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| Shelley Campbell, formerly known as "AUBURN" (Canada) has been highly acclaimed in her musical career, also performing in a variety of projects over the years, including internationally acclaimed band Radiogram. Her discography includes Auburn's "Misfit Cafe" as well as "Bl |
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Shelley Campbell, formerly known as "AUBURN" (Canada) has been highly acclaimed in her musical career, also performing in a variety of projects over the years, including internationally acclaimed band Radiogram. Her discography includes Auburn's "Misfit Cafe" as well as "Blue Ridge Reveille", which was later licensed to Nettwerk (home of The Be Good Tanyas). She has recently changed her stage name to BEATRICE SMARTT, and you can find her here on isound.com, as well as myspace and facebook...
LINKS:
http://www.myspace.com/shelleyauburncampbell1
http://www.myspace.com/beatricesmartt
http://www.beatricesmartt.com
http://radio3.cbc.ca/bands/Beatrice-Smartt http://radio3.cbc.ca/bands/Shelley-Campbell http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5304333102
Press
"remarkable...achingly beautiful..."
- Queue, Vancouver Sun, Vancouver BC
"Campbell's spellbinding voice is a sweet, soulful instrument in its own right. Whether she's lamenting the loss of a lover or raising a glass to a fallen comrade, she nails each track with requisite charm and intelligence."
"Simple, straightforward and joyful, Blue Ridge Reveille is a revelation."
- Colin Smith, canada.com (CanWest Interactive)
"Musically, the disc is pitch perfect, as Campbell and her band... set a backdrop of truck stops, barn dances, back porches, smokey clubs, living rooms and bedrooms. All of them, backdrops fit for a country queen."
- Mike Bell, Calgary Sun
"...a full band sound that never dominates and allows her to breath and project life into the characters and situations she describes. "New Year's Eve at the Legion" is despairing and affectionate, and you don't have to come from Canada to know the sort of place and sort of people she is singing about (for?). "Porch Swing" is full on country crooning, and rustic fiddle and pedal steel caress her oxygenated vocals, which are feeling the distance from home. The title track has the best singing - blue, ethereal and emotionally centered and it is a fitting ending to a collection of songs which will be around for some time to come in this household."
- Mark Phillips, Americana UK
"...at this rate, Campbell's grassroots ethics could soon be seriously challenged when the men with ponytails and cell phones come a-wavin' their cheque books. With her passion and class, there is absolutely no reason in the current
musical climate why she should not follow Neko Case and Oh Susanna on to coffee tables everywhere."
- Tom Sheriff, Comes With A Smile, UK
Over the course of 13 sunset-golden tracks, Campbell reminisces about hot southern days, interstate truck stops, backwoods crickets, Civil War graveyards, and star-dusted summer nights. Blue Ridge Reveille does such a great job of setting a mood and a tone that you'd swear the album was written in a ramshackle cabin deep in the Appalachians.
The reality was the songwriter never got much beyond her Main Street-area home in Vancouver. Blue Ridge Reveille is as quietly beautiful as an untouched stand of Georgia pine.
- Mike Usinger, Georgia Straight, Vancouver, BC
"...in short she's a find...."
- Comes With A Smile, London, UK
"...loaded with that intangible quality - call it honesty - that separates pretenders..."
Georgia Straight, Vancouver, BC
"...roots-rock gems..."
- Stuart Derdeyn, The Province, Vancouver, BC
Discography:
> AUBURN's "MISFIT CAFE" (99) - INDIE/SCRATCH
Order: http://cdn.scratchrecords.com/moreinfo.cfm?Product_ID=3010
> "IS IT YOU? EP" (01) – Indie
> "BLUE RIDGE REVEILLE" (02) – INDIE/SCRATCH
Order:
http://cdn.scratchrecords.com/moreinfo.cfm?Product_ID=3009
>"SHOWDOWN" (02) RANCH Compilation - BLACK HEN/FESTIVAL
>“THE L WORD” (04) soundtrack Compilation - TOMMYBOY MUSIC
Order:
http://shop.tommyboy.com/artists.asp?page=releases&Artist_ID=205&Release_ID=249
> “THE GRASS IS ALWAYS BLUER” (04) Compilation – NETTWERK
Order:
http://www.werkshop.com/store/compsndtrk_item.action?item_id=3936
>"BLUE RIDGE REVEILLE" (04) – NETTWERK
Order:
http://www.werkshop.com/store/item.action?artist_id=1045&cat_id=1&item_id=3931
Bio:
Nettwerk-licensed recording artist Shelley Campbell (formerly Auburn) conjures images of life on the road & lost love with her unique blend of atmospheric pop, traditional country & beyond.
Forget about the music, at least for now. Instead, find the heart of Shelley Campbell through pictures lifted from her past.
Image 1: A high hilltop. Pleistocene fossils and arrowheads in the earth underfoot. A vast blue sky overhead. Off toward one horizon, Toronto's twinkling skyline. In the other direction, the furious mists and rainbows of Niagara Falls. Between the two, deer bound over the farmland.
Image 2: A young girl joins in singing old time gospel songs with the shirt-sleeved worshippers, their hands raised, swaying back and forth. Lanterns burn in the summer night. The young girl's father smiling approvingly.
Image 3: Black coffee. Scribbled notebooks. George Jones on the jukebox. Waitresses weave through tables, serving food and comfort to the truckers. Outside, diesels roar into the fathomless distance.
Image 4: An afternoon alone. The girl is a young woman now, stretched across her bed, praying in the way of someone who is weary of prayer, asking for a way out. At the same time, not far away, someone she doesn't yet know decides he needs to find a singer for his band.
Autumn festivals around Indian campfires. Deep burgundy hair and granny glasses in a sea of square-cut Bible students. Days spent chasing the American Dream, nights passed sleeping in her car. Each image is a moment from Shelley Campbell's life -- a life that plays through her remarkable Nettwerk debut, Blue Ridge Reveille. Now you're ready to listen.
If you've spent any time in Vancouver, you've probably encountered the fruits of her creative labor. For several years she has been at the center of the city's RANCH Society, a collective of artists gathered largely under her initiative to celebrate the virtues of what some call Americana music. Bands like Radiogram, the Buttless Chaps, and Circus in Flames mingled at RANCH events, played at each other's gigs, recorded together, all to everyone's benefit. Blue Ridge Reveille is in part a product of these activities. Recorded in Shelley's living room, it's an album that's easy on the ears yet grows richer and deeper with each repeated play. Surrounded by RANCH colleagues from Bottleneck, Bughouse 5, Coal, and Bocephus King and the Rigalattos, Shelley sings with hypnotic eloquence. The music mixes alt rock and country; banjo, harmonica, and harmonium weave around a guitar's electric blue twang. Each song stretches out like a highway that runs from memory to possibility. It's easy to imagine Shelley at the mic, eyes closed, letting each one take her back to the episode that first moved her to write it. She began absorbing the lessons of life in rural southern Ontario. Her parents encouraged her to explore the woods and fields outside their home. But they also immersed her in Native American culture and evangelical Christianity, a contradictory baptism that owed to her father's missionary work. Together they would visit the Mohawk nation, where he was known by his honorary chief name (in English "enlightener"). Like his father before him (and generations before, their relative and famed missionary David Livingstone), Shelley's father worked in rural Tennessee as well, adding to the musical influences Shelley was exposed to including gospel, soul and African influences. They spent time together at revival meetings, where her father's preaching, the worshippers' responses, and her own performances exposed Shelley to a different kind of spirituality. "I was there as The Child," she laughs. "I came to appreciate the emotions I saw. But I've always been drawn to a more universal acceptance of people instead of making them feel guilty. I'm not putting down anybody's beliefs, but mine come more from wonder at the individual journey and the ties that bind us all. And one of the ways that I learned to celebrate this connectedness is through music." What she heard was as strange as what she experienced in those days. In addition to exposing Shelley to some unusual scenarios in her upbringing, her father introduced her to music seldom heard on pop radio. "His record collection was interesting, to say the least," she says. "He'd play The Sounds of Algonquin Park -- birds and nature. Then he'd put on some Native American drumming and chanting. Then he'd play something like Johnny Cash. I heard bluegrass, gospel, hillbilly music and when we weren't playing records or singing together, there was classical music on the CBC." Eventually Shelley started doing gigs, at first with one of her sisters in coffeehouses. Although she had been writing verse throughout her teens it didn't occur to her to set it to music until she was eighteen. But by that time she had already spent a year in Virginia at perhaps the last school you might expect her to have attended -- Liberty University, over which the Rev. Jerry Falwell presided. "My dad being an evangelist, he had connections there," she explains, "and I saw it as a chance to get out on my own. Of course, once I got there I felt completely alienated. I looked like a gypsy/flapper, which definitely made me not fit in. I found some kindred spirits who would rather wear vintage clothes and shop in thrift stores than bleach their hair blond and look like Miss America. And we found solace by hanging out together as much as possible." Inevitably, Shelley followed her muse away from the squeaky-clean campus and out onto the highway in search of enlightenment. Armed with a tape recorder, a copy of On the Road, and a guitar, she made her way through the heartland. "I spent time with the homeless, interviewed people in the street -- and what I found was that many of these people had a stronger sense of home amongst themselves than the ones who felt that they had achieved the American Dream. "Truckers were one example," she points out. "They're a culture unto themselves. In truck stops I could hear the engines outside, and inside the waitresses would connect with these gruff-looking characters in a way that said, 'You're home right now.' There was this combination of motion and stillness -- and for some reason it felt like country music. I found it all inspiring."
Shelley's wanderings led her back to Ontario, where she began putting what she'd seen to music and getting involved with experimental theater and music circles. After a while, restless again, she left for the far west to join her brother and a sister in Vancouver, where she started busking in the streets, in a Django jazz style she had inherited through gypsy traces in her mother's blood. Before long the routine lost its allure; for the first time she felt as if her ship had beached and the world's currents were rushing past without her. "So this one night I lay on my bed, opened myself to the universe, and said, 'Take me to the next level,'" she says. "And within a couple of days I was performing in front of thousands of people at the Regina Folk Festival " Fortune had led Allen Dobb to Shelley, whom he invited to join his band Dobb and Dumela. Over the next several years she would tour with them as they opened for Ziggy Marley, headlined at the Smithers Midsummer Festival, and played to standing ovations at the Winnipeg, Mariposa, Calgary, Bumbershoot, and other high-profile events. "It was a great experience," she says, "but it taught me that what I really wanted to do was to lead a band and pursue my own music." And so in 1996 she made her way back to Vancouver, whose vibrant artistic subculture inspired her to launch the RANCH Society. Roots Allied Network Community Hosts, the organization became an umbrella under which musicians could help each other find work, write songs, get together for shows, and provide shelter for like-minded performers passing through town. She also drew from RANCH's resource to record her first CD, Misfit Café, which she released under the name Auburn in 1999. Produced by Cecil English, whose previous credits include D.O.A., Jello Biafra, and nomeansno, the album exposed a harder-edged, sassier side to Campbell, one that was consistent with the gritty romance of her material. In November that same year Shelley began to record Blue Ridge Reveille, this one produced by Jon Wood (Flophouse Jr.). She previewed it with an EP, Is It You?, in 2001; someone in the RANCH family burned copies one by one at home for local journalists and friends. But when the complete album was released independently in 2002 the regional media gave it immediate attention. The Vancouver Sun extolled her "achingly beautiful ... lucid, worldly lyrics, sweet drawl, and fine performance." Canada.com called it "a revelation ... straightforward and joyful." To Georgia Straight it was "as quietly beautiful as an untouched stand of Georgia pine." Ripples of interest lapped in as well from abroad, as a reviewer for Americana-uk.com promised that Blue Ridge Reveille "will be around for some time to come in this household." Nettwerk took notice too. In fact, its version of Blue Ridge Reveille improves on the indie release. In reviewing the original CD for comeswithasmile.com, Tom Sheriff tempered his rave with a complaint that the "sublime duet" version of "Is It You?" that Campbell had recorded with Radiogram's Ken Beattie for the EP had been omitted. Sheriff can rest easy now; this standout performance now takes its place as the album's last track. So the pieces have fallen into place, and Shelley seems to be ready for another adventure. Doubtless she will be "discovered" by new audiences, surprise critics and win fans in places she once visited as a pilgrim of sorts just a few years ago. But no matter where the music takes her, she won't travel alone. Her search for unity with the limitless world continues as before -- only the songs have changed, with new ones waiting to be born from communions yet to come. "Drivin' You" appears on the soundtrack to Showtime's "The L Word" as well on the forthcoming bluegrass compilation "The Grass is Always Bluer." "My music comes from the land," she insists. "And it comes from the cities. All genres and all forms have gone into it. I know people like to make comparisons, so I'll let them decide for themselves how to hear what I do. All I can do is keep it simple and let the music speak for itself." Blue Ridge Reveille is sounding. Time to wake up.
INSPIRATION For The Material On Blue Ridge Reveille:
.Lyrics/blurbs on the inspiration for the songs:
Drivin You
This song is based upon my experience hitchin’ from Boulder CO to
Lynchburg VA in the late summer of ‘89.
The adventure came about after the VW van my travel mate and I
had been hoping to cross America in gave up the ghost and was left
– temporarily, we thought – on the side of the road. It had a
cracked axle shaft which made it impossible to drive on the highway
over 45 mph, making us blow all over the place every time a trucker
passed us. An acquaintance attempted to replace the shaft with a
used one we’d purchased at a parts yard, but as anyone who’s owned
a VW knows, the wiring is different from any other type of vehicle,
and he wasn’t able to get it fixed properly to run again, leaving
us to push it off the GM lot where he’d been working on it.
I was wanting to make it from Maryland to Vancouver BC, where my
brother was getting married, and as it was out of the question in
the van, a friend driving to Boulder to attend university offered
to take us along so we could continue to explore America,and from
there I’d try to figure out a way to get to the wedding.
It was a great trip, but funds were very scarce and it seemed a
better idea to try to get back to Virginia where we had friends we
could stay with until we figured out what to do next.
There was a posting on the university travel board about a white
water raft instructor heading to West Virginia, so off we went.
Unfortunately he was driving a VW camper bus, which had some
troubles of it’s own, such as the need to push start it, a broken
fan belt, and no heat – the latter being especially a problem as it
snowed the day we left Boulder, and the clothing we’d brought
along consisted of very thin summer things. At one point we ended
up huddled under a hand dryer in a roadside bathroom, desperately
trying to get warm under the short blasts of hot air.
Once we got to West VA ,we were let out on the side of the road,
right beside a broken down SUV where we began thumbin’ it.
Several cars passed, their passengers pointing and laughing at us,
thinking we were abandoning the SUV – it turned out to be a good
ploy for getting a ride, as a huge rig pulled up beside us, whose
truck-driving occupant thought sure that was our broken down
vehicle, and offered us a lift even though it was against insurance
rules to do so. I’d never had the priviledge of being inside a
Mack, and it was interesting to see all the knobs inside, and hear
him speaking the unique language known as Cb-ing to the truckers
going by, asking him who were them pretty ladies he had riding with
him. I gained an ever-greater appreciation for the work these
truckers do, pulling their loads around winding thin roads, working
all those knobs, chatting with one another in their community about
warnings ahead, and just to keep eachother company on their long
hauls. He took us as far as he could risk it without getting into
trouble, and pointed us in the direction of the best spot we could
get our next ride, despite the restriction of No Hitch-hiking.
We walked down the highway a little ways when a long white cadillac
pulled up. The driver, Slim, wore a felt hat, and as I got in the
back seat, he warned me to be careful I didn’t blow my ass off, as
there was a loaded shotgun on the seat. He had a little crayon
drawing done by his neice tacked on to the sun visor, and although
he wasn’t a man of many words, he seemed proud to have been asked
about the picture, and offered us each a Rainbow brand cigarette,
which we appreciated as we’d run out hours before and didn’t have
the money to purchase such luxuries. Slim took us up the road a
piece to where he was exiting, and let us off to begin thumbing
again.
We had to walk for a little while, getting lots of honks, either
because we were two women hitchin’ or because there were signs all
along the road forbidding the activity. One such honking vehicle
was travelling in the other direction; just as we were beginning
to lose heart about getting a lift, soon enough it pulled up
alongside us. It was a small white toyota pickup truck containing
two enthusiastic West VA boys, who told us they were going to be
late getting back to work from their lunch break, but wanted to see
us safely across the state line, even if they lost their jobs over
it. They not only took us to a rest stop area in Virginia, but
also gave us a whole unopened package of Camels – which were our
brand of choice at the time – and secured us a ride with a
businessman heading straight to the town we needed to get to,
Lynchburg.
It was very fortuitous, and although the driver didn’t have much to
say, I was so grateful when we rounded through familiar hills near
Lynchburg, I couldn’t help bursting into singing, “She’ll Be Comin’
Round The Mountain When She Comes”, which made him laugh and warm
up to us to such an extent that he insisted on dropping us off
right at the door of our friends place.
The only bad part of the experience was that upon our return to
Lynchburg, we discovered the van we’d abandoned while on our trip
west, had been impounded. It would’ve cost more to get it out of
the impound than its purchase price, so despite the sad loss of
items of sentimental value and the many travel diaries/interviews
I’d tape recorded prior to the trip west, we had to kiss the VW
goodbye. Cracked axle shaft and all, I wished we could’ve still
been drivin her…
Slipshod Sam drove a beat up van
Shotgun Slim gave me a cigarette
The boys from West V. drove me ‘cross the state line
And I wish I was drivin you…
Crankshaft Mark should’ve sold his rig for parts
The bored businessman didn’t mind that I sang,
“Comin’ round the mountain when she comes,
when she comes, when she comes, when she comes”
And I wish I was drivin you home…
Is It You?
For many years as the handler of emails into the RANCH society, I
had to ‘block send’ – or BS – quite a few senders, mostly because
they thought RANCH was some kind of agricultural society. One such
unfortunate emailing chap invited me to his World Class Alpaca
auction. I felt kind of bad for him right after I BS’d him,
thinking I should’ve emailed him back with an apology that I would
be unable to attend the auction due to my prior commitment to the
Annual Gnu Convention…
At any rate, just think of this song as a sort of trailor park love ballad.
Is it the moon, or why is my heart racin’?
Is it the stars shinin’ in the heavens?
What makes me feel like I do?
Is it you?
Or is it too much BS, wine & codeine
Makin’ me crazy, makin’ me scream
Too much of everything
Or is it you?
Is it your lips so far from mine?
Is it the way there’s not enough time?
What makes me say the things I do to you?
Is it just too much BS, wine & codeine
Makin’ me crazy, makin’ me scream
Too much of everything
Or is it you?
Typical Truckstop
A gal is missin’ her truck-drivin’ man something fierce
Stopped in to a trucker joint to grab a cup of joe
It’s a place I’m used to, but usually I’m not alone
I feel a presence missing, which is common to me now
Maybe someday soon I won’t notice all the sadness
Comin’ from my lack of you
Truckers, hassled waitresses, and tacky things on the walls
Typical truckstop, typical blues
I miss you
I can’t wait to leave here
How I want to go
And live without a care except for simple things
I think I’m going soon
I can’t stay here anymore
Maybe someday I won’t miss you anymore
And then maybe I won’t feel so blue
Truckers, hassled waitresses, and tacky things on the walls
Typical truckstop, typical blues
I miss you
Unsatisfied
I’ve travelled and talked with all sorts of characters in my time,
from homeless people to accountants, and one thing we likely had in
common was a general desire for something more from life, a feeling
longed for, missed – the desire for the comfort and safety of a
home we can’t obtain, whether earthly or spiritual, embodied in the
American Dream, a yearning for this elusive space where we can
truly feel free.
One of my favourite encounters involved an aged fisherman from the
Maritimes and his Native buddy in Vancouver, where they sat
panhandling on Kitsilano’s 4th Avenue, sharing a bottle of
Listerine with me as trendy folks walking by turned their noses up
in disgust. We chatted about how things had changed from days when
hunting and gathering involved what nature provided and what they
now needed to do to survive. I was touched by the fact that
although they had little of anything, they were willing to share
what they did have. When I told my sister about the listerine, she
asked me if I wasn’t afraid of catching germs, to which I replied,
Naw, Listerine kills germs…
Spent half my life lookin’ to find
Something to fill the emptiness inside
I’m still lookin’
Been to the east and I’ve been to the west
Hung out with some beggars
And I learned from the best
But I’m still travellin’
I look up above
And see a big sky
I’ve got a front row ticket, man
But still I’m unsatisfied
Drank holy wine from an angel’s breast
Still I couldn’t get no rest
And I’m still thirsty
Tasted the sweet food of the gods
Ate more than my share
Still I find I’m still hungry
I look up above
And see a big sky
I’ve got a front row ticket, man
But still I’m unsatisfied
Can you tell me why?
Spent half my life lookin’ to find
something to fill the emptiness inside….
New Year’s Eve At The Legion
I had Tom Waits meets Shane McGowan in mind on this number, and I
couldn’t think of a better pal to join in on this one than Bocephus
King. The song is loosely based on characters I’ve seen and met
who hang out at the Legion in my neighbourhood – a dying breed, the
old-timers are, veterans who fought for our country’s freedom so
many years ago – and around 9-11, I was wondering what it would be
like for all the young lads gathering around the aging men to hear
their war stories when news hits that war has been declared…
Have another brandy
Smoke a cheap cigar
Tell the lads a story
Of when you were at war
Though you’re not that lucky
There’s no one keeping score
In heaven there’ll be whiskey
And hangovers no more
You’re Sally girl did leave you
A’cryin on the porch
She says she won’t be back here
She found another torch
But pull yourself together
‘though Sally’s gone by far
she never more can leave you
or drag you from the bar
so have another brandy
smoke a good cigar
tell the lads a story
of when you were at war
‘though you’re not that lucky
there’s no one keeping score
In heaven there’ll be whiskey
And hangovers no more
Charlie pours another
Good Maggie brings it by
And says, “It’s on the house, dear
From Charlie-boy and I”
She wears a fetching number
And gives you quite the smile
As if to say, “Screw Sally –
I’m off of work by 9”
So have another brandy
Smoke a big cigar
Tell the lads a story of when you were at war
Though you were quite lucky
To make it out alive
You best drink up your brandy
And let Good Maggie drive
The radio is playing a favourite oldies song
Until the news announcer declares a tragic wrong
“It’s war, for sure”, he’s saying,
“So be prepared to join”
Then Charlie slams his fist down
And starts up Auld Lang Syne
Have another brandy
Order drinks for all
Tell the lads a story
As they prepare for war
They might not be as lucky
To make it through alive
But tell them there’ll be sweethearts
And some day peaceful times
Yes in heaven there’ll be laughter
But it’s time to say goodnight
A Waltz
a simple old-fashioned ballad to commemorate a love gone bad
I remember the night when you told me
You would always be the one for me
But the sweet words you told me, my darlin’
Are the words of a sad memory
Those words had a way
Of washing over me
And slippin’ away like the tide to the sea
But the pains of a lovelorn memory
Are the poems that I’ll leave for thee
Those words had a way
Of dancin’ over me
Two-steppin’ away like a waltzin’ reverie
But the strains of a love-lost memory
Are the songs that I’ll leave for thee
Dreamin
This one is inspired by fifties-style love ballads
Dreamin, only dreamin’,
Dreamin of you
I’m holding you in my arms
And I’m smitten by all your charms
And if only it were true
That I was really here with you
I wouldn’t be dreamin my dreams of you
I’m kissing your sweet lips
And caressing your fingertips
I am dreamin, only dreamin
And I wish that it weren’t so
Cuz if only it were true
That I was really here with you
I wouldn’t be dreamin,
Only dreamin of you
Beautiful Child
A song of encouragement for anyone who’s ever been hurt so bad by
mistakes they’ve made in love that they didn’t see a way out of the
grief and shame
Did you make the bed you lie upon
Or did someone take you in
Are you happy now with the damage done
Scattered pieces all around
You can still get out of here alive
You’re still a beautiful child
Did you have a choice
Between the damage done
Or to hear your little voice
Were you wanting love in uncertain terms
Did you think he was the One
You can still get out of here alive
You’re still a beautiful child
So dream on
Go to the light
That burns in all you are
Go ahead
It’s OK to dream on
Did you feel the weight upon your soul
As you tried to wait it out
Do you still feel the strain
Between right and wrong
Is this battle won
You can still get out of here alive
You’re still a beautiful child
So dream on
Go to the light
That burns in all you are
Go ahead
It’s OK to dream on
You can still get out of here alive
You’re still a beautiful child
Porchswing
I lived in a beautiful Civil War-era house in Virginia that had a
lovely porchswing and I often revisit the peaceful feeling of home
I’d get just swinging in the sweetly-scented night air
Many a sweet Virginia night I spent on the porchswing
Singin and a’swayin to the moon
And I was so young and I was so foolish
And I swayed to the light of the moon
And the crickets would play a familiar tune
A la la la la la la la
Oh sweet, sweet Virginia
I have missed you
And I’m comin’ back to you soon
Then many a sweet Virginia night I’ll spend on the porchswing
Singin and a’swayin to the moon
And I’ll feel so young and I’ll feel so foolish
And I’ll sway to the light of the moon
And the crickets will play a familiar tune
A la la la la la la la
Oh sweet, sweet Virginia
I have missed you
And I’m gonna stay with you
Nightsong
I spent some time working for a sales company that took me out on
the road in southern Ontario, where I’d stay in motels and soak up
some of the rural tobacco farming and blue collar lifestyles. One
night in Woodstock I sat on a little hillside and listened to the
sounds of the night, feeling a sense of home even though I was
several towns away from my actual home town – the sounds were
comforting and playful, and I think producer Jon Wood has done a
great job in capturing these elements, which I’m sure the likes of
Stompin’ Tom Conners was also inspired by
As a train sounds in the darkness
I sense fall approach
The smoke from my cigarette rises
to greet the night and the far-off cry of a dog
The train rumbles past much louder than before
but the cricket chirps above the rail sounds
Sing to me, little cricket
Serenade me with the night
Stay beside me, little cricket
Withstain me ‘til the light
The night is filled with sounds that calm my soul
A bell clangs, and the train rolls on
As a cricket sings the nightsong
Sing to me, little cricket
Serenade me with the night
Stay beside me, little cricket
Withstain me ‘til the light
As a train sounds in the darkness
A little cricket sings the nightsong
Simple Prayer
A heart-felt desire for one and all
May you find your way home
May you some day find rest
And may you go forward
By the saving grace
May you never grow faint
May you some day find peace
And may you be blessed
in all of your ways
This is my prayer
This is my wish
This is my hope
for you and yours
May you grow to be wise
May you learn from mistakes
And may you go forth in mercy
all the rest of your days
No Fear
As children many of us were afraid of unseen things in the dark,
and as adults I’m sure we’re aware of forces in the world that need
to be faced up to with courage – so this is an Appalacian-style
gospel anthem to calm our inner child and remind us to be strong in
the face of adversity and danger in all aspects of life
When temptation threatens to wear you down
And nothing seems sacred
I’ll be near
Even in the dark night
When you’re in blackness
Don’t be afraid, child
Just remember I’m near
Oh my darling
Oh my dear
Take me in your arms
And have no fear
When the enemy moves in
From all directions
Stand your solid ground
And just send them on their way
When you’re strong and courageous
It sure is contagious
I am right beside you
I’m not goin’ nowhere
Oh my darling
Oh my dear
Take me in your arms
And have no fear
Nothing can shake me
Not even an earthquake
They can try and bend me
I will not break
Oh my darling
Oh my dear
Take me in your arms
And have no fear
When temptation threatens to wear you down
And nothing seems sacred
I’ll be near
Even in the dark night
When all around is blackness
Don’t be afraid child,
Just remember I’m there
I’ll be near
Have no fear
No fear
Blue Ridge Reveille
Images seen and absorbed throughout Virginia and along the Blue
Ridge Trail will always come back to me – for my friend Peter Clay
Hamner Jr. and all your kin, thanks for a positive influence in my
childhood and inspiration in my life; for the soldiers who fought
in the Civil War and showed incredible human spirit; for my friends
who’ve travelled with me, loving autumn in Virginia, hay bail
jumping & hill top climbing, taking in the essence of Virginia
A Blue Ridge reveille is a’callin me
From the winding bails of gold
To the blazing trees
A Blue Ridge reveille
I was near Charlottesville
Where the Hamners once lived
And saw the soldier’s graves
Over yon on Red Hill
Some say the clay stained red
From all the blood that was shed
Along the Blue Ridge Trail
A Blue Ridge reveille is a’callin me
Over hills and the dales
To rise and heed the call
Return to her arms
Like a motherless child
A Blue Ridge reveille
A Blue Ridge reveille is a’ callin me
Past the shacks and the cars parked there
Crumblin’ by the way
An old man smokes his pipe
And nods me a bearded smile
Along the Blue Ridge Trail
A Blue Ridge reveille is a’callin me
From the rivers and hills
To rise and heed the call
Return to her arms
Like a motherless child
A Blue Ridge reveille
An old-time melody
Is running through my mind
As I drive on awhile….
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