Dreamers and creative people who dwell in a world of fantasy and possibility are at odds with the “bean counters” and “suits” of the world. There seems to be a lot of thoughtless energy out in the world designed to quash this liberty of the artist.
My mother, when I told her my ambition of writing and performing music said “Oh, They’re a dime a dozen!” I loved my mom, but what an ignorant thing to say (and believe). There is not a day that goes by where I don’t hear those words in my head and I have to remind myself that creating music is not a “commodity”, it is an art. It would be lovely to have thousands that hear my songs, but it is not necessary for a song to be successful. A successful song is one that is finished and that satisfies me. The rest is just fluff.
I want to be a stardust collector
I want to catch rainbows
I want to be a moon reflector
the scent of flowers in my nose
II: don't tell me I can't ,don’t tell me i can’t
don’t tell me I can’t
don't tell me that it's (1)too late :II
(2)im-possible
I want to ride on a Unicorn, I want to swim up waterfalls
I want to sleep inside a Stradivarius
and vibrate in the best concert halls
I want to fly with a dragon by my side
I want to live inside an old oak tree
I want a world where tears are jewels
where nobody frowns and everything is free
I want to stay awake and never get tired
I want to live in my richest dream
I only want to drink the finest wine
and feast at the table of the king
I want to live in Shangri La, Lothlorien or Brigadoon
I want to live on the bottom of the sea
and take vacations on the moon
This song came about after a conversation I had with a good friend. We were talking about her husband who is a confident and trustworthy and successful human being, and her brother-in-law who is almost the exact opposite. It turns out that most of us know of family situations that resemble this or are perhaps part of one themselves.
The sons in this song could very easily have been daughters. I was thinking of many of the people in my life experience where one sibling follows a steady path and another flounders. Nature/nurture argument doesn’t apply. I know a set of twins where one twin is a successful psychologist and her twin occupies the fringes of society and has trouble staying out of jail and/or being sober. They both had the same genes and the same parenting….the same opportunities, the same privilege.
one son flew..... one son fell
one son knew..... the other …not so well
Both were loved both were fledged
both free range birds both led to the edge
one son flew...
one flew straight away. he returns when he can
building his own nest was always part of the plan
One son flew...
one worries in circles. he never really left
afraid of the ledge afraid of the test
One son flew...
afraid of the ledge. but longing to be free
clinging to the branches. of a disappearing tree
one son flew ...
in order to soar. you need to trust your wings
It’s never really too late to try on different things
The coddling can’t continue you’re really on your own
waiting for the words..... “This bird has flown”
The Lorelei legend is about a rock on the river Rhine that is sometimes mistaken for a beautiful maiden.
My Lorelei is about a beautiful maiden who masquerades as a rock.
You were recklessly abandoned
So you floated to love
You chose a mate at random
And you gloated above
You lived your life in tandem
Until you’d had enough
And then with reckless abandon
You let push come to shove
Stick your chin out – hang tough
Lorelei Lora Lorelei, Don’t let them see you cry, Lorelei
Sticks and stones can’t hurt you
Through your rough tough had enough skin
And people can’t desert you
If you never let them in
And if you never buy a ticket
It’s for sure you’ll never win
If there’s a problem you can lick it
Or just take it on the chin
That’s the ticket – that’s the spin
Lorelei Lora Lorelei Don’t let them see you cry, Lorelei
But I see you in the forest
Looking slight beneath the trees
I hear you sing another chorus
Lilting lightly on the breeze
And I sense your skin is porous
When I see you on your knees
But then you tense and you ignore this
And return to your deep freeze
Another day – you didn’t seize
Lorelei Lora Lorelei I love to see you cry, Lorelei
I wrote and recorded this shortly after reading “The Life Of Pi” by Yann Martel. There were many aspects of my life that were out of whack. I felt stuck…no goals to reach, no safe place to land…no going back… ennui.
Darkness and shadow can be overwhelming. A friend showed me an experiment. He asked me to cup my hands so as to have a small pocket of darkness. He then asked me how much my pocket of darkness affected the room. Then He turned out the light and struck a match…
This song chronicles the crooked path I had to take from trying to salvage something that had changed forever to forgiveness of myself and my first wife. I had just watched The Buona Vista Social Club and my setting for this song kind of reflects that. I particularly loved "Chan Chan".
I used to see the sky
Reflected in your eyes
The stars, the clouds, The fireworks
Revealed your soul
But now they don’t look back
Except when they attack
There’s an overwhelming lack
And a gaping hole
The days are getting shorter
and the dark drags on forever
and the sleepless nights
so heartlessly provoke
now that shadow rules the day
the truth gets in the way
and the fading light’s
obscured by smudge and smoke
If we could find a balance
Between our torments and our talents,
Change our habits and create an equinox
We need something to remind us
Of another place to find us
Than between the proverbial
Hard place and the rocks
Come into the light
Keep it in your sight
Let the stars above
Illuminate your soul
Forget about your ghosts
‘cause life’s too short to host
resentments, hatred
will never make you whole
In August 2007 a bridge in Minneapolis collapsed. In September I was driving to work which included a few kilometers on highway 25. One of the overpasses had been dismantled and they were building another one. I got to thinking about “what ifs” and imagined a young couple “hot to trot” that each lived on opposite sides of a river. I imagined someone in Lachine in love with someone in Kahnawake on opposite sides of a river that freezes in winter (The St.Lawrence)
Reading the lyrics just now, I am struck by how much this lyric resembles a Roadrunner cartoon plot. Only thing missing is a delivery from ACME.
I took it to the bridge, but the bridge was gone
I couldn’t get back to my baby
The river’s very wide, couldn’t see the other side
So i had to decide what would the way be
(I said)
Why’s she gotta be so far away
How come I can’t get to her today
I just want her to come out and play
But today it’s here I gotta stay
I took it to the bridge but the bridge was down
I couldn’t get around to my baby
I’d have to dive right in, had to be sink or swim
I might have to drown for my baby
(I said)
Why’s she gotta be so far away
How come I can’t get to her today
I just want her to come out and play
But today it’s here I gotta stay
I went to the bank to see if I could ford
But I just can’t afford to see my baby
The bank was very steep and the water, way too deep
And baby, baby it was way too wavy
(I said)
Why’s she gotta be so far away
How come I can’t get to her today
I just want her to come out and play
But today it’s here I gotta stay
I went to find a boat but it wouldn’t stay afloat
I couldn’t get across to my baby
The water’s way too cold, it’ll freeze soon I was told
You can walk across and take it to my baby
But I had no winter clothes, and in trying, froze my toes
Now how am I supposed to find my baby
(I say)
Why’s she got to be so far away
How come I can’t get to her today
I just want her to come out and play
But today it’s here I gotta stay
I retired gradually. My teaching career was becoming less and less my passion, and the generation gap was becoming more and more evident. I went down to a four day week for two years and then down to three days until the pandemic sidelined most of us and my career just petered out. Before the pandemic hit, the school council voted to eliminate music in favour of “Arts Dramatique” which discouraged me. I jokingly asked: “Are you saying I’m irreplaceable?”. They said it is too hard to find a bilingual music teacher, but they did not even attempt to find one. I was always having to deal with “the more important subjects” to get any sort of extra time for rehearsal or for anything that disrupted the status quo. I was feeling kind of bitter, but I realized that change is constant in this world. buildings get re-purposed, roads get re-routed, occupations wither and die, etc.
The caboose has always attracted my attention. I thought “How cool, a fort on wheels” As a child I was always finding cool places to be alone and play at establishing a new home. Putting junk and “treasures” in it and delving deep into my imagination. A caboose represented the acme of all that. I was appalled when in the mid 1980’s the caboose was replaced with an electronic device. No longer needed, they became redundant, scrapped, repurposed and entered into history much like blacksmiths, video stores, journalists, mom and pop stores,etc.
As my relevance waned, I felt more and more like a relic of the past, but coupled with a fierce determination to remain relevant in my art and have produced more music in the past few years than I had in the previous decade.
I recorded this as part of my “just me and a guitar” sessions at Boutique de Son nd the album was almost done when the pandemic hit. Throughout the pandemic I wrote and recorded profusely and my “already in the can” material sat unheard. I released three albums this summer which is kind of an overload, but I see it more as unclogging a drain and letting things flow unimpeded now the music is out there.
I commissioned my friend Jacquie Dinsmore to paint an orphaned caboose.
All the jobs I ever trained for Tend to fade away
They say that I'm Redundant They say I'm In the way
I used to dig the ice out of the river over there
I'd store it packed in straw They don't need that anymore
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
I used to have a function I used to have a use
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
They left me at the junction When they cut me loose
I used to stoke the engines With my sweat and filthy coal
But technology replaced me And I've got nowhere to go
I wanna be a classic car an antique shop filled with artifacts
I wanna be a 10 cent chocolate bar, But, they say, there's no going back
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
Rusting on a rusty spur Waiting for things to occur
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
They left me at the junction When they cut me loose
I used to sell their products until the products disappeared
Or else they're made overseas They can't afford to make them here
The world is spinning way too fast And I used to ride the Trunk
The treasures of the recent past Now are worthless junk
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
I used to have a function I used to have a use
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
They left me at the junction When they cut me loose
I've always been quite attached to trains They always know which way they're going
Now the trains they whistle past, They don't slow down, they move too fast
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
I used to have a function I used to have a use
I'm a caboose, I'm a caboose
They left me at the junction When they cut me loose
I'm a caboose.
I had just re-read Steinbeck’s The Pearl when the news of yet another friend’s demise arrived. I don’t exactly remember why I called this song “The Pearl” except Steinbeck’s Pearl was something coveted and was going to improve the lot of Kino and his family. Maybe it is about searching for pearls, but never finding it or finding it like Kino did, and realizing it was going to destroy you. Artificial happiness is never as stimulating as actual happiness.
You thought you'd get away with it
Thought you'd never get caught
What were you expecting?
This is what you got
This is what you got
This is what you got
It wasn't what you wanted
It wasn't what you thought
You got a belly full of pain
A pocketful of dust
Your heart broken again
And a junkyard full of rust
You wanted to stay high
Have a permanent good time
Now you're struggling to get by
And you're hungry all the time
This is....
(8)
You wanted a big change
A change at any cost
Look at what you've gained
Look at what you lost
This is..
I have been a long time fan of Chet’s music and I was fortunate to see him several times where he transfixed the audiences with his mastery of the idiom. I was lucky. Perhaps if he had been nodding I would have been less forgiving, but he wasn’t, and his artistry shone.
In 1986 at the Montreal Jazz Festival Chet Baker and Paul Bley started a highly anticipated duo concert together, but Chet was in such bad shape, he needed to be led off the stage to a chorus of boos and insults. This both saddened me and angered me. Sad because he had a superior gift that has been simultaneously aided and eroded by his addiction.
I channeled my feelings into an instrumental piece and recorded it in 1995 with a full band. Although I am pleased with this recording, I felt the intro should have been more rubato and I wish I had held the long notes at the end of phrases a little longer…
Chet’s Habit has been part of my repertoire and got better over time. One day, while playing it, I experienced the rhapsody of being high and escaping my woes and worries much in the same way drugs might take me away. The lines that became the lyric spilled out of me like a faucet fills a glass, and the instrumental was now a song.
In 2019 I took possession of my brand new handcrafted Greenfield guitar built for me by my friend Michael Greenfield. I revisited some of my repertoire as I got to know the guitar and because the Greenfield sustains superbly and the overtones are so pleasant I decided to re-record Chet’s habit.
I had just attended an important music conference and was trying to stir up interest in my work so I could enter the “house concert” scene. The people who interviewed me did not even listen to my discs because they were not representative of solo me (o sole mio).
I booked George Doxas’ studio where I am very comfortable working and recorded 30 songs which I pared down to what is released on the solo album “I’m A Caboose” of just me and guitar as one might experience my music at a home concert. The other songs have not been released yet; not because they suck, but I felt that thematically they did not fit the album. They will fit some future projects no doubt.
Sailing …over the sea
trying to forget that I’m me
Drifting…wafting… Floating along…
In a song
Sailing …over the waves
I got nothing left to save
Drifting… Wafting… floating along…
Through my horn
Words(2005) and Music(1986)
By: Ian Goodall Hanchet
Digging into my ancestry has unearthed a story of one of my ancestors who was beheaded in the Peasant’s Revolt of 1381 in England. Not sure if he is a direct ancestor (I doubt it because he was decapitated at the age of 22 and had only one child), but he is a part of the family lore.
About a month ago I was in attendance at a performance of Celtic music played by my friends Patrick Hutchison and Jeff Deeprose. Their repertoire included many songs that were actually ancient stories of derring-do that have been passed down through the ages by minstrels in pubs and taverns. I thought “Hey, maybe I can write a song about John Hanchauch (variation of Hanchet)!”
I researched the Wat Tyler Rebellion and The Peasant's Revolt (the same thing) and determined that it was a righteous protest against injustice. I was worried that he might be like the recent "Freedom Convoys" and the infamous dolts of January sixth. I think not. They were protesting against the Feudal system and the injustice of taxation from the people least able to afford it. In present day terms, it is like the rich paying an insignificant percentage of their income while the same percentage from farmers and tradesmen is a huge dent in their breadwinning.
I hate the idea of "classes" as in upper and lower and middle classes. I have seen wealthy people with no "class" and I have seen people with nothing sharing what they have and exhibiting more "class" than most people will ever have within them.
I am a Canadian and I have a strong socialist bent. I resent Royalty and deplore "celebrity" and don't get me started on Privilege and billionaires,etc. I hope this (admittedly an ear worm of a) song sees traction. Please share it widely.
Oh, the 14th century was a very rough age
unless clothes of silk was what you wore
on top of plague, famine and war, they want to tax us even more
But We’re not going to take it any more
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
how much you going to take from us in taxes
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
We’re not going to take it anymore
John Ball had a dream in which every human being
was an equal and shared the bounty of the land
where the rich became aware of the people in their care
Who felt the balance of wealth was unfair
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards?..
"When Adam delved and …Eve span
Who was then the gentleman?"
who made you king and me an underling?
I’m not going to bow to you no more
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards?....
silly king Richard was only fourteen
he never ever learned to play nice
they did his sums while he twiddled his thumbs and he
followed all their bad advice
they said tax em once, tax em once again
take away their milk, take away their grain
we need more money to pay for more war
the treasury’s weakened, better tax em some more
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards?.....
At only twenty two John Hanchauch, to be true
Led some men on up to Cambridge town
These men had no fear, and their mission was clear
Find the manors of their foes and burn them down
John’s future had been shining bright before him
at twenty years of age, he’d just been wed
But he couldn’t stand the rules of these aristocratic fools
And in just two years he’d lost his head
Henry DeSpencer, fighting bishop for the king
Needed somebody to fail
Dispenser of “justice” ordered the axe
And Hanchauch’s head fell in the pail.
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
how much you going to take from us in taxes
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
We’re not going to take it anymore
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
Headless men can’t pay taxes
how much you going to bleed us for you bastards
You’ll get nothing from me anymore
