I have seen Tom on 5 occasions. He is GREAT in person, love his voice. I find him to be a historian and a great reader of others. Love his singing and his writing!
I ask myself the same question.Given Dylan seems to have stopped writing original songs,for me Tom is the best writer out there right now.A g rear performer to.
It's been a long time since I heard from Tom Russell. This tune is brilliant - sheer poetry at its very best! This tune would lend itself very well to a movie soundtrack (about the 1960s, of course). A magnificent/sublime retrospective tune. If he was alive today, I wonder what Joseph Conrad would think of this one?
I slept through the Nineteen Sixties, I heard Dory Previn say But me I caught me the great white bird, to the shores of Africay Where I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking drum Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam And on the roads outside Oshogbo, Lord I fell down on my knees There were female spirits in old mud huts, iron bells ringing up in the trees And an eighty-year-old white priest, she made juju all night long Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we're coming through the rye In the cinema I saw the man on the moon, I laughed so hard I cried It was somewhere in those rainy seasons, that I learned to carve my song Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam Oh Africa, Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my breast You old cradle of civilization, heart of darkness blood and death Though we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam Well I think it's going to rain tonight, I can smell it coming off the sea As I sit here reading old Graham Greene I taste Africa on every page Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads, and it's sundown and boys I'm gone Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we're coming through the rye It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a dark old lullaby It was the smoke of a thousand camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun, Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam. Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam Source: LyricFind Songwriters: Tom Russell
But i remember when every boy i knew in early high school (including my brother) were assigned a lottery number .. the lowest numbers went. My brother had a high number. And most of them died, and those left came back really f-up !! We used to sing Itchygoo park there in the park there in 8th grade. And too quickly after that, they all went off. One either had to have power or money to avoid the draft ... which they did .. the spoiled brat kids (which they were). Fact.
I have seen Tom on 5 occasions. He is GREAT in person, love his voice. I find him to be a historian and a great reader of others. Love his singing and his writing!
Great song ... why isn't he more well known?
I ask myself the same question.Given Dylan seems to have stopped writing original songs,for me Tom is the best writer out there right now.A g rear performer to.
It's been a long time since I heard from Tom Russell. This tune is brilliant - sheer poetry at its very best! This tune would lend itself very well to a movie soundtrack (about the 1960s, of course). A magnificent/sublime retrospective tune. If he was alive today, I wonder what Joseph Conrad would think of this one?
I slept through the Nineteen Sixties, I heard Dory Previn say
But me I caught me the great white bird, to the shores of Africay
Where I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking drum
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
And on the roads outside Oshogbo, Lord I fell down on my knees
There were female spirits in old mud huts,
iron bells ringing up in the trees
And an eighty-year-old white priest, she made juju all night long
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we're coming through the rye
In the cinema I saw the man on the moon, I laughed so hard I cried
It was somewhere in those rainy seasons, that I learned to carve my song
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
Oh Africa, Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my breast
You old cradle of civilization, heart of darkness blood and death
Though we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
Well I think it's going to rain tonight, I can smell it coming off the sea
As I sit here reading old Graham Greene I taste Africa on every page
Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads,
and it's sundown and boys I'm gone
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we're coming through the rye
It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a dark old lullaby
It was the smoke of a thousand camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun,
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam.
Yeah, East of Woodstock, West of Vietnam
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Tom Russell
an American treasure
But i remember when every boy i knew in early high school (including my brother) were assigned a lottery number .. the lowest numbers went. My brother had a high number. And most of them died, and those left came back really f-up !! We used to sing Itchygoo park there in the park there in 8th grade. And too quickly after that, they all went off.
One either had to have power or money to avoid the draft ... which they did .. the spoiled brat kids (which they were). Fact.