from by Willie Wisely

  • Streaming + Download

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

      $1 USD


  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Gatefold digipack with art by the now renown Japa.

    Includes unlimited streaming of True via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day

      $10 USD or more 


  • Free shipping, direct from Apple. This beautifully bound hardcover folio contains over 70 photos from the "True" sessions, plus the full dramatic story of the band and the making of the "True," and it's insane final track--logging in at over 26 minutes!

    Includes unlimited streaming of True via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days
    1 remaining

      $69 USD or more 


  • T-Shirt/Apparel + Digital Track

    Based on the exclaimed lyric from "True's" 'National Council of Jewish Women's Thrift Store'. This soft, stretchy cotton tee is totally hip, with a unique heathered, moss-green shirt. Designed by my favorite eccentric John Berry.

    Includes unlimited streaming of National Council of Jewish Women's Thrift Store via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day

      $20 USD or more 


  • Full Digital Discography

      $69 USD or more (50% OFF)



Guilty from the womb you were torn
They kept you ill equipped and uninformed. [United we stand with hand in form]
Delusion of those who proffer scorn
Upon the hunchbacks, hunchbacks

And Hindemith paints a brass parade
As locksmith’s tumblers turn cascade
And the piano tuner stashes all the loot
It’s a suit of loot

You’re surreal (That’s one raw (big) deal)
You’re surreal
Far too cerebral (enhanced appeal)
For mass appeal (I want my girls real)

You were never much for ironic twists
The way the nuns swat at your wrist
While sophists pray you get their gist
Is that bad for you? Is that bad for you?

Well the purse snatch went according to plan
The victim himself was a masked man
And everybody laughs who was not them [Oh and every laugh’s now is now not them]
Quoting stats on Satchel Page


Judging by the sudden loss of blood
While sleeping on your rooftop house floods
I built this house to float in pairs of two
That’s a hint for you. That’s a hint for you.

Whoa and losers play that old time riverboat theme
As Bix blows the ecumenical reveille
And from city hall comes the wire that said simply ‘boo’
Here comes the judge, here comes the judge, judge to judge


Well I think by now you know how leftists rage
The sans culottes submit their great complaint
And complacent you say the wrong is now right
It’s a freight train night. It’s a freight train night.

Oh and all the wrong dudes take their bows
Stolen from those who actually push the plows
A father dreams his son will settle his scores [And fathers dream who would not accomplish more]
Come on home from war. Come on home from war ya’ll


And deep inside you covet turbaned dream
With windows soaped saying close for remodeling
And all the well-wishers wish well upon you
Oh the derring do. It’s a derring-do.

What once was a shear face of rock
Is now a dress shop’s parking lot
And everything that was vertical is so blasé
When do we animate. We animate.


Hurricane Betsy takes an orthodox hue
As Souza fires a picaloed solo flute
And every one of those rascally Kaiser krauts
Should run like hell. Should run like hell.

Oh and Wizard takes a headless form
While dealing strip poker in the girl’s dorm
While head mistress peaks below the keyhole prone
In shock and awe, she amazed, surmised


And Dali paints a ghastly night
Ghostly by accounts of those men who write
Imagine what we’d do if no one knew
What’s red is read. What’s red is read.

So often I’ve been called the leather-clad dad
Ridiculed by those who ought to forget
Well for once wearing my moustache as a hat
It sounded good, but felt much better.


And Enoch Light sequesters the light brigade
So docents can now lower the pencil cage
And all the folly of Paris string band foam
It’s made of glue. Peter, it’s made of glue.

So into the fray we gaily gadfly leap
With a single pair of tweezers to clog the leak
Coyly placing every eyebrow ever plucked
On the BBQ. On the BBQ. Hell.


I’d like to thank the forerunners fomenting yeoman’s grief
Admit he cannot help everyone in need
The fat is his own ignoble steed
That’s a trick for you. That’s a trick for you.

As the penny post cards demands a raise in pay cash
While Cleopatra straightens up her asp
My Girlfriend’s toupee pipes up “relax”
A pair of cockatoos, pair of cockatoos.


Igniting coarse comeuppance conch shells sing
“Of thee I do” the velocoraptor screams
And all the iceberg lettuce you could husk
Is now a mask for you. Is now a mask for you.

Oh the rooster quits his day job weather vanes
Adoring plums that sit upon the counterpane
Into the sea is thrown compressed propane
That’s tea overboard boys, tea overboard.


The bandstands play a sound heretofore unknown
As Macbeth’s favorite play swordfish trombone
And everyone worth knowing becomes a clone
Turn off your phones. Did you turn off your cell phones?

Well the manufacturers rep sings violent night
Hello she chirps you look like the silent type
And suddenly an eggshell cracks on your head
You hear it moan. Fly on home.

You’re surreal
Far too surreal
Far too cerebral
I like my girls real

Ho Chi Mien says lady that’s a wrap
As every pro and con takes a victory lap
Reminding us all for things we lack
That’s apocryphal wit for you. Your thoughts subdued.

Oh the Beatles reunite for one last jam
And it stinks but we love it cause it’s them
And his wife sends a postcard from Siam
That’s so untrue. That’s so untrue.


Magnificent corpse hogs oxygen room
And rises from the chair as Claire de Lune
The salad forks go outside of the spoon
Where were you born? Where were you born?

Crunching rocks became a parlor game
Of every well-mandibled chap with two first names
The philatelic exhibit forecasts rain
Stamps stick together. Stamps stick together.


So I said, “chewing gum says he’ll break the picket line.”
While bruiser fills his fists with copper coins
And baby coddle fish all you could eat
Is cooked in bleach. Cooked in bleach.

Beehivers prone to misbehave
Discover all there siblings lost in caves
But telephone lines crawl up the walls
It’s Minnesota in fall. That’s right ‘cuz


Atop the canyon appears a golden cask
As Cindy tells her editors we’ve been attacked
And moaning widows rake the fury peak
In hiccup speak, hiccup speak

And all the while a ragged rainbow tell
Saran wrap filled with aloe gel
Squirting which begat the horseman’s saddle sore swell
It’s the name of Dog. What’s the name of that Dog?

‘Cuz he’s surreal, Doug
You’re too surreal, Doug
Far too cerebral
For mass appeal

There’s never been a philosopher named Doug.
Alright hold tight.

Raisin puckers up to kiss the bride
But a rancher has his birdie strung too tight
And there’s no here getting out alive
That’s what Jim says, yeah

Upside-down the cushion looked so clean
But right side up the chair became a guillotine
Yeah and every head he’s had the pleasure to know
Just let it roll baby, jellyroll


Get back on it, get back on it.

A fortnight came smarty pants since was wed
And nothings quite been the same ever since you left
Since when did ebb & tide stop up the flow
And cause the flu. And cause the flu.

And as circumstance would have it there we part
You drove away your europena buggy cart
With your head bloviating performance art
I’m done with you. I’m done with you, ‘Cuz


The see through nighty you’ve bought and always loved
Grew a butler’s pantry and tonsil gloves
For wearing once per year in my parade
For no one else. And no one was saved

Prairie reclamation you purport
Will bring all the queens ship safely to port
And instinct never wore on you too well.
It all peels off. It all peels off, ‘cuz


Inside our hearts we always knew what’s true
Rarely thought did we let it guide what we’d do
But life is noting you’d pretend to ever control
Check my bank account. Check the bank account.

Well from the Poconos to Des Moines we tore the land
And rock-n-roll was young, ya’ll be damned
But we were four and yeah four were we
Hey guys, it’s a symphony, it’s a symphony.


Jelly smeared across the pizza pie
What 3 year old ordered this and why?
For to be passed on all through out the land
Don’t pinch my gland. Don’t pinch my gland.

Lester frowns his hair till he escapes
Then falls on his own shovel mending drapes
While turkeys call it a spokesmen to you
Forgotten tongue. Forgotten tongue. Forgotten tongue. Forgotten tongue. Forgotten tongue.

It’s Kwanza! Dance!

Lothario comes before the panel’s judge
It’s not to late to parry, tart & lunge
And just because it tickled when you cough
You can fake your death. Hey fake your death.

And Jones writes for Harpers Bazarr Digest
Dangling gorgeous lies off his chest
A mobile memorially military consequence
Trumps murder now. Trumps murder now.


The ruffian combs a five-foot pompadour
Conscribe the whole affair to stevedores
Who rules the drainage pipes where you lived
Give proper flow. Give proper flow.

And underground the lonesome jailbird sings
In comes another thief dressed in chains
And all the untrue I’m an innocent man
Yes I am. Yes I am.

You’re surreal
Far too surreal
I like my girls real
For mass appeal

I want to hear Greg. Where’s Greg?

Wash your hands and hide a broken heart shade
Ammonia guarantees a cocktails made
When the fuzz broke in and busted up the door
You’re flat on the floor. Flat on the floor.

Cancer might become what gets you in the end
Or the end may pass you by, taken for a friend
Well there’s no guessing yet which diver has the Bens
Just make it up. Just make it up.


The stranger Italian straightens up his suit
We actually heard dirty words say “poof”
Madame he was always a thunderous roar
Now his throat is sore. Now his throat is sore.

Chinese herbs say, “No cure won’t count you.”
From Saigon to Pyongyang they spoke the truth
Monsoon loves a deep-sea scroll
They cheer for you. They cheer for you, ‘cuz


One more. What happened to the trombone?
What happened to the trombone Albert?
He’s got a cleft palette.

Willa Beatrice sure looks sad
The paint job on her rocket ship turned out drab
Mortified Chaucer goes ribald
It’s a free for all. It’s a free for all

And Günter Grass has a booth down at the mall.
An attic full of reds and alcohol
And Ayn Rand with her collection of shrunken heads.
Motionless. Motionless. Motionless. One more time.



from True, released March 27, 2012
Peter Anderson: drums/percussion
James Voss: upright & electric bass/backing vocals
Willie Wisely: vocals/guitar/percussion/piano
Greg Wold: trombone/euphonium/trumpet

Andy Sullivan: banjo, Moog synthesizer
DJ Bonebrake: marimba, vibraphone, concert bells
Ed Ackerson: electric guitar track 7
Robert Russel: saxophone
Benno Nelson: backing vocals tracks 2 & 4

Engineered by Ed Ackerson, Peter Anderson, Willie Wisely, also Andy Sullivan, Ken Chastain, Jim Rickard
Recorded at Flowers Studio (Minneapolis)
Mastered by Chuck Zwicky
Art by Japa

Produced by Willie Wisely & Ed Ackerson
Mixed by Chuck Zwicky



all rights reserved


Willie Wisely Los Angeles, California

Willie Wisely released his first full-length album in 1992, touring the US and Japan ever since, building a following for his evocative pop. He is a songwriter’s songwriter, often compared with Elliot Smith, Ron Sexsmith and Paul McCartney. His latest CD marks the 18-year reunion of his Minneapolis-based group the Willie Wisely Trio, road warriors noted for their circusy, jazz-anti-jazz aesthetic. ... more

contact / help

Contact Willie Wisely

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code