The Angels Aint Angels Anymore

1/11/13

Has been a pleasure over the last coupla years to get to know some of the fine new crop of songwriters/players in my neck o’ the woods. And- much like a pointy stick- it keeps you on your toes, away from complacency.

One such feller- Noah Gabriel- kindly asked me to scribble some liner notes for his just released record “Austin Bound”. He said to blow no smoke, just listen to the record and write what it conjures. And so, as Summer was sweeping the place out and locking up, I did just that- over several late nights and a few Brown Mumblers. It seeped in real good and certainly had some nice dark corners to crawl into. I helped myself to a line from a song as the title and here’s the picture that came into focus:

“The angels aint angels anymore”

Bird in a cage, broken dog on a rope. A feller sits in the tiny hours tearing a picture from a magazine. The strange night air is 80 proof and the moon needs a shave. He keeps company with spooks, works his chain with a file. Who knows why sometimes the rain is your ‘ol pal- his splashy gray dance a welcome sound- and the next day the gloomy bastard is drowning your parade, seeping through the cracks, snickering. He builds a fire, stokes it with secrets, and by the time it’s embers he’s pointed south. Squeezed right under the fence…

What would you trade YOUR sandwich for? Fading on the passenger seat, a mariachi band in your head, dreaming of a new pair of shoes. Roadkill & fences. Cardinals turn into grackles, fireflies to fire ants, maples to mesquite. Tough place to sleep on the ground. Get on Mo Pac, head down Lamar. Rinse the dust off at the Saxon.

The sun is like Santa Claus- there’s a different one in every town. Down here he’s a hothead- don’t piss him off! But it’s a good enough place to wear out your welcome, this mirage. You got Boogie Fever & Stockholm Syndrome. Had to settle for a new pair of old shoes. Don’t fit great, but they’ll get you home…

A friend was inhaling a book he’d found at a used bookstore- hanging on every word. When he got to the last page, someone had torn it out. He could only laugh.