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John Hammond jr.: Wicked Grin

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Virgin Records
Released: 2001.03.13
Time:
 55:50
Category: Blues
Producer(s):      Tom Waits
Rating: ********** (10/10)
Media type: CD
Web address: www.johnhammond.com
Appears with:
Purchase date: 2002.04.12
Price in €: 21,99





 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] $2:19 (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:42
[2] Heartattack and Vine (T.Waits) - 4:40
[3] Clap Hands (T.Waits) - 3:59
[4] 'Til the Money Runs Out (T.Waits) - 4:02
[5] 16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought Six (T.Waits) - 4:37
[6] Buzz Fledderjohn (T.Waits) - 4:14
[7] Get Behind the Mule (K.Brennan/Waits) - 5:54
[8] Shore Leave (T.Waits) - 2:58
[9] Fannin Street (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:48
[10] Jockey Full of Bourbon (T.Waits) - 3:32
[11] Big Black Mariah (T.Waits) - 4:09
[12] Murder in the Red Barn (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 5:56
[13] I Know I've Been Changed (Traditional) - 2:19

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


JOHN PAUL HAMMOND - Guitar, Harmonica, Vocals

TOM WAITS - Guitar, Handclapping, Voclas on [13]

CHARLIE MUSSELWHITE - Harp
AUGIE MEYERS - Piano, Accordion, Organ (Hammond), Piano (Electric), Handclapping, Wurlitzer
LARRY TAYLOR - Bass
OZ FRITZ - Handclapping, Engineer, Mixing
STEPHEN HODGES - Percussion, Drums, Handclapping
GENE CORNELIUS - Handclapping, Assistant Engineer
RALPH PATLAN - Handclapping

MICHAEL NASH - Executive Producer
KATHLEEN BRENNAN - Concept
T-BONE BURNETT - Liner Notes
TOM RECCHION - Art Direction, Design
JAY BLAKESBERG - Photography
JEFF DUNAS - Cover Art

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


2001 CD Virgin 50764

Liner Notes from John Hammond- "Wicked Grin"

"This is the deep stuff. The dark stuff. This is the facts. Right here. Something actual. Every note is one of a kind. Nothing is sampled. Nothing is repeated. Every note is original. Really the blues. This is music only a full grown man can make. In this case, two of them. A few of them.

John Hammond is a master, but that is not the most apt description. These performances are certainly masterful. But virtuoso is the truer word. He is a virtuoso. A Conjurer. He is a Modernist. Deep shuffle. People have lost the upbeat. John has it. And all the beats in between. All the triplets. All the notes the machines can't read. Vines growing up out of the mud. Gris gris. Mojo. Voodoo. Ya Ya.

If Picasso walked into Disney looking for a job, they would throw him out on the street. Couldn't draw good enough. The reality of the news cycle. Of what is necessary. Of what is useful. Art for people who don't like art. Art is not a pretty sight. Art is not for everybody. This is music for people who like music.

A lifetime devoted to music. To getting good. There is no way to get there other than the exact way he did it. The narrow slip he took. He is in a very small circle of men with a guitar and a harmonica. Jimmy Reed. Howlin' Wolf. Bob Dylan. The guitar is an orchestra. A hundred or hundreds of drums. The bass. The horns. John Hammond plays the whole deal. He animates the blues that Plato sang. He is a classical musician. He's sending messages. Storytelling. All mystery. Protection. The language goes out through the night.

Tom Waits. The Sheik of Risk. Performs difficult operations using only his mind. Penicillin and the atomic bomb. Scary.

Augie Meyers, a snake charmer. Comboorganmetaphysician. Channel Meade Lux.

Stephen Hodges had the good sense to play a twenty-eight inch double-headed calf-skin bass drum when separationists everywhere were filling up drums with polyurethane foam and asbestos. Laminating' guitars. Removing overtones.

Larry Taylor plays catgut strings. A leopard I think it was.

Charlie Musselwhite, a mutha futha. A legendary musician in his own right. All the way from Kosciusko, Mississippi. Straight up the river. Just the way it happened.

Shuffle and straight time all at once. Random scan. Freedom. Overtone. Beats creating melodies all their own. No control. Subdivide into all time. A bad note an impossibility.

The Big Boom. Boom the room. Gone, Johnny, gone."

T Bone Burnett



After 35 years into a career that spans 35 albums recorded for seven labels, you'd think John Hammond might get a little complacent. Thankfully the opposite is true, as 2001's Wicked Grin is the artist's most daring musical departure and arguably greatest achievement to date. Mining the rich Tom Waits catalog for 12 of its 13 tracks (the closing is a traditional gospel tune) and bringing Waits himself along as producer has resulted in a stunning collection that stands as one of the best in Hammond's bulging catalog. Never a songwriter, the singer/guitarist/harmonica bluesman has maintained a knack for picking top-notch material from the rich blues tradition without resorting to the hoary, over-covered classics of the genre. It's that quality that transforms these tunes into Hammond songs, regardless of their origin. His history of working with exceptional session musicians is also legendary, and this album's band, which features Doug Sahm sideman Augie Meyers on keyboards, harmonica wiz Charlie Musselwhite, longtime Waits associate Larry Taylor on bass, and Waits himself poking around on various songs, is perfect for the spooky, swampy feel he effortlessly conjures here. Choosing from a wide variety of Waits' material, Hammond infuses these unusual tracks with a bluesman's spirit and a crackling energy that practically reinvents the songs, instilling them with an ominous, rhythmic swampy feel. The producer contributes two new tracks ("2:19" and "Fannin' Street," the latter is the album's only acoustic cut) that maintain the creepy but upbeat voodoo spirit that trickles and twists throughout. Hammond sings with a renewed spirit, adding a smoother but no less intense edge than Waits' typical rusty razor blade soaked whisky growl. With his dusky croon and idiosyncratic delivery, Hammond tears into this material with relish, spitting out the often offbeat, stream of consciousness lyrics as if he wrote them himself. Only the slow, ambling blues of "Murder in the Red Barn" would comfortably slot into Hammond's existing oeuvre; the remainder push the bluesman into previously uncharted territory with results that reveal fascinating layers of his own interpretive abilities. An experiment whose success will hopefully yield another volume, this partnership of John Hammond and Tom Waits brings out the best in both artists' substantial talents.

Hal Horowitz - All Music Guide
© 1992 - 2002 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



Wicked Grin is wicked indeed, just as sharp and clear and perceptive as you'd expect of an album of Tom Waits songs performed by veteran bluesman John Hammond. That basically sums up what Wicked Grin is all about; only one song on the album, the traditional "I Know I've Been Changed," wasn't written by Waits. This gorgeous recording should appeal to fans of both artists: Waits's songwriting is as incisive as ever, and Hammond explores each song to its fullest potential as he makes it his own. Waits produced the album as well. Between them, the two musicians achieve a kind of synthesis that makes for a damn fine collection. The first few songs kick things off nicely, evoking urban images, specifically of New York City, that stick in the mind like a tune running through your head that won't leave. Then there's "Shore Leave," with a sort of dark harmonic drone behind everything that makes the whole song downright spooky; the bittersweet "Fannin Street," which almost sounds like one of Johnny Cash's sweeter songs; and the Spanish-inflected "Jockey Full of Bourbon," which is capable of raising goose bumps. The format of this collaboration is perhaps a bit unusual--though there's a long history in the blues of artists covering other artists' work, it's usually done after the artist being covered is safely dead and can't object--but it works so well that it makes an excellent argument for continuing the practice, even if it's doubtful that most such pairings could be as successful as this one. This may well be one of the best releases of 2001.

Genevieve Williams - Amazon.com's Best of 2001



Singer and guitarist Hammond devotes nearly all of Wicked Grin to the songs of Tom Waits. It all started when the pair's wives struck on the idea of having Tom produce John's next album. Hammond and Waits have been firm buddies since 1974 and had already made isolated guest exchanges on each other's albums. Once the sessions got swinging, the idea of the Waits song book being used just happened spontaneously, with Tom and Kathleen Brennan even penning two brand-new ditties. Hammond's cranked-up electric guitar is bolstered by a great band featuring Augie Meyers (keys), Larry Taylor (bass) and Stephen Hodges (drums), with Charlie Musselwhite chipping in some primordial harmonica and Waits himself playing background churn-guitar on most cuts. The subterranean feel they capture is inspired, from the swamp-shufflin', grimy trudge of numbers like "Heartattack & Vine" and "Big Black Mariah", to the exposed fragility of "Buzz Fledderjohn" and "Fannin Street". Hammond's mean-mouthed, raspy holler is perfectly suited to the Waits canon, but old Tom does get to sing out on the traditional gospel clap-along of "I Know I've Been Changed".

Martin Longley - Amazon.co.uk



Ein Tribute-Album, das keines ist. Oder aber eins der ganz besonderen Sorte, wenn man's denn doch gern so sehen will. Zwei verdiente Männer, Freunde auch seit langen Jahren, geben einander die Aufgaben in die Hand. Nicht, dass John Hammond, seit Anfang der Sechziger eine praktisch unantastbare Größe im Sektor Blues und angrenzenden Bereichen, es nötig hätte, sich von jemand anders die Songs schreiben zu lassen. Er ist selbst einer der hochwohlangesehensten Vertreter der Liedermachergilde, wo auch immer auf dem blauen Planeten man eine Gitarre von einem Teller Suppe unterscheiden kann. Dass er auf Wicked Grin, seiner ungefähr fünfunddreißigsten Platte, bis auf den alten Gospel "I Know I've Been Changed" ausschließlich Songs von Tom Waits singt und das Album auch gleich von diesem produzieren lässt, empfindet der wiederum als Ehre. Ist dieses John-Hammond-Album also ein verkapptes Tom-Waits-Album? Ganz im Gegenteil. Denn die unspektakuläre Art und Weise, in der Hammond sich diese urtypischen Waits-Songs in dessen ganz und gar typischen Klang- und Produktionsparametern zu Eigen macht, spricht eine weitaus deutlichere Sprache über Hammonds künstlerische Persönlichkeit als Interpretationen seiner eigenen Songs es könnten. "Jockey Full Of Bourbon", "Heart Attack And Vine" oder "Get Behind The Mule", potenzielle Angstpartien allesamt, an die sich die meisten Musiker nicht mal im Traum heranwagen -  Hammond geht souverän damit um, ohne sie ihrer Waits-DNA zu berauben.

Rolf Jäger - Amazon.de



Initially, there seems to be little that connects the work of John Hammond and Tom Waits. Hammond has been releasing straight-no-chaser blues albums, crammed with predominantly obscure covers, for three decades. Waits has forged his own distinctive career by crafting wildly idiosyncratic songs that touch on folk, vaudeville, jazz, rock, and blues. On the last genre, the two musicians find common ground, but the concept of the relatively conventional Hammond covering oblique chestnuts from Waits' extensive catalog still raises eyebrows - at least on paper.

Apparently, even the participants were unsure it would click. But one spin of Wicked Grin will convince even the most diehard skeptic -- and hardcore fan -- of either artist that this was an illogical, but ultimately ideal match. John Hammond sings/howls/croons with a renewed vigor, infusing these pieces with a vitality and energy previously obscured. Hear him dig in on "16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six," spitting out the words like the bullets from the titular gun. Listen as he totally controls "Get Behind the Mule," whipping it into a stirring swamp stomp. Thrill to him transforming "Big Black Mariah" into a blues rocker worthy of Muddy himself, as guest harpist Charlie Musselwhite does his best Little Walter on his sizzling solo. Powerful stuff.

Bringing Waits in as producer -- and members of his band as backing musicians -- ensured that the finished product would at least meet his high standards. In fact, he even penned two new tunes specifically for the album, and hovers in the background playing and singing on a few tracks. But this is undoubtedly John Hammond's triumph, as he wraps his thick, musky voice around a collection of songs that stretches him into fresh and thrilling territory. The set closes with the only non-Waits tune, the traditional gospel song "I Know I've Been Changed." Its title could easily refer to Hammond himself, who seems transformed by these tracks. Wicked Grin is a rousingly successful experiment. The album's best moments equal -- and often surpass -- anything in both artists' consistently creative careers.

Hal Horowitz - CDNOW Contributing Writer
Copyright © 1994-2002 CDnow Online, Inc. All rights reserved.



For all his multi-dimensional talent (guitarist, singer, harmonica player) and prodigious output (28 albums since the early '60s), bluesman John Hammond has always been more of an interpreter than a songwriter. On Wicked Grin, he celebrates his 40th year of recording by taking on the challenge of covering one of the most idiosyncratic songwriters of the late 20th century, Tom Waits. Wisely, Hammond doesn't try to reinvent Waits' mule-boned wheel on these 13 tunes, slathering on some extra greasy licks here and there, but largely honoring the style of the original performances. With Waits himself handling the production and hand-picking the cast of veteran backing musicians, the album doesn't leave much room for Hammond's own thumbprint. But with stylists this well-matched, it's all in the delivery.

Colin Helms: CMJ New Music Report Issue: 705 - Mar 12, 2001
© 1978-2002 College Media, Inc., Inc. All Rights Reserved.



The idea of having veteran bluesman John Hammond perform an album of songs written and produced by Tom Waits turns out to be every bit as pleasing to the ears as it appears on paper. Hammond easily locates the bluesy shuffle at the heart of Waits' sideshow hollers. "Heartattack and Vine" and "Big Black Mariah" are right in Hammond's wheelhouse; Waits' eccentric bellow on the originals gives way gracefully to the slinky authority of Hammond's singing and electric guitar. Count on the producer, however, to disrupt anything that's pat or complacent about the blues form, wrapping the sound in the off-kilter ethers he's been perfecting since Swordfishtrombones. If Wicked Grin sounds like a worthy companion to Bob Dylan's Time Out of Mind, it's the modest keyboard heroics of Augie Meyers - mixed slightly apart on both albums, as if he were playing a beat-up bar piano shoved off to one side of the bandstand - that provide the bridge. The two new Waits songs are knockouts. "2:19" hugs every curve of Hammond's brand of swampy hoodoo, but "Fannin Street" is something else again, a mix of country ballad and Celtic lament that asks for, and gets, an unheard tenderness from Hammond's deep throat. He finds a few new things in Waits' older material, too, turning the spoken word of "Shore Leave" into an after-hours tango. What makes Wicked Grin such a splendidly untraditional traditional-blues album is spelled out in Waits' and Hammond's different approaches to "Murder in the Red Barn." On 1992's Bone Machine, Waits bore down on the song like a man in possession of a terrible secret. When John Hammond sings it here, it's like that secret has been handed down for generations.

BEN EDMONDS - RS 866
© Copyright 2002 RollingStone.com



A recent album released by veteran blues musician John Hammond pays tribute to the experimental blues music of Tom Waits. The album, entitled "Wicked Grin," embodies the typical lyrical focus of Waits on desperate, lowlife characters with a blue-collar persona. Waits produced the album, the only recording he ever produced for another musician.

John Hammond will perform songs from the "Wicked Grin" album at the Wild Duck Music Hall, Monday, August 27th. Tickets cost $15 in advance, $17 day of show and are now on sale at the Wild Duck main bar, all Fastixx outlets and online.

Hammond adds a powerful touch of Missippii Delta-style blues to Wait's songs with a vocal style that naturally leans toward the blues. Songs like "Heartattack and Vine" and "16 Shells From a Thirty-Ought Six" are reborn in Hammond's hands. With a vocal delivery as eccentric but less contrived than Waits', Hammond molds the jagged lyrics with his blues-trained voice into a unique interpretation of each song.

Waits' production doesn't clutter the tracks with peculiar percussion or grating sonics, as he does on his own records. Instead, he dresses up the bluesy edge of Hammond's singing. Hammond and the songs get center stage, most notably with a set-closing duet on an old gospel song, "I Know I've Been Changed."

Hammond and Waits met over 25 years ago, when Waits opened a gig for Hammond in Arizona. They had an instant rapport and became fast friends, continuing to cross paths for the last three decades. Waits penned a classic tune - "No One Can Forgive Me But My Baby" - for Hammond's first Pointblank release, Got Love If You Want It. More recently, Hammond appeared on Waits' 1999 Grammy Award-winning release, Mule Variations. It was during those recording sessions that the idea of Waits producing Hammond first arose, which led to "Wicked Grin."

From coffeehouses to concert halls, festivals and beyond, John Hammond has spent more than thirty-five years entertaining blues, folk and rock audiences around the world, performing intense solo-acoustic blues. A Grammy Award winner (his last three Virgin/pointblank CD's have been nominated as well) that also enjoyed successive W.C. Handy awards in 1994, 1995 and 1996, Hammond has shared the stage and/or recorded with many of the masters, including Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, John Lee Hooker and Howlin' Wolf. John has recorded over twenty-five albums and his passionate commitment to traditional blues made him the natural choice to host the BRAVO TV special and Sony Home Video, The Search for Robert Johnson.

The Plaehn and Hino Blues Band opens. Dave Plaehn and Jeff Hino have been performing their own distinct blend of acoustic blues, folk, and original material since 1990. Plaehn and Hino explore the uncluttered powerful interplay of blues harmonica, National steel slide guitar, and vocals in the tradition of bluesmen like Robert Johnson (Dust My Broom) and Elmore James (Shake Your Money Maker). A typical Plaehn and Hino set blends traditional blues with Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, the high and lonesome sound of a bluegrass ballad, and original songs written by Plaehn.

Copyright © 2001 eugene.com all rights reserved
 

 L y r i c s


$29.00

little black girl in a red dress
on a hot night with a broken shoe
little black girl you shoulda never left home
theres probly someone thats still waitin up for you
its cold back in chicago
but in los angeles its worse
when all you got is $29.00 and an alligator purse

i see already that vulture in the fleetwood
with the shartruse hood
can see you're trying to get your bearings
and you say hey which ways the main stem
and where ever you say you're from
he'll say he grew up there himself
and he'll comeon and make you feel
like you grew up right next door to him
and you say take a left on central
and he throws it in reverse
cause you only got $29.00 and an alligator purse

and he'll come on like a gentleman
and you'll be a little shy
you say your ex old man was a sax player
he'll say baby i used to play bass for sly
and you say you like his cadillac,
say honey i got 2 or 3
he'll say sweetheart you're sure fortunate
that you ran into me
when you've done a dime in the joint
you figure nothin could be worse
and you got $29.00 in an alligator purse

well he got pharoh on the 8 track
you start smokin a little boo
you thinkin gettin out of chicago was the
best thing ever happened to you
but he ain't no good samaritan
he'll make sure he's reimbursed
lot more than $29.00 and an alligator purse

now when the streets get hungry, baby
you can almost hear them growl
someone's setting a place for you
when the dogs begin to howl

well the streets are dead
they creep up and ??? but it was left on the pole
they make... suckers always make mistakes
when they're far away from home
Chicken in a pot
Whoever gets their first
Gonna get himself 29.00
and an alligator purse

now the sirens just an epilog
the cops always get there too late
they always stop for coffee
on the way to the scene of the crime
they always try so hard to look like movie stars
they couldnt catch a cold
you only wasting your dime
and she's lucky to be alive
the doctor whispered to the nurse
she only lost a 1/2 pint of blood
$29.00 and an alligator purse


HEARTATTACK AND VINE

liar liar with your pants on fire,
white spades hangin' on the telephone
wire, gamblers reevaluate along the dotted line,
you'll never recognize
yourself on heartattack and vine.

doctor lawyer beggar man thief,
philly joe remarkable looks on in disbelief,
if you want a taste of madness,
you'll have to wait in line, you'll probably
see someone you know on heartattack and vine.

Heartattack and Vine

liar liar with your pants on fire,
white spades hangin' on the telephone
wire, gamblers reevaluate along the dotted line,
you'll never recognize
yourself on heartattack and vine.

doctor lawyer beggar man thief,
philly joe remarkable looks on in disbelief,
if you want a taste of madness,
you'll have to wait in line, you'll probably
see someone you know on heartattack and vine.

boney's high on china white, shorty found a punk,
don't you know there ain't
no devil, there's just god when he's drunk,
well this stuff will probably kill
you, let's do another line,
what you say you meet me down
on heartattack and vine.

see that little jersey girl in the see-through top,
with the peddle pushers sucking on a soda pop,
well i bet she's still a virgin
but it's only twenty-five 'til nine,
you can see a million of 'em
on heartattack and vine.

better off in iowa against your scrambled eggs,
than crawling down cahuenga on a broken pair of legs,
you'll find your ignorance is blissful every goddamn time,
your're waitin' for the rtd on heartattack and vine.


CLAP HANDS

Sane, sane, they're all insane,
fireman's blind, the conductor is lame
A Cincinnati jacket and a sad-luck dame
Hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands

Said roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
The moon in the window and a bird on the pole
We can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands

Said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to Harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladin's hat
And nobody's sure where Mr. Knickerbocker's at

Roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
Moon in the window and a bird on the pole
Can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands

I said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to Harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladin's hat
And nobody's sure where Mr. Knickerbocker's at

Shine, shine, a Roosevelt dime
All the way to Baltimore and running out of time
Salvation Army seemed to wind up in the hole
They all went to heaven in a little row boat
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands


'TIL THE MONEY RUNS OUT

check this strange beverage that falls out from the sky,
splashin' bagdad on the hudson in panther martin's eyes,
he's high and outside wearin' candy apple red,
scarlet gave him twenty seven stitches in his head,
with a pint of green chartreuse ain't nothin' seems right,
you buy the sunday paper on a saturday night.

can't you hear the thunder someone stole my watch,
I sold a quart of blood and bought a half a pint of scotch,
some one tell those chinamen on telegraph canyon road,
when you're on the bill with the spoon there ain't no time
to unload, so bye bye baby baby bye bye.

droopy stranger lonely dreamer toy puppy and the prado,
we're laughin' as they piled into olmos' el dorado,
jesus whispered eni meany miney moe,
they're too proud to duck their heads
that's why they bring it down so low,
so bye bye baby baby bye bye.

the pointed man is smack dab in the middle of july,
swingin' from the rafters in his brand new tie,
he said i can't go back to that hotel room
all they do is shout,
but i'll stay wichew baby till the money runs out,
so bye bye baby baby bye bye.


16 SHELLS FROM A THIRTY-OUGHT-SIX

I plugged 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
and a Black Crow snuck through
a hole in the sky
so I spent all my buttons on an
old pack mule
and I made me a ladder from
a pawn shop marimba
and I leaned it up against
a dandelion tree

And I filled me a sachel
full of old pig corn
and I beat me a billy
from an old French horn
and I kicked that mule
to the top of the tree
and I blew me a hole
'bout the size of a kickdrum
and I cut me a switch
from a long branch elbow

Chorus
I'm gonna whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six
whittle you into kindlin'
Black Crow 16 shells from a thirty-ought-six

Well I slept in the holler
of a dry creek bed
and I tore out the buckets
from a red Corvette, tore out the buckets from a red Corvette
Lionel and Dave and the Butcher made three
you got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinnybone tree
with the strings of a Washburn
stretched like a clothes line
you know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole

Repeat Chorus

Now I hold him prisoner
in a Washburn jail
that stapped on the back
of my old kick mule
strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
I bang on the strings just
to drive him crazy
I strum it loud just to rattle his cage
strum it loud just to rattle his cage

Repeat Chorus


BUZZ FLEDDERJOHN

I stood on the roof, stood so dark
to get a better look at the Fledderjons' lawn
Big sharp pistols, ammo too
Nothing but books about World War II
Rottweiler, Dobermann, a Pinkerton guard
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard

I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard

I seen a python swallowing a Dobermann whole
Piranhas swimming in a mixing bowl
Buzz Fledderjon

Paper's full of stabbings, the sky's full of crows
She's singing in Italian while she's hanging out her clothes
Carp in the bathtub and it's raining real hard
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard

I said that I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard

Well, the sailor's ringing doorbells, the sinner's in the pew
Weathervane's squeaking to the West
I seen the cliffs of Dover and the deepest ocean blue
One thing in the world I can't recommend to you

Because I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard

I said, I ain't allowed
No, I ain't allowed
I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard
I ain't allowed
I ain't allowed
I said, I ain't allowed in Buzz Fledderjon's yard


GET BEHIND THE MULE

Molly be damned smote Jimmy the Harp
With a horrid little pistol and a lariat
She's goin to the bottom
And she's goin down the drain
Said she wasn't big enough to carry it

She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow

Choppity chop goes the axe in the woods
You gotta meet me by the fall down tree
Shovel of dirt upon a coffin lid
And I know they'll come lookin for me boys
And I know they'll come a-lookin for me

Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow

Big Jack Earl was 8'1
He stood in the road and he cried
He couldn't make her love him
Couldn't make her stay
But tell the good Lord that he tried
(Chorus)
Dusty trail from Atchison to Placerville
On the wreck of the Weaverville stage
Beaula fired on Beatty for a lemonade
I was stirring my brandy with a nail boys
Stirring my brandy with a nail
(Chorus)
Well the rampaging sons of the widow James
Jack the cutter and the pock marked kid
Had to stand naked at the bottom
Of the cross
And tell the good lord what they did
Tell the good lord what they did
(Chorus)
Punctuated birds on the power line
In a Studebaker with the Birdie Joe Joaks
I'm diggin all the way to China
With a silver spoon
While the hangman fumbles with the noose, boys
The hangman fumbles with the noose
(Chorus)
Pin your ear to the wisdom post
Pin your eye to the line
Never let the weeds get higher
Than the garden
Always keep a sapphire in your mind
Always keep a diamond in your mind
(Chorus)


SHORE LEAVE

Well with buck shot eyes and a purple heart
I rolled down the national stroll
and with a big fat paycheck
strapped to my hip sack
and a shore leave wristwatch underneath
my sleeve
in a Hong Kong drizzle on Cuban heels
I rowed down the gutter to the Blood Bank
and I'd left all my papers on the Ticonderoga
and was in a bad need of a shave
and so I slopped at the corner on cold chow mein
and shot billards with a midget
until the rain stopped
and I bought a long sleeved shirt
with horses on the front
and some gum and a lighter and a knife
and a new deck of cards (with girls on the back)
and I sat down and wrote a letter to my wife

and I said Baby, I'm so far away from home
and I miss my Baby so
I can't make it by myself
I love you so

Well I was pacing myself
trying to make it all last
squeezing all the life
out of a lousy two day pass
and I had a cold one at the Dragon
with some Filipino floor show
and talked baseball with a lieutenant
over a Singapore sling
and I wondered how the same moon outside
over this Chinatown fair
could look down on Illinois
and find you there
and you know I love you Baby

and I'm so far away from home
and I miss my Baby so
I can't make it by myself
I love you so

Shore Leave...
Shore Leave...


FANNIN STREET

There's a crooked street in Houston town,
It's a well born path I've traveled down
Now there's ruin in my name, I wish I never got off the train,
I wished I'd listened to the words you said.

Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street

Once I held you in my arms, I was sure
But I took that silent stare through the guilded door
The desire to have much more, all the glitter and the roar,
I know this is where the sidewalk ends.

Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street

When I was young I thought only of getting out
I said goodbye to my street, goodbye to my house
Give a man gin, give a man cards, give an inch he takes a yard,
And I rue the day that I stepped off this train.

Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
Don't go down to Fannin Street
You'll be lost and never found
You can never turn around
Don't go down to Fannin Street.


JOCKEY FULL OF BOURBON

Edna Million in a drop dead suit
Dutch Pink on a downtown train
Two-dollar pistol but the gun won't shoot
I'm in the corner on the pouring rain
Sixteen men on a dead man's chest
And I've been drinking from a broken cup
Two pairs of pants and a mohair vest
I'm full of bourbon, I can't stand up

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

Schiffer broke a bottle on Morgan's head
And I'm stepping on the devil's tail
Across the stripes of a full moon's head
And through the bars of a Cuban jail
Bloody fingers on a purple knife
Flamingo drinking from a cocktail glass
I'm on the lawn with someone else's wife
Admire the view from up on top of the mast

Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, your children are alone

I said hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
House is on fire, your children are alone

Yellow sheets on a Hong Kong bed
Stazybo horn and a Slingerland ride
"To the carnival" is what she said
A hundred dollars makes it dark inside
Edna Million in a drop dead suit
Dutch Pink on a downtown train
Two-dollar pistol but the gun won't shoot
I'm in the corner on the pouring rain

Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone
Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone


BIG BLACK MARIAH

Well cutting through the cane break, rattling the sill
Thunder that the rain makes when the shadow tops the hill
Big light on the back street, hill to ever more
Packing down the ladder with the hammer to the floor
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the Big Black Mariah
Here come the Big Black Mariah, I seen the big black Ford

Well he's all boxed up on a red belle dame
Hunted Black Johnny with a blind man's cane
A yellow bullet with a rag out in the wind
An old blind tiger, got an old bell Jim
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the Big Black Mariah
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the big black Ford

Sent to the skies on a Benny Jag Blue
Off to bed without his supper like a Linda brides do
He got to do the story with the old widow Jones
Got a wooden coat, this boy is never coming home
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the Big Black Mariah
Here come the Big Black Mariah, I seen that big black Ford
Cut through the canebrake, oh yeah

Well he's all boxed up on a red belle dame
Flat Blue Johnny with a blind man's cane
A hundred yellow bullets shook a rag out in the wind
An old blind tiger, on a bell you win
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the Big Black Mariah
Here come the Big Black Mariah, here come the big black Ford


MURDER IN THE RED BARN

There was a murder in the red barn
Murder in the red barn

The trees are bending over
The cows are lying down
The autumn's taking over
You can hear the buckshot hounds
The watchman said to Reba the loon
Was it pale at Manzanita
Or Blind Bob the raccoon?
Pin it on a drifter
They sleep beneath the bridge
One plays the violin
And sleeps inside a fridge
There was a murder in the red barn
A murder in the red barn

Someone's crying in the woods
Someone's burying all his clothes
Now Slam the Crank from Wheezer
Slept outside last night and froze
Road kill has its seasons
Just like anything
It's possums in the autumn
And it's farm cats in the spring
There was a murder in the red barn
A murder in the red barn

Now thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house
Or covet thy neighbor's wife
But for some
Murder is the only door thru which they enter life

Now they surrounded the house
They smoke him out
They took him off in chains
The sky turned black and bruised
And we had months of heavy rains
Now the raven's nest in the rotted roof
Of Chenoweth's old place
And no one's asking Cal
About that scar upon his face
'Cause there's nothin' strange
About an axe with bloodstains in the barn

There's always some killin'
You got to do around the farm
A murder in the red barn
Murder in the red barn

Now the woods will never tell
What sleeps beneath the trees
Or what's buried 'neath a rock
Or hiding in the leaves
'Cause road kill has it's seasons
Just like anything
It's possums in the autumn
And it's farm cats in the spring
A murder in the red barn
A murder in the red barn

Now a lady can't do nothin'
Without folks' tongues waggin'
Is this blood on the tree
Or is it autumn's red blaze
When the ground's soft for diggin'
ANd the rain will bring all this gloom
There's nothing wrong with a lady
Drinking alone in her room
But there was a murder in the red barn
A murder in the red barn


I KNOW I'VE BEEN CHANGED

Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed

The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name
The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name

I know I've got religion
Lord knows I'm not ashamed
The holy ghost is my witness
And the angel's gonna sign my name

Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed

The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name
Angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name

I know I've been converted
Lord knows I've been redeemed
You can wake me up in the midnight hour
I'm gonna tell you just what I see

Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed

The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name

Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed
Whoa I, I know I've been changed

The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name
The angels in the heaven's
Gonna sign my name
Angels in heaven
Gonna sign my name

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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