1. |
Wanted
05:53
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Now it's dusk,
dry grasses hush—
They want and wish,
for some peace of mind.
The moon is high,
rushing through the night,
Wanting, wishin’
for some peace of mind.
But what's the point,
and who's to blame,
there's no one here to play the game,
I wonder how,
I wonder why—
Just never mind, it's all the same.
~
She stands in the door,
forever more,
looking, wishin’
for some peace of mind.
But I will dream of you.
I still dream with you.
Ah-always dream of you.
He draws his gun,
crowd gathers around,
wanting wishin’
in the noonday sun.
He falls to the ground,
a shadow looks down,
wanting, wishin’—
But now he must leave this town.
And there's no point,
no one to blame,
I'm too tuckered out to play the game,
Don't wonder how,
Don't wonder why,
Just ride along, and wait awhile.
He rides through the pines,
there's a silver line—
That’s the river, wishin’
for some peace of mind
And I still dream of you.
Ah-always dream of you.
I remember you.
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2. |
Occasional Summer
04:56
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There're times, I think I smell the earth,
when everything's shut under—
Everyone else is waiting for the thaw—
on me the wind blows soft—
It's all for you.
I know, this spring is in my mind,
a trick of trickled time—
Occasionally summer visits me in fall—
A private matter after all —
Is that you I saw?
Did I hear you call?
But you can't go back home again, they say—
I say, sometimes it comes your way.
Last March, I was digging in the the yard—
I found a small painted horse,
lost for good and maybe mourned, till now,
like a bottle on the shore,
message blurred,
but it all returns.
I wait for you,
all for you,
all for you.
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3. |
She Run Away
05:49
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Head out west, across the plains God gave us. I had a Sis, a girl with red-gold hair. Painted men, rusty guns, came down mid yellow leaves. We all hid, hid in the river bed. But she run away… she run away into that brink of the sky. We searched all night, but she was gone into the day and the dawn, like the Morning Star. She and me, we used to watch the wild geese fly. Which way home, they cry, “Good bye big land, big sky!”
Years passed by—the army showed off Prisoners. Among them— a girl with red-gold hair. My pa said, “You'll not treat her like them.” She came home—there were tears in all the eyes, except for hers, she never said a word, but I knew her, the one that run away, she run away, she run away, into that brink of sky. (And in the end, we came to fill our pockets full of dirt, like you could own the Earth. Funny dream I dreamt that we were kids again. I said “I’ll be the horse,” she said “I am the wind.”)
Spring came on— A boy asked Pa for her hand. That silent girl— the girl with red-gold hair. That cold night, she slept by my side, like Old Times. My pa said he'd give his finest horse, if she would speak. But in the moonlight, she run away, that very same night, she run away, she run away, into the brink of sky. I never woke— Her dress was there her doeskins gone, but I swear, in my sleep she said: “Send my love I have to go back home now sis.” Don't you know she rode off on Pa's best pint.
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4. |
Wichita Lineman
03:59
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5. |
In a Quiet Place
05:15
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6. |
And I Love Her
04:58
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7. |
Taste of Honey
05:10
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8. |
Aftermath
06:35
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In the aftermath,
I put it all behind,
like stars under day.
And the plains are so wide,
you could see dust,
before he arrived.
When off I rode,
I looked back home,
but I'd come too far—
There was nothing there but sky.
In the aftermath,
of the private thing,
not a word was said.
When auntie bee died,
everyone knew
just what to say.
Like well wishers
on your birthday,
good luck, good morn—
Bluebirds only sing several songs.
I'm still waiting
for this old story to
Tell me whatever it tells—
Tell me what's there to tell—
Tell, Tell, Tell,
Tell, Tell, Tell ,
In the aftermath,
when the storm had passed,
and the light was still strange—
It was a messy affair.
Wind peeled off the roof,
Laid everyone bare.
Found broken glass,
Between the sheets,
Shoes in the trees—
I found my sweetheart there.
In the aftermath,
when it was all over,
it was never done.
I'd make a long story short—
I'd tell you the moral,
turn it all into art.
So the camera pans,
from man to man,
all eyes aground,
and still the woman rides the plains.
I'm still waiting
for this old story to
tell me whatever it tells.
Tell me there's something else,
Tell, Tell, Tell
Tell, Tell, Tell
Tell, Tell, Tell
Tell, Tell, Tell
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9. |
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There's this place I found,
a field that's never plowed,
where our dead talk with yours,
and the poppies blow all around.
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Max Hatt / Edda Glass Seattle, Washington
Hailed as “unique,” “evocative,”“mesmerizing,” “haunting,” “cinematic,” not to mention “elegantly funky,” Max Hatt / Edda
Glass is a swoon-inducing soundscape that “creates a vastness within its quiet,” making “one feel both lost and found, all at once.”
“Beautiful… #chills”
— Ann Powers of NPR Music
“Unique voices and rare musicians"
—Eric Funk, PBS
“Decidedly different."
— PopMatters
... more
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