Tag Archives: dead

“Barefoot Hugo Hamilton (gone, gone, are we gone)” on ukulele

“Barefoot Hugo Hamilton (gone, gone, are we gone)”

[demo of original, on baritone ukulele]

Within a brief window of time, 3 people died – one I knew, one I knew of, one who didn’t know me – yet, in my meditations, realized I could draw a gossamer line between the three. And somehow I kept coming back to these tenuous but verifiable connections.

Please, watch till the end (and remix as needed)

And, watching the aftermath of their passing – announcements, reactions and whatnot – all on various ephemeral “platforms/channels”, couldn’t help but to think they deserved a song, not only about just “them” rather the importance of remembering and how fleeting memories are when not “carved into stone” or, made into a folk song, to be passed along, possibly changed along the way to fit circumstance.

I meant to record this “properly” (tracked with drums at which I’m reasonably competent, tidy up the ukulele, add guitars, proper singing etc. – though not necessarily competent and any of those skills) instead of this hasty demo type spontaneous recording in which my hundred dollar baritone ukulele (which my three-year-old son often uses for caber toss) and me fumbling chords, buzzes and hums, changing tempos / time signature, tripping over my own lyric and so on.

Eventually, will receive a better treatment but for now: perfection is not the intention, yet celebration of impermanence is key.

This is for three families, hundreds of friends, thousands of admirers and mostly for the future. Let no one be forgotten.

Please accept my humble offering on those terms.

{Originally written on Ushimado Beach while vacating Tsuchida Cottage due to a tatami might infestation and subsequent fumigation, recorded in “Giggling Piglet Studio” Okayama Japan.

Fondly, daveo

Eventually, I’ll record this more pretty, with help but for now…
Lyric (D.A.T. Olson, 2023)

V1

Barefoot Hugo Hamilton
Drifting so far from shore
Can't see you with my
periscope
Guess need something more

V2
Fine-tuned to spot the roots
branches and twirling vines
Catch cryptic fleeting runes
From Montreal to the Seine

Pre
They say you're gone
But still I wonder
Are any of us ever here?

C
(but) I lack capacity to be existential
But well tuned to care
Only thing I know for sure is
"we are the stories
we share"

V3
Artifacts and creations
More than momentary reaction
The Egyptian's got it right
Not dead til they're forgotten

B (spoken)

Craft an archive
From a shoebox
Filled with incense and receipts
Leveled and spaced
with precision
Framed with gentle grace

Each took a different path
Towards exit velocity
Trousers, rants and plays left behind
Before you charted your trajectory

C

V4
The obits followed on schedule
Timed in zeros and ones
Dispatched with gentle nuance
Pathos sure, but just gone gone & are we gone?

C

Media: Jerry Garcia’s Legacy / PDN, Guam, Aug. 18, 1995

Summary: Woke up to the news, quit my job, went to a candlelight vigil, passed one around, talked to some geeks from Pacific Daily News newspaper, learned about the Internet, signed up for class the next day, started making websites about hemp in Japan, got a new job, quit, went to Palau and Yap, went to Olympia, met some Internet hippies… somehow its today.

Where were you?

Media: Jerry Garcia death / PDN, Guam, Aug. 18 1995, part 1
Media: Jerry Garcia death / PDN, Guam, Aug. 18 1995, part 2
Media: Jerry Garcia death / PDN, Guam, Aug. 18 1995, part 3 (detail)

See also: “The Internet Age Began on August 9, 1995” / via Litkicks (with comment)

Peaches for John Prine (rip)

On April 8th Japan time, i wrote: 

“Digging loads of John Prine recently… he’s a funny as fck and exceptional songwriter / here’s him singing for his hero Gordon Lightfoot. The banter and songs are both top-level” and shared:

and a few minutes later, learned he’d passed from the “this g0dless plague”

so i wrote: 

Now ole postman John gonna drink a vodka and ginger-ale, smoke a cigarette 9 miles long, find mom and dad & good ole brother Doug and cousin Jackie…, and momma’s sister cause that’s where the love starts… take this wristwatch off my arm whatcha gonna do with time when ya… bought. the. farm.

and later added a lyric along with our peach tree growing in the backyard while we wait for our lil human to arrive, ergo: 

Throw away the paper
Move to the country
Build yourself at home
Eat a lot of peaches
Etc.

For dear old John Prine with admiration, respect and fondness

Continue reading Peaches for John Prine (rip)

demise of NYC poet Jim Carroll…

Been meaning to point out the demise of NYC poet Jim Carroll – best known for Basketball Diaries, he also fronted a band http://ow.ly/pSys

Jim Carroll’s death leaves a void in poetry – Guardian

With the death of Jim Carroll last week, America has lost one of its singular and most under-rated poetic voices. As depicted in his most popular work The Basketball Diaries, Carroll grew up on New York’s Lower East Side, the son of three generations of Irish-American bartenders, with the fair Irish looks to match. He was also an unlikely poetry prodigy and a man of contrasts: at the age of 12 he started keeping a diary that documented his dual teenage existence as an-all star basketball player at an elite private school, and his emerging heroin addiction and the street life that surrounded the junkie scene.