Peter Stewart-Kroeker: Church Lights Blaze, She Knows

Church Lights Blaze

Church lights blaze
As the local drunk
Yells his lost love’s name
Into the night.

Piano plays thick and oozy
Like the blood that
Runs in the streets.

Preacher softly mutters
Words of prayer, as a
Young couple give a
Nervous shot at love
In the darkened corners
Of the red brick school.

The Congregation sit
Stiff and silent, as their
Minds drift into the ceiling
And seep into the wood.

The dying criminal hangs
Loosely on crossed beams,
Singing into the souls
Of the lost and the hungry.

The tune drifts silent and
Unpleasant, ear to ear,
As foundations start to tremble,
And mountains begin to fall.

And the city of might
Becomes a city of ruins,
And falls into broken glass
And twisted metal.

And in the fallen there lies
A beginning,
And communion with
The holy hand divine.

She Knows (in search of desperation)

They say Jane burned her own house down
Burned everything she owned
Was no accident she said
She said she was alone
In search of the unknown
And in the heated flame
She heard someone call her name
And an ashen cross
Appeared within her loss
It danced before her eyes
Danced across the smokey skies
Yeah danced across the smokey skies

Chorus:
And she knows
Where you’ve been
She knows
Where you’ve hidden

When you’re blood it burns your skin
And you’re broken down on the floor
And you call into the night
In search of some divine light
But your shackles keep you pinned down
And in desperation

They say Jane don’t live on
Nothing at all but bread and wine
Said fire will burn you clean of all impurity
For search of the divine
They say they found her
By the side of the road
She was stripped bare and naked
Of all of her clothes
And nobody knows what happened
But it was no accident she said

Chorus
When you’re groveling in the dirt
And you’re drunk and you’re hurt
And your life feels like it’s slipping off into nothing
And you feel like a child
With absolutely nothing to hold on to

Chorus

All those things you never tell
And it’s fucking hell
When it tears into the sinews of your heart
And it tears it all apart
Yeah it tears it all apart

Joshua Weresch: Blind Will, By Monday, Field Days, Pearl Diver

Recordings of some or all of these songs will be posted here: www.myspace.com/joshuaweresch

Blind Will
Joshua Weresch

Hear the crickets sing songs of exile.
Inside, she's choking on the gag.
He is lecturing her on Schopenhauer:
It's just will, blind will.

In an apartment, above the forest,
She is pushing out a boy.
He is blind, and thus rejected:
It's just Will, Blind Will.

He can read the speech of stones,
The breathy vowels of sky and sea.
He can hear the speech of insects.
That was Will, Blind Will.

She and he share the same postal code.
They may as well be miles away.
Still he passes, listening for her.
It was Will, Blind Will.

Hearing crickets, he knows the reason,
And he knows what he must do.
The judge intones the gravest sentence
Upon Will, Blind Will.

By Monday
Joshua Weresch

By Monday, you may be gone:
Another empty bed, another sad song.
They'll wheel you out and another one in:
Another head laid, another head's grin.

It's been a hard road and here I am:
Eighty years old, can't sip from a can.
I want to hear from you, to pass on what I know
Of life and God and everything that goes.

By Monday, you may be gone.
Will there be tears or will we be strong?
It's a false conclusion, for water gushed from rock,
And with the tears of heaven, we remain a watered flock.

It's been a hard road and here I am.
Eighty years old, can't sip from a can.
I want to hear from you, to pass on what I know
Of life and God and everything that goes.

Field Days
Joshua Weresch

She has her hard-won beauty,
And her rough ways of grace,
The rarest flower in the minefield,
Where all the children race.
There are her field days.

Twelve-hour days in the restaurant:
Now she's hungering for air outside the mask.
One month shy of ninety-five,
Dying's the gentlest task.
There go her field days.

These days will pass in whispers,
The whispers of the grass beneath the hand,
Which bends and breaks in its good time,
And good time is all we have, don't we?

A woman running towards the sun,
Shadow lengthening behind.
Rarest flowers all together,
Each unique beauty shines.
Forget not the field days.
Forget not the field days!
Forget not the field days.

Pearl Diver
Joshua Weresch

Deep calls to deep,
But we're wading, wading in the shallows.
The pathways are steep,
But we're planning, planning in the valleys.

Everything we do has some nature of risk,
Betting it all on a seven-two hand.
This life is worth little, if it's played cautious,
But there's little we know, less we understand.

A word to the weak:
There's a place for you at the table.
No faithful feats,
Just come, as you're made able.

Everything we do has some nature of risk,
Betting it all on a seven-two hand.
This life is worth little, if it's played cautious,
But there's little we know, less we understand.

All songs © 2007 Joshua Weresch (SOCAN)

Comments Welcome

This is the first time I have set up a blog myself so I'm still tweaking this thing. I have the comment section set up now so that anyone can leave their thoughts, so please do!

This blog is intended to be about dialog between musicians, don't be afraid to use that comment link to share your thoughts.

Jason Silver: Daddy's Lullabye, Afternoon is Hauntin, She Loves Me Not

More lyrics.

Here are some offerings from Jason Silver. The links provide recordings of the songs.

Daddy’s Lullabye
By Jason Silver
http://www.jasonsilver.com/cgi-bin/weblog.pl/2007/11/16#Daddys_Lullabye

Close your eyes and don’t you cry
Go to sleep my darling
Daddy’s lullabye

Just goodnight and not goodbye
Sweetest dreams my baby
Drift off to the sky
To daddy’s lullabye.

Sleeping sweetly
Let me hold you tight
Breathing deeply
Soon the morning light

Afternoon Is Haunting
By Jason Silver
http://www.jasonsilver.com/cgi-bin/weblog.pl/2007/11/01#Afternoon_Is_Hauntin

Midnight now, I'm waiting, wondering
Why you haven't called?
One o'clock Lord, I must close my eyes
Two goes by, then three, four, five,
Still you are nowhere near
Sleep would be great, but it's already eight,
And the afternoon is haunting.

Chorus:
Every afternoon I think about that place
I remember how the moon, it shone upon your face
I can still recall your eyes; they burn into my mind
And I can't forget the lies, but baby,
How I want to.

I can't believe the time, God
It's already half-past nine
I fell asleep at ten, just closed my eyes
I'll wait until noon, then one and two,
Man, has it been three years?
Four o'clock, I go for a walk
But the afternoon is haunting.
[chorus]

She Loves Me Not
http://www.jasonsilver.com/cgi-bin/weblog.pl/2007/05/11#she_loves_me_not

I’m not able
To take these roses off the table
It’s been three long months of watching
Every tender petal dropping

Red is the colour
Of firey passion for a lover
Scarlet’s turned and walked away now
Like this flower, I’ve lost my way

Chorus:
She loves me, she loves me not
She wants me, or she’s moving on.
There is just one petal left and I can’t call it
And I dread the day that this last one is falling
She loves me or she loves me not.

The dust has settled
It’s covered eighty crimson petals
But eighty-one has got a hold,
And like my heart, it won’t let go

Time has frozen,
And I feel my heart closin’
The flower dies, the moment’s gone
But in my eyes, the memory lives on
[chorus 2x]

Thomas Wilson: Hamilton Mulch, Juniper Brine

Hello you songwriters and song-critics,

Today we will start posting our first lyrics. The main purpose of Forge is give space for thoughtful response to song. For those hoping to make it to the next Forge workshop (Jan 9), save your comments to make them in person. Others, feel free to leave comments on the blog. Songwriters like vague compliments to stroke their egos, but more so is this space for specific comments that thoughtfully engage the material so that songwriters can improve their craft. 

The songs below are my own. We will try to avoid introductions to the songs so that the songs can speak for themselves. Listen to them here www.myspace.com/thomaswilsonfolksongs (you will need scroll down)

Hamilton Mulch

1.The downtown stinks, heard that before?
Through broken windows and open doors
We called the core Victorian rot
But hey that’s the best stuff for the flower pot

You gotta see hope when you see decay,
and don’t throw that compost away.
What’ll happen to that brick, that escarpment clay?
Dust to dust and we waste away.

Now, I ain’t saying that rot don’t stink?
Got fumes that make your aching stomach sink,
But there’s a holy steam, there in decay
A deep musty smell, that breathes in the clay
So open up your nostril open up your eyes.

2. There’s rich loamy soil in them brown fields
So mix your paints and spin your wheels
For those who think there’s no hope in art
Walk down James Street North, yes that’s a start.

Read on James of the trials of love
How the rich flower falls to the sun above
John’s revelation got rivers of rust
But there’s new earth below for this city street dust.

Now I ain’t saying that dust ain’t dry.
Blow off the streets bringing tears to your eye.
But there’s a holy wind, blowing the debris
A deep musty smell, of rain on the breeze
So open up your nostril, open up your eyes.

3. Broken windows are for open eyes
They give you a chance to look inside
And spray paint reveals that primitive lust
To turn rock into art by spitting out dust.

Old King William’s dead and gone,
Queen Victoria watches on.
Who was the artist that cast that clay?
It’s a piece of shit, but it’s here to stay.

Now, I ain’t saying that shit don’t stink
But there’s good things that manure can bring
There’s a holy spirit, there in decay
A deep musty smell, that breathes in the clay,
So open up your nostril open up your eyes.

Juniper Brine

1.There’s nothing like that fresh winter air
It numbs you beyond thought, beyond care
But that pure white snow can easily be blackened
By the fire of those back forty nights
We thought that it was giving us light
But when turned away, our path was completely darkened

Chorus:
How can recount how wicked we were
Without seducing you romantically into th’ Jack Pines and th’ Firs
The warm loneliness of a so-called friend,
Yes, that Godawful taste of – Juniper Brine

2. We could procure finer liquor most easily
From the Liquor Commission most legally
But secretly we were wishing that Prohibition had never ended
‘Cause there’s nothing like a Juniper Brine
To make a man lose his lunch, like he’s losing his mind
And the vile wretched flavour was why we completely adore it

Bridge:
Mixing half a cup of moonlight, half a pint of smoke
Fresh diamond snow, burnt off elder branch and oak
The cheapest fucking vodka, in a campfire pot
sprigs of white pine and of juniper – drink it while it’s hot

3.Dicky Jane was my rival at getting more gone
She was two sheet to the wind, Fred and the rest cheerin’ her on
But she could not out drink me, taking it cold on the sly not to chance it
But could this lead to murder, lead to betrayal?
Me and Maria passed out, somewhere off the trail
And when it came to searching our friends decided against it

4. I woke under a dusty ash of snow
Maria’s eyes were glazed in the moonlight glow
Under five thousand stars and into five thousand shadows, she started puking
I did not move, I pretended I was frozen
Until a frost-bite hell-fire into my bones was a-blazing
And I forgot who I was and accidentally helped Maria put her toque on

5. She said that she loved me but I knew it was a lie
It was only because she thought she would die
And she had no other God or devil to pray to
But then shadows started walking, hell hounds from the deep
I thought I saw the grim reaper, looking for something to reap
Or was it only shadows looking for something real to cling to

6. When I got Maria home, I saw that she really cared
So much less about dying that the puke in her hair
And I realized I could be six times as smashed, and never avoid being heartbroken
Then again, back on trail, the gang laughing and talking
Maria walked through the puke, it did not stick to her stocking
I tried to be speak – out came ashes – it had been six years since I’d frozen

Forging an Introduction

Hello I'm Thomas Wilson.

I have fierce opinions about songwriting and what makes a good song. I think that many songwriters write mostly terrible lyrics and I want this to change. I named this workshop the Forge to represent the fierce fire of criticism, but also how the fire can strengthen and refine one’s mettle. Nevertheless, I will do my best to be thoughtful and considerate; and to prove this to you, I will give a little introduction to show you, among other things, I am just another lame wannabe rock star, like most of you songwriters out there.

Just around the time I first picked up a guitar at 14, I also became too self-conscious to sing solo. I honestly thought that I had the prospects of being, if not the next Jimi Hendrix, at the very least the next Eric Clapton. I still loved singing and sang in the concert choir at my high school in grade 10, but was booted out for grade 11 – the year the choir was going on tour. In the audition I was so shy I could hardly croak out a note. It was not until I was 20 years old that I singing again, secretly when no one was home, mostly learning Tom Waits and Prince covers. When I was visiting home this past summer I found some of the songs I that scrawled at the time – I’m rather glad that I was much too embarrassed to attempt performing them at the time. If you think you have written bad songs, I am certain that I have written worse.

Throughout my life I have been interested in creative writing, both poetry and prose. I received very good encouragement from my creative writing teachers at the University of Winnipeg, and I could tell that I was among the best writers in my classes. I wanted to write songs, for I played guitar daily and I thought I was adept, but it did not come easily.(As a side note: for Adv Creative Writing, my prof. was Catherine Hunter, who taught John K. Sampson of the Weakerthans the previous year. He tributes her in various places. Please, if you wish, discuss whether John K. Sampson is not the most over-rated songwriter in Canada.) I have followed my love of literature to a Master’s Degree in English which I completed this past year.

All art needs form, it requires some structure or genre for the listener to grab onto. For me, gradually, I began to find structures in “folk” music to hold my songs. (And please do not think of folk music as namby-pamby idealism or wishy-washy sentimentalism! It is impossible to think this while listening to Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie and most early Pete Seeger.) About two years ago I started writing at a rapid rate – once I had a musical structure and a lyrical idea, I merely had to work on the words until the song was satisfactorily performable.

With my wife Sarah, I perform in a duo. She is my fire because she critiques my songs and burns the chaff and helps me re-write them. We released a CD this summer (2007) called Love Songs and Sinner Ballads. A love song is of course the most self-evident cliché in songwriting – though the love song gives a structure we can understand, when it follows every convention it becomes boring and meaningless. The “sinner ballad” is my own rendering of a mostly forgotten folk-style called the “murder ballad”. This second part of the title, hopefully, counter-balances the meaningless cliché of “love songs”, in the same way that I try to overcome cliché in actual songs on the album by singing of love founded in a confession of weakness (sin). I believe clichés and pop formulas are necessary for good songwriting, but we must also be wary of the emptiness of a cliché, especially if we seek to write profoundly meaningful songs.

Please you songwriters respond to this introduction! Disagree vehemently (or meekly) with me. Explain what you think is the place of a cliché in good songs. Do good songs require a genre? Does a songwriter really need to be able explain (as I have done with my CD title) what every word of his/her songs mean?

Post your questions and thoughts on songwriting using our comment section. This is your forum, you songwriters – use it!

Forge Press Release

We are trying to get the word out about "The Forge" as quickly as possible. The following is a press release that we have been circulating to various Hamilton publications.

"The Forge" Songwriting Workshop

As CD sales collapse, the music industry is amidst a period of great turmoil. Live music can be said to be faring no better, with late night clubs sustained by cliques of musicians desperately cajoling their friends and family into being their audience. And yet through all this the passion to create music is pulsating as loudly as ever here in Hamilton. Exhausted by traditional exposure through CDs and clubs, both established and burgeoning Hamiltonian songwriters will be interested to hear about a new venue for their artistic expression: a songwriting workshop called The Forge.

Hamilton songwriters will converge at the Freeway Coffee House (333 King St. E.) on the second Wednesday of each month at 7:30pm to listen to those whose songs have been pre-selected to be featured at the workshop. The songs lyrics and/or mp3's will be posted on The Forge's blog (songworkshop.blogspot.com) prior to the event.

The Forge's goal is to give songwriters an audience which will intently listen and provide helpful feedback to the showcased songwriters. If you would like to have your music show cased please contact The Forge's host Thomas Wilson (thomas.g.wilson@gmail.com). The Forge will begin on Wednesday January 9^th, 2008 at 7:30pm.

About

The Freeway Songwriting Workshop takes place at The Freeway Coffee House in downtown Hamilton every 2nd Wednesday at 7:3opm. Our first Songwriting workshop will be on Wednesday January 9th, 2008.

The workshop nights will be a place where songwriters can perform new material and receive honest and helpful critiques from other songwriters. This will also be a chance for the public to hear great new music.

Our workshop host is Thomas Wilson a local folk singer and songwriter who is wise beyond his years. If you would like to have one of your songs showcased at one of our nights please contact Thomas (thomas.g.wilson@gmail.com). Thomas will also be choosing songwriting techniques to feature on each night to help widen our creative process.

This Blog is a place for us to document the workshops and a forum for musicians & listeners to post comments and helpful criticism about the lyrics, topics, and performances posted on this site.

If you would like to become a contributor to this blog please contact randell@frwy.ca