Its hard to write down that lyric that hits you in the feels. You've either got it or... well you don't!
If I am being honest the cliche of they don't write them like they used to still prevails.
I found myself falling down the rabbit trail of Alice's wonderland fame, thinking about those missive's written in four four time and though the old adage is true that you "can't go home again" there are songs with lyrics so well crafted that you are often transported in time to a place with fond memories, or new discoveries, long lost loves or yes just simply going back home, of course it takes that right voice to communicate it, the voice that accesses the sensory overload...
I never had the pleasure of seeing Glen Campbell live, having the opportunity later in life, i couldn't
The legacy of who he played for and how he sang those songs still makes me sit up and listen....
It's knowing that your door is always open
And that your path is free to walk
That makes me tend leave my sleeping bag rolled up
And stashed behind your couch
And it's knowing I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains dried upon some line
That keeps you in back roads by the rivers of my memory
Keeps you ever gentle on my mind
Keeps you in back roads by the rivers of my memory, what a line...
The one two punch of Jimmy Webb's songs and Glen's vocal styling...
Can you hear the pain and travesty of the man gathering himself as he shine's his gun and longs for home, wondering if he'll ever see those sea birds flyin' or hear the waves a crashin' ever again "Galveston" it rips you apart...
Or the mundane, what seemingly is the world most tedious and boring job the guy setting up the phone cables as they stretch county to county, thinking about life and where its taken him.
Just the opening line in its delivery, wow, "I am a lineman for the County...." There is no doubt as you close your eyes and let that waft over you that you half expect to open your eyes and be in Witchita....
I've always had a full appreciation for Lyrics, but as I've gotten a little more tread on my tires, i'm digging in and remembering with a lot more "Love and Affection"
As a young man I remember wanting to be Davy and follow in his footsteps, Travel was always something i had dreamed of, wherever the wind would take me and as Manfred Mann sang
Davy's on the road again
Wearin' different clothes again
Davy's turning handouts down
To keep his pockets clean
Sayin' his goodbyes again
Wheels are in his eyes again
Sez if you see Jean now ask her please to pity me
Downtown in the big town
Gonna set you back on your heels
With a mouth full of memories
And a lot of stickers for my windshield
Shut the door
Cut the light
Davy wont be home tonight
You can wait till the dawn rolls in
You won't see our Davy again
Hardly classic lines I suppose but gathering that mouthful of memories and stickers for my windshield, that was so mouth wateringly appealing... lyrics man unbelievable...
LA's fine the sunshine's most the time... It is absolutely my good fortune to now reside in Southern California and even more so appreciate where I come from, you know the depressed industrial blue collar Northwest of England, described so accurately by Chris Rea "The screaming desolation of the English Northern Coast" and where i now place my size 9's
I am I said to no one there, Neil Diamonds voice could surely be the only one that could sing those lines, the frustration of being alone, and still longing for home, caught between two coasts.
Having landed and traveled, there are no regrets, embrace, enjoy and roll along...
The true root of what made me think about lyrics as a stimulation of late... has to Paul Heaton, How I
Anyway his lyrical twists are humorous, sad, happy and true
If rain makes Britain great
Then Manchester is greater
I guess you need to have lived in both the UK and Manchester to truly appreciate every sentiment of the lines !!
I have a new affinity for Irish ballads of late and truly respect the art of Christy Dignam, Finbar Furey, Shane MacGowan, Paul Brady, Mundy, and the much under appreciated Sharon Shannon's squeeze box playing.
But again its the lyrics as they tell the stories
Oh how do you do, young Willy McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
Picture yourself sitting down to take a rest and glance over and imagine the story of the young man and why he died so young, "The Green Fields of France" depressingly beautiful, and closing your eyes you feel the warmth of the sun and as you listen to Finbar Furey and Christy Dignam's version, if you can hold back the tears your a better person than I...
Maybe its better to think of a lost love and contemplate "The Lakes of Pontchartrain"
How then can i not tell you to listen to the story of a young man down on his luck during the Irish famine,who took some corn from an English farmer to feed his children and sweetheart then paid the price and was shipped off to Australia...
The word picture of this incredibly beautiful song truly has you walking the banks of the River Clarin, past the old Dominican Priory, and into the fields of Athenry,
But a lonely prison wall,
I heard a young girl calling
Michael they have taken you away,
For you stole Trevelyn's corn
So the young might see the morn,
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay
I heard a young girl calling
Michael they have taken you away,
For you stole Trevelyn's corn
So the young might see the morn,
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay
Low lie, The Fields Of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing,
Its so lonely round the Fields of Athenry
I am not sure you can top the song for its atmospheric turbulence...Where once we watched the small free birds fly
Our love was on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing,
Its so lonely round the Fields of Athenry
Phew its an emotional ride, ill leave for the moment with another poet of days gone by, remember that first time you thought this is it i'm home, weather a place you where born and raised, somewhere you were forced to, or just that magical place of self discovery, doesn't matter what age one or hundred and one, maybe you were born in the summer of your own twenty seventh year?
He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Coming home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
Coming home to a place he'd never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hanging by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long
On the road and hanging by a song
But the string's already broken and he doesn't really care
It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long
But the Colorado rocky mountain high
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high (Colorado)
I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high (Colorado)
He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory
Now he walks in quiet solitude the forest and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
bennysantini.blogspot.com
I've got soul but i'm not a soldier
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