You’re a songwriter Bruce-you really are. Very impressive piece 🔥👍🔥

What an amazing story and brilliant lyrics Bruce. Johnny

Lovely tribute to Memorial Day- sweet and sincere

from this big English city this sounds very attractive right now , you have a good thing going on bruce

Beautiful, moving tribute, gorgeous guitar, harmonica and vocal delivery, love the harmonies, fabulous lyrics!

So well written Bruce, and your delivery is just right for this sort of storytelling. That’s some awesome lyric that delivers the final sentiment. Quite a work my friend! Durge

Still not sure if green is green or life is one giant green screen?
Please check out the completely not relevant irrelevant video :)

https://youtu.be/LLnsf4QqFZo

Is this green?

Just to see you

A little rock song about a fighter pilot - on one last flight.
Written by: TG March/April 2022
Cover art: World War II Research from the US Center for Naval Analysis
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Featuring: The Gatsbys
A HUGE thank you to Dirk Taubenheim for agreeing to work on this song. 

Mix 1: May 16, 2022
Thanks to Rene and Jeff for feedback on the first mix. Always appreciate that. 

Mix 2: May 26, 2022
Thanks again to Eddie Ciletti for the mix tips!

Technical Details
Recorded at Princeton Studio

Tim's Guitars
Rhythm1: Gibson ES 335
Lead1: Les Paul Standard

Dirk’s guitars
Rhythm and lead: Epiphone EJ 200
Rhythm: Rickenbacker 360
Bass: Rocktile (Rickenbacker copy)

Mics: 
Neumann TLM 67 main vocals
Rode M3 background vocals and acoustic guitars
Drums: arranged by TG
Software: Pro Tools
Vocals: TG
Backing vocals: DT

Mixer: API 24 channel summing mixer (8200/7800)
Stereo Bus processing (API EQ and API compressor)
Final mix down to a MARA MCI JH110 1/4inch 2-track at 15 ips using ATR Master Tape. 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just to see you

Lyrics
Verse 1
One last flight
I think I’ll check my vital signs
Before I strap in for the ride
And in my mind
You’re the fear I cannot hide
When I’m flying across the sky

Refrain 1
Just to see you, Again
Just to see you, Again

Verse 2
Enemy lines
I think I’ll drop my last goodbye
and find my way back to you
I can’t un-see 
All the things you made me be
I’m coming home back to you

Refrain 2
Just to see you, Again
Just to see you, Again

Outro
One last flight
One last flight
And I’ll see you, AGAIN
Just to see you, Again
Just to see you, Again
One last flight, Again
Just to see you, AGAIN
Just to see you, AGAIN

Just to see you (ft. The Gatsbys)

As the old Soviet joke goes, “In the Soviet Union, we know what the future holds. It’s the past that’s always changing.”      (lyrics below, after the song description)                                             
                                                     ****************
In this small, quaint college town, the town-gown relationship, for most of the 150 plus years since the college’s founding, had been productive.  The town benefited economically,  & students appreciated the town's charm, history & heritage.   Often on sunny days, classes of students would visit the park at the downtown square, brought by their history professors to learn not only of the town's history, but also about eleven young local men lost in America's Civil War, memorialized by the modest statue of a lone soldier, who had stood like a sentry at the the park's entrance since 1905.

But times change, don't they...
                                                   ********************

More Americans died in the American Civil War than in any other war in our country's history, including each of the World Wars.  In my song, the word "Daughters" references the Daughters Of The Confederacy, a women's civic group formed in the 1890's by daughters (and wives & nieces) of men lost in that war.  The attached picture is the inscription on the base of a statue of a uniformed soldier, standing in a park in Dallas, Georgia, a small town 30 miles northwest of Atlanta.
                                                            



Lyrics....
My name is McKenzie, and Jenkins and Embry,
And eight other names you still hear in these parts,
For over a century, I stood quiet at the entry,
On East Main into Lafayette Park,
A plaque was engraved, told why I was placed,
On those gardened grounds,
In this Small American Town.

Commissioned in 1905,
By the Daughters for fathers who died,
I was erected to honor eleven so bold,
Not a single one knowing he’d never grow old,
On these boys account I’d forever stand proud,
Stand sturdy & stout,
In this Small American Town.

The kids from the college on Heritage Hill,
Would hold class in the park’s warm sunshine,
They learned of this cruel war we waged with ourselves,
How 600,000 had died,
And of eleven from here just about their age,
Small farmers & blacksmiths & craftsmen by trade,
None fought for cotton, not one owned a slave,
And they learned why the Daughters placed me on that mound,
To keep those boys’ memories around,
In this Small American Town.

But enlightened new students don’t meet in that space,
Through new glasses old wars just don’t look the same,
Now scholars say men who went off to that war,
Fought not out of duty, but hate,
I feared I’d be forgotten by Heritage Hill,
Yesterday’s soldiers, obscure battlefields,
But alas, rearranged history determined my fate,
                          **************
Wise men have long warned of changing the past,
Of purges & vengeance & iconoclasts,
Then one fateful night there was smoke rolling down from the Hill,

Quickly surrounded by torches of fire,
Cursing & spitting & rage in the air,
Rope round my shoulders, a cheer by the crowd,
I came crashing down to the ground….
                         **************
An uneasy quiet in the town since that day,
Hushed conversations about how things have changed,
But up on the Hill it’s all smiles & goodwill,
For it’s the 2nd weekend in May,
Ceremonial speeches, awards all around,
Uncles & aunts & parents in town,
To watch the sweet children who torched & burned me to the ground,
Be awarded their caps & their gowns,
In this Small American Town.

Small American Town

℗ © Copyright Ian Stokes. All Rights Reserved
Recorded, mixed and mastered using Logic. 
Guitars played: Taylor 714CE in DADGAD Tuning
Photography: Thanks go to Nigel and Libby Hume at Hume Photography.

Acoustic guitar instrumental.

Reunion

Choking Hazard

Campeones

C a m p e o n e s

'While The Leaves Sing Love Songs To Me' is a Soundscape inspired by the feelings and energies received whilst strolling slowly through the forest. The sheer strength of the trees with breezes rustling through the leaves. Surrounded as if in a cacoon of changing aromas, heightening the senses and all the time hearing gentle whispers, as the trees convey their thoughts.....

Lost Footprints In The Sands Of Time

While The Leaves Sing Love Songs To Me

Well, my good friend Paco dropped me a note to say he had a piece of music to which I might like to try and add something, were I so inclined.  Always a good day when that happens.

Now, I can't honestly recall the precise sequence in which the neurons fired inside my skull to yield the result we have here, but we are where we are as they say.

Don't go looking at me for rationale.

Thank you, Paco, as always my friend, for inviting me to come out to play, and for mastering the end result in the midst of untold techno-horror grief.  I hope your DAW world resolves itself very soon.
______________________________________________________________________

Socrates at Sundown

I lie bewildered, here, in my sphere of cubes,
On crushed silk cushions sprawled.
I sketch the cool Palladian dudes
In charcoal, on Aleutian walls.
They think I know what thoughts are theirs,
And beg to trade their graceless airs, 
But I left them there to climb their stairs
Ever downward through Athenian halls.

They say my knowledge is remiss,
The diabolical's back in town.
Seems ignorance is bliss
For this philosophical clown.
I'm seeking emptiness of mind,
That's where I hope to find
That old, old friend of mine,
Socrates, at sundown.

My associate, Plato knows the game
Survives through pretty dialogue
He suffocates but bestows his shame
On city states whose statutes fog
The heads of people in their ranks
Attentive on the Eridanos banks
Dispensing death by way of thanks
As justice shreds its cogs.

Deep mental grasp of social structure
No need to ever write it down
Accused outcast for youth's corrupture
Where the bleeding of democracy is bound
To seek the causal end of time
Of Aristotle and Nietzsche's kind
The men of Athens rendered blind
Killed that old, old friend of mine,
Socrates, at sundown.

Socrates At Sundown (with MidiSound)

This tune was added to Free Download Album "Terminal"!!

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Free Download

BowWah!!

Paint It Black

From the album "As The Bluebird Flies":
https://nathaniel-ehrnman.bandcamp.com/album/as-the-bluebird-flies

Small American Town

Bruce Avery

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