Wednesday, November 8, 2017

This is a perfect and great song



Kris Kristofferson takes the listener along for a universal walk of separation and alienation through smell, sight and hearing and places the events on a day which is usually one in which families gather. There are no 'forced words" interrupting the flow and the mood of estrangement Kristofferson immediately creates remains throughout.

Well I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head, that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert

Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and the songs I'd been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playin' with a can that he was kicking

Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone's fryin' chicken
And Lord, it took me back to somethin'
That I'd lost somewhere, somehow along the way

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothin' short of dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleepin' city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughin' little girl that he was swingin'
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singin'

Then I headed down the street
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'
And it echoed through the canyon 
Like the disappearin' dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothin' short of dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down 

A Chris Kokesh/LJ Booth update

"Folk duo to harmonize on original songs at heritage center" -- Sheryl DeVore

More on and about Joni Mitchell

"Joni Mitchell: Fear of a Female Genius" -- Lindsay Zoladz

Sunday, October 29, 2017

With Halloween fast approaching...

There are many spooky songs to choose from but my brain was on REPEAT after hearing gem today. My apologies to those around me.

Chuck Cannon's "This Old Guitar"


Heard this today for the first time:

This old guitar
seen dusty roads and smokey bars,
back seats of all my old cars,
city lights and southern stars
This old guitar
it's told the truth it's told some lies
Sometimes it sings, sometimes it cries
It's who I am, it's my disguise

This old guitar
it's just wood and strings and steel
This old guitar
always knows just how I feel
This old guitar
it's seen it's share of broken hearts,
it's got cracks and broken parts
it's a symphony of scars

This old guitar...
hell, I have even gone and named it,
I have cursed and blessed and blamed it
Still my fingers have not tamed it

This old guitar
guess you could say we show our ages
from all the songs and whiskey rages,
crazy stages final pages.

This old guitar
it's just wood and strings and steel
This old guitar
always knows just how I feel
This old guitar
it's seen it's share of broken hearts,
it's got cracks and broken parts,
it's a symphony of scars.

This old guitar
has played for kings and played for paupers
It's all the gold that's in my coffers
Still I can't give it all it offers

This old guitar
it's just wood and strings and steel
This old guitar
always knows just how I feel
This old guitar
it's seen it's share of broken hearts,
it's got cracks and broken parts,
it's a symphony of scars

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Here's another offering in the perfect song grouping (again, not greatest song -- that's a different category.)



"I Came to a Western Island" - Archie Fisher

I came to a western island as far as a man can walk is my land
I cleared ten acres and a house I built, into the side of the hill

The roof leaks, the windows rattle and the grass in the high ground won't feed cattle
The west wind blowin' off the sea makes it hard to grow a tree

One cow in a lean-to bier, a spring close by and a driftwood fire
A clear view of the settin' sun and 12 gauge hammer gun

I keep sheep, I fish deep water in a high bowed boat called the Neptune's daughter
She will ride any western gale and can carry a stack of sails

Some nights when the bright lights flicker I sail to the mainland for my liquor
I haven't got a woman to call my own but I never wake up alone

A man needs to feel the ground and wind to tell him that the world spins round
To watch the stars and taste the sea, and woman to keep him free

I came to a western island, as far as a man can walk is my land
I cleared ten acres and a house I built, into the side of the hill

Friday, October 13, 2017

It's that time of year - Cheryl Wheeler's "When Fall Comes to New England"



This is a perfect song, different from a great song. The melody sweetly purrs and the lyrics vividly portray the subject matter with not a single word forced.

When fall comes to New England
The sun slants in so fine
And the air's so clear
You can almost hear the grapes grow on the vine

The nights are sharp with starlight
And the days are cool and clean
And in the blue sky overhead
The northern geese fly south instead
And leaves are Irish Setter red
When fall comes to New England

When fall comes to New England
And the wind blows off the sea
Swallows fly in a perfect sky
And the world was meant to be

When the acorns line the walkways
Then winter can't be far
From yellow leaves a blue jay calls
Grandmothers Walk Out In Their Shawl
And Chipmunks Run The Old Stone Walls
When fall comes to New England

The frost is on the pumpkin
The squash is off the vine
And winter warnings race across the sky
The squirrels are on to something
And they're working overtime
The foxes blink and stare and so do I

'Cause when fall comes to New England
Oh I can't turn away
From fading light on flying wings
And late good-byes a robin sings
And then another thousand things
When fall comes to New England

When fall comes to New England