Concerto de Aranjuez

Rodrigo: Concerto de Aranjuez
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Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering it will be happier...
--Alfred Lord Tennyson

Comanche

Johnny Horton: Comanche


I got confused today.
I went to an art museum
and was looking at a painting
that I thought was strange.
The painting was of a bunch
of Native American peoples
all naked and screwing,
and above them was a large fish,
and above the fish
was a large golden halo.
I could not for the life of me
decipher the meaning until
I read the caption
at the bottom in small print,
Custer’s last words:
“Holy mackerel,
look at all those fucking Indians!”

----------------------------------------------------------
Please, Mr. Custer

She's Running Around With The Ragtop Down

I Want To Sing That Rock And Roll
Make Me Down A Pallet On Your Floor
Elvis Presley Blues

Look At Miss Ohio
Red Clay Halo
My First Lover
One Little Song

Time (the Revelator)
By The Mark

The Way It Will Be
Caleb Meyer
I'll Fly Away
The Weight*
*w/ Old Crow Medicine Show
---------------------------------------

Gillian Welch/David Rawlings

London, England
2/8/04

And A Twelvepack To Go

Merle Haggard: If We Make It Through December

C.W. McCall: Convoy

Patty Loveless: There Stands the Glass

Conway Twitty/Loretta Lynn: You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly

Hank Williams: Long Gone Lonesome Blues

Becky Hobbs: Jones on the Jukebox

George Jones: The King is Gone

Patsy Cline: Walking After Midnight

Elvis Costello: A Good Year for the Roses

Jimmy Dean: Big Bad John

Johnny Cash: I Still Miss Someone



Sometimes when I reflect back on all the wine I drink,
I feel shame! Then I look into the glass and think
about the workers in the vineyards and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this wine, they might be out of work, and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, It is better that I drink this wine and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver.
--Jack Handey

All The Years Combine

Grateful Dead: Oakland, CA. 12/31/82


1)
Cold Rain and Snow
C.C. Rider #
Cumberland Blues
Far From Me
Cassidy
Ramble On Rose
Looks LIke Rain
Day Job

2)
New Year's Countdown
Sugar Magnolia
Sugaree
Women Are Smarter
Ship Of Fools
Playing In The Band
Drums
Not Fade Away *
Deal*
Sunshine Daydream

3)
Lovelight
Tell Mama
Baby What You Want #
Hard To Handle
Midnight Hour

E)
Brokedown Palace

# w/ Matt Kelly
* w/ John Cippolina
Set 3 w/ Etta James
and Tower of Power Horns











it all rolls into one
and nothing comes for free
there's nothing you can hold
for very long
and when you hear that song
come crying like the wind
it seems like all this life
was just a dream

Tom Russell @ KPFT

Tom Russell @ KPFT (1)

Tom Russell @ KPFT (2)

Tom Russell @ KPFT (3)

Tom Russell @ KPFT (4)

Tom Russell @ KPFT (5)


KPFT's Larry Winters hosts Tom Russell with Thad Beckman
Houston, TX.
12/3/11

1) conversation
2) And God Created Bordertowns into Goodnight Juarez
3) Don't Think Twice into Mesabi
4) Heart Within A Heart
5) Where Love Abides

Rubber Boots

Kilt
Rubber Boots

Hard Work If You Can Get It

Woody Guthrie: Talking Hard Work

it was Philly and the bartender said
what and I said, gimme a draft, Jim,
got to get the nerves straight, I'm
going to look for a job. you, he said,
a job?
yeah, Jim, I saw something in the paper,
no experience necessary.
and he said, hell, you don't want a job,
and I said, hell no, but I need money,
and I finished the beer
and got on the bus and I watched the numbers
and soon the numbers got closer
and then I was right there
and I pulled the cord and the bus stopped and
I got off.
it was a large building made of tin
the sliding door was stuck in the dirt
I pulled it back and went in
and there wasn't any floor, just more ground,
lumpy, wet, and it stank
and there were sounds like things being sawed in half
and things drilled and it was dark
and men walked on girders overhead
and men pushed trucks across the ground
and men sat at machines doing things
and there were shots of lightning and thunder
and suddenly a bucket full of flame came swinging at
my head, it roared and boiled with flame
it hung from a loose chain and it came right at me
and somebody hollered, HEY LOOK OUT!
and I just ducked under the bucket
feeling the heat go over me,
and somebody asked,
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
and I said, WHERE IS YOUR NEAREST CRAPPER?
and I was told
and I went inside
then came out and saw silhouettes of men
moving through flame and sound and
I walked to the door, got outside, and
took the bus back to the bar and sat down
and ordered another draft, and Jim asked,
what happened? I said, they didn't want me, Jim.
then this whore came in and sat down and everybody
looked at her, she looked fine, and I remember it
was the first time in my life I almost wished I had a
vagina and clit instead of what I had, but in 2 or 3 days
I got over that and I was reading the
want ads again.
--Charles Bukowski

Christmas Card

Luciano Pavarotti: Cantique de Noël
Bruce Springsteen: Santa Claus is Coming to Town



I have

drunk

and seen

the spider.

--Wm. Shakespeare
The Winter's Tale

Baby It's Cold Outside

Abbi Crutchfield
Baby It's Cold Outside

Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Jordan: Baby It's Cold Outside


In a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.
--Plutarch

Grizzly Bear

Youngbloods: Grizzly Bear


When you are a
Bear of Very Little Brain,
and you Think of Things,
you find sometimes that
a Thing which seemed
very Thingish inside you
is quite different when
it gets out into the open
and has other people
looking at it.
--A.A. Milne
Winnie-the-Pooh

Urge For Going

Mary Black: Urge for Going


i awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
it hovered in a frozen sky then it gobbled summer down
when the sun turns traitor cold
and all the trees are shivering in a naked row
i get the urge for going but i never seem to go
i get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
summertime is falling down and winter is closing in
--joni mitchell
urge for going

I've Got A Bad Feeling About This

Eric Idle: Fuck Christmas
Fear: Let's Have a War


Sooner or later in every talk, David Brower describes the creation of the world. He invites his listeners to consider the six days of Genesis as a figure of speech for what has in fact been four billion years. On this scale, a day equals something like six hundred and sixty-six million years, and thus "all day Monday and until Tuesday noon, creation was busy getting the earth going."
Life began Tuesday noon, and "the beautiful organic wholeness of it" developed over the next four days.
"At 4pm Saturday, the big reptiles came on. Five hours later, when the redwoods appeared, there were no more big reptiles. At three minutes before midnight, man appeared. At one-fourth of a second before midnight, Christ arrived. At one-fortieth of a second before midnight, the Industrial Revolution began. We are surrounded with people who think that what we have been doing for that one-fortieth of a second can go on indefinitely. They are considered normal, but they are stark, raving mad."
--John McPhee
(from Encounters With The Archdruid)

Three Hours With The Late Christopher Hitchens

At the evident risk of seeming ridiculous, I want to begin by saying that I have tried for much of my life to write as if I was composing my sentences to be read posthumously. I hope this isn't too melodramatic or self-centered a way of saying that I attempt to write as if I did not care what reviewers said, what peers thought, or what prevailing opinions may be.

The only position that leaves me with no cognitive dissonance is atheism. It is not a creed. Death is certain, replacing both the siren-song of Paradise and the dread of Hell. Life on this earth, with all its mystery and beauty and pain, is then to be lived far more intensely: we stumble and get up, we are sad, confident, insecure, feel loneliness and joy and love. There is nothing more; but I want nothing more.

One must state it plainly. Religion comes from the period of human prehistory where nobody--not even the mighty Democritus who concluded that all matter was made from atoms--had the smallest idea what was going on. It comes from the bawling and fearful infancy of our species, and is a babyish attempt to meet our inescapable demand for knowledge (as well as for comfort, reassurance and other infantile needs). Today the least educated of my children knows much more about the natural order than any of the founders of religion, and one would like to think--though the connection is not a fully demonstrable one--that this is why they seem so uninterested in sending fellow humans to hell.

The gods that we've made are exactly the gods you'd expect to be made by a species that's about half a chromosome away from being chimpanzee.

In a Pyongyang restaurant, don't ever ask for a doggie bag.

Mother Teresa was not a friend of the poor. She was a friend of poverty. She said that suffering was a gift from God. She spent her life opposing the only known cure for poverty, which is the empowerment of women and the emancipation of them from a livestock version of compulsory reproduction.

I am not even an atheist so much as an antitheist; I not only maintain that all religions are versions of the same untruth, but I hold that the influence of churches and the effect of religious belief, is positively harmful. Reviewing the false claims of religion I do not wish, as some sentimental materialists affect to wish, that they were true. I do not envy believers their faith. I am relieved to think that the whole story is a sinister fairy tale; life would be miserable if what the faithful affirmed was actually true.... There may be people who wish to live their lives under cradle-to-grave divine supervision, a permanent surveillance and monitoring. But I cannot imagine anything more horrible or grotesque.

My own view is that this planet is used as a penal colony, lunatic asylum and dumping ground by a superior civilization, to get rid of the undesirable and unfit. I can't prove it, but you can't disprove it either.

I have always found it quaint and rather touching that there is a movement [Libertarians] in the US that thinks Americans are not yet selfish enough.

If you gave [Jerry] Falwell an enema he could be buried in a matchbox.

Jesus is Santa Claus for Adults.

Sarah Palin appears to have no testable core conviction except the belief (which none of her defenders denies that she holds, or at least has held and not yet repudiated) that the end of days and the Second Coming will occur in her lifetime. This completes the already strong case for allowing her to pass the rest of her natural life span as a private citizen.

The governor of Texas, who, when asked if the Bible should also be taught in Spanish, replied that "if English was good enough for Jesus, then it's good enough for me."

Flaubert was right when he said that our use of language is like a cracked kettle on which we bang out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we need to move the very stars to pity.

An old joke has an Oxford professor meeting an American former graduate student and asking him what he's working on these days.
"My thesis is on the survival of the class system in the United States."
"Oh really, that's interesting: one didn't think there was a class system in the United States."
"Nobody does. That's how it survives."

I can remember when I was a bit of an ETA fan myself. It was in 1973, when a group of Basque militants assassinated Adm. Carrero Blanco. The admiral was a stone-faced secret police chief, personally groomed to be the successor to the decrepit Francisco Franco. His car blew up, killing only him and his chauffeur with a carefully planted charge, and not only was the world well rid of another fascist, but, more important, the whole scheme of extending Franco's rule was vaporized in the same instant. The dictator had to turn instead to Crown Prince Juan Carlos, who turned out to be the best Bourbon in history and who swiftly dismantled Franco's entire system. If this action was 'terrorism,' it had something to be said for it. Everyone I knew in Spain made a little holiday in their hearts when the gruesome admiral went sky-high.

About once or twice every month I engage in public debates with those whose pressing need it is to woo and to win the approval of supernatural beings. Very often, when I give my view that there is no supernatural dimension, and certainly not one that is only or especially available to the faithful, and that the natural world is wonderful enough--and even miraculous enough if you insist--I attract pitying looks and anxious questions. How, in that case, I am asked, do I find meaning and purpose in life? How does a mere and gross materialist, with no expectation of a life to come, decide what, if anything, is worth caring about?
Depending on my mood, I sometimes but not always refrain from pointing out what a breathtakingly insulting and patronizing question this is. (It is on a par with the equally subtle inquiry: Since you don't believe in our god, what stops you from stealing and lying and raping and killing to your heart's content?) Just as the answer to the latter question is: self-respect and the desire for the respect of others--while in the meantime it is precisely those who think they have divine permission who are truly capable of any atrocity--so the answer to the first question falls into two parts. A life that partakes even a little of friendship, love, irony, humor, parenthood, literature, and music, and the chance to take part in battles for the liberation of others cannot be called 'meaningless' except if the person living it is also an existentialist and elects to call it so. It could be that all existence is a pointless joke, but it is not in fact possible to live one's everyday life as if this were so. Whereas if one sought to define meaninglessness and futility, the idea that a human life should be expended in the guilty, fearful, self-obsessed propitiation of supernatural nonentities… but there, there. Enough.

You might think that, by now, people would have become accustomed to the idea of natural catastrophes. We live on a planet that is still cooling and which has fissures and faults in its crust; this much is accepted even by those who think that the globe is only six thousand years old, as well as by those who believe that the earth was "designed" to be this way. Even in such a case, it is to be expected that earthquakes will occur and that, if they occur under the seabed, tidal waves will occur also. Yet two sorts of error are still absolutely commonplace. The first of these is the idiotic belief that seismic events are somehow "timed" to express the will of God. Thus, reasoning back from the effect, people will seriously attempt to guess what sin or which profanity led to the verdict of the tectonic plates. The second error, common even among humanists, is to borrow the same fallacy for satirical purposes and to employ it to disprove a benign deity.

The clear awareness of having been born into a losing struggle need not lead one into despair. I do not especially like the idea that one day I shall be tapped on the shoulder and informed, not that the party is over but that it is most assuredly going on—only henceforth in my absence. (It's the second of those thoughts: the edition of the newspaper that will come out on the day after I have gone, that is the more distressing.) Much more horrible, though, would be the announcement that the party was continuing forever, and that I was forbidden to leave. Whether it was a hellishly bad party or a party that was perfectly heavenly in every respect, the moment that it became eternal and compulsory would be the precise moment that it began to pall.

--Christopher Hitchens
4/13/49--12/15/11

Joan Baez In Concert 1965

rambler gambler
there but for fortune
copper kettle
mary hamilton


don't think twice
troubled and don't know why
we shall overcome


with god on our side
plaisir d'amore


----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires some of the same courage that a soldier needs. Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win them.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

I went to jail for 11 days for disturbing the peace.
I was trying to disturb the war.
--Joan Baez

Rum Pa Pum Pum

I am sorry to have to introduce the subject of Christmas.
It is an indecent subject; a cruel, gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject; a wasteful, disastrous subject; a wicked, cadging, lying, filthy, blasphemous and demoralizing subject.
Christmas is forced on a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press: on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred; and anyone who looked back to it would be turned into a pillar of greasy sausages.
--George Bernard Shaw

Film The Police

B. Dolan
with Toki Wright, Jasiri X,
Buddy Peace & Sage Francis

Film The Police
-----------------------------------------

There are always risks in challenging excessive police power, but
the risks of not challenging it are more dangerous, even fatal.
--Hunter S. Thompson
Kingdom of Fear
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
imaginary explosions

Fairytale Of New York

The Pogues/Kirsty McColl: Fairytale of New York


it was Christmas Eve babe
in the drunk tank
an old man said to me
"won't see another one"
and then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
and dreamed about you

got on the lucky one
came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
this year's for me and you
so happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
when all our dreams come true

they've got cars big as bars
they've got rivers of gold
but the wind goes right through you
it's no place for the old
when you first took my hand
on a cold Christmas Eve
you promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

you were handsome
you were pretty
queen of New York City
when the band finished playing
they howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging
all the drunks they were singing
we kissed on a corner
then danced through the night

the boys in the NYPD choir
were singing Galway Bay
and the bells were ringing out
for Christmas Day

you're a bum
you're a punk
you're an old slut on junk
lying there almost dead
on a drip in that bed
you scumbag you maggot
you cheap lousy faggot
happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last

the boys in the NYPD choir
were singing Galway Bay
and the bells were ringing out
for Christmas Day

I could have been someone
well so could anyone
you took my dreams from me
when I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

the boys in the NYPD choir
were singing Galway Bay
and the bells were ringing out
for Christmas Day

Christy Moore: Fairytale of New York

Gentle On My Mind

John Hartford: Gentle on My Mind


it's knowing that your door is always open and your path is free to walk that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch and it's knowing i'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds or the ink stains that have dried upon some line that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory that keeps you ever gentle on my mind

it's not clinging to the rocks and ivy planted on their columns now that bind me or something that somebody said because they thought we fit together walking it's just knowing that the world will not be cursing or forgiving when i walk along some railroad track and find that you're moving on the backroads by the rivers of my memory and for hours you're just gentle on my mind

though the wheat fields and the clothes lines and the junkyards and the highways come between us and some other woman crying to her mother 'cause she turned and i was gone i still might run in silence tears of joy might stain my face and the summer sun might burn me 'til i'm blind but not to where i cannot see you walking on the backroads by the rivers flowing gentle on my mind

i dip my cup of soup back from the gurgling crackling cauldron in some trainyard my beard a roughening coal pile and a dirty hat pulled low across my face through cupped hands around a tin can i pretend to hold you to my breast and find that you're waving from the backroads by the rivers of my memory ever smiling ever gentle on my mind

--john hartford

Democracy

it's coming through a hole in the air
from those nights in Tiananmen Square
it's coming from the feel
that it ain't exactly real
or it's real but it ain't exactly there
from the wars against disorder
from the sirens night and day
from the fires of the homeless
from the ashes of the gay:
democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

it's coming through a crack in the wall
on a visionary flood of alcohol
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which i don't pretend to understand at all
it's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

it's coming from the sorrow on the street
the holy places where the races meet
from the homicidal bitchin'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat
from the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of god in the desert here
and desert far away:
democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

it's coming to America first
the cradle of the best and of the worst
it's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst
it's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

sail on, sail on
o mighty ship of state
to the shores of need
past the reefs of greed
through the squalls of hate
sail on, sail on

i'm sentimental, if you know what i mean:
i love the country but i can't stand the scene
and i'm neither left or right
i'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen
but i'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that time cannot decay,
i'm junk but i'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

--Leonard Cohen

It's No Secret

There's always an
Arquillian battle cruiser,
or a Corellian death ray,
or an intergalactic plague
about to wipe out
all life on this
miserable little planet.
The only way these people
can get on with their
happy lives is that they
Do. Not. Know about it.
--Agent K
Men in Black

Greensleeves

The Brothers Four: Greensleeves
Al DiMiola: Greensleeves
Loreena McKennitt: Lady Greensleeves
Baltimore Consort: Greensleeves


alas, my love, you do me wrong
to cast me off discourteously
for i have loved you well and long
delighting in your company
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight
Greensleeves was my heart of gold
and who but my Lady Greensleeves

The Cool, Cool River

Paul Simon: The Cool, Cool River



moves like a fist
through the traffic
anger and no one can heal it
shoves a little bump
into the momentum
it's just a little lump
but you feel it
in the creases
and the shadows
with a rattling deep emotion
the cool, cool river
sweeps the wild, wide ocean

yes boss
the government handshake
yes boss
the crusher of language
yes boss
mr. stillwater
the face at the edge
of the banquet
the cool river
the cool, the cool river

i believe in the future
i may live in my car
my radio tuned to
the voice of a star
song dogs barking
at the break of dawn
lightning pushes the edge
of a thunderstorm
and these old hopes and fears
still at my side

anger and no one can heal it
slides through
the metal detector
lives like a mole in a motel
a slide in a slide projector
the cool, cool river
sweeps the wild, wide ocean
the rage of love turns inward
to prayers of devotion
and these prayers are
the constant road
across the wilderness
these prayers are
these prayers are
the memory of god
the memory of god

and i believe in the future
we shall suffer no more
maybe not in my lifetime
but in yours i feel sure
song dogs barking
at the break of dawn
lightning pushes the edges
of a thunderstorm
and these streets
quiet as a sleeping army
send their battered dreams
to heaven to heaven
for the mother's restless son
who is a witness to
who is a warrior
who denies his urge
to break and run
who says: hard times?
i'm used to them
the speeding planet burns
i'm used to that
my life's so common
it disappears
and sometimes even music
cannot substitute for tears

--paul simon
the cool, cool river

"El Guate" (The Foreigner)

Grupo Cimarrón
"El Guate" (The Foreigner)

Jolly Banker

Woody Guthrie: Jolly Banker
Wilco: Jolly Banker




my name is Tom Cranker
and i'm a jolly banker
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i safeguard the farmers
and widows and orphans
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

when dust storms are sailing
and crops they are failing
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i check up your shortage
and bring down your mortgage
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

when money you're needing
and mouths you are feeding
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i'll plaster your home
with a furniture loan
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

if you show me you need it
i'll let you have credit
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
just bring me back two
for the one i lend you
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

when your car you're losing
and sadly your cruising
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i'll come and forclose
get your car and your clothes
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

when the bugs get your cotton
the times they are rotten
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i'll come down and help you
i'll rape you and scalp you
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

when the landlords abuse you
or sadly misuse you
i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i
i'll send down the police chief
to keep you from mischief
singing i'm a jolly banker
jolly banker am i

--Woody Guthrie




recent testimony by Jon Corzine before Congress

New Hard Times

Linda Ronstadt & the Stone Poneys
New Hard Times
The Bitter End, NYC
1968


ask any mirror
is there no escape
he will show you lines that time
has etched into your face
and all around the edges
life is turning gray
and you can no longer
turn your head the other way
and the new hard times are here

Marat/Sade

Judy Collins: Marat/Sade


four years after
the revolution
and the old king's execution
four years after remember how
those courtiers took their final bow
string up every aristocrat
out with the priests
and let then live
on their fat

four years after
we started fighting
Marat keeps up
with his writing
four years after
the Bastille fell
he still recalls
the old battle yell
down with all of
the ruling class
throw all the generals
out on their ass

why do they have
the gold
why do they have
the power
why why why why
why do they have
the friends at the top
why do they have
the jobs at the top
we've got nothing
always had nothing
nothing but holes
and millions of them
living in holes
dying in holes
holes in our bellies and
holes in our clothes

Marat we're poor
and the poor stay poor
Marat don't make us
wait any more
we want our rights
and we don't care how
we want a revolution
now

four years he fought
and he fought unafraid
sniffing down traitors
by traitors betrayed
Marat in the courtroom
Marat underground
sometimes the otter
and sometimes the hound
fighting all the gentry
and fighting every priest
the businessman
the bourgeois
the military beast
Marat always ready
to stifle every scheme
Of the sons of the
asslicking dying regime
we've got new generals
our leaders are new
they sit and they argue
and all that they do
is sell their own colleagues
and ride upon their backs
or jail them or break them
or give them all the ax
screaming in language
that no one understands
of the rights that we grab
with our own bleeding hands
when we wiped out the bosses
and stormed through the wall
of the prison you told us
would outlast us all

Marat we're poor
and the poor stay poor
Marat don't make us
wait any more
we want our rights
and we don't care how
we want a revolution
now

poor old Marat
they hunt you down
the bloodhounds are sniffing
all over the town
just yesterday
your printing press
was smashed
now their asking
your home address
poor old Marat
in you we trust
you work till your eyes
turn as red a rust
but while you write
they're on your track
the boots mount
the staircase
the doors thrown back
poor old Marat
in you we trust
you work till your eyes
turn as red a rust
poor old Marat
we trust in you

Marat we're poor
and the poor stay poor
Marat don't make us
wait any more
we want our rights
and we don't care how
we want a revolution
now

Time (The Revelator)

darling remember when you come to me
that i’m the pretender
i’m not what i’m supposed to be
but who could know if i’m a traitor?
time's the revelator

they caught the katy and left me a mule to ride
the fortune lady came along and she walked beside
but every word seemed to date her
time's the revelator

up in the morning up and on the line
i drive in to Corning and all the spindles whine
and every day is getting straighter
time's the revelator

leaving the valley is fucking out of sight
i’ll go back to Cali where i can sleep out every night
and watch the waves and move the fader
queen of fakes and imitators
time's the revelator

--Gillian Welch

Donovan @ The Beeb (1972)

jennifer juniper
there is a mountain
princess anne
well-known hasbeen
happiness runs
colours
cosmic wheels
you are the one
when you're little
mellow yellow