tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36852494448191043982024-03-14T02:59:30.479-07:00Roomful of GhostsRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-92144227527774335122009-01-12T15:19:00.000-08:002009-01-24T17:23:47.679-08:00ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SWvbzI2p0pI/AAAAAAAAAAU/9f7py2h8pDI/s320/RoomfulOfGhosts_1.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290563858873307794" /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">is a new collection of songs from singer-songwriter Samm Bennett, just released from Polarity Records. The twelve songs feature a shedload of curious and unexpected sounds from a mind-boggling array of percussion, stringed instruments, jaw harps, mouthbows, synths, toys, gadgets, junk... whatever it took to get the job done! </span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span>Bennett's songs are alternately (or sometimes simultaneously) whimsical, introspective, vaguely optimistic, darkly pessimistic, arcane in their allusions or crystal-clear in their simplicity. Like life around the planet on any given day, they run the gamut of human expression. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Stylistically, his music is perhaps best described as a meeting of African-inspired rhythms with melodies that harken back to American folk forms and blues. Imagine the rhythmic playfulness and sonic invention of musicians like Tom Zé and Hermeto Pascual combined with the melodic stylings of Skip James or Roscoe Holcomb.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Two of the songs from the record, "Ain't No Train" and "I Burned This Song" may be heard on the music player at <a href="http://www.myspace.com/sammbennett">Samm Bennett's MySpace Music page</a>. (While you're there, there are 3 other tunes not included on ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS, as well.)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SXRMseq01dI/AAAAAAAAAA4/DXjponiyW7Y/s320/RoomfulOfGhosts_backCover.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292939789097817554" /></div><div><br /></div><div>========================================================</div><div><br /></div><div>ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS song list:</div><div><br /></div><div>01. A Thousand Rhymes</div><div>02. Used To Ride That Train</div><div>03. Tingle Tangle Mingle Mangle</div><div>04. Venezia</div><div>05. I Burned This Song</div><div>06. Boom Chicky Boom</div><div>07. Blues Wrapped Round My Head</div><div>08. Until You Kiss Me</div><div>09. A Little Scared</div><div>10. Ain't No Train</div><div>11. Life</div><div>12. Dixie Wigs</div><div><br /></div><div>========================================================</div><div><br /></div><div>INSTRUMENTS heard on ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS:</div><div><br /></div><div>vocal, jaw harps, strumstick, talking drum, udu, frame drums, mouthbow, darbuka, shakers, scrapers, sandpaper, rattles, bells, cajon, bass drum, bombo, Korg WaveDrum, faux fiddle, </div><div>hypothetical hurdy-gurdy, dove call, big bowl of water, ukulele, snaps, spoons, tambourines, </div><div>pitch pipe, Juno 60, onboard synths, overboard clavinet, face slap, warpable materials,</div><div>plastic bags, loose change, tubes, toys, gadgets, junk</div><div><br /></div><div>========================================================</div><div><br /></div><div>Recorded, mixed and mastered at Polarity Studio, Tokyo, Japan</div><div>Thanks to Ito Haruna, Metafilter Music and Dixie Wigs</div><div>Jacket by Polarity Design, photograph by Ito Haruna</div><div><br /></div><div>All words and music copyright P and C Samm Bennett / Polarity Records</div><div>All songs published by Directional Music (BMI)</div><div><br /></div><div>POLARITY PN524</div><div><br /></div><div>========================================================</div></div>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-4905436865269992502009-01-12T15:00:00.000-08:002009-02-03T13:21:13.689-08:00Samm Bennett: a brief bio, in his own wordsI was born in 1957 in Birmingham, Alabama. I wanted to be a drummer from the age of 6, when I first heard Ringo. Just a few years later, hearing Mitch Mitchell drum on Hendrix's "Fire", well, that clinched it. I banged on the drums (or any other likely object) in every free moment from then on. In 1977 I moved to Boston, and fell in with a young musical crowd there that was discovering music from all round the world: African, Brazilian, Balinese, Carribbean... I was a voracious listener, and became inspired as a percussionist to widen the rhythmic vocabulary. In 1980 I made an epic voyage to Africa (overland across the Sahara desert, hitching rides!) and lived in Nigeria for six months, learning some drumming and soaking up the vibrations. <br /><br />I moved to New York City in 1984, and started playing with many of the improvising musicians that were starting to build what became known as "the downtown scene". I did a lot of playing, recording and touring with folks like Tom Cora, Ned Rothenberg, Elliott Sharp, George Cartwright and many others. I also put together a sort of pan-cultural rhythm unit called BOSHO, with Kumiko Kimoto, Yuval Gabay and Hahn Rowe. What we were doing in those days was referred to as "experimental" or "avant garde", but I always thought of it as, well, folk music, really. I was just another untrained musician (that's right, never went to conservatory), following my instinct and playing music that I loved, and trying to eke out a living doing so. <br /><br />At the same time, I was developing a desire to write songs and sing, and in 1990 I formed a band called CHUNK, in order to do just that. We released our first album, (Life of Crime) in 1991 on the Knitting Factory label. Two more of my song releases followed: The Big Off (1993) and History of the Last Five Minutes (1995), and we did a number of Knitting Factory tours in Europe and North America. My song work, right from the beginning, was characterized by a sonic and rhythmic vocabulary rather unlike that of most other "singer-songwriters"... I've been told that I didn't fit in exactly anywhere, and, well, I suppose that was true! Still, with the recording and touring, the 90's were a reasonably good time for my music, and we gained a few fans here and there!<br /><br />By 1995 I was ready to move on, and Tokyo (a town I'd visited, and come to love, on some previous tours) beckoned. I'd already worked with Japanese musicians like saxophonist Umezu Kazutoki and guitarist Uchihashi Kazuhisa, and of course started working with many others from Tokyo's abundant and varied music scenes soon upon arriving. I formed the group SKIST with vocalist and soundmaker Haruna Ito, who also happens to be my wife. We've released two CDs, (Ellipsis and Taking Something Somewhere) on our own Polarity label.<br /><br />For the first few years in Tokyo, I completely put aside my songwriting and singing: just wasn't feeling it, I guess, and other musical avenues needed exploring. But around the turn of the century I started once again jotting down lyrics that popped into my head, and a few years later I realized I'd amassed a stack of notebooks full of songs. In the last couple of years I've started performing them, sometimes with other players based in Tokyo, but more often as a soloist. And of course, I've started recording them as well. I've just released, on the aforementioned Polarity label, a new collection of songs, entitled ROOMFUL OF GHOSTS. Barring unforeseen obstacles, I will be releasing many more such collections in the months and years to come. Hope y'all will find a little time to listen!Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-45861560930436593322009-01-12T14:01:00.000-08:002009-04-27T05:41:04.251-07:00Michael Pronko's reviewTokyo-based writer and music scholar <a href="http://jazzinjapan.com/new/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=39&Itemid=48">Michael Pronko</a>'s <a href="http://jazzinjapan.com/new/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=491:samm-bennett-roomful-of-ghosts-&catid=41:cd-reviews&Itemid=55">impressions</a> of Roomful of Ghosts, from <a href="http://jazzinjapan.com/new/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=47&Itemid=2">Jazz In Japan</a>:<br /><br />Downtown New York music maestro, Alabama-born and Tokyo-residing Samm Bennett’s latest CD is an intensely musical, freshly poetic and startlingly rich work. Melding a deep, resonant style of singing/narrating/moaning onto layers and layers of nimble percussion and vivid flowing sounds, Bennett has created a great CD that is a genre unto itself.<br /><br />The sonic density of the tracks is built up from an outlandish array of objects, instruments and little things at hand. How many other CDs mix in face slaps and loose change? Yet, the density is a clear, fluid mix that grows, as you listen, into a fascinating orchestral array. You hear some kind of percussion here, a humming something above a resonating object over there, and then a melody-making something or other over there (is that a rubber ducky being squeezed?). In the middle of this, superbly played jaw’s harp hums and throbs. It’s surprising how well you can dance to a jaw’s harp! As diverse as it is, Bennett blends all this with such grace and subtlety that you realize, suddenly, that all the world is an instrument and in Bennett’s hands, one that rollicks and bounces you right along with it.<br /><br />While the instruments tickle and twist your ears, Bennett’s voice rivets your attention. His singing rides atop the instrumental mix like a stagecoach driver, holding the reins of brawny reactions and subtle emotions. He sounds like the hidden narrator of some eerie dream stuck in your head on “Tingle Tangle Mingle Mangle,” then sings with the comfort of a friend’s voice at the resolution. He punches out the poetic stories with an engaging array of voices: a savvy traveling partner on “Used to Ride That Train,” an avant-garde bluesman on “Blues Wrapped Round My Head,” and a hip-swaying poet on “Boom Chicky Boom.” His voice, like any magical storyteller, compels you to listen. <br /><br />And what you hear is not just the lyrics, but a re-molded universe of alternate stories, where monk bones stir coffee, backroom games win you a bucket of snails, wigs line up in strange formation and grandmothers don’t run from fights. He tells of hilarious characters and haunting incidents, wrapped up with astute observations. The songs never ‘poeticize,’ though, but speak in everyday voices. The elusive metaphors, strange collocations of objects and intense aliveness of the world pour forth. His songs let the carefully observed and the freely imagined collide in unique, gripping ways. You might feel uncertain where you are in his songs, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s always an amazing place. <br /><br />That view of the world is not always a happy one, but it is one steeped in irony, awareness and honesty. The destructive frustrations in the ‘anti-song,’ “I Burned This Song” evolve into the terse truths of “Life.” The lyrics never simplify their meanings, but hold opposites together: angst and hilarity, confusion and insight, weirdness and the bland. Bennett knows just how to dip each song in symbolic spark, add a dose of existential resolve, and whip it all up into very funny stories, all the while kicking it with in-the-moment rhythmic delight.Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-4826399348488674132009-01-12T14:00:00.000-08:002009-02-14T17:41:27.012-08:00Mark Dery's observations on Roomful of GhostsAuthor, lecturer and cultural critic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Dery">Mark Dery</a> has just published his <a href="http://www.markdery.com/archives/blog/floating_signifier/index.html#000086">ruminations</a> on Roomful of Ghosts on his blog <a href="http://www.markdery.com">Shovelware</a>. And Dery's piece gets the Internet Bells and Whistles Award for being picked up by <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2009/02/11/mark-dery-on-samm-be.html">BoingBoing</a>. Here's the review:<br /><br />Roomful of Ghosts, the new release from Samm Bennett, is pure awesome, a sob and a chuckle and a whoop and a yowl, dredged up dripping from the mucky riverbottom of his bi-cultural bad self. ("Bi-cultural" because Bennett, an ubiquitous presence on the New York downtown music scene of the '80s, was born in Alabama, studied African percussion in Nigeria, and lives in Tokyo.)<br /><br /><i>now the mayor tried to shoot me <br />and the governor called me dumb <br />but the president gave me a banjo string <br />and a piece of chewing gum<br /><br />how do i love thee baby<br />i'd like to count the ways<br />but all the reasons they keep going<br />in and out of phase</i><br /><br /><br />Call it slumdog gagaku. Or gutbucket p'ansori. Or a black cat moan wrapped around a lonesome train whistle, cured in Tokyo fog and nailed to some grotesque African fetish, deep in the swamp dark. If that's too clever by half, let me just say that I love the unvarnished honesty of this stuff; the pensive moodiness of "I Burned This Song"; the heart-stoppingly beautiful stillness-in-the-middle-of-a-fast-moving-boxcar vibe of "Until You Kiss Me"; the loping, hypnotic gait of "A Thousand Rhymes."<br /><br />And the lyrics! They're uncut brilliance, reminiscent of the electroconvulsive blues of Captain Beefheart or Rauschenberg's droll "combines," Pop art mash-ups like "Monogram" (you know, the stuffed Angora goat with the tire around its middle). They're a distillation of Robert Zimmerman (the Robert Zimmerman of "Fixin' to Die" and "The Ballad Of Hollis Brown" and "See That My Grave Is Kept Clean"), swirled together with essence of Robert Johnson and the John Lee Hooker of "Tupelo", a jigger of Southern gothic (Flannery O'Connor, James Dickey, Harry Crews), and a dash of Ralph Stanley and Roscoe Holcomb, spiked with a shot of Bennett's obscure wit. Drink straight up; rinse, repeat as necessary.<br /><br /><i>the wolverine is ticklish so keep your fingers on the badger's tail <br />there's a card game going in the back room <br />you could win yourself a bucket of snails <br />put the caterpillar back on the abacus <br />take the monkey off the astrolabe <br />here's a bone from the tombs of the cappuchin monks <br />dip it in your coffee babe</i><br /><br />None of which really gets at the buried roots of the thing, because Bennett's narrative voice is inimitably his own, and this reflexive rock-critical habit of describing an artist's work by concatenating a string of references or influences (largely imagined) is too often a self-serving display of the prodigious (!) sweep of the critic's own frame of critical reference, or a desperate attempt to say what something is by saying what it's not.<br /><br />On Roomful of Ghosts, Bennett manages to fashion something truly new, truly his own, out of the American idiom, and more specifically out of the Southern Experience (he was born and raised in Birmingham). Bennett's music incorporates shaky, hand-held footage from his dream life; archetypal images from the blues; the rhythmic singsong of Southern speech (white and black); and the backwoods hoodoo of the Mythic South, as well as the equally eerie placelessness of Alabama's geography of nowhere: the chain stores and big-box outlets and strip malls full of little mom-and-pop operations that have crawled there to die, fleetingly glimpsed in the blurry footage of the video for "Until You Kiss Me."<br /><br /><i>see that alligator head <br />i got it down in new orleans <br />it keeps smiling at me <br />as i sleepwalk through my scenes <br />that big old toothy grin <br />i think i know what it means <br />cause i used to ride that train <br />i used to ride that train</i><br /><br />Do I feel as if I recognize the images in Bennett's impressionistic little vignettes because they're landmarks on some Mapquest directions printed out from the pop unconscious? They remind me, obliquely, of post-mortem daguerreotypes and William Eggleston's color snapshots and an abandoned house I pulled off the road to explore, in Maryland, a long time ago, and the tour-de-force passage that ends Thomas Harris's Red Dragon, a meditation on the ineffable Otherness of nature, set in Shiloh on the shore of Bloody Pond.<br /><br />But why compare? Is that the only way we can express that which cannot be effed---by forming a tag cloud of allusions around its empty outline? Isn't that a tacit admission of language's inability to pierce through to the essence of anything, especially music? Or just one erstwhile rockcritic's belated confession that he always did lack what the best music writers have, that Lester Bangsian ability to channel the music through typewriter keys?<br /><br />One last try: Roomful of Ghosts is somehow like Robert Frank's cover for <i>Exile on Main Street</i> and somehow like <i>Wisconsin Death Trip</i> and somehow like <i>Brother Where Art Thou?</i> and somehow like nothing at all.<br /><br />Which is, of course, the whole point.Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-75275073261043829532009-01-12T13:58:00.000-08:002009-03-23T00:14:52.302-07:00Tokyo's METROPOLIS magazineDan Grunebaum, writing for Tokyo's weekly English-language magazine Metropolis, has this to say about <i>Roomful of Ghosts:</i><br /><br />Tokyo-based percussionist Samm Bennett’s polyphonic virtuosity is well known, but little did I realize he also harbored a singer-songwriter within his eccentric self. Roomful of Ghosts is a collection of songs as peripatetic as Bennett’s wanderings over the decades. It’s steeped in the blues of his Alabama homeland; soaked in the African rhythms of his travels; and topped off with the avant-garde leanings of his years in New York as part of the downtown scene, followed by his decade here in Tokyo. Providing his own accompaniment on instruments ranging from the ukulele to the jaw harp and even a “face slap,” Bennett weaves mesmerizing, blues-inflected tales that transport the listener on a journey from New Orleans to Amsterdam and on through the febrile garden of his consciousness.<br /><br />Here's a <a href="http://metropolis.co.jp/tokyo/780/music_cd.asp">direct link to the original METROPOLIS page</a>.Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-40461730971890454422009-01-11T15:32:00.000-08:002009-02-02T15:33:25.072-08:00A Thousand Rhymes<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DxJPT5tB5CM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DxJPT5tB5CM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-74832117082604813502009-01-11T15:15:00.000-08:002009-02-04T14:04:01.146-08:00Until You Kiss Me<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ON8WvU2z6Jw&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ON8WvU2z6Jw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-79781109184697095622009-01-10T07:11:00.000-08:002009-02-02T07:12:33.970-08:00Dixie Wigs (rough canvas version)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RKqOnNQOOCw&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RKqOnNQOOCw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-31081766746385731422009-01-09T07:17:00.000-08:002009-02-02T07:18:44.821-08:00Life (rough canvas version)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4-Os3tZKKsU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4-Os3tZKKsU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-44969687095748245682009-01-08T07:28:00.000-08:002009-02-02T07:31:54.349-08:00A Little Scared (rough canvas version)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Yhyb4CnQs2s&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Yhyb4CnQs2s&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-14870396836715749292009-01-07T07:39:00.000-08:002009-02-02T07:41:23.284-08:00A Thousand Rhymes (rough canvas version)<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/W0wLN-Oi4u0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/W0wLN-Oi4u0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-34792434858595461932008-12-24T14:29:00.000-08:002009-01-24T16:21:17.655-08:00A Thousand Rhymes<div><br /></div>here comes a man with a red hot spike<br />stuck through his head<br />ain't it a wonder ain't it a wonder<br />a wonder he ain't dead<br /><br />i been to oklahoma, california, tennessee<br />but they all just watch the same things<br />the same things on tv<br /><br />people my baby takes good care of me<br />she gave me a black cat bone<br />she left me twenty years ago<br />but i've never been alone<br /><br />now the mayor tried to shoot me<br />and the governor called me dumb<br />but the president gave me a banjo string<br />and a piece of chewing gum<br /><br />how do i love thee baby<br />i'd like to count the ways<br />but all the reasons they keep going<br />in and out of phase<br /><br />there's a dust storm down in bakersfield<br />and it's raining in duluth<br />but it's nice and sunny in timbuktu<br />i'm telling you the truth<br /><br />now people i'm gonna go kick my kick drum<br />gonna kick it a thousand times<br />then i'll take a word like orange<br />and give it a thousand rhymesRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-43878859227415985752008-11-24T15:01:00.000-08:002009-01-24T16:21:17.656-08:00Used To Ride That Traini used to ride that train<br /><div>from bologna up to amsterdam</div><div>used to take me two days to hitch hike</div><div>from boston down to birmingham</div><div>these days i just stay put</div><div>still i don't quite know where i am</div><div>but i used to ride that train</div><div>i used to ride that train<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>see that alligator head</div><div>i got it down in new orleans</div><div>it keeps smiling at me</div><div>as i sleepwalk through my scenes</div><div>that big old toothy grin</div><div>i think i know what it means</div><div>cause i used to ride that train</div><div>i used to ride that train<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>someone's trying to reach me</div><div>someone from my past</div><div>she sent some kind of message</div><div>she said she's free at last</div><div>but i don't need the trouble</div><div>just tie me to the mast</div><div>see i used to ride that train</div><div>i used to ride that train<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>i threw a rock in the pond</div><div>i'm not sure if it sank</div><div>never had a lot of interest</div><div>on my little bit of money in the bank</div><div>must be a reason i'm alive</div><div>right now i'm drawing a blank</div><div>but i used to ride that train</div><div>i used to ride that train<br /></div>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-4449113165541582482008-10-24T15:19:00.000-07:002009-01-24T15:25:18.216-08:00Tingle Tangle Mingle Mangleslice up the lizard at midnight<br />put it up under your bed<br />give me some room to maneuver<br />make gestures in your head<br />pull off the honeybee's wings<br />glue them to the edge of town<br />mash up the crickets and the lemongrass<br />bring another bottle down <br /><br />tingle tangle mingle mangle<br /><br />the wolverine is ticklish<br />so keep your fingers on the badger's tail<br />there's a card game going in the back room<br />you could win yourself a bucket of snails<br />put the caterpillar back on the abacus<br />take the monkey off the astrolabe<br />here's a bone from the tombs <br />of the cappuchin monks<br />throw it in the river babe<br /><br />tingle tangle mingle mangle<br /><br />i'll chew another leaf with the bullfrog<br />while you think of something clever to say<br />the raccoon's got a good mantra<br />but the mosquito's gonna carry the day<br />your butterfly might look pretty<br />but you know you can't have no fun with it<br />and there's a red ant stuck in the hourglass<br />so let's sever the snake and be done with it<br /><br />tingle tangle mingle mangleRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-42245499023881834562008-09-24T15:28:00.000-07:002009-01-24T15:37:35.208-08:00Veneziaheard through ears still dreaming<br />seen through sleepwalk eyes<br />a luminescent ghost crawls across the bridge of sighs<br />the oily water shimmering betrays a frozen thought<br />and reveals that crucial moment that we missed<br />the silken lover spurned the broken stranger kissed<br /><br /> hear me mother hear me father <br /> i'm going way down deep beneath the water<br /><br />the grand canal is choked with drowning angels<br />the sun it spins a cold and icy blue<br />a silvery flock of pigeons in stop motion circles you<br />the oarsman guides his boat through winding waterways<br />past windows where ethereal shadows drift<br />a distant star collapses <br />and he feels the current shift <br /><br /> hear me mother hear me father <br /> i'm going way down deep beneath the water<br /><br />the generations strung through centuries<br />just like rosary beads<br />their names are chiseled in the tarnished brass<br />the smell of wet decay <br />wafting through the midnight mass<br />like an aria trapped in a tiny radio<br />like jesus tacked up to that cross of gold<br />we suffer in translation our true stories falsely told<br /><br /> hear me mother hear me father <br /> i'm going way down deep beneath the water<br /><br />and now you see my friend venezia is sinking<br />the perfect ending for the perfect dream <br />a city born again its promise now fulfilled <br />to the octopus, the sea horse and the bream<br />the right hand pens the verses<br />that the left hand soon erases<br />the rising waters reflect the shivering moonlight<br />that plays upon the carnival goers' faces<br /><br /> as they sing hear me mother hear me father <br /> i'm going way down deep beneath the waterRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-17425518595133684302008-08-24T15:45:00.000-07:002009-01-24T15:56:08.234-08:00I Burned This Songi took out my little notebook<br />and my ball point pen<br />i had some lines running round my head<br />it was time to write a song again<br />now there's that poignancy you strive for<br />and this time i felt like i was near it<br />but let me tell you something honey<br />this song you'll never hear it<br />cause when i'd finished well it just felt wrong<br />cause you see i burned this song<br /><br />there were no distractions<br />my concentration was good<br />the phrases came out naturally<br />just the way they should<br />but as i put it all together<br />i began to get a clue<br />that there was a lie at the center<br />and it had to do with you<br />and then i started wondering where do i belong<br />that's when i burned this song<br /><br />now i know you might be wondering<br />what kind of song went up in smoke<br />were the words all dark and serious<br />or was it like a little joke<br />well you know it was a little of the former<br />and a little of the latter<br />but you ain't never gonna hear it babe<br />so hey what does it matter<br />and now excuse me while i go and bang my gong<br />cause you see i burned this songRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-47667885025767342472008-07-24T15:58:00.000-07:002009-01-24T16:02:48.213-08:00Boom Chicky Boomhow dark is the sky / how high is the hill<br />if the lightning don't get you<br />then the avalanche will<br />your sister looks good<br />your mother looks better<br />go buy me a stamp<br />so i can send her a letter<br /><br /> boom boom boom chicky chicky boom boom boom<br /><br />as mean as they come as mean as they go<br />some of these crazy motherfuckers<br />they'll cut off your toe<br />so listen to me we're staying at grandma's tonight<br />she may be old<br />but she won't run from a fight<br /><br /> boom boom boom chicky chicky boom boom boom<br /><br />see that fellow over yonder<br />just behind the pepper shaker<br />as sure as you're born <br />he'll introduce you to your maker<br />there's a ladybug crawling <br />on the edge of his knife<br />he'll put that bug through your neck<br />if you even glance at his wife<br /><br /> boom boom boom chicky chicky boom boom boom<br /><br />now friends i steer clear of danger<br />well anyway at least i try<br />i've always just said no to drugs <br />that is the ones that wouldn't get me high<br />i'm not the worlds most popular fellow<br />but on occasion i've been known to draw a crowd<br />i might think stupid or impure thoughts<br />but you'll very rarely hear me thinking them out loudRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-77359400601129615472008-06-24T16:10:00.000-07:002009-01-24T16:13:45.496-08:00Blues Wrapped Round My Headscissors cut paper<br />paper blows away<br />stone smashes scissors<br />and so it goes another day<br />but it's all downhill from here<br />at least that's what sisyphus said<br />ah you're fucked six ways from sunday<br />with the blues wrapped round your head<br /><br />need to call my baby<br />but her number's been unlisted<br />i wonder will i ever straighten out<br />all the words that woman twisted<br />gonna move out to the country<br />paint my mailbox red<br />and say please wait a minute mister postman<br />got the blues wrapped round my head<br /><br />what's the use of having a memory<br />when it only moves in one direction<br />you think you'll learn from experience<br />but that's just a misconception<br />so you can save your cheerful good mornings<br />i'm staying right here in this bed<br />and don't you dare open up those curtains<br />i got the blues wrapped round my head<br /><br />i'll have one more for the road<br />six more for the ditch<br />i been sitting in your electric chair for years<br />so just go ahead now and throw the switch<br />but the joke's gonna be on you<br />you see i'm already dead<br />at least that's how it feels<br />when the blues blues wrap round your headRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-10665299946228107922008-05-24T16:16:00.000-07:002009-01-24T16:19:05.711-08:00Until You Kiss Mei left home a long time ago with a bag full of dreams<br />now all i've got is a pocket full of cinders<br />at least i made a clean escape from the temple<br />lord i never want to see another money lender<br />but i won't have no peace of mind <br />until you kiss me babe<br /><br />i blew across the great plains like a plastic bag<br />from the broken heart of town to the dock of the bay<br />there ain't that much to say about the wide wide world<br />people everywhere just sleepwalk in their own little way<br />and ain't no hope of waking up until you kiss me babe<br /><br />ours is a strange dilemma don't you know<br />this life of constant wandering is but a curse<br />disassembled and rearranged <br />through a thousand time zones<br />with just a ticket to ride in that long black hearse<br />ah but honey we could cheat death for a little while<br />if you'd just kiss me babe<br /><br />all i want is a cozy little cottage<br />with a little garden to sit in on a sunny day<br />with some trees just tall enough<br />to block the view of the storm clouds<br />that'll bring the rains and the flood<br />that's gonna wash it all away<br />and you there with me before the deluge<br />you there to kiss me babe<br />there to kiss me babeRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-71120029963291548032008-04-24T16:23:00.000-07:002009-01-24T16:26:28.965-08:00A Little Scaredi saw a woman with her hair on fire<br />tap dancing in the middle of the avenue<br />with the cars and taxis racing by<br />seemed like a bit of a dangerous thing to do<br />she handed me some matches and some tap shoes<br />said won't you join me for a little duet<br />i said sorry but that looks a little frightening<br />i ain't ready for that just yet<br />she said if you're not a least a little scared<br />you're doing it wrong<br /><br />she took my hand and said come with me<br />she led me to the edge of town<br />to a little shop on a dead end street<br />selling lawn mowers and wedding gowns<br />she said i've always dreamed <br /> of walking down that aisle<br />wearing a white dress just like this<br />i said wait a minute i've got this fear<br />you see a fear of marital bliss<br />she said if you're not a least a little scared<br />you're doing it wrong<br /><br />so before i knew it we were married<br />and now we're always together<br />tap dancing in the street with our hair on fire<br />we're flaming birds of a feather<br />she's taught me some tricky and intricate steps<br />and i love her more with every breath<br />i don't want this tap dance life to end<br />so of course i'm afraid of deat<br />but if you're not at least a little scared<br />you're doing it wrongRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-72168152902372335212008-03-24T16:28:00.000-07:002009-01-24T16:30:03.585-08:00Ain't No Traini don't know where i belong<br />ain't no train to take me home<br />you see the very tracks have turned to rust<br />will the children have to pay<br />for their father's awful sins<br />yes i'm afraid they all too often must<br /><br />i saw a hundred dollar bill<br />go floating on the wind<br />too far above my head for me to catch<br />then i stepped up to your gate<br />and though you'd told me i was welcome<br />i could not bring myself to turn the latch<br /><br />those lucky bastards born to money<br />who've never gone without<br />they'll never know just how the poor man feels<br />run little rabbit run<br />better get across the highway<br />if you don't want to be crushed beneath those wheels<br /><br />sometimes you wonder why you're here<br />and is anyone paying attention<br />as though it even matters what you think<br />and though i've heard the common wisdom<br />still i believe my chain is stronger<br />stronger somehow than its weakest link<br /><br />time just moves in circles<br />space cannot be measured<br />the river's gonna overflow its banks<br />the wind will change direction<br />the word will be forgotten<br />you say eternal life i say no thanksRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-56423470948458152132008-02-24T16:31:00.000-08:002009-01-24T16:34:47.879-08:00Lifelife is a series of conflicting desires<br />you want to stay out of the frying pan<br />but you don't want to land in the fire<br />you want to find the perfect mate<br />of course you also want to be free<br />conflicting desires <br />as far as the eye can see<br />as far as the eye can see<br /><br />life is a total disaster<br />of what you call "epic proportions"<br />they make you jump through all kinda hoops<br />while you do your contortions<br />there's a lways a landlord<br />there's always some rent to pay<br />another little disaster each and every day<br />each and every day<br />each and every day<br /><br />life is a noisy party next door<br />when you're trying to sleep<br />life is a whispered promise in your ear<br />that you know she won't keep<br />day by day and night by night<br />we're just trying to beat the clock<br />at the end of the day you're another day older<br />with another new hole in your sock<br />another new hole in your sock<br />another new hole in your sock<br /><br />now they say life is what you make it<br />i've heard it said a million times<br />but life is what everyone else makes it, too<br />and there's often no reason or rhyme<br />you say you're a self made man<br />yeah sure, go tell it to your mother<br />and bartender, whatever you're pouring<br />i believe i'll have another<br />i believe i'll have anotherRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-81022210573867922582008-01-24T16:38:00.001-08:002009-01-24T16:45:34.724-08:00Dixie Wigsi was down in alabama<br />on a birmingham street<br />i stepped into a shop<br />to get outta the heat<br />it didn't look it from the outside<br />but the shop was pretty big<br />and the name of the place<br />was dixie wigs<br /><br />now try to imagine<br />a thousand heads on the wall<br />and there were four walls there<br />so that's four thousand heads y'all<br />i know it sounds crazy<br />but that's how it seemed<br />even now i wonder<br />was it just something i dreamed<br /><br />now every head had hair<br />in all the different styles<br />if you took all that hair<br />it'd stretch for miles<br />but you wouldn't wanna do that<br />cause it looked so good<br />sitting on those heads<br />just the way hair should<br /><br />now if you need you some hair<br />and you're down in alabama<br />just go to dixie wigs<br />it's a hair panorama<br />it ain't hard to find<br />downtown birmingham<br />and if you go be sure<br />to say hello from sammRoomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-60934060630503786512008-01-23T07:37:00.000-08:002009-02-04T07:42:35.534-08:00Bennett plays strumstick<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SYm3Pd0H6BI/AAAAAAAAABA/9cekA3tlej4/s1600-h/playing+the+strumstick.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SYm3Pd0H6BI/AAAAAAAAABA/9cekA3tlej4/s320/playing+the+strumstick.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298967912907270162" /></a>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3685249444819104398.post-52964577027937400132008-01-22T07:47:00.000-08:002009-02-16T13:59:12.178-08:00Bennett plays jawharp<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SYm5OrdKbqI/AAAAAAAAABI/QJ670yteUHw/s1600-h/playing+the+Dan+Moi+(jew%27s+harp).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ejwTDR-7N_o/SYm5OrdKbqI/AAAAAAAAABI/QJ670yteUHw/s320/playing+the+Dan+Moi+(jew%27s+harp).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298970098412449442" /></a>Roomful of Ghostshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02057974978324599230noreply@blogger.com