Beneath The Bark

Twelve different tales of regret - mostly fiction but all for real - told in a folk-rock style. These are all stories about what goes on Beneath The Bark.

Beneath The Bark is the first album I've ever made where I knew ahead of time what songs I was going to put on the record. When I was in the middle of mixing my last album A Thirsty Sea, as a means to procrastinate, I started planning out my next two albums. Beneath The Bark was one of those two albums, and I chose the songs because they were (mostly) straightforward story songs. I didn't realize until later that all of the songs had regret at the heart of the story. Other than Bert Allen, which is my interpretation of a true story, the rest of the songs are fictional. I don't write about myself, at least not directly. Have a listen to Greg Brown's introduction to the song Lord I Have Made You In A Place In My Heart on the live album In The Hills Of California for the best description I've ever heard about the intersection of songwriting and fiction. While you are at it, have a listen to the entire album - it's great!

Because the album was planned ahead of time, I was able to be more consistent with the production. Although virtually all of my songs start out as fairly folky acoustic guitar and vocal arrangements, I really like both a good, strong rock rhythm section and plenty of electric guitars. Which is why, when forced to name a genre for my songs, I usually go with folk-rock. I wanted the album to have a live sound, even though I'm overdubbing everything - I tried to approach the recording of this record as if a band was set up in the studio, and they had to get the basic tracks down quickly, so no time for tweaking the sounds. On the other hand, I tried to work in every guitar and amp that I own, plus my mandolin and bouzouki and some keyboards, so maybe I didn't quite follow through on my idea...

Please enjoy, loudly! But don't damage your hearing - it isn't worth it. Well, Lilly Hiatt makes a good case for hearing damage on her song Records, but that's probably not a good long term plan. Anyway, on to the next album (see above)!

Written, performed and produced by Jim Powell.

Released 6 August 2021.

Lyrics.

The Sun’s Slipping By

We fell apart in the shadow of a storm moving fast;

The clouds were still drifting when our lives they had passed

From our home where the words and our actions relieved

The burden of living all alone and bereaved.

Shadows are forming

But the sun’s slipping by

Darkness is falling

Even shadows will die

And the ground it was covered with leaves from the trees,

Torn from the branches and lost in the breeze

That blew in from the ocean, foggy and wet,

Obscuring the path that resolved all our debt.

Where our bodies lay dreaming the songs of the dead,

No one would listen to the thoughts in our head.

But the wind was reflecting in the branches above

The songs we were dreaming: the shadows of love.

Ragged Little Poser

Your cotton dress was something…

It clung to you like one

Who never knew her parents,

But madly loved her son.

You ragged little poser

I loved you long ago

But memories fade and I’m afraid

We’ll never really know

Sons were never mentioned;

We never had a child.

I picked for you a lily,

But a lily that grew wild.

Sunsets fade and falter

Like the color in your hair

The copper now has faded

And I cling to what’s not there

Your cotton dress was something…

My hands upon your hips,

A flower in your hair,

And a lie upon our lips.

Lonesome As Could Be

The cost was mounting

The coast was near

The price was lonesome as could be

A wallet lifted

The purse strings failed

And silver fell upon the sea

The ships were open

The gaping holds

Held ransoms lonesome as could be

The waves were towering

The tides were strong

As darkness fell upon the sea

Heart rate pounding

Muscles tearing

As I was running towards your door

And when you noticed

The sea was nearing

The waves would crash forever more

And I would never reach the shore

I paid the piper

In semi-quavers

The drones were lonesome as could be

All ears were open

The tune was failing

As notes were falling to the sea

Ennerdale Water

All the branches have fallen,

The winds have abated,

I’m lonely here thinking of you -

By the rippling water

In the shadow of fell sides,

I’m wondering what’s left to do.

The blush on the bloom

Of an old English rose

The skies growing grey with the tears

The water now flowing

The rivers are filling

The beds where the roses once grew

There’s a path ‘round the water,

Up a cleft in the valley -

At the top there’s a choice to be made.

But the choices are empty

In the pale light of evening

As the faces and memories fade.

At the top of the mountain,

As the stars fill the chasm

That lights up the space before dawn -

And the heart you once mentioned,

There’s an ache and a tension

That pulls me away and I’m gone.

I first heard your footfall

By Ennerdale Water;

A cold rainy day I recall.

The blush on the bloom

Of an old English rose

Climbing a crumbling wall.

The Arrow Highway

Alone on a bed

With echoes and dust,

The night stretched out before him.

The voices he’d heard,

And the sound of the trucks

Out there on the Arrow Highway.

He got up to leave,

And he shut off the lights –

There was nothing left here for him.

He got in the car

And he turned on the lights –

Headed out on the Arrow Highway

The ghost of a father

The ghost of a son

His haunted head never rested

He’d paid quite a cost

For he’d gambled and lost

On the love of a woman he’d tested

He pulled to the side

And he lit up a smoke,

The yellow lines stretched out before him.

Avoiding the thought

Of the end of the road –

Somewhere on the Arrow Highway.

He stood on a ridge

With the city below

His family there before him

Dead in the ground

Or lost to him now

Somewhere on the Arrow Highway

He sat in the desert,

A gun in his hand,

A bible there before him.

In the cover it read

In a shaky blue hand:

“You’ll find me on the Arrow Highway…”

Bert Allen

I hired Bert Allen to walk down the flume

That carried the timber to the railhead below

In Felton. He seemed to blend in with the trees:

Tall, red and stocky, sun burnt and slow.

But his work it was poor when he took to the drink.

Twice I had found him sprawled out on the planks.

In the flume, there below him, the logs backing up -

Two warnings I gave him and I never asked thanks.

The third time I fired him and didn't think twice.

There's plenty like him, more willing to work.

Last that I'd heard he was hauling cord wood

From a timber claim down to the Boulder Creek flume.

I was walking the flume and I heard a man shout -

It was Bert, he was sober and madder than hell.

He pointed, then ran towards me, legs pumping hard.

If he caught me I knew I'd end up there, as well.

I'm a small man, a slight man, I had fear in my veins -

As he gained on me curses and threats I could hear.

I grabbed at my pocket and pulled out my gun.

I turned and point blank let that pepper pot fire.

I watched as he staggered, then fell to the ground.

No words, just a groan and I knew he was dead.

I kicked him on over and looked for his eyes,

But all I could see was the dust in his hair.

They buried him quickly and I was absolved.

No kind words or thoughts did I hear for the man.

And his marker looked like an old stump in the ground.

I went once to look and my God how I ran...

The flumes are all empty, these mountains are bare.

The mute stumps are left and the workers all gone.

I still see him sprawled in the dust of the street -

I still hear his curse in the depths of my mind.

Lullaby In G

I melt with you in the warmth of falling stars,

That tear in two obscuring clouds and rusting bars.

The bars that mark a prison cell that holds a thought -

The dogs that bark, guarding loneliness that brought no peace.

The foreign tongue that broke the silence of the skin;

The songs once sung, waking words and stirring wary winds.

The winds that slip beneath the breath that carries life away

Upon a ship, lost at sea, no time to pray for peace.

The boiling sea, heated from the fallen stars beneath

The bruise to be, upon the skin that slowly, sadly weeps

For silent years, welling up and bursting at the sound

Of empty tears. A lover sleeps beneath the ground in peace.

Left In The Cold

I missed you on the water,

Even though I was a sailor -

I missed you even more upon the land.

There are moments you can pardon

And some things to never mention,

But there’s one thing that I’ll never understand…

Fire upon the water

And the waves repel the wishes

The wind unwinds and leaves us in the cold

I fell upon your kindness

Like a shadow on the water -

I watched the ripples fade into the shore.

Drowning in the moment

Wasn’t pleasant as was promised,

But there’s one thing that we’ll share forever more…

The rain instead of falling

Was responding to the question;

Mortar mixed with ashes asked the same.

From the moment lying lifeless,

To the seconds left to answer,

There is one thing left for us to try to tame…

I Never Spoke Your Name

I never met your mother

In that house in Santa Fe.

The road to Albuquerque

Was just a lonely song away.

And there’s little I remember

But the sharp and snowy peaks,

The timeless, tired evenings

And your wind-burned fading cheeks.

A sand storm on the desert

So far from what I’ve known

High up in the mountains

You lay your body down

And I wanted to learn Spanish

So that I could speak with you –

To understand your partings,

To share the ways you knew,

To see you braid your hair

In the early morning sun,

Before the winds could dry

The air, your lips undone.

And I don’t know the number

Of the road to Santa Fe.

And I don’t know the reasons –

The bus that took you away

So far from Albuquerque,

So far from touch, from shame.

I never did learn Spanish,

And I never spoke your name.

A Song Full Of Sorrow

With the cold winter wearing

All the days and the tearing

At the bark of the trees by the wind -

While my feelings are waning,

And my blood’s slowly draining,

As I sit at the foot of your bed -

I would sing to you gently

A song full of sorrow

But the days are too short for that now

In a cold northern village,

Where my father once married,

And his father lies under the sod -

I once thought you would carry

Our child and we’d tarry

A life-time, like those who have gone.

Two wars and the seasons

Passing by and the reasons

To remain here are bitter and spent

I remained here – I’m bitter and spent

With the stone of the fences

Falling down and my senses,

Like this village, so empty and cold -

Would I never had known you,

I should still ever mourn you,

As I trace out your name on the stone.

Too Used To Lonely

Staring through a windshield bruised with distance,

Watching raindrops wash the time away.

Fifty years of wandering the left coast -

Fifty years of wondering what to say.

And I never really knew me as I stumbled through the day…

I think I’ve grown to used to lonely

I tried to settle down just west of Portland,

And leave my restless feelings on the road.

But takes more than hanging up the car keys

And that takes more than walking in the rain

Dreaming of the desert – the Mojave from a train…

I ended up too calm to be collected

The Columbia’s water washing my time away.

Fifty years of climbing up the Grapevine -

And fifty years of shutting out the light.

101’s my 66 – the coast range there in sight…

The Wind Blows Harsh

The wind blows harsh, love -

The wind blows cold.

I cannot stay here

Amongst this dust and mold.

A voice is calling

Across the empty harbor,

And I must listen

Before I leave this shore.

The snow is falling,

The drifts are deep;

But I can’t feel it,

Never in this sleep.

For I am colder

Than this winter’s day,

And I must leave now

For I cannot stay.

Farewell my lover,

Farewell my friend,

For every journey

Must have an end.

And I must give up

These bones and breath.

The wind blows harsh, love,

With the smell of death.

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The Sun's Slipping By