The rain came and washed the new potatoes away We saw them floating across the backyard There they go We’ll never see them again, you know So goodbye to the new potatoes Goodbye and godspeed
There they go We will never see them again you know So goodbye to the new potatoes Goodbye Goodbye
Unsure where this came from, if not the palsied hands of the good Lord himself.
Simple premise: Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” slipped from 45 to 33 rpm. Nothing more; no studio trickery, no trip hop drum breaks. The guitar lopes back in and around itself. The bass becomes elastic, hot rubber. The violin stabs become sustained cello lines. The backing choir’s split harmony rattles around, slinking ghostly into the corner. And most importantly, Parton’s once-frantic vocal is transformed from bubblegum country scrawl into something approximating field holler reverence.
An already perfect song made transcendental..
Who would win in a battle for my immortal soul: the devil on his fiddle or “Jolene” at 33 RPM
Room full of ambitious young policemen Everybody trying to make his mark I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead And then the room went dark Dream of maybe waking up someday And wanting you less than I do This is a dream though It’s never gonna come true
Plug a night light in Leave the porch light on Because the small dark corners are establishing a colony Live like an outlaw Clutching gold coins in his claw
Can’t ever set aside the sweetness Of the days before the crews put up the border Fields full of wet rain Cling tight to their memory forever Think about Montana when I close my eyes Possibly Jenny’s headed east Count a couple of stray hopes out loud May their numbers one day be increased
Plug a night light in Leave the porch light on Because the small dark corners breathe like heavy animals Live like an outlaw Clutching gold coins in his claw
from Transcendental Youth (2012)
“This song is about the sort of paranoid state you get into if you sit around contemplating the wrong thing for too long, which is sort of how I came to look at my own past, like, you have to be a careful steward of your brain and your thoughts, because no one else can help you out with them.“
Call Me Maybe, with a full orchestra and classical choir.
It starts out as a very solem joke, and then it becomes bright and beautiful and joyful.
GUYS IT’S A BOP
i love this! i feel like whoever arranged it understood why the song is so well loved, and really captured that hopeful, giddy thrill of infatuation. such a bright thing. this is going in my happy spam tag for cheering me up on rainy days.
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