John McCutcheon
Storied Ground

Here's what John says about Storied Ground...

What started life as a project entitled Piece by Piece is now finally hitting the streets as Storied Ground, my new album of songs. While early reviewers have been describing the songs as mostly topical, they cast a wider net than the "short shelf life" songs my pal Tom Paxton usually dubs such works. While some of the songs are inspired by recent news events (From Us by the shootings at Columbine High, Vultures by the death of Princess Diana, One More Mountaintop by the McGwire-Sosa home run derby) others are reflections on places I've played (The Abby D), people I've met in my travels (Homecoming Time), or even songs I was asked to write (Piece by Piece). Love, work, history, the usual stuff of my songs.

The Musicians

John McCutcheon: vocals, 6 & 12-string guitars, banjo, didgeridoo
JT Brown: bass and harmony vocals
TJ Johnson: mandolin
Art Wheeler: piano and organ
Robert “Jos” Jospé: drums and percussion
Pete Kennedy: acoustic & electric guitars
Michael Aharon: cello
Mike Crotty: saxophone
Bruce Molsky: fiddle
Mike Mumford: banjo
Moondi Klein: harmony vocals

Formats

Compact Disk: Rounder CD: 0467

WWWD: What Would Woody Do?

Lyrics

Jericho
words & music by John McCutcheon

written on the 40th Anniversary of Rosa Parks’ action

John: guitar, didgeridoo and vocal
JT: bass
TJ: mandolin
Jos: drums and percussion

Young woman standing at a bus stop
Down on River Drive
It was the 1st day of December
1955
She steps on board hands the driver a dime
Says, “Lord, these tired feet!”
Looks the future right in the eye
And sits down in the very first seat

From Maple down to South Fourteenth
It’s the sound of tired feet
Walking one more hungry mile
Waiting just to take a seat
It’s first one step and then another
Don’t you hear that glorious sound
It feels just like the city of Jericho
And the walls come a-tumblin’ down

February came in cold in ‘37
The worst they’d seen in years
Down at Fisher No. 1
It was engine blocks and gears
They checked the foreman, they checked the clock
They checked the lock on the door
They looked each other straight in the eye
And then sat down on the floor

From Austin down to West Decatur
It’s the sound of tired feet
Walking one more hungry mile
Waiting just to take a seat
It’s first one step and then another
Don’t you hear that glorious sound
It feels just like the city of Jericho
And the walls come a-tumblin’ down

Young woman lying in the darkness
Down near the riverbed
Clouds come cover up the moon
She sees the borderline just ahead
She takes one step forward and one step back
Her body is numb with fright
Looks down at the child in her arms
And runs out into the night

From El Paso down to Tijuana
It’s the sound of tired feet
Walking one more hungry mile
Waiting just to take a seat
It’s first one step and then another
Don’t you hear that glorious sound
It feels just like the city of Jericho
And the walls come a-tumblin’ down

Young woman standing at a bus stop
The sun is sinking low
The stories lost to memory
From forty years ago
Still it’s one step forward and one step back
Those debts so dearly bought
She steps on board, hands the driver a dollar
And sits down without a thought

From Montgomery to Cape Town
It’s the sound of tired feet
Walking one more hungry mile
Waiting just to take a seat
It’s first one step and then another
Don’t you hear that glorious sound
It feels just like the city of Jericho
And the walls come a-tumblin’ down

St. Louis and Kansas City, MO, December 1995
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Vultures
Words & music by John McCutcheon

Written after the death of Lady Diana

John: guitar and vocals
Art: piano
JT: bass & harmony vocals
TJ: mandolin
Jos: drums and percussion
Moondi: harmony vocals

Shakin’ like a junkie, searchin’ for a vein
Hungry for another hit of pleasure and pain
Tryin’ to catch a little glimpse, cranin’ our necks
Longin’ for our daily dose of violence and sex
She was another single mother lost in a wreck
She had trouble with her diet, she had trouble with her ex
Trouble with her in-laws, just tryin’ to have her say
She’s tryin’ to find some happiness, tryin’ to find a way

Don’t you think this world we live in is already weird enough
Without some sleazy magazine tryin’ to sell this stuff?
Spice it up with innuendo, garnish with a lie
Serve it with enough self-hatred in your humble pie
Like a fish in a river bitin’ on a fly, 
They’re tryin’ to make us want stuff that we can’t buy
It’s the worst kind of treachery, the worst kind of taunt
Tryin’ to make us buy stuff that we don’t want

I don’t wanna see…
Hillary in a swimsuit
Frank Gifford kissin’ anyone
Any Jon Benet Ramsey stories
How the rich have fun
Monica Lewinsky
Frank Sinatra’s last days
Demi Moore’s new plastic surgery
Anymore O.J.

Vultures at an accident circlin’ overhead
Preying on the living while feeding on the dead
The last to get the message but the first ones on the scene
But no one here is innocent, no one’s hands are clean
It’s for us they take the pictures, it’s for us they chase and spy
We tell ‘em with our wallets every time we buy
The only way to stop ‘em is to tell ‘em where to go
I can’t believe I’m quoting Nancy Reagan, “Just say no!”

I don’t wanna see…
Marv Albert in the motel
The face of Jesus on Mars
Another story ‘bout the Kennedys
Liz Taylor’s scars
Elvis at the Dairy Queen
Jerry Springer anywhere
Sonny Bono on the ski hill
Because I just don’t care

So go ahead and send your flowers, go ahead and shed your tears
But open up your eyes, come on, and open up your ears
The next time you’re standin’ in the supermarket line
Just shut up your wallets and just speak up your mind
Tell ‘em, “Take ‘em off the shelves and ship ‘em all back
“We’re so damn tired we don’t wanna see this crap!”
Don’t you think it’s time we took a principled stand?
Don’t you think that there’s enough blood on our hands?

She was another single mother lost in a wreck
Trouble with her diet, she had trouble with her ex
Trouble with her in-laws, just tryin’ to have her say
She’s tryin’ to find some happiness, tryin’ to find a way
We’re all just tryin’ to find some happiness
We’re all just tryin’ to find our way

Charlottesville, VA, September 1997
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Cross that Line
words & music by John McCutcheon

In 1947 Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in the Major Leagues, joining the Brooklyn Dodgers. He and PeeWee Reese, a former wire splicer from western Kentucky, formed one of the great double play combos of the age. Robinson endured unimaginable taunting, threats, and dangers almost everywhere he played that year. Dodger owner, Branch Rickey, had obtained a promise from Robinson not to retaliate to such provocations. The Dodgers first series that season at Cincinnati’s Crosley Field was met by a particularly antagonistic crowd. PeeWee, from just across the Ohio River, was a local favorite despite playing for the rival team. During the course of the game he’d simply had enough of the crowd’s abuse of Robinson and called time. He walked over to Robinson, put is arm around Robinson’s shoulder and casually talked to him. The crowd sat in stunned silence. This one’s for PeeWee.

John: guitar & vocal
JT: bass

He was a child of the South:
Learned stand your ground and shut your mouth
You bear your crosses everyday
Your fingers caked in Georgia clay
Another child, Southern grown
Learned stand your ground, defend your own
You grow up learning wrong from right
You grow up learning black from white

Worlds apart the season turns
Deep inside that fire burns
Who knows the place, who knows the time
When you are moved to cross the line?

Both bound by a boyhood sport
Jack played at second, Pee Wee short
That day they met on Brooklyn’s field
Their histories never seemed so real
One saw the other take the throws
He saw the spikes, he saw blows
He knew the promise that was made
He knew the price the other paid

Worlds apart the season turns
Deep inside that fire burns
Who knows the place, who knows the time
When you are moved to cross the line?

No way to know he’d be the one
Beneath that Cincinnati sun
He heard the taunts he heard the jeers
He felt the burden of the years
He called for time and then he walked from short to first
Stood and faced the man who’d faced the worst
Then these two children of the South
Arm in arm stood their ground and shut the mouths

Worlds apart the season turns
Deep inside that fire burns
Who knows the place, who knows the time
When you are moved to cross the line?

Winona, MN, April 1997
©1997 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Key to the City
words & music by John McCutcheon & Paul Reisler

John: guitar and vocal
Art: piano and organ
JT: bass & harmony vocals
Jos: drums and percussion
Pete: electric guitar
Mike: saxophone
Moondi: harmony vocals

He was there again this morning
In the papers, on TV
Doing something more important 
Than the likes of you and me
And I remember what you told me
‘Bout when the two of you were young
How he used to make you swoon, he promised you the moon
But I was the only one

He’s got a big, fine mansion
All I’ve got’s this little home
He can lead a life of leisure
I’ve got to work my fingers to the bone
His life’s a twelve-course banquet
Mine is strictly ala carte
He’s got the key to the city
I’ve got the key to your heart

He’s got a diamond on his finger
And his hands are always clean
He’s got a butler and a trainer
A chauffeur-driven limousine
Me, I drive myself out to the fact’ry
I know I’ll never get too far
I’m deep in debt, I’m getting fat and, in spite of all of that,
You hitched your wagon to my star 

He’s got a big, fine mansion
All I’ve got’s this little home
He can lead a life of leisure
I’ve got to work my fingers to the bone
His life’s a twelve-course banquet
Mine is strictly ala carte
He’s got the key to the city
I’ve got the key to your heart

He can open any door that’s been slammed in my face
He can waltz through this world with style and grace
He can do anything that he wants to do
But I wouldn’t trade his whole life for one hour with you Chorus

He’s got more money in his pocket
Than you or I will ever see
You could have had a life of ease, done anything you please
But here you are with me

Charlottesville, VA, May 1996
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) and Paul Reisler/Zoidsongs (ASCAP)

Homecoming Time 
words and music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar & vocal
JT: bass

My Mother, she raise me gentle
And my Father, he raised me right
He said, "Listen to me, ain't nothing comes free
"For everything you want you'll have to fight"
I watched them break his body down
And I watched him slip away
No gallant last stand, just a good working hand
Dying slow, day by day

Out of high school and into a uniform
Just a kid in a rich man's war
But the jungle and the dope and the end of the rope
Till it didn't matter much anymore
And when I came home in '69
I was a million miles away
No high school bands, no welcoming hands
Everybody turned the other way

It was homecoming time in America
I knew how it was s'posed to be
For I'd sung that song my whole life long
'Bout the home of the brave and free
Won't it be right in America
When we find what we've always known
Won't it be right in America
Won't it be a sight in America
When we welcome the wanderer home

So I took me a job in the packing house
Like my Daddy did in his day
The cold and the knife and the quiet life
Helped to keep all my memories at bay
But then we struck in '85
And I felt that old wound bleed
The anger, the lies, and the turned away eyes
In the hour of our greatest need

It was homecoming time in America
I knew how it was s'posed to be
'Cause I'd sung that song my whole life long
About solidarity
Won't it be right in America
When we find what we've always known
Won't it be right in America
Won't it be a sight in America
When we welcome the wanderer home

Now some are born to an easy life
And others have to slave and fight
But when the sun goes down I guess both sides of town
Dream the same dream every night
That dream made me pick up a gun in the jungle
And that dream made me put it back down
It still keeps me sane when I'm bleeding again
Till that sweet day come around

When its homecoming time in America
And I know just how it’s gonna be
'Cause I've sung that song my whole life long
"This land’s made for you and for me"
And won't it be right in America
When we find what we've always known
Won't be right in America
When we all see the light in America
Just like day outta night in America
Oh, won't that be a sight in America
When we welcome the wanderer home

Austin, MN January 1987
©1999 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).

Two Foot Seam
words and music by John McCutcheon

John: six & twelve-string guitars and vocal
JT: bass
JT: mandolin
Jos: percussion

Way back when ‘fore the sun come up
I could smell his coffee in an old tin cup
Half an hour ‘fore the rooster crowed
Heard that truck rattle down the road
Men grew up to go on down
Digging coal in the underground
Kids running free each night would dream
Of living their lives in a two foot seam

Back up home where the sun don’t shine
My daddy worked in this here mine
Home each night with his face pitch black
His old shirt frozen to his back
“I’ll Fly Away” and “Angel Band”
“Poor Orphan Girl” and “Beulah Land”
He’d sing each night and loved to tell
“I’m heaven bound ‘cause I work in Hell”

Now, forty two years it’s gotten where
You don’t know sun and you don’t know air
Don’t know your kids or the day from night
Don’t need room and you don’t need light
Just hand me down my lunch pail, hand me my lamp
Going on down in the dark and damp
Is it a nightmare, is it a dream
Living my life in a two foot seam?

Sixty hours of slaving for
A handful of scrip in the company store
A mess of beans and a sack of flour
A week’s pay gone in half an hour
All my life loading coal
Been digging myself quite a hole
To some it’s a refuge, to some it’s a cave
To some it’s a womb, to some it’s a grave

If they asked my wish would be
My kids would not grow up like me
Go to school and find a way
To walk and breathe the light of day
For the sun goes up and the sun goes down
And another shift goes underground
Buys your paychecks, sells your soul
So the lights will burn and the engines roll
Men grow up to go on down
Digging coal in the underground
Kids running free each night would dream
Of living their lives in a two foot seam

Charlottesville, VA, October 1997
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

From Us
Words & music by John McCutcheon

Read John's thoughts on the Littleton tragedy, the sad inspiration for this song.

John: guitar and vocal
Art: piano & organ
JT: bass & harmony vocals
TJ: mandolin
Jos: drums and percussion
Pete: electric guitar
Moondi: harmony vocals

There are bombs in Yugoslavia
Tests in Pakistan
Standoffs in Korea
And missiles in Iran
Guns in Guatemala
Tanks in Lebanon
Artillery in Africa
Where do they all come from?

They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us

In a school in Pennsylvania
In a school in Arkansas
In a school in Kentucky
In cities large and small
In a school in California
In a school in Oregon
Where do they get the violence?
Where do they get the guns?

They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us
They get ‘em from us

A gun killed Medgar Evers
A gun killed JFK
A gun killed Martin Luther King
And hundreds every day
A gun killed Robert Kennedy
A gun killed Gandhi, too
A gun killed kids in Colorado
What are you gonna do?

Are you gonna…

Wait until the tragedy
Comes knocking on your door
Wait until your children
Are the ones upon the floor
Watch while our leaders
Just heap fuel upon the flame
Watch while war and violence
Just breed more of the same

How long will the many
Be held hostage by the few?
How long will the future
Reach its waiting hand to you?
For the seed is in the bullet
And the seed is in the heart
If things are ever gonna change
Where are we gonna start?

They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us
They’ve got to get it from us

There are bombs in Yugoslavia
Guns in a school in Colorado
There are bombs in Yugoslavia
Guns in a school in Colorado
They get it from us

St. Paul, MN, April 1999
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Closing the Bookstore Down
words & music by John McCutcheon

for my friends Mike and Jill Williams and for my town

John: vocal
Art: piano
JT: bass

I remember the night and the old wood floor
Dust on the shelves and a bell on the door
We were shoulder to shoulder, you couldn’t fit more
We held our breath as one
Her voice rang out in righteous rage
As her poetry leapt off the page
Like a herald from another age
But now those days are done

We’re taking a giant step into the future
And turning into a thousand other towns
I heard today the news that they are
Closing the bookstore down

It’s a smile and a wave and a “take your time!”
We got just one way, we got just one line
And the till can’t ring past 9.99
The time and the telling shows
We might not have everything that you want
You can’t get a latte or croissant
We’re a bookstore, not a restaurant
And we’ve got enough of them, God knows

We’re taking a giant step into the future
And turning into a thousand other towns
I heard today the news that they are
Closing the bookstore down

Some big concern comes in and yanks
Our jobs, our shops, our hometown banks
Then they expect our grateful thanks
It happens everyday
I guess I just prefer to see
Success serve our community
Not some wealthy VIP
Who lives a thousand miles away

So, take a minute and look around
There are corner shops in every town
Squeezed and pushed and hunkered down
And battered by the blows
No, they might not be shiny or bright or new
But they’re run by folks like me and you
Now, I can’t tell you want to do
But me?…I’m gonna shop in those

So give me slow food and a hometown team
Spencer’s, Bodo’s, Chap’s Ice Cream
Gleason Hardware and that corner store
With dust on the shelves and a bell on the door
I swear I’d love to hear that sound once more
Since they closed the bookstore down

Charlottesville, VA, May 1998
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Crazy or Courageous
words & music by John McCutcheon

written during the UAW strike the summer of 1998

John: guitar and vocal
JT: bass

Was he crazy or courageous
The way he faced his death?
Like some weary, wounded warrior
He wrestled his last breath
In the bed that he was born in
With his family at his side
He lived his whole life
Just the way he died

“Here in Flint in ‘37,”
He said, “Hell began to freeze
“We sat down on my asses,
“Brought the comp’ny to its knees
“There ain’t nothing lasts forever
“But there’s one thing that I know
“I swear I won’t go easy 
“When I go”

“Was I scared? Hell, yes! Everyday!
“And Fear, she knows your name!
“But if you stand to meet her
“You will never be the same.
“And I’ll tell you what I told your Dad
“When he was just this high:
“What’s the use of living
“If you’re nothing when you die?”

I’m glad he never lived to see
The turning of this town
How our hard work built her up
And now they’re trying to tear her down
Fear stalks these empty streets at night
She knocks on every door
She calls you by your name
Until you can’t take anymore

So are we crazy or courageous
To stand this storied ground?
For our parents and our children
For our jobs and for this town?
My kids, they never knew him
So it’s me will tell them why:
“What’s the use of living
“If you’re nothing when you die?”

They show us on your TV news
Like some relics past our time
But I feel his hand upon me
In a long, unbroken line
Am I crazy or courageous
I don’t guess I’ll ever know
But I swear I won’t go easy
When I go

Ft. Wayne, IN, July 1998
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

One More Mountaintop
words & music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar and vocal
JT: bass
Jos: drums and percussion
Mike: banjo
Moondi: harmony vocals

Growing up it was my dream to play this game
And like ten million other kids I guess I knew I dreamt in vain
But still at night I never could forget
So I got this job as close as I could get

I knew that it was gone, headed for the left field stands
To a million waiting fingers, a hundred thousand outstretched hands
It only had enough to barely clear the outfield wall
Now lying at my feet is the million dollar ball

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

Now, you know, I ain’t got much but I do alright
Working on the crew I’ve got a front row seat at night
And it still thrills me just to see the grass so green
And I marvel the heroes I have seen
Sometimes I’ll bring the kids if the Cubbies are in town
And he always stops to talk to ‘em if he knows that they’re around
My life would be so different if I called this ball my own
I could give my kids the things they’ve never known

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

So picked up the ball and wiped off all the dirt
Wrapped it in a rag and stuffed it deep inside my shirt
Walked into the fireworks, the lights and endless roars
Said, “I think that I have something that is yours”
At the end of the evening when the crowds have gone away
And you’re left with your decisions and the price you chose to pay
Some will go to Cooperstown and some will just go home
And we’ll marvel at the heroes we have known

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

Winfield, KS, September 1998
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

The Abby D
words & music by John McCutcheon

John: banjo, guitar and vocal
JT: bass
TJ: mandolin
Jos: percussion
Bruce: fiddle
Moondi: harmony vocals

Out on the water before it’s day
Put it at Cape Charles every May
Work every inch of the Chesapeake Bay
And the Abby D come home
Blue crab’s strong but the oyster’s weak
Flounder comes in fits and streaks
All up and down the Chesapeake
But now the Abby D come home

Just about dusk when the stars come out
Everybody wonders what the ruckus is about
Down at the dock with a holler and a shout
When the Abby D come home
She’s low in the water and long in the tooth
Crab piled high up to her roof
It’s a mighty fine time, I’m a-tellin’ you the truth
When the Abby D come home

Now the Abby D is a bayman’s boat
Long in the stern and taut in the rope
Best damn crabber that ever did float
Everybody knows the same
My father built her with his own hands
On the day I was born the work began
Launched her down in Mary’s Land
She bears my mother’s name 

Just about dusk when the stars come out
Everybody wonders what the ruckus is about
Down at the dock with a holler and a shout
When the Abby D come home
She’s low in the water and long in the tooth
Crab piled high up to her roof
It’s a mighty fine time, I’m a-tellin’ you the truth
When the Abby D come home

Now the giant boats come in from the sea
With great nets and machinery
There ain’t no room for a man like me
Out there on the Bay
With little boats and little lives
Working hard for our kids and wives
Wondering how a man survives
Struggling everyday

Just about dusk when the stars come out
Everybody wonders what the ruckus is about
Down at the dock with a holler and a shout
When the Abby D come home
She’s low in the water and long in the tooth
Crab piled high up to her roof
It’s a mighty fine time, I’m a-tellin’ you the truth
When the Abby D come home

But a bayman’s life is what I know
So down to the water I must go
With my nets these seeds I sow:
The promise of the sea
Like all the ones who’ve gone before
I leave my home, I leave the shore
And to the Bay I go once more
Out in the Abby D

Just about dusk when the stars come out
Everybody wonders what the ruckus is about
Down at the dock with a holler and a shout
When the Abby D come home
She’s low in the water and long in the tooth
Crab piled high up to her roof
It’s a mighty fine time, I’m a-tellin’ you the truth
When the Abby D come home

Painter, VA, September 1998
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Piece by Piece
words & music by John McCutcheon

written for the final homecoming of the Names Quilt October, 1989

John: guitar & vocal
Michael: cello

Dishes on the drainboard, the babies put to sleep
Voices hushed to whispers as the night grew long and deep
The fingers of the old ones, cloth saved from years before
They fit each piece together as I watched them from the floor

With needle, thread, and patience, and stubborn love they sewed
"The Flower Garden", "Eight-Point Star", "The Long and Winding Road"
Their talk and laughter sent me safe into my childhood dreams
Beneath the family patchwork, life breathed in every seam

It's a common thread that binds us
And our work will never cease
Till we stitch this world together piece by piece

Now acres upon acres laid out for all to see:
40,000 stories stitched into a common tapestry
The lovers and the strangers, the women and the men
The parents and the children, each fill our lives again

It's a common thread that binds us
And our work will never cease
Till we stitch this world together piece by piece

They come from every neighborhood
From every heart and home
Some find the arms of family
Some find themselves alone
Some lose themselves forever
In the needle, night, and fear
The baby in the cradle
The face in every mirror

Scraps of life remembered and saved from everywhere
Too small to tell the story but large enough to share
Each woven in the fabric that holds us to the dream
Reminds us we are family, life breathes in every seam

It's a common thread that binds us
And our work will never cease
Till we stitch this world together piece by piece

Charlottesville, VA, October 1989
©1999 by John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP).