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This is an experiment I’ve been thinking about initiating for some time. A place to post and share the words to my songs. Just a beginning here which I’ll organize as we go. None of these songs have been recorded or released yet; but
all titles are (c) Jerome Jarvis SOCAN.
Some years after my mother passed I felt there were many things I’d left unsaid. I actually wrote the letter and wished there was someway to send it to her. This song goes out to all the lost relations, living, dead or imaginary.
One of those rare songs that came to me in a dream – I actually managed to capture the chorus melody line after waking – the rest of the song is an attempt to recreate that odd other-wordly feeling when the familiar suddenly seems strange and wonderful. “something like a dream, only better..”
Grew out of a comment made by my teacher. Unborn in this context applies to everyone who cares to think of themselves as other than the body/mind. Turned into a bit of an epic ramble!
Is destined to be the closing scene of The Great Library Musical (end of ACT 7 – still got a ways to go) What GREAT LIBRARY you ask? Come have a look at the work in progress >
An ode to the environmental collapse we’re witnessing daily here on planet dirt. A dire warning and rather sad commentary; BUT – written as part of a Diptych, to be followed immediately by “The Cave” …
You know they call it Plato’s Cave but that’s just because his teacher, Socrates, preferred talking to writing things down. Any way we’re glad someone was there taking notes. A rather wordy yet light-hearted romp – probably also intended for The Great Library (see link above) We get to the Greek philosophers in ACT 2, so will probably fit somewhere in there.
Everyone has had this feeling “Wouldn’t it be nice to go back to a time when …” This is me letting go of this idea and accepting just what is as the only way things could be. What happened HAD to happen to get me here, and never will happen again.
Maybe the last word on the topic of words. There are some places where words won’t go, and that’s just fine with me. Language can trick you into thinking you understand. What’s needed is an OVERSTANDING and a letting go of belief in the power of verbal constructs. This way lies freedom.
I think its a crime how rarely Canadian artists receive the recognition they deserve at home. Small wonder so many relocate to L.A. I met Gene Maclellan in PEI, 1974 and therein lies a story:
I was on loan from Spott Farm for a couple of weeks to help another Waterloo-based band (Kit Carson) record an album. They had relocated to PEI and had found an abandoned one-room school house out in the sticks near Breadalbane where we could rehearse, which we went about eagerly on a daily basis. One day a nearby neighbour walked in the door, said he’d heard us playing and invited us over to his place next door when we wrapped up. IN the driveway of his nicely renovated farmhouse were 2 Mercedes, a large Winnebago, and a beautiful Norton bike. The smell of money was in the air. Gene invited us all in, brought us all beers and chatted us up for the rest of the afternoon. About this time we began to get a clue who he was. One of the nicest, most hospitable chaps we’d met in a land renowned for hospitality and humility. Before we left we invited him to drop over and jam any time, and he said he’d like that since he didn’t get to do much playing anymore.
So shortly after this encounter we got word that the album deal had fallen through. There would be no recording and no money in the kitty to get me back home to Ontario. Bruce Steele (who was managing the band at the time) came up with the idea of doing a show in Charlottetown to raise the money needed to take me out of there and approached Gene to ask if he’d consent to headlining the concert. It was so agreed and we had some rehearsals as Gene’s back up band to tie the show together. It was a treat to work with such an egoless, self-effacing master of the songwriting craft. An honest to God poet.
Perhaps it should be mentioned here that the whole operation was being funded on a shoestring. I was camping in a borrowed tent on the farm of one of the band guys, who had a small apiary operation ( Bumble Sun Honey) and other fellows had found low rent or homebuilt homes, real estate being in high supply, low demand there/then.
So we did the show, made some dough and flew me home to Ontario, my 1st plane ride (a DC10 I’m pretty sure) Later that year Spott Farm had the idea of recording a single and I wrote to Gene to ask if he perhaps had a suitable song for us. He immediately sent a reel of tape with a homemade demo of “Won’t Talk About Love”. You know that tune? Very gritty, real and bluesy, would have suited us to a T, and had we made that record may well have put our band on the musical map.
As it turned out though we dissolved our partnership after 5 years of uphill struggle and I decamped to Stratford Ont, moved my drums into the Black Swan Coffee House and began conspiring in Perth County, having already done some sessions with Bob Burchill and Terry Jones of PCC (dne). That summer I played my first folk festivals and entered a whole new world whose existence I had never suspected: the Canadian Folk Festival circuit. A roving gypsy caravan populated by the most talented individuals I’d never even heard of.