Fields of Ohio – (fields of ohio)
Catalogue number: [HAZE204] | Artist: Fields of Ohio | Date: 05/04/2013
Recorded in Ohio and New York City
Vocals, Guitar, Banjo and Loops by Christine Annarino
Keyboards, Bass, Sounds & Beats by Eddie Palmer
This Album uses samples in the public domain
They tell themselves so many little lies, my beloved. Now wait, little one-we cant sing. We are standing in a crowd, by a bridge, in the west. Hear the voices-turn around-lets go home-I am tired. They tell themselves so many little lies
You remember in the night we arose. We were young. There was smoke in the passage and you laughed. Was it good-that black smoke? Look away to the streams and the lake. We’re alive. See my hand-how it trembles on the rail.
Here is song, here is America, here now, in our time. Now wait-I’ll go to the train. I’ll not swing off into tunes. I’m all right-I just want to talk.
You watch my hand on the rail of this bridge. I press down. The blood goes down-there. That steadies me- it makes me all right.
Now here how its going to come-the song, I mean. I’ve watched things, men and faces-I know.
First, there are the broken things-myself and the others. I don’t mind that-Im gone-shot to pieces. I’m part of the scheme-I’m the broken end of a song myself. We are all that. Tongues clatter against teeth. There’s nothing but shrill screams and a rattle. That had to be-it’s a part of the scheme.
Now, faint little voices do life up. They are swept away in the void.
You know my city- factories and marts and the roar of machines- horrible, terrible, ugly and brutal.
It crushed things down and down. Nobody wanted to get hurt. They didn’t want to hurt me or you. They were caught themselves. I know the old men here-millionaires.
Now in the midst of the broken waters of my civilization rhythm begins. Clear above the flood I raise my ringing voice. In the disorder and darkness of the night, in the wind and the washing waves, I shout to my brothers — lost in the flood.
We have to sing, you see, here in the darkness. All men have to sing —poor broken things. We have to sing here in the darkness in the roaring flood. We have to find each other. Have you courage to-night for a song? Lift your voices. Come.
- Strange Things Will Happen on Interstate 70 [03:34]
- Lake Erie Shipwrecks [02:44]
- Youngstown Speakeasy Akron Blues [02:53]
- Airport Lungs No Memory [05:08]
- Great Recession Watershed [04:01]
- Mid-American Chant/ Winter of Song [03:02]
- South Campus Blocks [04:04]
- Waumee Floods [05:17]
- Tumble Through the Hills Without Books [03:50]
- 1919 Cleveland May Day Riots/ Buried in the Serpent Mounds [05:16]
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