Soul Car

Trees

Oh Son

Candid country soul music, enhanced by the piano, acoustic guitar, pedal steel, and a string section.

Landmark

B.C.

Because

It’s the Midwest in my veins.
Pours the honey on the pain.
Fills the room with talk that’s small.
Pass that down just like the salt.
It ain’t sweet, way that we sugarcoat.

News it dropped like atom bombs.
Three deep breaths, I called my mom.
Another year, two at best.
We all know it will be less.
It ain’t sweet, way that we sugarcoat.

Don’t you ever want to scream?
Say it like you really mean?
Pleasing you ain’t pleasing me no more.

Neighbors stop and food comes in.
Quiet, you can hear a pin.
“Bless his heart.” We’ll tip our hat.
We don’t mean it quite like that.
It ain’t sweet, way that we sugarcoat.

Don’t you ever want to scream?
Say it like you really mean?
Pleasing you ain’t pleasing me no more.

Our indecent decency.
Saccharine posterity.
Generations making nice.
Faces warm, our hearts like ice.
It ain’t sweet, way that we sugarcoat.

Sugarcoated Blues

Recorded live at Kingsize Sound Labs with Emily Hurd, John Abbey, Steve Dawson, Gerald Dowd, and Gregg Ostrom

All My Life

Recorded live at King Size Sound Labs in Chicago; from Stone Blind Valentine's first album "Burn Like A Field"

Think What You Will

NOT IN MY HOUSE
Not in my house.  Not in my walls.  I only got love in these hallowed halls. 
Not in my house.  Take it outside.  Not on my table with blood on your mind.
 
I've got a home.  It’s just a small small flat, but it’s all I have to my name. 
Though it ain’t much, I am the keeper here of all the peace, my dear, in this place. 
If you come by trying to fight me, I’ll say:   
Not in my house.  Not in my walls.  I only got love in these hallowed halls.  
Not in my house.  Take it outside.  Not on my table with blood on your mind.

I got a soul.  It’s just a burning flame, lighting the hall of fame of my life. 
Though it ain’t much, I still believe it’s good.  It ain’t for you to put out tonight. 
If you come in trying to dim it, I’ll cry: 
Not in my house.  Not in my walls.  I only got love in these hallowed halls.  
Not in my house.  Take it outside.  Not on my table with blood on your mind.

I’m cleaning the dirt.  I’m filling my rooms.  With my simple words and my simple tunes.    
I’m singing the like hell of heavenly things.   Don’t poison my well and ask me to drink. 
  
Saints have been gone, they've been gone a real long while.  But I can feel their style here today. 
The whole world’s a church for us to contemplate, but were it used in hate or disdain, 
Them holy ghosts would draw close, and they’d pray:


Not in my house.  Not in my walls.  I only got love in these hallowed halls.  
Not in my house.  Take it outside.  Not on my table with blood on your mind.

Emily Hurd's Album

Not In My House

Emily Hurd is a Chicago-based songwriter and pianist with vocal chops that both Rick Kogan of WGN and Richard Milne of WXRT have likened to musical icon Janis Joplin. The wordsmith is well-respected for her cutting, intelligent lyrics and inimitable live showmanship. Like Russian-American piano-pop diva Regina Spektor, Hurd’s style is a raw mix of roots piano, soul singing, and folk songwriting. Hurd caught her break in 2005 when she joined forces with other greats from the Old Town School of Folk Music to create her first original album. Eight albums later, her songs have won three international songwriting competitions, and she has shared stages with various legends, including Bettye Lavette, Roger McGuinn, and soul-queen Irma Thomas.

emilyhurd