Dobson’s Lyrics Will Live On

I didn’t know him. I didn’t know of him. Man, I love when awareness smacks me so hard I have to spend days in study, listening mode, and one mind-blowing rationalization leads to another.

In this case I’m talking about Texas-born songwriter and novelist Richard Dobson, who last week passed away in Switzerland, where he lived with his wife much of the last 17 years. He was 75. His songs were recorded by the likes of Johnny Cash, June Carter Cash, Guy Clark, David Allan Coe, Nanci Griffith, Kelly Willis, Carlene Carter and many others. One of his books is entitled: Pleasures of the High Rhine – A Texas Singer in Exile.

“Forever, For Always, For Certain,” “Baby Ride Easy,” “Old Friends,” “Piece of Wood and Steel,” and the one that’s been running continually in my head for the last week, “Hard By The Highway,” are a few of his many song titles. None were mainstream hits, but Dobson’s songs were poetic and visual.

Dobson was no follower. But he followed three of his renegade songwriting brothers, Townes Van Zandt (“Poncho and Lefty,” cover of The Rolling Stones’ “Dead Flowers” at the end of The Big Lebowski), Steve Young (Seven Bridges Road), and Clark (Desperados Waiting on a Train) to eternity.

These free spirits and outlaw tunesmiths can be seen in the 1976 documentary Heartworn Highways (or many youtube titles), sitting around with a few other up-and-comers – Rodney Crowell, Steve Earle, Coe, Gamble Rogers, Jim McGuire, The Charlie Daniels Band, Larry Jon Wilson taking turns picking their tunes, chatting, telling stories, coming down from gigs in prisons and high schools. Here are the lyrics to “Hard By The Highway”:

 

Five hundred miles from the Mexican border

The days getting shorter, the nights getting colder

Hard by the highway, he leans on her shoulder

A little bit tired and a little bit older

The days keep on running, down through the seasons

Running like a prairie fire, wild with no reason

The Devil’s to pay for the moments he’s seizing

Still nothing is lost that’s left to believe in

 

He’s got little to lose and his only companions

Are the liquor that he loves, the rambling and the gambling

The coyote answers from back in the canyon

Hungry for more than plain understanding

Sometimes it gets hard, sometimes it’s amusing

When kindness repaid is just an illusion

When blind men know best what to make of confusion

And dead men know nothing at all

 

Still he dreams of a lady who’ll lay down beside him

He prays for the day when the sweet Lord will guide him

To one who might drain all the poison inside him

Let him hang up his boots with his traveling behind him

But it’s five hundred miles from the Mexican border

The days getting shorter, the nights getting colder

As hard by the highway he leans on her shoulder

A little bit tired, a little bit older

See it at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-O0UOPPzycg

 Rodney Crowell’s new “Nashville, 1972” mentions many in the group: https://www.rollingstone.com/country/videos/watch-rodney-crowell-busk-in-nashville-1972-video-w472431

 John Prine called Dobson one of the country’s finest songwriters. He was tabbed the Hemingway of country music by Nanci Griffith, which to me means he will not be forgotten, and his words will live on.  

© 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HE HAS NO CHOICE

Author’s note: This is a song I wrote many years ago that was meant to cast a light on poverty, provide social commentary. Today I was unsure of the completion date, then I realized it didn’t matter. This problem is ongoing. A.S. 

A MAN GETS up every morning, and he takes himself away

To a place he really never wanted to go to, but he has no choice.

His wife she does the very same thing… and she hates what she’s become…

And they’re not making it anyway…

And they have no one to blame…

No matter what they seem to do, they just can’t get ahead.

And his wife comes home and says there’s a baby on the way.

And his neighbor lets the bank take his house… because he just can’t pay no more

And he’s leaving town tomorrow… though he has nowhere to go.

Chorus:

Well the lines are getting wider every day

Between the people who are safe, and who are not

And the bitter taste of poverty so seldom goes away…

Most the time, it’s there to stay….

So the man gets himself another job, working late at night

‘Cause soon he’ll have another mouth to feed, so he has no choice

And he’s worried about his wife being home alone, but there’s nothing he can do…

So under his breath he says a little prayer…

And he cries himself a tear… and he works on… and on.

Chorus:

Well the lines are getting wider every day

Between the people who are safe, and who are not

And it may not be a tragedy, but surely is a shame

But to some, it’s just a game…

© 1992 Andrew Spradling

Tongue In Cheek

Author’s note: I can’t help it. This is not going to touch anybody deeply. Occasionally, even as what I call a throwaway, you have to write little songs in the spirit of John Prine. A little sexist perhaps. But my wife knows that poetic license exists for such fabrications. And applying this little saying (which I picked up on while getting “Gatsby” groomed)  to the dog AND the wife, spurs the imagination. Two songs with some depth are now brewing. Oh, I made the sign too, didn’t buy it. I’m doing more painting than writing in this frigid weather, but “that voice” is returning. Peace unto you, A.S. 

WELL our hound on the porch he has it better than me.

Eating like a king and roaming round wild and free.

When he gets to yaking with our friends just as loud as he can be

I shake his snacks and whistle loud to get him back to me.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK

You see them joggers every day, heck we’re living in the park.

Stop chasing furry cats around and howling at the dark.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK.

My woman is a Goddess always done it right for me.

Yes She keeps the home fires burning and that’s got to be the key.

Occasionally she locks up and gets rigid as a tree

Starts gnawing on my edges just as mean as she can be.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK.

Baby please stop picking silly fights and making snide remarks.

I’ve known for years to ride your bite out, your teeth just ain’t that sharp.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK.

BRIDGE:

There’s a fine line between success and failure.

And bitter it don’t have to follow sweet.

And the noise that we make it usually passes.

We humans, just like canines, need a treat.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK.

Let’s bag the nag and have us a new start

Yeah, put your lips together and shake it with some heart.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK.

MORE WAG, LESS BARK

© 2-10-15 Andrew Spradling

Children of Children

Author’s note: This tune was inspired by the song “It Hurts To Face Reality” by Lefty Frizzell, from the movie Tender Mercies, one of my favorites – Robert Duvall, displaying his amazing talents, which won him the Best Actor Academy Award for 1983. My song is slow, traditional country, with (I imagine) steel accompaniment. A.S.  

 

MOMMA had, a little girl, when she was, a little girl.

And it made for an interesting tale.

As Daddy learned, to make a buck, I came along, to join the fun.

A humble house, a special time, a growing love.

 

Chorus:

We were the children of children, you could see it in their eyes.

They learned it as they went along, though they never compromised.

We never wanted nothing, and we always felt their love.

We were the children of children, growing older, growing up.

 

Sometimes Dad, he worked the night shift, back when I was in grammar school.

I’d come home for lunch on my Stingray, we’d shoot baskets in the afternoon.

And Sis she was a beauty, no one smarter or aware.

Raised by the hands of two young lovers more determined than they were scared.

 

Chorus:

We were the children of children, the pictures they don’t lie.

They learned it as they went along, though they never compromised.

We never wanted nothing, and we always felt their love.

We were the children of children, growing older, growing up.

 

Bridge:

And Sis she would turn fifty today, if all was right with life.

But the Lord took her home at thirty-nine, and you know that don’t seem right.

And Momma and Daddy grow old together, though it’s rare that people do.

And the river may rise like tears in your eyes, but they’re determined to see it through.

 

Repeat chorus:

We were the children of children, you could see it in their eyes.

They learned it as they went along, though they never compromised.

We never wanted nothing, and we always felt their love.

We were the children of children, growing older, growing up.

 

 

 

© 2012 Andrew Spradling

First published Shelton College Quarterly

HER SINS AND HER SAVIOR

Author’s note: This, to me, is a special song, one that I am about to actively pitch (opening a whole new area of rejection). It emerged simply from the idea or thought of breakups — so common — yet with no one in particular in mind. We just see way too much of it, and always wish, hope, and pray for people to find the love and happiness we share. Thanks for reading, oh, and the photo gallery is added and will grow as I go back and scan from pre-digital, A.S.           

GONE, in a hopeless sea of pain, looking for some kind of comfort, that will make her whole again.

Her man, he was blinded by a touch, he was blinded by a feeling, he was blinded by new eyes.

Chorus:

So she reached for the bottle. And she reached for the Bible.

But she lives, somewhere in between, her sins and her Savior.

2nd Verse:

Days, well they slowly ticked away, there were some that were so wrenching, she couldn’t brush the tears away.

And the nights, she just lay there in the dark, wondering what she did to cause this, wondering how to make it right.

Chorus:

So she reached for the bottle. And she reached for the Bible.

But she lives somewhere in between, her sins and her Savior.

Bridge:

She is thinking now he was bound to break her heart, so she gave up on the life that they led.

Yes the Lord gave her strength to move on, and the drink gave her courage to try again…

Instrumental:

Repeat Chorus:

So she reached for the bottle. And she reached for the Bible.

But she lives somewhere in between, her sins and her Savior.

Yes she walks each day somewhere in between, her sins and her Savior.

Completed 12/20/10

© 2010 Andrew Spradling

COZY

PART MY PREVIOUS LIFE as a sportswriter included the coverage of five consecutive bowl games, all but one played just after Christmas. I was always expected to arrive five days before kickoff, along with the team, for in-depth coverage. This song emerged from that scenario. Hope your holidays are going well. A.S.

WELL I found myself so far from home on another Christmas day,

I don’t blame you girl for wishing that my job would go away.

But I cannot change the present and the past is here to stay,

And the Crown I drink to soothe my mind is adding to a fray.

They say absence makes us fonder, but a week can turn the tide,

When a grudge is growing faster than the plane I finally ride.

And ice can’t melt away without some warmth on either side,

So come closer to me darling let me show what’s on my mind.

Chorus:

Let’s get cozy, turn down the lights.

Lay your head upon my shoulder, cause I want to make it right.

Let’s get cozy, there’s no need to fight.

We can grow old together if we make it through this night.

Well the right words they come difficult when the pressure’s really on,

And the wrong words are a river cutting deep and wide and strong.

While bitter, angry words will often damage, hurt or scar,

The rendezvous I have in mind is sure to make you smile.

Chorus:

So let’s get cozy, get the music right.

Let me stoke the fire up baby, cause I want it hot tonight.

Let’s get cozy, it’s you and me tonight,

Let love earn the victory, and pleasure rule the night.

Bridge:

Well you’ve got to know my love is not a passing thing,

And circumstance it sometimes rules the world.

I’ll never be away unless I truly have to be,

And coming home should always be a thrill…

Chorus:

So let’s get cozy, where’s those bedroom eyes?

If it’s wrong to want you baby, then I don’t want to be alive.

Let’s get cozy, I’ll tuck you in just fine.

Let’s make some time up baby ’fore the sun invades the night.

Let’s make some time up baby ’fore the sun invades the night.

©1999  Andrew Spradling

The Maze

Author’s Note: One of the aspects of song writing I enjoy is the freedom to borrow someone else’s life for a theme, or, better still, a blending of stories and emotions. A small percentage of this has anything to do with me. This is another fast-paced song. I plan to one day have links to the music, I’m just looking for the right accompaniment. A.S.

SUBMERGED in the passion of the eyes that look upon me

with a love that lasts forever, and forsaken by no other,

Till you go away and figure out that, men will kiss the ground you walk on.

I have done the same but they are happy, strong, and rich and famous.

Now you want to be alone and search the world for something better,

I will gladly let you go ’cause misery kept is bound to fester.

But I wish you’d known me when, I was young and couldn’t bend,

love was free and easy then, but time moves on and now feel I’m…

Long past being pretty, I’m long past being what I was,

time can change the way you stand, but it cannot break the willful man

So be the girl you want to be, see the things you long to see,

travel roads and burn the bridges, fan the flames that whisper “set me free…. ,”

We travel mazes, to pass through doors.

And we don’t know the meaning of compromise.

We want a prize that begins with trust.

But we’ve never paid the price.

Submerged in the sorrow of a wife who seeks another,

a future black as coal, and a love that won’t recover.

So take the door, take the train, leave as fast as you can leave,

we’ll be like all the others, take the easy way, and give up on our dreams… .

We stumble through mazes, to pass through doors.

And we don’t know the meaning of compromise.

We want a prize that begins with trust.

But we’ve never paid the price.

© 2004 Andrew Spradling

Thank You For The Memory

Author’s Note: This little song has a beat as fast as fence posts on the highway viewed from a speeding truck, but it slows for the last two verses. Written when I was just twenty-one or so, it has no illusions or metaphors, just sledge-hammer-like honesty. A.S.

WELL days have passed, they seem like years,

But the time has come for us to be together.

Though the obstacles grow greater,

the hurdles higher, I will find a way my love.

 

And they say that it’s not wise,

To quit my job and head to Carolina.

My strength grows from my love for you,

And it spurs my courage higher than the mountain top.

 

Well lately I have felt the things:

the heart, the mind, the soul that makes me want you so.

And in my dreams I see you,

Hold me, love me, need me darling to the end.

 

And the time has come to say good-bye,

To all the things I love in West Virginia…

It’s almost heaven where I stand,

But paradise awaits me darling at your home.

 

Well misty-eyed am I to leave,

But understand that home is where the heart is.

And though my time is occupied,

My heart longs for the closeness only we have shared.

 

Well days have passed so quickly now,

And the space between us grows more every day.

And soon I’ll be a memory,

a distant, far off symbol of summer love.

 

Well the times we had were special,

But a year has passed and we are growing older.

And I thank you for the memory,

And I’m sorry girl if I hurt you in any way…

 

 

©1985 Andrew Spradling

Letters

Author’s note: Just a reminder that songs often resemble poetry. This is one of the first songs I wrote that was worth repeating. A.S.

       

Joblessness brings loneliness and creates a space of time,

And minutes turn to hours in the framework of my mind.

Boredom overtakes me as I look for things to do,

Trying to stay busy to avoid the thought of you.

 

I find some letters boxed up, in a messy closet shelve.

Letters linking youth to age and lovers to myself.

Letters ranging hundreds, dating back to early teens,

Letters that bring back those crazy childhood scenes.

 

Chorus: Letters that helped me get through college.

And letters from girls of loves gone bad.

Letters that made me miss the times we used to share,

And letters of the times we never had.

 

Letters from a girl I thought always was too young,

She’s grown up now and beautiful and happy on her own.

Letters when I stayed down south from a girl that I had loved,

Her innocence is reflected in the pages that she wrote.

 

Chorus: And letters from my big sis in college,

Her boyfriend he always sent them too.

Their letters always gave me the strength to carry on,

And the strength to find my way without you.

 

Cards and letters from the times I took some nasty spills,

You’ll never know the way the words from friends could help me heal.

Letters from a girl I’d met just once so long ago,

our letters cross the country but our paths will never know.

 

Chorus: And letters from the girl I thought I’d marry,

The plans we made a long time ago.

The schemes and dreams to meet at night and hold each other tight,

And if we could we’d never let go…

We thought back then we’d never let go…

As always we finally let go… 

 

© 1985 Andrew Spradling

The Lesson’s Never Learned

Author’s note: As I said in “About,” this blog will include original song lyrics, which in my mind is often poetry. A phone call from a great friend yesterday reminded me of this song and his often-used quote, “There’s some things you just can’t dwell on.” That’s why, Derek Watson, if it is ever sung by someone other than me on the porch, you will receive half the royalties. Cheers. A.S. 

I’ve been thinking hard every night, worrying ’bout the way things might be,

Getting high with the fire flies, blending with the stars.

Trying to see into the future, wondering how I got so old,

And knowing that this little town can’t hold me.

Chorus:

But there’s some things you just can’t dwell on.

Sometimes you stumble and fall.

Some people must live and learn, and forget about the past.

But sometimes the lesson’s never learned.

All my friends they know what they’re doing,

They planned their lives in the right few steps.

But 9 to 5 and a wife and a home won’t do me.

Where do you turn when you feel alone,

When the whole damn world has got you down,

And you’re weary of the comforts of the bottle.

And the last thing that you want to do, is take the walk to your empty bedroom,

You tell yourself you’re not always so smart…

Chorus:

Mistakes are made fairly often,

Sins committed rarely forgotten,

Seasons change and life goes on, and tomorrow’s another day,

But the memories of lovers never fade away.

Lovers come and lovers go, years go by and dreams grow old,

And some of us are not so bold to keep searching…

But I’ll keep hoping till my dying day, to find what it takes to make me happy,

And pray this time I don’t let it slip away

Chorus:

But there’s some things, you just can’t dwell on.

Sometimes you stumble and fall.

Some people must live and learn, and forget about the past.

But sometimes the lesson’s never learned.

I’ve been thinking hard every night, worrying ’bout the ways things might be,

Getting high with the fireflies, blending with the stars…

Andrew Spradling, Derek Watson

© 1995