Tag: Isaac Dust

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Weary hearts

A song that descended from the Great Unknown on January 2, 2008, while I was living in Mexico. I finally got around to singing it:

Go Beth, go catch your breath
Just slow things down a little bit
One day you’re gonna be okay
Just watch your worries float away
Like whispers on a breeze
Messages on stormy seas
Like memories of a dream
Nothing’s ever what it seems
Rest your weary heart

Wake up, my little sleepy head
You don’t wanna spend all day in bed
Get dressed, take a walk with me
We’ll watch the leaves fall from the trees
Like young hearts into love
A shooting star from high above
A tree onto the ground
And we’ll be there to hear the sound
And rest our weary hearts

[Narration: 1) Henry Miller, reading “Third or Fourth Day of Spring” from his book “Black Spring”; 2) Myself, talking to myself in “el cuarto”, Mexico, 2008.]

<a href="http://isaacdust.bandcamp.com/track/weary-hearts">Weary hearts by Isaac Dust</a>

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Red Chord

A sleepy version of a song by Glen Hansard of The Swell Season and The Frames. I just discovered Hansard a couple of weeks ago and since then I can’t stop listening to the guy’s music. I’m just blown away by the soulfulness and sincerity of the man, and I’m inspired to play and create like I haven’t been in years. Thanks Glen! (I tried to keep this version of the song mellow, so as not to piss the neighbors off too much, but I doubt I’m even capable of belting out those “Yeahs” like Hansard does. Perhaps some day…)

RED CHORD (on The Frames’ album “Fitzcarraldo”)
And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
It helps me out
When you’re away

When I was in the army
And they called you back to save me
And I was resting soft
In the arms of my war

And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
And I’m pulling on the red chord
So you’re not so far away

And I was at the uni..
The university of
Blind love and black poetry
And it was there I found you
And you were happy like an angel
But for everything you learned
There is something you must let go of

And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord
And I’m pulling on the red chord
That pulls you back to me Lord

Pulls you back to me Lord
Yeah, pulls you back to me Lord
Pulls you back to me Lord
Yeah, pulls you back to me Lord

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Broken shoulder blues

I went out to have a beer with Eric on Friday night and we spent some time reminiscing about our years together in My Dear Ella and Minor Stars. I was jogging home the two blocks from the Orange County Social Club to my apartment when an amazing, unprecedented event happened—my feet slid out from under me on the wet cement and I crashed down like a ton of bricks onto the sidewalk. I ended up with a separated shoulder, which was not the way I had planned to start my holiday weekend. I spent Saturday on the couch with my ice-pack and laptop, and the only productive thing I accomplished was to copy some DVD footage of the 2004 Bright Orange Tailspin CD release show at the Local 506 in Chapel Hill. I was struck by how much younger I looked only six years ago, and also by what a jackass I made of myself when the camera captured me in all my intoxicated glory.

These are the things that swirled through my head yesterday as I played around in the studio (I was pleasantly surprised I could play the instruments with only minor discomfort). I’ve also been thinking a lot about creativity, and how much I enjoy exploring a particular moment in time through music or writing. And my shoulder hurts like bloody hell, and it’s impossible to sleep for more than an hour at a time. Here’s what I recorded last night before fading out:

<a href="http://isaacdust.bandcamp.com/track/broken-shoulder-blues">Broken shoulder blues by Isaac Dust</a>

I was only 34 years old
when I thought I played my final show
But who was I to think I’d know when it was all over
I went away for 4 long years
and thought I conquered all my fears
But man you saw me shed those tears when it was all over
I got back up and hit the scene
to find out what it really means
The sleep ain’t always worth the dream when it’s all over
So many times the same old thing
I think I’m out but then I’m in
I thought I’d lost but I just might win

We watched it go under the bridge
There ain’t no sense denying it
And who’ll be left to give a shit when it’s all over
and said and done but I was never one to jump right in
but I might not see your face again
We can say goodbye or just say when

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Sunday Dustbin: Trouble weighs a ton (Dan Auerbach)

Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys is one of my favorite musicians at the moment. His gritty voice and killer blues guitar just ooze soul, and his recordings have a raw, spontaneous vibe that is all too rare in today’s rock music. Today I was tooling around in my studio trying to remember how to get a decent live sound for acoustic demos, and I ran through “Trouble weighs a ton” — the opening track off Auerbach’s solo album, Keep It Hid — as my sound-check tune. I clicked open iMovie for shits and giggles, and here’s the clip:

Trouble weighs a ton(mp3)

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No regrets

There’s a girl who lived on my block
She wore pigtails and bright purple socks
She could sing before she could talk
She had wings but she’d rather walk

A ghost of a prayer still floats in the air
Keeping me longing from the depths of my despair
I don’t expect a kiss or that you’ll stay the night
or that you wave your hands and make everything alright
I just want you to know when you’re going out that door
I don’t regret a thing

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Sunday Dustbin: Blood-red house

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Yeah, I’ve been listening to The Black Keys a lot lately. Here’s some blues wanking that has my ears ringing:

Blood-red house.mp3
Got on my hands and knees
and I begged my disease
Said “Beg you darling, please.
I need some release.
If you let me off the hook this time,
I’ll do anything.”

She said “Take the train to Shepherd Street.
Go to 117.
Knock exactly seven times,
then wait patiently.
In that blood-red house with no windows,
that’s where you’ll find me.”

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Seventh time’s a charm

fourleafclover.jpg

Who knows why certain things capture our imaginations. A few weeks ago my friend Bill posted a Joan Halifax essay on his blog called “The Lucky Dark.” The phrase comes from a translation of a St. John of the Cross poem, and basically it refers to all the dark, scary shit that we hate—like suffering, death, loss, and fear—but that also can be deeply transformative when embraced. Just as the phrase “Waiting for the miracle” captured my attention and guided my creative process for years, “The Lucky Dark” seized hold of me right away, and I knew it would be the title of my next album.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I do musically, what it means to me, and how I see the process unfolding now that I’m back in Carrboro, NC. There’s quite a music scene here, and I had a great time being a part of it a few years ago when I played bass for My Dear Ella. My buddy Eric—the heart and soul of MDE—is still playing music here, fronting a new band called Death of the Sun, and presently putting the finishing touches on a new record that is going to be absolutely fantastic.

I’m not sure how I fit in to the music scene right now, or even that I fit in at all. When I settle in to my little studio on a Saturday evening, I’m just looking to open up and see what happens. The process is so wonderful, so enlivening, that the end result is almost beside the point. I share it here on my blog for a lot of reasons. Of course, I get a thrill when a little praise is thrown my way. But really my music is part of a bigger picture I’ve been sloppily painting for years now. For lack of a better word, it’s a spiritual practice, a way to connect with others and the depths of myself.

Last night I intended to record a song I’ve been kicking around for a few years. But when I went searching for drum beats, I tickled the virtual ivories a little on the way, and got lost there for the whole evening. Here’s what happened:

Seventh time’s a charm.mp3
I will pack my things
I will hit the road
I will not look back
Then I always look back
I will wait all night
for the words to come
Set them free like tears
Let them go like tears
Take me to the edge
This time I’ll jump right in
I won’t change my mind
for the seventh time