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alley-oop: I want to thank Ledebutant for collaborating and letting me play on Blackberries. Creating the song was
a flawless procedure that took about two days (ha, two months) Mostly because I’m lazy.
I ran by a blackberry patch every morning for
inspiration. Yummy. I truly love the story she tells. Coming to America, nice story shared by so many. I never did get the line ‘blackberries that smelled of cedar trees.’ It must be an English thing. Thanks again Lisa.
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Ledebutant: Besides thanking Alley (and Aunt Gladys), I need to offer a big fat thank you to Alimar and Tom Atwood for all their help and advice while I was finishing this. Tom gave me the especially helpful tip, "Don't screw up." I hope I didn't.
Two months ago, alley-oop said, "Hey, let's collaborate," and sent me an amazing guitar bed. Unfortunately, it was a song that reminded me incredibly of Neil Young and I've always thought of him as a really, very American songwriter and I didn't think I could write something to go with the song. After panicking for a few days, I realized I did have something to write about and it goes a little something like this...
a flawless procedure that took about two days (ha, two months) Mostly because I’m lazy.
I ran by a blackberry patch every morning for
inspiration. Yummy. I truly love the story she tells. Coming to America, nice story shared by so many. I never did get the line ‘blackberries that smelled of cedar trees.’ It must be an English thing. Thanks again Lisa.
-----------------
Ledebutant: Besides thanking Alley (and Aunt Gladys), I need to offer a big fat thank you to Alimar and Tom Atwood for all their help and advice while I was finishing this. Tom gave me the especially helpful tip, "Don't screw up." I hope I didn't.
Two months ago, alley-oop said, "Hey, let's collaborate," and sent me an amazing guitar bed. Unfortunately, it was a song that reminded me incredibly of Neil Young and I've always thought of him as a really, very American songwriter and I didn't think I could write something to go with the song. After panicking for a few days, I realized I did have something to write about and it goes a little something like this...
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Lyrics
1978, the Bee Gees ruled the world,
our plane took off
two hours late from Heathrow.
Fifteen hours later,
we bought a New York Chrysler,
started driving the roads of our new home.
(America)
Drive on the right on the right on the,
Drive on the right. Keep to the right to the right to the, keep to the right.
American roads cross empty land,
so little here we can understand.
Clear-cut mountains, coal-soaked air,
Is there a place for us in America?
Outside Jonesboro,
my father stopped for gas.
The old guy behind the till
shot laughs at us.
As we drove away,
we heard him shout behind the car,
"By the way, it's Ar-kan-saw, not Ar-kansas."
American roads cross empty land,
so little here we can understand.
Clear-cut mountains, coal-soaked air,
Is there a home for us in America?
Road runs out at the Canadian border,
we marvel at blackberries,
the smell of cedar trees.
As we looked around we saw
what we might become:
a family of Americans.
American roads
Home?
So little here we understand
Is this home?
And how will we know?
Drive on the right on the right on the,
keep to the right.
our plane took off
two hours late from Heathrow.
Fifteen hours later,
we bought a New York Chrysler,
started driving the roads of our new home.
(America)
Drive on the right on the right on the,
Drive on the right. Keep to the right to the right to the, keep to the right.
American roads cross empty land,
so little here we can understand.
Clear-cut mountains, coal-soaked air,
Is there a place for us in America?
Outside Jonesboro,
my father stopped for gas.
The old guy behind the till
shot laughs at us.
As we drove away,
we heard him shout behind the car,
"By the way, it's Ar-kan-saw, not Ar-kansas."
American roads cross empty land,
so little here we can understand.
Clear-cut mountains, coal-soaked air,
Is there a home for us in America?
Road runs out at the Canadian border,
we marvel at blackberries,
the smell of cedar trees.
As we looked around we saw
what we might become:
a family of Americans.
American roads
Home?
So little here we understand
Is this home?
And how will we know?
Drive on the right on the right on the,
keep to the right.
Tom Atwood
I love this song. Very lush bed alley-oop has laid down
and your vocals are lovely as usual. These are fine lyrics,
ledebutant. The scene in Jonesboro, or Little Rock, or your
mind, rings especially true to someone who has lived in
Arkansas. Very touching piece.
Congratulations. You did not screw up.