Author Archives: timmusic

“It Is What It Is …”

by

(During unemployed spell in 2013, Dad told me I’d made music my God … for better or worse, he was right.)

“You say, why do you view it, life … so much through the music at night?

And why be off at those dim bars and clubs … to all hours.

But some things are only clear in the dark … showing their true power.

And only then can be really felt inside … not meant for me to yell, to melt outside.

I say it is what it is … clear as mud, the songs hit hard. I don’t fear the sounds or words … just try holding them close … to my heart.

You say, why do you care for, players … so much getting in their layers?

And why befriend the music holy … seeking out

”those losers”, you say so coldly.

But jammers aren’t the only lonely … when one feels life’s hammer over and over, solely.

See, we feed each other. I drink the lyrical, musical elixir, and heart-filled … praise the player fixer.

I say it is what it is … and Mother, Father … please let it be. We’re just people at play … trying to light each other, to go … the right way.

You say, why do you do it so late, in life … tempting fate and risks, so rife?

And why hang with the kids … living nights on the skids … flipping your lid.

But time and age have no place, when one finds great music so bracing, my friend.

See life’s peaks are out to seek, the muse sings, yes even song deep … waiting for a heart and soul to reap.

I say it is what it is … don’t say music overruns me, lies to me. No, it enlivens me, is drivin’ me … no matter the fray, to try to go …. God’s way.

Blues Power

by

Last night, Paul Thorn and the Mississippi man’s Delta deep muddy-music band took us in The Ark in Ann Arbor on a hard blues rockin’ trip thru his heavy-hearted gospel of life. He sailed us along on his personal tales, some small, some tall … with Southern charm, meaning no harm. Greasy slipsidin’, ez rockin’ roll n ridin’ guitarist Chris Simmons totally drove the Thorny band’s muggy mound of swampy sound every which way up, down & all around. No doubt there was soul much glory and light as they strove to convince us it’s gonna be all right … now. Someone say Amen, children!

“Shoot Me Free”

by

(Guess don’t wanna settle for livin’ unhappily ever after …)

“Feelin’ outta time here … can’t see how to get right.

Livin’ too much in fear … and way too tired to fight.
Gonna move new places …

talk to new faces.

Gonna run new races … 

Can’t you see … gotta shoot me free.
Born first, but followed bad signs … never could keep on that straight line.

Lost control swervin’ ’round life’s curves … but now I’m brakin’ down my nerves.
Gonna move new places …

talk to new faces.

Gonna run new races … 

Can’t you see … gotta shoot me free.

Done hittin’ that re-boot … my home screen’s all snowed in, a foot.

Am hackin’ my own accounts … before others pounce.

Firing up my hard drive … vices and viruses gonna trounce.

Gonna move new places …

talk to new faces.

Gonna run new races … 

Can’t you see … gotta shoot me free.”

“Pick for a Livin'”

by

(Title & my inspiration from Texan country honky tonk veteran Dale Watson intro to his classic “Blessed or Damned” (about musicians) at ’96 show- he said, “this is for my friends who pick for a livin’.”)

“Alone … hearing their unfearing, searing songs, once again … for me, it’s always been a heartfelt given.

Wanna be with my friends … who pick for a livin’.

As they sing and play, so soully till nite’s end …

and I drink it all in, finally feelin’ like I’m livin’.

Wanna shelter my friends … who pick for a livin’.

I’m far from the south, but words they mouth … on my life defend.

They’re writin’ the way right past my misgivings …

Wanna flee with my friends … who pick for a livin’.

Hittin’ all the honky tonks … they’re soundin’ fightin’ words, again and again.

I wanna hang in and atone … not for my sins, be stoned … left alone, unforgiven.

Wanna carry that cross with my friends … who pick for a livin’.”

“I’m in Decline”

by

 (thanks to the Man in Black, “I Walk the Line”. 

I hear this as painfully slow country blues.)

“I keep my heart close on this watch of mine.

I keep my eye out for you all the time.

I flee my lies, doubt … cut the ties that bind.

Since you ain’t mine, I’m in decline.

Truly, you’ve seen me … rarely very kind.

Few’s the day reached when I … atone myself, I find.

You’re no poor fool this time … to commit, as I lie.

Since you ain’t mine, I’m in decline.

You shot away free … slidin’ on your side.

You leave me lost for … love, that I can’t find.

For you I’d show, I’d repent … die to learn my crime.

Since you ain’t mine, I’m in decline.

Clear as last night’s kiss o’ dark, and day’s lift o’ light.

I see you ain’t my kind … man, no way can be right.

My happy less life lone … moves, sadly outta sight.

Since you ain’t mine, I’m in decline.

I keep my heart close on this watch of mine.

I keep my eye out for you all the time.

I flee my lies, doubt … cut the ties that bind.

Since you ain’t mine, I’m in decline.

“Diana” (my honky tonk woman)

by

First one I wrote, few years back- a red white & “blue” fantasy, of sorts …

“My honky tonk honey’s so sweet and adorable … limber and loose, but no man better see her as scoreable.

And she keeps me so peaceable.

Believe me, I ain’t seeking another piece at all.

That hand-on-heart lady in cowgirl hat and cowboy boots is my true Diana primo, in our Americana, we livin’ the dream o’.

And we sing F. Scott’s grand ol’ anthem … till the bombed, red eyes glarin’ … come rocketing outta their honky tonks … lying, uncaring.

My Di Dee Dee (not) dumb blond ain’t no gun-shy girl, boys.

She’ll trigger you more slugs outta her .44 … than shots you’ll down on any bar’s floor.

So keep your hands off to keep your heart ticking … or she’ll give you a lead licking.

That hand-on-heart lady in cowgirl hat and cowboy boots is my true Diana primo, in our Americana, we livin’ the dream o’.

And we sing F. Scott’s grand ol’ anthem … till the bombed, red eyes glarin’ … come rocketing outta their honky tonks … lying, uncaring.

My Lady Liberty lights up my torch head, nightly flaming in our bed.

Our shining love fire guides poor couple ships afright … lost on the moonshined streets at night.

This ain’t no plain ol’ affair … of plain ol’ U.S. hearts, take care.

We’re sewn so close together … than even B. Ross knit in revolutionary weather

That hand-on-heart lady in cowgirl hat and cowboy boots is my true Diana primo, in our Americana, we livin’ the dream o’.

And we sing F. Scott’s grand ol’ anthem … till the bombed, red eyes glarin’ … come rocketing outta their honky tonks … lying, uncaring.”

“Black as Night”

by

(At a high school graduation party in Roseville a year ago this month, young party crashers were kicked out & came back w/others- including a 20-year-old with a gun … who killed my friend’s son, age 19. Meant this first as raging rocker- felt way way too angry at 4 a.m. on trip in Texas … but now I think of as a very slow country blues.)

“Why’d you fire on sight … it ain’t right.     

Quick to pull that trigger … why I can’t figure. Was no damn kids’ game … you killed a teen, just the same.

Why’d you show us your heart … hard and black as night.

You ain’t no man … shootin‘ out loud, more than your mouth.

Thought you stood tall … but you ain’t fit to crawl.                                                                   

Yeah, I’m in a rage … too good for you to only get life in a cage.

My friends’ son, at life’s start, in a fight. 

You killed his light … dark and black as night.

Sorry, Our Father above … right now, I can’t forgive … or feel any love.

Please help me to cry for both lives lost … we’ve all borne such a sinful cost.

No moral to cite, can’t see guiding light … that’ll make this wrong right.  

Just livin‘ under a dark cloud … large and black as night.”

Ain’t Enuff Super Adjectives …

by

From Marty’s opening “somebody say howdy” boy, the slick country suit stylin’ Mr. S. & his country-powered boys in powder blue, Fantabulous right-on Superlatives brought us all back down home again in downtown Bright-on (Mich.) last nite … knee-knockin’ hillbilly rockin’, sweet grass bluer than the speed o’ light tones, surf swang thru twang turf … with some vocal wide open, field folkin’ Woody Guthrie paeans rainin’ down power to the people in pain. Stuart & his stalwart band can … do whatever kinda Americana they wanna, to a man- from fearless leader pickin’ up an “Orange Blossom Special” storm on mando … vaunted Cousin Kenny Vaughan racin’ & riffin’ up, down & all-around his various serious soundin’ geetars- even pedalin’ that steel feelin’ a bit … Professor Chris Scruggs steady holdin’ a hard ‘lectric bass down & walkin’ hands up a stand-up too … tall, limber Handsome Harry Stinson layin’ down a simmerin’ strong fleet beat w/log-long sticks, & man oh man, can he sing anything- beautiful harmonizin’ like the whole band, but his high & mighty note-holdin’, heart-stolen lead was so appropo for Woody bell-is-tollin’ tales of woe. Hey, big respect due to the Jill Jack trio openin’ up w/brio … suited up white hot, she’s got the songs- cold not, sellin’ them fever-strong … aided & abetted by a note-sizzlin’ buzzin’ six-string & some sweet slow flowin’ accordian accordinly’ roundin’ out her tunes sounds.

Carin’

by

(Hope to make this a song as beautiful as her persona all grateful …)

She listens to his tale of family pain, with a shy sweet smile …

spirit glistening away, not in vain … being kind with real style.

Giving her sincere advice … making time … showing she’s nice.

Am sure it comes from her heart … at work, some rise pure apart.

She stands up for the fallen ill-being … sharin’.

She can’t help … if they’re callin’ still, being … carin’.

No matter how she feels, without failing …

she gives what’s needed …. to those ailing.

Trying her best, from the first … dealing with the crying at their bed,

easing those feeling … their worst.

Am sure it comes from her heart … at work, some rise pure apart.

She stands up for the fallen ill-being … sharin’.

She can’t help … if they’re callin’ still, being … carin’.

A nurse sees a lot of troubles …

Sure, she’s had a lot of struggles.

Staying open and calm, her amazing soul is the balm.

Of the earth, she’s the salt … that season her patients … smiles grace their faces.

Am sure it comes from her heart … at work, some rise pure apart

She stands up for the fallen ill-being … sharin’. 

She can’t help … if they’re callin’ still, being … carin’.

“Are You Listening?”

by

Billy Brandt & Sarana VerLin‘s latest winter air crispy clear, yet full of souls clouded w/truth shrouded … night-time-of-your-life record, “Are You Listening?” leaves a strong song-seeking soul no choice but to say …. I will follow. While both easily swinging high and hard, the mad fling of “Ophelia” and ‘I shoulda done better’ reckoning, mando/guitar light/dark hooked “Judgement Day” begin the record … at our end brought low, in a way … whether found at will or at mercy of fate … for redemption, it might be too late. Then there are the many splendors and dead enders of love … “Everything’s Falling” is a painfully slow building, catchy look at romance dropped, once caught but now for naught … tryin’ to learn a lesson alone, feeling on the down low. “Can’t Let Go” … is a love-hate driven, fast flyin’, high harmonizin’ song, heart-hooked on a flawed feeling, but like Sarana’s sweet violin here … you hafta say yes to this one, not no. “No Such Thing as Goodbye” just tries to keep moving on, yet open to take everyone old, … and make them (and us) not fold, but new again. And we end being asked … “Are You Listening” … a wide open windy, world music folk fable, mini-symphonized and eco-chantized … taking the high note across the water, in search of our top shelves needing to hear life’s falls …to take us higher and higher. Of course, this tuneful treasure chest of old chunks of spent coal souls is richly rewarded by the record’s sharp diamond all-day, folkussed sound, hard cut instinctively easily by the elite Detroit Americana band, including John Holkeboer on steady bass, Chris Degnore leadin’ the guitar starworks and Todd Glass bringin’ the big beat. Hey these looks at the dark-edges-of-the-unsun shots into our selves ain’t for the faint of heart … but before you get it together, sometimes you gotta fall apart.

“Wonderful Wishes Comes True …” – Sasha Masakowski “Wishes” Album Review

by

I put the review below on cdbaby.com a few years ago, as a favor to my friend Sasha, a native New Orleanian … and the top young jazz singer in town, versatile as all the variety of music in NOLA, who has played worldwide in recent years.

Sasha has made an adventurous, striking second album, full of a worldly range of her musical wishes, expressed in personal lyrics about life’s paradoxical twists & turns.

The title song starts off frisky & lively, as she boldly & humbly declares “we are beautiful people … we are incredibly wise … we are filled with delusions … each one a reflection of life”. Her natural, melodic scatting, one with & over the piano, grabs the ear, before the sonic backdrop richly rises almost symphonically in the chorus. “Yours: A Love/Hate Letter to my Hometown” is imbued with a warm sincerity in her voice with a plush cushion of vibes, as she airs out her feelings about the gains & pains in New Orleans, sketching out intriguing lines like “tainted beauty, paint me with the colors of your song”.

She boldly takes on the venerable “St. James Infirmary”, parading out over a martial beat over plaintive piano notes, colored with some wild, high scatting. Besides the rich cribbed Cab Calloway-colored chorus “… hi dee hi dee hee, he’ll never find no one like me”, get ready for this famous fatal, final scene- “now when I die, please lay my body in Versace from head to toe, so when they close my golden casket, in style they’ll see me go … six poker dealers for my pallbearers … with a red-hot band playing all my music, raising hell as we go”.

Her sweet voice with her Dad Steve Masakowski’s elegant guitar work on “Falling Leaves” & “Tacea Le Notte Placida” are an irresistable match that produces simply spare beautiful music. Let’s hope there’s a future album of merely Masakowski pere and fille … a pure musical family affair. Sasha really grows and glows on “E Preciso Perdoar”, a Brazilian standard she also put on her “Musical Playground” debut album. She used smooth, overdubbed, self-hamonizing on that album, but she comes in close here with an intimate tone, starting out with some free-wheeling scatting before moving confidently into the lush Latin number. While the musical tapestry gradually appears tastefully behind her, Sasha grabs your ear whenever she so freely and joyously scats onto higher ground.

“Pieces of You” is a very personal relationship ending, and album-closing bookend to the opening “Wishes”. Her bluesy vocal opening over a single-note piano is so compelling … “so you should ask if it’s you that I love, well I couldn’t tell you enough … how hard it is to admit that it’s over now”. Once the band fully kicks into full stop-start tempo, the chorus lays out the rise and the fall … “pieces of you are beautiful and I’m dreaming … but dreams are a scheme, for beauty is so misleading”.

Album producer James Westfall’s piano solos on “Pieces …” and throughout are first rate, full of fleet fingering, in colorful flourishes without being excessive. His clean, airy production allows Sasha’s rich, supple voice to be complimented nicely by her young, talented quartet.

And if I may take a piece out of “Pieces …”, my ears can’t wait to love the sounds of Sasha’s precious spirit in all its musical mysteries in the future.
Get her CDs or find out about her gigs at-

Learning Lyric of the Day- Ray Price- “I’ve Got a New Heartache”

by

Why did you turn up again? I was doing fine.
I’d found another sweetheart to drive you from my mind.
I thought that I’d forgotten you but I know that it’s not true.
Or else you couldn’t make my heart ache the way you do.

I’ve got a new heartache about an old sweetheart …
that left me for somebody new.
I’ve got a new heartache about an old sweetheart …
and that’s why I’m feeling so blue.

Ray Price

Spending a Sensational “Southern Fried Sunday” with Dallas Moore and Friends …

by

Dallas Guitar

I only knew of Dallas Moore from his sketch on the wall of a Bowling Green, KY country bar … and being told of his top rank in outlaw country music back at that bar in September, by my new friend Kenneth Marr, author of the sketch.

Well, after making the several hour drive from near Detroit, to Win, Place or Show bar in West Chester, Ohio … to finally see DM in practically his own backyard, gettin’ his guitar on, and goin’ off in every which way but loose, for friends, family and fans on a sunny, brisk Sunday in October … let’s just say the big guy sure got the right first name, as he does that honest, hard livin’ music up right- larger than life in that big wide open, Lone Star State.

The veteran outlaw country road warrior had as much fun as the crowd out on the WPS deck- maybe more, Mr. Moore? I did after all lose count of which was highest (haha)- your number of beers, shots or songs? No bother- Dallas lifted us all higher and higher with his 100 proof plus, honest songs.

From the road weary but gotta ride my life away blues of “Rollin’ On” … to the drunken, wailin’, wonderin’ about a woman of “Where You Gonna Be, When I’m Gone”, to the heart-on-his-sleeve, shiveringly sensitive “I Can’t Get Over You”. Not to mention when Dallas cranked it up with cool covers like Billy Joe Shaver’s “Georgia on a Fast Train”.

To us lucky ones who were there, or anyone who has seen the YouTube video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsxH09tfYSE) …
the heartfelt highlight at dusk was Dallas bringing on his revered mother of bluegrass royalty, Mama Madgelee Hanes Moore, for Hank Williams‘ sorrow-steeped classic “I’m So Lonesome, I Could Cry”. Having recorded it in recent years with their friend, the late, great Jody Payne … at the Ohio studio, in the circle where Hank laid it down himself … this was easily the most moving, memorable moment that night.

As darkness began to fall, DM’s fellow outlaw country road compadres- my new musical friend from an unforgettable 9/11 concert in Nashville, Brigitte London, and her music mate Cley Reynolds– didn’t let the spark from DM’s sound fade one bit.

Her Blondness summons up her soul in her music … strummin’ and pickin’ the guitar, and most importantly singin’ strong thru all kinds of life’s stormy weather- as they say, once she sings a song, it stays sung. Her biting blues, ferociously confessional, “If I Was That Kind of Woman”, lit us all up, far into the darkness of the night.

Then after his silent steady, guitar-grinding act playing with Brigitte, Cley burst out on his own with a lively New Orleans-centric lyrical song that really hit home for this no-small-lover of all the glorious gumbo of sounds from NOLA. And his other down home, drivin’ songs were all full of it- in the best rowdy rockin’ and reelin’ sense- like the two-steppin’, “Dancin’ by the Country Store”.

Dallas closed out on guitar with a rowdy, rocking, outlaw song- and he just plain out outdid hisself … sending out the best damn, down home, pedal-to-the-metal, swift, swirling, frantic, fiery hot flamenco-spiced solos … sitting up front, I couldn’t help but fix my gaze on his silver skull ring on his right hand turning into a shiny, streaky blur.

After the music race was run at Win, Place and Show, I was lucky enough to join Dallas, Brigitte, Cley, Bobby Mackey and other friends, to see DM’s buddies in Straw Boss do it up, good ol’ hillbilly rock style in their weekly Sunday showcase at Southgate House Revival, just a few minutes away in Newport, Kentucky. Yep … down home singin’, a few guitars, pedal steel and stand up bass in a remodeled church will damn near cure what ails ya, every time.

I got almost as much pleasure from the Straw pickin’ boys indulging my Buck Owens and George Jones requests … as from the dancin’ I enjoyed with a local lady (just about the prettiest girl in the house). No insult to the band, but I said almost 🙂

Dallas and Bobby M. took turns with the band, but Brigitte stole the show by bringin’ back Patsy, soul deep and dreamy … on “Walkin’ After Midnight”.

Then both before retiring to, and after rising and shining outta, my hotel in nearby Mason, Ohio … I hit the eatin’ sign you’re in the South … Waffle House, for pecan waffles at night, and sausage gravy/biscuit/eggs/hash browns & onions at breakfast- boy howdy!

Check out the good ol’ sound stuff, straight no chaser, from my friends at-

http://www.dallasmoore.com
http://www.brigitte-london.com
http://www.facebook.com/people/Cley-Reynolds/100000026980871
http://www.bobbymackey.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Straw-Boss/584368948246142

Learning Lyric of the Day

by

Happy 67th B-day plus 1, John!

“Now Elvis had a woman …
With a head like a rock.
I wished I had a woman …
That made my knees knock.
She’d sing like an angel …
And eat like a bird.
And if I wrote a song …
She’d know ever single word.

There’s a big old goofy man …
Dancing with a big old goofy girl.
Ooh baby …
It’s a big old goofy world.”

John Prine- “It’s a Big Ol’ Goofy World”

Fred J. Eaglesmith and The Flying Squirrels- “from the paradise motel” Album Review

by

“The kettle’s on the boil,
Lord, the night is almost gone.
The fire is a-dyin’ down,
and I’m tryin’ to write this song.”
“The Highway Callin'”

Sit back and give a good, close listen to this live wire of a live album of Fred J. Eaglesmith’s songs about the living and the dead- whether in heart, mind or soul- and you’ll be damn grateful he opened a vein in pain to let loose this bracing bunch of songs … these tales from his musical root cellar of growin’ up in the open farmland of Ontario, Canada.

It was his American debut twenty years ago next month, for about a hundred of us soundly stunned listeners in a tiny, suburban Detroit church choir room- but let me be very clear that these, fatally true country blues birthed north of the border … speak loud and very clear to anyone, anywhere with an open heart to the struggles of others- even if you’re never planted seed, raised cattle or been to a rodeo.

It’s just a pack of straight shootin’ songs- cracked, detail-packed, a bit sweet ’til gone bitter, story-stacked … a view into the small gains and oft’ permanent, soul slaying pains … of Fred’s people from the plains.

And on this special night of razor sharp, raw and rowdy, quietly shocking and even rocking sounds … Fred’s mates The Flying Squirrels- the now sadly late, master and so moving mandolinist Willie P. Bennett, and solid bassist Ralph Schipper, earned my huge respect for their instrumental and vocal harmonic contributions … professionals and pals perfectly pitching in for the concert cause.

As to them truth-telling voices, the opening acapella three-part on “(He’s got a heart made of) Yellow Barley Straw” alone flat out flattened us that night … it just ain’t for the faint of us still runnin’ on our red, flesh-and-blood organs.

On the “odds stacked against us” side of relations with the fairer sex, just be real still and hear Fred’s achingly blunt “ain’t fooling no one but myself” confessionals, “I’m Just Dreamin”, or “My Last Six Dollars”.

And go ahead, close your your eyes and hear it from each side of that personal picket fence- a bridge too far battle in the stillness of “Summerlea” … and the wild young ones in the ridin’ high, yet still lonesome sound stakes of “Rodeo Rose“- on a lifetime loser to the law, and a lifetime loser of a maw.

As Fred’s family were losers of their farm when he was a teen, sending him train-hoppin’ across Canada … the heart-breaking songs here make it clear the crops lost and financial drops cost are just the tells … of the inner bells that toll louder, and kill the prouder of the growers, once lowered.

A few of the stake-in-the-soul, sown-and-blown, down on the farm ‘ers … “Thirty Years of Farming”, “Sunflowers” and “Go Out and Plough”. Hear ’em and either you get it, or you don’t.

After Fred tells his tale of him and his siblings crowded in front in his Dad’s five-ton, with cattle crowded in back … the really rough-on-the-ears, rocky road rhythms of “Rough Edges” … leaves far more than mere scratches on your soul.

Fred gets the last word here …

“The whistle wails, the trains roll on
“I guess I’ll go back to where I come from …
to where my daddy sits, on a little porch,
on a little farm, in a little town that they call Jericho.
He always told me, son, you should know,
The walls always tumble down just when you’re sure they won’t.”
“Jericho”

To get your own copy, and get to know some new old friends, go to

http://www.barbedwirerecords.com

Learning Lyric of the Day

by

Cracks in your windshield, holes in your life,
and you’re tryin’ to get home, before it gets light.
And your old five ton truck, it don’t run good no more …
barely gets up those hills, with your foot to the floor.
And your horses are tired … your excuses are weak,
and you ain’t won a race since ’73.
But all through the night, the trailer just sways …
’cause an east wind, y’know always brings rain.

Fred J. Eaglesmith- “Rough Edges”

Michael on Fire- “Chief Redbird’s Violin”

by

Since receiving this great gift at 21, from a bandmate of the long passed on 40s and 50s Detroit hillbilly fiddler … Michael’s obviously given the sweet-stringed shoulder singer … and thus Chief’s spirit … new life. May that musical soul and spirit never again be extinguished.