Folk Punk

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Batsy

Batsy

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Chad Fontaine was in a band called Annoying. I could only ever find their music on YouTube, but they had a great song called Broke and Hungry with some well-written lyrics and a cool harmonica melody
 
pcflvly

pcflvly

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synchronizedviolence said:
Little foot .Tony and gravel .chad hates george.
Click to expand...

I wrote a story about Littlefoot. Here it is:

Soren was wearing Carhart jeans layered with soot, grease, and life. His guitar was covered in stickers and, resting on his shoulders above a torn shirt, was a harmonica strap in which he put different keys of harps depending on which song he was playing.

He was on stage in an old theater, an orange spotlight bringing out whatever color he might have once had in his dusty dreads. The light threw a crisp shadow and his silhouette played along with him.

The songs were true. The first line that struck me went, "If you hit the road don't count on coming back." He wrote that one walking away from a drugged out drunk binge in Colorado Springs. He walked all the way to Walsenburg.

His voice was straight out of the depths of addiction. It was slurred in style but crisp and strong. He sang what he'd been through and carried it. It was what you would hear at a fire near a hop out. I told him later that he was a man who'd never met a metronome because I'd never heard so many tempo changes in a song. He hit it so hard that he had to constantly tune the guitar.

The audience was a mixed bag. There were maybe a hundred people. Families with children even. And everyone was drinking hot herbal tea but it was, and in all capital letters, DRUNK AS FUCK music. Admission was by donation and I saw at least one C-note in the donation jar. The community is sharing like that.

A good share of the audience were dirty kids. Maybe a quarter of the kids there were travelers and had also hopped freights. A deeply musty scent, body odor from living outside, brought the music to life. To me it was delicious. Unclean but real.

It was a style of playing from the street and the songs were of the street. One was about a man who came up covered in blood and confessed to having just killed somebody. Another had the title, "A good friend cries." I felt like crying for that one. Other lyrics that struck me were "On the fringe. Out of touch. Circling." and "Cuddled up with his rage."

The next musician arrived in a van with a personalized license plate. It read, DRTYKIDS. Little Foot was lit by a blue spotlight and also had a crisp shadow accompanying him. His banjo playing was tight and he wrote most of his own songs but played a traditional tune that some of you travelers have heard, "Saint James Infirmary Blues".

Everyone liked his song, "I can't kill myself today because I got shit to do tomorrow." and sang along with "Drugs, girls, money, liquor". I liked the first song he ever wrote, "Whiskey and cigarettes". One of the lines went, "Your mouth tastes like whiskey and cigarettes and it turns me on more than you know." He was fifteen when he wrote that and when I was fifteen, that was my story. In my case, she was 24 and would come get me when the bar closed. The smell of whiskey on a woman's breath would still carry me away, even now, 45 years later.

Most of his songs were about relationships and addiction. A particularly potent one was "The last time". He'd say it every time and she knew better but he spent all of his money then all of hers. He sang a meth song with the line, "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired." then sang a heroin song titled "Death or glory" and it was about a time when he actually overdosed. The theme was that he didn't want to hurt his mother. He didn't want her to find him dead.

It was a great night of bad music. And that rich earthy body odor. Yum. It was worth the five bucks just to smell that. Other delightful impressions were of a beautiful dirty kid sister with stars in her eyes. They were painted on either side of each eye but she had stars in her eyes even without the make up. There was also a chalk van which people grafittied as they arrived. There were also three people from the goat farm. They train goats as pack animals for back country hiking. It was that kind of audience and like I said above, a great night of bad music.
 
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synchronizedviolence

synchronizedviolence

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pcflvly said:
I wrote a story about Littlefoot. Here it is:

Soren was wearing Carhart jeans layered with soot, grease, and life. His guitar was covered in stickers and, resting on his shoulders above a torn shirt, was a harmonica strap in which he put different keys of harps depending on which song he was playing.

He was on stage in an old theater, an orange spotlight bringing out whatever color he might have once had in his dusty dreads. The light threw a crisp shadow and his silhouette played along with him.

The songs were true. The first line that struck me went, "If you hit the road don't count on coming back." He wrote that one walking away from a drugged out drunk binge in Colorado Springs. He walked all the way to Walsenburg.

His voice was straight out of the depths of addiction. It was slurred in style but crisp and strong. He sang what he'd been through and carried it. It was what you would hear at a fire near a hop out. I told him later that he was a man who'd never met a metronome because I'd never heard so many tempo changes in a song. He hit it so hard that he had to constantly tune the guitar.

The audience was a mixed bag. There were maybe a hundred people. Families with children even. And everyone was drinking hot herbal tea but it was, and in all capital letters, DRUNK AS FUCK music. Admission was by donation and I saw at least one C-note in the donation jar. The community is sharing like that.

A good share of the audience were dirty kids. Maybe a quarter of the kids there were travelers and had also hopped freights. A deeply musty scent, body odor from living outside, brought the music to life. To me it was delicious. Unclean but real.

It was a style of playing from the street and the songs were of the street. One was about a man who came up covered in blood and confessed to having just killed somebody. Another had the title, "A good friend cries." I felt like crying for that one. Other lyrics that struck me were "On the fringe. Out of touch. Circling." and "Cuddled up with his rage."

The next musician arrived in a van with a personalized license plate. It read, DRTYKIDS. Little Foot was lit by a blue spotlight and also had a crisp shadow accompanying him. His banjo playing was tight and he wrote most of his own songs but played a traditional tune that some of you travelers have heard, "Saint James Infirmary Blues".

Everyone liked his song, "I can't kill myself today because I got shit to do tomorrow." and sang along with "Drugs, girls, money, liquor". I liked the first song he ever wrote, "Whiskey and cigarettes". One of the lines went, "Your mouth tastes like whiskey and cigarettes and it turns me on more than you know." He was fifteen when he wrote that and when I was fifteen, that was my story. In my case, she was 24 and would come get me when the bar closed. The smell of whiskey on a woman's breath would still carry me away, even now, 45 years later.

Most of his songs were about relationships and addiction. A particularly potent one was "The last time". He'd say it every time and she knew better but he spent all of his money then all of hers. He sang a meth song with the line, "I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired." then sang a heroin song titled "Death or glory" and it was about a time when he actually overdosed. The theme was that he didn't want to hurt his mother. He didn't want her to find him dead.

It was a great night of bad music. And that rich earthy body odor. Yum. It was worth the five bucks just to smell that. Other delightful impressions were of a beautiful dirty kid sister with stars in her eyes. They were painted on either side of each eye but she had stars in her eyes even without the make up. There was also a chalk van which people grafittied as they arrived. There were also three people from the goat farm. They train goats as pack animals for back country hiking. It was that kind of audience and like I said above, a great night of bad music.
Click to expand...

I dig it .I only intended to skim a bit but it sucked me in .cheers thanks for sharing.
 
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