Armistice 1918 (Everyone Sang)

Folks who have studied the poetry of Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967) can tell you more than I, for I have very little exposure to Sassoon’s art. I was recently introduced to the pairing of the poetry of Sassoon with a choral arrangements of the poem “Everyone Sang.” The Miami University Men’s Glee Club recorded Craig Carnahan’s arrangment of “Armistice 1918 (Everyone Sang)” in 2020. 

The music interprets the emotion of the poem. Even without the urging of the title of the choral piece, it’s easy to hear the desire to take flight.

Everyone Sang
Siegfried Sassoon

Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark green fields; on; on; and out of sight.

Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted,
And beauty came like the setting sun.
My heart was shaken with tears and horror
Drifted away … O but every one
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

God Bless America

J.S. Ondara emigrated to the U.S. from Kenya in 2013 after securing a green card. From Minneapolis, Minnesota, Ondara continued to pursue a career in music, and exposure broadened as a St. Paul radio station played Ondara’s songs from Youtube videos Ondara posted. Ondara released Tales of America in 2019. The album culls 11 songs from more than 100 written, each song a reflection on an immigrant’s life in America, one titled “God Bless America.”

Ondara offered perspective in a February 7, 2019, interview in Rolling Stone:
About Tales of America, RS writer Jonathan Bernstein opines: “offers a compelling outsider’s perspective on what it means to be a young adult in 21st-century America. ‘Just me pondering, trying to search for wisdom,’ as Ondara describes it. ‘Life is weird, and America is so weird.’ “

” ‘Will you let me in?/Or are you at capacity?’ is a commentary — hopeful and heartbroken – on modern American immigration. ‘I was grappling with that question from my perspective, and from the perspective of other people from other countries who did not get the opportunity that I did,’ Ondara says.

Will you let me in, or are you at capacity?
Will you set me free, are you holding onto history?
Will you be sincere, are you averse to honesty?
Will you dare to hear those children marching on the street?
Oh God bless America, the heartache of mine.
Oh God bless America, the heartache of mine.

Observation

Flames lick
at dry logs,
Wood becomes
window.
Behind once
sold structure,
fire peers.

Time teases.
We grow old.
and what was
substantial
becomes frail.
And, in an
aging body,
a soul burns
to be seen.

All hail

I’ve never seen The Devil Makes Three Live, but their punk take on roots music has got me hooked. If they ever perform near me (I hope!) I’m going to try to be there. The trio does tour extensively (most recently in 2023), so chances are good. This tune from their 2008 album Do Wrong Right evokes the times, the cynicism of our consumerism and the absurd that pops up now and again.

Laugh if you want to, really is kinda funny,
‘Cause the world is a car and you’re the crash test dummy.
Hurts stampeding now, fences gone.
Television is always on – and it says
Save the children, but drop the bomb.
Replace the word right now, with the word wrong.
Hey there’s a big sale on tuesday, get it ‘fore its gone.
Get a picture with the four horsemen for a nominal sum.
Now that they got everything, they’d like to sell you some!

It’s dry

See?
In shop
corner stands
four umbrellas
waiting for local
hands to grasp when spring rains
fall. Most of the time, though, folks
are driving and only need to
dash to waiting auto or pickup.
So unused, they age, just gathering dust.

Would Jesus Wear a Rolex

Fluid-fingered Chet Atkins, performing at Paul Masson Winery in Saratoga, California, in 1991, sang a song written originally for Ray Stevens, after wowing the crowd with signature finger-picking artistry. The suave delivery of the tune, written with Margaret Archer, helps the wicked lyrics go down like a fine drink. Upon reflection, after the burn, maybe we still need Atkins’ additional verse.

Would he run a man for president.
Would he pick and choose.
Would he put him through the primaries,
just to watch him lose.
Would Jesus wear a Rolex.
Would he drive a shiny car.
Would his wife wear furs and diamonds
and his dressing room have a star.
If he came back tomorrow,
There’s something I’d like to know.
Could you tell me, would Jesus wear a Rolex on his television show?
Would Jesus wear a Rolex on his cable TV show?

Lament

I don’t know how long
our old grandparent
and young grandchild
ash trees will fare.

The jeweled ash borer
chews its caverns here

and everywhere.

Chain saws and a new
grapple hook and blade
feed whole trunks to a
chipper parked nearby.

Technology does in an hour
what several did in a day

One more year, one more time,
we’ll treat our leafy friends
in the hope that we can
Somehow stop beetles’ spread.

Rumbles of chipper and
Grinder in weeks ahead
remind that it takes just
a moment to savage

our leaf scape, our friends.

Skunks

There will always be artists who are drawn to the gothic. The duo of The Handsome Family is one such, sort of a Flannery O’Connor of the musical world: skeletons in the desert, evocative landscapes, ghosts, bloody murder and everyday tragedy are all subjects of their tunes. Brett Sparks and Rennie Sparks pen songs reflect the American West, and “Skunks,” a tune on the 2023 album Hollow, is a backhanded exploration of its loss.

We’ll sterilize your yards,
Run your dogs around the park.
Now we have rental cars.
Stop by our cocktail bar.
Call us day or night.

Goodbye Pluto

Don’t you dare try to peg Vance Gilbert. Gilbert will wiggle away but still manage to tweak your sensibilities. After listening to several of his tunes, I’ve settled on this one.

The monologue before he performs it is really witty… extremely insightful… and wicked. Gilbert has the knack of approaching an issue sideways, sidling in with wit, song and guitar to set a burr and get you thinking.

Never mind them, Pluto
With one roll around the sun
Two hundred fifty years go by
And when that year is done
By that time Pluto
They’ll be dead and gone to dust
Taking their opinions with them
Their equations turned to rust

New year

On the last day of December,
Clouds rolled in mid-afternoon,
But with no promise of snow
Or rain. It’s been warm for winter.

The new year began bright,
the southern-leaning sun’s
Beams not impeded
Except for fall’s remains,

To light a day that is oh, so cold.