Songs That Tell Stories

Unfortunately I can't post any of Dick Dale's music on this thread but you're right Joanne, I was a member of the Capitol Record Club and I would wait for the post man every day at the door for those distinctive cardboard L.P. mailers.
If anybody wants a taste of Dick Dale, it's on the soundtrack of "Pulp Fiction"-"Misirlou"

Capital Record Club?

Dick Dale and the Deltones also play the opening to Hawaii Five-O or was that the Ventures.

Moon Man is that you?

Hawaii 50 was the Ventures

While I was out I was thinking that I read or heard some where that Dick Dale's ancestry was Arabic and that he mixed Arabic music with rock.

I cannot remember any lyrics wasn't it all Dale's music instrumentals?

The music told the story - the sound evoked the mental image of what it feels like to take the drop and fly towards the beach in the curl of the wave. And when the water was glassed (smooth) off you could see the sand flecked with gold flowing beneath your board.

panzade, I checked out the thread, and hell yeah, the government is to blame. Even the Generals need to follow orders. Now...just to lighten the mood, a song about spitting in the face of 'the powers that be' to accomplish a personal goal:

THE MARY ELLEN CARTER
Stan Rogers

She went down last October in a pouring driving rain.
The skipper, he'd been drinking and the Mate, he felt no pain.
Too close to Three Mile Rock, and she was dealt her mortal blow,
And the Mary Ellen Carter settled low.
There were five of us aboard her when she finally was awash.
We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost.
And the groan she gave as she went down, it caused us to proclaim
That the Mary Ellen Carter would rise again.

Well, the owners wrote her off; not a nickel would they spend.
She gave twenty years of service, boys, then met her sorry end.
But insurance paid the loss to them, they let her rest below.
Then they laughed at us and said we had to go.
But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,
For she's worth a quarter million, afloat and at the dock.
And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain
And make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.

Rise again, rise again, that her name not be lost
To the knowledge of men.
Those who loved her best and were with her till the end
Will make the Mary Ellen Carter rise again.

All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend.
Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends.
Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow
Or I'd never have the strength to go below.
But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and
porthole down.
Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and birded her around.
Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain.
And watch the Mary Ellen Carter Rise Again.

For we couldn't leave her there, you see, to crumble into scale.
She'd saved our lives so many times, living through the gale
And the laughing, drunken rats who left her to a sorry grave
They won't be laughing in another day. . .
And you, to whom adversity has dealt the final blow
With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go
Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain
And like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.

Rise again, rise again - though your heart it be broken
And life about to end
No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend.
Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again

Misquoting a current country song: "It ain't the fallin' down, it's the gettin up that counts.

Sung By Bobby Mcferin

Here's a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note
Don't worry, be happy
In every life we have some trouble
But when you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy now

Don't worry, be happy Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy Don't worry, be happy

Ain't got no place to lay your head
Somebody came and took your bed
Don't worry, be happy
The landlord say your rent is late
He may have to litigate
Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy

Don't worry, be happy, Don't worry, be happy
Don't worry, be happy, Don't worry, be happy

Some of the circumstances have changed since this song first was sung, but it makes a statement that will always be true.

CAPETOWN

She sparkles like a diamond
Look at all her people
Look at them dance, look at them laugh
Singing a song
They make like happy children
Wearing friendly faces
Everyone knows, everyone knows where they belong
Where they belong

Capetown, I'm drowning in your beauty
Capetown, but my heart is feeling sad
Capetown, angels black, white of sin
Capetown, there's a shadow on your mountain
Capetown, there's a flaw in your sparkle
Capetown, there's a crying at your crossroads
Let me in, let me in, let me in

The rush of silky color
The sound of Dixie Banjos
Mongrel melodies in quarter tones
Streets of Malay marchers
Hatted in their feathers
The lilt, the lilt of xhosa Saxophones, xhosa saxophones

Capetown, there's a hole at the heart of you
A hole where district six used to be
Capetown, now brown ghosts are dancing
To be free, oh to be free
Capetown, there's an island in your ocean
Capetown, where black blood is running
Capetown, hear the voices calling from your sea
You belong to me, oh you belong to me,hmm

Tidy whitewashed houses
Sprays of wild flowers
The heart and soul of gentility
The vineyards, and the orchards
Warm white sandy beaches
Old and graceful luxury

Capetown, they're squatting in your desert
Capetown, in shanties made of plastic
Capetown exiles in your homeland
Capetown, struggling with your reason
Capetown, holding back your madness
Capetown, it's a bitter fruit you harvest
Capetown, oh, oh

Capetown I'm drowning in your beauty
Capetown, but my heart's not feeling nicely
Capetown, angels black, white of sin

Capetown there's a shadow on your mountain
Capetown, there's a flaw in your sparkle
Capetown, there's a crying at your crossroads
Let me in, let me in, let me in

Capetown, it's a bitter fruit you harvest
Capetown, let me in, ah let me in
Capetown you belong to me,
Capetown you belong to me

Edgar, time for an update on the index...no?

War - Bob Marley

What life has taught me
I would like to share with
Those who want to learn...

Until the philosophy which hold one race
Superior and another inferior
Is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned
Everywhere is war, me say war

That until there are no longer first class
And second class citizens of any nation
Until the colour of a man's skin
Is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes
Me say war

That until the basic human rights are equally
Guaranteed to all, without regard to race
Dis a war

That until that day
The dream of lasting peace, world citizenship
Rule of international morality
Will remain in but a fleeting illusion
To be persued, but never attained
Now everywhere is war, war

And until the ignoble and unhappy regimes
that hold our brothers in Angola, in Mozambique,
South Africa sub-human bondage
Have been toppled, utterly destroyed
Well, everywhere is war, me say war

War in the east, war in the west
War up north, war down south
War, war, rumours of war

And until that day, the African continent
Will not know peace, we Africans will fight
We find it necessary and we know we shall win
As we are confident in the victory

Of good over evil, good over evil, good over evil
Good over evil, good over evil, good over evil

I will update the index over the next day or two.
Joanne, I first knew that song (War) when Sinead O'Conner sang it at the Bob Dylan 25th Anniversary concert. Actually, she hollered it out over the noises of a hostile crowd when they would not let her be heard. They were punishing her for dissing the Pope.

Ahhhhh Bunk!
She's got a sweet voice. Reminds me of the time John Lennon said the Beatles were more popular than God. What a hullaballoo!

Joanne

I believe Dick Dale was from Greek parentage and Misirlou is an old Greek folk melody

Tower of Song
Leonard Cohen


Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song
I said to Hank Williams: how lonely does it get?
Hank Williams hasn't answered yet
But I hear him coughing all night long
A hundred floors above me
In the Tower of Song

I was born like this, I had no choice
I was born with the gift of a golden voice
And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond
They tied me to this table right here
In the Tower of Song

So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll
I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all
I'm standing by the window where the light is strong
Ah they don't let a woman kill you
Not in the Tower of Song

Now you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor
And there's a mighty judgement coming, but I may be wrong
You see, you hear these funny voices
In the Tower of Song

I see you standing on the other side
I don't know how the river got so wide
I loved you baby, way back when
And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed
But I feel so close to everything that we lost
We'll never have to lose it again

Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back
There moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone
I'll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the Tower of Song

Yeah my friends are gone and my hair is grey
I ache in the places where I used to play
And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on
I'm just paying my rent every day
Oh in the Tower of Song

Bob Snider
HE'S AN OLD NOVA SCOTIAN

He's an old Nova Scotian
far from the ocean
lost and alone on the street.

He looks like a lobster,
all boiled and red.
His coat is so greasy
his eyes are half-dead.

He doesn't remember
the last thing he said.
He's a derelict,
dead on his feet.

But that's no reason
to be sitting there teasing him,
laughing the way that you are.

You're a far sadder sight
in the deep of this night
in this cold, neon lit, coffee bar.

He comes to the counter
carrying his guitar
and he sits in the stool next to mine.

The boys at the tables
are yelling requests
but the old guy
doesn't pay them no mind.

Then he jumps up and shouts
"I come from the South Shore.
I left in the fifties 'cause
the living was poor

but I've spent all these years
walking up and down Bloor Street
living on handouts and wine."

Then he strums his guitar
and he starts in to sing
but the words don't make sense
and he gets caught in the strings.

But what was by far
the sorriest thing
was the audience howling for more.



And the manager doesn't know
what to do next
- he's been through this so many times.

He's asking him, please,
to put down the guitar
as the audience starts throwing dimes.

And the old man is standing there,
so out of place,
when he lays the guitar on the floor

and a beautiful smile
crosses his face
like he isn't there any more.

He pulls out a clipping
from a long time ago.
He says: "Here's my buddy,
his name is Hank Snow."

And some of the tables
yell back: "Yeah, we know."
As the manager
shows him the door.

But all that's no reason
to be sitting there teasing him,
laughing the way that you are.

You're a far sadder sight
in the deep of this night
in this cold, neon lit coffee bar.

You're a far sadder sight
and the losers tonight
in this cold, neon lit coffee bar.

Parkette

Bob Snider

When I was a kid, I found a
robin's egg and hid it on a
timber in an old abandoned shack

that was sitting in a field
full of raspberry bushes
with a crab apple tree around the back.

And a stream going by
at the bottom of a hill
with a rock in the middle
and if you sat still

You could see the minnows swimming
from an overhanging limb
you could listen to the heat bug trill.

And early every day
all my friends and I would play
digging holes and finding gold
among the rocks.

And looking for salamanders,
and eating all the berries,
and rolling down the hill in a box.

Until on day they came with their machinery
and dozed down the shack
and hacked up the greenery
and stuffed the steam in a concrete pipe
and leveled the hill away.

And then they built a couple of mounds,
to make it look round,
and brought in loads of sod.
And planted a row of tress
that came up to our knees;
without a speck of shade it looked so odd.

And there were no more dragon flies
and no cray fishin;
and they called it a Parkette
after a politician

And put up a sign
saying no ball playing
and nobody ever went there anymore.

Bob Snider

ANCIENT EYES

The Indian walks to the end of the street.
He is looking for someone he promised to meet
for a bottle of wine to share the defeat
of a long time ago.

The Indian's wearing a feather that fell.
For a joke he has got it stuck in his lapel.
It comes from a pigeon 'cause the eagles don't dwell
here anymore.

And he panhandles change as he wanders along.
And he dances in front of me as I play a song.
And he asks if I've been in the city for long
in a voice as soft as the wind.

Ancient eyes - set in a face that is young.
Deep and wizened. Rimmed in red. Overhung.

He asks me if I need a good place to stay.
"There's a building that's vacant a few blocks away.
You go in through the window. I'll show you the way",
he says,"when I come back with my friend."

Then he looks up the street and he lets his voice drop.
"Oh, oh," he says, "here comes a cop.
Just keep actin' natural and I hope he don't stop
'cause I'm hiding a bottle of wine."

But the cop on the beat just shakes his head as they pass
to the old window washer who is washing the glass
and who answers him: "What they need is a kick in the ass."
Even though he himself has been burned.

Ancient eyes - studying the dust at his feet.
No surprises does he expect in the street.

Then he spreads out his arms like a circling bird
and he cuts a young businessman out of the herd
and he turns his hand over without saying a word,
but all he gets back is ignored.

So he shrugs and waves at me and walks off as I'm
still smiling at him for his pantomime
and he calls back: "I'll see you around on Indian Time,"
though I never did see him again.


But I watched him go as he went after his drink.
Lost in the crowd. Pushed to the brink.
But the spirit persists in an unbroken link
you can see looking back from those eyes.

Ancient eyes - of the deer and the owl.
The sweet grass rises, though the water is foul...

Equal time for American writers...lol


Letting Go
(Cheryl Wheeler)

She'll take the painting in the hallway,
The one she did in jr. high
And that old lamp up in the attic,
She'll need some light to study by.

She's had 18 years to get ready for this day
She should be past the tears, she cries some anyway

Oh oh letting go
There's nothing in the way now,
Oh letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting,
It's never easy letting go.

Mother sits down at the table
So many things she'd like to do
Spend more time out in the garden
Now she can get those books read too.

She's had 18 years to get ready for this day
She should be past the tears, she cries some anyway.

Oh oh letting go
There's nothing in the way now,
Oh letting go, there's room enough to fly
And even though, she's spent her whole life waiting,
It's never easy letting go.

Albatros

The lady comes to the gate dressed in lavender and leather
Looking North to the sea she finds the weather fine
She hears the steeple bells ringing through the orchard
All the way from town
She watches seagulls fly
Silver on the ocean stitching through the waves
The edges of the sky

Many people wander up the hills
From all around you
Making up your memories and thinking they have found you
They cover you with veils of wonder as if you were a bride
Young men holding violets are curious to know if you have cried
And tell you why
And ask you why
Any way you answer

Lace around the collars of the blouses of the ladies
Flowers from a Spanish friend of the family
The embroid'ry of your life holds you in
And keeps you out but you survive
Imprisoned in your bones
Behind the isinglass windows of your eyes

And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone

Even now by the gate with you long hair blowing
And the colors of the day that lie along your arms
You must barter your life to make sure you are living
And the crowd that has come
You give them the colors
And the bells and wind and the dream

Will there never be a prince who rides along the sea and the mountains
Scattering the sand and foam into amethyst fountains
Riding up the hills from the beach in the long summer grass
Holding the sun in his hands and shattering the isinglass?

Day and night and day again and people come and go away forever
While the shining summer sea dances in the glass of your mirror
While you search the waves for love and your visions for a sign
The knot of tears around your throat is crystallizing into your design

And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone
Come away alone...with me.

Wildflower Records
JUDYCOLLINS

GOLDWATCH BLUES
Donovan


I went up for my interview on the fourth day of July.
First old man he questioned me until I nearly cried,
Made me fill in forms until I shook with fear
About the colour of my toilet roll and if my cousin's queer.

CHROUS:

Here's your goldwatch and the shackles for your chain
And your piece of paper to say you left here sane.
And if you've a son who wants a good career
Just get him to sign on the dotted line and work for fifty
years. CHORUS.

He asked me how many jobs I'd had before.
He nearly had a heart attack when I answered, four.
Four jobs in twenty years, oh, this can never be
We only take on men who work until they die. CHORUS.

He took me outside to where the gravestones stand in line.
This is where we bury them in quick-stone and in lime
And if you come to work for us on this you must agree,
That if you're going to die please do it during tea. CHORUS.

This story that you heard you may think rather queer
But it is the truth you'll be surprised to hear.
I did not want no job upon the board,
I just wanted to take a broom and sweep the bloody floor.
CHORUS.