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Joined: Dec 2000
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hi folks...this is spoken word by Hank Beukema. Hope you like it. http://tunesmithpro.ning.com/profiles/profile/show?id=bjfm3mi5fxfqCherokee Rose in an Old Tin Can ©2012 Robert George/Miie Morgan/Jeff Elliot BMI She hung out her husband’s laundry in the morning light And she saw a rose beside their rusty singlewide It had wrinkled petals and that rose was fading fast So she plucked it from the gravel and the dry brown grass And she figgered that a soup-can vase Would be better than a bed of rocks and sand And she grew to love the ragged grace Of a Cherokee rose in an old tin can
Well, her husband drove off when the tavern opened up And she thought about her choices as she scrubbed the tub How she married young to get free of that foster home How a drunken husband is like bein’ on her own And the lonely bed she slept on Ain’t much better than a bed of rocks and sand But tonight she’s goin’ to be strong Like a Cherokee rose in an old tin canShe stood looking at that flower With a teardrop on her nose It needs something more to flourish, Only tenderness can nourish Such a fragile rose
Soon as he came home that night and passed out in his chair She made sure she brought that rose and drove on out of there Cos she had some babysitting money squirreled away And by sunrise she’d be almost half a world away Set that soup can on the cracked dashboard Headed eastward in that old sedan Soon the morning found that rusty Ford And the Cherokee rose in an old tin can
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Really great lyrics....as always!!
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Thanks Frank.
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Couch, it's a good lyric, It's ok, but it would make a better song, I think.
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Bugsey, spoken word's not for everyone. Not many people like The Ghost of Tom Joad which is nearly just that. The song does have a melody but I liked this approach even better on this one. I'd really like to hear it on Feel the Wind which is from a few weeks ago.
Feel the Wind ©2014 Robert George BMI
I was three days out of county jail way down in Loo-zee-ana Where the dark clouds hid the full moon like a highwayman’s bandana So I wandered without purpose down a side street to a tavern Where the shadows hung from ceiling fans like bat-wings in a cavern And perhaps I had no business in that carnival of spirits O but ev’ry ship of fools prefers a stowaway to steer it And my throat was itchy for some whiskey and my clothes were threadbare But then she set fire to my aimlessness with flaming red hair
I was born to drown my tears in whiskey dreams Scour boredom from my life with risky schemes I refuse to let remorse reveal the sin Cos there is no finer way to feel the wind
Well, we toasted petty crime and freedom at a corner table And her Celtic beauty was as pagan as the tongues of Babel Then she led me down a skid row dead end to an old hotel there Buzzards perched on faded billboards advertising Kents and Bel-Airs And she bargained for a cheap room from the night clerk with her body Then she handed me some jasmine from an old vase in the lobby
From the cleanest fountain flows a boggy creek And the greenest mountain has a foggy peak Would the sweetest fruit I swallow willingly End up tasting bitter while it’s killing me
Like a newly born vampire fresh from the tomb She avoided ev’ry mirror when she entered the room And at first I hoped that time would offer a hand It just tipped my hourglass and poured out the sand
Then we flaked the purple wall paint and we peeled the ceiling plaster Painting silhouettes out on the window like a shadow caster Somewhere down the street a funky band was playing Mustang Sally I got up and saw a tagger runnin’ down a dumpster alley Then she bid me farewell near the stairwell with a lusty French kiss Leaving me to clutch the jasmine that she gave me with a clenched fist I returned to bed and drifted on a wet dream like a ghost ship Making love’s a letter from the gods and dreaming is the post script
She’s forbidden ivory…she’s a lion’s pelt She’s a seraph fallen from Orion’s belt Whether you’re a pirate or a man of God You’ll become a pilgrim in the land of Nod
Ten years later I was on a southern road trip in my hatchback And I pulled off at a tavern and my mind began to flashback And my drunken dreams were burning wings belonging to a nighthawk So I drained the bottle and I drifted down a skid row sidewalk And a rising jasmine moon was rooting in the night sky Then my thoughts grew hazier and I felt crazier than Dwight Frye
She’s forbidden ivory…she’s a lion’s pelt She’s a seraph fallen from Orion’s belt Whether you’re a pirate or a man of God You’ll become a pilgrim in the land of Nod
Down the alleyway beside a dumpster was a wicked memoir Murals of our passion had been painted by an outlaw Renoir Just a street kid in a ragged Reebok hoodie and some Ray-bans And he captured all her beauty with a coupla stolen spray cans I could fin’lly see that life is patched together from components Memories of lonely midnight hours lit by shining moments Sometimes love’s a bed of thorns and others it’s a bed of ether But it’s wilder on the rare nights when it’s both and when it’s neither
I was born to drown my tears in whiskey dreams Scour boredom from my life with risky schemes I refuse to let remorse reveal the sin Cos there is no finer way to feel the wind
Last edited by couchgrouch; 08/24/14 07:46 PM.
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I like some spoken word, I just thought the track was lacking. Kinda majorish chords, not really fitting but making it fit.
Ghost of tom joad is a stronger melody.
Id like to hear the melody one
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I meant the album, not the song and in danger of reprisal, I prefer this to the title song. but hey, to each his own.
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LOL. Nah, it aint Man, but YOU are a good lyricist in general, we cant fight on a Sunday.
Ghost wasnt my favorite, it was very artistic though, often good art and entertaining dont go together.
I loved Bob Dylans Ballad in Plain D. I can not tell you why it just lures me in
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Ghost isn't art and isn't entertaining...it's pretentious crap with Bruce trying to get back to Nebraska after doing time in Lucky Town, haha. the cd itself does have some good ideas otherwise. but like I said, to each his own and it IS Sunday.
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Well you just write lyrics, you obviously dont know about pairing of lyric and melody, which if one does this they will see the craft in Ghost Of Tom Joad.
But I write music, lyrics, i sing, Play multi instruments, you write lyrics. now WHOOOO might know?
Cheroke Rose in an ole Tin Can is NOT pretentious crap, but ghost of Tom Joad IS.
Got it!
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You were honest with me now I'll be honest with you...you look at that lyric above, it tightly metered and structured for a melody and so is Cherokee Rose. I know music...not music theory but I know music and songwriting. I've seen your stuff, Bugsey and I wrote better than you when I was fucking 13 years old. And your music's nothing to brag about, either. I was gonna say this earlier but you are living proof that those songwriting books aren't worth a damn.
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WEll, you said you thought your song was better than a master of songwriting. That is a red flag to me
Now you make it about me.
You write WORDS on a paper. So dont tell me you wrote better SONGS than me when you were 13. You have NEVER written a SONG.
Your stories are well crafted but are the stupidest [naughty word removed] I have ever read.
I didnt say it was the greatest album of all time, I said it has alot of craft in it, whether or not it's entertaining.
There is more to a song that a lyric written on piece of paper. If you dont think the melodies he chose, the chord arrangements he chose, the harmonica riffs he chose, the vocal style he chose, the sound he chose, the language he choose was all for an artistic reason, you are clueless.
Many people wont like the song, but as a songwriter you should know better. The average joe listening wont know any of that
Handjob On the Highway.... You didnt write that at 13, I have dozens of lyrics better than that, some i wrote when I was 18.
Not that lyrics are the be all. if they were people would read songs. As a lyricist you can write whatever the hell you want, no musical sense at all, and hope somebody can turn it into music.
You have a few decent songs, but your no Bruce Springsteen, cant believe I even have to argue this with you
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Joined: Feb 2006
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Grouch, I really like this in a Jimmy Dean kind of way. The fade out takes too long for me but otherwise I really enjoy it.
John
Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword never had an editor.
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Joined: May 2006
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Well, that went downhill fast.....
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It did. I'll apollogize to Couch.
I may have jumped on him too early, but opinions are one thing, but facts are facts.
I came into the thread with honest intentions. I didnt think the song was working at least on the musical level.
But it's hard to say anything but WONDERFUL, in a couch thread cause you will get a fight.
It got ugly, I found out I havent written a song as good as his even when he was at the ripe age of 13 LOLLLLLLLL
Couch does well in styles where you get alot of room to write words and push in details, like a short story.
Pop music is much different, "I just Knew" is something I could have easily written, im not used to writing a "Cherokee Rose In an Old Tin Can"
Sure, I could write a song about anything, I wrote songs with titles like "Robbing Peter to Play Ball" "Fantasy Gold in a real world Defeat"
There is no end to where you can take a lyric, but just because it can be done, doesnt mean it SHOULD be done.
Songs say more than words, the melodies, the arrangements, the vocalist, even the guitar solos say things that the words dont.
To me, it aint about what it looks like on paper, but when you just write lyrics, that's what you lean on.
Couch is exceptional at making a story work, whether or not that story connects, is another.
It's all good, My ego will recover...tee hee!
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Bugs: Apologies work better when you don't repeat the your litany of opposing viewpoints.
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They work best when both sides do it.
But You wont say that.
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couch ain't apologizing (ha, ha).
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Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword never had an editor.
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I stumbled on this so I'm gonna give a belated reply...Bugsy, whoever you were., you couldn't have written I Just Knew. You came off like a frustrated hack.
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