you took me to the opera
and the singer was far away
it was like the circus
but with people who could pay
i liked it when you touched my hand
but i didn't like the singing
why do women wear fur coats
and why do they think they're winning
-- from The Opera

i painted you a picture
with blood and diet coke
and ashes made of hemlock
and love made out of smoke
i painted you a picture
with gin and turpentine
and pages torn from notebooks
and salt and iodine
-- from Blood and Diet Coke

losing hair since i was twelve
and i think my car wants to hurt me
i can see it standing there
it's unsettling me
-- from Sometimes

"Claus' voice sounds like the product of a masterful combination of the best parts of Neil Young and Michael Stipe. ...and there is an eerie ambience created chiefly by the electric violin and the accordion. ...addictively groovable ...the quirkiness is endearing ...and the end result is signature, edgy, and big-time hip. ...Very intelligent, very original material, made possible by hot players with a unique vision and perspective. This CD is cooler than the other side of the pillow." -- Overground Magazine

"If you have an affinity for quirky Americana with a hauntingly powerful electric shiver, you should seek out Boy with a Fish's gripping new album, Birds Fly Backwards. ...Claus sings in a reedy plea that sounds like a keening hybrid of Freedy Johnston and David Byrne, while the band ...offers a dustily expansive soundtrack of melodic melancholy, airily suggesting the electric pop texture of Talking Heads and the authentic crackle of 16 Horsepower. From the shimmering opening strains of "Sometimes," with all the noir-ish menace of a Stan Ridgway short story/song ("Losing hair since I was twelve/and I think my car wants to hurt me/I can see it standing there/It's unsettling me..."), Boy with a Fish makes a deep impact with the simplest instrumentation and the sparsest arrangement. Birds Fly Backwards is compelling. -- Amplifier Magazine

Upstate New York can be a lonely place. Somewhere between the Pennsylvania border and the Finger Lakes the seasoned traveler comes to the realization that he has entered into the mouth of H.P. Lovecraft's New England, and is at the mercy of the pines. Ithaca's Boy With a Fish's debut record is that trip's soundtrack. ...The beautiful opener, "Sometimes," is like a walk through an abandoned main street. Its deceptive simplicity aches with a lethal combination of nostalgia and regret, warmed only by the glow of Rick Hansen's accordion. "Plastic Raincoat" inhabits the murky netherworld between the end credits to a horror film and a bonfire singalong, lurching like a midnight prowler against a rhythm section that somehow manages to fuse backwoods roots-rock with reggae. Lyrically, Claus is fascinated by imagery, and his stream-of-consciousness delivery makes lines like "Violins and gasoline/walk on water in between" resonate for no other reason than his conviction of their undeniable truth -- that the band plays like a single organism doesn't hurt either. Observational tales of neighborhood loneliness ("Out Into the Empty") and irreverent narratives about aging ("Glasses") carry beneath them a sense of deep emotional attachment that makes their bittersweet protagonists all the more poignant. When Claus sings "I've got pencils and matches/in my pockets for you/I write you notes, then I burn them/then I send them to you" on the gorgeous "Red Sparrow Bridge," the arc of loneliness is rendered complete, leading the listener back where they started, ready to make the journey all over again." -- James Christopher Monger, All Music Guide