Memoirs of an Everyman

Late at night, when all the 'Loo is deep in slumber, I emerge from my subterranean home and skulk about in the dark. I don't actually do much while skulking, its just a pretty therapeutic thing to do whenever the insomnia kicks in.

I sometimes worry my new found vagabond-country-musician lifestyle is a bit too idyllic. I've spent every night for almost two weeks in some state of intoxication, and gotten paid for it. I look forward to a lot of things; seeing the Agnostic Mtn. Gospel Choir this weekend, and the Deep Dark Woods the next, going to visit Andrea and Will in Guelph, the next handful of shows w/ Allison and co., bitching & fake drunk-dials w/ Sam, but mostly taking the better part of a week off to spend some time around my birthday w/ long neglected family. I haven't seen them for more then a twenty-four hour period since I started the new job, and I'm starting to feel bad about using them for my old Bed only to leave the next morning for another show. Of course, I'm playing a show on my birthday, which, ultimately, is exactly what I would want to be doing anyway, so there is no complaints. Then we start all over again in July, only as a twenty year old.

Sylvia and I spent the afternoon digging up dandelions near the train tracks and making dandelion coffee. I am personally very fond of it, but she more or less despises the stuff, so I got to keep it all. In the off-chance someone would like to try to make it, here are the instructions. Step One: Find some dandelions, you want the roots, so, you are going to need to dig them up, snap off the roots, and gather a lot. Step Two: Wash them. This is best done in a bucket via sticking them all in water, swishing them around, dumping out the water and repeating until the water is clear. Step Three: Cut the roots into smaller pieces, rinse once more, then cut them up into really tiny bits. Step Four: Lay them out on a baking pan, and bake at 250 degrees with the door of the oven slightly ajar so the roots dry out. Stir every ten minuets or so. That should be more or less it, as far and drinking it goes, I tend to grind it up, and use a french press.

Going back to my shitty job after getting off tour has to be the worst feeling one can possibly imagine. I have spent the last week and a bit driving around the country, sleeping late, getting drunk, making passes at pretty girls, occasionally succeeding, and then playing sweet double bass. Not to mention seeing all my long-neglected friends, as well as a healthy bit of gatecrashing parties to which I wasn't invited. And now I need to put on a stupid-ass uniform and serve people, I'm terribly wasted at that place. But I suppose it isn't all bad, two more weeks until I tour again. Also, lady issues are terribly confused right now, I think I preferred it when no one wanted me at all.

Joy is cool jazz on a warm day
dancing away
w/pretty girls
when you're the only ones dancing.

It's yellow curls
on the head of a stranger
when she asks to here a song
or two, or three.

Joy is a lonely tree
in a field of daisies
and the feeling that maybe,
just maybe, things aren't so bad.

Hopped on the bus to Kitchener at quarter to eleven. I was the only passenger, and since it was a long drive, I pulled out my mando and played for the driver. Pulled into town at half-past, and ran into my favourite homeless lady. We went for a bit of a walk and we talked guitars. I gave her some money and the universe rewarded me by placing an unopened bottle of beer in the middle the sidewalk. Any other town and I would have questioned what it was doing there, but in Waterloo I've learned it is best to just accept these things as they come. 

I think I may have stumbled on one of the best websites on the internet. Provided of course you enjoy reading the ramblings of an anarchistic, somewhat new-agey dumpster diver who is looking forward to the end of the world. Here is a quote:


"One word you'll never see me use, unless I make a mistake, is "mainstream," because I think that metaphor is a terrible lie. It suggests that the most duplicated and distributed books, magazines, newspapers, and television transmissions are like a big river, wide and deep, into which all the shallow little streams flow. The way it really works is the reverse: There's a giant ocean containing all the experience in the world, and in one place, some of it is sucked up into a river, which is then divided down into smaller and smaller streams, until all that's left is a thin trickle going up the drain of a urinal in an office building in New York City, into some guy's dick, and out his mouth into a little bottle labled "Ocean," which is then duplicated one million times and delivered to people who live right next to the ocean but never go outside."

Included are essays on how to "drop-out" of the system, helpful dumpster diving tips et al.

Link: here.

A bad Hank Williams paraphrase maybe, but it is true. I have been writing songs like crazy this week. The fact that I am competing in a songwriting competition in Guelph probably doesn't hurt either. So, as I am sure anyone reading this (if anyone even is) is waiting with baited breath to read them; I give you my new lyrics.

I.

Well I's standin by the bedside
Of my woman when she died
And you know I heard her screamin
As she saw the other side

You know I's standin oe'er her
When she drew her final breath
But I loved her now I'll leave her
Like I did to all the rest

And I've loved so many women
From California through to Maine
The ugly and the beautiful
You know I killed them all the same

Now some say I'm a killer
And I guess it's what I do
But I couldn't let you go away
And leavd me oh so blue

Now I'll eat my breakfast here
Just before I have to go
Cause it won't be too long now
Till they's ringing on your phone

If I stayed you know they'd find me
Before the ending of the day
So I'm going down to Vegas
There's a game I'd like to play


II.

Well the angels they have failed me
So too the holy book
I need some other proof of god
Upon which I might look.

Yeah I need some other proof of god
Need something I can hold
And I'm hoping for to find it soon
Before I get to old.

You know I'm living in a prison
I dug with my own hands,
I dug this prison thinking
I might find the Holy Land.

Prison walls are closing round me
And the roof is caving in
Still I wile away my days and nights
While I live my life of sin

Redemption, oh Redemption
Please don't withhold your embrace
Won't you wrap your arms around me
For to fly me from this place

And the road is long and steep my friend
For to reach the Promised land
But I'm thinking I might make it
If you'll only hold my hand.


Comments? They are never set in stone, so suggestions are welcome.

Keep your eyes on this site: www.myspace.com/openhouseartscollective, also, checkout the myspace pages for each of the individual bands/songwriters that make up the collective. If you live in london then you really shouldn't pass this shit up, esp. the house concerts. Wes can vouch for me. Anyway, check out the gigs when you can, and maybe I'll see you that Oh! Festival in the spring.

from http://bluesexcuse.southburnett.com.au/blueswayoflife.htm :

How To Write A Blues Song
Blues are about basic stuff like "woke up this morning" or "I got a good woman." But the blues also needs trouble. So if you've got a good woman then you'd better stick something bad in next (eg: "I got a good woman with the meanest dog in town"). Then keep repeating that line until you think of something that rhymes. For example:

I got a good woman with the meanest dog in town.
Yeah, I got a good woman with the meanest dog in town.
He got teeth like an alligator and he weighs 500 pounds


Blues Stereotypes
The blues are not about limitless choice. In fact, the blues are butt-deep in stereotypes. For example:

* Transportation: Blues cars are Chevies and Cadillacs. (Not BMWs. Or Volvos. Ever.) Other acceptable blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Walkin' shoes also play a major part in the blues lifestyle.
* Age is also rigidly controlled. Only adults can sing the blues. Blues adulthood means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.
* Acceptable blues colors are black and blue. Colors that don't belong in the blues are violet, beige and mauve.
* Blues attire: No one will believe it's the blues if you wear a suit. Unless you happen to be an old black man.


Blues Locations
You can have the blues in New York City, but not in Port Douglas. Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City still get good blues mileage. But hard times in Noosa or Margaret River are just a little depression. In the blues, it's always New Orleans that everybody goes "all the way to." But the French Quarter is a blues no-no. The only hard times there are when the ATM is down.

You can't have the blues in an office or a shopping mall (the lighting is wrong). But good places for the blues include the highway, the jailhouse or an empty bed.

Blues Rights
Do you have the right to sing the blues? Yes if:

* You're blind
* You shot a man in Memphis
* You can't be satisfied

But the answer is no if:

* You have a trust fund
* You were once blind, but now can see
* You're deaf
* You're dead


Blues Food and Drink
It's been well established that if you ask for water and your baby gives you gasoline, it's the blues. Other blues beverages are:

* Cheap wine
* Any kind of whiskey
* Muddy water

Blues beverages are not::

* UDL premixers
* Bailey's or Midori
* Cafe latte

Although Rubber Biscuits and the Wish Sandwich are famous blues snacks, better stick to common blues grub:

* Greasy food
* Fatback and beans
* Kraft cheddar

Blues food is never a:

* Club sandwich
* Sushi
* Crème brule
* Quiche


Blues Life and Death
If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is a blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse, or being denied treatment in an emergency room. But it's not a blues death if you die during a liposuction treatment. Short of actual death, "fixin' to die" is well regarded in the blues.

Blues Names
Some good blues names for women:

* Sadie
* Big Mama
* Bessie

Some good blues names for men:

* Joe, Big Joe, Little Joe
* Willie, Little Willie
* Lightnin'

Persons with names like Jason, Kylie, Tabitha, Alexis or Gwenyth will not be permitted to sing the blues no matter now many men they shoot in Memphis.

How To Create A Blues Name
Mix and match from the following.

* Nick name: physical infirmity (blind, cripple, asthmatic)
* First name: add a fruit (Lemon, lime, melon etc)
* Last name: a US president (Jefferson, Johnson, Lincoln, Roosevelt).

Eg: Blind Melon Jefferson

Parking lots were made to be danced on?


Also, never buy a slice of pizza from a pizza place at the witching hour, because it will haunt you.

One thing can of course be said for the shoddy public transit system here in the K-Dub, is that you have a heck of a lot of time to do not a heck of a lot while you wait for the bus. I like to fill this time with hashing out tap dance routines and writing songs, so, without any further ado:

Carry Me Home

When I fall down like a stone
Carry me home, carry me home X2
When I fall down like a stone, When I fall so far below
When I fall down like a stone carry me home

When I fall down in the street
Carry me home, carry me home X2
When I fall down in the street, Get me back up on my feet
When I fall down in the street, oh carry me home

I may be too drunk to stand
Carry me home, carry me home X2
I may be too drunk to stand, but I`ll always be your man
I might be too drunk to stand, so carry me home

Won`t you lay me down to sleep
Carry me home, carry me home X2
Won`t you lay me down to sleep, wrap me up in those warm sheets
Won`t you lay me down to sleep and carry me home

Won`t you sleep with till light
Carry me home, carry me home X2
Won`t you sleep with will light, tell me its all gonna be alright
Won`t you sleep with me tonight and carry me home

Barry out did himself with this poster methinks. Its a work of art. Hope to see you folks there!

With the lure of Ottawa fresh in my soul, I looked at Carelton's website and realized I could be taking courses in the music of Asia. Likely I will given a year. The capital does call to me, more even, than France does.

Troubling dreams of late. Was it Jung who put forth the idea of dreams as wish fulfillment? Regardless, whoever it was was right. My dreams only serve to remind me upon waking of what I don't have. I sleep a lot.

It isn't all bad however, a homecoming in mid-november. I'm to play again on the stage that first gave rise to this horrible vocation of mine. Perhaps some of you will attend? I have a new banjo and many new songs for you if you do.

It seems the longer I stay here three things are bound to keep happening. I'm going to keep dreaming about leaving this god-forsaken place, I am going to continue having unfourtunate mis-adventures with unfourtnately unrequited crushes, and I am going to continue writing songs about both. So without further ado, an as of yet untitled number:

If you don't come a-callin' honey I won't wait around,
You don't come a-callin' I won't wait around,
Yeah if you don't come a-callin' I won't wait around,
Gonna grab that bus and ride right out of town.

I saw a firey charger he was way up in the sky,
Saw a firey charger away up in the sky,
Yeah I saw a firey charger he was way up in the sky,
Pullin' on Appolo's chairiot so sweetly by the by.

And baby when that charger's work is finished for the day,
Baby when that charger's work is finished for the day,
Yeah baby when that charger's work is finished for the day,
Gonna find myself a Greyhound and ride the old highway.

So if you don't come a-callin' honey I won't wait around,
You don't come a-callin' I won't wait around,
Yeah if you don't come a-callin' I won't wait around,
Gonna grab that bus and ride right out of town.

Gonna find myself a frieghter thats lookin' for some hands,
Find my self a frieghter thats lookin' for some hands,
I'm gonna find myself a frieghter thats lookin' for some hands,
Gonna work my way across the sea to France.

Maybe there I'll settle down and try to start anew,
Maybe there I'll settle down and try to start anew,
Yeah maybe there I'll settle down and try to start a new,
But every wakin' thought you know, they will be all of you.

So if you don't come a-callin' I don't know what I'll do,
You don't come a-callin I don't know what I'll do,
If you don't come a-callin' I don't know what I'll do,
So I hope you come a-callin', but its largely up to you.


If you have a good title, I'd like to hear it. I'm looking at you Ben...

When I held you in my arms that day
The cold grey of winter just drifted away
And we knew just what we had to say
Now I'm here and you're there, and when I'm there you'll be gone x3

Its laying under that old pear tree
There's no place I would rather be
You and I need no other company
But I'm here and you're there, when I'm there you'll be gone x3

So now its done our time is past
Seems the best things in life are not made to last
And when good things come they're gone pretty fast
So I'm here and you're there, and when I'm there you'll be gone x3

That look in your eyes is like a field in may
Although it might rain the light won't go away
And our best laid plans are all gone astray
Cause I'm here and you're there and when I'm there you'll be gone x3

Abject apologies, I just had a cup of tea and realised I have not updated this since people stopped clapping and Tinkerbell died. You would not believe that I actually have a life. But I'm sorry you'll just have to take my word for it.

I am absolutely consumed with finding Jesus (after someone told me he was lost), sleeping, and just generally being an embarrassment to my friends. My day is filled with fluorescent light from the second star on the right, straight on untill I run out of alcohol. I am putting money aside so I can run away, but this damned rock is heavy.

I won't promise anything to you but I will write something that makes sense soon, assuming I don't get distracted by counting my chest hairs..

The Home County Folk Festival has been good to me: Made some friends, drank a bunch, didn't get home until 3 every night, and had some good jams. Drunken plans made to tour, record and form bands, and lots and lots of positive feedback. No-where but in the folk community can snobbery be cast aside and everyone be so kind and supportive. So I would like to thank everyone for inspiring me and I would especially like to thank Allison for introducing me to the festival after-hours. This has been my best festival thus-far, and I didn't even see most of it.

For your viewing pleasure, a couple nickleharpa videos, as well as a weird looking harp-guitar.