What the #$%@ is he listening to now?

[captain_phil]

In the CD player tonight is some Robert Eark Keen. He's probably best known for writing the song "Merry Christmas From the Family", covered by Brooks and Dunn, and also the Dixie Chicks. Past that, he's probably one of the greatest songwriters to come along in ages.

Here's a couple of samples of his

Five Pound Bass

Up this morning
Before the sun
Fixed me some coffee and a honey bun
Jumped in my pickup
gave her the gas
I'm goin' out to catch a five pound bass

Down by the lake side
Just off the ramp
All them people sleeping in their fising camp
Some out in the pup tents
Some out on the grass
They all be dreaming 'bout that five pound bass

The early birdie always gets his worm
Me I always get my wish
When you're talking 'bout that five pound bass son
The early wormy gets the fish

Jumped in my john boat
I stow my gear
I fire her up and when I am in the clear
I sail across that water
As smooth as glass
Ready here I come you five pound bass

I find a perfect spot
Some old dead trees
Back in a canyon where you cain't feel no breeze
I tie my lure
I make my cast
It's breakfast time you five pound bass

That old sun is rising
That water is clear
I watch my lure as it's flying through the air
I see a ripple
I hear a splash
Lord have mercy, It's a five pound bass

SPOKEN:
That's a five pound bass son
Aw it's big as a god damned baby

and

Mariano

The man outside he works for me, his name is Mariano
He cuts and trims the grass for me he makes the flowers bloom
He says that he comes from a place not far from Guanajuato
Thats two days on a bus from here, a lifetime from this room.

I fix his meals and talk to him in my old broken spanish
He points at things and tells me names of things I can't recall
Sometimes I just can't but help but wonder who this man is
And if when he is gone will he'll remember me at all

I watch him close he works just like a piston in an engine
He only stops to take a drink and smoke a cigarette
When the day is ended, I look outside my window
There on the horizon, Mariano's silhouette

He sits upon a stone in a south-easterly direction
I know my charts I know that he is thinking of his home
I've never been the sort to say I'm in to intuition
But I swear I see the faces of the ones he calls his own

Their skin is brown as potters clay, their eyes void of expression
Their hair is black as widow's dreams, their dreams are all but gone
They're ancient as a vision of a sacrificial virgin
Innocent as crying from a baby being born

They hover around a dying flame and pray for his protection
Their prayers are all but answered by his letters in the mail
He sends them colored figures that he cuts from strips of paper
And all his weekly wages, saving nothing for himself

It's been a while since I have seen the face of Mariano
The border guards they came one day and took him far away
I hope that he is safe down there at home in Guanajuato
I worry though I read there's revolution every day.



I'd recommend the "Live #2 Diner",or "The Road Goes on Forever" as good introductions to REK.