abe partridge.
you gotta listen to the words.
I’ve been writing less these days and playing more music. I’ve been a regular at the open mic night at Coal River Coffee, and though I have no misconceptions about my musical abilities, it’s been a blast performing songs that mean something to me. I never would have done this if not for the encouragement of James Townsend. James is an accomplished singer/songwriter, as you can see if you watch the Press Room Recordings below. He’s also an excellent writer. He’s writing a serial story about Billy the Kid and is currently writing a musical on the same subject.
Of the songs in the Press Room Recordings, my current favorite (my favorites change frequently) is Wars and Rumors.
Enjoy.
purple mountains laced in haze
holding back the morning rays
singing possibilities
that echo through the hills
morning peace and your sweet grace
to live as one for all our days
freedom ringing endlessly
for all the world to hear
but you’ve gone crazy, girl
you got lazy, girl
so full of anger, girl
you know i’ll never leave
can’t call you baby, girl
won’t let me hold you, girl
can’t even love me, girl
you know i’ll never leave
the days are growing shorter now
dimming on forgotten vows
words are spoken bitterly
to blunt enduring hope
you say you’ve not abandoned me
you want what’s best, i just can’t see
you shout so condescendingly
it makes it hard to hear
but you’ve gone crazy, girl
you got lazy, girl
hard to love you, girl
you know i’ll never leave
someday you’ll see, it could be worse
you’ll sing the song and write the verse
and play the music fervently
the righteous to uplift
but you’ve gone crazy, girl
you got lazy girl
don’t want to know me, girl
you know i’ll never leave
or maybe you’ve just lost your mind
the damage done, too far maligned
we’re dying unrepentingly
the setting of the sun
but you’ve gone crazy, girl
you got lazy, girl
won’t let me pray for you, girl
i hope i’ll never leave
copyright 2019, joseph e bird
Remember when you used to sit and listen to music with your headphones on, the 12″ x 12″ album cover in your hands as you went track to track? You’d be mesmerized by the cover art. You’d study the liner notes. You’d follow along if the lyrics were printed on the cover. After a few days, you’d know every song by heart.
No. Most of you don’t remember because that was before your time.
But back to our story.
The festival was over. The boys were planning for a fall.
Something’s up. Then we’re introduced to the ringleader.
He was standing in the doorway, looking like the Jack of Hearts.
Back in the golden age of vinyl, songs didn’t have be under three minutes. And everyone knew that serious music, serious songs, ran at least five minutes. Those were the songs you never wanted to end. American Pie comes to mind. Chicago’s Ballet for a Girl from Buchannon ran a glorious thirteen minutes.
Backstage the girls were playing five card stud by the stairs.
Lily drew two queens, she was hoping for a third to match her pair.
It was always best if you were alone. Total absorption into the music.
Big Jim was no one’s fool, he owned the town’s only diamond mine.
If you wanted to hear a track again, you’d have to wait. You can’t (or shouldn’t) pick up the tone arm and place the stylus in the same groove that had just played. You’d risk distorting the vinyl and degrading the sound quality. You had to let the grooves cool.
Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town.
You had to let the grooves cool.
You couldn’t wait to play the song again, but you had to. Made you want to hear it that much more.
The hanging judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined.
The drilling in the wall kept up, but no one seemed to pay it any mind.
And those songs would tell a story as good as anything you ever read in a book. No music videos, you had to paint the scene in your head. You were the casting agent, the set and costume designer, the director. It was all yours. You just had to follow along.
The story I’ve been telling is a Bob Dylan classic, Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts, more than eight minutes long. It had hidden in my memory until it came up on my Pandora station during a four-hour trip yesterday. It’s a great driving song.
I won’t tell you what happens. If you want to know, click the link below. But wait until you can listen without distraction. It’s just better that way.
She was thinking about her father, who she very rarely saw.
She was thinking about Rosemary, she was thinking about the law.
But most of all, she was thinking about the Jack of Hearts.
new york
you want to be
where the lights are so bright
where life lives on
through the night
and songs fill your heart
with delight
oh Savananh
is that where you’ve gone
my Savannah
i’ll see you at dawn
carolina
i know the sand
and the beaches call for you
the warm sunshine
and soft breezes, too
a time to reflect
and renew
oh Savananh
is that where you’ve gone
my Savannah
i’ll see you at dawn
i’ll pack my bags and be on my way
drive all night and into the day
grab some coffee, put gas in the car
if i could find out where you are
california
where dreamers go to find
what might be
and watch the sun set
by the sea
leave their troubles behind
and be free
oh Savananh
is that where you’ve gone
my Savannah
i’ll see you at dawn
i’ll pack my bags and be on my way
drive all night and into the day
grab some coffee, put gas in the car
if i could find out where you are
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
He came to me, this poor man.
Poor in the sense of having nothing.
He was dirty.
His pants were ripped.
He was ashamed of his appearance.
He was ashamed of his life.
I wish I could say he was rich in other ways.
But no. Probably not.
Another stopped me on the elevator.
He studied my face, as if he knew me.
His mind had betrayed him.
It was why he was there, in this hospital.
Reality had left him long ago.
Then he knew. I was Stevie Ray Vaughn.
You might think that such folly is liberating.
But no. Probably not.
A woman on the sidewalk
Said she needed some money.
Fifteen dollars for the bus pass.
Not just the spare change pitch.
She seemed sincere, if a little desperate.
She got her fifteen dollars.
And fifteen minutes in prayer.
It could just be another con job.
But no. Probably not.
Do my pennies make me rich?
Do your dollars make you poor?
Who is wise and who is foolish?
Do we know the way of truth?
Are you righteous in your mind?
Does evil stain your thoughts?
One could say that all is vanity.
But no. Probably not.
copyright 2017, joseph e bird
Note: These are true stories, and it pleases me to tell of the kindness that others have shown to those in need.
Joseph E Bird 