Tag: country music song

  • Pickup Truck Strut

    My Heavy Metal brother was here: “… It’s a long, long road, from which there is no return, while we’re on the way to there, why not share?” (Lyrics from “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” by Scott and Russell, and a 1969 soft rock hit by The Hollies). And share we do, for example the “Live at 5” pandemic concerts we played weekly on Instagram Live; by the way, Instagram now limits “live” streaming to Instagramers who have at least 1,000 followers, creating a perceived scarcity – as if anyone watches anything to its end anyway, attention spans diminished as they are these days. So now we record short videos and post them as pre-recorded videos to Insta but also to our YouTube channels.

    Anyway, while CB was here, he wanted to do a cover of “Stray Cat Strut,” the 1981 hit by the rockabilly group “Stray Cats.” Mainly, he wanted to try out my Gretsch1, which is good for playing in the rockabilly guitar style. It’s interesting that once again the British brought back a defunct American song style. Rockabilly was a 1950s sound originating in the South by players like Carl Perkins (“Blue Suede Shoes, 1956), Gene Vincent (“Be-Bop-A-Lula,” 1956), Buddy Holly (“Midnight Shift,” 1956), and Eddie Cochran (“Summertime Blues,” 1958). Rockabilly, the word, comes from a combination of the rock in rock ‘n’ roll, and the billy in hillbilly music, a description of mountain folk music, which evolved into country western, but which is still played in its original forms where it’s usually called old-time music.

    Though his preferred guitar sound is heavy metal, CB is more of a perfectionist than I am on the guitar or with vocals. He also knows more than I ever will about guitar electronics, pedals, influences, and songs and players of the Metal sound. But I do like a raw sound, and a simple format. The original Buddy Holly and the Crickets, for example, was a simple trio of electric guitar, drums, and a stand up bass, and in those early recordings, you can hear the instruments individually, and it’s not a wall of sound coming at you like an electronic tsunami. Even when the rhythm guitar was added, the sound was still clear and concise. Meantime, volume has reached a reducio ad absurdum in some musical venues and recordings. Ironically, that loudness is often subdued by streaming platforms using loudness normalization.

    After CB left, I decided to give “Stray Cat Strut” a go, but after a short while gave up on it, but as I studied it, I found both its lyrics and chord progressions interesting. The cat is a cool cat indeed, and I ended up taking the idea a couple of steps further, into the arena of the absurd, with an anthropomorphic pickup truck the main character. I satisfied myself with a short imperfect recording in a kind of country style, though others may of course have a different view of it. I made two recordings, one with vocal (with the 1970 Yamaha Red Label FG180), the other instrumental (with the Gretsch). Song chords and lyrics below, and link to YouTube instrumental recording at bottom.

    Pickup Truck Strut

    G7 E7
    Sitting in a lot watching the lights go by
    A7 D7
    Gas tank on empty, tires pretty much flat
    G7 E7
    Surfboard sticking fin up out of my bed
    A7 D7 G
    I'm an old pickup truck and I got no strut

    C7 B7
    Stray cats climbing into my cab
    E7 A7
    Kids stealing all of my mooncaps
    C7 B7
    I don't take off chasing Chevys in town
    E7 D7
    I rumble away from the big city crowd

    G7 E7
    Surf guitar playing on my radio
    A7 D7
    Stand up bass, high hat and snare
    G7 E7
    No red Corvette candy apple chic
    A7 D7
    I got tools and a surfboard in my bed

    G7 E7
    Sitting in a lot watching the lights tonight
    A7 D7 G
    I'm a used pickup and I ain't got no strut
    1. The Gretsch is a G2420 Streamliner Hollowbody Electric Guitar with Chromatic II Tailpiece – “Village Amber” finish. Year 2021: with Maple Top, Back, and Sides, Nato Neck, Laurel Fingerboard, and 2 Humbucking Pickups. ↩︎
  • It ain’t we

    when he says we 
    if he means me 
    time to bend a bow
    redo your I do’s

    hey it’s me 
    what now sweetie 
    why you go awry
    to take a powder 

    we are two
    juxtaposed
    pieces locked in
    a jigsaw puzzle

    by we he means
    all 1,000 of us
    see how we may be
    broke up and set free 

    i’m the piece nearby
    your cutup smile
    sipping coffee
    from a cracked cup

    talk radio tune
    static and tin
    the road out
    the intersection

    of rack and ruin
    of walk and rain
    of rock and song
    of whence and where

    when he says
    always
    it ain’t me
    babe he means we

  • Susanna, Susanna

    In the morning when you wake up
    down by the open sea

    In the afternoon sleeping
    under the Standard Oil pier

    In the evening when you call me
    “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

    Drove my 56 Chevy into Playa del Rey
    up above Toes view of the Bay

    Walk through the park to St Anthony’s
    where the family says their I do

    The rest as they say is his story
    something always being rewritten

    Susanna, Susanna, I can’t say your name
    all I have to give you is more of the same.

  • After the Rodeo

    One who behaves bears
    want and likes we hear
    called a good neighbor

    not so with old friends
    whose schisms gone
    seeded of bickernesses

    the aplomb the plums
    you ate so cool and self
    defining the sad clown

    you know well long
    after the greasepaint
    has worn to raw down

    and now we can laugh
    at the one who slipped
    and fell unexpectedly

    but it’s canned laughter
    the harmful joy
    of this rodeo

    where the cowboy
    limps away to lick
    his wounds

    in the trailer
    behind the tavern
    plays a country song:

    “I don’t know why
    I married you.
    I like you, but
    I don’t love you.

    It was just timing,
    really, and I still
    thought of you and
    your friends as boys,

    not men, the mean
    characters my mom
    went out with, and boys
    could take you away

    from the messiness of home
    at least for a little while –
    it wasn’t until later and
    too late I thought

    maybe I did love him
    but by then I found out
    it doesn’t take long
    for most boys to become

    men and now wonder
    how and who is going to
    take me away from
    this old song again?”

  • You Can’t Go Home Again

    You Can’t Go Home Again

    Sylvie. 30 Day Letter. Termination. Goodbye, Seattle. Country Blues Song.

    You can’t go home again. Neither should I have stayed on another week at Hotel Julian. The subdued rhythm of my pastoral turned boisterous with the arrival of the fleet, and my absence in Seattle and now my prolonged and somewhat mysterious trip south caught up with me, testing Walter’s patience, and as he was wont to do at any sign of disloyalty among those with a seat at his table, he terminated me. There was of course more to it than that. The Walter Team was disestablished. It would be near impossible to disambiguate the transactions. In any case, I was no longer Risk Manager to the gods. Sylvie said Walter had sent me a 30 day letter. I could transfer to a desk in Morocco or take my leave, but the 30 days had already expired, and I had been cut loose with a modest severance bonus. Sylvie was on her way to spring training with her Single A team in Costa Rica. She had leased the Queen Anne house to some moonshiners out of the hills somewhere in east Skagit who planned to set up a microbrew. She had taken the liberty of putting my severance into a fund of fund of funds with no guaranteed rate of return but with a reputable track record. While I would not yet have to give up my weekly room status for a berth in the bunkroom, I would have to scout around for some part time work. I would not go back to Seattle though. I would take my risks elsewhere and in due time. Come Thursday night of my second week on board I climbed the Hotel Julian fire escape up to the rooftop bar and grill where I drank a slow beer and listened to Jack Tar and the Flower Girl with the Weathered Weary Blues Band messing around with some country blues with players on guitar, banjo, harmonica, a snare drum with a single cymbal, a Flatiron mandolin, and a stand up bass. Flower Girl nearly keeled me over with this song:

    “Back Home Again”

    What I know about love, I wrote on a postage stamp,
    and mailed myself half way up to the moon.
    I’m in stardust singing – I do, I do, adieu.
    I’m out on the road, and I can’t go home again.

    I was born in the back of a beach bum shack,
    again and again, then I sailed the seven seas.
    I never made it back home again.
    Adieu, adieu. You can’t go home again.

    She was born in a coral of a rodeo,
    off a road they call Route 66.
    Between the cowboy and the clown she broke free.
    Goodbye, goodbye. She won’t be back again.

    The moral of this story, the point of this tale,
    if you ever leave home, you can’t go back again,
    because you won’t be there when you arrive.
    Goodbye, my love, goodbye my love, goodbye.

    And it’s home again, I want to come back to you,
    see all my family and all my old friends too,
    but it’s true what they say, you can’t go home again.
    Goodbye, my love, goodbye my love, adieu.

    Note: Hear “Back Home Again” played on the guitar
    here: https://www.instagram.com/tv/CEAoxkhIXgq/

    “You Can’t Go Home Again”
    is episode 23 of
    Ball Lightning
    a Novel in Progress
    in Serial Format at The Coming of the Toads.
    (Click link for continuous, one page view of all episodes.)

  • Two Riders Were Approaching

    Two Riders Were Approaching

    Two riders were approaching
    on hogs and wearing leather.
    “Let’s stop here,” said one to the other,
    “for a cool drinking beer.”

    They passed the time on songs
    that ofttimes rhymed.
    On the trail or in the big city.
    They parked the hogs in the gutter.

    At the bar the one he uttered,
    “What’s that you got in the vat?”
    “Saltwort Ale,” the barkeep did tell,
    combing his beard with a hand.

    “Two lights for us, my friend,
    the day grows warm and thin,
    the dust is finding its corners,
    the dogs want shade and water.”

    “No light here,” the barkeep says,
    “and we don’t serve no rhymesters.”
    “But we are the two riders,
    two riders who were approaching.”

    “This here’s a craft brew pub,
    not some seedy tavern.
    Take your hogs and dogs across the tracks,
    go see John Wesley’s mother.”

    The two riders went back to riding.
    On the trail where we last heard their cry,
    they were still approaching.
    Two riders were approaching.

    “Yippi-yi-yo,
    yippie-ki-yay,
    we’re gonna go
    our own way.”

    Yippi-yi-yo,
    yippie-ki-yay,
    we’re gonna go
    our own way.”

    “Two Riders Were Approaching” is a song I wrote and performed on my show “Live at 5 from the JoeZone” on Instagram on Saturday, May 9. I used the chord progression Am Dm E7 Am. I changed a few words and lines here, and I discarded here a few of the lines sung live, as follows:

    “…where the hodads hang their hats”;
    “The hogs are hot and tired”;
    “I don’t care if you’re the four horses of the apocalypse.”

    If I ever play “Two Riders” again, I’ll probably change it some more.
    Meantime, tune in to Live at 5 from the JoeZone Saturday nights (PST), a pandemic quarantine social distancing live video hour (or less) of music, talk, stories, and such to help pass the time and ease the mind.

    I wrote this song, as I explained on “Live at 5,” to celebrate the latest Bob Dylan recordings, his first with all original songs in eight years. The title of my song, “Two Riders Were Approaching,” is the penultimate line in the Dylan song “All Along the Watchtower.” As I asked my audience, “Have you ever wondered what happened to those two riders?”

    Photo: Pic I took of a photo at the Oregon Historical Society “Barley, Barrels, Bottles, and Brews” exhibit in 2019: two musicians and a bartender at the Cowdell Saloon in Antelope, Oregon, 1913.



  • “Bury My Heart in the Muddy Mississippi”

    Dancers with Band The Touch Yous

    “Bury My Heart in the Muddy Mississippi”
    A Country Music song
    Guitar Chords: GAD

    (Slow intro with a little lilt)
    G                             A
    I took my girl to the Friday night dance,
    D                                 G
    But she said, “I really don’t like to dance.”

    (Lively now)
    (G) Then some handsome fella
    with the (A) swagger of Godzilla,
    (D) asked her do you wanna (G) dance,
    (G) and the next thing I knew
    (A) away they flew.
    (D) He’s got her in a (G) trance.

    Chorus
    G                          A
    Hey, Baby, don’t drive me crazy,
    D                                                      G
    I thought you said you didn’t like to dance.
    G                                        A
    Well, bury my heart in the muddy Mississippi,
    D                                                      G
    I thought she said she didn’t like to dance.

    So I walked on down and I put my money down
    On the counter of the mausoleum,
    And I asked the mortician how much it cost to die
    But he said I was a buck too short.

    Repeat Chorus

    Late one night I was stopped at a light,
    Revvin’ up my hot rod Ford.
    Along comes a Chevy, at the wheel’s my Baby,
    Askin’ do I wanna dance.
    I took her off the line, pink slips on a dime,
    And the rest I’m happy to tell.
    The moral of this story,
    The letter of this tale (D – G…)

    Repeat Chorus