Love is free at last

Oh the journey of a songwriter... you few folks that had the blessing or curse to see the first taping of this song will like the journey. I am one that writes and song and lets it breathe a few days before going back at it. This time I made many of the lines easier to sing while keeping the rhymes and the meaning of each line. I truly am grateful for the day I saw Samantha Farrell's picture of her in a field with her guitar barefoot. She put the caption... Barefoot running through the daisy's and poof inspiration.

The song speaks Dylanesque to the passing of faith, to the promise of resurrection, to the plight of the hungry, and to the hope of the youth when they are blessed with a positive outlook.

The last verse was added to tie into the fourth part of the chorus, No Fears No Regrets... it has many many embedded Samantha Farrell song referenced. AND this recording of the song makes much more sense. I do think it'll hang with me and be on my next CD.

Love is Free at Last by Dave Schipper (c) 2009 Rose Riversongs

The field was filled with bare foot girls
The church doors opened wide
The laughter of the children filled
The spirit of these sullen eyes

Solid stone over 100 years old
Means nothing to the little ones
But a spirit binds a new foothold
One to last to their father’s sons

Hallelujah The spirit is passed
Hallelujah Love is free at last
Hallelujah The table is set
Hallelujah No fears, no regrets

A rich patchwork of sizes and colors
A human ebb that flows in waves
Precious fabric of his earth he covers
With the souls he pledges to save.

‘tween the toes are daisy petals
He loves me and he loves me more
He plants the seed and wins the medals
But he weeps at the wages of war Chorus

The field was filled with bare foot girls
The store doors opened wide
The hunger of the people filled
The spirit of these sullen eyes

A rich harvest is bountiful
Grown and watched to maturity
Tastes and words purposeful
Bear love of holy purity. Chorus

Driven to avoid the lamenting
Though streets were really torn apart
She kept her small frame moving
The chaos couldn’t shake her heart

Music played in this City of Dreams
She played the muse with luck
Won the prize, strawberry cream
She left as the melody stuck Chorus

Forever Nineteen for a friend

Just a pretty face in a busy place
I soon would melt in your hands
And you became regular in my plans.

Forever nineteen, so frozen in time
Twenty years passed so fast
But you are built to last.
Forever nineteen, so frozen in time

The months layered on in this bright salon
A rich text of news and playfulness
Left me wanting more, I confess.

Now suddenly everything’s casually
A spring and surprise to an old friend
Sure funny to look back how it began.

Forever nineteen, frozen in time to me
Twenty years passed by just today
And you still sweep me away.
Forever nineteen, so frozen in time

Still a Metallic Fan livin’ with the postman
A soccer mom queen and forever nineteen.
Forever nineteen, so frozen in time
Forever nineteen, such light shine, frozen in time.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

I am as loyal as a coon dog in many ways. I've worked in only really 3 places in my 32 years since high school... married for 27+ years... and I've gone to the same woman to get my haircut for 23 years. Natalie was just a beautiful teenager when I first met her and now I consider her and her husband Greg friends. When they came to see Rose River last week and I got a picture with this angel, there had to be song in it... and here it is... I do love the line "you still sweep me away"... all that hair each month.. it's just a little more grey the last few years.

I did worry a little about needing to get this more personal to make it effective as a song more people can relate to... maybe I need a co-writer to the write lines that I'm too cautious to write about a good friend. HA.

For song writers out there... I started with the premise and hook "Forever Nineteen"... my search on the phrase did show that alot of themes wrapped around this was linked to people dying and frozen in time. I hope I captured that but turned it around, Nat is alive and well but when I look in those eyes I still that teenage girl that loves Metallica.

Of course ... you can't let the muse rest when the day has presented an afternoon alone ... so here is the freshest written song to be posted to youtube... it actually doesn't match the blog... watch for the improvements.

Recount history... even if it's ghost stories...

A mere trip to a city I've visited before, but take the ghost tour at night and the doors open to the imagination. I did even up also buy a history book of the ghosts just to make sure my facts were right... and yes what good ghost story isn't done in A minor key?... enjoy... I love the last 5 seconds of the video, if you didn't wait it out... skip ahead.

Ghosts of St. Augustine by Dave Schipper © 2006 Rose Riversongs


The ghosts of St. Augustine are an eerie sight
On rooftops, porches, and trees they come out at night
They walk this ancient ground, while their stories are told
By guides with lanterns, recounting tales of old.

The white gown of the bride
The candle in the night
The widow on the stairs
The renters Miss Faye scares
Ghosts of St. Augustine
Are the sights to be seen
Walk the cobblestone streets
And enjoy whom you meet

Pass the Bishop’s shrine and see the wayward bride
Who terrified those children tenting that night
Woke them with a cold hand brought screams and bone chills
Now she walks alone, mourning a love unfulfilled.

As guest G-Men talked, the innkeeper knew the plan
She gave the smuggler signal with lantern in hand.
Today her lost soul slips past the boarded entry
To the sea, Her hooded figure waves a sentry

Don't throw out those journals

This piece actually has roots back in 1976. It was normal for me to write and write because I was kind of a loner. All that changed with Lori and a real job, but back in 2004 I started back up again. By the next year, I found myself reading my old journals and poems. The first verse was just sitting there waiting for me; lesson for us all, clean up your life, but don't throw away your journals.

The lyric went through a couple of re-writes and it is filled with a bunch of cliches, but isn't sometime real love a cliche?

Today I release this song to the digital world.... here's a taste of it.... Tim is on the piano.



If I could draw
a face dear and warm
With eyes of passion
Smooth lines would form

Paint me in love, As soft as a dove
Sketch out a dream Someone barely seen
Lead me to draw The beauty that I saw
Paint me in love, with light from above

If I could draw
The fine lines of age
There’d be folds of love,
And beauty on a page

Paint me in love, As soft as a dove
Sketch out a dream Someone barely seen
Lead me to draw The beauty that I saw
Paint me in love, with light from above

If I could draw
Sensual curves of shade
Pleading deep dark eyes
and dimples concave

by Dave Schipper © Rose Riversongs 2005

Write for both voices II

Ok... so here's my rocker ...

Blonde Attitude by Dave Schipper © 2005 RoseRiver Songs


Call it a week, call it a day
Call it what you like I just want to get paid (or laid)
Tired of my job, Tired of my boss
Tired of dreamin of the hair that you toss.

Chorus
I need some music with a blonde attitude
I love to hear those words that you use
I keep a wishin for some time with you
I need some music with a blonde attitude.

Toss me a brew, toss me a life
Toss out the bill from my exwife.
Grab hold my hand, grab on your heart
Grab on tight you know just where to start

Smile and laugh, smile and relax
Smile to the gents looking from the back
Move to the left, move to the right
Move anyway, just hold me tight.


Note... Yes it is available on iTunes with Tim and Paula live, but we add the Blondettes of Sue and Lynn and we get just a spontaneous fun song. It can be cleaned up with substituting PAID instead of LAID... sorry I didn't mark the song Explicit... I hope I don't get caught.

I also had fun rearranging the words and pitching it to a woman to sing... no luck yet...

Blonde Attitude by Dave Schipper ©2006 RoseRiver Songs

Call it a week, call it a day
Call it what you like I just want to get paid (or laid)
Tired of my job, Tired of my boss
Time to primp and sharpen the claws.


Chorus
I’m just music with a blonde attitude
You’ll love to hear those words that I use
You keep wishin for some time with me
This blonde attitude’s in perfect key


Here’s your brew, and here’ your life
God just forget that bitch, our exwife.
Grab hold my hand, grab on your heart
Grab on tight you know just where to start


Smile and laugh, smile and relax
Smile to the girls looking from the back
Move to the left, move to the right
Move anyway, just hold me tight.

And now as of July 2009 a live video courtesy of a house alone, and Dustin's electric guitar... HA.

Inspiration... listen to stories.

In any walk of life, you find inspiration where ever you can. Ideas that create the next project, be it woodworking, jewelry, gardening, cooking, and yes songwriting. During the last house concert, Becky Schlegel related how she can't wait for her boy, 4, 3 and less than 1 will be old enough to go hunting with their dad. She also mentioned how her cat sometimes loves to lay on the forehead of her husband's deer mount. Welll that was enough to create the following... thanks Becky for a great house concert, and now inspiration to write.

The hunt.

I’ll trade mischief for quiet air
Wrestling for solitaire
November comes round once a year
This time, it’ll be all mine.

I might sound a bit insincere
Lose my mom of the year
But the truck is loaded with gear
And they’re off to shoot deer.

No dirty boxers in my path
No shouted curses over math
I’ll light candles, take a bath
Then buy shoes and new bag
But I’ll hug them when they're back

I waited awhile for those boys
My man and the little joys
To grow old enough to enjoy
The hunt, together for a week.

Now the cats and I have the house
I’ll sit around in just my blouse
They’ll nibble his mounted grouse.
I’ll maybe a visit a boutique.

No dirty boxers in my path
No shouted curses over math
I’ll light candles, take a bath
Then buy shoes and new bag
But I’ll hug them when they're back

Dedicated to Becky Schlegel by Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs.

Research, find connections, live it for a while.

Warren Nelson who heads up the Big Top Chautauqua’s Tent show is a wonderful writer of historical songs. Many of them get in their theme musicals like Old Minnesota: Song of the North Star So one day on the way to work I came up with the first stanza because in seven minutes I drive seven miles thru the Black River bottomlands, where really to the right is the historic Van Loon Seven Bridges Road. (No likely not the one Steve Young wrote about and the Eagles made famous.) The first stanza originally just had some stories, but as it evolved I was determined to make seven stories.

Now each has a connection to the area.... I'll let you read it and then explain.

In seven minutes, seven miles breeze by
To my right, the old road beckons
Seven bridges, and seven stories
For my delight, if I just listen.

Lizzy,
Lizzy paid no attention to crickets
But that gun shot made her jump.
Crazy Bill McGilvary shouted
“Dem swamp rattlers!
Liz listen up next time
They sound just like crickets!”

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Davey,
Davey just had an itch to fish
But he had chores galore.
Ma’s fresh pie served as a bribe
And little Jim, he won’t mind
He’ll do the chores just fine
While he finds time to fish.

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Joanie
Joanie had a hankerin for fun
Like a red shouldered hawk
She swooped in on Henry
“Kee Year” she mimicked.
In the bottomland grass,
She rolled with her new hun.

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Billy,
Billy cursed that bridge from hell.
Clinton embossed the back of his neck
As he hung motionless from the A frame.
Damn riverboat gamblers
Took his life savings
So he hung there a spell.

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Tommy,
Tommy never really came back
So he made these swamps his home.
Nam killed more than his hearing
He lost trust in people
They say the lost site of him
As waded out in the river named Black.

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Ritchie
Ritchie mumbled “How did this happen?
Rental piece of shit,” but he hated flying.
Aw a strawberry stand, and a latin beauty.
“Two bits for sweet carazon.”
“Precious what’s your name”
“Oh they call me Donna”

7 minutes, 7 miles
7 bridges, 7 tales.

Albert,
Albert was nineteen in 1865
At the Spanish Fort battle in ‘Bama.
He was 90 when they laid him down
Four miles from the bridge
He and Rynert used to fish
Sure wished he would have survived.

In seven minute, seven miles breezed by
To my right, the old road beckoned
Seven bridges, and seven stories
For your delight, if you listened.

by Dave Zeman (c) 2009 Rose Riversongs


First verse has Milgvary's name from the ferry boats and they really have massasauga snakes and their rattle sound like crickets. Second verse has the local farmlands and the rich fishing that is still done today in the area. Third verse, of course the Red Shouldered Hawk lives there and it's call is Kee Year... even yesterday I saw some birder guys standing in the ditch on the way to work. Fourth verse, the bridges were all made by the Clinton Bridge company and they are only 5 miles away from Trempealeau. Back in the old days, it was not uncommon to have gamblers traveling up and down the Mississippi river and the suicide. Well let's say it reminds me of seeing the cross that is on may way to work in the area every day; poor mixed up kid. The bridges have history, the swamp reminds me that you can get lost, so why not have them attract mixed up soldiers coming back from Vietnam in the fifth verse. Now in the sixth, the famous Ritchie Valens appears as he drives through and stops at the local strawberry stand. We're using alot of Hmong people to help harvest, but their predecessors were Mexican help, so it gets a little fictional tie. Now did you know that Ritchie Valens at one point hated to fly? Too bad he didn't stick to that feeling. The last verse ties in two Van Loon's into the story, both fought in the Civil War and one is really buried a mere four miles from the bridges and a mile from my house. I do plan to find and to post a picture of his grave. I get this sneaking feeling, he'll show up again in my writing.

Writing... yes this has no music to it yet... maybe never... but it is a song I know it. Probably too long of one... HA.

Thanks for reading.

Dave