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The Ride
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass Pete Kennedy: electric guitar Tim O’Brien: harmony vocalKathy Mattea: harmony vocal When you’ve taken that great leap… I’ve never been the sort Accused of living on the edge But at this quarry I just reared back And jumped right off the ledge My grandad used to say “If you ain’t living, then you’re dying” Still, I cannot be certain If I’m falling or I’m flying Chorus There’s a surprise ‘round every corner You’d best learn this from the start Knuckle down and buckle up And hold on to your heart It’s a matter of perspective If what you attempt Can only be accomplished In the way that you have dreamt It’s what you might discover After making that wrong turn If you only pay attention It’s amazing what you’ll learn Chorus Bridge ‘Cause it’s over ‘fore you know it So, it’s best you understand Most of living happens ‘Tween the things that you have planned So, when you’ve taken that great leap And you’re out there in the air All the courage that it took to jump Happened back up there If it was a good decision Well, the water will decide If you ain’t living, then you’re dying So just enjoy the ride Chorus October 21, 2020 Smoke Rise, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Third Way
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: mandolin Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass A true story of my father-in-law Carlos Agra’s first day at his first job in this country. Coaxed back by his daughter, my wife, Carmen Agra Deedy First day at the steel mill First job in this land Another refugee Another working man A freshly ironed uniform “Carlos” stitched upon the breast He waited at the gates With all the rest He knows nothing of the language Of millwork, even less But a man must feed his family Nonetheless From his thermos he drank Cuban coffee By the cup ‘Til it’s empty by the time the mill gates Open up He’s to be trained by Darnell Hired twenty years before The brown man and the black man On the welding floor A couple hours in his bladder Let him know About the thermos-full of coffee And he had to go He cried, “Donde está el baño?” As the mill he scanned Darnell shrugged his shoulders Didn’t understand A few graphic gestures later Darnell laughed, “I see” Took Carlos by the arm, said, “Follow me” This was Decatur, Georgia Back in ‘64 Darnell presented Carlos with Two different doors One was marked for “Colored” And the other “White” In all his life he’d ne’er seen Such a sight The millworkers soon had gathered ‘Round these two Everyone was wondering just what He would do After weighing both his options He did the only thing he could Went outside and pissed out In the woods For over fifty years Until the day he died He’d tell the story and we’d laugh Until we cried If you’re told you have two options No matter what they say It’s best to understand there’s often A third way September 25, 2020 Smoke Rise, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) The Song When You Are Dead
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle JT Brown: bass After The Night John Prine Died (on the album Cabin Fever) It was nice to get your call the other day All the complimentary things about my songs you had to say How you couldn’t keep from cryin’ At the one about John Prine How it was such a lovely eulogy And you wondered just what you meant to me Chorus I’ll write you a great song when you are dead You’ll be embarrassed by the praises That I’ll heap upon your head But I know that you won’t care ‘Cause, in fact, you won’t be there Each listener will weep and nod their head When they hear the song I sing when you are dead I’ll begin it soon as I receive the news It might be a solemn dirge or perhaps a talking blues It’ll be a catchy song Everyone will sing along They’ll love you without even knowing why When they hear the song I write the day you die Chorus I really have to make this one admission You’re my very first pre-mortem song commission (When you) Shuffle off this mortal coil Sleep the other side of the soil Rest in peace, knowing I will be composing As the same time that you are decomposing Bridge Some will have an epitaph in stone On a building or a marker made of granite Seems to me a legacy is earned, not owned It’s just a bit contrived to have to plan it So, I promise I’ll sit down when you have croaked And contemplate the feelings that your passing has evoked And when your time is toast And at last give up the ghost They’ll be singing as they lower down your coffin A song that sure to be requested often Chorus August 30, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Second Hand
words & music by John McCutcheon for Esther Cohen John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass After reading an obituary of Esther Cohen, a Holocaust survivor from Greece, who spent her life talking to school children about her experiences. A whole world died…from here on it is second-hand. A whole world died this morning When she passed away She took her history with her She’s got nothing more to say More than a mere witness She managed to live through And spent her lifetime since Telling everything she knew From here it is all second hand Tales to be retold The horror and uncertainty Of all those days of old The boots upon the staircase The pounding at the door The trains, tattoos, the showers All hidden by the war Back then, no one believed it We refused to see the signs It’s easy from a distance To be deaf and to be blind She lives on in our own lives She is more than memory She is the guide reminding us How to hear and how to see Bridge A university A library All she did and knew What are we to learn? What are we to do? Of course, we will remember We promised all of them Now eighty short years later There they are again In Paris, Munich, Charlottesville Boldly in the streets The flags, the flames, the uniforms Awakened from defeat So, how will we explain it To our ancestors, our kids All that we remembered Everything we did History is not destiny It need not be the same Will they find the courage needed When they recall our name December 3, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Touched
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle JT Brown: bass After a lesson on the Canterbury Pilgrimage and Chaucer by my wife, Carmen. He was the one they only knew by his first name At best he garnered pity At worst fear and disdain Poor old crazy sod He was touched, some say by God But either way, his path in life was plain To beg out in the street, all on his own Never have a family or a home If was not the world he wanted “Village idiot!” kids taunted The loneliest of lives one could have known But at the Canterbury pilgrimage that year Our man tagged along far to the rear With the priests and all the rest Took his place among the blest No one’s ecstasy was more sincere Bridge Suffer the little children unto me The simple hearted, simple minded All those saints-to-be I don’t count wealth or intellect Only faith from the elect Welcome, pilgrims, gather unto me In day’s clear light may we each understand All of us are pilgrims in this land Struggling every day Just trying to find our way May we all be touched by God’s own hand November 6, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Nobody Knows
words & music by John McCutcheon John: vocal Jon Carroll: piano & organ Last summer I filled up a box On the bedroom floor When I was finally done It wouldn’t close Years of sweaters, shirts and socks Bound for the Goodwill Store And where from there? Nobody knows Last night I was walking home A shortcut through the park I saw him ‘neath a streetlight All the rest was dark Sleeping face down in the dirt He snored in sweet repose Who is this man inside my shirt? Nobody knows Chorus Nobody knows And nobody is askin’ Nobody knows ‘Cause you can never tell Everyone has highs and lows That’s just the way it goes Nobody knows I got it for a birthday And loved it from the start Wore it nearly everyday ‘Til it slowly fell apart I sewed on buttons, mended seams As you do with well-loved clothes Why do we go to such extremes? Nobody knows He’s a kid, not more than twenty Fallen on hard times Troubles, he’s got plenty At least he’s got this shirt of mine It’ll keep him good and warm When winter blows But will it keep him safe from harm? Nobody knows Chorus Bridge This world is cold and hard Beyond these doors Until we’re seen We are all John Does Each battle-scarred From our private wars And nobody knows In the pocket of the shirt I slipped a tenner He’ll smile when he finds it I suppose Will it go for beer or go for dinner Nobody knows, nobody knows Last Chorus Everyone has highs and lows You know this ain’t the life he chose Wearing someone else’s clothes That’s just the way it goes Nobody knows September 7, 2020 Elon, NC ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Recess
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass When the bell rang at 11 For once he wasn’t watching All the kids broke from the classroom on a run Just a quarter hour of freedom But he dreaded every minute And he wondered, “Am I the only one?” He begged to stay inside But the teacher shooed him out She didn’t understand what it took for him to make it Yes, it was only recess It was play time, it was fun But he simply didn’t have the tools to fake it It wasn’t bullying or meanness That made him awful and alone Or that he was always last when sides were chosen It was the easy way the others Moved about their lives That left him feeling small, apart, and frozen For he’d learned the lesson early That invisible was best Keep your head down, keep quiet, and keep clear Uncertainty forever lurked Drawing notice never worked And everything unknown was met with fear So he read his way down deep Where he knew no one could find him Into houses that were nothing like his home Where he could hit a ball, have a friend, Be chosen 2 nd last And the life he lived was nothing like his own Just like that recess is over And thirty 9-year-olds Fall into line in answer to the bell Back to class, back inside Find another place to hide The tortoise draws his head back in his shell August 27, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Mistaken
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano JT Brown: bass The line “most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing” comes from the poem Transubstantiation by Molly McCully Brown. Many thanks to Molly for allowing me to use this amazing line. You can get the book containing this poem and loads of other wonderful revelations, The Virginia Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded , at https://www.perseabooks.com/virginia-state-colony-for-epileptics-and-feebleminded This chair thinks it is furniture On the porch outside my home A thing of frayed upholstery Draped o’er its wooden bones But it is my destination It’s where I start each day And watch the fleeting shadows As the sunlight slips away Most of what I love Mistakes itself for nothing This room here on the second floor Thinks it is there for guests For the occasional visitor A place to find some rest It is the keeper of the memory The child off on her own Whose fingerprints are left here On my heart and on this home Most of what I love Mistakes itself for nothing This job thinks it is meaningless No need to pretend It’s any more than mindless work A means unto an end But it’s how I feed my family And every day I’ve tried To do what I was asked to do With sweat and skill and pride Most of what I love Mistakes itself for nothing This town thinks it is dying A shadow of its glory And every day is writing The last chapter of its story It is the ground that birthed me And where my parents lie It is the place I will call home Until the day I die Most of what Iove Mistakes itself for nothing This woman thinks she’s used up Tired, old, and sore Nothing like the young girl That won me years before But my eyes have gotten older, too My vision’s gotten clear All my bursting heart can see Is this one I love so dear Most of what I love Mistakes itself for nothing October 19, 2020 Smoke Rise, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Kora in the Subway
Words & music by John McCutcheon John: vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano This is the lone song penned pre-pandemic, recalling an incident in New York City subway station. The kora is a west African instrument, a harp-like instrument made from a large gourd. It is beautiful beyond imagining. It was Friday on the L train Got on at Union Square Heading off to Brooklyn And a son who’s waiting there Weary, hot, and crowded Near dead upon my feet I swept out of the car at last And headed toward the street I heard him ‘fore I saw him A waterfall of notes I stopped, transfixed and purified My heart up in my throat Forgotten was my destination All that went before And ‘midst the rush on every side I sat down on the floor He raised a weary eyebrow But never said a word He closed his eyes, I closed my eyes And this is what I heard He played the plains of Senegal The Veldt found to the south The gathering each evening Down at the river’s mouth The color of new-woven cloth The women at the well The bustling of the marketplace A world of taste and smell The call to prayer at noontide The old men drinking tea Children playing in the dust A lone acacia tree He played, My mother in the kitchen My father in his chair An August day as thick as water At the county fair The pungent smell of fresh-caught fish A kiss behind the barn Grandfather at the graveside A child in my arms I felt his hand upon my arm And I was right back there He packed his instrument away And headed for the stair He refused the twenty That I pressed into his palm He made his way into the crowd And was gone June 18, 2017 New York to Atlanta ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) |
The Troubles
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocals Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano JT Brown: bass Tim O’Brien: bouzouki & harmony vocal Seamus Egan: low whistles Tommy Sands: 3 rd verse The last verse is adapted from “Ceasefire” by Michael Longley In the times of the Troubles Tired and aggrieved Neighbors killed neighbors For what they believed Then they knelt in their churches Prayed to the same God Never once doubting The path that they trod The confusion and enmity On full display Revenge, retribution The rule of the day To the history of hatred We all were made slaves But to kill in revenge You’d best dig two graves We think of the Troubles The far and the few Protestant, Catholic Palestinian, Jew Hutu and Tootsi Sunni, Shiite Fascist and communist The left and the right The Troubles begin With the thinnest of wedge And before you imagine You’re out on the ledge One path or the other They ask you to choose Casting your lot With a bet you all lose We think of the Troubles The far and the few Protestant, Catholic Palestinian, Jew Hutu & Tootsi Sunni, Shiite Republican, Democrat The left and the right Achilles and Priam Sat down at the table And shared a sad feast Then as well as was able Priam knelt down Knowing what must be done Kissed the hand of the man Who had murdered his son November 11, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Shadowland
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass Inspired by film Through the Shadowlands. It is the story of CS Lewis’ marriage, late in his life to Joy Gresham. He called our life on this earth “Shadowland.” By the light of a small candle Sooner than she planned She takes his trembling hand Into her own He smiles and breathes a deep sigh “I never thought you’d be “Better far than me “I should have known” She looks into the eyes she’s loved “You know you cannot tell “But you have taught me well “It’s surely so “That it is easier for the first one “On this mysterious ride “To have you by my side “Because you know, we live…” Chorus In Shadowland It is not the pitch of night In Shadowland A dark reflection of the light Turning toward the sun True life is just begun When your time is done In Shadowland We cannot know for certain If we have been deceived By all that we’ve believed For all these years Still I have gambled with this joy Blessed by faith and doubt We play our small lives out By love or fear Chorus Will you stay here a bit longer Until this night is through? I have got some work to do I must be brave I could use some small familiar Give me leave, give me permission Because I know my mission’s Not the grave Chorus August 29, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Sorry Land
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle JT Brown: bass Tim O’Brien: mandolin & harmony vocal Kathy Mattea: harmony vocal Whether they call it “strip mining” or “mountaintop removal” the result…and the consequences…are the same. The “broad form deed” was peddled to unsuspecting folks assigning their mineral rights to a coal company, usually or a pittance. It allowed the holder of the deed to access the minerals using any means they chose. You can finish this story on your own… Here comes a truck full of gravel again Guess the road washed out up around the bend I can’t imagine how this will end Won’t be for them not trying But they bought it cheap at the old strip site Knew it’d never work, but they thought it might Spent every dime trying to make it right But it’s like the land is dying Chorus It was the law, the lawyers, and a D-9 dozer Took all we had ‘fore it was over Covered up the graves where our people sleep Greed and power don’t come cheap Each night upon my knees I pray These rains won’t wash my dreams away Right here is where I’m gonna make my stand ‘Cause I ain’t got more than this sorry land When I was a kid I fished these creeks Deep in the woods I played hide and seek Hiked these hollers ‘til my knees got weak Was a long lifetime ago Then the man showed up with the broad-form deeds Lies as thick as jimson weeds Said the country had its needs That’d be satisfied by coal Chorus So they stripped and blasted, raised pure hell Poisoned everybody’s well The true cost only time will tell But they got what they was after But the jig is up and when the rains come down The mountain slides and the creeks run brown Each day more folks are leaving town In search of greener pastures Chorus Now the coal is gone and the comp’ny too And we’re left wondering what to do ‘Cause we pay the cost when the note comes due Ain’t that the way it goes So, out here on the rural route And we truck in gravel when the roads wash out Wondering what the hell was that about I surely hope God knows Chorus October 24, 2020 Smoke Rise, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Fuller Brush
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano JT Brown: bass He stands at the door and straightens his tie Nervously fingers his ring Never imagined that he’d by the guy With a briefcase of useless damn things Still, he takes off his hat and invents a warm smile Bravely extends a thin hand “Ma’am I can see you’re a woman of style “You’re in luck, I’m the Fuller Brush man!” “I know just what you need, a mop or a broom” He stands with his foot in the door “A life-time guarantee, you can clean every room “They’ll last longer than will your floor” “A brush for your teeth, for your nails, for your head “And a special one just for your car “And extension that’s meant to reach under your bed “A set designed for your boudoir” Day after day, street after street House after house, he’ll go knocking A heart full of hope and a mouth full of speech If he only were paid for his talking He’s sold everything from bibles to vacuums The World Book, subscriptions, and knives Downed gallons of coffee, been trapped in sad rooms In the company of lost, lonely wives Bridge For the times are a-changing, the work is so slow He’s thinking of giving up here For it’s few that will open for those they don’t know These days it’s all deadbolts and fear But a man’s gotta work and a man’s gotta eat Feel the sweet sweat of toil at day’s end And bring home the bread with his charm and his feet And tomorrow go right back again So, with his hat in his hand and his foot in the door He’ll once again make his small stand “I’ve got just what you have been waiting for “You’re in luck, I’m the Fuller Brush man.” August 24, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Everyday
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass Pete Kennedy: electric guitar Everyday When I open up my eyes Everyday I feel a little bit surprised That I was given one more chance To try to get it right That this world has somehow Survived another night And, most of all, this woman Sleeping to my right Everyday Everyday Has come to feel the same Everyday I have forgotten how to name Eight months now and counting Life confined to home Finding a simplicity I never could have known And praying for the ones Who are out there all alone Everyday Bridge Everyday Fully occupy this space Everyday We disappear without a trace Everyday We try to leave a little grace Everyday Everyday We all do what we can do Everyday I know that when this one is through I’ll surrender this brief moment To the ones that went before Despite what I deserve I was somehow given more For all my blessings and my trials I am grateful to my core Everyday November 8, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) The First Ones
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar, autoharp, & vocal Most of these songs were written at our north Georgia cabin, a writing retreat for Carmen and me. The original settlers of the area, from the Cherokee Eastern Nation, were led by Chief Whitepath settled in the valley just below. The first ones to this country However did they know Traveling the deer paths Or where the rivers flow The forest thick with undergrowth Beneath the ancient trees What vision guided And provided Possibilities The game must be abundant Waters must be near And defense against the dangers That were surely lurking here These very first, brave humans To ever walk this ground Must grub for root And harvest fruit Whatever could be found What was it set them roaming Was it restlessness or fear The burden of their history That finally brought them here Or longing for the peace That wilderness provides Were they wooed By solitude To mount that lonely ride And was it some great spirit That prompted them to stop This valley ‘tween two mountains To recognize this spot As none had done before them Guided by some grace Their journey past Now home at last They knew this was the place How many centuries later I could have only guessed I, too, have ventured outward With wilderness my quest Guided by a spirit Unburdened of my past Like those long ago I finally know That I am home at last August 31, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Listen
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass Pete Kennedy: electric guitar Tim O’Brien: harmony vocal Kathy Mattea: harmony vocal I tried to warn you Tried to tell you he’s a jerk I stuck my neck out Though I knew it wouldn’t work You were pissed and you were hurt I probably should have known Now your pissed and hurt and heartbroke and alone Chorus They say that love is blind But love is deaf as well Love will make you stupid And stubborn as all hell I’ve been there, sister, So I know it’s true Love can make a damn fool out of you I take no pleasure In your admission I was right This is no “told you so” You were my lone dog in that fight No need for apologies Or dragging out the past I only hope that you might understand at last Chorus Bridge A hungry heart Is open, brave, and true But if you’re made of sugar The ants will feed on you And the next time You decide to go another round Just remember That I’ll still be around And you probably won’t listen Just know, I won’t shut up, for sure ‘Cause that’s the kind of love that will endure Chorus September 1, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) You Used to Be
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass It was suddenly so silent Just an echo of the roar Blood upon your knuckles And plaster on the floor The animal uncaged You tried your whole life not to be The look upon her face You prayed you’d never see Chorus In the moment it is over And everything’s revealed You thought it was behind you Now nothing is concealed Every way you turn now The only thing you see Is you’ll never be the man You used to be It is a secret you had guarded One you could never name A terrible inheritance The source of all your shame Lurking in the shadows Never far away It had taken every ounce of strength To keep it there at bay Chorus Bridge There is that moment When you face the awful truth You’re not the man You thought you would be in your youth So, you sweep up all the damage You bandage up the wound Search in vain for words That might repair what you have ruined But the curtain has been parted You can’t excuse it or deny For the only way back home Is look the shadow in the eye Chorus October 17, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) Work
words & music by John McCutcheon John: guitar & vocal Stuart Duncan: fiddle Jon Carroll: piano & organ JT Brown: bass The gold watch sits shiny and useless In the drawer with his mother’s old locket His time, as ever, hangs from a chain Securely tucked in his front pocket He putters about filling his days With the list of forgotten old chores Marking his hours with silence he never heard Down on the factory floor He remembers the day he showed up at the mill A promise all shiny and new Ready for anything, eager to mount The work that they gave him to do His father had struggled to build a small life New to this language and land Now he knew that his family was looking to him To take up their fate in his hands Eight hours a shift of the heat and the noise You’ve earned the brief respite after Wash up and walk down to the place down the corner For the beer and the tales and the laughter And it’s day after day, week after week Year after year it’s the same You do your small part, a piece of the whole For a man you know only by name Now they meet in the morning for coffee And relive the old days once again Stooped by the years into the shadows Of what once were these eager young men Who took up their tools, who took up the task With work that was honest and real Building a nation, a world, and a future As strong and as bright as the steel Like a relay you hand off the tongs and the hammer To the next one that’s coming along And the work, it gets done, the same as before They scarcely will notice you’re gone And they say that one day there will be a machine That’ll make every bit of this steel And you wonder where will all the young people go To find work that is honest and real November 3, 2020 Ellijay, GA ©2020 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) |