Name: Memphis Minnie, Blues-collab with fingerstyle-guitar by Gernot Baur in ramybė
Duration: 1 min 5 s
Description: Thanks to fingerstyle_guitar for this nice track!

@guitar-picker: thank you very much and I think, fingertstyle-guitar will appreciate your comment!

@katherine-chatham: thank you very much for the kind words. Fingerstyle-guitar has it´s a must to play to the tracks from Fingerstyle-guitar.

@lazy-gordon: thank you very much from me! "fingerstyle-guitar" will appreciate your comment too!

Harp playing brings back memories of Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee. Saw them live twice.

some sweet harp and acoustic blues Gernot and Frizzy

ramybė

I had the great pleasure of collaborating with Martin Hirsch.  Martin is a recording genius and I was along for the ride.  Thank you Martin!  I hope you enjoy our track.

@martin-hirsch-656665916

Take Me Back To St. Augustine w/Martin Hirsch

This was fun to make. I experimented with the MIDI by programming the piano roll. The distorted guitar lead type sound was programmed on the piano roll so the image looks like planes flying

Take Flight

Musik & Text: Gabriel
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
OF THE LYRICS CAN BE FOUND HERE:
http://www.gabriel.land/gabriel-wir-liegen-in-der-nacht.htm

Wir liegen in der Nacht

The Fair Ground

Synthesizer based experimental track
Photo by Jonathan Bowers on Unsplash

Something wicked this way comes

Realisation with Reason Propellerhead
Musique / Music performance : Christian Levitan
Paroles et chant / Lyrics and vocal : Lukowig

Lyrics:  "Mystères nocturnes"
 
Aux heures reposantes
dans les artères citadines
une atmosphère inquiétante
flotte et gronde en sourdine
 
Mystères nocturnes
dans la ville endormie
où les anges purs ne
circulent pas la nuit.
 
Bruits étranges
la lune palit
pas qui dérangent
des silhouettes fuient.
 
Mystères nocturnes
dans la ville endormie
où les anges purs ne
circulent pas la nuit.
 
Fenêtres closes
des volets claquent
des lèvres roses
tournoient des sacs.
 
Mystères nocturnes
dans la ville endormie
où les anges purs ne
circulent pas la nuit.
 
Lieux décadants
endroits sordides
des démons aux longues dents
emplissent ces lieux vides.
 
Mystères nocturnes
dans la ville endormie
où les anges purs ne
circulent pas la nuit.
 
Heure des drames
jaillissent des lames
hurlent des femmes :
du sang des larmes.
 
Un coup de feu !..
Silence tendu...
On doit se faire vieux :
rien entendu !..
 
Mystères nocturnes
dans la ville endormie
où les anges purs ne
circulent pas la nuit.

Lukowig and Levitan

Mystères Nocturnes

"Mystères Nocturnes" by Levitan & Lukowig

Of Kings Priests Nobles and War Lords [England]

The 3rd and final piece in the trilogy that was my "foré" into the history of the Vikings and medieval times of England, interpretation my own of course😜

The 1st is https://soundcloud.com/brian-hudson-145918679/ragnar-lothbrok?si=8a68764497c0419ca3bd289c580885cd

The 2nd is https://soundcloud.com/brian-hudson-145918679/hroilfr-hrollaugr?si=1d104d62a55e4cca996cfee21914fa3a

Playlist Here
https://soundcloud.com/brian-hudson-145918679/sets/vikings-and-medieval-trilogy?si=efea0a28ed0c4b9da6c8e1d57a162f5e

Oh I Wish

Of Kings Priests Nobles and War Lords [England]

Dreamer

Album: Inner world

Mantras, or transcendental sounds, have great power. They descend to us from the spiritual realm throught a line of perfect masters. Mantras free a person from anxiety and cultivate love in one’s heart. Just by associating with these spiritual sounds we receive wonderful benefit.

MAKE A CONTRIBUTION

2 - Govinda Jaya Jaya .... (free download)

This fifth musical poem, 1936, was again written from the photograph that accompanies it. This photograph captured a moment in 1936. During the depression, many farms failed and sharecroppers like these were rendered homeless and forced out onto the open highways, much like their “dustbowl” brethren, John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath comes to mind. They congregated at roadside camps, sharing meals and commiserating with each other.

It just so happens that my mother’s father died the same year, her family being thrown into the maelstrom of losing its patriarch and chief bread-winner. My mother was about four months old. So I thought about the parallels and came up with this little story about the boy in the photograph and the day my grandfather died.

This is a series of several musical poems chronicling the sharecropper era.  Fernando approached me with the idea of a series of little stories that tell a larger one, all put to music. I loved the idea. I had these little poems about the sharecropper era and he thought he could make them work. I think you will agree he did a brilliant job.

I spent all my summers in a little country town in very rural Mississippi called Fort Adams. When I say small, I am talking two streets – Front Street and Back Street.  Wembley Stadium is larger. There were no more than 50 people in town, others lived out in the country – farmers and fisherman. A little one-room school house still exists where the sharecropper children went to school, when they were not working in the field.

My Uncle Cy ran a dry goods store and fishhouse there. He had everything from canned goods, to Nehi soft drinks, feed and seed, to work clothes and boots, and to sewing implements. The fish house processed the fish and chickens that were traded to him. He was a furrier, bought baby turtles to sell to pet shops, anything to turn a buck.

So, as child growing up in the 60s (born in 1956) I got to witness the last vestiges of this sharecropper era. While there are still farmers who work on a share, I am not sure any suffer as these people did. They lived in little one-room shantys that lacked electricity and water. The only heat came from a woodstove that filled the shanty with a woodsmoke odor.The children seldom owned shoes and a second set of clothes was rare.

We would enter town down what was called The Mile Hill Road…a winding road with deep ravines on either side. At one point it travels straight down for a mile in a steep grade. At the bottom of the hill was a row ofshantys pressed hard into the hillside. None had glass in the windows, or doors. The people who lived there sharecropped and lived hard-scrabble lives.

Hopefully these songs tell their story.

John Eagle (@marshmaster-1johneagle)

1936
Lyrics - John Eagle
Music - Fernando Gonzalo

1936 was the year my mother was born
As she lay in her bassinette, swaddled
A little black boy, with his little red wagon,
Along a rutted dirt road
Tilted his head to look back
With his tilted newsboy hat
Something was back there
He looked back at what was home

By the time this happened
My mother’s father was dead
Something about work
It was cold storage, I think
He just had a cold
But the job was scarce
And the family waited
In granny’s boarding house

The man next to the little boy looked back
And so did all the others…at what?
And for all the cotton picked that year
The little red wagon was empty
Empty as the road beyond
Perhaps a tent colony lay ahead
With a fire and an iron pot
For biscuits and Hoppin’ John

They waited for the milk and bread
That came from Papa of an evening
Gathered ‘round the table
Were Gramps and his Vaudeville jokes
Uncle Durphy with is Irish nose
And Ma with her doily hair
Then came the man in the suit
It was a real fine suit, for 1936

© 2013 John Eagle, Fernando Gonzalo

5. 1936 (lyrics Jon Eagle)

Currently working on a batch of ideas just now so i'll just keep throwing these up here. Thanks for all listens.

Who We Used To Be

Thanks to fingerstyle_guitar for this nice track!

Memphis Minnie, Blues-collab with fingerstyle-guitar

I'M DIGGING MY GRAVE
ON A COLD WINTER'S NIGHT
ALL MY SECRETS ARE SAFE
BENEATH MY FIRE PLACE
I'M DIGGING MY GRAVE
NO REASON TO BREATH 
ANYMORE


Memphis Minnie, Blues-collab with fingerstyle-guitar

Gernot Baur

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