Knee Deep in Houston

I got your message late last night
but I was feeling tight
so I didn't hit the road
til break of day.
You say you're missing me
no longer need to be free
and you're sorry now
you sent me away.

Now I'm knee-deep in Houston
and I sure could use a friend

The asphalt is in flood
and the sky's the shade of mud
I keep pressing on
in hopes to make the time.
I remember all too well
but it's much too sad to tell
when I was yours
and I thought that you were mine.

Now I'm knee-deep in Houston
and I sure could use a friend.

I'd stare all night up at that rounded ceiling
and think of things and how they might have been
Then my head & my heart go a'reeling
And I know I'll never see my home again.

Good night, Irene, Goodnight
Goodbye to the bayou
With no steady job,
I can barely make the rent
So long to mid-night jazz,
farewell to all the lads
looks like I'll have
to hit the road again.

Now I'm knee-deep in Houston
and I sure could use a friend.
Yes, I'm knee-deep in Houston,
and I surely need a friend.
Knee-deep in Houston . . .
hey, bud, can you spare a dime?

Only Love

I continue to test the theory that serious songs are especially appropriate for the ukulele. The ultimate test will be a Leonard Cohen song (coming soon), but this Neil Young song is also a good proof of concept.

On Sadness

Sadness is cousin to grief
a haunted space
echoing what is lost

This past Thursday, I went on a guided tour of the Washita Battlefield (with friends from my church). We know the place because Magpie lived to tell the tale. A ranger told the tale, she told it well: How Gen. Custer sent four divisions to attack from each of the ancient sacred directions. "No women and children," Custer said, remembering the massacre at Sand Creek. Our guide pointed out Custer's knoll, where he surveyed the scene just before the attack. Where he would have heard reports on missing men. Where he would hear women and children were being killed, contrary to his orders.

The ranger told us she knew of some Native Americans who were sensitive to this space — who felt echoes of the lost lives. According to family lore, I am fifth generation Comanche. Perhaps it was the ranger's suggestion, perhaps it was the heat of the day and the exertion, perhaps it was my prayerful heart, intimately trained for contemplation. I felt it: I felt my heart burn. I was aware of the echoes of loss.

I keenly felt it as we crossed the field where the Cheyenne lived that winter, along the banks of the once mighty Washita. I keenly felt it as we passed the trees where people had left prayer cloths in the sacred colors of red, yellow, black, and blue. I felt it as we placed our own prayer cloth near where the ponies had been killed. I felt it as we climbed out the rise, back to the park center.

Sadness is a haunted space. Sadness is not the absence of happiness; not exactly its dark brother. Sadness is less than depression, but it may lead to depression with time. Sadness & grief are cousins: they often come together, but I don't suppose sadness is only caused by grief. It may have many kin.

There's a moment in the second movement of Henryk Goreck's Symphony No. 3 (Symphony of Sorrowful Songs) that, for me, bespeaks “Joyous Sorrow.” How can that be? I think that is the moment when you perceive the hopeful light on the dark's horizon. In the context of the symphony, it is the moment a mother grieves the death of her child — yet there is the suggestion that life goes continues. The mother's song concludes:
“And you, God's little flowers
May you bloom all around
So that my son
May sleep happily.”

Sadness is cousin to grief
a haunted space
echoing what is lost

The Darkness

I will go where the darkness dwells
In highest heaven or blackest hell.
When I open the cup
When I close the book
When I drink it up
When I steal a look
I go to the darkness.

You studied love at the Thunderbird Ranch
What you do with the moonlight
Makes the night bird blanch
But you're holding your own
You've learned all the moves
You're already open
With nothing to prove
To the darkness.

They call it the darkness, baby,
Though it's bright as the day is long.
It makes a strong man humble,
And a weak man strong
For the darkness.

I think I see where you stand tonight
With your back pressed against the light.
It's no secret now
You won't sing my praise
When the glory comes
At the end of days
With the darkness.

They call it the darkness, baby,
But I don't know why:
It makes a beggar handsome,
Makes a rich man cry
In the darkness.

Now, tell me Lady,
What do you believe?
Is it shoots and ladders
Or smoke & leaves?
You've got your tale
But it's not for sale
It's sincerely broken
By a nine inch nail
In the darkness.

It Takes Time

It takes time to kill the Buddha,
It takes time to shine your shoes,
It takes time to choke the rainbow,
It takes time to teach the blues.
They took their time
They took their time
They took their time
They took their time

It takes time to shrink the dollar,
To build your cross of gold,
It takes time to spoil the water
before your child grows old
They took their time
They took their time
They robbed us blind
and took their time.

It takes time to steal tomorrow,
To set the devil free,
It takes times to dig the canyon
between wealth & poverty
They took their time
They took their time
They robbed us blind
and took their time

It takes time to murder Jesus,
To set mercy on its ear,
Time to poison people
So cities live in fear
They took their time
They took their time
They robbed us blind
and took their time

---

A song, based on the poem "Some Things Take Time" by George Wallace (of Suffolk County, NY)

My Time Behind Rock-Star Shades

I was a rock star Sunday morning, ever so briefly.

This past Sunday was the 7^th Annual Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon. This is among the annual events that commemorate the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. The organizers have local bands perform at different spots along the course to entertain runners, spectators, and volunteers.

Now, Ben and I have been working on an acoustic set since late last year and have actually had a gig. I got an email from Ben while I was visiting Brother Dave, asking if I was interested in doing music for the marathon. I’m the first to admit to being a ham, so I eagerly agreed.

However, by the time I responded, the Ben’s concept had shifted. He had also contacted a group he does rock music with – The Space Heaters – and asked if they were available and interested. The regular rhythm guitarist was out of pocket, so I stood in for him. I don’t know that many could hear my non-amplified (but miked) guitar over everything else, but strumming gave me something to do when I wasn’t singing.

We were told to be at the site – about six blocks from the finish line – around 6:30 a.m. Runners were expected to be coming around the spot around 7:30. Now, I’m an early bird – but even I think 6:30 a.m. is rather early.

It took at least 20 minutes for bleary-eyed musicians to agree on where to set up the gear. Then, about 30 minutes to set up. By the time we had set up, the first runner came by. So, that hour for set up was a good idea.

We played mostly oldies: Great Balls of Fire, Like a Rolling Stone, Lucille, and Fortunate Son. I sang lead on Mr. Tambourine Man and All Along the Watchtower. We hadn’t rehearsed the latter; it’s something I played to cover while the lead guitarist replaced a broken string. Since “Watchtower” is basically 2-3 chords (simplest way to play it is with Am and F), it was a good filler. I also filled time by playing harmonica between each of the three verses.

Guess I did OK. When we were done, Ben said, “We’re definitely adding that one to the set list.”

We did a couple more songs, then it was time for me to sing The Mighty Quinn. I started to tear into it – like Dylan did at the Isle of Wight concert – and suddenly, my mind went blank. For the life of me, I could not remember the first verse.

Next thing we knew, the power was gone.

Did I mention that the site was a car dealership? Specifically, a Jaguar dealership? Did I mention that no one met us to tell us where we could plug in?

There two outlets outside the display room, and we had plugged into one of those. Hard to believe we had blown a fuse. Surely, a Jaguar dealership can afford to pay it’s electric bill.

Anyway, that was my brief moment as a rock star. It was fun, and I hope I can do it again.

Friday Five: American Idols

Theme suggested by Songbird.

Songbird admits she has been watching the latest season of American Idol. I haven't been able to watch more than 15 minutes worth. It is symbolic of the worst of American culture (appealing to the lowest common denominator), the worst of the pop music industry (playing it safe with the same old mid-stream pablum), and the worst popular vocal styling (melisma). With that caveat, here's the game:

1. If I could sing like anyone, it would be myself.
   Now that I've recovered from the worst of my cold, I'm so pleased that I can sing again. I know there's plenty of folk who can sing technically better than me. I know there's some who are more soulful, or whatever, but this morning as I type this, I like how I sing. I like how people respond to my singing voice. It's a gift, and I'm glad to share it.


2. I would love to sing the song "The Guests," by Leonard Cohen.
   I start singing practically from the time I wake up. Some songs become "ear worms" and follow me throught the day.
       Other times, I'm woodshedding a song for performance - which means memorizing the lyrics (primarily) and playing with the melody.
      "The Guests" is a song I come back to frequently. I've already memorized the lyrics, which are profoundly beautiful:

   One by one the guests arrive
   The guests are coming through
   The open-hearted many
   The broken-hearted few.
   And no one knows where the night is going
   No one knows why the wine is flowing
   Oh, love, I need you, I need you, I need you
   Oh ... I need you now
   . . . .
   All go stumbling through that house
   In the utmost urgency
   Saying, "Please reveal yourself"
   Or, "Why hast thou forsaken me?"

      It took me a couple of years of living with this song to realize it could be about our lives. God is the host who cries, "Welcome, welcome, let all my guests come in" as we wander through God's house mystified by the torches flaring.


3. It would be really cool to sing at Carnegie Hall.
   Why not aim high? You thought maybe I would say "My shower"?
      I have sung on stage many times. It's typically an enjoyable experience, although I rarely know how to respond to people praising my performance (beyond saying thank you).


4. If I could sing a dream duet it would be with Natalie Merchant.
   Which was about the fourth name that came to mind. Interesting that all the names that came to mind were female – Streisand, Sheryl Crow, Joan Baez. Why Natalie? She's the one I have the biggest crush on. And she writes some amazing songs.
      I do miss Sarah, the singing partner I had several years ago. She was a class act. She was much more knowledgable about music theory than me, but she was gentle in directing me. She was a trained vocalist, but didn't disdain the pleasure of "folk" music. Our voices blended perfectly.


5. If I could sing on a TV or radio show, it would be The Tonight Show.
   Although I would prefer to have appeared with Johnny Carson than on the Jay Leno iteration. I'm not a fan of Leno.
      However, if I were to give full reign to my fantasy, my dream would be to be a guest host - ala John Denver. Experience in leading group discussions suggests I would do well as a talk show host (if my face were TV-worthy).
     I actually did serve as a guest host on a local cable-access show, so I have some minimal experience.