to say and not mean
When you fall out of love
First you sob, then you sigh
And you wonder how phone bills
Can get up that high
And you think to yourself
That you really did try
You really did,
Really did try

When you fall out of love,
There’s a lot to explain
There are so many angles to spin
Was it him, was it me?
Either way, now I’m free
Though I don’t know quite how to begin
Do I let down my hair
Do I put on a show,
Do I go to a bar
And kiss boys I don’t know
As it finally sinks in that you really did go
You really did, really did go
You can tell your friends I was too crazy
I’ll inform mine you were never around
Who knew that there would be so many ways
For beating this into the ground?
Tell the whole office you never loved me
I’ll tell the lunchroom I never loved you
Isn’t it funny how all of it, none of it,
All of it, none of it’s true?

When you fall out of love
It’s an absolute mess
Still the lessons are painfully clear
There is hurt to endure, but I think that I’m sure
That it’s part of the reason we’re here
And your heart starts to crack
And you feel less than whole
But you realize the earth still turns round on its pole
And you learn you can function with half of a soul
And you’re wanting to scream
But you don’t say a word
When you fall out of love
At least that’s what I’ve heard.

(Ricky Ian Gordon, Poem by Marie Howe)

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss--we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

From the book What the Living Do: Poems, by Marie Howe, W.W. Norton & Company, New York, 1998.

(Tom Herman)

The stars configured themselves well the hour you were born.
The planets chose their positions more carefully than usual.
The sun had a knowing twinkle in his eye
And the moon beamed with pleasure at the sight of all this loving industry.
I do not know why this took place,
Or what inspired the cosmic family to act so purposefully.
Yet, with that happy mystery, another was conspired.
That in my life I came to know you.

(Stephen Hoffman & Mark Campbell)

The sky,
This evening,
You would have loved it.
It had the kind of perfect blue
We hope our souls are given to.

The trees,
This evening,
You should have seen them,
And heard their new-green branches brush.
The world seemed humbled by the hush.

We would have walked,
With your bike at your side,
Only slowing our stride,
To watch above, legato, a swoop of birds.
And in our awe have had no need for words.

The sky,
This evening,
You would have loved it.

(John Kander)

Warm lingering days,
Clouds, clover and haze.
Leaves shining with dew.
Summer with you.

Cool carpets of green,
Soft winds through the screen,
Wine chilling for two,
Summer with you.

I know that the seasons pass,
I’ve looked into my looking glass.
The leaves may fade and the years go by,
But I’m content with one July.

When birds circled our hill,
Time seemed to stand still.
Now mornings are cold,
Grass has grown old,
Harvest is through.
Still, I remember
Summer with you.

video introduction

track listing
  1. On My Way to You
  2. Ohio, 1904
  3. Billions of Beautiful Boys
  4. Killing Time
  5. Greenwich Time
  6. Remember
  7. Unusual Way
  8. Lovely Lies
  9. He Never Did That Before
  10. Out of Love
  11. What the Living Do
  12. Birthday Horoscope for B.R.
  13. Have Had
  14. Summer with You

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