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"Lion In Wait:" Lying in weight   10/20/25
by Daniel Hales

Waiting is a timeless, universal theme. To be a human being in the modern world is to become habituated to waiting: in lines, in traffic, airport terminals, waiting rooms, or on hold while crackly, mind-numbing muzak loops for a seeming eternity. Technology has enabled us to communicate instantly, but we still find ourselves impatiently waiting for that “weighty” text, email, or phonecall. 

 

There are so many great songs about waiting. In fact, every year for decades I’ve made a themed mix on CD–or cassette, way back in the day–that I send to a handful friends around New Years. I’ve already started this year’s mix, and the theme is Waiting. (Want a copy, oh hypothetical reader? If so, I only ask that you reciprocate: I will send–or deliver, depending on where you live–a CD mix to you, if you will share one with me. Yours does not necessarily need to be themed; it could just be a collection of your all time–or current–favorite songs. However, it does need to be shared via physical media: cassette, CD, or thumb drive. No Spotify playlists–ewww!) 

 

“Lion In Wait” has had to wait even longer to make it onto an album than “Losing My Mind” did. My best estimate is that I wrote it in 2003 or 2004. Or rather: I wrote the first two verses. Which partly explains why it took so long to make the cut… it never quite felt finished. My initial inspiration for it wasn’t one of the great waiting songs, it was Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s great long rambling poem “I Am Waiting.” I first encountered it in a college poetry class, and Ferlinghetti’s yearning words had been rolling around in my head ever since: 

 

I am awaiting 

perpetually and forever 

a renaissance of wonder.

 

As with almost all of the songs I wrote in the 90s and early aughts, the words came first. “Lion In Wait” began as an exercise in punny word play and scrambling idioms and cliches. I recall one of my grad school professors, probably Agha Shahid Ali, saying something to the effect of “don’t beat a dead horse, unless you can beat it back to life again.” I’d never allow cliches like “wait until the cows come home” or “until the chickens come home to roost” into one of my songs or poems, but if I can subvert both colloquialisms at once with a line like “wait until the cows come home to roost,” well that’s a mule of a different color. And why “wait for the clouds to finally part” when “shrouds” are darker, denser, and more evocative?

 

Once the words began to coalesce, the jaunty, syncopated chord structure followed. I was listening to a lot of Kinks at the time, and I think I was aiming for a rhythm that had a Village Green-y sort of pop to it, before the slomo fizzling out at the end of each verse. I wrote the initial two-verse version of “Lion In Wait” when my main musical project was the first iteration of The Ambiguities: a five (and briefly, a six) member band. “Lion In Wait’ was a cornerstone of our set, and often the most fun part of a gig. We’d begin it with an improvised noise freakout that could last anywhere from 30 seconds to several minutes before we’d click into the first verse. 

 

The original lineup of  The Ambiguities dissolved amicably, and after a short hiatus, a second, punkier Ambiguities (mach 2) emerged. “Lion In Wait” remained a key part of the set for the shorter lifespan of this second Ambiguous iteration. Then the Lion waited on the shelf for a few years, but I never forgot it. 

 

When I picked it up again I decided it was time to address my nagging sense that this strange little two-verse song was incomplete. It needed another verse, and one that went beyond the wordplay and vague sense of dread and discontent in the first two verses. The unfortunate impetus to dive headfirst into more specific existential dreads was provided by our nation’s inability to pass sensible gun laws, a rising right wing tide in America, and the 2016 election of a demagogue. 

 

“Lion In Wait” has been a mainstay of the Frost Heaves’ set ever since. Over time the arrangement changed, with each verse speeding up, until the 3rd verse hits hard and fast, to reflect shit getting more real, time running out for games of “duck duck goose.” Here’s a video of us playing it at Luthier’s Co-op in 20018. You can hear the crowd start to clap after the first verse because the pauses between verses trick the listener into thinking the song’s over. This odd structure increases the tension, which I think fits this weird little pop punk song. The frost heaves and hales. - Lion In Wait

 

And for contrast, here’s a version of me playing a solo electric version with a looped beat for my cat: https://youtu.be/R6yo2ZOngp8?si=-FfM5BHOLr-Ipfs6, and another solo version, sans beat, filmed by CAConrad in August at the Greenfield Energy Park: https://youtube.com/shorts/pCsONgMq3xw?si=L7xvbowxVf27fu_-

 

“Lion In Wait” was one of the hardest songs to record because of the gradual, free-falling, tempo-less endings to each verse. Which band member determines where the “hits” fall, the rate that the tempo decelerates, until the song collapses in a heap? It requires a sort of friendly tug of war between all three of us,  It was tricky to record live, but it would’ve been nearly impossible to do it any other way. We didn’t nail it until our last day of recording at Ghost Math. 

 

After we had the basic rhythm tracks down, I spent months adding layers to the slowdowns at the end of each verse: acoustic guitars, Nashville guitars, 12-string guitars, lap steel, and vocal harmonies. And a tea kettle at the beginning. If the A sections had a kind of 60s power poppy feel, I wanted the end, B sections, to have a kind of a ramshackle Beach Boys vibe, as though Pet Sounds were recorded in a garage. But I couldn’t escape the feeling that the endings needed one more voice higher than all the rest, a harmony higher than my highest falsetto could reach. Chris Goudreau was clearly the man for the job, and thankfully, he was happy to provide the impossibly high, operatic harmony at the tippy top. He just sang the last word of each verse–abuse, charts, and fun–but to my ears, those three words made all the difference. 

 

Here’s the video for “Lion In Wait.” I shot the main footage in 2018, during a trip to Bulgaria, while waiting for a herd of cattle to cross the road. Or should I say: waiting till the cows come home to roost.  The Frost Heaves & Hales - Lion In Wait

 

Here’s to a hopeful future where there’s “less to protest and more excuses for fun.”

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September 18, 2025

“Losing My Mind:” a song 16 years in the breaking      by Daniel Hales

 

The story of “Losing My Mind” begins with a very bad break. 

 

In the summer of 2009 I was visiting my friends Earl and Susan in Montana. On the second day of my week-long trip, Earl and I were riding bikes through Livingston, MT. We were passing a skatepark, and in a moment of reckless spontaneity, I zipped into the park and up a ramp. However, I didn’t get up quite enough speed to clear the ramp, so as I reached the top of it, instead of going over, I started to lose momentum and started to wobble. I tried pedaling harder, but it was already too late; I toppled sideways off the ramp and instinctively put out a had to break my fall. My left wrist took the full weight of bike, body, and my dumb, impulsive decision. It was a bad break, and my surgeon had to put three pins in my broken radius bone to reconnect and realign the broken parts of the bone. Then she added a cast that went almost up to my elbow to protect and immobilize my wrist while it healed. 

 

Trying to help me look on the bright side, people pointed out that at least it wasn’t my right, dominant hand. Seen from the dark side, however, I think I would’ve ultimately preferred to have broken my right wrist since I need to be able to swivel, rotate, and bend my left wrist to fret a guitar. The surgeon in Montana, and then the doctor I saw once I came back to Massachusetts, warned me that with a bad break like this, I may not get back the full range of motion in my left wrist. Meaning: it was possible I may not be able to play guitar again, at least not in the normal way. 

 

I decided to prepare for the worst case scenario. With a guitar lying flat in my lap, or suspended sideways with a strap, I could place my fingers directly on top of the strings and play without moving my wrist. Of course this meant that I’d have to learn to play chords upside down. Trying to relearn chords this way nearly broke my brain as well as my wrist. Instead, I began messing around with new shapes and patterns on my inverted guitar. I wrote the song “A Girl Named Veranda” on lap guitar. To this day, I can only play this song on lap guitar. (“Veranda” still hasn’t appeared on an album… stay tuned https://youtu.be/18uWUwvuHls?si=pkoT0o6_0RyUH89n ). 

 

Before long, I realized that bass made more sense as a lap instrument. You can play the bassline for an entire song just by sliding a finger up and down one string–two, if you’re feeling fancy. And this droney, minimalist technique was especially suited to my favorite band: The Velvet Underground. To hone my lap bass chops and raise my spirits while my wrist recovered, I formed a short-lived side project, a Velvets cover band with my friends Charlie Conant, Hilary Weiner, and Steve Koziol. With Charlie on dobro, our take on the VU had a distinct twang; thus, we were The Velveteen Underground. (Here’s an article about it from The Valley Advocate Nightcrawler: Re-Stocking )

 

Simultaneously, I began working on a new song with the melody on the A string and a throbbing drone on the D. I wanted something that had the vibe of my favorite 80s college rockers, a bassline that wouldn’t sound out of place in a Joy Division or Galaxy 500 tune. Once I had a basic verse structure down, I started writing the lyrics. The words were partly inspired by my predicament, my worry that my injury would make it harder for me to pursue my musical dreams. It also became a celebration of one of my favorite pastimes: daydreaming… “losing my mind” to an inner dream space unconstrained by the buzzkills of reality. 

 

The good news is, after the pins came out of my wrist and the cast came off my arm, after many drives down to Springfield for physical therapy, I very gradually got full range of motion back in my left wrist. And the even better news: James Lowe joined the band in late 2009. This not only relieved me of bass duty, but allowed The Frost Heaves to make a quantum leap forward. J Lo is the most talented and inventive bassist I’ve ever had the privilege of playing with. And while he could easily come up with a more virtuosic bassline for “Losing My Mind,” he continues to play a punchier version of the basic part I came up with–which is a high compliment. In fact, I loved the bassline so much, it took me a long time to come up with a guitar part. At first I wondered if the best approach would be TWO basslines, like “Primary,” my favorite song by The Cure. Ultimately, most of my guitar part is a higher, simplified version of the bassline. 

 

“Losing My Mind” has been a cornerstone of our live set ever since. I think the earliest live version we have a recording of is from 2012, at The Sierra Grille (RIP) formerly known as The Baystate Hotel (RIP) with our drummer Ivan Ussach. https://youtu.be/a_kZuLDZIXA?si=Lc7zD7XkeaLmruS-    

 

And here’s the most recent live recorded version, August 15, 2024, with our current drummer, Brian Canning: The Frost Heaves & Hales - Losing My Mind (live)

 

Why hasn’t “Losing My Mind” appeared on an album before now? One reason is that it didn’t fit thematically on previous albums. Another reason is that none of our previous drummers had quite the right feel for this song… until we started playing with the mighty Brian DiPippo. Brian’s mix of raw power and precision made him the perfect drummer for this song. The moment when the song suddenly goes from careful, controlled programmed beats to explosive live drums is one of my favorites on the new EP.

 

We began recording our new EP on December 3rd, 2022 at Ghost Math in Easthampton. Ghost Math is the new home studio of Brian’s bandmates in True Jackie: Noah and Kate Dowd. With Noah behind the board in the control room, we laid down several takes of nine songs on December 3rd, 4th, and 10th. Our goal was to capture the rhythm section live, though we also recorded live scratch vocals. 

 

Once we had chosen the best take of each song, I recorded my vocal tracks and guitar overdubs at my home studio and James re-tracked his bass parts at his. He also pitch-shifted the tones from the Nokia ringtone to create the distinctive ringtone that mimics my guitar solo. Then I spent several months “pre-mixing” our tracks before turning them over to Noah to do the final mix.

 

In the process of editing my tracks, I increasingly felt the need for one more element. On March 8, 2024, our sometimes lead guitarist, Dan Mickus, came over with his Rickenbacker to record the spare riffs that snake in and out between the lyrics. Even better, he came up an alternate solo that counters and complements mine. 

 

In total, 106 tracks were recorded for “Losing My Mind.” On December 15th, 2024 and April 5th, 2025, Noah and I got together at Ghost Math to do the final mixes of the EP. On June 18th, 2025, I went to Dan Richardson’s for the mastering session. 5 tweaked mastering mixes later, we had a finished EP on August 1st, 2025. 

 

Whether or not you find this entry interesting, I hope that it at least sheds some light on the long and winding process some songs take from conception to completion. And while I wish I could go back in time and not break my  wrist, there’s no way I would’ve written this song if I hadn’t. I can only think of one other song I’ve written on bass, and it’s not nearly as good as this one–and it was written while holding a bass in the conventional fashion. As much as I hate platitudes about making the best of lousy luck, I can attest that sometimes something good can come when you try your best to deal with a bad break. 

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Here’s the video I made for “Losing My Mind.” It honestly didn’t occur to me till I wrote this post how ironic it is that I shot the main narrative footage with a tripod awkwardly clipped to my bike’s handlebars while I rode around Greenfield with only my right hand steering. Fortunately, no ugly wipeouts occurred The Frost Heaves & Hales - Losing My Mind

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