Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
Baby moths like fresh, green leaves.
Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves.
Many struggle for a life of ease.
I want something to believe.
Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
Dark stream currents carry life itself.
Fire feeds the music in your muscle and blood.
Lost in his chant, a little elf collects faces in driftwood from the flood,
And waits to be in our dreams.
As the elf spins, magic drawings from his hat appear
That draw you in like passionate voices from a play.
Yet it’s only full of dream chasers on a flash lit stage,
Tragic actors on a burning page.
Hope, she would keep her wings in a black-swept sea
And dry them in a breeze of laughing stones.
T’was a still birth mother with her silence gone
Had to wade through the forest of my clanging song,
Though she smiled inside as she reached the sea
And said,
“So long to the boiling sun of my days.
I’ve already gone on,
Like the blind kiss of dawn,
Left in orbit when the moon rolls over and
Royal dreams walk like the escaping night,
Or, sometimes, lie like some cold cop’s chalk drawing on the ground
Around the failure of a love light or the victory of fright.”
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.
My road has gypsy fiddles in a covered bridge.
Rains stream through ditches then you top the ridge.
A little Spanish girl loves my icicle coat,
Reflecting scenes around me in its crystal, hologram awakening
And cool dripping impermanence.
I asked the professor for a consciousness probe,
Where the dark star landed?
Meet the new wrinkle on the face of time,
The heart of gold dis-banded.
I asked the cab driver with a pleading sob,
“Turn off that Jesus station.
Fifty thousand watts and the power of God are such a noxious combination.”
Baby moths like fresh, green leaves.
Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves.
Many struggle for a life of ease.
I want something to believe.
Let me hear the midnight cricket choir,
Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire,
Come to still, cool water soon,
Under a pagan moon.
Dave has worked
with diverse artists such as Old And In The Way's Peter Rowan, Ruthie Foster (the grammy nominated Let it Burn), jazz drummer Brian Blade, New Orleans blues legend Coco Robicheaux, 3Now4, Kolotov Mocktails. Easley Rider gives Dave a chance to perform music from his eclectic, psychedelic catalog of original material....more
3 Now 4's first release. Driven by Jim Singleton on bass, Johnny Vidacovich on drums, Jeff Boudreaux on drums, some of New Orleans finest rhythm players with the one and only Charlie Miller on Tpt. Dave Easley
All but one of the songs were made up on the spot but they sound like songs. This group has been playing together a long time and can follow each other well. Dave Easley
Tom Heyman documents life in San Francisco circa 2023, refusing to succumb to easy characterization & instead capturing the city’s nuance. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 22, 2023
Jody Stephens of Big Star and Luther Russell of the Freewheelers team for a radiant LP packed full of slide guitar and pop smarts. Bandcamp New & Notable Sep 11, 2019