John McCutcheon
This Fire
Politics, Love and Other Small Miracles

People who have sat in little dark rooms with me for 35 years-worth of concerts now go on a piece of that same ride. When we gather 'round that fire there’s no telling what stories might be told. Songs of love and politics, courage and forgiveness, parody and pathos, somehow they are not unrelated.

When I gathered the songs for this collection they captured a small piece of time in a long life of trying hard to pay attention. They seemed to remind me of some small truths I’ve learned. If hard times can’t have humor we won’t survive them. If old love doesn’t have some memory of youthful passion it, too, will fade. And the many stories of ordinary people responding to ugliness with beauty continue to fascinate and thrill me.

Politics, love and other small miracles…all fueled by this same fire.

The Musicians:

John McCutcheon: vocals, 6 & 12-string guitars, banjo & jaw harp
John Jennings: vocals, acoustic & electric guitars, organ, piano & percussion
JT Brown: vocal and acoustic & electric bass
Tim O’Brien: vocals, fiddle, mandolin & octave mandolin
Robert “Jos” Jospé: drums & percussion
Bobby Read: soprano saxophone
Melissa Greener: vocals

Formats:

Compact Disk
MP3 (at DigStation) 

Produced by John McCutcheon & John Jennings
Recorded and mixed by John Jennings at Red Hill, Charlottesville, VA
Additional recording by David Ferguson at the Butcher Shoppe, Goodlettesville, TN and Eric Rice at the Veteran’s Hall for KVMR, Grass Valley, CA
Mastered by Charlie Pilzer at Airshow, Springfield, VA
Photography by Irene Young
Design by Tommy Slothower

Year Released: 2007

Thanks to Carmita, JJ, Si Kahn, Studs Terkel, Jerry Rainey, KVMR, Local 1000 and, of course, Pedrito and the Willard. 

John McCutcheon plays:

Guitars by Huss & Dalton Guitars, Staunton, VA
12-string Guitar by Bruce Taylor, Weston, CT
Banjo by Deering Banjos, Lemon Grove, CA
Jaw Harp by Zoltán Szilágyi, Kecskemet, Hungary
Strings by D’Addario

Lyrics

Hope Dies Last
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

Inspired by Studs Terkel’s Hope Dies Last
Written post-Katrina

John: 12-string guitar & vocal
JJ: vocals, organ, bass, electric guitar & drums

When the winds whip the barricades
And the day has turned to night
And the storm beats the shelter of the poor
When the thunder is upon us
And we search in vain for light
And fear pounds her fist on every door
As the water rises
And hearts are filled with fright
Still we seek the sight on yonder's shore

Chorus:
Hope dies last
It is the flame that feeds the fire
Hope dies last
It is the dream that drives us higher
We revive and we remember
Not the first and not the last
Ever holding fast
Hope dies last

David met Goliath
On the battlefield that day
Armed with hope smooth and hard as a stone
Moses faced the Pharaoh
Led the children all away
Till he ascended to the mountain top alone
Still we wander in the wilderness
Searching for the way
But to find we were never far from home Chorus

Bridge:
It is the cool breeze in the mineshaft
The shipwrecked sailor's dream
A message in a bottle:
We are more than we seem Chorus

Every seed we lay to rest
Every promise that's foretold
Every prayer that we offer up on high
Every ship we point to harbor
Every hand we reach to hold
Every lonely voice that dares to question why
Every child we bring to birth
Every vision we unfold
Every dream that keep us reaching for the sky Chorus

Charlottesville, VA October 2005

©2005 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Not Me
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal, guitar & banjo
JT: bass

Back when I was just a kid
No matter what you did
If you screwed up you stepped forward
And you took the blame
No matter where the chips would fall
You'd stand up tall
And bravely raise your hand
And say your name
You took your lumps
You weathered all the bumps
And paid whatever price there was to pay
Were these lessons all for naught?
'Cause these days if you're caught
Without a hint of shame
Here's what you say:

Chorus:
Not me (not me!)
Not me (not me!)
It's somebody's else's fault
Don't you see?
In the present atmosphere
It is absolutely clear
That the buck stops...miles from here

If you want to know the score
Before we get into a war
And we're asked to risk our
Money and our youth
Before we mount the task
It seems reasonable to ask
If your info is conclusive
Or at least the truth
And when their reasons all go bust
And they violate our trust
And we all know
We've been down that road before
Contrition? Not a trace
No look of shame upon their face
No, you'll never hear
"I'm sorry" anymore Chorus

Bridge:
If you lie or if you cheat
Better not admit defeat
Though you're caught with your
Fingers in the jar
It'll only show you're weak
If you're penitent or meek
And those virtues just won't
Get you very far
Because in this world today
Atonement is passé
And everything I've seen in life confirms
Cross your fingers, turn your back
Let some sucker take the flack
'Cause honesty is just
A can of worms Chorus?

If you're poor and on the dole
Learn a little self-control
And understand you are the reason
For your fate
Knuckle down, you lazy slob
Stop complaining get a job!
And girls: get married, but only if you're straight
But if you run a corporation
Or help to lead the nation
You're governed by
A different set of rules
Just deny and obfuscate
Deflect and fabricate
Responsibility is just for fools Chorus

Corvallis, OR April 2004

©2004 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Simple Man
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal & guitar
JJ: vocal & acoustic guitar
JT: vocal & bass
Jos: drums & percussion

I don’t want to be a hero
I don’t want to be a king
I don’t need a lot of money
I don’t need a lot of things
I don’t need to be the bossman
Don't need to be no Number One
Just need to know that I am needed
Just need to have a little fun

Chorus:
I haven’t got a fancy history
Haven’t got much of a plan
Sure I got hopes and I got dreams
Still I’m about what I might seem
I am a simple man

I need someone that I can talk to
Someone who knows my name
Who will catch me when I’m falling
Someone who’ll warn me when I’m strayin’
Just need a little loving
Just need a little say
And some quiet and a cold one
At the ending of the day Chorus

Bridge
A place to put my feet up
And a nice hot shower
And someone to reach out to
In the darkest hour
Just need a place where I can hide
A place where I can turn
When I’m lost and I’m forgotten
I need a place where I return

Just need some food when I am hungry
Just need some warmth when I am cold
Need a friend when I am lonely
Need some time when I am old
Need some wisdom when I'm foolish
Need some joy when I am blue
I don't need nothing half as much these days
As I know that I need you Chorus

Charlottesville, VA February 2005

©2005 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)  

Fiddler’s Last Dance
Words & Music by John McCutcheon & Paul Reisler

John: guitar and vocal
Tim O’Brien: fiddle, octave mandolin & vocal
JT: bass
Melissa: vocal

I knew all the tunes before I could talk
And she knew how to dance 'em by the time she could walk
Friday nights in the parlor, the fiddle and bow
Her father and mine, a lifetime ago

Each day in the schoolyard ‘neath the cool maple's shade
I’d saw on that fiddle my grandfather made
The Arkansas Traveler, the Old Miner's Hymn,
While she danced to my tunes like a leaf on the wind

He left me his music when his time had come
And soon everyone told me that I was the one
I took every trophy, claimed every prize
As the one I could never win danced 'fore my eyes

Now each Saturday night at Jack Hewitt's Barn
She comes through the door on Jack Hewitt's arm
With me on the bandstand and her on the floor
I take out my tunes and we make love once more

Bow to your partner, balance and swing
Waltz her round gaily all in a ring
The night wind's alive with laughter and chance
Give us your hand for the fiddler's last dance

Each week I know it's as close as I’ll come
Cause I know where she sleeps when the dancing is done
Now alone in the night I’m the last one again
And I still see her dance like a leaf on the wind

The words trip and stumble and die on my tongue
These love songs I write that will never be sung
The evening moon sets like a stone in my chest
As this page feeds the flames like all of the rest

Bow to your partner, balance and swing
Waltz her round gaily all in a ring
The night wind's alive with laughter and chance
Give us your hand for the fiddler's last dance
Give us your hand for the fiddler's last dance

Sweetbriar, VA, May 2006

©2006 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) & Paul Reisler/Zoidsongs (ASCAP)

Dick Cheney
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar

Dick Cheney told Pat Lahey what to do
It was physically impossible
But I'll bet Dick Cheney knew
Pat Lahey said some things
Dick Cheney took exception to
So Dick Cheney told Pat Lahey what to do

Now Dick Cheney'd had a rotten week
Before his rude retort
The Commission 9-11 had issued their report
Dick Cheney disagreed
They didn't know the things he knew
So Dick Cheney told those folks what they could do

So this is how we argue now
This is how we fight
But in a war on terror
A little cussing is all right
When you're worried 'bout security
The survival of our nation
What's wrong with some good advice
About self-fornication

Dick Cheney knows the angles
Dick Cheney knows the game
His energy commission met
And no one knows their names
When folks began demanding
To learn a thing or two
Dick Cheney told the nation
What to do

When you are a leader, sir
You've got to watch your tongue
You're a hero to the masses
You're looked up to by the young
Now from Anchorage to Albany
From L.A. to D.C.
Kids on playgrounds everywhere
Are quoting our V.P.

Some say it's not profanity
Some say it's kind of hip
Dick said you'll feel a whole lot better
If you just let her rip
Now because Dick Cheney showed us
I know we will remember
How to feel a whole lot better
Come the second of November

Charlottesville, VA 2004

©2004 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Waiting for a Miracle
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal & guitar
JJ: vocal, guitars and organ
JT: bass
Jos: drums & percussion

I wake up every morning
I look into the day
There’s an empty, hungry feeling
That just never goes away
I can taste you on my tongue
I can feel you on my skin
I feel you beating in my in my blood
I can hardly hold it in

Chorus
Out on the water
In the endless skies
When the night winds blow
And the stars all rise
I look into the darkness
As the cold moon shines
I’m still waiting for a miracle
I’m waiting for a sign

I can still feel how you touched me
How you held me to your breast
Like some baby on its birthday
Or in sweet eternal rest
Then I felt your body tremble
And I felt you slip away
There wasn’t nothing we could do
There wasn’t nothing we could say Chorus

Bridge
I’m still waiting for that miracle
That feeling never leaves
Waiting for that moment
For that reason to believe

Now I’m standing at the river
I’m standing at the flood
Dip me in the water
Wash me in the blood
Heal my aching wounds
Fill my empty heart
Show me where I’m going
Come and show me where to start

Charlottesville, VA 2002

©2002 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Forgive Us
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar & vocal

In the little town that I was born in
Early every Sunday morning
We'd drive past those fields of corn
That lead us to St. James
Planted in those hard, oak pews
Your neighbors sitting next to you
We said the words each of us knew
As well as our own names

Our Father, who art in heaven
Holy is your name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
Give us our daily bread
Then came the hardest part
The one that troubled every heart
Those haunting words of mystery
That long have followed after me

Chorus:
Forgive us as we forgive
Forgive us as we forgive
Forgive us
Forgive us

In the long years since those days
My soul and heart have often strayed
But still I bow my life to pray
Those sweet familiar words
And though the meanings shift and dart
Whenever I come to that part
It stirs my soul and stills my heart
Like nothing I have heard Chorus

In that Pennsylvania town
That awful day that awful sound
Madness struck the young girls down
A tale too often heard
These strangers from another time
They knew the grief, they knew the crime
Still somehow, somewhere they could find
The strength to say these words Chorus

Sometimes what’s holy is so true
It’s standing right in front of you
There’s nothing you can really do
There’s nothing you can say
Except to humbly take your place
In the trials that we face
May we somehow find the grace
To live the words we pray Chorus

Framingham, MA October 2006

©2006 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

SuAnne Big Crow
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

SuAnne Big Crow is one of the most storied athletes to ever come from the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. She was a stand-out in all sports but her dream was to lead the Pine Ridge Lady Thorpes (named for Jim Thorpe) in becoming the first Native American team to be a state champion. In 1991 she scored the winning basket as time expired in the South Dakota Girls Basketball Tournament.

SuAnne was killed in an automobile accident in 1992. The Boys & Girls Club is named for her in Pine Ridge.

John: vocal & guitar
JJ: guitar
JT: bass

I am SuAnne Big Crow
I am 14 years old
Here on Pine Ridge Reservation
I play for the Lady Thorpes
But that night on the court
I was the Oglala Nation
I prepared for this moment
Since before I was born
By Chief Big Crow of Sans Arc Lakota
I am of his line
But the moment was mine
The night we played in Lead, South Dakota

I was the first one out the door
The first one on the floor
The Lead fans exploded like a bomb
The fake Indian war whoops
The curses, shouts and hoots
I felt my racing heart grow still and calm
The ball fell from my hands
As I faced the seething stands
I draped my jacket cross my shoulders
I dance the shawl dance
I sang the sacred chants
In their silence I felt ages older

Isn't this beautiful?
Isn't this real?
We've danced this for these countless years
Before you left Europe
Before Wounded Knee
Before the long Trail of Tears

This land is an ideal
But nothing here is real
Until someone ventures an act
For all and for free
We finally see
Whether freedom is fiction or fact
I am SuAnne Big Crow
I am 14 years old
Here on Pine Ridge Reservation
I play for the Lady Thorpes
But that night on the court
I was the Oglala Nation

Portland, OR April 2007

©2007 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Waist Deep in the Big Muddy
Words & Music by Pete Seeger

Many people will remember this song as the piece of music that got Pete Seeger “censored off” the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour back in the 1960’s. CBS eventually relented, Seeger performed the song at a later broadcast but it was the beginning of the end for the show. Figured it was time to dust off this old chestnut.

John: vocal & guitar
JJ: vocal & electric guitar
JT: vocal & bass
Jos: drums

It was back in nineteen forty-two,
I was a member of a good platoon.
We were on maneuvers in-a Loozianna,
One night by the light of the moon.
The captain told us to ford a river,
That's how it all begun.
We were -- knee deep in the Big Muddy,
But the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, are you sure,
This is the best way back to the base?"
"Sergeant, go on! I forded this river
'Bout a mile above this place.
It'll be a little soggy but just keep slogging.
We'll soon be on dry ground."
We were -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

The Sergeant said, "Sir, with all this equipment
No man will be able to swim."
"Sergeant, don't be a Nervous Nellie,"
The Captain said to him.
"All we need is a little determination;
Men, follow me, I'll lead on."
We were -- neck deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.

All at once, the moon clouded over,
We heard a gurgling cry.
A few seconds later, the captain's helmet
Was all that floated by.
The Sergeant said, "Turn around men!
I'm in charge from now on."
And we just made it out of the Big Muddy
With the captain dead and gone.

We stripped and dived and found his body
Stuck in the old quicksand.
I guess he didn't know that the water was deeper
Than the place he'd once before been.
Another stream had joined the Big Muddy
'Bout a half mile from where we'd gone.
We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy
When the big fool said to push on.

Well, I'm not going to point any moral;
I'll leave that for yourself
Maybe you're still walking, you're still talking
You'd like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We're -- waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.

Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep! Neck deep! Soon even a
Tall man'll be over his head, we're
Waist deep in the Big Muddy!
And the big fool says to push on!

TRO (c) 1967 Melody Trails, Inc. New York, NY 

Oprah Seat
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal & guitar

Every afternoon 'bout 4 o'clock
Most of the women living on my block
Gather in groups of twos and threes
To watch this program on TV

They’re bonding, talking ‘bout their mothers
Confessing terrible sins to one another
They're reading books, expanding minds
The kind of stuff that just reminds you
What foreign territory
Daytime television is
to men

So a few weeks back I was sitting at home
When I got a call on the telephone
My friend, Beth, says "You should watch today"
I wasn't busy or nothing so I said, "OK"

Now, I've heard her name, seen her magazine
But never have watched her on the screen
There she was with some poor schmoe
Tearing him a new one right on her show

Saying how he lied, how he misled
In this book she and million of her friends had read
How she'd defended him in front of everyone
He'd embarrassed her and when she was done

She turned to the camera and apologized
Saying she’d come to realized
That defending a memoir that wasn't true
Isn't something a person like her should do

Well, I just about fell outta my chair
At what I was seeing and hearing there
It's been a long, long time in the USA
Since a person of power had the guts to say
"I was wrong
I'm sorry"
Wasn't subpoenaed or indicted or nothing!

So I started thinking that very day
About the things the powerful do and say
Without a lick of accountability
I say let's get 'em on TV

Step right up, sit ‘em right down
Watch the old gal go to town
Don’t need special prosecutors and commissions
Don't need no bait when Oprah's fishin'

She'll ream 'em out and call their bluff
And when they think they've had enough
Right there in front of everyone
She'll make 'em admit what they have done
What a gal
If this is what they mean by the new matriarchy
I say, to quote the President
"Bring it on!"

A million little pieces, connect the dots
About what is truth and what is not
Don't you think it's time for a little fresh meat
To take a spin on the Oprah Seat?

Dick Cheney, about your secret Energy Crew
You'll be singin' like a bird when Oprah's through

Gonzales: Gitmo, torture, spying
Can't escape Oprah, no use trying

Bill Clinton, you say that wasn't sex?
Buckle up, 'cause, boy, you're next

Hey,George, about those WMD's?
Can't wait til you feel Oprah's squeeze

Enron and all the power elite?
Just set your ass in the Oprah seat

And you know it’ll give my poor heart a thrill
When she finally gets to Dr. Phil

Yeah, she’ll make ‘em sweat
She’ll make ‘em squirm
She’ll make ‘em repent
She’ll make ‘em learn
And I tell folks I just can’t wait
To sport my latest bumper sticker:
“Oprah 2008”

Charlottesville, VA February 2006

©2006 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Twenty Todays Ago
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

Written for my family on the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death, October 17, 2005.

John: vocal
JJ: piano
Bobby: soprano sax

Twenty todays ago I sat with death
In the first, dim hours of light
My father and I, two sleepless men
Family tucked in for the night
Waiting, as men in hospitals do,
For a mother, for a wife
Sitting in vigil at this birth
From darkness into life

He was the first to enter
I was the first to emerge
Together at one more bedside
Our fates and our histories converge
So here we were, these first two men
Joined by blood and bone
Whispering, singing, granting her leave
Giving safe passage home

She’d done it before so many times
As each new child he’d give her
Now this tired husk of a woman
Had one more soul to deliver

“There’s always hope, there’s always a chance”
The young doctor chirped at dawn
As he read her charts but in my heart
I knew that she was gone
“No,” I said for the very first time
“There’s not always hope or chance”
And my mother and I, that October morn
Waltzed one last harvest dance

Twenty todays ago I sat with death
In the first, dim hours of light

Charlottesville, VA October 2005
Avondale Estates, GA April 2007

©2005 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Drive All Night
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal & guitar
JJ: vocals, piano, guitar, bass & percussion

My eyes are burning
My hands can't feel
After fourteen hours
Behind this wheel
I search the span
Of the radio
For anything familiar
For anything I know

In the dark ahead
I fix my sight
Read my map
By the dashboard light
This old car
Knows what to do
Take me straight and fast
Back home to you

Chorus
I would drive all night
Just to lay my head
One more time
On my lover's bed
To see her face
In the morning light
To hold her close
And feel each breath she’d take
I would drive all night

The floorboard's littered
With my past
All the things I've wasted
That I know would never last
Once I understood
But now it don't
Once it all made sense
But now I won't Chorus

Bridge:
There ain't no way
I could explain
This hungry feeling
This empty lane
It's like a beacon
From the other side
That makes me take
This road and ride

It's a thousand miles
On a long dark road
And the past ain't nothing
But a long dark load
You’ve seen me stumble
You’ve seen me fall
Through all the years
And through it all Chorus

©2004 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

Boob on Our TV
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar

One cold mid-winter evening
Just like every year
We had the neighbors over
For football, food and beer
Half way through the big game
My son tugged at my sleeve
Saying, "Dad come in the living room
"There's a thing you won't believe!"

Daddy, there's a boob on our TV
Right there for all the world to see
They were dancing all about
Now Janet's got her headlight out
And Daddy, there's a boob on our TV

The Super Bowl's no place
For such a crude display
It's family entertainment
At least that's what they say
A time to sell Viagra,
Beer and SUVs
And watch some steroid pumped-up guys
Knock heads on our TVs

Daddy, there's a boob on our TV
Right there for all the world to see
A magnificent production
A mammary of mass destruction
And Daddy, there's a boob on our TV

Bridge:
What could be more awful?
A woman's breast in view
Right before "The Sopranos!"
What’s a Dad to do?

Now it's just a few months later
And already they've begun
The lies are being told
The mud is being slung
It’s still five months ‘til November
An eternity it seems
And every night I know
It's going to haunt me in my dreams...

Daddy, there's a boob on our TV
Right there for all the world to see
Selling crap and hawking war
That’s what the media is for
Bring me back the Super Bowl
Where is my remote control?
Daddy, there’s a boob…right there on the tube
Daddy, there's a boob on our TV

Charlottesville, VA March 2004

©2004 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

The Other Side
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

Written for the wedding of Katherine Deedy & William Robison
March 3, 2007

John: vocal & guitar
JT: bass
Tim: mandolin
Melissa: vocal


My mother’s own mother
Went down to the waters
With her husband and daughters
Looking to the North Star
With fear and with longing
She stepped from the sand
Left behind her own land
And set sail for afar

To the other side
And the promise
To the other side
Evermore
They opened up wide
And stepped into that tide
And took that sad ride
To the other side

My mother’s own daughter
I find myself here
In my twenty fifth year
At the side of this man
In the footsteps of those
Who have gone here before
We open this door
And step through hand-in-hand

To the other side
And the promise
To the other side
Evermore
We’ll open up wide
And step into this tide
And take that sweet ride
To the other side

Bridge
Every step of the journey
We hold the dream fast
Hearts bound by the past
Ever yearning
From our parents to our children
The roots and the wings
Our spirits will sing
Ever burning

Years from now I can see us
Our heads crowned in white
Dazzled by light
That you can’t know in youth
Surrounded by family
The future and past
Heading homeward at last
We step into the Truth

To the other side
And the promise
To the other side
Evermore
They opened up wide
And stepped into that tide
And take that last ride
To the other side

Avondale Estates, GA March 2007

©2007 John McCutcheoon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 

This Fire
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocals, guitar & jaw harp
JJ: vocals & electric guitar
JT: bass
Jos: drums & percussion
Bobby: soprano sax
Tim: vocals
Melissa: vocals

At the dimming of this day
We meet here once again
In the gathering darkness
We each remember when
Our people danced around this fire
Singing up our homes
In that ancient place and time
They were but dreams and bones

The stories of our fathers
Our mothers' plaintive songs
Remind us where we've traveled
And to whom we each belong
We watched and we remembered
We'd do the things they do
Raging at the danger
Our hearts were brave and true

Between our parents and our children
We stand on sacred ground
We live in borrowed moments
And then, at last, lie down
To rise up in the smoky night
Our dust upon the wind
Our song a piece of every song
We are part of all again

So in the dimming of this day
With darkness all around
We gather in this sacred place
And together make this sound
We rage against the danger
And know we're not alone
Dancing round this fire tonight
We are but dreams and bone

Avondale Estates, GA April 2007

©2007 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs