Trouble and Love Banner Slide

Mary Gauthier on Rock and Roll Stories with host Tom Waldman

Mary Gauthier visits KCLS TV. for a session on Rock and Roll Stories with host Tom Waldman. She talks with Tom about the five songs that most influenced her as a songwriter.

How You Learn To Live Alone will be on the Nashville ABC Season 2 Soundtrack

“How You Learn To Live Alone' by Mary and Gretchen Peters sung by Jonathan Jackson (“Avery” on the ABC-TV show “Nashville”) will appear on the soundtrack for Season 2 of the “Nashville” cast soundtrack. The album was produced by Buddy Miller and will be released on December 10. To read more about The Music of Nashville: Original Soundtrack Season 2, Volume 1 and see the track listing, click here.

Wally Lamb and Louisiana Book Festival

I’m headed to Baton Rouge in two weeks to present a writing workshop on Nov. 1 at The Louisiana Book Festival. On Nov. 2 Wally Lamb will introduce me to the audience and we’ll get to work together for the first time. I am a huge fan of his, and I’m counting the days till this one! My workshop is on Friday Nov. 1 from 9-4, on on Saturday Nov. 2 I perform on the music stage from 11:14-12:00, and my conversation with Wally is 2:15-3:00.

Here are a couple of previews from Deep South Magazine: The New Orleans Songwriter That Inspired Wally Lamb and In The Car With Mary Gauthier

If you're in Baton Rouge on November 1-2, I'd love to see you!

Views, News and The Other Side of Fear

“Our fears are like dragons guarding our most precious treasures.”—Rainer Maria Rilke

VIEWS

The cold woke me up this morning. As in either I turn on the heater, or I need another blanket on this bed kind of cold. Fall is here in Nashville, and the chill in my house was the first of the season. The seasons are changing, and I’m changing too. I’ve taken some big steps into independence, self-reliance, and self-determination. It’s been scary, stepping up into career self management, letting go of the record company I was with, foregoing a producer and going into the studio and co-producing my own new record with an engineer (albeit a brilliant engineer!) —it’s a re-thinking, and re-doing of the way I’ve run my business for the last decade.

On the other side of the fear, as I walk through it, is a re-birth of my passion and love of my work. Can’t help but notice how the things we fear often are the very things we must walk through to grow. So often on the other side of fears sit gifts, unopened. I’m unwrapping some of those gifts days. They are as the poet Rilke described, “most precious treasures.” I have grown stronger in my step, stronger in my voice, stronger in my vision, stronger on stage solo.

NEWS

My new record is almost done. More details on this soon, but I brought in plenty trusted friends to help me, as record producers do! Duane Eddy came in to play this week, and wow, he was fantastic. The man who invented twang, playing one of my songs, it took my breath away. I love him dearly, and admire him deeply.

The Vinyl Version of LIVE at Blue Rock is available on my web site, signed.  It’s a two record set, pressed on super high quality thick vinyl, and it sounds terrific. I also have a few copies left of Mercy Now and Between Daylight and Dark vinyl records from my days as a Lost Highway artist and when those are gone, there will be no more made. So they are collectable now, I guess.

Mercy Now T-Shirts, in black or gray, are available from size small to XXL. Super soft, unisex, and comfortable. 100% Cotton

We got a new design on the Mercy Pick Necklace, and you can order them with some beads or a regular version without any. Here’s what the beaded ones look like:

I’ll be out on the road again soon, this time I’ll be on the West coast of the US. Be sure to check out the Tour Dates and hope to see you out there. As always, endless thanks for your support!

—Mary

"Nashville" and A New Record

Hello from the artist’s lounge in Ricky Skaggs Studio outside of Nashville, where I am in the process of wrapping up a new record. This will be my 7th release of new songs, and we’re doing it differently than I did the other ones. I’m co-producing this time, with the amazing Patrick Granado, and we’ve recorded to tape, with Viktor Krauss, Lynn Williams, and Guthrie Trapp as the core band. No click, cans, charts or ProTools. We’re cutting songs I’ve worked on for the last 18 months directly to tape with microphones from the ’50s. We will be wrapping up this project in a day or two. Then I have to make some business decisions: Do I go to labels with it, or put it out myself? I don’t have that answer just yet. First things first, and I’ll worry about that after we’re done. Either way, a new record is forthcoming.

In the news department, I am thrilled to report that I have placed a song on the ABC TV series Nashville. It will be sung this Wednesday Sept. 25 on the season opener by the wonderful Jonathan Jackson who plays the character Avery on the show. The song is called “How You Learn To Live Alone,” and I wrote it with my dear friend Gretchen Peters. So be sure to tune in! (Here’s me and handsome Jonathan at the Bluebird.)

I’ve come out with a Vinyl Version of LIVE at Blue Rock. It’s a two record set, pressed on the fine thick vinyl, and it sounds terrific. They are available now on my web site, signed. I have a few copies of Mercy Now and Between Daylight and Dark vinyl records from my days at Lost Highway as well, and when those are gone, there will be no more made. So they are collectable now, I guess.

I’m hitting the road again on Wednesday, headed east. Come on out to a show and say hello!

Greetings from Lyons

Greetings from Lyons Colorado, where I am in the middle of a fine week of teaching at the Song School and preparing to play the Rocky Mountain Folks Festival. The sky has offered up plenty color and beautiful Van Gogh swirls this week. Quite the show!

In the news department, I’ve come out with a Vinyl Version of LIVE at Blue Rock. It’s a two record set, pressed on the fine thick vinyl, and it sounds terrific. They are available now on my web site, signed. I have a few copies of Mercy Now and Between Daylight and Dark vinyl records as well, and when those are gone, there will be no more made. So they are collectable now, I guess.

We lost a true great this month, Cowboy Jack Clement. I met Cowboy Jack Clement when I moved to Nashville in 2001—I went looking for him. He invited me into his house, The Cowboy Arms & Recording Spa, and played me the movie that was made about his life, Shakespeare Was a Big George Jones Fan: Cowboy Jack Clement's Home Movies. We stayed up very late watching it, and he laughed out loud at all the funny parts and I couldn't believe I was sitting with him in his office in the middle of the night like we were old friends. It was surreal and as fine a way to start a friendship as I'd ever known. He played me some unreleased Louis Armstrong songs that he'd recorded, and we listened to some old Johnny Cash stuff, from the Sun years. What a welcome to Nashville that was, what a wonderful memory it will always be. Cowboy was the most original, eccentric, hysterical, visionary clown I've ever met. His contributions to the American songbook are immeasurable, and I doubt there'd be an Americana Genre without him. I'll be forever grateful that there ever was a Cowboy Jack … as unlikely a human being as God ever made. We had him for 82 years, and for that we can only say thank you, thank you.

Hope to see a lot of you during my upcoming travels. Be sure to check out the tour schedule, and as always thank you so much for all of your support. I'm forever grateful.

You Don’t Know Me: Rediscovering Eddy Arnold

In Age Of Tributes To Country Badboys, Album Memorializes Smooth Singing Eddy Arnold

Eddy Arnold in the early 1950s. He grew up the son of a West Tennessee sharecropper, helping on the farm and performing at Pinson High School events.  It’s claimed he often arrived for  those gigs by mule with a guitar strapped to his back.

Shannon Pollard hasn’t changed a thing in his grandfather’s office since the death of Eddy Arnold five years ago. Stacks of CDs and Arnold’s lifetime achievement Grammy share the space with blueprints and real estate maps. But along with the physical artifacts come many good memories.

“He would sit here and play his own records,” Pollard says. “I’d sit on the couch, and he’d sit in his chair and a lot of times he might fall asleep actually, which was kind of funny. And then he’d wake up and be like, ‘Oh, that sounded really good!’”

Although Pollard and his grandfather shared a love for music, they didn’t always see eye to eye. As when Pollard was 19, and played some recordings of his first band for his “Daddy Ed.”

“He did listen to the whole thing,” Pollard says, “and listened attentively, and then he looked at me and he said, ‘Y’all need to cut your hair and learn how to play something that somebody wants to listen to.’ That wasn’t what we wanted to hear, but he was right!”

Eddy Arnold in RCA Studio B during the mid-1960s. Many of his hits were recorded in the legendary space, and several songs on the tribute album were, as well.

From Tennessee Plowboy to Countrypolitan Superstar

Beginning his career in the 1940s, Eddy Arnold was the king of the hillbilly crooners, and one of the first country artists to regularly crossover to the pop charts. In a career that stretched across seven decades, he racked up over 140 chart hits. His smooth velvety vocals helped build the Nashville Sound, while his successful real estate dealings built the Music City. By the 1960s, he had marked a trail that many mainstream country artists seeking crossover success still follow today, even if they’ve never heard an Eddy Arnold record.

Many country legends have become heroes in the Americana field where country often mixes with a punk rock attitude – an outlook that has pulled artists like the Louvin Brothers and Wanda Jackson from the dustbins of seeming obscurity. For many of these artists, a hellraising reputation, whether on records or in real life, is what first attracts attention, but in Eddy Arnold’s case, being a successful business and family man is hardly the stuff of outlaw legends.

“I’ve always been intrigued by the fact that his music was a little bit overlooked in the last few years,” Pollard says, “just because of not having that bad boy cache that the Hank Williams or the Johnny Cashes of country music had. But I felt like there was some really great material that was being overlooked.”

Punks with a Mission – Shannon Pollard and Cheetah Chrome at the Opry. Chrome chose to perform ‘What Is Life Without Love,’ which was a number one hit for Arnold in 1946.  Credit: Pete Mroz

That’s How Much I Love You

With a plan in mind, Pollard approached another of his musical heroes, Cheetah Chrome, former guitarist for the seminal 1970s punk rock band The Dead Boys. “One of the first things that became clear to me was how much how much his grandfather meant to him,” Chrome says. “We talked about doing a tribute record and I was like this is a project I could enjoy because we’re talking about some good music here, and it’s a labor of love.”

Although Chrome knew who Arnold was, he wasn’t that familiar with his music. He began a crash course of listening and soon re-discovered his own familial connection to the songs of Eddy Arnold. “The first thing that hit me was like wow, I remember this stuff,” Chrome says. “My mom used to play this stuff. My mom used to sing along to this. I used to hear this on the radio when I was a kid.”

“His voice was just so good,” Chrome says. “The records were just so well recorded, and the players were so good. When you’re a kid you don’t appreciate that.”

Mary Gauthier’s recording of ‘You Don’t Know Me’ is only the latest in a string of covers of the Eddy Arnold hit. Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan and Diana Krall all took a turn with it; Ray Charles had a  number one hit with the song. Credit: Anna O’Connor

Eddy’s Songs

Whether the austere hillbilly swing of his early recordings or the lush pop sound of his 1960s hits, the unifying thread of all of Eddy Arnold’s music was a great artist putting his personal stamp on great songs. Using that idea as inspiration, You Don’t Know Me: Rediscovering Eddy Arnold features Americana and indie rock artists putting their personal stamp on classic songs.

Some, like folk singer Mary Gauthier, followed that theme by delivering an intensely personal take, as Gauthier does on her cover of the title track. While others, like nouveau hillbilly musician Chris Scruggs, drew inspiration from Arnold’s originals and mixed in some rock’n’roll as Scruggs does on his driving, but still swinging version of “Just a Little Lovin’ (Will Go a Long Way.” Others took their songs in dramatically different directions from the originals as with southern rockers The Bluefields’ cover of “That’s How Much I Love You” or Bobby Bare, Jr’s take on “Make the World Go Away.”

“Every song grew legs in the studio,” Chrome says in regards to the varied approaches to Arnold’s music on the album. A diversity that Pollard hopes will drive people’s curiosity about the original versions.

“Hopefully, what a successful tribute record,” Pollard says, “or rediscovery, or whatever you want to call it does is you listen to this contemporary version and you go, ‘Oh, I really do want to go back and pick up the original record.’”

As for what his grandfather’s might have thought of the album, Pollard is sure he would have had own opinions and wouldn’t have been shy about expressing them. “There have been a few moments where I thought he would’ve absolutely killed me for some of this,” Pollard says. “But it’s all very respectful and the arrangements are fresh and cool, so given that, yeah, artistically he may have taken me to task, but he would have gotten the whole mission. If it took this direction to get there, then so be it.”

Proof that one can make great records that people want to hear, even without a haircut.

From the Carolinas to Copenhagen

Hello All! I’m writing from my hotel room in Belfast, Northern Ireland, having completed nearly two months of continuous tour dates from Copenhagen to the Carolinas, Stockholm to Shreveport—I’ve been moving fast out here. But my Irish tour is still ahead of me, and I’m off for a few days, sleeping late and moving slow today.

There’s constant motion on these long tours, with a typical day starting 15 minutes before the hotel breakfast ends. We run down and grab a quick bite, head back to the to the room, shower, pack, drag all the gear and suitcases out to the car, drive three or four hours, drag all the stuff out of the car into the next hotel, have about an hour to sit in the room, then get back into the car for soundcheck, toss down a quick dinner, play the show … wake up the next morning and repeat. Whew!

It’s got a rhythm and flow to it, though, and it’s as good a way as any to spend my days. I do love the structure and predictability of the routine even if the travel wears me down. But off days build me back up, and I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.

Here are a few highlights of my past month and what I’ve been up to:

Paste Magazine did an interview about my about my recent adventures, called Catching up with Mary Gauthier. Be sure and check it out, and thanks to everyone at Paste for your continued support!

I played live on the air in Austin, at KUTX with Scott and Jo, and my old friend John Aielli conducting the interview. Here’s the stream of us playing Can’t Find the Way from that show.

We kicked off the European tour in Sweden on April 17, playing with the talented Ben Glover. Denmark was next, and here’s a beautiful sunset on the canal in a town called Brons. We played to a sold out house there before heading to Copenhagan for another sold-out show at the Pumpehuset. It was a great way to end the Danish run before heading off to Ireland.

I was asked to carry the Americana Music Association Banner on my 17-city tour of Europe. It is an honor for me to do so, and a joy for me to let audiences know a little more about the genre in which I perform, and to give them an introduction to the Americana Music Association, the non-profit trade group whose mission is to advocate for the authentic voice of American Roots music around the world.  Here’s a shot from the stage in Copenhagen.

I hope everyone is doing well and that I get to see you somewhere along the road. And as always, thank you so much for your support—it means more than I can say.

—Mary

21 Cities in 27 Days-- More On the Way.

I've been on a roll out here on the road, moving quickly from town to town to town, dodging winter storms, closed roads and cancelled flights. Winter touring is always a challenge, but we have not had to cancel any shows. We've dealt with a couple van break downs, dodgy sound systems, and scary Motels, but we've met wonderful folks every single night as my LIVE at Blue Rock tour with Scott Nolan and Joanna Miller proceeds onward.

From Minneapolis to Dallas, this run is on a roll!. We had a great time in Burlington, VT. at The Higher Ground, where I was honoured to meet Jon Fishman, founder and drummer for the band Phish, who came back stage to tell me he likes my song I Drink. I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him, and I'm honoured that he'd take the time to stop by.

(I snapped the mic shot below from the stage while I was at soundcheck).

Some stand out moments:  The night I made a joke on stage that I don't write dance songs, and a woman came up to me at the CD table after the show and told me that she met her dad for the first time when she was 40, he was dying of cancer, and they danced to Mercy Now.

The night I learned from a music therapist at a VA hospital in CT. that some of my songs were being sung by Vietnam Vets, who are calling themselves The Homefront Band,  and they won a Silver Medal in the National Veterans music competition with my song Sugar Cane. Congrats fellas!

Having Richard Shindell join us on stage with his electric guitar in Ashland VA. and "noodle" for 5 or 6 songs. Lets just say he is really, really good at noodling.

I have plenty more tourdates in front of me. We are headed to Georgia, Alabama, Florida Louisiana and Texas after Easter, then I head to Denmark, Sweden and Ireland with Ben Glover and Michele Gazich. I look forward to announcing two weeks of Canadian tourdates with Scott and Joanna in July, the details are still being sorted, but we are almost ready to announce.

For those who've been asking, I've added XXL T Shirts to the store.

The LIVE at Blue Rock CD is #11 on the Americana Music chart right now, which is an amazing feat for a Live CD. I wanna thank all the  stations and jocks that have been playing it. I wanna thank everyone everywhere thats helped me keep this little show on the road, it's a great job, and I am grateful to be able to keep doing it. I've got plenty new songs, and I'm playing a few of them every night, getting ready for the next studio record. The  LIVE at Blue Rock tour is keeping me busy right now, but I am looking at studio time to start cutting the new songs when I get off the road for a few weeks in June.

Onward!

World Tour 2013, Here I Come!

The Mary Gauthier World Tour 2013 kicks off this Thursday. I will be announcing new tour dates weekly as they are confirmed. Canada, Holland and the West Coast of the United States are in the works as well.  I am on a mission. I want to play as many dates as I can this year, touring the world with my new LIVE at Blue Rock record in hand.

My upcoming US dates will be supported by Scott Nolan and Joanna Miller. They will open the shows and then join me on stage for mine. We did this in the fall and it went so well I’ve asked them to join me again for this run.

My European / UK dates will be supported by Ben Glover. Ben will also join me on stage during my set.  It’s going to be a wonderful journey wandering the cities and highways and all points between with these great artists!

If you watch the HBO show Banshee and thought you recognized the closing song a couple weeks ago, yep, that was me. My song, Walk Through the Fire, from Filth and Fire finally earned its keep in my catalogue. That song paid my mortgage, car payment and electric bill this month. I want to thank Kary Antholis, President of HBO miniseries, for his generous support of my work and Greg Yaitanes, from Banshee, for putting my music into his wonderful show. Thank you thank you!

We will be live-streaming our upcoming concert at Club Passim, which starts at 8p ET on March 3rd. Wherever you are in the world, you can tune in. You can purchase tickets for $5 at http://www.concertwindow.com/shows/mary-gauthier.  The video webcast will be viewable on computers, iPhones, and iPads. The show will not be recorded, but you can watch it live in HD.

I will be posting pictures from the road on my facbook page, and tweeting daily...Onward!

All the best to you,

Mary

Live at Blue Rock Poster

A signed 13" x 19" Hatch Show Print poster of Mary Gauthier's Live at Blue Rock.

Signed Poster: $15

[add_to_cart item="LBR-POS" showprice="no" quantity="user:1" ]

Behind the Song: The Last of the Hobo Kings

(By Mary Gauthier) Steam Train Maury died last night His wife Wanda by his side He caught the Westbound out of here Hopped the high irons to the by and by They say he jumped ten thousand trains Rode a million miles for free Helped out at VA hospitals and penitentiary’s Dandy Dave, Rusty Nails and Sweet Lady Sugar Cane Dead Eye Kate and the Baloney Kid raise their cups tonight in Steam Train’s name Senators, congressmen, puppets on a string Among the windswept vagabonds Steam Train was the king The last of the hobo kings, the last of the hobo kings

Now bums just drink and wander round Tramps dream and wander too But a hobo was a pioneer who preferred to work for food He knew how his nation’s doing By the length of a side walk cigarette butt Born with an aching wanderlust Embedded in his gut Hounded, beaten, laughed at, broke Chased out of every town With a walking stick scepter And a shredded coffee can crown The last of the hobo king, the last of the hobo kings

The last free men are hobos Steinbeck said, and he paid cash And the stories that he bought from them Helped him write the Grapes of Wrath But boxcars have been sealed for years And trespassers do time Railroad yards are razor wired And hoboing’s a crime So here’s to you Steam Train Maury Hold that Westbound tight As you ride off into history The last hobo, the last ride The last of the hobo king, the last of the hobo kings

I wrote this song in a hotel room in Amsterdam, in late November of 2006. A long string of shows in Europe had just ended, but I decided  to stay in Europe a little longer to and try get some writing done. I wanted to go home, but I had not written a new song in a long while and I figured the solitude of being in a hotel alone for a while would kick in the old writing process. I'd written two songs at the Schiller Hotel in Amsterdam’s Rembrandt Square on my previous tour, so I decided to linger a while longer and see if I could repeat the process. As homesick as I was, I changed my flight, added a week to my stay, and started reading poems in the old café, filling my head with words written before, during and after the liberation of Holland.

I'm glad I did.

The hotel and café were once owned by a painter by the name of Schiller, whose wife was a cabaret singer who performed in the square on the weekends. Mr. Schillers Cafe was a meeting place filled with lively conversation, after show parties, and a place where artists of all types gathered to share their work and their lives. The Schiller's endured the German occupation of Amsterdam during the war and were indentured to Nazi soldiers in their own hotel for period of time. Mr Schiller's paintings still hang in the hotel.

Captivated by the deco lighting and the timeworn original wooden floorboards that Nazi boots had walked before me, I sat there for hours, reading and daydreaming as tourists shuffled in and out of Smokey Joe’s, a giant marijuana coffee shop next door. It was a wonderful place to sit, ponder, and write.

I was in the café atrium sipping Dutch coffee one morning when I saw a headlined obituary in the International Herald Tribune newspaper for Steam Train Maury Graham, the Grand Patriarch of the Hobo Nation. I’d never heard of him, but I read his obituary and it grabbed me, he grabbed me, and I knew I’d found the thread of the song I should write. My attention fully engaged, I started poking around on my laptop for the more of Steamtrain’s story. The first thing I found was the website for the funeral home where he was being laid to rest. I clicked on his name, landed on a message board and read all the messages posted there from people who loved him, mostly other hobos. I kept poking around, digging up hobo treasures and gathering hobo stories from all over the web.

Maury Graham was a folk hero and legendary figure in his community, thus the headlined obituary in The New York Times, and The International Herald Tribune paper. I traveled deep into the vernacular and history of hobos in America, and time flew by. I learned about the hobo jungles and the hobo gatherings, the annual King and Queen elections, and the hobo lifestyle. It was a wonderful journey into a world I’d never visited and I emerged a few days later with the song in hand. It’s one of my favorite songs I’ve ever written.

P.S.: One of the many oddball things I learned sitting there in that café for a week—Did you know that Billy Bragg and Michelle Shocked ate some of the ashes of Old Joe Hill? Well, yes, they did.

Order a copy of Live at Blue Rock HERE.

Behind the Song: Cigarette Machine

(Fred Eaglesmith) Stumbling past your house baby At the break of day I thought I saw your silhouette Dancing cross the shade And I went down to the mission I called and called your name Till an angel with a face like yours Came down and let me in 

Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me

I heard soldier’s voices by the city gate There were junkies lying on the ground They made me look away I spilled you in a mirror I chopped you into lines Over some old kitchen sing I swore I’d let you die

Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me 

Old radios and broken mirrors Dogeared things I read Worn out movie stars In faded limousines I stumble through my own charades Coffee cups and clowns I can’t keep up with parades I keep falling down

Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine In a bottle in the gutter In a window on the street In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV I swear it was you staring back at me

Listen to a clip of the song:

[audio mp3="http://www.marygauthier.com/MG2012/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/04-Cigarette-Machine.mp3"][/audio]

“Cigarette Machine” is the story of a haunted but lovable fellow whose pain I can feel, and whose skin I am comfortable inhabiting on stage. He is haunted by lost love, haunted by sorrow, haunted by failure, haunted by the ghost of his former self, and trying make a life in a world that no longer makes sense to him.

He is an addict.

On the surface, “Cigarette Machine” tells the story of a lost romantic relationship, but underneath, the deeper meaning of the song is an exploration of the horrors of addiction. A major loss can break a person down and be the driver of addiction and mental illness, it can suck the hope out of a human heart.

Fueled by denial and trapped in the hell of powerlessness, the crushing grip of active addiction howls throughout this song. We all know the story, we’ve seen it before … swearing it off and five minutes later, picking it back up … I’ll quit tomorrow, the mantra of the addict.

All of this is implied here, the words beautifully framed by circular chord changes that just go endlessly round and round, like addiction itself—chained to a merry-go-round in hell.

Many of us intimately understand getting caught up in a person or a substance that’s not good for us, and starting to spiral downward from the wrongness of the attraction as we refuse to let go of our pursuit of what we want. Most will let go before the behavior becomes insanity (insanity being defined as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results). Repeated long enough over time, compulsion can become addiction. The chase then becomes relentless and starts removing things from a life, greater and greater losses will continue to enfold, but the addict is no longer able to control the compulsion and keeps sinking further down into deeper water.

The character’s life in this song has spiraled completely out of his control. He is haunted, troubled and lost, having hit any numbers of bottoms but still descending blindly into the hole he is digging for himself. This is the nature of addiction, falling into the self-dug hole. The hole will get deeper and deeper, (unless and until the addict puts the shovel down and quits digging), but the soul sickness of addiction abhors admitting bottom. It can’t even see that it’s digging a hole—the addict does not know, cannot see, that he/she is sick. Addiction blames, lies, denies, and will eventually kill unless the compulsion is broken. One must hit bottom, and bottom is simply putting down the shovel. Simple, yes, but not at all easy—in fact, many say it takes a supernatural intervention to truly break addiction.

The character in this song is in terrible shape, but he doesn’t know it. Much like the guy in the song I wrote called “I Drink,” this character is delusional but lovable—and we root for him, we feel for him, we want him to find his way back home.

I particularly love the lines: “I can’t keep up with parades, I keep falling down.”

It brought tears to my eyes the first time I heard this—I felt compassion for this guy’s human frailty, and ultimately, compassion for everyone else’s frailty (including my own).

Yes, I’ve been where this guy is. It was a long time ago, but I remember it as though it was yesterday and I don’t ever want to go back there again. Lord willing, I won’t have to.

This is a truly great song. Thank you, Fred. You keep hitting ‘em out of the park.

Order a copy of Live at Blue Rock HERE.

Behind the Song: Our Lady Of The Shooting Stars

(Mary Gauthier) Our Lady of the Shooting Stars Was that you last night? Did we dance a whispered waltz Did I hold you in my sight? When morning came with open arms She lifted you from me, Sunlight burned my eyes away And now I cannot see.

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars As I face the early light All that I can think of now Is joining you in flight But I have followed gypsies, girl Lost my way back home Held the phoenix to my chest And ended up alone. 

If I move to you Will you move to me? If I move to you Will you move to me?

Our Lady of The Shooting Stars Teach me how to know I want to feel my thoughts go dark And rest inside your flow. I'll awaken without fear And breathe the cool clean air, Your words upon my lips Your will becomes my prayer

If I move to you Will you move to me? If I move to you Will you move to me?

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars Look what you have done You led me to the water's edge, Running from sun. Are you in the briny mist? Do Seagulls scream your name? Wings suspended by your love, Or do I reach in vain?

If I move to you Will you move to me? If I move to you Will you move to me?

The words to this song are poetic—they have many layers of meaning, all of which would be destroyed if I try to explain it away in an essay. So I’m not going to try and decipher what the song means, that’s not something I could not do anyway. Ultimately, I have no idea! The artist does not know much more than the listener when it comes to poetic songs, we are just the lightening rod, not the lightening. The mystery remains intact, as new meanings appear over and over again over time. But I can, and will, explain how the song came to be.

It came from a failed gig, a gig early in my career that was a wipe out. No one came. No one at all!

It was to be a legendary place, The Wintertide Coffeehouse on Martha’s Vineyard, and I was hired to headline. It was my first big gig, my first headlining show, and I was thrilled. I drove from my home in Boston to Hyannis, took the car ferry over to the island, and got very excited when I pulled up to the club. It felt like finally, after years of open mic’s and playing for free, I was on my way to a brilliant and successful career in the music business. I went in, did a sound check and put my one CD on the merchandise table, then sat down and waited for people to come. Then I waited some more. But no one came.

No audience appeared. As I waited, I started to wonder if I was making a very big mistake chasing this crazy dream of mine. I wondered if I should quit this childish chase and just go home before it got any worse.

But I was on an island, there were no boats out till morning, and I had nowhere to go. There were no options, I had to stay, and I had to play. I had to get on stage and face the empty room with my guitar. I could not slip out the back and act like this was not happening. So I did it, I played to 150 empty chairs, and 2 people--one was the opening act, the other was bartender. It rattled me, unnerved me. It embarrassed me. My high hopes for the show were crushed. The show was a complete wipe out.

I still owned and ran a couple restaurants in Boston at this time, but I wanted out. I wanted to be a professional songwriter, not a chef. I was in the process of walking away from the restaurants to be a full time artist. I’d already notified my investors that I wanted to sell my shares back to them. I wanted out.

As I stood on stage and played for the bartender that night, I wondered if I was making a huge mistake. I was terrified of falling on my face in front of a lot of people who were going to tell me I told you so. I was 38 years old, I’d been to hell and back a few times by then, but I’d also been successful in many ways-- three restaurants under my belt, a condo, a house, health insurance, a new car every few years. I was walking away from success to try and become a professional musician at damn near 40 years of age, without any training or prior experience.

People told me I was nuts. My business partners literally laughed at me when I told them what I planned to do next. I knew I knew in my heart I was being called to write songs, to play music but what if I was delusional? What if the “calling” was just my tendency towards being a malcontent, always wanting something I didn’t have?

I was new in the business of music, but I’d already seen many, many delusional people chasing it with gusto. People who in all other areas of their life were sane, who believed that they had a shot in the music business when it was more than obvious to the entire world that they did not have the goods. Was I one of them? Had I finally lost it? Terror made my blood run cold on stage that night.

The early years are tough for all artists. The beginning requires a belief in your own work without an empirical evidence to back it up. No fans. No applause. No press. No gigs, No money. No idea-- if you suck or have talent. Some artists live their entire lives never getting that external validation, doing their work in earnest, committed to their calling, living in poverty. I did not want to be that kind of artist. I wanted to make a living making music. To this day, that is my definition of career success, to just make a living as an artist.

On the ferry returning to Boston the next day, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I was filled with self-doubt and wondering if I should throw in the towel before strayed too far down this new path I’d chosen for my life. Should I give up now? Before this craziness got out of hand?

I got out of my car and went to the side of the boat and leaned against the railing. I watched the water churning behind us as we made our way out to open ocean. There were gulls, hundreds of them, following us there, as well as along the sides of the boat as we pulled out of the harbor.

As we set sail for Boston, I became mesmerized by those sea gulls. They followed us out into the open ocean, right next to the boat, hovering beside us, further and further out. They soared beside us like living kites, without ever flapping their wings. They stayed with the boat as we went further and further out to sea. They did not turn back! It seemed they were floating-- riding the wind, escorting me home. It was an amazing sight, all those birds gently gliding on air currents next to the boat. They rode regal, on an invisible stream, soaring freely with open wings. They gave me hope that painful morning. I could not put it into words, but they were telling me something about flow, something about faith, about staying with it.

They screamed as they soared next to us, and I was completely taken.

They could have been screaming for joy because people began tossing muffins and donuts out to them, or they could have been screaming for love, for life, for beauty, for God. Whatever the cause, their joyful screams came to me at a time when I needed them most. The images of those Gulls stay with me, and this song remains a snapshot of that day.

At about this time, I was reading The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, by Rebecca Wells, and one of the characters in the book (Vivian), said a prayer to Our Lady of the Shooting Stars. The playfulness of that prayer captured me. I made note. I went to Catholic school for years, (even got kicked out of two of them), but never heard of a Saint called Our Lady of the Shooting Stars. What a beautiful name. If she’d actually existed I might have stayed in Catholic school a little longer! But alas, she came from imagination of the author, and the name stuck in mine. I remembered it. It became the title of this song.

When I got home from my little trip to the Vineyard, and sat at my writing desk the following week, the synthesis of all these experiences came out sounding like this:

Our Lady of the Shooting Stars Look what you have done You've led me to the water's edge, Running from sun. Are you in the briny mist? Do Seagulls scream your name? Their wings suspended by your love, Or do I reach in vain?

Order a copy of Live at Blue Rock HERE.

Behind the Song: The Rocket

(by Fred Eaglesmith) Son, could you help me on this platform? I’m not so good at climbing stairs I brought me a drink and some sandwiches I want to just sit and watch the trains

I come down here almost every Sunday My grandkids, they used to come too Now they drop me off at the front gate I guess that they got better things to do

Number 47 she’s a good one Number 63 sings like a bird Number 29, that’s the one they call The Rocket Hey, that’s the saddest train I ever heard

Son, I’m decorated veteran I fought in what they called the Great War I used to believe in everything it stood for I don’t believe in much anymore

Number 47 she’s a good one Number 63 sings like a bird Number 29, that’s the one they call The Rocket Hey, that’s the saddest train I ever heard

Son, you look just like my boy He stood here almost 40 years today He looked so good in that brand new soldier’s uniform But that Rocket never brought him back again

Headaches and heartaches and all kinds of pain, these are the parts of the railroad train. Trains are one of the great metaphors writers use to shine the light on the far reaches of the human heart—to demonstrate the comings and goings of love. There are hundreds and hundreds of songs that use trains to tell the stories of the hearts’ travels, and “The Rocket” is one of the best.

It is written from the perspective of a man who has experienced a loss so devastating he cannot fully transcend his sorrow, so he has ritualized his grief in order to deal with it. He’s compelled to visit and re-visit the site where he last saw his son alive, the place where he sent him off to war 40 years prior—the eponymous train station. He is an old man now, bent over with regret, and he has lost most—if not all—of his faith.  His body is also failing him, he has trouble with the stairs, and is forced to ask strangers to help him make his way up and down the flights for his weekly pilgrimage.

The utter brilliance of this song lies in the fact that old man does not choose to visit his son’s grave on his weekly pilgrimage. Instead, he chooses to visit the departure site, the place where he sent the boy off to war. It’s as though he is engaging in a penance for his actions, trying to make some kind of atonement for what he believes he did. We also get the feeling that the old fellow sits and stares at the trains trying to understand the enormity of what’s transpired, hoping somehow that if he stares long enough and hard enough, he might change the ending of the story.

His grandkids drop him off at the station, but they don’t join him there to watch the trains anymore, he’s left on his own to talk to the strangers who help him navigate the stairs ( and the emotions). He is compelled to tell his story each time, perhaps finding comfort in the telling. The universal human reaction to tragedy, to grief, is the need to tell and re-tell our story, it helps us move through the sorrow. But this old man is trapped in his pain, and he cannot find his way out of the maze. He feels responsible for his son’s death, and as we witness his pain, we feel compassion for him.

Nationalism and patriotism carried to their ultimate conclusions have repercussions, and this man has paid a high price for his devoted love and defense of his country—suffering both the loss of his son, and the loss of his faith. We assume the man is an American, but this is not necessarily so. This man could be of any nationality, and the pain would be the same. This song captures the essence of disillusionment through the old mans voice, the voice of the old soldier. We see the high cost of war through his eyes. This is not a protest song, or a peace song. It does not instruct us emotionally, it does not tell us how to feel about what has transpired. It only tells the story of one old man’s grief ritual. We take from it what we will, and draw our own conclusions. This is a story song well written, and the brilliance of story songs well told is that we  write our own endings and thus personally connect with the universal truths they reveal.

When I was a child my family was dealt a devastating blow during the Vietnam War when my cousin Phillip was killed. I was far too young to have any true understanding of what had happened. I can only remember the adults telling the story of the soldiers pulling up to my aunt Dot’s house to tell her that her child was gone, and her profound emotional reaction to those soldiers at the front door. They spoke in whispers, but I heard them, and tried to take it all in.

My father served in Korea, but he did not ever talk about his years there. When we lost Phillip I could see in his eyes some of what he must had gone through when he was a soldier. His wartime experiences suddenly showed, the weights hung in his eyes revealed themselves, they were weights even a child could see.

In those cold hard months following Phillip’s funeral, my daddy didn’t talk much at all, which was very out of character for him. We’d go sit with my aunt, and just sit there—for hours. The adults drinking coffee, the kids playing in the back, quietly, knowing to keep it down. Feeling the sorrow too, in our child hearts.

My cousin’s picture, taken in his soldier’s uniform, hung framed in the living room of my aunt’s house, above the table next to the TV. Over the years, I’d stare at it when we’d go visit, trying to understand what it meant to be killed in a war in a foreign place, a place we had seen only on a map. I can still see that picture of him in my mind, though I have not laid eyes on it in 40 years. The young soldier, looking strong and brave at the camera, hair buzzed short, hat tilted slightly sideways on his head, a serious look.  Phillip’s death was my introduction to mortality. His loss had a profound effect on my family, and though I was too young to really understand, I still carry the weight of it. Perhaps we all carry similar experiences, memories of our introduction to mortality.

“The Rocket” captures an emotional universe. It speaks for millions through the eyes of a single old man. This song is a classic, and Fred Eaglesmith is one of the best songwriters writing songs today, writing songs that will endure the test of time.

Order a copy of Live at Blue Rock HERE.

Behind the Song: Karla Faye

(By Mary Gauthier and Crit Harmon) A little girl lost her world full of pain. He said it feels good so she gave him her vein. The dope made her numb and numb felt like free. Until she came down down down to a new misery

A junkie a whore living for the next high She'd lie cheat and steal she forgot how to cry. Wide awake for two weeks shooting heroin and speed, When she killed in cold cold blood all she felt was her need

CHORUS It's an eye for an eye, Now you're gonna die A tooth for a tooth, It's your moment of truth. There's no mercy here Your stay is denied You better pray pray pray There's Mercy in the sky.

Alone in her cell no dope in her veins The killer had become the little girl lost again She fell to her knees she prayed she would die On the cold cement floor she finally cried

And love came like the wind love whispered her name. Love reached through and held her and lifted her pain. 14 years on death row her faith deeper each day Her last words were "I love you all," Good-bye, Karla Faye.

Now it's an eye for an eye, And you're gonna die A tooth for a tooth, It's your moment of truth. There's no mercy here Your stay is denied You better pray pray pray There's Mercy in the sky

This is a song that explores homicide, redemption, vengeance, soul sickness and bureaucratic murder-- played out to their fullest in the life and death of Karla Faye Tucker, the Texas woman executed by lethal injection in 1998.

Prior to her execution, Karla’s plight received massive publicity around the world, probably because she was an attractive woman and a born-again Christian, who committed a crime that was horrific in its violence. Also because, at that point, the US had not executed a woman since Ethel Rosenberg, (in 1953), and Texas had not executed a woman since 1863.

Karla Fay Tucker was born to a drug-addicted prostitute and became one herself when she was very, very young. She was a doper by age 8, and a junkie on heroin before she hit her teens. Her mother regularly got high with her when she was a child, and her mother’s boyfriend showed her how to use the needle when she was 11 years old. She immediately became a needle freak. Her mother showed her the life of a prostitute, showed her the way to make money with her sex, teaching her that was the thing she had thats was of most value.

Her inevitable spiral to the bottom didn’t take long. By the time she was 23 she’d sunk to the depths. With her boyfriend at her side, she participated in a break-in and double murder, and in a drug induced state of junkie bravado, even bragged about it. She said she “got off on it.” It made for great newspaper copy, a pretty woman “getting off” on committing a double murder with her boyfriend.

In prison, Karla experienced sobriety for the first time in her life, and had a conversion experience within weeks of getting clean. She had a life changing spiritual awakening, and for the next decade moved deeper and deeper into her faith. She married the prison minister Reverend Dana Lane Brown (behind the glass, of course, they were not allowed to touch), and studied Christianity and the bible. She became a minister of sorts herself, to all she came in contact with. A moving and amazing account of Karla’s journey can be found in the writer Beverly Lowry’s Crossed Over, a beautifully written synopsis of her death row visits with Karla that spanned many years.

When it came time for Karla Faye Tucker’s execution, many world leaders pleaded with then-Governor George W. Bush for a stay, including such luminaries as the Pope, the Italian prime minister, the conservative speaker of the house Newt Gingrich, and the TV Evangelist Pat Robertson. It was not to be. Karla was executed Feb. 3, 1998, and there were literally hundreds of people outside the prison celebrating, some in pickup trucks, music blaring, fists pumping, windows down yelling, “Give her the juice!” Governor Bush even mocked her in an interview with Tucker Carlson after her death, having refused to intervene in her execution.

I was absolutely stunned.

I’d learned of Karla from television—she was all over the cable new shows: Larry King Live, Geraldo Rivera, Charles Grodin and so on. It was a riveting story, one of a supremely messed-up girl who’d gone straight in prison only to have to face the death chamber 14 years later. Though I’d not met her—her tragic story resonated with me. I remained glued to the TV, hoping against hope that there would be a way to save her.

I’d been sober about 8 years at that point, and was learning about how addiction destroys souls, how it pulls addicts down roads so dark that they/we become unrecognizable to ourselves and those who love us. It was at a time in my life when I was starting to deeply reflect who I became when I was in my own addiction. I was taking an inventory of my past actions, and I was also beginning to get a clear picture of who I was now that I’d been sober for a while.

I could clearly see that there are at least two very, very different people inside me, both of them real. The sober woman bears no resemblance to the active addict. I’d stayed sober long enough at this point to have the ability to see the profound dichotomy, and to also start to take true responsibility for what I’d done as an addict—and do my best to make amends and atone for it.

And the songs were coming. I was writing like crazy. I never wrote a single song until after I was sober for a few years.  Then, boom. The muse came knocking. I had become a vessel for something else, something better.

The writer in me was completely spellbound by the tragedy of Karla Faye Tucker as the clock ticked down the hours before her date with the death chamber.

I began to hope and pray there would be a commutation of her sentence to life in prison given the change in her after her spiritual awakening on death row, her spiritual conversion to sobriety and a life of service to the other prisoners. Watching her in the interviews and in the cable news videos of her in the prison community, I saw a gentle woman who was no longer the person who’d committed the murders. I could see the transformation in her, from the drug addicted soul-sick murderer whose mug shot was taken 14 years prior, that picture looked like a different person; a terrifying person. But that person was long gone. The person we saw on TV—she was not the person in the mug shot. There were at least two people inside Karla, too—the sober person, the person the creator made, and the sick addict who committed the crimes, who was capable of profound and horrifying darkness.

Here’s what I think, and here’s why I wrote this song: I believe that the Karla Faye Tucker who was executed by the State of Texas was not the murderer. That woman—the murderer—had been redeemed. Redeemed in such a way that I think the state of Texas literally killed the wrong person. The Karla that was executed was of benefit to the other women on death row. She helped them, counseled them, taught them what she’d learned in her study of the Bible, in her study of Christianity.  She was no longer filled with darkness, with hate. She was filled with light—she was filled with love. We did not rid the world of danger with her execution—all we did was commit another murder, a bureaucratic one, filled with vengeance. Redemption is not something the law allows, but it’s something the world’s religions allow. In fact, without redemption, what would be the point of religion?  But when the death penalty gets on a Texas roll, it’s virtually impossible to stop. Governor Bush had nothing to gain by asking the Board of Pardons and Paroles to grant her a stay, so he didn’t. And he went on to be elected president of the United States.

Karla’s last words were “I love you all.”

Karla Faye Tucker’s story is a story of redemption, despite the vindictive ending to her life. Karla had found her way home long before her execution. She found her way home before she was even sentenced. She’d found peace after spiritual conversion, that conversion that she’d experienced a few weeks into her incarceration and sobriety.  Karla’s is the story of the lowest of the lows, and the resilience of the human spirit to triumph, against all odds. As I play this song around the world, people are amazed by the life and death of Karla Faye Tucker.

And so am I.

Order a copy of Live at Blue Rock HERE.