The Music Room

Welcome to the Catfeather Music Room.  This is where you'll find information on some of Rick Spencer's recordings.
Here at the top is information related to Rick's most recent CD "Waiting for Me."  If you scroll down below the liner notes you'll find information on and be able to listen to selections from earlier recordings, "Contentment" and "Love's Labor" (with Donna Glover).

rick spencer	Waiting for Me Rick Spencer's first CD of original songs in over 12 years!
waiting for me

Dear Listeners,
If you'd like to listen to or purchase selections from Waiting for Me please go to www.myspace.com/catfeather.  We hope to have a listening device here on this page at some point.

“Waiting for Me” liner notes

I ALWAYS read the liner notes on recordings.  Even recordings that I don’t like.

I really want to learn everything I can about the musicians, composers, lyricists, and inspirations for the music.  I want to know the how, why, where and when of all of it.  This is REALLY interesting stuff to me.  It appears that it really isn’t all that interesting to everyone.  Some while ago I came to realize that my intense interest in those things puts me in a minority.  To a lot of people the details are trivial and unimportant. 

Help me; I’m a liner note nerd!

A lot of folks also like to have the lyrics of the songs printed out.  I don’t care as much about that, unless I want to learn to sing the song or figure out what it’s about.  Personally I think that the singer should enunciate well enough to be understood and the listener should be willing to put some work into understanding and analyzing the song.  That’s not a universally held belief either.

Another factor to consider is that the more text you put in the package of a recording the more the project costs to produce. 

In putting together the package for “Waiting for Me” I figured that I could satisfy those who are deeply interested in liner notes and save a little dough on the project by putting the notes on my website.  Of course this won’t make everyone happy either.

If you’ve found your way here it’s because you’re one of those highly intelligent and sensible people who take an interest in what the artist has to say about the themes, inspiration, process and production of a recording.  I honor you for it.    

Or maybe you’re looking for lyrics.  They’re here too.  If you want more information please let me know.  It’s a website.  I can add stuff anytime.  Oh yes, the lyrics are all by Richard E. Spencer, are copyright Catfeather Art & Music and are published through BMI.  Please don’t use them without permission and I won’t send lawyers out like flying monkeys to burn your scarecrows.

Enough of that.  Here are the notes and lyrics: 

First of November
Sarah and I lived for almost two years in a former one-room schoolhouse in North Stonington.  It was on one of the last dirt roads in Connecticut and was surrounded by farms and woods.  There were still old folks living in the area who had learned to read and write in that place.  Lovely.  On one first of November I had the door open to let the smells of the day in that place come in.  This song popped out.  For the images of spring in that same place listen to “Weather Coming On.”  Instruments: guitar, mandolin and bass.

It’s warmer outside than it is in here.
Here in New England it’s that time of year.
The rising dark in the eastern sky shows the first star that I see tonight.
Rusty, russet-brown afternoons.
Nights by the fire with cider and rum.
The corn is in the silo and the hay is in the barn.

It’s November in New England.
Frost every morning and dark very early.
Wood smoke, just like incense
Close to the stars.
Far from describing.

What’s left in the garden, once healthy and strong
Bows to the cold and is turning brown.
There’s morning mist on the river.
On the wind is a whisper of winter.
Halloween pumpkins are still on the step.
There’s a crackle and smell of leaves underfoot
As we make our way to Thanksgiving and the end of another year.

It’s November in New England.
Frost every morning and dark very early.
Wood smoke, just like incense
Close to the stars.
Far from describing.

The Road to Honor
This is one of the autobiographical songs on the recording.  The journey to find spiritual peace is a solitary one, no matter who else is there.  In some ways we’re all on the “road to Damascus” and our own search for (or avoidance of) personal honor.  I was lost on that road for decades.  I still am sometimes.
Instruments: guitars and bass.

Morning comes again.
It’s early up on another day.
There was winter in the wind on a sleepy night of dreams with you.
Now the stars are growing dim.
Soon the butter sun will be in the meadow.
And where do I begin to find the words to tell you?

Who can know, on the un-traveled road, what lies around the corner
On this solitary journey with you all along the road to honor?

There is trouble all around,
But there are angels on my shoulder.
They whisper in my ear and tell me which way I might go.
And when the storm comes in I run to the shelter of your heart,
And where do I begin to find the words to tell you?

Who can know, on the un-traveled road, what lies around the corner
On this solitary journey with you all along the road to honor?

Sin Killer
The song “Mighty Storm,” also known as “Galveston Flood” has been one of my favorites for years.  I first heard it from Tom Rush, who told me that he learned it from Eric Von Schmidt. Eric had found it on a field recording in the Library of Congress.  It was recorded at the Darlington State Penitentiary on Easter Sunday, 1942, and was sung by a fellow who was known as the Reverend “Sin Killer” Griffin.  Great name! I did some research on the Reverend, and this song is the result.  This is one of my favorite arrangements on the disc. 
Instruments: guitar, banjo, mandolin, bass.

All along the coastline,
Up and down the river evil is working overtime.
The streets alive with sinners.
The devil’s put on extra hands.
The good Lord needs a mighty holy man. 
A sin killer.

In the last years of the 1800s a boy grew into a giant of a man.
He heard a calling and took a book out on the road from Shreveport, Louisiana.
The Reverend Griffin took a name to strike fear in the heart of Satan’s gang.
“Sin Killer.”

Brother, where you going to run to now?
Sister, how can you avoid?
The Devil’s got you standing in his corner
But the Lord has a sin killer on his side.
A sin killer.

He was in the town of Galveston when that mighty storm came through.
He sang them to their knees up in Darrington,
Easter, 1942.
He had a mighty voice to command.
And he was a gospel tiger of a man.
“Sin Killer.”

Brother, where you going to run to now?
Sister, how can you avoid?
The Devil’s got you standing in his corner
But the Lord has a sin killer on his side.
A sin killer.

Orion
This is the oldest of the “kids” on this recording.  Almost 30.  Most of the rest from that long ago are orphans now.  This is my take on the beauty of a deep winter night in New England. 
Instruments: guitars, English concertinas.

Hunter in the midnight sky, rise above the frozen lake.  I have followed you again here to this place, where many years ago I first saw pictures in the sky make their way across the night and I learned your name.
Snowy blankets hold fast to the branches of the trees and glisten in this frosted evening light.
Standing alone in the snow that spent the whole day falling.  Orion is calling.

Vapor wisp and smoke rise, wind brush across the snow,
Down the collar, through the skin and to the bone.
Your sword and belt still shine here to remind me of old times.
Of winters that froze deeper than the soul.

Standing in the barren garden, looking forward to the spring.  Six weeks until first planting and warm days.  The nights are growing shorter, now soon we will tap the maples, as Orion journeys off in search of summer.

Vapor wisp and smoke rise, wind brush across the snow,
Down the collar, through the skin and to the bone.
Your sword and belt still shine here to remind me of old times.
Of winters that froze deeper than the soul.

Letter from New York
I don’t know what to say about this song.  Why the words of an aspiring young actress from Vermont, trying to make it in the city theater scene, would be gifted to me and end up in one of my songs is just beyond my comprehension.  I’m grateful though. 
Instruments: guitars.

My Dearest Mary,
Summer is almost done.  Leaves will be turning back home in Vermont.  Days growing shorter but here in the city the light and the dark seem to fold into one.  I had an audition a week ago Tuesday for a very small part in a smart little musical.  Light years off Broadway.  Tough competition.  Sometimes this city can be so unforgiving.

I think of you every morning when the light of a new day comes in with its promise.  I hope to be home for Thanksgiving.  We’ll count all our blessings again, my dearest friend.

It’s good that you’ve got all your firewood for winter stacked in the shed, and the chimneys are clean.  Days are still warm, but the nights will grow cooler.  I wish I had been there to help in your garden.  My agent says things will be looking up soon but the rent’s overdue and there’s nothing in store, so I’ve taken a job at a restaurant downtown.  I can finally tell Mom I’m on the “top of the world.”

Did I tell you I took in a marmalade kitten?  I found her in the alley behind the apartment and I named her for you.  Now, don’t you tell me I’m silly.  I love any kind of reminder of home.  I’m sorry this letter is so very short but I start my new job in the morning.  I’ll send you another as soon as I’m able.

From your dearest one,
10 September 2001

New World Anthem
This is the story of a young man who came to the U.S. in the flood of immigration sometime during the second half of the 19^th century.  After 50 years he still remembered the first “American” song he ever heard. 
Instruments: guitars, mandolin, banjo, bass.

He left an old country to come to a land that was young
On a crowded passage across an endless, angry ocean.
He kissed the planks on the pier and he changed his name to fit America.
He heard the sounds in the air of a language unfamiliar.

First night, third floor, dirty boarding house,
The sounds of a song down the hall
As he lay awake in the darkness of a brand new world
He heard them sing:
“Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight and dance by the light of the moon?”

There was a pocket in the city of people from the “old country.”
They said “There’s precious little work for our kind
And few friends in this ‘land of liberty.’
But there are stockyards in the west,
Mines and mills and farms.
If we join our fortunes together I have faith we can make this country ours.”

Freight train boxcar, midnight station yard
Climb aboard and settle in.
Four languages.  Twelve souls.  Moving now.
Pass the blanket and someone sings:
“Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight and dance by the light of the moon?”

And oh how the years roll by. 

It’s been a long road, my Julia, from the place where we began.
Can you believe that already the old century has passed?
Our children are grown and gone now and we have lived a dream.
How far in distance and time the old world seems!
Looking through his field of memories he reaches out to take her hand.
Once more he sings his tiny, New World Anthem in the light of their new electric lamp.
“Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight and dance by the light of the moon?”

Too Young
Another autobiographical song.  This one doesn’t really need much background.  Regarding the reference to the woman in the second verse, any resemblance between her and persons living or dead is probably right on the money.
Instruments: guitars and bass.

It’s been a wild ride.  More than 50 years long.
So many changes. 
Things I remember are all gone.
I need glasses to read now.  Technology’s got me all confused.
The faster I run these days, the slower I go.

Hang on to your hat boys.
When the years get rolling they’ll go fast.
As long as some times might feel
The years just won’t seem to last.
The longer you run the quicker they’ll seem to roll.
And I’m too damn young.
I am too damn young to feel this old.

Where did this belly come from?
Do I fight it or just give in?
The last “all-nighter” I pulled was sitting up with my old man at the end.
There’s a pretty woman at work,
The kind I used to like to get to know
But she’s young enough to be my kid
With too many piercings and weird tattoos.

Hang on to your hat boys.
When the years get rolling they’ll go fast.
As long as some times might feel
The years just won’t seem to last.
The longer you run the quicker they’ll seem to roll.
And I’m too damn young.
I am too damn young to feel this old.

New England
I was born in Arizona.  Dad was in the army and Mom was on the base with him when I came along.  They brought me back to live on the ancestral soil when I was just a few months old.  I don’t remember living anywhere but New England.  In my career I’ve had the great fortune to have been paid to travel to some pretty wonderful places.  Every now and then the lure of northern California or England gets to pulling at me.  But I just don’t know if I could really live anywhere but here.
Instruments: guitar and dulcimer.

I was not born here.
My family was from here.
I was raised in a farm town where now only houses grow.
The men in my family said we were “Swamp Yankee”
And we all grew with the spirit of New England in our souls.

Where could I live but New England?
Where the foothills of the Berkshires, the Whites and the Greens
Pour winter’s runoff in Connecticut’s river,
And I wake to the whisper and the cry of the sea
The whisper and cry of the sea.

The changing of the seasons in the cycle of the years
Like the run of the river became part of me.
I walked rocky hillsides and climbed woodland stone walls
And when I grew older I took to the sea.

Where could I live but New England?
Where the foothills of the Berkshires, the Whites and the Greens
Pour winter’s runoff in Connecticut’s river,
And I wake to the whisper and the cry of the sea
The whisper and cry of the sea.

Now I’ve worked on the waters of the Chesapeake Bay
San Francisco, Lakes Erie and Ontario.
Up the river to Lisbon and on the wild coast of France
But I will always return to the waters of my home.

Where could I live but New England?
Where the foothills of the Berkshires, the Whites and the Greens
Pour winter’s runoff in Connecticut’s river,
And I wake to the whisper and the cry of the sea
The whisper and cry of the sea.

Gail Francis
This is a true story about the day my Dad became the temporary “captain” of a charter fishing boat out of Galilee, Rhode Island.  I wasn’t there, but my brother Colin and our cousin Andy were.  The events were told and retold over the years and became a legend in our family.  Galilee is a great little combination of a working commercial fishing village and a tourist destination.  For those who aren’t familiar with it, “Gansett” refers to Narragansett Beer, which has been a southeastern New England favorite for decades.
Instruments: guitars, mandolin, banjo, bass.

Captain Putnam started drinking pretty early in the morning,
But he got us out to George’s Banks in decent time.
The weather was fair but the lee rail was busy.
Bait clams in the sun get to smelling pretty strong.
Four cases of “Gansett” started falling pretty quick.
The sea come up a chop and a hazy fog.
But when the chill of morning burned away and the first case was empty
Then the lines went in and the cod started coming up.

Charter boating out of Galilee.
Working men on a working man’s spree.
Twelve of the “good guys” on a cod fishing boat,
Gail Francis was her name.

The language got more salty as we came to know the company.
A couple salesmen brought cigars.  Three brothers, five of us and two more.
Lunch was a party, and the cod were big and plenty
But when the fog rolled in it was time to head for port.
The captain was in his bunk, passed out and paralytic.
One of us would have to take the boat back home.
And one by one they all refused until my old man took the wheel.
Then we laughed at him playing the skipper on a fishing boat.

Charter boating out of Galilee
Working men on a working man’s spree.
Twelve of the “good guys” on a cod fishing boat,
Gail Francis was her name.

Someone revived the captain and coffee’d him up ‘till he was almost sober.
Not that much damage was done pulling into the dock.
The red-eyed, red-faced, weary sea-legged smilers brought their catches to their cars,
Shook hands and kicked up some dust pulling out of the lot.

Charter boating out of Galilee
Working men on a working man’s spree.
Twelve of the “good guys” on a cod fishing boat,
Gail Francis was her name.

Turning the Money Green
This song quotes a number of the wonderful chanteys that were used as tools to coordinate the hauling of menhaden nets from open boats during the period between the 1880 and the 1930s or so.  The chanteys include “Weldon,” “Johnson Gals,” “Won’t You Help Me to Raise ‘em” and others.  Many of them have references in common.  The “tom” is a heavy weight used to sink the center of a net.  “Bunker” is one of the many names for the menhaden (a small fish related to the herring) which was processed for its oil.  What was left was used for fertilizer.  This is another of my favorite arrangements on the disc.
Instruments: guitar, banjo, mandolin, bass.

They come out of the Carolinas.
You can hear them off of Giant’s Neck
When the wind is right, off Long Island
And they’re hauling their nets.
The tom weight is heavy, bunkers by the ton.
They tease and they laugh between lines,
Hard work that sounds like fun.

They’re turning their money green.
Emmalina’s waiting there on the dock for me.

They’re going back to Weldon to get a job in the Weldon yard,
To make some gravy with the Johnson girls, ‘cause they’ve been working too hard.
Captain, if you fire me you got to fire my buddy too.
Mail day I get a letter says “Daddy when you coming home?”

They’re turning their money green.
Emmalina’s waiting there on the dock for me.

Three Fisherwives
I can’t seem to get away from the seafaring subjects, and find myself returning again and again to the hardships of the lives of those who work in and around the commercial fisheries. 
Instruments: guitar, mandolins, bass.

Three fisherwives stood by the shore and looked out at the empty sea.
Three fisherwives stood by the shore and looked out at the empty sea.
Out beyond the breakers to a clearing sky.

The first one said “I knew a time might come when he would not come home.”
The first one said “I knew a time might come when he would not come home.”
“I pray that this is not that day, and I’ll see him when evening comes.”

The second one said “Has my daughter gone to meet her father’s fate?”
The second one said “Has my daughter gone to meet her father’s fate?”
“To stay forever in the sea and fill another cold, wet grave.”

The third one said “How many more must stand upon this rocky beach?”
The third one said “How many more must stand upon this rocky beach?”
“And pay the price for those who will say grace one evening over fish.”
Remember.

Scarecrow Sailor
Ulysses was inherently and definitively a seagoing man.  When he wanted to get away from the sea forever he decided to put an oar over his shoulder and walk inland until someone asked him what the oar was.  He figured that at that point he’d be far enough away from the sea to avoid its lure.  I wondered what it would be like for a character that was inherently and definitively land-based to decide to give up the land and head for sea.  So that’s where the idea of the scarecrow sailor came from.  The more familiar you are with traditional American and British sea songs, the more amusing this little “insider’s joke” is.  Find all of the sea song quotes, tell me which songs they’re from and why the scarecrow would cite them, and you’ll win a prize from the author.  I don’t know what the prize will be yet, but it will be something you’ll appreciate.  Thanks to Sarah for suggesting the reference to the Wizard of Oz scarecrow. 
Instruments: guitars and bass.

I’ve been hanging on a post long as I can remember, watching the garden grow.
I’m tired of looking at this piece of the planet and the crows aren’t afraid of me anymore.
I’m gonna kick down the corn, go to the barn and get a wheat flail,
Throw it over my shoulder.
I’ll head for the shore.  I’m gonna get underway.
I’ll know that I’m there when I hear them say
“Hey scarecrow, where are you going?  What’s that thing hanging over your shoulder?”
“Hey strawman, where did you come from?   What’s that thing hanging over your shoulder?”

I got a ropeyarn belt, button eyes, this scarecrow ain’t afraid to die.
I’ll stuff some oakum in my shirt so if I fall from aloft I won’t get hurt.
I got carpet slipper feet, oilskin knees,
Paddy West sailor, he’s got nothing on me.
I’ll ship out with the Derby ram, Stormalong will be my old man.
Stormalong will be my old man.
Scarecrow sailor, up aloft in a Cape Horn gale,
Shellback strawman, can I take your trick at the wheel?
Can I take your trick at the wheel?

Marco Polo, Ebenezer, Madame Gashee, just watch me tease her.
Campanero, Kangaroo, David Crocket leaving Liverpool.
Rosabella around “Cape Stiff,” New York girls, don’t you give me no lip.
Scarecrow sails the raging main.
I’d be the captain if I only had a brain.
I’d be the captain, if I only had a brain.
Scarecrow sailor, up aloft in a Cape Horn gale,
Shellback strawman, can I take your trick at the wheel?
Can I take your trick at the wheel?

Weather Coming On
As in the song “First of November,” the back door was open one day at the schoolhouse where we lived in North Stonington, Connecticut.  The smells and feelings of that afternoon in spring came into the house.  I walked out and saw the clouds gathering.  This song was the result.
Instruments: guitars and bass.

I feel weather coming on.
The wind has shifted ‘round.
The warm smell is on the air of the cows from a mile south.
The Impressionist greens on these young days of spring,
The strong ones hold on and the weak fall away on the wind.

There is power in the clouds as we stand with no defense
In the garden with the seedlings as the changes take place.
With the spirit of decades of schoolboys and girls
In the shadow of swamp maples, somewhere between
Is the door open or should it be closed?
There’s weather coming on.

Young lilies and tulips turn their heads looking for sun.
The cats take one last romp in the yard before coming in.
Roll up the car windows, laundry off of the line.
The wind shifts again and the first drops of rain
There’s weather coming on.

Archetypes
So here was a challenge: Take a number of songs that we all know from childhood and distill each of them into three lines.  Then jam them all together in a single song with a nonsense chorus.  This could be really clever or really aggravating.  I accept that it is the latter and flatter myself to believe that it’s the former as well.  One way or the other I clearly had too much time on my hands around the time this song was written. 
Instruments: guitar, mandolin, banjo, bass.

McDonald had a farm.
On this farm he had a cow.
Moo cow on McDonald’s farm.

The frog he would a-courtin’ go. 
He walked up to Miss Mousie’s door.
Good luck with that one, Froggie.

Fox went out on a chilly night.
Prayed for the moon to give him light.
Good-bye duck.  Good-bye goose.

“Bury me not on the lone prairie.”
That’s what we heard the dying cowboy say.
We buried him there anyway.

Working on the railroad
All the livelong day.
Dinah, won’t you blow your horn?

She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain.
She’ll be driving six white horses.
We’ll all come down to meet her.

Jim crack corn and I don’t care.
Jim crack corn and I don’t care.
Master’s gone away.

Red is the color
Of my true love’s hair.
She is precious and fair.

Waiting for Me
A floating vessel on its way downstream to the open sea has often been used as a symbol of a spiritual journey from one life to another.  The thought that those who have gone before us are waiting and preparing a reunion for our arrival is a lovely and seductive one.  I choose to believe it, if for no other reason than it provides comfort to me and it hurts nobody else.  And if it’s true I’ll again see Gene Spencer, Bill Fisher, Karl Steinmayer, Mary Spencer, Bill Fleming, George Conger and a bunch of the other favorite people of my life.  That will be cool.   
Instruments: guitar, mandolin, dulcimer

Take this boat from the head of the river and raft her down to the open sea.
Carry her cargo into the harbor.
Friends will be waiting for me.

Pay no heed to the wayward pilot.
Trust in the river, she knows the way.
Work your days then sing by the fire.
Sleep well and remember your dreams.

Float her gently down the rapids, steer her well and safe and dry.
Make her fast in the golden harbor.
Friends will be waiting for me.

Take the fruit from the trees by the river.
Take the fish but leave the game.
Don’t forget the needs of the spirit and be sure that you leave her clean.
Tell my loved ones when you see them that I had to stay behind.
Tell my father how I miss him.
I’ll meet him on the morning tide.
I will meet him on the morning tide.

Float her gently down the rapids, steer her well and safe and dry.
Make her fast in the golden harbor.
Friends will be waiting for me. 

All Things are Well
This, as much as anything else, is a profession of my faith.  I truly believe that all will be well.
The places mentioned in the song are all real.  The old foundation is in North Stonington, CT.  The mill is in Mansfield, CT but could be in any number of places throughout New England.  The dam and reservoir are in Ohio.  The village under the water of Caesar’s Creek reservoir is New Burlington, not far from Xenia.  These structures were built a long time ago and today nature is in the process of taking them back.  Nature may eventually take it all back.  I choose to believe that there’s very little damage that we can do, individually or collectively, that time and nature will not adapt to.  Of course we as a species may not be part of the adaptation, but then that’s what we get.  I think that the best we can do is to pass through our time here as gently as we can and take comfort that all things are going to be well. 
Instruments: guitars and mandolin.

Cedars grow tall inside the old foundation.
These stones once bore up a home.The sweet hay breath of the cow in the meadow is gone.
Traffic flows by like spring rain runoff where wagons once kicked up the dust.
The field is fallow and the once-mighty plow is gone to rust.

But you and I will pass by gently where the lilacs bloom in the spring
And take our comfort that all things are well.
And it’s well they will remain.

Cat-tails grow in the sluiceway water that once was the life of the mill.
Village boys have slingshot the windows and the leather hangs limp on the wheel.
Across the millpond bullfrogs call out that the end of the day has come
While the clock in the tower is forever proclaiming “one.”

But you and I will pass by gently where the water lilies grow in the spring
And take our comfort that all things are well.
And it’s well they will remain.

Behind this dam, under these waters lies the ghost of a town that once thrived
And sent its daughters off into the future
With a hungry spirit to survive.
Now bass and pike swim through the rooms where old ones were born
And young ones died.
While high above a boat slips on the water
And through ever-passing time.

But you and I will pass by gently where the herons nest in the spring
And take our comfort that all things are well.
And it’s well they will remain.

Yes I Do
Freight trains, long-haul trucks, sailing vessels and jet planes.  The romance of life on the move.  Here we go, kids.  Thanks again for listening.
Instruments: guitars, mandolins, bass.

Well I love to see a long freight rolling, but I miss that old red caboose. 
Yes I do.
And I love to see an 18-wheeler, rolling down that blacktop road. 
Yes I do.
And I love to see a schooner sailing.  White sails under a velvet-dark sky. 
Yes I do.
And I love to see a jet plane flying and wonder where she’s bound tonight. 
Yes I do.

But wait, there’s more…..
“Waiting for Me” was recorded piecemeal between January and October 2007, on a Yamaha AW16G digital multitrack recorder.  It was mixed and mastered on my computer using a KRISTAL audio engine.  The final mix to stereo was completed, also on the computer, using a Magix Audio Cleaning Lab 11 program.  Twenty-five songs were recorded and considered for inclusion on the disc.  A rough mix was sent to a number of trusted friends, who offered honest opinions and advice about which songs were strongest, weakest, favorites, gems, train wrecks, etc.  I thank them SO much for their contribution.  They include Rich and Dee Kelly, Lon Lipman, Dave Littlefield, Mary Skalka, Judi Ward, Gary Williams and of course Sarah.  Also thanks to that very good friend who wished to remain anonymous, even after I begged.  Duplication of the recording was masterfully executed by our friends at www.frontporchcd.com. 

All music, lyrics, arrangements and performances (instrumental and vocal) were done by yours truly. 

	American Soul Mandolin Orchestra State of the Nation All Hallow's Eve Wooden Goblet Night Driving Contentment	Hexagon Zombies Aboard the Diana Curse of the Fish Home by October Silk Road Angels	Listen to Hexagon Zombies All Hallow's Eve
	Newry Town Turpin Hero If I Was a Blackbird The White Cockade Davy Lowston Roving Gambler Creeping Jane Reynard	Green Willow Tree Down in the Valley Two Sisters The Standing Toast Pleasant and Delightful Horkstow Grange East from Ohio	Listen to Roving Gambler The Standing Toast

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