CALLING ME HOME - LINER NOTES
02. Gone, Gonna Rise Again 3:20
03. The Wood Thrush’s Song 3:47
04. West Virginia Mine Disaster 4:29
05. The Maple’s Lament 3:52
06. Hello, My Name Is Coal 3:00
07. Calling Me Home 2:30
08. Black Waters 4:56
09. West Virginia, My Home 4:26
10. Agate Hill 3:47
11. Now Is the Cool of the Day 3:25
12. Requiem for a Mountain 2:37
A four-hour stretch of mountain highway runs between the farm where I live in southwestern Virginia and the one in Kentucky where I grew up. I call that road “the home stretch.” On one end of it stands my household, husband and child, and on the other are the people who made me. So either way I drive it, I’m going home. I’ve traveled it in all weather, headed for births and funerals and everything in between, with plenty on my mind. I’m careful about choosing music. Last weekend when I made that trip to meet some especially poignant family duties, I put on this collection of songs for a first good listen. Miles down the road I found myself replaying them still, nearly weeping for how perfectly the soundtrack suited my journey.
Okay, “nearly weeping” is a euphemism. I was already starting to choke up on the fourth track, “West Virginia Mine Disaster,” as I passed through the county where my great aunt spent her long life as a nurse in the coal fields tending the injuries and illnesses that mining so regularly inflicts. I was thinking about how she lost her husband tragically and too soon, and I passed the cemetery where the two of them are finally now together, just as the song rose to its full-throated question: “What will I say to my heart that’s clear broken… if my baby is gone?” My view of the road got a little bleary at that point. Windshield wipers weren’t helpful. And on from there it went, into the haunting elegy “Calling Me Home,” with Kathy’s stunning vocals and Tim Eriksen’s otherworldly harmonies framing a simple, astonishing ode to making peace with death.
There are certain places on that drive where I pass over a ridge into views of blue-green forest and valley that take my breath away. I steer my vessel between steep shale cliffs like monstrous ocean waves that are really the guts of a mountain blown open by dynamite. I cross the shadow of a gigantic coal-fired smokestack that I always curse under my breath because it looks like a haughty, man-made finger aimed at heaven. Of course, it rises from the very power plant that lights up my home and the computer on which I am writing these words. So I laughed and swore some more when Kathy hit me with Larry Cordle’s cheeky ballad “Hello, My Name is Coal,” a dead-on portrait of our savior and demon addiction, Mr. Coal. This road I call the home stretch crosses the rugged Appalachian geography of a lifetime, heartaches and hopes and contradictions included. All of it seemed to mean so much more when set to the tune of fiddle or banjo or bowed zither and a voice of rare wisdom and strength.
About midway, the road passes the town where my parents first took me to hear a Jean Ritchie concert in a high school gym. They taught me to revere the likes of Ritchie and Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard as the voices of our people. A generation later I taught my own kids to love Si Kahn as the voice of all good hopes that get shoved down and rise up again. Incredibly, all those writers are represented in this collection. And there are others, new to me, like Laurie Lewis, whose poetic invocations of living nature are some of the most moving I’ve heard. Somewhere between “The Wood Thrush’s Song” and “The Maple’s Lament” I traversed the Red River Gorge where my family used to go camping, and recalled the joy of waking up in a canvas tent to hear my favorite music in all the world, the song of a wood thrush. As a child I watched my parents band together with others who loved that pristine gorge to save it from proposed development and inundation. I understood that “roots” referred not only to our music, but to the literal connection between a tree and its ground. This is the place that made me a person, and gave me the gumption to fight for the pieces of home I can’t bear to lose.
I’ve known for some time that Kathy is no stranger to that kind of gumption. We first met at a performance in Knoxville where we blended our two different kinds of voices and raised them up in a plea to stop mountaintop removal. Long before that, her songs had walked with me through many a shadowed valley where life had carried me too far away from my roots. But somehow this collection has managed to hit home in a new way, with so many sentiments I swear are being sung just for me. This highway’s a ribbon of lonesome. It’s a far cry from here to Virginia. I miss my friends of yesterday, and oh, how I long to feel the spell of the wood thrush’s song. I miss what these mountains must have been before we cut open their veins – The Garden of the Lord, in Jean Ritchie’s mighty words – and the clear streams that heaved and sighed on their flanks before the black waters ran down.
On that Saturday drive when I listened the first time, I had just received the songs from Kathy as downloadable files without packaging or description, so I didn’t even know what she intended to call this collection. A few days later, I learned the title track is “Calling Me Home.” And I said, well of course it is. These songs have been chosen with insight and love, rendered in earnest, as moving as only the truth can be. I will listen again and again, whenever I’m headed home. The particular genius of Kathy Mattea is to call up the touchstones of hope and heartbreak that we all carry in our pockets. Even if these mountains are not yours, the fact is everybody has a home stretch, where you feel a little torn up because no matter which way you’re headed, you are going towards home and also leaving it behind. Believe me, this is the soundtrack for that journey.
Barbara Kingsolver
May 2012
Produced by Gary Paczosa & Kathy Mattea
Personnel
Kathy Mattea – lead vocal
Jim Brock - percussion
Byron House – bass
Bryan Sutton – mandolin, banjo, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, high strung guitar, octave banjo, octave mandolin
Bill Cooley – acoustic guitar
Stuart Duncan – fiddle, banjo, mandolin, bowed zither
Tim Lauer – accordion, pump organ, additional percussion
John Randall Stewart – electric guitar
Randy Kohrs – Dobro (“A Far Cry”), Weissenborn guitar (“West Virginia Mine Disaster”, “West Virginia, My Home”)
Tim Eriksen – harmony vocal (“Calling Me Home”)
Patty Loveless – harmony vocal (“Black Water”)
Emmylou Harris – harmony vocal (“Black Water”)
Aoife O’Donovan – harmony vocal (“Gone, Gonna Rise Again”, “The Wood Thrush’s Song”, “West Virginia Mine Disaster”)
Tim O’Brien – harmony vocal ("A Far Cry", "Gone Gonna Rise Again", "The Woodthrush's Song", "WV My Home")
Sarah Dugas – harmony vocal ("A Far Cry", “West Virginia Mine Disaster”,
“Hello, My Name Is Coal”)
Oliver Wood – harmony vocal (“Hello, My Name Is Coal”)
Mollie O’Brien – harmony vocal (“West Virginia, My Home”)
Alison Krauss – harmony vocal (“Agate Hill”)
Recorded by Gary Paczosa & Brandon Bell at Sound Emporium Recording Studios, Nashville, TN
Mixed by Gary Paczosa at Minutia, Nashville, TN
Additional recording at Minutia, Nashville, TN
Patty Loveless vocals engineered by Ellery Durgin at Cave 2 Studio, Dallas, GA
Tim Eriksen vocals engineered by Garrett Sawyer at Northfire Recording Studio, Amherst, MA
Mastered by Don Cobb and Eric Conn at Independent Mastering, Nashville, TN
Photography by David McClister
Art Direction and Design by Carrie Smith
Thank You:
Every time I make a record, I am struck once again by the sheer wonder of the talent streaming through the various people I get to collaborate with, the flavor of each voice, each person’s approach to music and record making and fostering collaboration. There have been many moments that I’ve been moved to tears by the depth and breadth of a lifetime’s work, brought to bear on a small passage of music on “my” record. It’s a privilege to still be doing this, and it’s one of the great gifts of my life to get to spend open-ended time playing, listening, learning, collaborating and sitting at the feet of so many masters.
I especially want to thank Gary, for seeing the potential in this record even before I was sure the project was going to gel, and for embracing it and seeing it through to the end. And to Brandon, for all your help along the way.
Many thanks to Bill, for the countless hours of woodshedding, and the wonderful arrangement ideas. I think you’re brilliant!
To Marc, for knowing when to push me, and knowing when to leave space. And Don, for your big heart, solidarity and gentle but firm support.
To Mr. Jones (he wants me to call him “Charlie”), for your generosity in giving us the run of Port Amherst, and your lovely farm in Oak Hill, to make the pictures for this album.
Cliff, Donica and the entire Sugar Hill team, for inviting me in and giving me a home.
Jeanna and everyone at IMN, for “getting” me.
Tim O for brotherly love, inspiration and the closest thing to family harmony I can imagine.
Jon, for your unwavering support, and lots of inspiration, in so many ways.
Phoebe, for keeping me focused and on track, and helping me to keep growing.
Thanks to Alison, Emmy, Patty, Oliver, Sarah, Aoife, Tim O, Mollie, Tim E… I love the supporting vocals on this record SO MUCH.
And to Si Kahn, Alice Gerrard, Mari-Lyn Evans, Jean Ritchie, Silas House and Jason Howard, Larry Gibson for inspiring Requiem, Eamonn, David, Jay, and Fred.
And to the Divas, thank you for helping me stay on solid ground.
For Hazel Dickens and Judy Bonds.
Management: Marc Dottore for M. Dottore Management, LLC
Agency: Jeanna Disney of International Music Network imnworld.com
LYRICS
A Far Cry
Michael Dowling, Janet Dowling
Little House of Morgan Songs (ASCAP)
I remember the face of an angel
A love that was faithful and true
I left that dear boy in the mountains
For a ramblin’ life empty and blue
Sweet roses bloom where they’re planted
Wild flowers seed on the wind
That valley was closer to heaven
Than any place this poor fool’s been
It’s a far cry from here to Virginia
But I’d crawl every inch of that ground
My teardrops fall like rain on the roof
Of that Blue Ridge home where I’m bound
This highway’s a ribbon of lonesome
Don’t care where I lay my head down
My Virginia boy died broken hearted
My sweet mountain darlin’ is gone
It’s a far cry from here to Virginia
But I’d crawl every inch of that ground
My teardrops fall like rain on the roof
Of that Blue Ridge home where I’m bound
Gone, Gonna Rise Again
Si Kahn
Joe Hill Music (ASCAP)
I remember the year that my granddad died
Gone, gonna rise again
They dug his grave on the mountainside
Gone, gonna rise again
I was too young to understand
The way he felt about the land
But I could read his history in his hands
Gone, gonna rise again
Corn in the crib and apples in the bin
Ham in the smokehouse and cotton in the gin
Cows in the barn and hogs in the lot
You know, he never had a lot
But he worked like a devil for the living he got
These apple trees on the mountainside
He planted the seeds just before he died
I guess he knew that he'd never see
The red fruit hanging from the tree
But he planted the seeds for his children and me
High on the ridge above the farm
I think of my people that have gone on
Like a tree that grows in the mountain ground
The storms of life have cut them down
But the new wood springs from the roots in the ground
Gone, gonna rise again
Gone, gonna rise again
Gone, gonna rise again
The Wood Thrush’s Song
Laurie Lewis
Spruce and Maple Music; admin. by BMG Rights Management (ASCAP)
I walked down the hall where the woods used to stand
Concrete at my feet, brick walls at every hand
And over my head steel girders so strong
Where I first felt the spell of the Wood Thrush's song
Now the Wood Thrush has vanished, seeking the place
That's not felt the crush of man's embrace
The steep woods are gone now, and oh, how I long
To again feel the spell of the Wood Thrush's song
Over my head just a few years ago
The poplar leaves shivered when the breezes did blow
Now the deep hum of engines drowns the soft sigh
Of the wind in the leaves of the few trees nearby
Man is the inventor, the builder, the sage
The writer and seeker of truth by the page
But all of his knowledge can never explain
The deep mystery of the Wood Thrush refrain
West Virginia Mine Disaster
Jean Ritchie
Geordie Music Publishing (ASCAP)
Oh say, did you see him, it was early this morning
He passed all your houses on his way to the coal
He was tall, he was slender, and his dark eyes so tender
His occupation was mining, West Virginia his home
It was just before twelve, I was feeding the children
Ben Moseley came running to bring us the news
Number eight is all flooded, many men are in danger
And we don't know their number, but we fear they're all doomed
So I picked up the baby, and I left all the others
To comfort each other and to pray for their own
There's Tommy, fourteen, and there's John not much younger
Their own time soon will be coming to go down the black hole
What will I say to his poor little children?
And what will I tell his dear mother at home?
And what will I say to my heart that's clear broken?
To my heart that's clear broken if my baby is gone?
Now, if I had the money to do more than just feed them
I'd give them good learning, the best could be found
So when they growed up they'd be checkers and weighers
And not spend their life digging in the dark underground
Say, did you see him going, it was early this morning
He passed all your houses on his way to the coal
He was tall, he was slender, and his dark eyes so tender
His occupation was mining, West Virginia his home
The Maple’s Lament
Laurie Lewis
Spruce and Maple Music; admin. by BMG Rights Management (ASCAP)
When I was alive the birds would nest upon my boughs
And all through long winter nights, the storms would 'round me howl
And when the day would come, I'd raise my branches to the sun
I was the child of earth and sky, and all the world was one
But now that I am dead, the birds no longer sing in me
And I feel no more the wind and rain, as when I was a tree
But bound so tight in wire strings, I have no room to grow
And I am but the slave who sings, when master draws the bow
But sometimes from my memories I can sing the birds in flight
And I can sing of sweet dark earth and endless starry nights
But oh, my favorite song of all, I truly do believe
Is the song the sunlight sang to me while dancing on my leaves
Hello, My Name Is Coal
Larry Cordle, Jeneé Fleenor
Wandachord Music (BMI), NaynerPuddinPie (SESAC)
I'm from West 'by God' Virginia
And the high Kentucky hills
I'm dirty but I'm honest
I pay a poor man's bills
I’m prosperity and poverty
I'm a scoundrel and a saint
I'm loved, reviled, misunderstood
I'm hope in a hopeless place
Hello, my name is coal
And around here I'm the king
Some say I'm a savior
Some say death is what I bring
I've broke miner's backs & hearts
And I've wrestled for their souls
Let me introduce myself
Hello, my name is coal
Some men call me 'black gold'
You might have heard of me
My body is the mountain
My breath is kerosene
You might think I’m outta date
But if I'm out of style and old
Why do men still dig me
All around the globe?
Hello, my name is coal
And around here I'm the queen
Some say I'm cheap and easy
Oh but they still bow to me
Be careful, I'll break up your home
And I’ll steal away your soul
It's dangerous to lust for me
Hello, my name is coal
They curse me now for what I am
But not that long ago
They sang my praises everywhere
Hello, my name is coal
Calling Me Home
Alice Gerrard
Agate Hill Publishing (BMI)
An old friend lay on his dying bed
Held my hand to his bony breast
And he whispered low as I bent my head
Oh they're calling me home
They're calling me home
My time has come to sail away
I know you'd love for me to stay
But I miss my friends of yesterday
Oh, they're calling me home
They're calling me home
I know you'll remember me when I'm gone
Remember my stories, remember my songs
I'll leave them on earth, sweet traces of gold
Oh they're calling me home
They're calling me home
So friends gather ‘round and bid me goodbye
My body's bound but my soul shall fly
My little light's shining from the sky
Oh they're calling me home
They're calling me home
My time has come to sail away
I know you'd love for me to stay
But I miss my friends of yesterday
Oh, they're calling me home
They're calling me home
Black Waters
Jean Ritchie
Geordie Music Publishing (ASCAP)
I come from the mountains, Kentucky's my home
Where the wild deer and the black bear so lately did roam
By the cool rushing waterfall the wildflowers dream
And through every green valley, there runs a clear stream
Now there's scenes of destruction on every hand
And only black waters run down through my land
Sad scenes of destruction on every hand
Black waters, black waters, run down through my land
Oh the quail, she's a pretty bird, she sings a sweet tongue
In the roots of tall timber she nests with her young
Then the hillside explodes with the dynamite’s roar
And the voice of the small bird is heard there no more
Then the mountain comes tumbling so awful and grand
And the poison black waters run down through my land
Sad scenes of destruction on every hand
Black waters, black waters, run down through my land
In the coming of the springtime we planted our corn
In the ending of the springtime we buried a son
In the summer come a nice man, says everything's fine
My employer just requires a way to his mine
Then they blew down the timber and covered my corn
And the grave on the hillside's a mile deeper down
And the man stands and talks with his hat in his hand
As the poison black waters rise over my land
Sad scenes of destruction on every hand
Black waters, black waters, run down through my land
Well I don’t have much money, not much of a home
I own my own land, but my land's not my own
But, if I had ten million, somewhere’s thereabouts
Well, I'd buy Perry county and I’d drive ‘em all out
Then I’d sit on the bank with my bait and my can
And watch the clear waters run down through my land
Well, wouldn't that be just like the old promised land?
Black waters, black waters no more in my land
Black waters, black waters no more in my land
West Virginia, My Home
Hazel Dickens
Happy Valley Music (BMI)
West Virginia, oh my home
West Virginia, where I belong
In the dead of the night, in the still and the quiet
I slip away, like a bird in flight
Back to those hills, the place that I call home
It’s been years now, since I left there
And this city life’s about got the best of me
I can’t remember why I left so free
What I wanted to do, what I wanted to see
But I can sure remember where I come from
West Virginia, oh my home
West Virginia, where I belong
In the dead of the night, in the still and the quiet
I slip away, like a bird in flight
Back to those hills, the place that I call home
Well I paid the price for the leavin’
And this life I have’s not one I thought I’d find
Just let me live, love, let me cry
But when I go, just let me die
Among the friends who’ll remember when I’m gone
West Virginia, oh my home
West Virginia, where I belong
In the dead of the night, in the still and the quiet
I slip away, like a bird in flight
Back to those hills, the place that I call home
Home, home, home
Oh, I can see it so clear in my mind
Home, home, home
I can almost smell the honeysuckle vine
In the dead of the night, in the still and the quiet
I slip away, like a bird in flight
Back to those hills, the place that I call home
Agate Hill
Alice Gerrard
Agate Hill Publishing (BMI)
Oh, you weary restless heart
Peace come to you now
Still your wild and wishful soul
Calm your troubled brow
Loose your crippled body’s ties
Let your spirit soar
Friends and loved ones guiding you
To new freedom’s shore
Think of when you were a child
Dreams unbound by pain
Climbing up the Agate Hill
Wild and free again
It will be as then
Your mama’s watching over you
Even from afar
All your children now are here
With you in your hour
Oh, the words we’ve left unsaid
Flood into my soul
And I know you hear them now
Even as you go
Think of when you were a child
Dreams unbound by pain
Climbing up the Agate Hill
Wild and free again
Oh, it will be as then
Climbing up the Agate Hill
It will be as then
Now Is the Cool of the Day
Jean Ritchie
Geordie Music Publishing (ASCAP)
And my Lord, He said unto me
Do you like my garden so fair
You may live in this garden, if you keep the grasses green
And I'll return in the cool of the day
And my Lord, He said unto me
Do you like my garden so pure
You may live in this garden, if you keep the waters clean
And I’ll return in the cool of the day
Now is the cool of the day
Now is the cool of the day
Oh this earth it is a garden, the garden of my Lord
And he walks in his garden
In the cool of the day
And my Lord, He said unto me
Do you like my pastures so green
You may live in this garden if you will feed my lambs
And I'll return in the cool of the day
And my Lord, He said unto me
Do you like my garden so free
You may live in this garden if you keep the people free
And I'll return in the cool of the day
Now is the cool of the day
Now is the cool of the day
Oh, this earth is a garden, the garden of my Lord
And he walks in his garden
In the cool of the day
Yes he walks in His garden
In the cool of the day
Requiem for a Mountain (Instrumental)
Bill Cooley
Nancy Lee Music (ASCAP); All rights administered by Carol Vincent and Associates, LLC