FOLK

Aug 03

0

I See You All the Time

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, BEST OF, DRIVING, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, FEATURED, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, OUTDOOR, TRAVEL, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

0067,electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, folk, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, samples, sampled, sound design, guitar, ukulele, songwriter, vocal, singer, love song, storytelling, broken heart, breakup, divorce, break up

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Healing In Pink

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, RECORDING, VOCAL

SONG: HEALING IN PINK

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations.

I just remember being mind blown from the recent trip out west. The perspectives I had on life changed drastically as I slowly tried growing out of my little box. I had a mic and laptop, guitar and a 200 year-old house. The room was bright pink. Whoever modeled it had a strong affinity for the color, but it reached me strangely and awkwardly where I needed it most. So I set up my equipment, recorded stomps on the old wooden floor planks, wrapped a rubber band around my guitar strings, let the dog inside, and started. Was it the color? The company? The age?

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations…

0029,electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, folk, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, songwriter, healing, room, recording, production, antique, old, nostalgic, elders, vintage, retro, guitar, violin

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Swing Low

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, CINEMATIC, ELECTRIC GUITAR, EP'S, LP'S, SPLITS, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC

NOSTALGIC: SWING LOW [EP]

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

0132, nostalgic, vintage, retro, electric guitar, soft, soothing, spirituals, gospel, slave songs, hymns, wallace willis, explosions in the sky, stratocaster, interpretation, cinematic, old, cover, remix

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Aug 01

0

Introducing Doldrums

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, DOLDRUMS, FOLK, IMPROVISATION, INDIE, MISC, MUSIC, RAD, RAW, SURFING, VISUAL ART

SELF-HELP, SUCKS TO ADMIT: DOLDRUMS

doldrums, acoustic, groove, peaceful, tranquil, happy, surfing, water, ocean, video, water footage, easy listening, mellow, loops, loop pedal, live, performance, inspiration, art, interesting

mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses, artist, production company, california, media

Aug 01

0

On Raglan Road

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, ELECTRONIC, FOLK, INDIE, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: ON RAGLAN ROAD

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

0051,electronic, experimental landscapes, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, nostalgic, vocal, poetry, patrick kavanagh, dubliners, folklore, irish, synthesizers, synth, electric guitar, interpretation, cover, coldplay, texture, pattern

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Barely Exist

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, FOLK, INDIE, LIVE PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAD, RECORDING, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

SONG: BARELY EXIST

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

0053, acoustic, hike, life, confused, self help, irish jig, folk, fast, catchy, upbeat, hammer on, hammer off, singer, songwriter, cinematic, pop, vocal, video, performance, live, black and white, bandaid, guitar

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Mortar and Stone

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, FOLK, INDIE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAW, VOCAL | No Comments

SONG: MORTAR & STONE

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although…

0031, acoustic, folk, storytelling, songwriter, minimal, warm, beach, lyrics, love, oregon, sand, folk pop, guitar, vocals, alternative, simple, stripped

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Barely Exist (instrumental)

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, LIVE PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAD, RECORDING, TOP STORIES, VISUAL ART

SONG: BARELY EXIST (INSTRUMENTAL)

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

0054, acoustic, hike, life, confused, self help, irish jig, folk, fast, catchy, upbeat, hammer on, hammer off, singer, songwriter, cinematic, pop, instrumental, video, performance, live, black and white, bandaid, guitar

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Swing Low Happy Theme

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, CINEMATIC, CULTURE, ELECTRIC GUITAR, EP'S, LP'S, SPLITS, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC

INTERPRETATION: SWING LOW HAPPY THEME

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

0127, electric guitar, mellow, minimal, chill, heartful, emotional, interpretation, cover, wallace willis, slavery, slave, freedom, african american, culture, old, nostalgic, folk, instrumental, trio, series, EP, set, quiet, calm, tranquil

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Jul 28

0

Swing Low Main Theme

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, CINEMATIC, CULTURE, ELECTRIC GUITAR, EP'S, LP'S, SPLITS, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, INTERPRETATIONS, MEDITATION, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC

INTERPRETATION: SWING LOW MAIN THEME

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

0126, electric guitar, mellow, minimal, chill, heartful, emotional, interpretation, cover, wallace willis, slavery, slave, freedom, african american, culture, old, nostalgic, folk, instrumental, trio, series, EP, set, quiet, calm, tranquil

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings; when we wake up, where we drink our coffee, our routine drive to work. When we lose someone, those details suddenly reveal themselves as if they had been waving at us the whole time.

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings…

In our everyday lives, we hardly take into account the specific details of our surroundings; when we wake up, where we drink our coffee, our routine drive to work. When we lose someone, those details suddenly reveal themselves as if they had been waving at us the whole time.

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations.

Do you remember a specific moment in your life when knew you broke a personal barrier? Some people call them revelations…

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

…injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although…

I met a girl on the beach one day, like a breeze was swept my way. And although the air was filth – although my eyes were filled with sand – I let her in to stay. Still, I let her in.

So I used the sand to build a wall. A beautiful, giant wall. It towers high above – it towers high above them all. I am safe behind this wall. I can’t see over this wall.

For years, I’ve waited here alone behind mortar and stone. I count the steps that I can’t take. So I sit alone and wait. So how could she love me? I don’t even love me.

I want to break all of the walls that I have built around myself. Let all the people in that I have kept out and breathe again.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

…injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

Uncle Wallace Willis was a Choctaw freedman

living in the Indian Territory, in what is now Choctaw County, near the city of Hugo,

Oklahoma. His dates are unclear: perhaps 1820 to 1880.

He is credited with composing several Negro spirituals.

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On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.