“The great nations of Europe
Had gathered on the shore
They’d conquered what was behind them
And now they wanted more
So they looked to the mighty ocean
And took to the western sea
The great nations of Europe in the sixteenth century
Hide your wives and daughters
Hide your groceries too
Great nations of Europe coming through
The Grand Canary Islands
First land to which they came
They slaughtered all the canaries
Which gave the land its name
There were natives there called Guanches
Guanches by the score
Bullets, disease, the Portuguese, and they weren’t there anymore
Now they’re gone, they’re gone, they’re really gone
You’ve never seen anyone so gone
They’re a picture in a museum
Some lines written in a book
But you won’t find a live one no matter where you look
Hide your wives and daughters
Hide your groceries too
Great nations of Europe coming through
Columbus sailed for India
Found Salvador instead
He shook hands with some Indians and soon they all were dead
They got TB and typhoid and athlete’s foot
Diphtheria and the flu
Excuse me great nations coming through!
Balboa found the Pacific
And on the trail one day
He met some friendly Indians
Whom he was told were gay
So he had them torn apart by dogs on religious grounds they say
The great nations of Europe were quite holy in their way
Now they’re gone, they’re gone, they’re really gone
You’ve never seen anyone so gone
Some bones hidden in the canyon
Some paintings in a cave
There’s no use trying to save them
There’s nothing left to save
Hide your wives and daughters
Hide your sons as well
With the great nations of Europe you never can tell
From where you and I are standing
At the end of a century
Europes have sprung up everywhere as even I can see
But there on the horizon as a possibility
Some bug from out of Africa might come for you and me
Destroying everything in its path
From sea to shining sea
Like the great nations of Europe
In the sixteenth century”
I almost missed recognition of Randy Newman’s birthday, 11.28.43 in Los Angeles. Particularly economic and incisive are his broad historical portraits. Expansive landscapes of maybe reimagined ragtime sonoramas match his verbiage. And so some comparison shopping of his classic “The Great Nations of Europe,” both live and pre-recorded.
Another American Adventurer songwriter celebrates his earthly undertaking 12.2.60. Here’s the title piece, advanced release, of his new record to be unfurled in January.
Mr. Henry
““This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely,
more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.””
The art of Joe Fasanella, an urban Grandma Moses?
Grandma Moses, “Halloween,” 1955. She began painting at age 77!
““reading music is like listening to flowers””
“Grandpaboy” is a solo project of Paul Westerberg, principal of the Replacements. It has that wanker electric gtr. feel of the Stones and Faces.
“The greatest living folk-country songwriter is a man named Tom Russell...John Swenson, Rolling Stone
Tom Russell is the best songwriter of the generation following Bob Dylan...The Montreal Gazette
I was familiar with Tom Russell’s music when a friend asked if I wanted to go to this local show, but I only owned one CD, the marvelous, Man From God Knows Where, that was given to me as a gift from Larry. I saw many singer songwriters at the Uncommon Coffeehouse, that closed in 2017, including Garnet Rogers, David Mallet, Archie Fisher, Tom Rush, Tom Paxton, Bill Staines, Gordon Bok and Cheryl Wheeler, but this performance left the most lasting impression.
As those who have followed my remembrances may have surmised, I have a fondness for improvisation. Tom Russell is an outstanding songwriter, musician, writer and painter. His many wonderful songs have been covered by a wide variety of artists. His song “Gallo Del Cielo” has been cited as a favorite of Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen.
While I can’t for sure recall the many songs that Tom played, I do remember Gallo Del Cielo, Pancho and Lefty, Black Pearl, Navaho Rug and the marvelous Blue Wing.
Blue Wing – Tom Russell
He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder
Well it might have been a blue bird I don’t know
But he’d get stone drunk and talk about Alaska
The salmon boats and 45 below
He said he got that blue wing up in Walla Walla
And his cellmate there was Little Willy John
And Willy he was once a great blues singer
And Wing and Willy wrote ‘em up a song. They said…
CHORUS:
It’s dark in here; can’t see the sky
But I look at this blue wing and I close my eyes
And I fly away beyond these walls
Up above the clouds where the rain don’t fall
On a poor man’s dream.
They paroled Blue Wing in August, of 1963
He moved north picking apples to the town of Wenatchee
Then winter finally caught him in a run down trailer park
On the south side of Seattle where the days grow gray and dark
And he drank and he dreamt of visions when the salmon still ran free
And his fathers’ fathers crossed that wild old Bering Sea
And the land belonged to everyone and there were old songs yet to sing
Now it’s narrowed down to a cheap hotel and a tattooed prison wing
CHORUS:
Well he drank his way to LA, and that’s where he died
And no one knew his Christian name and there was no one there to cry
But I dreamt there was a funeral, a preacher and a cheap pine box
And half way through the service, Blue Wing began to talk. He said…
CHORUS:
Hey hey, On a poor man’s dream
Hey”