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Tom Waits: Bone Machine

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s


Label: Island Records
Released: 1992.08.01
Time:
 53:33
Category: Progressive Rock
Producer(s): Tom Waits
Rating: *********. (9/10)
Media type: CD
Web address: www.anti.com
Appears with:
Purchase date: 2002.04.27
Price in €: 15,99



 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] Earth Died Screaming (T.Waits) - 3:36
[2] Dirt in the Ground (K.Brennan/Waits) - 4:07
[3] Such a Scream (T.Waits) - 2:08
[4] All Stripped Down (T.Waits) - 3:03
[5] Who Are You (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:54
[6] The Ocean Doesn't Want Me (T.Waits) - 1:49
[7] Jesus Gonna Be Here (T.Waits) - 3:18
[8] Little Rain [For Clyde] (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:58
[9] In the Collosseum (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:50
[10] Goin' Out West (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 3:20
[11] Murder in the Red Barn (Brennan/Waits) - 4:28
[12] Black Wings (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 4:35
[13] Whistle Down the Wind [For Tom Jans] (T.Waits) - 4:35
[14] I Don't Wanna Grow Up (K.Brennan/T.Waits) - 2:31
[15] Let Me Get up on It (T.Waits) - 0:53
[16] That Feel (K.Richards/T.Waits) - 3:13

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


TOM WAITS - Guitar, Percussion, Piano, Keyboards, Stick, Vocals, Chamberlain, Producer

JOE MARQUEZ - Banjo, Percussion, Stick, Producer, Engineer
KEITH RICHARDS - Guitar, Vocals
RALPH CARNEY - Bass Clarinet, Alto & Tenor Saxophone
DAVID PHILLIPS - Steel Guitar
RICHARD WACHTEL - Guitar
WADDY WACHTEL - Guitar
LARRY TAYLOR - Bass
LES CLAYPOOL - Bass
JOE GORE - Guitar
DAVID HIDALGO - Violin, Accordion
BRAIN - Drums
KATHLEEN BRENNAN - Percussion, Stick

KEITH BRENNAN - Co-Producer
BIFF DAWES - Engineer
BILL DAWES - Engineer
TCHAD BLAKE - Engineer
JOE BLANEY - Engineer, Mixing

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1992 CD Island 314-512580-2
1992 CS Island 314-512580-4
1992 LP Island 512 580



Perhaps Tom Waits' most cohesive album, Bone Machine is a morbid, sinister nightmare, one that applied the quirks of his experimental '80s classics to stunningly evocative — and often harrowing — effect. In keeping with the title's grotesque image of the human body, Bone Machine is obsessed with decay and mortality, the ease with which earthly existence can be destroyed. The arrangements are accordingly stripped of all excess flesh; the very few, often non-traditional instruments float in distinct separation over the clanking junkyard percussion that dominates the record. It's a chilling, primal sound made all the more otherworldly (or, perhaps, underworldly) by Waits' raspy falsetto and often-distorted roars and growls. Matching that evocative power is Waits' songwriting, which is arguably the most consistently focused it's ever been. Rich in strange and extraordinarily vivid imagery, many of Waits' tales and musings are spun against an imposing backdrop of apocalyptic natural fury, underlining the insignificance of his subjects and their universally impending doom. Death is seen as freedom for the spirit, an escape from the dread and suffering of life in this world — which he paints as hellishly bleak, full of murder, suicide, and corruption. The chugging, oddly bouncy beats of the more uptempo numbers make them even more disturbing — there's a detached nonchalance beneath the horrific visions. Even the narrator of the catchy, playful "I Don't Wanna Grow Up" seems hopeless in this context, but that song paves the way for the closer "That Feel," an ode to the endurance of the human soul (with ultimate survivor Keith Richards on harmony vocals). The more upbeat ending hardly dispels the cloud of doom hanging over the rest of Bone Machine, but it does give the listener a gentler escape from that terrifying sonic world. All of it adds up to Waits' most affecting and powerful recording, even if it isn't his most accessible.

Steve Huey, All-Music Guide, © 1992 - 2002 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



This is Waits's most harrowing album ever, thanks not only to such heartwarming sentiments as "What does it matter, a dream of love or a dream of lies / We're all going to be in the same place when we die" but also to the ravaged, shamanistic croak with which he delivers them. Death hangs like a bad suit on songs like "Jesus Gonna Be Here," "The Ocean Doesn't Want Me," and "Murder in the Red Barn." But the album is musically entrancing and richly poetic--"Are you still jumping out of windows in expensive clothes?" Waits asks a perennially unfaithful lover in "Who Are You." There's also room for some foolishness, as with "I Don't Wanna Grow Up," which has been memorably covered by the Ramones, and a boozy sing-along (with Keith Richards), "That Feel."

Daniel Durchholz, Amazon.com essential recording



The abnormal has become the norm for Tom Waits, so, once again, Bone Machine is laden with odd timbres, archaic acoustics, and raw vocals. This time, however, Waits has built his songs around a Harry Partch-inspired fascination with primitive percussion. With a crew of Northern California musicians along to add spare adornments, Waits fashions pretty, sentimental tunes ("A Little Rain," Whistle Down the Wind") and hellish stampedes of clanging metal and hoarse shouting ("Earth Died Screaming," "Let Me Get Up on It," the latter the 53-second distillation of Bone Machine quintessence-just Waits distorted bellowing and banging. Bone Machine is both appalling and appealing. There are elements to this album that seem designed to drive away the faint of heart, and then there are melodies that melt in your hand.

Steve Stolder, Amazon.co.uk



What the Critics Say...

Spin (12/92, p.68) - Ranked #13 in Spin's list of the `20 Best Albums Of The Year' - "...leaves you breathless in amazement that anyone could be this friggin' weird and cool...a shining collection of tunes..."

Village Voice (3/2/93, p.5) - Ranked #9 in the Village Voice's list of the 40 Best Albums Of 1992.

Entertainment Weekly (9/17/92, p.65) - "...You never know when you're going to be shocked, thrilled, or just plain unnerved by some startling image or sound...As modern songwriters go, [Waits] is one of the few who does matter..." - Rating: A+

Q Magazine (10/92, p.100) - 4 Stars - Excellent - "...a formidable talent who is surely the true heir to Captain Beefheart...in an era when even the fringes of cultural enterprise are becoming increasingly dominated by market pandering, his is the bravest of stances..."

Musician (10/92, p.99) - "...one of the most singular-sounding albums to come along in some time...BONE MACHINE should be counted among [Waits's] best efforts--deeply weird, aggressively sardonic and, at its greasy core, painfully humane..."

Rolling Stone (10/29/92, p.69) - 3.5 Stars - Good Plus - "...It's a song older than Waits himself--older than Hank Williams, older than Robert Johnson--that Waits is chasing...Albums this rich with spiritual longing prove the validity of that effort..."

Spin (11/92, p.115) - Highly Recommended - "...Waits keeps getting weirder--and better--proving that you can live life in sinful disgrace and come out somehow purer in the end..."

Melody Maker (9/12/92, p.45) - "...Waits doesn't prettify, he just simplifies, as the best storytellers must...shows his roots in the spirituals of black American slaves, gospel, Leadbelly's blues and the Depression folk of Woody Guthrie...weird and wonderful..."

Alternative Press (12/92, p.75) - "...the apocalyptic howl which is Waits' strongest calling card positively bowls you over..."

Stereo Review (1/93, p.88) - "...BONE MACHINE is minimalist music from hell, played on the bones of sinners and sung through the rusty, ravaged, and perhaps even channeled voice of the devil, who shovels coal through Waits's dreams..."

Audio (1/93, p. 150) - "...the folk music of the post-apocalypse...his most chilling and darkly humorous album to date..." Option (Nov.-Dec./92, p.151) - "...his best album ever....Waits--poignant, brilliant, and original--is beyond all comparisons..."

Dirty Linen (Apr/May 93, p.75) - "...a musical sideshow; not one full of bogus wonders, but rather, applicable sounds and images. It doesn't have to be all popsicles and icicles, you know. And Tom Waits remains oh-so valid..."



Seit Frank's Wild Years (1987) ließ der wilde Waits seine Stimme noch wüster verrosten. Unablässig irritiert er durch merkwürdigste Sounds, inszeniert einen Country-Film (Black Wing), rockt ab in die Fifties (Going Out West) oder gospelt Jesus Gonna Be Here. Und ein göttlicheres Duett torkelnder Unstimmen als das mit Keith Richards in That Feel gibt's nicht. Wer Konfektionsware will: Hände weg von diesem surrealen Meisterwerk, sonst droht der Schock des Lebens. Alle anderen: Ohren auf und die Orgie hemmungslos genießen!

© Audio



Ein Enfant terribel der Rockmusik hat wieder zugeschlagen - und zwar im wahrsten Sinn des Wortes. Denn in den 16 Songs seines neuen Studioalbums, dem ersten seit "Frank's Wild Years" (1987), schlägt Tom Waits nicht nur häufig und mit Wucht aufs Schlagzeug, sondern auch auf diverse andere Gerätschaften, mit denen sich polternde Geräusche machen lassen. Dabei scheint es ihm weniger um High Fidelity als vielmehr um Atmosphäre und Originalität zu gehen - offenkundig schert er sich einen Dreck um eine ausgefeilte Produktion. So wirken die meisten Songs nach konventionellen Hörgewohnheiten unfertig, gleichzeitig aber faszinierend in der fast duchweg düsteren Thematik und ihrer genial abwechslungsreichen melodischen und gesanglichen Umsetzung. Mit krächzendem Flüstern stellt Waits fest, daß wir alle "Dirt In The Ground" sind, und seine abgrundtiefe Stimme ruft eine Gänsehaut hervor, wenn sie die Gedanken eines Selbstmörders nur rezitiert ("The Ocean"). Mehr gesprochen denn gesungen wird auch "Black Wings", um so lauter poltert Waits dafür durch die groteske Gospel-Parodie "Jesus Gonna Be Here", an anderer Stelle grölt er sich mit Gusto druch die minimalistischen Rock'n'Roll-Nummern "Goin' Out West" und "I Don't Wanna Grow Up". Hinreißend in jeder Hinsicht geriet auch das mit Keith Richards gemeinsam verfaßte "That Feel". Daß unter der raunen interpretatorischen Oberfläche Waitsscher Kompositionen nicht selten ein wunderbar melodischer Kern steckt, belegen die meisten der angeführten Songs, insbesondere aber die Balladen "Who Are You" und "Whistle Down The Wind".

© Stereoplay



In the 1980s, Tom Waits reinvented himself from piano-playing troubadour to king of the avant-garde beatniks, concluding the remarkable transformation with 1987's Frank's Wild Years, the third in a trilogy that began with 1983's Swordfishtrombones and also included 1985's Rain Dogs. However, after releasing Frank's Wild Years, Waits turned his attention to his burgeoning film and theater career. Thus it took five years for Waits to release a new album of studio material. When he finally did release Bone Machine in 1992, the album earned Waits a Grammy for Best Alternative Performance and only added to his growing mystique. Through much of the material, Waits combines his unique take on the blues with a frenzy that lifts such tracks as "Earth Died Screaming," "Dirt in the Ground," and "Jesus Gonna Be Here" into harrowing, gospel-styled numbers. Waits balances out the tumult with several ballads, which are among the best of his career. Particularly moving are "A Little Rain" and the wistful "Whistle Down the Wind," both of which have gone on to be concert favorites in recent years. The album closes strongly with the playful "I Don't Wanna Grow Up," a song with a video that garnered Waits MTV play, and the soulful "That Feel," a track he co-wrote with Keith Richards. In "That Feel," Waits sings, "There's one thing you can't lose, it's that feel." Indeed, Bone Machine unmistakably wears Waits' signature throughout.

Steve Baltin - January 7, 2000
Copyright © 1994-2002 CDnow Online, Inc. All rights reserved.



It was a long silence between the release of Tom Waits' Frank's Wild Years in 1989, the last proper album the world would hear from everybody's favorite musical hobo, and his return with this year's acclaimed Bone Machine. With songs as rich in vivid detail as they are in desperate emotion and pathos, and a newfound do-it-yourself percussive sensibility, Bone Machine raises Tom Waits' ghost of a voice to create music that haunts and intrigues like few others.

© 1978-1999 College Media, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.



It's about time the claim was made for Tom Waits as not just a multitalented songwriter and musician, but as one of the great all-around talents of this century. Indeed, there are those who keenly realize that Waits and his art just may have more to do in the long run with the monumental contributions of modern composers like Harry Partch, novelists like Henry Miller, boundary-pushers like Charlie Parker, or immortal songsmiths like Kurt Weill than with most of his current pop brethren alongside him in the CD bins. On Bone Machine, his first new album of songs not associated with cinema since l988's Frank's Wild Years, Waits has furthered the tactile, concrete quality that emerged on Swordfishtrombones and Rain Dogs, extending the characters and scenes of his songs even further into the actual realm of the recordings themselves. And so, when he groans, you can practically hear the bones creaking, the bottles clinking, the rain on the roof and the wind howling along in the background. As usual, the songs (most co-written with Kathleen Brennan) carry small, beautiful images and turns of lyric in virtually every line. And of course, there's his voice, that spidery, burlap-coated larynx, both inhuman and utterly human, that can convey animal rage, the sigh of pathos or sheer despondency, all in an inaudible whisper. Dem bones: "Earth Died Screaming," the sea rumination "The Ocean Doesn't Want Me," "I Don't Want To Grow Up," "Who Are You" and "Black Wings."

© 1978-1999 College Media, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
CMJ Network, Inc. Report Issue: 300 - Sep 11, 1992



How could someone with Tom Waits' pins-mixed-with-gravel voice have written something as melodic and pristine as "Downtown Train?" Does he have any business whatsoever using this grating instrument to express the mysteries and mayhem that make up Bone Machine? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! For even the most hardened skeptic, who considers gorgeous tunes to only be possible from the genius of say an easy-on-the-ears smoothie like McCartney or Marx, Bone Machine grows on (no, all over) them. Waits' longtime fans know about the impact of his words, that on this release account, through extraordinary poetic sensibility, for a good portion of its melodicism. But hiding under the surface of Wait's gruff vocal exterior is some truly memorable music in and of itself. There's the mocking twang of "Jesus Gonna Be Here" that results in the depiction of a sonic caricature, and the 3-D textures of "Going Out West." From the man who played brake drums for his Island Records debut, we get a particularly nubby and percussive outing, with his instrument of choice being the conundrum, that, according to Wait, "looks like a big iron crucifix, and there are a lot of different things that we hang off of it: crowbars and found metal objects that I like the sound of." Aural emotions run high. There's the mysterious fear pervading "The Ocean Doesn't Want Me," and the unabashed loveliness of "that voice" against the sweet musical rhetoric of "Who Are You?" This is a musical sideshow; not one full of bogus wonders, but rather, applicable sounds and images. It doesn't have to be all popsicles and icicles, you know. And Tom Waits remains oh-so valid.

Ellen Geisel (Clifton Park, NY) - April 1, 1993
Dirty Linen



For more than twenty years, Tom Waits has chronicled the small wins and grotesque losses of the seedy underworld. Bone Machine, his first full-length studio album since Frank's Wild Years (1987), continues observing a world of deathly mysteries, half-baked gospel truths and secular ambitions. His drunken bluster to the fore, Waits tramples melodies with an ear for twisting clichés. The music matches Waits's hollers with plenty of upright bass, late-night piano and over-the-top percussion. But it's Bone Machine's preoccupation with death that brings these songs to life. The album begins with "Earth Died Screaming," a surrealist nightmare ("The devil shovels coal/With crows as big as airplanes"); Waits sings in oblivion: "And the earth died screaming/While I lay dreaming of you." He follows that up with the existentialist tract "Dirt in the Ground," offering the leveling truth that "we're all gonna be just dirt in the ground." Two songs later ("All Stripped Down"), he foresees Judgment Day. Throughout the album lonesome travelers and restless strangers battle their lives with drink, religion and the active search for somewhere better than here. "A little trouble makes it worth the going/And a little rain never hurt no one/The world is round/And so I'll go around/You must risk something that matters," Waits sings on "A Little Rain," with David Phillips's pedal steel sweeping through the background. No one needs convincing. It's a song older than Waits himself – older than Hank Williams, older than Robert Johnson – that Waits is chasing, the simple mystery of where life goes: "I don't wanna float a broom/Fall in love and get married and then boom/How the hell did it get here so soon?/I don't wanna grow up." Albums this rich with spiritual longing prove the validity of that effort, no matter the odds.

ROB O'CONNOR - RS 642
© Copyright 2002 RollingStone.com
 

 L y r i c s


EARTH DIED SCREAMING

Rudy's on the midway
And Jacob's in the hole
The monkey's on the ladder
The devil shovels coal
With crows as big as airplanes
The lion has three heads
And someone will eat the skin that he sheds
And the earth died screaming
The earth died screaming
While I lay dreaming of you
Well hell doesn't want you
And heaven is full
Bring me some water
Put it in this skull
I walk between the raindrops
Wait in Bug House Square
And the army ants
They leave nothin' but the bones
And the earth died screaming
While I lay dreaming of you

There was thunder
There was lightning
Then the stars went out
And the moon fell from the sky
It rained mackerel
It rained trout
And the great day of wrath has come
And here's mud in your big red eye
The poker's in the fire
And the locusts take the sky
And the earth died screaming
While I lay dreaming of you


DIRT IN THE GROUND

What does it matter, a dream of love
Or a dream of lies
We're all gonna be in the same place
When we die
Your spirit don't leave knowing
Your face or your name
And the wind through your bones
Is all that remains
And we're all gonna be
We're all gonna be
Just dirt in the ground

The quill from a buzzard
The blood writes the word
I want to know am I the sky
Or a bird
'Cause hell is boiling over
And heaven is full
We're chained to the world
And we all gotta pull
And we're all gonna be
Just dirt in the ground

Now the killer was smiling
With nerves made of stone
He climbed the stairs
And the gallows groaned
And the people's hearts were pounding
They were throbbing, they were red
As he swung out ofver the crowd
I heard the hangman said
We're all gonna be
Just dirt in the ground

Now Cain slew Abel
He killed him with a stone
The sky cracked open
And the thunder groaned
Along a river of flesh
Can these dry bones live?
Ask a king or a beggar
And the answer they'll give
Is we're all gonna be
Yea yeah
We're all gonna be just
Dirt in the ground


SUCH A SCREAM

Well pale face said
To the eyeball Kid
She just goes clank and boom and steam
A halo, wings, horns and a tail
Shoveling coal inside my dreams
There are no laws
She's made of cream
She's such a scream

Qui bon tres bien, nails in cement
A Donnie gal from mortal clay
The plow is red
The well is full inside
The dollhouse of her skull
A cheetah coat fills up with steam
She's such a scream

All crooked lines
Her fireplace
A milktrain so clean
Machine gun haste
You'll ride the only wall of shame
And drag that chain across the state
Her lips are red
She is the queen
She's such a scream


ALL STRIPPED DOWN

Well the time will come
When the wind will shout
All stripped down
All stripped down
And all the sinners know
What I'm talking about
All stripped down
All stripped down
When all the creatures of the world
Are gonna line up at the gate

And you better be on time
And you better not be late
All stripped
All stripped down

Well you know in your heart
What you gotta bring
All stripped down
All stripped down
No big mink coat
No diamond ring
All stripped down
All stripped down

Well take off your paint
Take off your rouge
All stripped down
All stripped down
Let your backbone flip
ANd let your spirit shine through
I want you all stripped
All stripped
All stripped down

All the men we got
Well they're goin' down the drain
All stripped down
All stripped down
And when I see your sadness
On a river of shame
All stripped down
All stripped down

You got to raise up
Bot the quick and the dead
All stripped down
All stripped down
With no shoes on your feet
No hat on your head
I want you all stripped down
All stripped
All stripped down

Ain't nothin' in my heart
But fire for you
All stripped down
All stripped down
With my rainy hammer
And a heart that's true
I want you all stripped
All stripped
All stripped down


WHO ARE YOU

They're lining up
To mad dog your tilta whirl
3 shots for a dollar
Win a real live doll
All the lies that you tell
I believed them so well. Take them back
Take them back to your red house
For that fearful leap into the dark
I did my time
In the jail of your arms
Now Ophelia wants to know
Where she should turn
Tell me...what did you do
What did you do the last time?
Why don't you do that
Go on ahead and take this the wrong way
Time's not your friend
Do you cry. Do you pray
Do you wish them away
Do you still leave nothing
But bones in the way
Did you bury the carnival
Lions and all
Excuse me while I sharpen my nails
And just who are you this time?
You look rather tired
(Who drinks from your shoe)
Are you pretending to love
Well I hear that it pays well
How do your pistol and your Bible and your
Sleeping pills go?
Are you still jumping out of windows in expensive clothes?

Well I fell in love
With your sailor's mouth and your wounded eyes
You better get down on the floor
Don't you know this is war
Tell me who are you this time?
Tell me who are you this time?


THE OCEAN DOESN'T WANT ME

The ocean doesn't want me today
But I'll be back tomorrow to play
And the strangles will take me
Down deep in their brine
The mischievous braingels
Down into the endless blue wine
I'll open my head and let out
All of my time
I'd love to go drowning
And to stay and to stay
But the ocean doesn't want me today
I'll go in up to here
It can't possibly hurt
All they will find is my beer
And my shirt
A rip tide is raging
And the life guard is away
But the ocean doesn't want me today
The ocean doesn't want me today


JESUS GONNA BE HERE

Well, Jesus will be here
Be here soon
he's gonna cover us up with leaves
With a blanket from the moon
With a promise and a vow
And a lullaby for my brow
Jesus gonna be here
Be here soon

Well I'm just gonna wait here
I don't have to shout
I have no reason and
I have no doubt
I'm gonna get myself
Unfurled from this mortal coiled up world
Because Jesus gonna be here
Be here soon

I got to keep my eyes open
So I can see my Lord
I'm gonna watch the horizon
For a brand new Ford

I can hear him rolling on down the lane
I said Hollywood be thy name
Jesus gonna be
Gonna be here soon

Well I've been faithful
And I've been so good
Except for drinking
But he new that I would
I'm gonna leave this place better
Than the way I found it was
And Jesus gonna be here
Be here soon


A LITTLE RAIN

The Ice Man's mule is parked
Outside the bar
Where a man with missing fingers
Plays a strange guitar
And the German dwarf
Dances with the butcher's son
And a little rain never hurt no one
And a little rain never hurt no one

They're dancing on the roof
And the ceiling's coming down
I sleep with my shovel and my leather gloves
A little trouble makes it worth the going
And a little rain never hurt no one

The world is round
And so I'll go around
You must risk something that matters
My hands are strong
I'll take any man here
If it's worth the going
It's worth the ride

She was 15 years old
And never seen the ocean
She climbed into a van
With a vagabond
And the last thing she said
Was, "I love you mom."

And a little rain
Never hurt no one
And a little rain
Never hurt no one


IN THE COLOSSEUM

The women all control their men
With razors and with wrists
And the princess squeezes grape juice
On a torrid bloody kiss
What will you be wearing there
The lion or the raven hair?
The flesh will all be tearing
But the tail will be my own
In the colosseum tonight

This one's for the balcony
And this one's for the floor
As the senators decapitate
The presidential whore
The bald headed senators
Are splashing in the blood
The dogs are having someone
WHo is screaming in the mud
In the colosseum tonight

Now it's raining and it's pouring
On the pillaging and goring
The constable is swinging
From the chains
For the dead there is no story
No memory no blame
Their families shout blue murder
But tomorrow it's the same
In the colosseum

A slowly acting poison
Will be given to the favorite one
THe dark horse will bring glory
To the jailer and his men
It's always much more sporting
When there's families in the pit
And the madness of the crowd
Is an epileptic fit
In the colosseum

No justice here, no liberty
No reason, no blame
There's no cause to taint the sweetest taste of blood
And greetings from the nation
As we shake the hands of time
They're taking their ovations
The vultures stay behind
In the colosseum, in the colosseum
In the colosseum tonight


GOIN' OUT WEST

Well I'm goin' out west
Where the wind blows tall
'Cause Tony Franciosa
Used to date my ma
They got some money out there
They're giving it away
I'm gonna do what I want
Do what I want
And I'm gonna get paid

Little brown sausages
Lying in the sand
I ain't no extra baby
I'm a leading man
Well my parole officer
WIll be proud of me
With my Olds 88
And the devil on a leash
My Olds 88
And the devil on a leash

Well I know karate, Voodoo too
I'm gonna make myself available to you
I don't need no make up
I got real scars
I got hair on my chest
I look good without a shirt

Well I don't lose my composure
In a high speed chase
Well my friends think I'm ugly
I got a masculine face
I got some dragstrip courage
I can really drive a bed
I'm gonna change my name
To Hannibal or maybe
Just Rex
Change my name to Hannibal
Or maybe just Rex

I'm gonna drive all night
Take some speed
I'm gonna wait for the sun
To shine down on me
I cut a hole in my roof
In the shape of a heart

And I'm goin' out west
Where they'll appreciate me
Goin' out west
Goin' out west


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


BLACK WINGS

Take an eye for an eye
Take a tooth for a tooth
Just like they say in the Bible
Never leave a trace or forget a face
Of any man at the table
When the moon is a cold chiseled dagger
Sharp enough to draw blood from a stone
He rides through your dreams on a coach
And horses and the fence posts
In the midnight look like bones

Well they've stopped trying to hold him
With mortar, stone and chain
He broke out of every prison
Boots mount the staircase
The door is flung back open
He's not there for he has risen
He's not there for he has risen

Well he once killed a man with a guitar string
He's been seen at the table with kings
Well he once saved a baby from drowning
There are those who say beneath his coat there are wings
Some say they fear him
Others admire him
Because he steals his promise
One look in his eye
Everyone denies
Ever having met him
Ever having met him

He can turn himself into a stranger
Well they broke a lot of canes on his hide
he was born away in a cornfield
A fever beats in his head like a drum inside
Some say they fear him
Others admire him
Because he steals his promise
One look in his eye
Everyone denies
Ever having met him
Ever having met him


WHISTLE DOWN THE WIND

I've grown up here now
All of my life
But I dreamed
Someday I'd go
Where blue eyed girls
And red guitars and
Naked rivers flow

I'm not all I thought I'd be
I always stayed around
I've been as far as Mercy and Grand
Frozen to the ground
I can't stay here and I'm scared to leave
(Just kiss me once and then)
I'll go to hell
I might as well
Be whistlin' down the wind

The bus at the corner
The clock's on the wall
Broken windmill
There's no wind at all
I've yelled and I cursed
If i stay here I'll rust
I'm stuck like a shipwreck
Out here in the dust

Sky is red
And there world's on fire
And the corn is taller than me
The dog is tied
To a wagon of rain
And the road is as wet as the sea
And sometimes the music from a dance
Will carry across the plains
And the places that I'm dreaming of
Do they dream only of me?
There are places where they never sleep
And the circus never ends
So I will take the Marley Bone Coach
And whistle down the wind


I DON'T WANNA GROW UP

When I'm lyin' in my bed at night
I don't wanna grow up
Nothin' ever seems to turn out right
I don't wanna grow up
How do you move in a world of fog
That's always changing things
Makes me wish that I could be a dog
When I see the price that you pay
I don't wanna grow up
I don't ever wanna be that way
I don't wanna grow up

Seems like folks turn into things
That they'd never want
The only thing to live for
Is today...
I'm gonna put a hole in my TV set
I don't wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest
And I don't wanna grow up
I don't wanna have to shout it out
I don't want my hair to fall out
I don't wanna be filled with doubt
I don't wanna be a good boy scout
I don't wanna have to learn to count
I don't wanna have the biggest amount
I don't wanna grow up

Well when I see my parents fight
I don't wanna grow up
They all go out and drinking all night
And I don't wanna grow up
I'd rather stay here in my room
Nothin' out there but sad and gloom
I don't wanna live in a big old Tomb
On Grand Street

When I see the 5 o'clock news
I don't wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes
I don't wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown
I don't wanna put no money down
I don't wanna get me a big old loan
Work them fingers to the bone
I don't wanna float a broom
Fall in love and get married then boom
How the hell did I get here so soon
I don't wanna grow up


LET ME GET UP ON IT

C'mon let me get up on it


THAT FEEL

Well there's one thing you can't lose
It's that feel
Your pants, your shirt, your shoes
But not that feel
You can throw it out in the rain
You can whip it like a dog
You can chop it down like an old dead tree
You can always see it
When you're coming into town
Once you hang it on the wall
You can never take it down

But there's one thing you can't lose
And it's that feel
You can pawn your watch and chain
But not that feel
It always comes and finds you
It will always hear you cry
I cross my wooden leg
And I swear on my glass eye
It will never leave you high and dry
Never leave you loose
It's harder to get rid of than tattoos

But there's one thing you can't do
Is lose that feel
You can throw it off a bridge
You can lose it in the fire
You can leave it at the altar
But it will make you out a liar
You can fall down in the street
You can leave it in the lurch
Well you say that it's gospel
But I know that it's only church

And there's one thing you can't lose
And it's that feel
It's that feel

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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