1. |
No-Way Train
02:51
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I’m a no-way train. I’m gonna stay in one place with you.
I heard the whistle blow. I turned the lamp down low. I learned how not to go anymore.
The morning comes and I’d be crazy to get off of this train. Loneliness is a one-way trip we’ll never take again, ‘cause I’m a no-way train. I’m gonna stay in one place with you.
All aboard, baby! Let me show you around, ‘cause you’re never gonna be so happy to be stuck with livin’ in this town we build.
No, you’re never gonna be so happy, ‘cause I’m a no-way train.
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2. |
Old-Time Feelin'
03:09
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I wanna go for an old-time feelin’. Turn on the radio, tell me what’s not streamin’. Where’d you go, Joe DiMaggio? The Yanks can’t hit this year. Don’t matter much to me, I’m a Jays fan as long as I’m breathin’. I wanna hold you by your waist and dance slow. I wanna go to bed early and not sleep- no!
I might have dreamed about some things that chill the bone. I might’ve heard a rumour through a phone that can’t be traced. But Elon Musk is still launching things into space, putting junk out there that belongs here in this place. I wanna hold you by your waist and dance slow. I wanna go to bed early and not sleep- no!
Crash, boom, bang! Metal on metal. Flesh, smooth hands, skin-on-skin. Meds, money, men- this world is mental, and I just wanna be in your bed! I wanna go for an old-time feelin’. A rain shower on a sunny day. Your flesh, your bone, your smile, your breathin’- take me all the, take me all the, take me all the way back. I wanna hold you by your waist and dance slow. I wanna go to bed early and not sleep- no!
Take me all the way back to your heart.
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3. |
Nova Scotia's Shores
05:06
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I used to dip my feet in the cold Atlantic Ocean on August windy days of yore, with my parents and grandparents back up at the house speaking adult language I didn’t know.
And all the roads taken and all the magic passed between hands could never take my heart from the smell of the seaweed drying on the rocks of Nova Scotia’s shores.
They’d take me and my sister down to Hirtle’s Beach and teach us how to dive through the waves, then take us out to ice cream at the Island View Canteen and we’d feed the seagulls all we didn’t eat.
And all the sad farewells and the jobs across the country could never take my heart from the smell of the seaweed drying on the rocks of Nova Scotia’s shores.
Every now and then, there’s a certain breeze blowing that reminds me of my eastern kin, and part of me wants to pile all of my belongings in a car and bid Ottawa farewell because all the vacations to tropical sands don’t hold a candle to that place in my heart with the smell of the seaweed drying on the rocks of Nova Scotia’s shores.
Maybe when I’m older and my knees ache when it rains and my desk is finally cleaned out, I’ll sell off my belongings and fly to YHZ, rent a car, and drive down the South Shore to a cabin by the depths where I can take my last breath with that scent buried in my heart- the smell of the seaweed drying on the rocks of Nova Scotia’s shores.
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4. |
This is Migration
03:58
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I came here in ‘19, a greenback from Norway hungry for land and a farm of my own. I crossed on a steamer, landed in Quebec, and I swear on my life I’d never seen so much snow. Another ship to Toronto, rail car to the Huron. Some sailed to Chicago then, but we went north up to Fort William, then we hired a guide who took us through nothing but swamps and lakes and forests. This is migration, the truth of existence. It’s a creek with fresh water, a tree to tap in the spring. And this is the breaking: My wife is underground now. This is the cabin that I built by myself for three.
Feet sinking in the mud, trenches etched-out on their bottoms, walking on their sides not to scream out in pain. My baby’s in my arms. She’s been silent for three days and I haven’t dared to check her ‘cause I don’t want to see. This is migration, the truth of existence. It’s a creek with fresh water, a tree to tap in the spring. And this is the breaking: My wife is underground now. This is the cabin that I built by myself for three.
Now I live in this cabin I built with my own two hands, one of a dozen Norsemen settled down in Rupert’s Land. I sow my crops, and I set my fur traps, and trade for provisions from Hudson’s Bay or Northwest. And while they argue about prices and dominions, cheat the natives, and worry about the States, I will subsist here until my body gives out. Then I’ll lie down in a field and they can grow food out of me. This is migration, the truth of existence. It’s a creek with fresh water, a tree to tap in the spring. And this is the breaking: My wife is underground now. This is the cabin that I built by myself for three.
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5. |
Flint and Steel
05:47
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The Upstairs went down in ‘73, two unknown white males among the casualties. And all who died deserved a eulogy, but the churches wouldn’t give ‘em no funeral to grieve.
Jasper was a baby in Genessee County, learned to start a fire at 3. Had a little hint of the Devil’s blood in him- liked to watch the other kids bleed. Burned down the church before the age of 7- lint, splinters, and lighter fluid. Got himself into the juvenile system and I guess you can predict the rest. Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya that the fire isn’t real.
Remington was born into old money, slept in a golden crib. Barely knew his mother but loved his nannies- all seven of them. Could’ve easily grown up feeling like nothing, another tragic tale of neglect. But something deep inside him kept him on moving, driving him to earn respect. Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya just how you’re supposed to feel.
Jasper hit the needle, and then he hit the rehab, said, “To go through life you better have a strong edge.” And he lived it, and breathed it, and hardened like stone, with the tint of his glasses saying, “leave me alone!”
Remy moved to ‘nawlins for the style and the music. Bought himself a zoot suit and a big black Buick. Wore his persona like a blade in the hand. Never thought of family, never thought of romance.
Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya that the fire isn’t real. Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya just how you’re supposed to feel.
Jasper and Remy met in ‘73- two knights in shining armour living sharp and cagey. But something flicked a switch and hit the ignition- the Upstairs went down and they didn’t know what hit them. One minute discovering who they’d never been, dropping their guards and letting punches in, loving every minute, feeling freedom at last, ‘til every man in the club was screaming, “Get out fast!”
Yeah, the Upstairs went down in ’73, two unknown white males among the casualties. And maybe their names weren’t Jasper or Remy, but everyone who dies deserves a eulogy. Yes, everyone who dies deserves a eulogy, but the churches wouldn’t give ‘em no funeral to grieve.
Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya that the fire isn’t real. Flint and Steel, don’t ever let ‘em tell ya just how you’re supposed to feel.
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6. |
Ouroboros
04:43
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I just can’t seem to understand it. Seems people believe whatever they’re told. Whatever happened to critical thinking? Was anybody’s mind ever really their own? It’s just people manipulating people into believing they are being manipulated by somebody else- snakes eating their own tails.
How can it taste good if it smells like bullshit? How can one hand feed truth and the other be lying? Putting trust in the power and the profit motives? You might as well sign away the rights to your conscience. It’s just people manipulating people into believing they are being manipulated by somebody else- snakes eating their own tails.
The only thing I understand is angry hearts breed bitter plans that hunger for an easy scapegoat when the truth is we got fat and lazy, trading on our history while the future threatens to foreclose, and society’s cracks are all exposed.
I don’t think I will ever get it- to see people as less than human. That bigot mind just makes no sense as it eats away at civilization. It’s just people manipulating people into believing they are being manipulated by somebody else- snakes eating their own tails.
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7. |
Dangerous Curves
04:03
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I was on a hilly highway, number 105,
when I realized my date was just like my drive:
She’s got dangerous curves. They go on for miles.
She’s got dangerous curves.
I didn’t wanna take ‘em too fast that night.
The rain hit my windshield ’til I was nearly blinded.
It was ten clicks to Wakefield, and I didn’t see the sign.
My car hit the railing and went over the edge.
When I woke to her angelic face I thought I was dead.
She’s got dangerous curves. They go on for miles.
She’s got dangerous curves
and I took ‘em too fast that night.
Laid up in recovery, I chided myself.
But she came to me daily and tended my health.
She brought me my music and books from my shelf,
and one night with the lights out, well, she did somethin’ else.
She’s got dangerous curves. They go on for miles.
She’s got dangerous curves
and she can take me anytime.
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8. |
Sad Contractor
03:06
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My name is Shawn Drikker.
I work for myself.
I don’t belong to no union.
I ain’t insured for dental or health.
Ain’t nobody else holdin’ me up.
Ain’t no brothers watching my back.
I get laid-off every season’s end ‘cause they know I gotta come back.
Well, some men call me lazy,
spending half the year doing nothing
and living off the pogey,
though I ain’t got too many options.
I am a sad contractor.
I haul ass six months of the year,
then the seasons change
and I live in fear
of a winter that’s long and drear.
But I don’t need money to be happy.
I just need the ones who have it to share.
And I don’t need possessions
to know my worth.
I just need those who own to care.
And if I die a poor man,
there’s only one wish I want granted-
it’s that every man know
a pair of working hands
before he opens his mouth in judgment.
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9. |
Lost in Manitoba
05:40
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I was lost in Manitoba on a bender that I couldn’t see the end of. I had woke up on a bus after thirteen shots of rye and I threw up on the window and got kicked off. And the snow was falling on my face. Headlights were flashing by my head. I heard an engine and I heard footsteps, and your voice saying, “Jesus buddy, you’re having a rough night. Let’s get you somewhere warm where you can get it right.” And I felt your arms around me could barely hold my weight, and the rest is just beautiful darkness.
I woke up to the smell of bacon cooking in the distance and it nearly made me sick, but I managed. I was covered in a blanket that looked like grandma macramed it in the 1970s when style was just beige and brown and orange. And I spied a bucket by the bed. And I sighed with relief that it was empty. And I groaned. And I heard a laugh then from your voice, saying, “Jesus buddy, you had yourself a rough night. Lucky for you I’m just the kind of gal to help a sad sight.” And I felt your hand in my hair could heal the sick and blind, and the rest is just beautiful madness.
I’m still lost in Manitoba doing labour with my hands that I’ve no skill for. But I haven’t touched a drink in almost one year since I got here. And I don’t take that for granted, because I can’t. And the sun shines down on my head. I could just as easily be dead. But I’m not, and I have you to thank for that, and your voice saying, “Jesus buddy, you’re having a rough night. Let’s get you somewhere warm so you can get it right.” And when I feel your arms around me holding me tight, the rest is just beautiful dreaming.
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10. |
Dancin' on Bars
04:50
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I first saw her on an ill-fated Friday drunk,
through the fog-thick smoke of my least favourite haunt.
She was wearing some fancy French ‘tres belle robe’,
but I know I’ll never see her anymore
‘cause boys don’t fight at the end of the night,
and bodies don’t spill out the door,
and no one is dancin’ on bars anymore.
Well she flashed her sweet smile and batted her eyes,
and every man thought she was his for the night.
Then one man pushed one man, and two pushed four.
A fist hit a chin, and bottles crashed to the floor.
A girl that pretty’s always gonna cause troubles
in a bar full of boys who always drink doubles.
Push comes to shove and then shove comes to roundhouse.
We used to get that all out, but now they’ve got bouncers
and boys don’t fight at the end of the night,
and bodies don’t spill out the door,
and no one is dancin’ on bars anymore.
Well my face was bleedin’, and my guts were throbbin’-
a bottle nearly took out my eye.
Then a whistle cut the air and she was dancin’ up there-
an angel above in a barroom sky.
A song from the 50s played on a jukebox
while the coloured lights played in her hair.
And every man’s fists fell by his side as he stared.
And now boys don’t fight at the end of the night,
and bodies don’t spill out the door,
and no one is dancin’ on bars anymore.
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11. |
Resolution
10:13
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I get on a Greyhound, sliding down the coast. I told myself I wouldn’t go but here I am going to you. Snow-blown Atlantic- Virginia’s not my home. I can love all these hills and valleys because I don’t know them. Headlights pull in. You meet me at the station. Should I hug or should I kiss, or turn around and say goodbye again? Let’s stay the night. Let’s take it in. Let’s maybe try to do this again. It’s a New Year after all. We could be each other’s- let’s be each other’s resolution.
It’s a familiar feeling, standing on your kitchen floor. The tiles are cold but I like it, and besides, your body is so warm. I watch you light a candle- a hardened memory there. My heart tries to hold it, but it’s fragile when it’s bare. Let’s stay the night. Let’s take it in. Let’s maybe try to do this again. It’s a New Year after all. We could be each other’s- let’s be each other’s resolution.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind...
I get on a Greyhound, slide back up the coast. I hate to leave you with the kindle all renewed, but there’s things back home I gotta do. I got a messy cold apartment, the New York City blues. “How did I survive this?” I think. But I don’t have a clue. I barely fill a U-Haul with everything I’ve been. I’d gladly throw it all out to start with you again. Let’s stay the night. Let’s take it in. Let’s maybe try to do this again. It’s a New Year after all. We could be each other’s- let’s be each other’s resolution.
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12. |
Here's the Thing
03:45
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Here’s the thing- it’s been ages.
I hardly remember it, it’s been that long.
It comes, but - fuck - it don’t come easy.
It’s not exactly pulling teeth, more like putting them back in.
Because I’m malnutritioned. I’ve been starving for so long.
But we could nourish each other, and get back to health.
We could taste love, together.
Love’s so damned elusive. It doesn’t just waltz in.
You have to invite, and be invited, and have the courage to attend.
Here’s the thing- I could easily love you, and I want to.
Ain’t that the way the best things begin
when you’re malnutritioned and been starving for so long?
We can nourish each other and get back to health.
We can taste love, together.
Yes we can.
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Johnny Eaton Ottawa, Ontario
Johnny Eaton is a singer-songwriter from Ottawa, Canada "with a hundred year-old voice and a teenage attitude... if you find yourself in a Johnny Eaton song, you better look for an exit. Johnny puts good people in bad places, and he leans on them. Sometimes they break. Sometimes they break something. It always feels like the only thing that could have happened." (Jonathan Byrd) ... more
Johnny Eaton recommends:
Too Many Roads
by Brooks & Bowskill
B&B do something very weird here. It's an old-sounding record, but their chord progressions and phrasing and sound are enigmatic. Musicianship is to die for and the vocals family picnic Tang sweet.
go to album
Black Acid Soul
by Lady Blackbird
Astonishingly good soul and jazz blended like it hasn't been since Nina Simone was doing her thing. A gorgeous record. You do your ears disservice if you never hear it.
go to album
If you've never listened to Byrd before, this is the album to go to so you can get acquainted. One of the best and most malleable songwriters around. A true lover of music, and it shows in every tune.
go to albumIf you like Johnny Eaton, you may also like:
Crafting powerful songs about commitment and love, the Nashville singer-songwriter channels and subverts ’70s country and folk tropes.
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Dakota Blue Moon
by Jackson Harden
Gorgeous acoustic Americana from North Carolina, stripped-back and sublime.
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Breathtakingly beautiful Americana bolstered by an assured sense of melody and razor-sharp lyrics.
go to album
