Category Archives: Bootlegs

March 30, 2017

When a Guitar & A Piano Play The Blues

PreacherBoy_JonDryden

I have been enjoying so much having the opportunity to perform with Jon “Captain Ahab” Dryden on piano—and when I say “piano,” I mean piano with a capital P. Piano. Acoustic. Wood. Wire. Keys. Life.

Ahab’s abilities are vast, virtually limitless, and beyond classification. His ear is extraordinary, his versatility unrivaled, his grace at the keys sublime. I simply LOVE what he makes of the songs we play together.

We’ve been playing so many different things, and it’s been a total joy. Whether it’s gems from Victoria Spivey, Leroy Car, Jelly Roll Morton, or Bessie Smith with The Westside Sheiks, selections from past Preacher Boy albums like Demanding to be Next or The Devil’s Buttermilk, vintage country blues workout from the likes of Charley Patton, Mississippi John Hurt, or Tommy Johnson, or experiments with brand-new songs, it’s all just been magic.

This past Tuesday night, we pulled a couple of rather groovy rabbits out of the hat. Two debut runs at songs from Estate Bottled Blues, and a rather rollicking Piano-National take on Seven’s In The Middle, Son from The National Blues.

Here are some guerrilla-live bootlegs (mastered, but rough!) to give you an aural snapshot of what was afoot!

Pulling Black Flowers From An Hourglass – LIVE

Seven’s In The Middle, Son – LIVE

Fever Moon – LIVE

Stream ’em, download ’em, share ’em, enjoy ’em, do with them what you will. I just hope you dig!

Lyrics below, should you wish to follow along!

Pulling Black Flowers From An Hourglass

There’s nothing quite so lonesome as an empty Ferris Wheel,
rusting on its hinges in the rain,
save for that feeling when you’re driving down a lonely stretch of 5,
next to tracks that are carrying no train.

And I can see the body of a bird that met its doom,
just another case of roadkill for the highway to consume.
And you know that I’ve been feeling every life that I pass,
pulling black flowers from an hourglass.

I can see the fog come tumbling down the hillside,
like a tree whose will has been broke.
I can hear the raindrops spattering on my hood,
like a playing card pinned to a spoke.

And I can see a scarecrow with nothing to protect,
just another broken phantom in the caverns of neglect.
And you know that I’ve been feeling every life that I pass,
pulling black flowers from an hourglass.

The lake moves left to right, and the old men do the same,
when they take their favorite circuits ’round the shore.
But there’s a mighty hidden shadow looming out over the blissful,
and it’s too hard for the old men to ignore.

Saint Helens had a fire buried well within her soul,
it’s so frightening how the relapse of a saint can take its toll.
And you know that I’ve been feeling every life that I pass,
pulling black flowers from an hourglass.

Seven’s In The Middle, Son

made a deal with a strange man
he could deal his deck with either hand
winked at me and said goodbye
then switched his patch to the other eye
i did my best to play my song
but he stopped me before too long
took my guitar off my lap
tuned it up and then gave it back
rise and shine, and give god the glory, glory
rise and shine, and give god the glory
wrapped himself in an overcoat
silver necklace ’round his throat
rattlin’ keychain in his pants
sounded like bones when he danced
i faced myself in the mirror glass
swear to god i heard him laugh
felt his name rise in my gut
seven years of bad luck
rise and shine, and give god the glory, glory
rise and shine, and give god the glory
he said “seven is in the middle, son
pick a side and ride that one”
like jewels hangin’ on the vine
it’s a pendulum that’s drowning time
i lay my head down window-side
neon lights like a reaper’s bride
i tried to sleep beneath the black
of the space behind that devil’s patch
rise and shine, and give god the glory, glory
rise and shine, and give god the glory
he put a shiver in my soul
shook my hand and froze it cold
walked me ’round that endless shore
’til i knew i’d never been before
i hear him singin’ from the road
it’s a children’s song he knows i know
i lay myself down on the ground
emptied both my ears of sound
rise and shine, and give god the glory, glory
rise and shine, and give god the glory

Fever Moon

i saw grey at the temple
i saw blue in the sky
i saw white at the castle
with a black eye

night sweat, soak, broke, hallucination
not yet doc, i like this prescription
deep pill chill, refill my irrigation
back in the cups, i changed up my station
from pirate to tycoon, fever moon

i saw red at the rose
spreading green on the lawn
i saw brown at the derby
but the gold was gone

night sweat, soak, broke, hallucination
not yet doc, i like this prescription
deep pill chill, refill my irrigation
back in the cups, i changed my station
from pirate to tycoon, fever moon

i saw bronze take an age
i saw silver place
i saw rust take a belt
from an ashen face

night sweat, soak, broke, hallucination
not yet doc, i like this prescription
deep pill chill, refill my irrigation
back in the cups, i changed my station
from pirate to tycoon, fever moon

1 Comment | tags: Captain Ahab, Demanding To Be Next, Estate Bottled Blues, Jon Dryden, National Resophonic, Piano Blues, The Devil's Buttermilk, The National Blues, The Westside Sheiks | posted in Bootlegs, Live Performance, Live Recordings, Lyrics

November 12, 2016

The World Is Going Wrong

By pbistyping

Feel bad this mornin’
Ain’t got no home
No use a-worryin’
‘Cause the world gone wrong

I can’t be good no more
Once like I did before
I can’t be good, baby
Honey, because the world’s gone wrong

—from The World Is Going Wrong, by The Mississippi Sheiks

thewestsidesheiks_alt

In order to get a new side project off the ground, I’ve been listening to a LOT of The Mississippi Sheiks. Tremendous songwriters (“Sittin’ On Top Of The World,” anybody? Yeah, that was them …), great and powerful instrumentalists (Delta Blues fiddle? Yep, and tough as fu*k to boot …), and genuine Delta royalty, countin’ Sam Chatmon and Charley Patton amongst their kin …

And as you can tell from the lyric above … prophets. Cuz that’s just about how I feel …

This new project is called The Westside Sheiks. It’s gon’ be real, real cool. We’re on to somethin’ … see if you agree … Here’s the very first song we ever performed together …

video link: https://youtu.be/ZK2X0u99Om8

The takeaway tho, is DO be good. You must. No matter how wrong the world feels, you must be good.

Leave a comment | tags: The Mississippi Sheiks, The Westside Sheiks | posted in Bootlegs, Country Blues, Live Performance, Lyrics, Musicians, Video

October 5, 2016

A Taste of The Devil’s Buttermilk

By pbistyping

If you’ve heard The Devil’s Buttermilk before, you know it’s a bit of a different record in the Preacher Boy canon. In my mind, it’s almost a sort of collection of shorts, combined into a larger, longer film. Every song was really recorded to be its own self-contained universe, it’s own completed circle. The songs seemed to ask for that, and so that’s what I did. There is very little sonic continuity from song to song; this one is lighting fast and loaded with electric guitars, that one is soft, quiet, acoustic. This one is whispery and spooky and moody, that one is full bore and monstrous.

The album is populated with a lot of different characters. The destructive, white -trash-noir anti-hero of “On and on it goes,” the cracked Wiseblood-ian preacher of “Glory Man,” Patrick Jones, whose white bones close “The Dogs,” the neighborhood drunk in “Spaceman,” and more.

The theatricality and comparatively complicated instrumentation has meant that these songs don’t get played live very often—some of them I’ve never played live. But recently, I’ve committed to working out arrangements of a great many songs that I haven’t given much stage time to, and songs from The Devil’s Buttermilk are looming large on that list. Last night I played “On and on it goes,” “Rust,” and “Spaceman.” Two of those I’ve NEVER played live before, and “Spaceman” I haven’t performed live in over a decade. It was an adventurous evening.

Here’s a raw and straight-from-the-stage recording of “Spaceman” from last night:

if you don’t see the embedded media player above, please click below to stream:
Preacher Boy – Spaceman [LIVE]

(lyrics are at the bottom of this post)

The whole show was a bit of a journey song-wise … a pretty diverse mix of country blues workouts, and a great many album tracks I don’t often play. Here’s the whole set list:

if i had possession over my judgement day (robert johnson)
rollin’ stone (rev. robert wilkins)
evil blues (mance lipscomb)
rust (from “the devil’s buttermilk”)
levee camp blues (fred mcdowell)
my gold canoe (from “demanding to be next”)
black crow (from “crow”)
gun (from “gutters & pews”)
jake j. thomas’ ol’ mission st blues (new)
catfish (willie doss)
chop wood, carry water (new)
that’s no way to get along (rev. robert wilkins)
down south blues (sleepy john estes)
my car walks on water (from “the national blues”)
nehemiah james (from “demanding to be next”)
down and out in this town (from “gutters & pews”)
spaceman (from “the devil’s buttermilk”)
on and on it goes (from “the devil’s buttermilk”)
change (from “demanding to be next”)
setting sun (from “the national blues”)
motherless children (blind willie johnson/mance lipscomb/dave van ronk)
a little better when it rains (from “demanding to be next”)

Finally, here are the lyrics to Spaceman, if you want to read along!

spaceman

god knows where they go, i only know his name was bob

he had a job somewhere, some office that paid him well

he spent his science fiction days dreaming up

all the things that he’d invent, but never sell

i used to see him whenever i was down at “george & walt’s”

and he’d tell me again, like i didn’t already know

that he preferred to start his nights out with three brandy twists

and then finish two beers before he had to go

the bartender, dave, gave bob his nickname

they’d yell out “spaceman!” whenever he walked in

but he confessed to me, in that weary voice that only drunkards get,

that he was pretty sure they were making fun of him

making fun of him

well, they’ve always been

give him half the chance, and bob could talk for half the year

with a mouth full of nothing but an overbite

he was so far past alone not even pity helped

so i’d just sit with him and drink away the nights

the money he earned would have loved to burn his pocket full of holes

but he had no one to spend it upon

for him, love had become some magic instance that never lasts

like the moment when the street lights first come on

sometimes, if bob got a little too drunk

my friend and i, we’d drive him to his house

and we’d talk and sit, and i’d play a bit on his little guitar

and then we’d leave whenever he passed out

whenever he passed out

we’d just let ourselves out

i haven’t been back to “george & walt’s” for so many years

maybe bob doesn’t mean too much to me now

but i’ve always kept that little guitar he insisted that i take

so i guess he still matters somehow

and if you see him, buy him a brandy for me

tell him the kid that took his guitar says hello

and do me a favor, sit and listen to his stories for a while

he’ll appreciate it more than you know

more than you could know

and i ought to know

2 Comments | tags: Preacher Boy, The Devil's Buttermilk | posted in Bootlegs, Live Performance, Live Recordings, Lyrics, Songwriting

July 26, 2016

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall

By pbistyping

PreacherBoy_MissionSt

The song was originally written from the back window of a 4-room railroad apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, just after 9.11.

It was recorded at RPM studios in Manhattan, which is no longer there.

It was released on “Demanding To Be Next” which is still here.

It was played tonight at Mission St. BBQ, which is over there. I am looking right.

Tonight it wore a harmonica rack around its neck and had a ’36 National in its lap:

Preacher Boy – 99 Bottles [LIVE]

(if you don’t see the embedded audio player above, please click here to stream)

On “Demanding to be Next” it had that same National, but no harmonica. And it went like this:

When you want to sing along, sing it all night long. And it goes like this:

ninety-nine bottles

i think i better kill time

before it kills me

put some silence on a sawed-off

see if anybody hears me

there’s ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall