1. |
FR 422
03:00
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2. |
Author Unknown
03:13
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It’s been thirteen hours since I stood by your door
And Santa Teresa’s lit up like a gourd
Come out, little poet, come down to the square
Though I know that your critics will also be there
It’s been thirteen days since the professors came
They sit by the pool and they murmur your name
Come out, little poet, and don’t make them give
The best of their days just to know you still live
It’s been thirteen years since I picked up your books
With thirteen companions I scoured their nooks
Come out, my dear poet, and give us a glance
Of your tall silhouette on the street outside the dance
In Santa Teresa the weather is hot
And the sunsets come early the months that it’s not
Come out, my dear poet, or give me a clue
That I can decipher to come and find you
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3. |
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But first we made time for crumpets and marmalade
And breakfast sausage that your friend made
It was hard to leave with the snow in drifts
wrapping our cars up like Christmas gifts
Ten thirty and a to-go mug of hot tea
Ten miles and a flat halfway to Belfry
We would drive fourteen hours just to suss
what a little sun might do for us
We stopped for chocolate in a cowboy town
We stopped for a soak where the river runs brown
When we got to the desert we knelt down and cried
and thanked the Lord that we’d survived
We slept on the floor at the geologist’s home
We made scrambled eggs and we made plans to roam
We stared out the window in the forest’s face
we’d driven out of winter to some other place
I found you green in the grip of a lovely monsoon
Your pockets were empty, your smile like a rune
Yeah I drove eighteen hours just to see
what a little sun might do for me
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4. |
City Secrets
04:03
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There are roads you never knew the names of
That all the same you always drove just fine
There’s a donut shop all the way across town
There’s a used bookstore that’s managed to stayed open
There’s a DIY space somewhere on the green line
There’s a taco place somewhere in the valley
And yeah, I’m going to the game tonight
But I don’t know exactly how to get there
No, I don’t know the best way to get there
There’s a high point with a view off 32nd Street
There’s a five-way intersection with no stop signs
There’s a townie bar somewhere on the west side
With a big fish tank and Gumballhead on tap
There’s a full moon over the factories on the Indiana line
There’s a house party by the freeway
And yeah, I’m going to Savanna’s place tonight
But I don’t know exactly how to get there
No, I don’t know the best way to get there
There’s a full moon over the factories on the Indiana line
There’s a silver maple stump that’s all that remains of
The roads we never knew the names of
That all the same we always drove just fine
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5. |
October 13
03:29
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Golconda Albuquerque, New Mexico
Peripatetic avant-troubadour songs for the discerning vagabond
Golconda recommends:
Psychopomp, CA
by Kong Must Dead
The highway stretches on just like a black tongue
go to album
To Evening Lands
by Luke Gullickson
It'll make still the tide but you have to decide what to do
go to album
Axle of the World (with Rabbit)
by Grant Wallace Band
Away, above, apart
go to albumIf you like Golconda, you may also like:
The instrumental ensemble Dt/IG straddles the line between folk and classical, stirring acoustics augmented by sumptuous arrangements.
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Shelley’s career-best new LP explores making a home in a world that seems hopeless.
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Gorgeous fingerstyle guitar playing from this Portland, Oregon musician that captures the spirit of American Primitive in dazzling detail.
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