mark

This is the first song on the album with my band, Tiger Lake (TGLK)!!!!!!!!
Special thanks to GorfMasterflex Productions for help mixing!!!

Band members include the talented Lucas Davis on lead guitar, Grady Leopard on drums, Ian Rone bass, Jacob Tims Synth\Keys, and Wallace Leopard (me) vocals and guitar.

House Inside My Head

La Cosa Nostra Blues

All parts written and recorded by me, except for the lovely harmony by Amelia thank you :)

2005, Dear Harold

Hey old one I know just how you’re feeling
She is gone and now your heart’s not beating
You lie and stare at cobwebs on your ceiling
You’re lying there not knowing you’re not breathing

Hold on, old one, what’s done is done for better
Hold on, old one, go on and go and get her

Hey old one I’d love to see you some day
Flying on a wind that takes you far away
Into a sky and sea, a smear of ocean gray
You become a speck, no one can ever stay

Hold on, old one, what’s done is done for better
Hold on, old one, go on and go and get her

Hey old one don’t lose yourself in feeling low
It takes a storm before the warm can make you grow
Tropical Atlantic sun is calling you
I trust in you to do what it is you need to do

Hold on, old one, what’s done is done for better
Hold on, old one, go on and go and get her

Hey old one I know just how you’re feeling
Hey old one I know just how you’re feeling
Hey old one I know just how you’re feeling


Old One

Red Dot

Two Faced Photograph

Born crooked, I was crooked from the start
Crooked little fingers and a crooked little heart
QA made a big mistake, they missed out on a dud
God wasn’t kidding when he made me out of mud

I wanna go back to bed and dream I am asleep
Swimming with the angels in the warm infinity

Born ugly, now this really isn’t fair
I’m on the fence with common sense, I ain’t no millionaire  
Crooked lines like twisted vines carved in a crooked face
I drew my lot and now I rot with the crooked human race

I wanna go back to bed and dream I am asleep
Swimming with the angels in the warm infinity

Born broken, is there any other way?
A mother’s love is not enough to keep her baby safe
The maker’s mark is in his art, the maker must be blind
I guess he goofed, there goes the proof of intelligent design

I wanna go back to bed and dream I am asleep
Swimming with the angels in the warm infinity
God bless this mess I guess it’s just the way I’m made
Lemons aren’t the only thing you need for lemonade

Born Crooked

In the morning I’m still dreaming
Dreaming of a time when you and I
Love each other 
For another 
Trip around the sun

In the evening I’m still sleeping 
Sleeping brings me little comfort when
You are there and
I am scared to
Lose my only one

Pour your potion 
In the ocean
Magic spells will not help you here at all
We are all that’s real 
That and what we feel

Golden misty spring day sunlight
Sunlight dancing on the hardwood floor
Specks of air just
Hanging there like
Time is standing still

Radio is playing quiet songs
Songs so low they turn to something new
A melody that’s
Made for me it’s
Such a simple thrill

Burn your bible
Curse your idols 
All your prayers are stuck somewhere in the mail  
We are all that’s real
That and what we feel

The Bible Song

Daddy’s coming home tonight
Be sure to be real nice and clean
Little sister runs and hides
Can’t find her mama’s apron string

Sister in a rage
Sister is afraid
Twister in the shade
Sister’s scissors
Kiss her in the shade
Sister is ashamed
Fist her in to shape
Sister’s scissors

Daddy’s on a throne up high
See how his teeth shine nice and clean
Little sister cuts her thigh
She thinks her daddy is the king

Daddy’s got a bone tonight
He smells like gum and gasoline
Little sister swells with pride
She paints her toenails pink and green

Sister’s got a big surprise
She read it in a magazine
Daddy won’t you close your eyes
And feel the scissor guillotine

John Wayne

To whomever it may concern, i hate this song

A Note for Masha

MES - Guitars, bass, washboard
Johnny Argroves - Drums
Al Gamble - Wurlitzer 

Cooter Punch!

If you want to know who Mark Edgar Stuart is don’t read this. This is all just trivia. Go listen to his song “Remote Control,” instead. That home-loving guy singing about how he was so happy just hanging out in the living room watching TV with his dad? That’s the guy you’re looking for, he’s not here. 
Mark shrugs off praise reflexively. If you tell him you like his guitar playing he’ll swat the air and tell you he’s just mimicking Roger Miller. If you tell him you like his music, he’ll probably look at his feet, thank you, then credit the other guy in the aforementioned song, his dad “Big Lou” Stuart, a traveling salesman from Pine Bluff, Arkansas who had a superb record collection and an unusual plan for his son.

It was the elder Mr. Stuart, a Sun records fan who thought Elvis Presley was the weakest link in the Million Dollar Quartet, who encouraged Mark to take up the bass. Money was sometimes tight at home, and when it came to college scholarships Mark’s dad thought music was a better gamble than sports.

Big Lou wasn’t a player, only a listener. He’d been an athlete in school, and assured his son that the short-lived glories he’d known on the field weren’t worth the bruises and broken bones.

Mark’s a rebel’s rebel. When all the other kids were asserting their independence, he took his father’s advice, dodged the ball games, and started playing upright bass in the junior high orchestra.

“It wasn’t very cool back then,” he now says, like cool ever mattered much.

As anticipated, the music scholarship came through and Mark attended the University of Memphis where he fell in with a group of roots-minded songwriters and musicians. The Pawtuckets, as Mark McKinney, Kevin Cubbins, Mark Stuart, and Andy Grooms were collectively known, were an Uncle Tupelo-inspired outfit who packed Memphis clubs for roughly five years before calling it quits, leaving behind three solid CDs full of soul-tinged Americana.

The Pawtuckets experience solidified Mark’s identity as a musician. Big Lou was proud. And he stayed proud.

You can learn a lot about a person by the company he keeps. After the Pawtuckets broke up Mark toured with Grammy nominee Alvin Youngblood Hart, and cut two records with songwriter Cory Branan which led to an appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman.  He performed with Robbie Grant in Vending Machine, and Steve Selvidge in The Secret Service. With little fuss or fanfare he became a go-to bass player for an elite group of Memphis players including John Paul Keith, and Jack (Oblivian) Yarber. He was always happy to lend his harmony singing, and his no-nonsense grooves; to play a supporting role that was close to the spotlight, but not too close. 

Cancer changes things. So does losing your dog. And so does losing your dad. When all of these things happened in rapid succession Mark took some time to heal, and reevaluate. He put down his bass, picked up a guitar, and started writing songs he never thought anybody outside his family would ever hear. It’s possible nobody ever would have heard them either, if not for the encouragement of colleagues like Branan, Keith, and Jimmy Davis. But it’s not likely. 
The story you’ll hear over and over again as people discover Mark’s debutl CD, Blues for Lou, (and a collection of songs so effortlessly poignant will be discovered and rediscovered for a long time) is how it was triggered by this period of sickness and sorrow. While that’s essentially true, a record like this was inevitable. As his richly-described stories of everyday life and yard sale weirdos suggest, Mark soaks in details like a sponge, and spending so much time in the company of strong songwriters, it was only a matter of time before these humble, humorous and, and sometimes heartbreaking stories found a way to get out. 

- Chris Davis, Memphis Flyer

Cooter Punch!

Mark Edgar Stuart

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