Icicle Man Minus Two by Heartifacts

Also, in the bass department, Thomas McDonald's expressive solo on "Being A Man" is possibly one of his best on record. The joyous, improvised guitar duet at the end of Julia, somewhat reminiscent of the Allman Brothers, sounds like exactly what it is; two good friends who have been playing together a long time having a blast.

Easley's best vocal is on this record is probably "Honeysuckle" and he is helped tremendously throughout the disk by the gorgeous vocalizations of Thomas McDonald, Maria Griener and Ethan Leaming. Coco Robicheaux's guest appearance on "The Eerie Road", a road here driven by the impeccable drumming of Cori Walters, adds a genuine sparkle in the vocal department.

- Ed James

Scroll down to read the song-lyrics.

Heartifacts

RELIX MAGAZINE: "one of the best, and most refreshing 'unknown' bands I've heard in a long, long time." - Mick Skidmore

OFFBEAT MAGAZINE: "...one of the freshest and most essential voices in instrumental music today. - Michael Dominici

BEATLICKS (Memphis): "The lyric of 'Honeysuckle' sounds like it was written over a long weekend by Paul Simon and Bob Dylan. The verses have that driving polysyllabic roll of Dylan's Subterranean Homesick period but with Simon's gentler delivery."

- Dennis Formento

ATERNATIVES (Gulf Coast): "Easley belongs to the Orphic line of musical artists who report to society in music from the subterranean and sub-rational lode of the unconscious whose music is intuitive, ecstatic and oracular." - Judy Beck

DOWNBEAT MAGAZINE: "...new, effective voice..." (referring to Easley in their review of Brian Blade Fellowship's eponymous release.)

GAMBIT MAGAZINE (New Orleans) : "...One of the most intriguing figures to emerge on the New Orleans Music scene in recent memory... Easley's quivering, John Coltrane meets-Buddy-Emmons licks also have earned him guest slots on recent CDs from Mem Shannon, Brian Blade and Coco Robicheaux...His band, Heartifacts,...takes its cue from mid '70's Grateful Dead." - Scott Jordan

THE NEW YORK TIMES: "...one of the crucial elements that give his (Brian Blade's) records a swelling texture and a warm, major-key Americana: the pedal steel guitarist Dave Easley..." - Ben Ratliff

"A very necessary development, that's what you've happened on. I am delighted to be acquainted with you and your style." - Dave Chamberlain - D.J. WRFG, Atlanta

AWARDS AND ACCOLADES:

¨OffBeat Magazine 1997 Best of the Beat Award: Dave Easley was Best "Other Instrumentalist". (2nd place went to Pete Fountain). Dave has also been nominated each year since.

¨New Orleans Magazine named Dave Easley a "New Orleans Jazz All Star" in 2003.

¨OffBeat Magazine 1997 Best of the Beat Award: 3 Now 3 was named Best New Progressive Jazz Band.

¨Gambit 1997 Big Easy Awards: 3 Now 3 was named Best Emerging Artist.

¨MP3: #1 Song Sarah De La Mer (Psychedelic) during June 1999.

¨MP3: # 5 Song Magic Ball (Reggae) during June 1999.

Beatlicks: (Memphis based literary journal)

Heartifacts:::: The first time I saw this band they rolled through a repertoire that included John Coltrane, the Grateful Dead & a sizeable portion of the very extensive real estate in-between. Leader, Dave Easley, is an unassuming prodigy. His endless vocabulary of rock, blues, psychedelic, and jazz licks make him one of the most familiar players on the New Orleans music scene, where he is a runnin' partner of Coco Robicheaux. He's also a member of bassist James Singleton's creative jazz powerhouse, 3Now4.

Easley is gifted with one of the great inexhaustible musical imaginations in this city. During one 3Now4 set at the Dragon's Den, he took two long solos with a brief excursion by tenor saxist, Tim Green, sandwiched between... what amazed me was not the length of Dave's improvisations, but that he seemed never to repeat a single phrase. The music just kept tumbling out of that pedal steel like snowflakes, no two riffs ever the same, produced as effortlessly as breathing.

THE ICICLE MAN is the Heartifacts' second disk. A brief list of worthy tunes: "Not Giving Up:" the vocal is more chanted than sung, kind of like a Grateful Dead hymn, with Hawaiian effects on the guitar. "The Eerie Road" starts like a Hendrix-inspired blues march, and Dave's steel takes on the quality of an acid six-string.

The lyric of "Honeysuckle" sounds like it was written over a long weekend by Paul Simon and Bob Dylan. The verses have that driving, polysyllabic roll of Dylan's Subterranean Homesick period but with Simon's gentler delivery.

"Ollie" skanks or maybe skinks along with the great Michael Skinkus on the bongos. The title track features another sensitive and articulate local percussionist, Andrew McLean, on tablas. - Dennis Formento

Informal Comentary by Some Prominent Figures in the New Orleans Music Scene:

It's astonishing, really. Beautiful. I can't believe I didn't hear your band sooner." - Christina Diettinger

"Is the 'Icicle Man' Dave Easley?" - Coco Robicheaux and John Magnie (Independently and unbeknownst to each other.)

"...many tremendous gifts to give the listener...stories that leave one thinking...very involved stories and poems, intertwined with serious musical content, yet all the songs are very accessible. Another gift is that I've listened to this record three times in its entirety, and I found some other tidbit I missed on the last listen... This is a CD I'll listen to again and again." -Tim Green (saxophonist)

HEARTIFACTS

P.O. Box 850702 New Orleans LA 70185-0702

Heartifacts is a band based in New Orleans, Louisiana fronted by writer, guitarist, singer and pedal steel player Dave Easley. The Heartifacts core band consists of Ethan Leaming (The Great Mr. E.) on guitar and vocals, Dave Easley (Mellow D.)(Together they comprise the Mr. E.-Mellow D. Guitar Section [Mystery Melody]); Thomas McDonald (from Anders Osborne, B-Goes, and Peabody) on bass and vocals; Karl Budo (from New World Funk Ensemble) on drums. Other occasional members and guests include Michael Skinkas (from Michael Ray & the Cosmic Krewe, New World Funk Ensemble, Dreamland, and Smilin' Myron) on hand percussion; and Elisabeth Gill (B-Goes) on background vocals and auxiliary percussion. Maria Griener, and Irene Sage on background vocals, Jim Singleton (3 Now 4) on acoustic bass and Nancy Buchan (Coco Robicheaux) on fiddle.

Partial Dave Discography:

Heartifacts-Boatmen Waiting on the Wind (Independent), The Icicle Man

Brian Blade Felloship - Brian Blade Fellowship (Blue Note Records, Produced by Dan Lanois), Perceptual (with Joni Mitchell on vocals, also Blue Note Capitol)

Coco Robicheaux - Louisiana Medicine Man (Blues Album of the Year 1999, OffBeat Magazine, Orleans Records), Hoodoo Party (Also Orleans Records)

Royal Fingerbowl - Happy Birthday, Sabo! (TVT Records)

Mem Shannon - Spend Some Time With Me (Shanachie Records)

3 Now 4 - 3 Now 4, Book of Spells (both Independent)

Denise Mangiardi - River of My Own (Crow Hill)

Irene Sage - Irene Sage (Independent)

Paul Christian - Pan (Cannon Music)

Frankie Nola - Frankie Nola (Independent)

Lauren Pickford - Sutrees on the River (w/Rosie Carter Cash)

Monk Boudreaux/Anders Osborne - (Shanachie Records)

Shannon McNally Run For Cover (Independent)

More Press

Relix Magazine (cont.): There's not much I can tell you about The Heartifacts-Witch Doctors of the Soul except that they are one of the best, and most refreshing "unknown" bands I've heard in a long, long time.

This five-piece hails from New Orleans. Their sound is not overtly commercial, but it's got musical integrity, vitality and melody. Strong jazz tones add to the band's fluid and inventive improvisations. There's plenty of substance to the songs which run the gamut of styles from folk-rock and jazz through psychedelia and funk.

The band is led by pedal steel guitarist, Dave Easley, who manages to make the pedal steel guitar sound like anything but a country instrument. A well recorded 90-minute demo tape features some excellent original tunes by Easley as well as some innovative modern jazz workouts such as "Favorite Things" and "A Visit to the Zoo." According to Easley, Deadheads love the band's music, and it is easy to see why, as it has that free-flowing air of spontaneity. In fact, in the segue of "The Water Came Up High/Gypsy Mother" there's a slight spacey psychedelic phase before slipping into neo-African rhythms and back to jazz-rock-come-psychedelia.

Mick Skidmore

Alternatives: ...Easley belongs to the Orphic line of musical artists who report to society in music from the subterranean and sub-rational lode of the unconscious whose music is intuitive, ecstatic and oracular...Easley writes intuitively, from Surrealist-style cues: dreams, alpha-state visions, automatic drawing. His experiences and readings steep in the unconscious to soak up their language and meaning...Easley's non-linear approach yields consistently potent, telling lyrics:

"The water came up high but didn't knock the lions from the sea wall.

Deep into the night angry dogs gave their call

For tender charges behind the gates,

Or ancient times still resplendent in their skulls."

...Shuttling into the unconscious also enables wordplay, free association and Lewis Carroll inversions. From the Native American viewpoint, "the West was lost if the West was won."...

...Reggae, rock, salsa, blues, folk, Middle Eastern, country and more weave their way into The Heartifacts' modern jazz/psychedelic core - not for novelty, but for their intrinsic, if sometimes oblique, pertinence to the material. The setting for each poem seems to choose itself in an intuitive process that Easley "can't explain." Again, this non-conscious process has a multi-leveled effect... poignant in its beauty, truth and mystery ... When genres are served straight, folklorically, they're often coupled with decidedly non-traditional, even paradoxical, material...

...What makes The Heartifacts "witch doctors of the soul"? From below consciousness, The Heartifacts bring unarguable visions that bond us; from before history, the pre-patriarchal imprint of social harmony; from around the world, regional and sub-cultural rhythms and sounds. Their medicine music shrieks, whispers, laments, caresses, warns, celebrates and reveals. And makes you feel good.

- Judy Beck

LYRICS FOR THE ICICLE MAN CD

NOT GIVING UP

The streets won't call me home.

The night won't call me it's phantom.

Then when I'm all alone

And the looking glass is clean to see

The forced denials and fiery art blown up

'round the rusty stand-irons of a sinking civilization

The blues of my dreams

Are chasing the thrill from my streets

While the captain sings a pardon for my sinking soul

To take a drink and carry on, carry on.

The streets won't call me home

And the night won't call me it's phantom.

But the black eyes harden and the beast split at dawn,

Lost another dollar at the dog race,

Maybe come back with a new face,

In a smoky trance,

Loaded as the guns in a crack war,

Cold as the day that rushes in your door

When the winds change and your stomach isn't ready for a

new season.

The blues of my dreams

Are chasing the thrill from my streets

While the captain sings a pardon for my sinking soul

To take a drink and carry on, carry on.

THE EERIE ROAD

Eerie eyesores assault your vision down on River Road.

You've heard of that road that's paved with good intentions.

This looks like the end of that road.

I think that road is really paved with selfish intent.

This hell was obviously built with a greedy bent

By people who don't care 'bout where their poison went

Or who it's killing.

Bob's young friend died of a floating cancer attached to her spine.

Strangling her from the inside,

Growing like a kudzu vine.

You know you can call it rape,

You can call it a sign

Of the logical end of this insane design.

It's time to stop, stop and do what it takes to end this dying.

They don't know we're all the same

Just like deep water in the ocean.

One's person's windfall is another's pain

When there is no compassion.

BUFFALO BILL

Buffalo Bill, aiming from a train,

Cocked his rifle it fired so well.

The shots rang out and the buffaloes fell

And lay to rot on the windy plain.

Listen to the Chief.

Seattle knows.

The buffaloes die where the white man goes.

The Indians starve when the buffaloes die

And pay with life for the governments lies.

The one that stole his name from the noble beasts

Held in such low esteem

Flaunted their name in a show out east

Like the echo of a hollow dream.

He grew in fame from coast to coast.

He's the one that killed the most.

The Buffaloes fell with a cold, hard thud

Yes, the West was won spilling buffalo blood.

Listen to the Chief...

Now the American dream is a nightmare to some.

The West was lost if the west was won.

It seems we held them in esteem so low,

The Buffalo.

Listen to the...

HONEYSUCKLE

Before so many telepathic radio minds

The blind death knew what we were already there for

Therefore the show began.

As it began the flashing camera of your soul's dark eyes

Was already ahead of your death's dark leaning to phantasize.

So that moment of our lives was dreamt into existance

By a haunting spectre in your mind

But before that you were a boxer and not so kind

to those you met inside the ring

That was before you tried to sing.

I looked into the eyes of every woman in the crowd and you

shone in them, the essence of Man, eating spinach, spitting out the can

But, for each of them could you be, or had you ever been before, any more than just one more

Honeysuckle one night stand?

I don't have your looks or your chiseled physique

But I've been working on this girl now for about three or four weeks.

I melt when she laughs and tremble when she speaks.

And, when she forgets to call me, well things were never so bleak.

You give her one White Russian she might give me a peck on the cheek.

You give her two White Russians she might finally kiss me a little, then a little bit more.

When she puts her arms around me there's something new I never knew before.

I'd be her slave or her devoted pup.

I wanna be her lover and I won't give up, won't give up

But, will she be then, or ever be for me anymore, if I ever cross the threshold of her waiting door, any more than just one more honeysuckle one night stand?

You wanted to kill some one but you didn't say who.

There's black magic in the laughter of the things you do.

It's not so much music as your own unique voodoo.

Now I've been in your haunting dream.

Maybe you've been in mine too.

I want to dream into existance a girl I once knew

To be mine forever and forever true blue,

Gentle as the falling rain,

Brave as a man like you.

I'd be her slave or her devoted pup.

I wanna be her lover and I won't give up, won't give up.

But will she be then or ever be for me anymore,

If I ever cross the threshold of her haunting door,

Any more than just one more honeysuckle one night stand?

COME AGAIN

Something happened when he was up in the blue-blown breeze.

The eclipsing sun sank behind many Calvarys and

Many Marys wailed upon calloused knees, "Oh, won't you

come back again

To be sucked into the breast of some mysterious dream

Where sky high pillars echo the unsung screams of

Everything you fear and everything you mean, meaning

won't you come back again

To plod through the misery of earthly trials,

To fear like the hero of the next X Files,

To call out from the distance of a million miles, 'Oh, won't

you come back again

To tramp through the dead of the desolation rows where

crack houses burned and hearts froze, where hopes were

buried till no one knows if you won't come back again

To track through forests where the lion prowls, where

scurrying mice feed the wisest owls, where everyone strikes

out but no one fouls howling, "Won't you come back again

To drink the manna of life's pearly stream,

Follow the currents of Merlin's gleam

Till all and all and all that it means screams, 'won't you

come back again?'"

Won't you come back again to hang out in the union hall

of saviors

Waiting for them to call out for one of your flavor.

Maybe this time the boss'll sign a crucifixion waiver

saying, "Won't you come back again

To wade in the mire of life's bloody dream,

Gallup on the nightmare of a million screams,

Each one different but each one means, won't you come

back again

To inhabit the fantasies of failed kings,

Midwife the new life that failure brings,

To be just one more confused earthling singing, 'Won't you

come back again?'"

JULIA

I dreamed of Julia in her prime.

Her heaving breasts wore passion like the end of time

As they rose and fell like driftwood on the rolling sea.

She asked me then to lie beside her naked thigh

And tell my desires

And love her like a woman before she's old and tired, Oohh.

Then, by and by, we could talk about the days gone by

When I loved her like a child with a child's desires.

What sweet king did we follow through domestic vignettes

and hide and seek?

We'd build a city each week from the love and fear

When children dream together in their early years,

When children dream together in their early years.

Julia grew distant in her prime,

Her three more years a bigger difference then,

And those were the years when I

Locked the doors on the house of my life.

Poison dust blew into my house from parts unknown,

Unfathomable to me,

I couldn't sweep it out on my own

And my playhouse companion had grown. Oohhh.

I'm touching Julia in her prime

With the softness of the wind upon the mountain thyme

That ripples like the waves on the rolling sea,

But is this the Julia of my memory?

It's a part of her it's a part of me.

Now it's no memory of hers but of mine.

I dreamed of Julia in her prime.

I dreamed of Julia in her prime.

She was wearing a summer dress.

The light was like a dark wine.

Her skin was like the summertime.

I felt giddy in this darkness like in the summer after nine,

When I was eight or nine, chasing the firefly shine.

I felt giddy in this dark room full of the heart of a woman,

A woman in her prime.

I dreamed of Julia in her prime.

OLLIE

Ollie came to me as I was riding to the new Jerusalem.

He had a gun barrel in his mouth, a comic book in his hand.

He was thinking that the gun might really come to be of some use to him.

You know he once obeyed the law yet it left him nowhere to stand.

When Ollie came to me he was on a horse

That was stolen from a painting at the Rue de la Course.

He tipped the man a quarter and he galloped off,

A certified health nut with a smoker's cough.

Saner thoughts evade me as I contemplate my debtor's prison cell.

I can't even remember when I was doing well.

I grabbed the gun from Ollie, I said, "Son, why don't you hand that gun over here?"

I shot three parking meters, two French Poodles and a CD by Brittney Spears.

Ollie tried to tell me where the pigeons sit

When all their favorite statues are covered with shit.

Joggers stop to tell me that I'm in the way

While Ollie's to excited to enjoy the day.

Ollie was waiting for the day when I'd agree to join him in his foolish pranks.

He said, "Finish all your thankless work and I will just be waiting here

Annoying the police until they come after me in Sherman tanks,

March me off in leg-irons, singing like a gondolier."

When Ollie left this world he was whistling a tune

That was stolen from the juke box at the Horny Goat Saloon.

He left in better spirits than he ever stayed.

He even tipped his hat to a meter maid.

Ollie came to me as I was riding through the new Jerusalem.

He said, "Thanks for saving my life but I went ahead and caught the Plague."

And, all the women who thought he was wierd, now their saying how they'd grown so used to him.

And all the cops are on trial and Ollie's comic book's exhibit A.

Ollie tries to tell me where the pigeons sit

When all their favorite statues are covered with shit.

Joggers stop to tell me that I'm in the way

While Ollie's too excited to enjoy the day.

FORTUNATE WIND

"Hey, what are you doing with that blue needle?"

"I'm injecting the blues into my veins while tommorow's

emotional sunburn steals the water from my parched lips."

"Why is your name on that steam roller?"

"To impress on the twisted highways my overall sense of

direction."

Why is your cat climbing ever higher in that tree?"

"Because his freedom knows no bounds as his soul knows

insurrection."

"Why did he fall into your arms from the highest limb?"

"He was taken by the tail by a fortunate wind, a fortunate

wind."

"Who's that lying in the cradle?"

"It's the Buddha child with folded arms waiting for my eyes

to devour every hour I haven't seen."

"Well, are you willing and able?"

"I'm an able son of Cain. My will's a mangy dog that will

not die."

"What do you do when things start falling from the sky?"

"I jump back out the way and I don't ask why."

"Don't you ever wonder how it'll turn out in the end?"

"Sometimes I lie awake waiting for my fortunate wind, my

fortunate wind."

THE ICICLE MAN

The Icicle Man is dying from the warmth of your hand.

Warped scenes of winter are collected by the Icicle Man,

Reflected in his transitive form, in it's cold fish-eye span.

Don't try to warm him. You're killing the Icicle Man.

Don't try to warm him. You're killing the Icicle Man.

I showed my pile of gold to the Icicle Man.

He showed it back to me dripping out of my hand.

I showed him the witch's moon in a winter's sky.

He showed it back to me falling down from the sky.

I showed him the moan of a lonesome train passing by.

He showed me the soul of a man too proud to cry.

I showed him the squeal of an elephant seal

Trumpeting the cold sins of man, far from it's land and

Lost from the herd.

In the Icicle Man the image was disturbed.

A madman shouted sermons to the angry waves and the

howlin' wind swallowed every word.

I mounted my bicycle, smiled to the Icicle Man,

Saw it beating in his icicle heart,

The slippery rhythm of this land,

Rode in forests where warm sunlight swam,

Where ice incarnated in swift rivers ran.

Icicle Man, I won't see you again,

Fleeting ally strangled by the southern wind.

Rode in forests that were famous on the wind,

Where a cloud soul dancer singing "Ghunga Din"

Said, "Icicle Man, I won't see you again,

Fleeting ally strangled by the southern wind.

MAN ON THE RUN

He said, "You can have a chair in the choir and here's a

road map to kingdom come."

I said, "Thanks for the offer but my soul's on fire with it's

music but half-way done."

He said, "Don't you want your name in the book of life?"

I said, "Who wrote that book and will he dance with my

wife if she leads

In her Gloria Steinman tee shirt and hippie beads?"

He said, "Let's leave that decision to God's only son."

I said, "The face in your mirror is a man on the run."

He told me that the bible was his favorite book

But his favorite magazine had a different look.

He tore through pages crumpled and weathered and some

were stuck together.

Page forty seven had transported him to heaven several times.

I asked who wrote the Bible he said it's from the ancient times but it's ultimatly the work of a god that can't be seen.

I said, "couldn't the same be said about your favorite magazine?"

He said, "Son, you've just insulted God's only son."

I said, "The face in your mirror is a man on the run."

He said, "I can't put these things together in the way that you do."

I said, "Put them together then in anyway that you choose but, if a head don't have a body, it's lips can't sing the blues, like a comic Emporer of a dessert realm, like no ship in no storm but with a captain at the helm."

He said, "This time, son, you'd better get down on your knees and pray for your eternal soul to God's only son."

I said, "The face in your mirror is a man on the run."

THE AWFUL DANCE OF THE SPHERES

At night they sat up waiting for the crazy one

Straining the tendrils, ungrateful son,

The wounds of his words so thoughtlessly done

When the course of his night was run.

Now it's him crying but the earth won't give up what it's won

And all through the rain the night has won

And nothing will be undone when the course of a life is run.

What was their sphere that couldn't hold their thirsty son in his

Awkward balance?

Now all through the night the earth has won in it's awful dance.

She couldn't drink the warmth of her wandering man

As geraniums drank from her watering can.

And he couldn't live on geranium blood.

Now the earth won't give up what it's won.

The blood of a poet's a uranium mine,

Dark and rich and a death over time.

And all through the rain the night was won.

He sang his rhymes till the course of his night was run.

What was her sphere that couldn't hold her hungry lover in his

strange imbalance?

Now all through the night the earth has won in it's awful dance.

THE PROSTITUTE

Oleander charmed from six until the night ran down

Amid neighborhood sirens, intertwining stereo vines of ripened

banshee fury.

Sometimes, in the fleeting bubble of a moment of her own,

She sang softly and her voice curried the air like a child's

Soft hand on velvet, a kick back of the blues.

So, ask her if her skin was made to contain this midnight sin

of close encounters with the unkind whose sexual role models

were jack hammers thriving on dead dinosaurs and not allowing

the night people to sleep in.

She was a playwright. Check out Lazarus. The whole plot led to

bull dozers at the end.

Then the heroine knew where her house had been by the

abundance of the dull syringe.

Ask her what she meant when she said the veil of her night

was as thin as a porcupine's hairnet.

An oleander grew on that spot at the end of the play, in the

rubble of her life and turned it's simple leaves to the sky.

If your dog ate it's leaves it would die.

Oleander charmed from six until the night ran down

In stolen scenes strung out like a fright train

Wailing for the dead

But she'd never let you hear the sound.

Nameless cats make love around her fragrant shrub

in the night in the rubble of the city.

The poison inside would kill you and me.

Oleander charmed from six until the night ran down

In stolen scenes strung out like a freight train,

A runaway train

But she'd never let you hear the sound.

Nameless cats make love around her fragrant shrub

in the night in the rubble of the city.

The poison inside would kill you and me.

NIGHTMARE TRAIN

There's a blind engineer on the nightmare train

As we roll in the night through the fog and the rain.

You know, if not for my fear you know I'd never complain

About the reckless driving of the blind engineer,

But, there's another problem;

It seems he just can't hear

Or he'd know that some would die beneath the rumblin'

steel

Though your daughter might be looking at the oncoming

wheels,

The blind engineer doesn't care how she feels.

I saw a woman on the nightmare train.

Her tears wouldn't stop for anything.

Anna became a sad statistic last year

as a victim of the crime that women most fear.

Now the child of the aggressor is under her loving care

But some days she'll swear by God that it's more than she

can bear.

And she floats like a fog through her life of despair

And the specter of her misfortune haunts her everywhere.

And the orphanage moves up from the back of her mind

But she knows the child would stay there for a long, long

time.

Knowing well, it won't relieve the hurt she feels inside,

Karen Bell recounts the story of how her young girl died.

You see the government says a mom must know if her

daughter's in the family way.

Apparently young Becky didn't see it that way.

Though you may know the bible like the back of your hand

And have the state militia at your command

You'll never know what Becky felt in her heart inside

As she caught the nightmare train for her last lonely ride.

BEING A MAN

The peal of my soul is the stuff of exhilerance.

Under layers of it you'll find the gentler flavors.

And the stiff rod of life born of ardent rustlings of

unconscious wind

Is too spin your womb into life again,

And again

So life shall win and win

Until the end.

The singing of a rock bearing soul will find your ears

I know

Asking what is life but to want more, but to want more.

If the Dutch Masters painted these days

You'd see a human heart hidden in a maze,

A witch doctor slipping out of phase

Trying to find it.

And if they captured the essence of these times

The portrait would be drawn in worry lines,

It's shadows as hard to define

As being a man.

LIST OF STYLES

Not Giving Up - ska

The Eerie Road - blues tango march

Buffalo Bill - folk-rock

Honeysuckle - folk-rock-souk

Come Again - funk

Julia - folk-rock

Ollie - reggae

Fortunate Wind - folk-rock

The Icicle Man - folk w/tablas

Man on the Run - folk-rock

The Awful Dance of the Spheres - ballad

The Prostitute - funk

The Nightmare Train - rock

Being A Man - Folk

All songs by Dave Easley

Thomas McDonald - bass 2,3,7,8,9,14,15,16

Ethan Leaming - guitar 1,2,4,6,7,8,9,11,14,15, vocals 16

Dave Easley - pedal steel guitar 1,2,3,6,10,14; guitar 1, 3thru16

Vocals on all songs except 2 and 13; steel guitar organ 2,6,8,9,

11; bells 16, bass 4,11; Indian bells 3; egg;16

Thomas Tymphony - bass 1,6

James Singleton - bass 12

Karl Budo - drums 1,3,4,6,7,9,11

Cori Walters - drums 2,8,14,15

Michael Skinkus - perc. 1,2,4,6,7,8,10,14,15,16

Andrew McLean - tablas 10

Elisabeth Gill - vocals 2

Coco Robicheaux - vocals 2

Maria Griener - vocals 3,4,11,12

Scott Icenogle - vocals 14

Order of solos: 1-Ethan-Dave, 2-Dave-Ethan-Dave, 3-Dave,

4-Dave, 6-Ethan-Dave-Dave, 7-D&E together,8-Dave-Ethan,

9-Ethan-Dave, 10Dave, 11-Ethan, 12-James w/Maria, 13-Dave

14-Dave-Dave-Ethan-Thomas McDonald-Cori, 15-Ethan feedback

16-Thomas McDonald

Cover Art Hugh Bridgeford

All songs Heartifact Publishing except Emanuel and Siciliano

Mastered by Joe Doherty

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