Album Liner Notes
I aint a record note writer - I never was, never will be an never wanna be -
but that's
ok tho cause the New World Singers ain't record note writer's subjects either -
they're
everybody's subject - they're everybody's assignment -
they're
for everybody to look into -
they're
everybody's textbook an' travel guide -
they're
everybody's fortune teller an' fact finder -
there ain't no one that can't use what
they do as a windmill or roadmap -
they ain't just a rich man's encyclopedia
or a poor boy's dream -
they're
real and they're here -
they're in
front of yer eyes an' ears in all shapes an' sizes an' lines,
angles an' directions -
thery're
everybody's newspaper -
thery're
everybody's radio -
thery're
everybody's ol' time feelings an new
found heartaches -
thery're
everybody's ol' fangled generator, modern day
telephone an'
thery're
everybody's new world.
I know the New World Singers - I know all
three of 'em as good as I know anybody -
the first
time I met "Gil Turner" it was in Mill's Bar in Bleecker Street
about two
years back - we talked an' preached at each other there across the
table an' thru the air all about the
crazy
one-sided triangles caused by the loose tempers an'
mad tongues that
was suckin' us up outside on the street -
an'we
both agreed at top speed that what we was lookin' for, was some kind of
new world .....
I met
"Happy Traum" an' his wife about the same
time I guess an'
I can
remember when their baby girl Merry was born an' now
she's over a year old -
an' with
one laugh out a beautiful Merry you'd know why Happy wants a new an'
better
world -
just look
some time at long haired little Merry an' you'd know why anybody'd
want a new
world -
but Happy's got the reason right there in his eyeview ... closer to it than
a lot of us
are .....
"Bob Cohen"'s quiet - I first seen him at a City College
folksong hall
an' thought
he was some sort of a Spanish gypsy by the way he wore his
sideburns an' moustache an' eyebrows -
but he didn't talk so I couldn't tell - I must a sat an hour next
to
him waitin' to hear some gypsy language -
he never
said a word -
he laughed
a few times but all folks no matter what race laughs
in the same
tongue -
I seen him sing later that night an' it didn't bother my
thoughts no more
as to if he
was gypsy or gigolo -
he tol' me more about my new world in that ten minutes time
than the
pop radio station did all that week -
Listen to the New World Singers - listen to
'm with a clear head an' open mind -
let your girl friend or boy friend hear 'm
-
let your
mother an' yer father hear 'm -
let yer kids hear 'm -
they ain't no tin pan alley put together group -
they ain't been sucked in or swallowed down or drawn under by
the money eaters -
their kind
a music ain't the brainstorm of the halfwit hit
office boys -
they ain't singin' to sell soap suds -
their kind
a songs ain't worked over an'
layed out by no music factory an'
their singin' ain't spat out a any IBM machine -
they ain't wearin' no song they sing
as their own private expensive suit -
they ain't changin' no songs cause Mr. Sense a
Style tells 'm to ....
they sing
like they are -
They sing
like they know who they are
They sing
like the Ol' Almanacs used to sing
They sing
like the Memphis Jug Band used to sing
They don'
have to prove nothin' to nobody
They don'
have no row to hoe
They got a
new world to win
I got a new
world to win
You got a
new world to win
BOB DYLAN
with a brain
full of hard rains
an'
hunger pains
[Source: Album
liner notes from The New World Singers' 1963 self-titled album]
[TOP]
Snow was piled
up the stairs an onto the street that first
winter when
I laid around New York City
it was a
different street then -
it was a
different village -
Nobody had nothin -
There was nothin t get -
Instead a bein drawn for money you were drawn for for
other people
Everybody
used t hang around a heat pipe poundin
subterranean coffee
house
called the Gaslight -
it was at
that time buried beneath the middle a MacDougal Street -
It was a
strange place an not out a any schoolbook -
More'n
seven nites a week the cops a n firemen'd
storm down the steps
handin
out summons for trumped up reasons -
More'n
five nites a week out a town bullies'd
start trouble an everybody
from John
the owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash register ringer t
Adele the
waitress t anybody who was on the stage t just plain
friends
who were hangin around would have t come
up swingin dishes an handles
an brooms
an chairs an sometimes even swords at hung on the
wall in
order t match the bullies' weight an the bullies was always big bullies -
Everybody
that hung out at the Gaslight was close -
Yuh had t be -
In order t keep from going insane an in order
t survive -
an it can't be denied -
It was a
hangout -
But not
like the street corner -
Down there we
weren't standin lookin out at the world watchin
girls - an
findin
out how they walk -
We was lookin at each other ... an findin out about ourselves -
It is 'f
these times that I remember most sadly -
For they're gone -
an
they'll not never come again -
It is 'f
these times I think about now -
I think
back t one a them nites
when the doors was locked an maybe
thirty or
forty people sat as close t the stage as they could -
It was
another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the tourists on
the street couldn't get in -
At these
hours there was no tellin what was bound t happen -
Never never could the greatest prophesizor
ever guess it -
There was
not such a thing as an audience -
There was
not such a thing as performers -
Everybody
did something -
An had somethin t say about somethin -
I remember
Hugh who wore different kinda clothes then but still
shouted
an tongue
twisted flowin lines a poetry that anybody who could
be
struck by
the sounds 'f a rock hittin a brick wall could
understand -
I remember
Luke playin his banjo an singin "East Virginia" with a tone
as soft as
the snow outside an "Mr. Garfield" with a bitin
touch as hard
as the
stovepipe on the inside -
An Dave singin "House a the Risin Sun" with his back leaned against the
bricks an words runnin out in a lonesome
hungry growlin whisper that
any girl
with her face hid in the dark could understand -
Paul then
was a guitar playin singer comedian -
But not the
funny ha ha kind -
His funnyness could only be defined an
described by the word "hip" or "hyp"
-
A
combination a Charlie Chaplin Jonathan Winters an
Peter Lorre -
Maybe it
was that nite that somebody flicked a piece a card-
board in
front a the tiny spotlight an
he made quick jerky movements on
the stage
an everybody's eyes was seein first
hand a silent movie for real -
The bearded
villain 'f an out a print picture -
There aint room enuff on the paper t tell about everybody that was there
an exactly what they did -
Every nite was a tree high degree novel -
Anyway it
was one a these nites when
Paul said
"Yuh gotta now hear me an Peter an Mary sing"
Mary's hair
was down almost t her waist then -
An
Peter's beard was only about half grown -
An the
Gaslight stage was smaller
an the song
they sang was younger -
But the
walls shook
An
everybody smiled -
An
everybody felt good -
An down
there approval didn't come with the clappin a hands
at the end 'f the song -
It came burstin out anytime any way it felt like burstin out -
An they were approved -
By the
people watchin'm and by 'mselves
-
Which
really was one -
An that's
where the beginning was at -
Inside them walls 'f a subterranean world -
But it's a concrete kind a beginnin -
It's
concrete cause it's close -
An it's
close cause it's gotta be close -
An that feelin aint be forgotten
Yuh carry
it with yuh -
It's a feelin that's born an
not bought
An it cant be taught -
An by livin with it yuh learn t see and know it in
other people -
T sing an speak as one yuh gotta think as one -
An yuh gotta believe as one -
An yuh gotta feel as one -
An Peter an Paul an Mary're
now carryin the feelin that
was inside them
walls up
the steps t the whole outside world -
The rooster
never crowed on MacDougal Street -
There was
no dew on the grass an the sun never came shinin over
the
mountain -
There was nothin t tell yuh it was mornin cept the pins and needles feelin
in yer arms an
legs from stayin up all nite
-
But all 'f
us find our way a knowin when it's mornin -
an once yuh know the feelin it dont change -
It can only
grow
For Peter's
grown
An Paul's
grown
An Mary's
grown
An the times've
grown
Bob Dylan, 1963
[Source: Album
liner notes from Peter, Paul & Mary's 1963 "In The
Wind" album]
[TOP]
In my youngest years I used to kneel
By my aunt's house on a railroad field
An yank the grass out a the ground
An rip savagely at its roots
An pass the hours countin
strands
An stains the green grew on my hands
As I waited til I heard the sound
A the iron ore cars rollin
down
The tracs'd
hum an I'd bite my lip
An hold my grip as the whistle whined;
Crouchin low as the engine growled
I'd shyly wave t the throttle man
An count the cars as they rolled past
But when the echo faded in the day
An I understood the train was gone
It's then that my eyes'd turn
Back t my
hands with stains a green
That lined my palms like blood that tells
I'd taken an not given in return
But glancin back t the empty patch
Where the
ground was turned upside down
An the roots
lay dead beside the tree
I'd say
"how can this bother me"
Or
"I'm sure the grass don't give a damn
Anyway it'll grow
again an
What's a
patch a grass anyhow"
An I'd wipe
my hand t wash the stain;
An fling a
rock across the track
With the
echo a the railroad train
Hanging
heavy like a thunder cloud
In the dawn
a t'morrow's rain
An I asked
myself t be my friend
An I walked
my road like a frightened fox
An I sung my
song like a demon child
With a kick
an a
curse
From inside
my mother's womb
In later
years altho still young
My head
swung heavy with windin curves
An a mixed-up
path revolved and strung
Within the
boundaries a my youth
Til at last I backed so far away
From the
world’s walls an friendless games
That I did
not have a word t say
T anyone
who t d meet my eyes
An I locked
myself an lost the key
An let the
symbols take their shape
An form a foe
for me to fight
T lash my
tongue an rebel against
An spit at
strong with vomit words
But I
learned t choose my idols well
T be my
voice an tell my tale
An help me
fight my phantom brawl
An my first idol
was Hank Williams
For he sang
about the railroad lines
An the iron bars
an rattlin wheels
Left no
doubt that they were real
An my first
symbol was the word
"beautiful"
For the
railroad lines were not beautiful
They were
smoky black and guttered colored
An filled with
stink an soot an dust
An I’d judge
beauty with these rules
An accept
it only ‘f it was ugly
An ‘f I
could touch it with my hand
For it’s only then I’d understand
An say
"yeah this’s real"
An I walked
my road an sung my song
Like a
saddened clown
In the
circus a my own world –
In later
times my idols fell
For I
learned that they were only men
An had
reasons for their deeds
‘f which
weren’t mine weren’t mine at all
An no more on
them could I depend
But what I
learned from each forgotten god
Was that
the battlefield was mine alone
An only I
could cast me stone
An the symbols
which by now had grown
Out a shape
but strong in sight
Were seen
by me in a sharper light
An the symbol
"beauty" still struck my guts
But now
with a more shameful sound
An I rebeled twice as hard
an ten times as
proud
An I walked
my road an sung my song
Like an
arch criminal who’d done no wrong
An
committed no crime but was
screaming through the bars
A someone
else’s prison –
Later yet in New York town
On my own terms I said with age
"The only beauty's in the
cracks an curbs
Clothed in robes a dust an grime"
An I searched for it in every hole
An jumped head-on t
meet its breast
An whispered tunes into its ear
An kissed its mouth an held its waist
An in its belly swam around
An on its belly passed out cold
An like a blind lover bold in flight
I shouted from inside my wounds
"The voice to speak for me an mine
Is the hard filthy gutter sound
For it's only this that I can touch
An the only beauty I can feel"
An I dove back in by my own choice
T feed my skin a hungry holes
An rejected every other voice
An I walked my road an sung my song
Like a lonesome king
Standin in the fury a the
queen' s garden
Starin into
A shallow
grave –
Time
travelled an faces passed
An many
thoughts t me were taught
By names an heads too many t count
That
touched my path an soon were gone
But some
stayed on t remain as friends
An tho each is best an none is best
It is at
this time I speak 'f one
Who proved
to me that boys still grow
A girl I
met on common ground
Who like me
strummed lonesome tunes
With a
lovely voice
Who like me
strummed lonesome tunes
With a
"lovely voice" so I first heard
"A
thing a beauty" people said
"Wonderous
sounds" writers wrote
"I
hate that kind a sound" said I
"The
only beauty's ugly, man
The crackin shakin breakin sounds're
The only
beauty I understand"
So between
our tongues there was a bar
An tho we talked a the world's fears
An at the
same jokes loudly laughed
An held our
eyes at the same aim
When I saw
she was set to sing
A fence a
deafness with a bullet's speed
Sprang up
like a protectin glass
Outside the
linin a my ears
An I talked
loud inside my head
As a double
shield against the sounds
"Ain't no voice but an ugly voice
A the rest I
don' give a damn
'f I can't
feel it with my hand
Then don'
wish me t' understand
But I'll wait tho til
yer song is done
Cause there's something about yuh
But I don'
know what"
An I walked
my road an sung my song
Like a
scared poet
Walkin on the shore
Kickin driftwood with my shadow
Afraid a the sea –
In a cruisin car I heard her tell
About the
childhood hours she spent
As a little
girl in an Arab land
An she told
me ‘f the dogs she saw
Slaughtered
wholly on the street
An I learned
‘f how the people laughed
An I learned
‘f how the people’d laugh
As they
beat the gentle dogs t’ death
Thru a
child’s eyes who tried an
failed
T’ hide one
dog inside her house
An I turned
my head without a word
An coldly
stared out t’ the road
An with the wind hittin half
my face
My memory
creeped as the highway rolled
Back if not
but for a flash
T’ an empty
patch a grass that died
About the
same time a dog was hid
An that guilty feelin sprang
again
Not over
the roots I’d pulled
But over
she who saw the dogs get killed
An I said it
softly underneath my breath
"Yuh ought a listen t’ her voice …
Maybe somethin’s in the sound …
Ah but what
could she care anyway
Kill them
thoughts … they ain’t no good
Only ugly’s
understood"
An I stuck my head out in the wind
An let the breeze blow the words
Out a my
breath as a truck roared by
An almost blew us off the road
An at that
time I had no song t’ sing –
In
Woodstock at a painter’s house
With
friends scattered round the room
An she talkin from a chair
An me crosslegged on the rug
I lit a
cigarette an laughed
An gulped red
wine an lost
Every shakin vein that dwelled
Within the
roots a my dancin heart
An the room
it whirled and twirled an sailed
Without one
fence standin guard
When all at
once the silent air
Split open
from her soundin voice
Without no warnin from her lips
An by instinct my blood reversed
An I shook an
started reachin for
That wall
that was supposed t fall
But my restin nerves weren’t restless now
An this time they wouldn’t jump
"Let
her voice ring out" they cried
"We’re
too tired t stop ‘er
sing"
Which shattered
all the rules I owned
An
left me puzzled without
no choice
Cept
t listen t her voice
An when I leaned upon my elbows bare
That limply
held my body up
I felt my
face freeze t the bone
An my mouth like
ice or solid stone
Could not've moved 'f called upon
An the time like velvet floated by
Until with
hunger pains it cried
"Don't
stop singing … sing again"
An like
others who have taught me well
Not about
themselves but me
She laughed
out loud as ‘f t know
That the
bars between us busted down
An I laughed
almost an insane laugh
An aimed it
at the ceiling walls
When I
realized the command I called
An my elbows
folded under me
An my head
lay back upon the floor
An my shaky
nerves went floatin free
But I
memorized the words t write
For another
time in t'morrow's dawn
An held close
unchallenged dreams
As I passed
out somewhere in the nite –
(I did not
begin t touch
Till finally
felt what wasn't there
Oh how feeble
foolish small an sad
‘f me to
think that beauty was
Only
ugliness an muck
When it's really jus a magic wand
That waves
an teases at my mind
An knows
that only it can feel
An knows
that I aint got a chance
An fools me
into thinkin things
Like it’s my hands that understand
Ha ha how it must laugh
At crippled
ones like me who try
T pick
apart the sounds a streams
An pluck
apart the rage ‘f waves
Ah but yuh won’t fool me anymore
For the
breeze I heard in a young
girl’s breath
Proved true
as sex an womanhood
An deep as the lowest depths a death
An strong as the weakest winds that
blow
An as long as fate an fatherhood
An like gypsy drums
An Chinese gongs
An cathedral bells
An tones ‘f chimes
It just held hymns 'f mystery
An mystery's all too involved
It can't be understood or solved
By hands an feet an
fingertips
An it shouldn't be called by a
shameful
name
By those who look for answers plain
In every book cept themselves
Go ahead lightnin
laugh at me
Flash yer
teeth
Slap yer
knee
It's yer joke
I agree
I'm even pointin
at myself
But it's
a shame it's taken so much time)
So once more it's
winter again
An that means I'll wait til spring
T ramble back t
where I kneeled
When I first heard the ore train sing
An pulled the ground up by its roots
But this time I won't use my strength
T pass the time yankin
grass
While I'm
waiting for the train t sound
No next time'l1 be a different day
For the train might be there when I
come
An I might wait hours for the cars t pass
An then as the echo fades
I'll bend down and count the strands a
grass
But one thing that's bound to be
Is that instead a pullin at the earth
I'll just pet it as a friend
An when that train comes near
I'll nod my head t
the big brass wheels
An say "howdy" t the engineer
An yell that .Ioanie says hello
An watch the train man scratch his
head
An wonder what I meant by that
An I'll stand up an remember when
A rock was flung by a devil child
An I'll walk my road somewhere between
The unseen green an the jet black train
An I'll sing my song like a rebel wild
For it's that I am an can't deny
But at least I'll
know now not to hurt
Not t push
Not tache
An God
knows … not t try –
[Album liner notes
to “Joan Baez In Concert, Part 2”, released November 1963.
Source: poem to joanie. A Booklegger Realization
with an introduction by A.J. Weberman.
Also published
under the title Poem To Joanie in a limited edition of
300 copies by Aloes Press, England 1972.
The album liner
notes had no title.]
[TOP]
Eric Von Schmidt Of course, we
had heard about Eric
Von Schmidt
for many years. The name itself had become
a password.
Eventually, after standing in line to meet him, there
it was --
his doorstep, a rainy day, and he grated his visitors,
inviting
them in. He was told how much they liked Grizzly Bear and he then
invited the
whole bunch to the club, where he was about to perform the
thing live.
"C'mon down to the club" he said -- "I'm about to perform it
live".
We accepted
the invitation. And that is what his record is. An
invitation.
An invitation to the glad, mad, sad, biting, exciting, frightening,
crabby,
happy, enlightening, hugging, chugging world of Eric Von
Schmidt.
For here is a man who can sing the bird off the wire
and the rubbber off the tire. He can separate the men from the boys
and
the note
from the noise. The bridle from the saddle and the cow from
the cattle.
He can play the tune of the moon. The why
of the sky
and the commotion from the ocean. Yes he can.
Bob
Dylan
[Source: Album
liner notes from Eric Von Schmidt's 1969 album]
[TOP]
Back to the
Starting
Point! The kickoff, Hebrew
letters on the
wall, Victor Hugo's
house in Paris, NYC
in early
autumn, leaves
flying in the park, the
clock strikes
Eight, Bong \(em I dropped a
double brandy &
tried to recall the events ...
beer halls &
pin balls, polka bands, barbwire
& thrashing
clowns, objects, headwinds, &
snowstorms, family
outings with strangers \(em
Furious gals with
garters & smeared lips
on bar stools that
stank from sweating
pussy \(em doing the Hula \(em perfect,
priests in
overhauls, glassy eyed,
Insomnia! Space
guys off duty with
big dicks &
duck tails, all wire up &
voting for
Eisenhower, waving flags &
jumping off of fire engines, getting
killed on
motorcycles whatever \(em
We sensed each
other beneath
the mask, pitched a
tent in the
street & joined
the traveling circus,
love at first
sight! History
became a lie! the
sideshow took
over \(em what a sight ... the tresh-
hold of the Modern
Bomb,
temples of the
Pawnee, the
cowboy saint, the Arapshop,
snapshots of \(em Apache poets
searching thru the
ruins for a
glimpse of Buddah \(em
I let out
for parts unknown,
found Jacob's
ladder up against
an adobe wall &
bought a serpent
from a passing angel \(em
Yeah the ole days are gone
forever and the new
ones aint far behind, the
laughter is fading
away, echoes of a star
of energy Vampires
in the gone world going
Wild! Drinking the
blood of innocent people,
Innocent lambs! The
wretched of the Earth,
my brothers of the
flood, cities of the flesh \(em
Milwaukee, Ann
Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South
Dakota, Duluth!
Duluth \(em where Baudelaire
lived
& Goya cashed
in his chips, where Joshua brought
the house down!
From there it was straight up \(em
a little
jolt of Mexico and
some good LUCK, a
little power over
the Grave, some
more brandy &
the teeth of
a lion & a
compass
[TOP]
I first
heard Woody Guthrie over at a house party. I was over at somebody's
house who
was a lawyer and also a folk singer. He had Woody
Guthrie and Cisco
Houston
records. Folkways records. "Grand Coulee Dam", "Pastures of
Plenty",
"Pretty
Boy Floyd", "Tom Joad", "Vigilante Man." And what was
different
about it -
you know, it's hard to say. There are so many reasons
why he was
different,
you could fill a book. He had a sound. Well, everybody had a
sound, but
he had a particular sound, more or less a Carter
family-type
sound. And
he had something that needed to be said. And that was highly
unusual to
my ears. Usually you would have one or the other, you know,
but he
always had something to say.
I had a lot
of lost time to make up. I mean, I really had to find out who
this guy
was and everything I could about him. I started learning his
songs. I
mean, there was a time when I did nothing *but* his songs. And
I read this
book. I read "Bound for Glory," which a folk music professor at
the
University of Minnesota loaned to me to read - because it was not the
kind of
book they sold in a bookstore. I thought "Bound for Glory" was the
first
"On the Road," and of course it changed my life like it changed
everyone
else's.
By this time I was completely taken over by him. By his spirit, or
whatever.
You could
listen to his songs and actually learn how to live, or
how to feel.
He was like
a guide. I couldn't believe that I'd never heard of
this man - I
didn't
know if he was dead or alive, but by now I was trying to find out
where he
was.
When I
finally met him, he wasn't functioning very well, but
I was there
more or less as a servant - I mean, I went there to sing him his songs. That's
all I went
to do, and that's all I did. I never really talked too
much to him.
He couldn't talk anyway. He was very jittery. He always liked
the songs, and
he would
ask for certain ones. I knew them all! I was like a Woody Guthrie
jukebox.
If Woody
Guthrie was around today, I think he'd be very
disillusioned. But
everything
happens in its own time. Woody Guthrie was who he was because he
came along
in the time he came along in. For me he was like a link in a
chain. Like
I am for other people, and we all are for somebody. We're
all
just links
in a chain. There was an innocence to Woody Guthrie. There was a
certain
type of innocence that I never regained - I know that's
what I was
looking
for. Whether it was real, or whether it was a dream, who's
to say?
But it was
kind of lost innocence. And after him it was over.
[Source: Tape with
interview from April or May 1987 with Robert Noakes at Sunset Sound Studios,
Los Angeles. A part
was used in the album liner notes to “Folkways: A Vision Shared".
[TOP]
ABOUT THE
SONGS (what they're about)
BROKE DOWN
ENGINE is a Blind Willie McTell masterpiece. it's
about trains, mystery on the rails-the trains of love, the train that carried
my girl from town-The Southern Pacific, Baltmore
& Ohio whatever-it's about variations of human longing-the low hum in
meters & syllables. it's about dupes of commerce
& politics colliding on tracks, not being pushed around by ordinary
standards. it's about revival, getting a new lease on
life, not just posing there-paint chipped & flaked, mattress bare, single
bulb swinging above the bed. it's about Ambiguity, the
fortunes of the priviliged elite, flood
control-watching the red dawn not bothering to dress.
LOVE HENRY
is a "traditionalist" ballad. Tom Paley used to do it, a perverse
tale. Henry-modern corporate man off some foreign boat, unable to handle his
"psychosis" responsible for organizing the Intelligentsia, disarming
the people, an infantile sensualist-white teeth, wide smile, lotza money, kowtows to fairy queen exploiters &
corrupt religious establishments, career-minded, limousine double parked,
imposing his will & dishonest garbage in popular magazines. he lays his
head on a pillow of down & falls asleep. he shoulda
known better, he must've had a hearing problem.
STACK-A-LEE
is Frank Hutchinson's version. what does the song say exactly? it says no man
gains immortality thru public acclaim. truth is shadowy. in the pre-postindustrial age, victims of violence were allowed (in
fact it was their duty) to be judges over their offenders-parents were punished
for their children's crimes (we've come a long way since then) the song says
that a man's hat is his crown. futurologists would insist it's
a matter of tatse. they say "let's sleep on
it" but they're already living in the sanatirium. No Rights Without Duty is the name of the game
& fame is a trick. playing for time is only horsing around. Stack's in a
cell, no wall phone. he's not some egotistical
degraded existentialist dionysian idiot. neither does
he represent any alternative lifestyle scam (give me a thousand acres of
tractable land & all the gang members that exist and you'll see the
Authentic alternative lifestyle, the Agrarian one) Billy didn't have an
insurance plan, didn't get airsick yet his ghost is more real and genuine than
all the dead souls on the boob tube - a monumental epic of blunder and
misunderstanding, a romance tale without the cupidity.
BLOOD IN MY
EYES is one of two songs done by the Mississippi Sheiks, a little
known de facto group whom in their former glory must've been something
to behold. rebellion against routine seems to be their strong theme. all their
songs are raw in the bone & are faultlessly made for these modern times
(the New Dark Ages) nothing effete about the Mississippi Sheiks.
WORLD GONE
WRONG is also by them & goes against cultural policy. "strange things
are happening like never before." Strange things alright-strange things
like courage becoming befuddled & nonfundamental. evil charlatans
masquerading in pullover vests & tuxedos talking gobbledyook,
monstrous pompous superficial pageantry parading down lonely streets on limited
access highways. strange things indeed - irrationalist
bimbos & bozos, the stuff of legend, coming in from left field-infamy on the
landscape-"pray to the Good Lord" hit the light switch!
JACK-A-ROE
is another Tom Paley ballad (Tom, one of the New Lost City Ramblers) the young
virgin follows her heart (which cant be confined)
& in it the secrets of the universe. "there was a wealthy
merchant" wealthy & philosophically
influential
perhaps with an odd penchant for young folk. the song cannot be categorized-is
worlds away from reality but "gets inside" reality anyway &
strips it of its steel and concrete. inverted symmetry, legally stateless,
travelling under a false passport. "before you step on board, sir..."
are you any good at what you do? Submerge your personality.
DELIA is
one sad tale-two or more versions mixed into one. the song has no middle range,
comes whipping around the corner, seems to be about counterfeit loyalty. Delia
herself, no Queen Gertrude, Elizabeth 1 or even Evita Peron, doesnt ride a Harley Davidson across the desert highway, doesnt need a blood change & would never go on a
shopping spree. the guy in the courthouse sounds like a pimp in primary colors. he's not interested in
mosques on the temple mount, armageddon or world war
III, doesnt put his face in his knees & weep
& wears no dunce hat, makes no apology & is doomed to obscurity. does
this song have rectitude? you bet. toleration of the unacceptable leads to the
last round-up. the singer's not talking from a head of booze. Jerry Garcia
showed me
TWO
SOLDIERS (Hazel & Alice do it pretty similar) a battle song extraordinaire,
some dragoon officer's epaulettes laying liquid in the mud, physical plunge
into Limitationville, war dominated by finance
(lending money for interest being a nauseating & revolting thing) love is
not collateral. hittin' them where they aint (in the imperect state that
they're in) America when Mother was the the queen of
Her heart, before Charlie Chapin, before the Wild One, before the children of
the Sun-before the celestial grunge, before the insane world of entertainment
exploded in our faces-before all the ancient & honorable
artillery had been taken out of the city, learning to go forward by turning
back the clock, stopping the mind from thinking in hours, firing a few random
shots at the face of time.
RAGGED
& DIRTY one of the Willy Browns did this - schmaltz & pickled herring,
stuffed cabbage, heavy moral vocabulary - sweetness & sentiment, house
rocking, superior beauty, not just standing there-the seductive magic of the
thumbs up salute, carefully thought out overtones & stepping sideways, the
idols of human worship paying thru the nose, lords of the illogical in smoking
jackets, sufferers from a weak education, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle-taking
stupid chances-being mistreated just so far.
LONE
PILGRIM is from an old Doc Watson record. what attracts me to the song is how
the lunacy of trying to fool the self is set aside at some given point.
salvation and the needs of mankind are prominent & hegemony takes a
breathing spell. "my soul flew to mansions on high" what's essentially true is virtual reality. technology to
wipe out the truth is now available. not everybody can afford it but it's available. when the cost comes down look out! there wont be songs like this anymore.
factually there aren't any now. by the way, don't be
bewildered by the Never Ending Tour chatter. there was
a Never Ending Tour but it ended in '91 with the
departure of guitarist G.E. Smith. that one's long
gone but there have been many others since then. The Money Never Runs Out Tour
(fall of '91) Southern Sympathizer Tour (early '92) Why Do You Look At Me So Strangely
Tour
(European '92) The One Sad Cry Of Pity Tour (Australia & West Coast
American '92) Principles Of Action Tour (Mexico-South American '92) Outburst Of
Consciousness Tour ('92) Don't Let Your Deal Go Down Tour ('93) & others
too many to mention. each with their own character and design. to know which
was which consult the playlists.
[TOP]
This page last
updated 29 June 2020.