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The Significance of Peaches

by Chris Bathgate

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    12" 140g ivory vinyl (33 1/3 RPM).
    Includes a full-color lyric dust sleeve.

    Vinyl ships in an edge-protect cardboard mailer with additional, easy to recycle void fill via USPS Priority (within the US) and via USPS First Class (International). Tracking is included with every order.

    Includes unlimited streaming of The Significance of Peaches via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days
    Purchasable with gift card

      $19 USD

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  • Digital Album
    Streaming + Download

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

      $10 USD  or more

    You own this


Sweet Fern 03:52
In the morning, no trouble in the forest light stuttering, the sweet fern uncovered and the meanwhile all hovering. In the distance, shadow covers the turnstiles of summer– the horizon all colored– where the words hang unuttered.
Bruises 03:50
Say you love me and leave the truth on; out in the front yard with your bruises loud. Can’t you see it? We’re connected. Can’t you feel it, the connection? We’re spinning the same direction. If the truth is what the veil denies then lift it, like the flesh divides. Can’t you see it? We’re connected. Can’t you feel it, the connection? We’re spinning the same direction.
If I could admit that it hurt like hell you could give me credit–shit, you might as well– give me something to go on. Ain’t it strange how the things we love often are the cause of us undone– that’s love, or something. And if you find this to be true there’s just one thing you can do. Don’t look back. If I can predict that you’ll return you could take a hint, pretend you’ve learned– that's something to go on. Ain’t it strange how the things we’ve done often are a case of not enough– that’s love, or something. And if you’ve the plums to make a pass there’s just one thing I would ask. Don’t look back.
Eliza 04:20
The horses are set, captain is dead–an arrow. It's you again, like it's always been, my true love. I wonder how long you've wandered off the meadow. The work that it’s done, the frost in your lungs, the sparrow. ‘Cause my love it runs from blossom to plum, Eliza. The hummingbird hums until the blood doesn't run, Eliza. The meadow in fall, the shadows all long, Eliza. You learn to take love however it comes, Eliza.
Did you mistake all those jokes that I trade for talking about moving away? Or was it like this, was the punchline a kiss–whose mission was always to stray? Sweet Josephine, she tells me I'm free, "If you want to you can just walk away", but some who seem saved, they nest in a cage– their daydreams they never take shape, but yours, it would seem, are no swift passing dream– that's one thing with which you have a way. This hour of soothe, you know I just speak the truth. It's so rarely uttered; it's so hard to exhume. Holding a peach in the sweet palms of June, from the bloom end the blade traces bone. Pulling the stone from its tender red echoes, it bleeds as I lean off the porch. And I have a dream where our son was born. And he's gentle and handsome as you. And our love is real, like the late summer feels–wiping the dew from my mouth. When all of life seems like a swift passing dream, you wonder whose hands on the wheel Love, it would seem, is more than a feeling–a decision, a debt, or idea. The further I get the more I forgive, the more I grow weary of fall. With no tongue for truth, no hand for the jewel, you wonder if a wheel is there at all.
The Van 05:32
I drove the van into the woods as deep, as deep, as I could. I grab my bag. I eye the map. I leave the van. I'm on the path. I hike my ass so far beyond. I'm in the woods. The path is gone. I hide; I get so far away. I set up camp; I start to pray– as if there was some holy center, as if my mind were free to wander, as if you were there with me; as if you never leave. I catch a fish. I spook a deer. I see the fear. I drink some beers. I fall asleep under a tree. I eat the woods. I pull the leaves. I hide; I get so far within. I'm in the woods. I'm deep in-wo(a)rds. I split the peach. I draw the blade. I pull the stone, the stone I save– as if there was some holy center, as if my heart were free to wander, as if I was there with me; as if I never leave. I leave the camp. I'm on the path. I'm in the van. I understand. I hide; I get so far within. I'm in the words. I'm deep inwards. I drive the van into the world as deep, as deep, as it occurs. I split the peach. I draw the blade. I am the stone. the stone I save– as if I was some holy center, as if I were free to wander, as if you were here with me; as if we’d never leave.
Breeze 04:11
I love it ‘cause it sounds like breath, not what we say but connected. I love to watch the stalks all sway in perfect ribbon, in auburn wave– O'er the plains. I've always been a nervous wreck, despite the drink of medicine. I've always been off in the fray in perfect rhythm, in autumn ways– O'er the plains.
Stone 03:53
Ever I get my new house done, give the old one to my son, pull away the stone. Ain't no use to sit and cry, death don't care what you sing at night. Pull away the stone. Hush little baby don't you fret, seasons pass but they ain't passed yet, pull away the stone. Don't expect anything to stay, that's not the way that flesh behaves, pull away the stone.
Raglan Road 05:11
On Raglan Road, on an autumn day, I saw her first and knew that her dark hair would weave a snare that I one day might rue. I saw the danger, yet I walked, along the enchanted way and I said, "Let grief be a falling leaf at the dawning of the day." On Grafton Street, in November, we tripped lightly along the ledge of a deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge. The Queen of Hearts still making tarts, and I not making hay. Oh, I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign that's known to all the artists who have known gods of sound and stone. With word and tint I did not stint, gave her reams of poems to say with her own dark hair and her own name there, like clouds over fields of May. On a quiet street where old ghosts meet, I see her walking now away from me so hurriedly. My reason must allow that I had loved not as I should, a creature made of clay. When the angel woos the clay, he'd loose his wings at the dawn of day.
Mistakes 04:28
Go on and make some mistakes, grow up and push them away. Out in the soft July rain, nothing seems as sad or strange.


released May 13, 2022

Chris Bathgate - Composer, Primary Artist, Artwork
Samantha Cooper - Vocals
Sami Perez - Engineer
Adam Hirsch - Engineer
Omar Akrouche - Engineer
Spencer Hartling - Engineer
Daniel Zott - Engineer, Producer
Jamie Hill - Mixing, Producer
Michele Longo - Photography

"Don't Look Back" Music Video Credits:

Ezra Kelly
Moussa Seye
Molly Griffin
Chris Bathgate

Directed by Chris Bathgate & Kevin Romeo

Director of Photography Dan Martinez

Production Assistant Jonathan Jermyn & Josh Gipson

Special thanks to K&K Farms


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Chris Bathgate Ann Arbor, Michigan

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