The People of the Street

In the big city of Chicago.

There are so many people you'll meet.

It seems that wherever I go.

I see people live out in the street.

I see the people that sleep outside there.

In the bitter Midwestern cold.

Too discouraged to say a prayer.

When they've seen hardships untold.

The dear people of Chicago.

Walk among us every day.

So share a smile and say hello.

As you pass them on your way.

I see Shorty, John, and Bonita.

On my way into work each day.

As I come out of Ogilvie Station.

They're begging to earn their pay.

Sometimes they might ask you for money.

What they really need is a friend.

A kind word, some conversation.

Will help them more in the end.

The dear people of Chicago.

Walk among us every day.

So share a smile and say hello.

As you pass them on your way.

The preacher man and the businessman.

Won't even look them in the eye.

They check their iPhones, see what they've planned.

They pass the street people by.

So don't throw your coins on the sidewalk.

Sit down at their level instead.

And ask them to tell you what it's like.

Not having a home or a bed.

The dear people of Chicago.

Walk among us every day.

So share a smile and say hello.

As you pass them on your way.

Carlos works in the drug store.

To send money to his family.

It was hard to find jobs in Mexico.

So he lived here in the tent city.

On the other side of the railroad line.

With a dozen people of the street.

They've seen their share of trials and hard times.
Just trying to get back on their feet.

Sunday Morning Blues

It's just another lazy Sunday,
So tired and feeling down.
Wasting the day until Monday,
In a coffee shop in town.
Jack Johnson on the radio.
Is adding to the mood.
You feel so tired and lonely.
To the sound of acoustic blues.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
You've heard a very sad piece of news.
But it's a lesson worth repeating.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
When you're tired of paying dues.
And the world is smiling in greeting.

Until the day comes to an end,
Sipping mint tea to pass the time.
You're wishing for an old friend,
A voice on the end of the line.

The work day will come so suddenly.
Sunday went by so fast.
Freedom is somewhere in the coffee,
But freedom never lasts.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
You've heard a very sad piece of news.
But it's a lesson worth repeating.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
When you're tired of paying dues.
And the world is smiling in greeting.

Feel the Sunday Morning Blues come washing over me.
Feel the Sunday Morning Blues as you're sipping your mint tea.

Feel the Sunday Morning Blues come fill the small town air.
Feel the Sunday Morning Blues and you just don't really care.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
You've heard a very sad piece of news.
But it's a lesson worth repeating.

I've got the Sunday morning blues.
But it's a long road out of Wheaton.
When you're tired of paying dues.
And the world is smiling in greeting.

The Road Less Travelled

I've been traveling on a northbound train.
I lost my ticket, stranded in the rain.
Walked to the depot, caught the last Greyhound.
I left Wyoming, Oregon bound.

The road less traveled, it never ends.
Alone and desperate, without any friends.
I keep on rambling, like a man possessed.
Fixing my eyes on the sun in the West.

I've stopped in a thousand cafes and bars.
I've walked for miles 'neath the Colorado stars.
One more cup of coffee, before I have to go.
I'm heading back east now, through the cold rain and snow.

The road less traveled, it never ends.
Dark and dusty, without any friends.
I feel the cold in my old denim vest.
Fixing my eyes on the sun in the West.

It seems tomorrow is just like yesterday.
So tired and weary, you've forgotten the way.
The heat of August is fading into fall.
And you forget why you're even traveling at all.

The road less traveled, it never ends.
Dark and dusty, without any friends.
I keep on rambling, like a man possessed.
Fixing my eyes on the sun in the West.

The road less traveled, it never ends.

On the road and making music with my friends.

That long white line, it keeps stretching on.

I'll grab my coat and my guitar and I'll be gone.

When The Music Comes Alive

Inside the piano there's a good vibration.
I'm not really sure where it's from.
Playing in the band is a sweet sensation.
The feelings will naturally come.

It was like a river glorious.
Like blood rushing to my head.
I took in the sounds of the forest.
I listened to what the man said.

When dawn turns the night into day.
You're tired and you've lost the way.
Look down to the valley below.
Hear the sound of the music grow.
It comes from within the heart.
Every sad harmony part.
Then it shifts into overdrive.
When the music comes alive.

I took what I heard and I wrote it all down.
I remembered what I had learned.
He robbed that king of his golden crown.
And the forest was totally burned.

I took my music from mines of Kentucky.
To the California coast.
I made it there safely, I guess I was lucky.
Coming back to the place I loved most.

When dawn turns the night into day.
You're tired and you've lost the way.
Look down to the valley below.
Hear the sound of the music grow.
It comes from within the heart.
Every sad harmony part.
Then it shifts into overdrive.
When the music comes alive.

I thought I heard a sweet bluebird singing.

A tale that was full of despair.

In the rain a distant bell was ringing.

The cold, iron sound was everywhere.

The freight train rolls across the countryside.

As the eagle begins to take flight.

I'm leaving Texas on the Fourth of July.

And the music will soar to new heights.

When dawn turns the night into day.
You're tired and you've lost the way.
Look down to the valley below.
Hear the sound of the music grow.
It comes from within the heart.
Every sad harmony part.
Then it shifts into overdrive.
When the music comes alive.

Girl From The North Country

Wandering through the North Country.
On a sunny Fourth of July.
I turned the corner down Center Street.
When something caught my eye.

She was a brown-eyed girl, so pretty.
She had ribbons in her hair.
She'd come in from Kansas City.
For the great North Country fair.

When you're out roaming in Wyoming, it's such a fine place to be.
Holding hands, walking and talking with the girl from the North Country.

I feel the cool North Country air.
Sending shivers down my spine.
And blowing through her long brown hair.
And the ribbons that did entwine.

I took her to a rodeo.
To a Cheyenne Indian dance.
Right until she had to go.
I thought I had a decent chance.

When you're out roaming in Wyoming, it's such a fine place to be.
Holding hands, walking and talking with the girl from the North Country.

But alas, it was not to be.
The sweet girl would never be mine.
Though she looked intently she could never see.
It was all that could keep me from crying.

Dancing through my lonely mind.
She's just a memory.
On a train back home, weeping all alone.
And longing for the North Country.

When you're out roaming in Wyoming, it's such a fine place to be.
Holding hands, walking and talking with the girl from the North Country.

The Prophet

A prophet of almighty God.
His quill was his guitar.
Each night he played and prophesied.
In a dirty Memphis bar.
He crafts a tune, the song is hewn.
From string and wood and spit.
The prophet sings, his voice it rings.
With a southern-sounding grit.

A poet of the highest order.
Knighted by the Queen.
But he was able to award her.
With a prize unseen.
The melody, it comes to me.
Finger-painting in the wilderness.
I hear his song, as it rolls along.
With a terrible loneliness.

The Lord Almighty in the sky.
Is pleased to hear his tune.
About the days in a time gone by.
Before the world came to ruin.
But when the Lord, gets really bored.
He calls the prophet home.
He has him play, for Him everyday.
And he nevermore will roam.

A prophet of almighty God.
His message was quite clear.
Each night he played and prophesied.
For all the people to hear.
The prophet's mind, one of a kind.
Can always find the right word.
He sings so well, from what I can tell.
And all the critics I've heard.

The Poet

The poet sat in the corner.

Drinking his coffee with cream.

Painting his latest masterpiece.

Describing his latest dream.

His canvas was spread on the table.

His imagination running wild.

He put into words when he was able.

All the memories that he had compiled.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The waitress is practicing politics.

As she brings him his third refill.

Even though he won't look at her.

She knows that she loves him still.

She brings him a bottle of cabernet.

The clock said a quarter past nine.

Her fault was her naiveté.

And his fault was drinking the wine.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The sailors are drinking whiskey.

Laughing and singing at the bar.

Their occupations are very risky.

But they've made it safely thus far.

He's hiding in lonely solitude.

Deep within his wandering thoughts.

As rowdy customers playing cards.

Are gambling and casting lots.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

He digs into a stack of pancakes.

And a picturesque metaphor.

When a one-armed salty seadog.

Strolls right in through the door.

He looks out of place in the old saloon.

He's called captain redbeard by name.

His face is always clean-shaven.

But the poet can't say the same.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The stranger comes up to the poet.

He says he will rob him blind.

The poet has another character.

For the poem that is in his mind.

He gives him a leather wallet.

Filled with coins of silver and gold.

The stranger smiles in approval.

As the room becomes frightfully cold.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The sheriff walks into the barroom.

With a loaded six-gun in his hand.

The fastest draw in the North Country.

East and west of the Rio Grande.

The poet barely looks up at him.

He's crafting his latest tune.

The sheriff drags the sailor to prison.

As he stirs his coffee with a spoon.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The quill of the poet has stopped.

He admires his work for a time.

He takes one last sip of coffee.

Then pens the penultimate rhyme.

He sits back, admires his handiwork.

Puts a few silver coins on the bar.

Walks out with his scroll in hand.

And his dusty old Spanish guitar.

There ain't no rest for the weary.

You always reap what you sow.

The poet's eyes they grow teary.

As he dreams of a time long ago.

The Spectre at the Castle

I set out walking from my door not going anyplace.
I came upon a lofty castle rising to the sun.
I left the castle courtyard without leaving any trace.
Fearing for my very life, I then began to run.

Scheming demons dressed in kingly guise upon the wall.
Running swiftly, past the drawbridge, I covered my face.
'Till I couldn't see the beasts pursuing me at all.
I continued madly onward, on my hellbound race.

Angels floating, demons gloating.
Castles in the sand.
Spectres weeping, princes keeping.
Power in their hand.
Princes dreaming, maidens screaming.
They can't understand.
Spectres spinning, goblins grinning.
Playing in the band.

Castles in the sand and water in a half an hour.
See the ships go sailing through the treacherous abyss.
I sit in fear with demons near; I tremble and I cower.
My heart growing cold with fear at death's appealing kiss.

Sand runs through my face and comes out dripping from my ears.
Flight of goblins screeching howling blasts out of the lake.
Suddenly I saw the spectre realized my fears.
Slowly rising, paralyzing, saw it was a fake.

Angels floating, demons gloating.
Castles in the sand.
Spectres weeping, princes keeping.
Power in their hand.
Princes dreaming, maidens screaming.
They can't understand.
Spectres spinning, goblins grinning.
Playing in the band.

Frightened but enlightened by my harrowing ordeal.
The castle loomed foreboding on the English countryside.
To all the people who are willing, listen to my appeal.
Don't go near the haunted castle, remember how I tried.

I came back there in a year, saw the lights and smoke machines.
Spectres, angels, demons, goblins upon a projector.
I remember the first time that I saw these frightful scenes.
Witnessed in all its glory the haunting of the spectre.

Angels floating, demons gloating.
Castles in the sand.
Spectres weeping, princes keeping.
Power in their hand.
Princes dreaming, maidens screaming.
They can't understand.
Spectres spinning, goblins grinning.
Playing in the band.

Sturgill Simpson - A Sailor's Guide to Earth

Sturgill Simpson has a real talent for taking a ballad and making it smoothly and seamlessly transition into a rocker.  It’s very evident here on his 3^rd album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth.  While his previous albums explored outlaw country, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth takes a different tone from his earlier releases: 2013’s High Top Mountain and 2014’s Metamodern Sounds in Country Music.  He continues further in the metamodern direction and explores Americana in the style of The Band.  Many people think Sturgill’s voice sounds very similar to Waylon Jennings, but it’s clear he’s not simply doing his Waylon impression on this album.  A Sailor’s Guide to Earth was written as a letter to Sturgill’s two year old son explaining to him about life and real manhood.   Sturgill’s first album on a major record label, Atlantic Records, debuted at #1 on the country, folk, and rock charts and #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 charts.

The lyrics serve as a country lullaby to his young son, set against the sprawling seascape of horns, guitars, and keyboards.  “Breaker’s Roar” is a melancholy, nostalgic song that serves as a warning to his son and highlights themes in Platonic philosophy.  The concluding refrain, “It’s all a dream,” echoes Plato’s dream theory or “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” whichever you prefer.  “Sea Stories” illustrates what Sturgill always says in interviews, that you can sing a country song about anything.  In this song alone, he mentions angels competing in a game of Connect 4, traveling through East Asia, and playing Golden Eye on the Nintendo 64.  “In Bloom” is a cover of the Nirvana classic, and Sturgill makes one key addition to the lyrics. He adds, “To love someone,” at the very end.  The message to his son is that you can be sensitive and loving and still be a man.  While there was plenty of melancholy on the album, “Oh Sarah” was the only song that bored me to tears.  It has since been improved on several live versions, including one he performed on Conan O’Brien’s show.  “Call to Arms” is an anti-war song that absolutely rocks and showcases the talent of newcomer Jeff Crow on piano as well as Estonian wonder-kid Laur Joamets on slide guitar.  Sturgill channels his inner John Fogerty both in anti-war fervor and in vocal style, while not overtly copying Creedence.  It is a fitting end to the album. 

From the opening sound of the seagulls calling and the boat creaking amidst the rushing waves on “Welcome to Earth (Polywog)” to the last trumpet trill of “Call to Arms,” Simpson puts funk and psychedelia into country.  Laur Joamets, who grew up playing in metal bands in Estonia, had no problem adjusting to country, and I wonder if there’s anything he can’t do with the guitar.  Just listen to how he mimics the sound of a police siren and a helicopter’s whirling blades near the end of the album’s first single, “Brace for Impact (Live a Little).”  The new direction that Sturgill takes on this album is a mixed success.  Some of it succeeds and some of it falls flat.  Sturgill Simpson has opened new doors and expanded the horizons of country music.  I can’t wait to see where his travels will take him next.

Ryan Bingham - Fear and Saturday Night

Ryan Bingham learned to play country music during years of hard work in small time gigs and the rodeo circuit, while moving throughout the southwestern United States.  He likes to write music in the solitude of natural beauty without the distractions of technology, and therefore his music has a Bob Dylan or Neil Young singer-songwriter feel to it.  This is how Fear and Saturday Night came into being.

Fear and Saturday Night is the second Ryan Bingham album since he dissolved the Dead Horses and created his own record label, Axster Bingham Records, named after himself and his wife Anna Axter.  It was written during a dark time in Bingham’s life:  he had recently lost his mother to alcoholism and his father to suicide.  Despite this, the album is filled with optimism and laced with hope.  While his previous two releases, 2012’s Tomorrowland and 2010’s Junky Star, are dark, depressing, and melancholy, Fear and Saturday Night is a lot more upbeat and varied in style while still retaining some of the good old-fashioned country sadness that made Ryan Bingham famous.  The album opens with “Nobody Knows My Trouble,” which is classic, depressed, acoustic Ryan Bingham.  It continues with “Broken Heart Tattoos,” which is a song about what he wants for his future children, as he looks back on his own painful childhood.  “Top Shelf Drug” is a vintage, Black Keys style, alternative blues rock with delicious electric piano in the background, which features the timeless metaphor of love being compared to an addiction.  Perhaps the most hopeful song on the album, “Island in the Sky” contains a simple, yet powerful and uplifting harmonica riff.  With “Adventures of You and Me,” Bingham returns to the mariachi music of Laredo, Texas where he first learned to play the guitar. “Radio,” the first single taken from the album, features a classic country sounding riff with a lot of piano dancing around it.  The song shifts in mood a few times, with an increase in tempo, followed by a beautiful crescendo, before returning to the original theme with the last haunting guitar notes dangling in the listener’s eardrums.  Overall, the album lacks the speed of some of his faster compositions such as “Beg for Broken Legs” and “Tell My Mother I Miss Her So,” but lacks none of the energy and makes up for the tempo with sheer technical ability and songwriting genius.

Fear and Saturday Night is aptly titled.  It combines the fear and uncertainty of a lot of Bingham’s earlier compositions with the rollicking good time and honkey-tonk piano of a good old-fashioned, southern-fried Texas Saturday night.  When listening to this album, the listener will experience many emotions across the spectrum at once, and he or she will eventually have to drop everything and just sit and listen.  You will laugh, cry, dance around, and throw up your hands in amazement.  Ryan Bingham is Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan and Hank Williams all combined into one.  He is an outlaw, a troubadour, and a cowboy at the same time.  In fact, listening to Bingham’s acoustic folk songs, one can’t help thinking that he is Bob Dylan with a better voice and better production.  Fear and Saturday Night is Bingham’s best and most versatile album yet.  It surpasses even the magisterial country genius of “Southside of Heaven” from 2007’s Mescalito.  This is country music in all of its glory and country has never sounded so good.

Old Crow Medicine Show - Remedy

          The band that brought you Wagon Wheel is back with another dose of old-time country and bluegrass music that is guaranteed to get your feet stomping and your fingers snapping.  Remedy is Old Crow’s fifth studio album and first without founding member Willie Watson.  It is the band’s response to the current state of country music which frontman Ketch Secor believes pays little respect to its predecessors.  The album is an excellent mix of country blues and traditional bluegrass, and while it sees the departure of Watson, it also marks the return of founding member, Critter Fuqua, after a two album hiatus from the band due to substance abuse issues.  Old Crow attacks bluegrass and old-time string band music with a punk-rock intensity.  The album opens with “Brushy Mountain Conjugal Trailer,” a blues-influenced foot stomper about a man about to be hanged, featuring an excellent Dobro solo from Gill Landry.  “Sweet Amarillo” is another Dylan and Old Crow co-write, with Secor and Fuqua again digging into 1973’s Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid sessions, the same sessions from which Secor took Wagon Wheel.  It is a slower ballad, featuring Fuqua on the accordion.  This time, however, Dylan sent the track to Old Crow and asked them to finish it.  With “Sweet Amarillo” they only had about 28 seconds to work with compared to over a minute with Wagon Wheel.  Secor has never met Bob Dylan, but expressed his awe when he received the request from Dylan’s people.  It also took some communication back and forth between Dylan and Secor to get to the final version completed.  Other highlights on the album include “O Cumberland River,” a song about the time when the Cumberland River overflowed its banks, and “Doc’s Day”, a tribute to bluegrass legend Doc Watson who discovered Old Crow in 2000 when they were busking on the street outside a pharmacy in Boone, North Carolina and gave them their first big break.  The album ends right where it started, in prison.  “The Warden,” which features minimal instrumentation and all the band members singing in harmony, ends the album on a somber note with the band delivering a “Seven Bridges Road” moment.   The band says that Remedy is their greatest success to date, and I would agree with them, but it does include a few low notes.  “8 dogs 8 banjos” is full of nonsensicalities, while “Mean Enough World” and “Brave Boys” are nothing special and sound like something we’ve already heard on a previous Old Crow album.  “Sweet Home” features lead vocals from guitjo (6-string banjo) player Kevin Paul Hayes who is an interesting choice for lead vocalist in a group with so many excellent singers in it.  The album is a smashing success though and it succeeds in bringing fans of country and bluegrass together.  While Willie Watson has a new album out himself and is embarking on the concert trail as a solo act, Old Crow are still putting out hit bluegrass records.  Ketch Secor was truly “born to be a fiddler in an old-time string-band” and he proves it again here.  Remedy is a must-listen for any country music fan, but the album and Old Crow fans everywhere are sorely missing Willie Watson.

Pink Floyd - The Endless River

The Endless River comes from material leftover from 1994’s Division Bell sessions reworked by guitarist David Gilmour and drummer Nick Mason and it is the first Pink Floyd album in 20 years.  The album is a tribute to keyboardist Richard Wright who passed away in 2008 and contains many of his last recordings.  Bassist, lead vocalist, and songwriter Roger Waters, who left Pink Floyd in 1985, has had nothing to do with this project or any others in this David Gilmour led era.  With the death of Wright, The Endless River looks to be the last release in the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame band’s career.  

From the moment the spoken word intro of “Things Left Unsaid…” haunt the listener’s eardrums to the final fading echoes of “Louder Than Words” this album is unmistakably Pink Floyd.  “Things Left Unsaid…”, with its mix of synthesizers and guitars, sounds like it would fit seamlessly into Pink Floyd’s 1975 masterpiece “Shine On You Crazy Diamond.”  From there, the album’s tracks flow seamlessly together like many of the tracks on Pink Floyd’s 1973 Magnum Opus, Dark Side of the Moon.  The Endless River winds aimlessly along with “Sum” which showcases some signature guitar work from David Gilmour, “Skins” which shows off Nick Mason’s prowess as a drummer, and “Allons-Y” parts 1 and 2 which made me think that Gilmour, Wright, and Mason were beginning to recapture some of the magic that was Pink Floyd.  Bonus Track “Nervana” is a rip-roaring David Gilmour solo that rocks the hardest of any song on the record but would be more at home on a Black Keys album than with the mystifying organ of Richard Wright and the cautious, pensive drumming of Nick Mason.    

For the most part, The Endless River is a collection of short, 2 minute, instrumental jams with the trio of Gilmour, Mason, and Wright lacking any remarkable or catchy melody.  Only “It’s What We Do” and “Louder Than Words” exceed 6 minutes, which is uncharacteristic of Pink Floyd.  Most of the album features Richard Wright piano outtakes dressed up with guitars, synths, strings, and percussion, which sound like Floydian slips when compared to the epics that Pink Floyd has recorded in the past.  The Endless River is a fitting tribute to Wright and a pretty good final effort for Pink Floyd, but the creative genius of Roger Waters is noticeably absent.  Even though the record contains some flashes of brilliance and a few echoes of the past, The Endless River is aptly named.  It drags on endlessly without any direction or unifying themes binding it together like the masterpieces of the 1970’s.  But most importantly The Endless River lacks Waters.

Robert Plant - Lullaby and the Ceaseless Roar

          Robert Plant, rock legend, proves he is a versatile artist and still relevant in today’s music industry.  His first studio album with backing band The Sensational Space Shifters and follow-up to 2005’s Mighty Rearranger, Lullaby… and The Ceaseless Roar combines traditional folk and bluegrass sounds, world music, and grooves that would make any Led Zeppelin fan start to dance.  Just like the name Led Zeppelin, Lullaby is an excellent mix of soft and loud, fast and slow, light and dark. 

The lyrics reflect a wide array of influences including a William Morris poem (Rainbow), an old Lead Belly folk song (Poor Howard), and Fulani African lyrics (Embrace Another Fall).  The Space Shifters provide excellent backing for Plant with electric guitars, banjos, keyboards, and even some African instruments such as a single-stringed fiddle called the ritti, courtesy of Gambian musician Juldeh Camara.  The African percussion on Turn It Up combined with the electric power of a Zeppelinesque riff makes for the album’s hardest rocking song.

While Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page is stuck in the past, remastering the old Zeppelin catalogue, Robert Plant is ascending new musical horizons.  Lullaby… and The Ceaseless Roar proves that Plant is still a master singer and composer in any genre, but with Jimmy Page embarking on a new solo tour in 2015, a Led Zeppelin reunion looks even less likely now.  Just in case Jimmy changes his mind, though, we can be sure, after listening to Lullaby, that Plant’s still got it.