I wrote this with hopes of seeing it make the latest issue of Lonestar music magazine but it failed to make the page. I'm told politics got in the way. For Ray's sake and also for you music fans out there, I'm posting it here. dhfjr.
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
Tarnished and disgraced, I lay down
A black sparrow come to me in a dream
He whispered: A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
Swollen and embarrassed I rose up
A black sparrows perched on highline pole
He whispered: A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
Trembling and a shaken I looked down
A black sparrow was tattooed on my hand
It whispered: A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
A. Enlightment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts
Music ain’t one size fits all. I just got Ray Wylie Hubbard’s latest and being my obsessive/compulsive self, drove my wife out of the house with it. I’ll admit, this ain’t pretty. It ain’t nice. It’s Enlightenment and Endarkenment; one can’t be fully understood or appreciated without considering the other. Mr. Hubbard has seen dark places in his life. And it seems like he’s taken a glimpse of something better and brighter waiting on the other side. Hope is nice. Ray provides a dose of hope.
Whoop and a Hollar
When I rise up out the river knowing my sins been washed away
I'm gonna whoop, I'm gonna hollar
When I rise up out the river knowing my sins been washed away
I'm gonna whoop, I'm gonna hollar
I'm gonna whoop, I'm gonna hollar
I'm gonna rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin'
Rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin
Rise up a whoopn' and a hollarin'
Rise up, Rise up
When I rise up out of my grave and see my savior's face
I 'm gonna whoop, I'm gonna hollar
When I rise up out of my grave and see my savior's face
I 'm gonna whoop, I'm gonna hollar
I'm gonna rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin'
Rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin
Rise up a whoopn' and a hollarin'
Rise up, Rise up
W hen I rise up in God's empyrean heaven
Flapping my angel wings
I 'm gonna whoop,I'm gonna hollar
I'm gonna rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin'
Rise up a'whoopin' and a'hollarin
Rise up a whoopn' and a hollarin'
Rise up, rise up
In the meantime we have dark, treacherous and rough ground to cover. Acknowledge this and prepare, or choose not to see and hear, but your ass is going through it, either way.
Ray Wylie Hubbard writes at night, after the wife and kid are down, alone in an attic. He consorts with spirits for the words and the sounds; he finds those that have toiled in black skins and cotton fields of the deep south, those of his own race that have spilled blood and ruined lives on fields of battle, others that sold their bodies for sex or gambled or stole for their daily bread, still others that hacked a living from rocky mountainsides where the soil is poor and hard work a fact of life, music the medicine that heals sore bodies and troubled minds, until the day comes when age drains the last drop of strength from an earthly body. Opium smoke appears. Those that died for righteousness’ sake. Every day is the day of the dead in this place. Spirits some consider crazy find their way, spirits like John the Revelator, the common thread they all share—hindsight—offers foresight to those that will see, hear, understand and learn.
Ray brings kernels of truth he finds in the obsidian dark of night and shares it with the rest of us in the light of day or under the artificial glare of a spot light. Poor Judy is left with the unenviable task of selling these songs and living off of the proceeds. Ray the artist, the prophet, Judy the businessman. Ray the older, easy come, easy go, traveling gypsy king, singer of songs, player of melodies, Judy the younger mother of a precious child and the keeper of a home, a child bearing a troubling set of inherited genes and spirits, trapped in a world gone bad. A child with a future….
Selling truth can be difficult, especially when truth means people are going to suffer and die. That the country they live in and love will fall to evil forces. We’re not talking a book you can set down or a movie you can walk out of when it gets rough. Going to church and singing songs to Jesus doesn’t make it go away. This is non-fiction. Inescapable.
Can you hear the hoof beats raining down? Or are you riding those dark wings coming to take you out of this place? Cause that’s the only two choices you got. Stay and endure or die.
Black Wings
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Believing what you leave behind is burnt up and junk debris
And ever last undying soul resides at a hotel in Saint Marie
So fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Shimmerin' like a Leslie and a Hammond B3
Or a shaking tamborine at a gospel jubilee
So fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Jangling and ingling all the way to Tennessee
Trusting in a Duo Jet and a 9 volt battery
So fly away on them old wings black as thet may be
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Struming on a Stella guitar and singing Deportee
Now that ain't much of a repetoire, oh no siree
So fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
You'll never gonna reach the sun or the Sunset Marquis
You'll die like a saint on high alongside gamblers and thieves
Fly away on them old wings black as they may be
Lock yourself in a room, hit play and listen. Again. Again. Again and once again. Close your eyes, listen, see, hear. Feel.
The hoof beats.
They are coming.
There’s nowhere to hide.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
The time is near for the great tribulation
All lost souls should be aware of this
For it is written in the Christian bible
Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse
The word of John in the Book of Revelations
Tells of a Christ who could be a counterfeit
Speaks of a whore upon a scarlet beast
Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse
Black and red, white and pale
Death and war, famine and pestilence
The end will begin with the sound of approaching hoof beats
Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse
It is foretold the moon will turn to blood
And the sun to ashen darkness
The dead will awaken, a second coming will follow
Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse
Buy it at Lonestarmusic.
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