Saturday, March 19, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Spring 2011
With spring comes new beginnings and regeneration, correct? Well, we have some of our own here at the RCR camp. We confirmed with Macrock this year so get your tickets because the date (April 1-2) is fast approaching. As you know, it's been a few months since we have played out so this is even more exciting for us than a "normal" show. Over the winter months we have been in the process of deciding which old songs to keep and which to discard. And the ones we kept have seen the potter's wheel again. We are continuing to book at a slow pace until we get our sea legs back but besides Macrock we have a couple dates in May that have been added in Winston Salem, NC and Richmond, VA. We look forward to seeing you out there soon. To purchase your Macrock tickets, go http://macrock.org/
Thanks for all the support!
Thanks for all the support!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Fortunatas
Thankfully I took the long way home traversing many backroads that I hadn't been on in almost a year. I was reminded why I love living so close to the country.
And as if my week couldn't have ended more wonderfully, my better half and I took the dog on a loooonnnng walk when I got back. It was starting to snow as we crossed the Roanoke River and paralleled the railroad tracks that lead to the South Yard. Damn, life is good. Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, December 27, 2010
I am the Ghost
Empty boxes and old curtains worn
forgotten memories and nights left undone
have you gone the way of ghosts in my head
all the way with Fibonnaci to the sailor's bed?
There is no bird on the wire
but there’s a rat in the road.
dead leaves cover the ground
will we ever feel at home.
lights burn the shadows, night turns to day
lights burn the shadows, nothing really stays.
i am the ghost sleeping in the willow.
lights burn the shadows, nothing really stays
forgotten memories and nights left undone
have you gone the way of ghosts in my head
all the way with Fibonnaci to the sailor's bed?
There is no bird on the wire
but there’s a rat in the road.
dead leaves cover the ground
will we ever feel at home.
lights burn the shadows, night turns to day
lights burn the shadows, nothing really stays.
i am the ghost sleeping in the willow.
lights burn the shadows, nothing really stays
Cottonmouth
Christian was known as ‘Cottonmouth’ (Cotton for short) to anyone who had seen the day pass over him. We met one dawn in June underneath the trestle where he would later lay on top to watch the trains coming in. We didn’t speak that first meeting, me with my bag of rocks and him with his jug of wine. He would drink like a fever and sing like a canary, usually standing on his tiptoes with his nose angled just so under the empty clothesline. He was a scarecrow of sorts with his broom-face hidden underneath a calf skin top hat sporting dyed crow feathers. He wore a dangly earring that resembled a sugar-skull and he jingled when he walked though I never figured out why.
He never knew what time it was and he was always beaten to the punch. It wasn’t uncommon to hear him say, “If it’s true that the world is revolvin’ , then it’s cause it’s trying to lose me! And that sun, he’s a son of a bitch! He’s got no heart, I chase him over the horizon ever’ damn day!”
He had twelve kids, most lived somewhere out west and a couple were in southern Mexico. I think one died of influenza or a tree fell on him or something. Cottonmouth was born and still lived just outside of town there in an old cedar-shake shack covered in kudzu in the last holler before you crossed the state line. No closer than two miles from another living soul. He only came to town once a year, usually sometime around the hunter’s moon.
At night his house looked like a chapel at an asylum, all ash grey and full of screams. He had books stacked in a maze outside leading from the woods to a side window all busted out and covered with nature’s palette and equations. He kept around a lot of animal feed, but I never saw any animals there.
The last time I went to see him was a frozen November night. He was digging holes in his yard with a trowel type of tool crudely made from a fox’s skull. These holes weren’t deep mind you, just a half foot down or so. Then he’d move to the right one step, forward two, and dig again. But before he would start a new hole, he danced like a bald-headed buzzard and took a pull of Wild Turkey that he drank out of a rusty old oil can.
When he had dug enough holes to match the number of years he’d lived there, we started a fire in the upstairs bedroom. The flames danced on the windows and followed the kerosene line. We pulled the doors to as we laughed and sat in greasy bathtubs in the middle of it all. We started singing ancient ballads while we covered our ears. Sometimes it just helps to sing like it’s your last night on this crazy tilted earth. Our voices quit when the dawn came. And the sun came out from his hiding to remind us that he’ll always win again.
He never knew what time it was and he was always beaten to the punch. It wasn’t uncommon to hear him say, “If it’s true that the world is revolvin’ , then it’s cause it’s trying to lose me! And that sun, he’s a son of a bitch! He’s got no heart, I chase him over the horizon ever’ damn day!”
He had twelve kids, most lived somewhere out west and a couple were in southern Mexico. I think one died of influenza or a tree fell on him or something. Cottonmouth was born and still lived just outside of town there in an old cedar-shake shack covered in kudzu in the last holler before you crossed the state line. No closer than two miles from another living soul. He only came to town once a year, usually sometime around the hunter’s moon.
At night his house looked like a chapel at an asylum, all ash grey and full of screams. He had books stacked in a maze outside leading from the woods to a side window all busted out and covered with nature’s palette and equations. He kept around a lot of animal feed, but I never saw any animals there.
The last time I went to see him was a frozen November night. He was digging holes in his yard with a trowel type of tool crudely made from a fox’s skull. These holes weren’t deep mind you, just a half foot down or so. Then he’d move to the right one step, forward two, and dig again. But before he would start a new hole, he danced like a bald-headed buzzard and took a pull of Wild Turkey that he drank out of a rusty old oil can.
Cover Our Faces With Soot and Dreams : Numero Dos
A few more of the songs from the CD, "Cover our Faces With Soot and Dreams".
“Tell Me” – (this is a song that came about through a culmination of a few things. But to simplify it into one…I met some homeless fellas that camped in the woods behind where I was working at the time. Their slavery to some things and freedom from others impact on me at this time is evident.)
Chorus: Won’t you tell me, I ain’t gonna hear it no more. Won’t you tell me, I ain’t gonna believe your goddamn war.
Well I seen old Blind Faced Darby with a rock now for his head and I seen Tombstone Charlie laying out leaves for his bed. And they tell me about their nightmares, and they tell me about their sin. But they got no use for religion now boys, they’ve seen both sides of hell.
Chorus
Me and Snake Oil Johnny walked from beneath of that bridge. Got a fifth of whiskey and a cheshire grin, oh we was fallin’ off that log. We walked down to the mission and spit on that ivory door. We got drunk there in the cemetary and slept with the stones and the dead. And I seen Cold Faced Tom, he’s exploding all over the bridge. Got his name in the paper and his face in the dirt. He’s gone now out of his head.
Chorus
“Letters to the Sky” (not meant to be a ‘love song’. This came from a very dark place when I was trying to find more and more ways to kill myself slower than I used to. This was catharsis. And Aaron helped me make it sound very dreamy and I always thought, almost Disney-esque.)
Layin the dark, lookin out at the window light. I don’t want nothin but I’m dying for anything. Maybe a bucket full of dreams. Maybe a day full of sin. A big open sky and a barrel full of fucking gin.
I ain’t beggin’ I’m just saying. I ain’t lonely I’m just desperate.
Chorus: I got these tabletop dreams all filled in with ink. I got these letters to the sky in case we start to sink.
“Build a Fire” (to all our Roanoke and Richmond family)
Chorus: We build a fire on our own. On our own.
Down with the shaken and torn. We cannot run and we can’t hide. Beneath the ground or beneath the sky. We are not helpless, we are not shamed. Cause our day never came, yes our day never came.
“Tell Me” – (this is a song that came about through a culmination of a few things. But to simplify it into one…I met some homeless fellas that camped in the woods behind where I was working at the time. Their slavery to some things and freedom from others impact on me at this time is evident.)
Chorus: Won’t you tell me, I ain’t gonna hear it no more. Won’t you tell me, I ain’t gonna believe your goddamn war.
Well I seen old Blind Faced Darby with a rock now for his head and I seen Tombstone Charlie laying out leaves for his bed. And they tell me about their nightmares, and they tell me about their sin. But they got no use for religion now boys, they’ve seen both sides of hell.
Chorus
Me and Snake Oil Johnny walked from beneath of that bridge. Got a fifth of whiskey and a cheshire grin, oh we was fallin’ off that log. We walked down to the mission and spit on that ivory door. We got drunk there in the cemetary and slept with the stones and the dead. And I seen Cold Faced Tom, he’s exploding all over the bridge. Got his name in the paper and his face in the dirt. He’s gone now out of his head.
Chorus
“Letters to the Sky” (not meant to be a ‘love song’. This came from a very dark place when I was trying to find more and more ways to kill myself slower than I used to. This was catharsis. And Aaron helped me make it sound very dreamy and I always thought, almost Disney-esque.)
Layin the dark, lookin out at the window light. I don’t want nothin but I’m dying for anything. Maybe a bucket full of dreams. Maybe a day full of sin. A big open sky and a barrel full of fucking gin.
I ain’t beggin’ I’m just saying. I ain’t lonely I’m just desperate.
Chorus: I got these tabletop dreams all filled in with ink. I got these letters to the sky in case we start to sink.
“Build a Fire” (to all our Roanoke and Richmond family)
Chorus: We build a fire on our own. On our own.
Down with the shaken and torn. We cannot run and we can’t hide. Beneath the ground or beneath the sky. We are not helpless, we are not shamed. Cause our day never came, yes our day never came.
Cover Our Faces With Soot and Dreams
Here are a few songs from the latest record of Red Clay River (as of 4/2010), “Cover Our Faces With Soot and Dreams”.
“Ain’t No Blues“
Chorus: You gotta outdance the devil with me. You gotta outdance the devil with me, lo’, come the midnight hour. You gotta outdance the devil with me.
Heave an old trashcan on the floor. Drag your broken leg through the fire. You gotta spit like a curse and drop to your knees, cause there ain’t nothing here for free.
Chorus
Cover your eye with an old felt patch, touch your elbow to your knee. If they see you, they’ll believe you. You got ‘em falling out of them trees.
Chorus
“Fall Like the Devil“
I got angels beside me and devils within. How do you learn to change, when you can’t ever begin. As I walk down to the river, I’m throwing rocks at the clouds. Thinking about leavin, and I’m thinkin about doubt.
Chorus: And I fall like the devil and get trapped down below. Don’t question the reasons why you always go.
Leave me laying by this old bridge, with sand in my eyes. I got no need for nothing, it’s all in my mind. I don’t believe in religion. I don’t believe in sin. There ain’t much I do know that ain’t fire and wind.
Chorus
“Hold On“
Meet me by the old burned out church. You know the one they never built around cause of that old sycamore bunch. We’ll carve our names with the stars. And cover our faces with soot and dreams. Don’t worry I gave away everything we owned. It’s all bundled on a matchstick I stole. And sing, ” La da da, la da da di da da da….”
Chorus: Just hold, hold on my sweet Marie. Just hold, hold on to me.
We’ll sleep where the river turns slow. Drink in the night, and we’ll dance with the crows. They say. ‘home is where you lay your head’. If I was home that’s what I would’ve said. Hold on tight, I’m breathin’ diesel fuel. Ball the jack, I’ll lay those mountains flat. Lasso the moon, and I’ll ride the Mississippi. Kill the lantern, just hold on to me.
Chorus
“Land mine“
You are my landmine.
“Ain’t No Blues“
Chorus: You gotta outdance the devil with me. You gotta outdance the devil with me, lo’, come the midnight hour. You gotta outdance the devil with me.
Heave an old trashcan on the floor. Drag your broken leg through the fire. You gotta spit like a curse and drop to your knees, cause there ain’t nothing here for free.
Chorus
Cover your eye with an old felt patch, touch your elbow to your knee. If they see you, they’ll believe you. You got ‘em falling out of them trees.
Chorus
“Fall Like the Devil“
I got angels beside me and devils within. How do you learn to change, when you can’t ever begin. As I walk down to the river, I’m throwing rocks at the clouds. Thinking about leavin, and I’m thinkin about doubt.
Chorus: And I fall like the devil and get trapped down below. Don’t question the reasons why you always go.
Leave me laying by this old bridge, with sand in my eyes. I got no need for nothing, it’s all in my mind. I don’t believe in religion. I don’t believe in sin. There ain’t much I do know that ain’t fire and wind.
Chorus
“Hold On“
Meet me by the old burned out church. You know the one they never built around cause of that old sycamore bunch. We’ll carve our names with the stars. And cover our faces with soot and dreams. Don’t worry I gave away everything we owned. It’s all bundled on a matchstick I stole. And sing, ” La da da, la da da di da da da….”
Chorus: Just hold, hold on my sweet Marie. Just hold, hold on to me.
We’ll sleep where the river turns slow. Drink in the night, and we’ll dance with the crows. They say. ‘home is where you lay your head’. If I was home that’s what I would’ve said. Hold on tight, I’m breathin’ diesel fuel. Ball the jack, I’ll lay those mountains flat. Lasso the moon, and I’ll ride the Mississippi. Kill the lantern, just hold on to me.
Chorus
“Land mine“
You are my landmine.
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