Saturday night live as Kevin Gordon shares his epic, unreleased (at the time) song “Colfax” during his Music Fog session in Nashville. Filmed at Marathon Recorders during the 2011 Americana Music Festival & Conference. Kevin is accompanied by Joe McMahan (guitar), Paul Griffith (drums), and Ron Eoff (bass). If you appreciate good songwriting, good poetry, good music and a good narrative, you cannot help but love this song. I don’t know about y’all, but in my universe, this is fuckin’ brilliant!
“Colfax,” tells the story of Gordon’s African-American music teacher, Mr. Minifield, who stoically faces down the Ku Klux Klan while leading the band at a football game in Colfax, Louisiana. Gordon describes his childhood in a hypnotic narrative of vivid, plainspoken images, such as this description of a high school crush: “Valerie/ Played clarinet/ 13 going on 35, sexy/ In a hard way, like a 1st cigarette,/ Bourbon spilled on a bare thigh.” “‘Colfax’ is based on an event I remember from seventh grade,” explains Gordon. The song’s focal point is Gordon’s spoken narrative, which unravels the action. The vocals are rhythmic and methodical behind a laid-back drum beat, a plodding banjo, and distant guitar echoes. As the story unfolds, there’s humor along with poignancy in the lyrics. When the KKK is first viewed by the band members, a boy named Donald Lovelady says he thought they only came out at night. Then Gordon compares the red cross on the Klansmen’s white robes to “an image of the suffering Christ/ Airbrushed on the side of a missile.” For some reason it felt important to use actual first and last names of some of the people who were there that day–a kind of factual grounding, I guess, more documentary; plus, I just liked the way it sounded.”
The song’s chorus is actually a second song title (“Step In Time”), a way of retaining the poetic purity of “Colfax,” leaving the main narrative a powerful and stand-alone thing all it’s own. The lyrical climax is, of course, Minifield as he marches on, “Like there was somewhere better/ He was going/ But this was the only goddamned way to get there.” The “step in time” may be a literal reference to the marching band, but it’s also Minifield as he looks “straight ahead” and walks on in the face of racism and prejudice. He’s moving forward, just like history–and just like Gordon’s song.
“Colfax/Step in Time”
I played trumpet in the band In 7th grade, blasting out songs At football games and fall parades We’d ride the bus To the small towns like Winfield, Downsville, and Colfax— In purple jackets and white slacks We were the Braves— We were the Jack Hayes Braves Named after a dead administrator And the noble ideal Of the young Native American male– School ambassadors Of popular song and good will
Mr. Minifield Was our director, skin the color Of a brown paper sack, he was black Trying to teach us white kids to play But confronted every baton-breaking day By juvenile delinquents, like Danny Amos Who locked himself into Minifield’s office, With my Ted Nugent double album; Playing “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” Full-blast over the bandroom speakers And I remember Minifield, just sitting there Staring out into the air From the podium, smoking a camel Looking straight ahead Imagining himself Somewhere else, I’d guess Where he’d be getting paid More for less B.S.
Tomorrow morning We’d be marching through What’s ahead from what’s behind Just another step in time
Valerie Played clarinet 13 going on 35, sexy In a hard way, like a 1st cigarette, Bourbon spilled on a bare thigh– (you could say she was ahead of the game) She’d barely speak to me So that 2-hour ride Felt like an all-day tense erotic dream, Staring out at the pine trees and red clay, And the country stores where inevitably An old dough-faced man would be standing outside– Staring at us like his life going by And was that her leg, was that her leg Just brushing against mine?
Riding on the bus Sitting next to Valerie Thrash Between what’s ahead, what’s behind Just another step in time
The morning was cold The silver bell of my horn shining back Convex reflections of faces and hands And the yellow smear of the bus While I blew out my spit valve, Put the wax on my braces– We were getting ready to play, Standing in line, moving in formation. First up, a Stevie Wonder song called Sir Duke, About Ellington (I didn’t know that then), Chameleon by Herbie Hancock– Jungle Boogie by Kool and the Gang, K.C. and the Sunshine Band— Get Down Tonight– That’s when I saw them at the end of the block Imperial Knights of the Ku Klux Klan In their white dunce caps And robes with red crosses Embroidered on Like gilded leaves on an automatic rifle Or an image of the suffering Christ Airbrushed on the side of a missile In broad daylight; Donald Lovelady said He thought they only came out at night—
Like an apparition, Blood-real in the silver sun— Between what’s ahead, what’s behind Just another step in time
They were handing out tracts To the Caucasian mothers and daughters And fathers and sons of Colfax– Laughing and joking, kneeling down, Placing a gentle hand on a child’s blonde head Like santa claus, or the pope Like this was normal, like this was okay Another doo-dah day down in dixieland He didn’t say a word, Minifield didn’t turn his head– Just kept marching Looking straight ahead Looking straight ahead Like there was somewhere better He was going But this was the only goddamned way to get there Today, with his baton in the air Looking straight ahead Straight ahead…
Written by Kevin Gordon (Little Rain Music/BMI)
I will not stop pimpin this magnificent song – a real life narrative of 1 kids experience – in the band!
Tuesday withSlaid Cleaves and "Black T-Shirt” from his album Everything You Love Will Be Taken Away. Have always been a huge Slaid fan- a true road warrior – see him if u can.
In your black t-shirt, in the parking lot In your drone boots out back smokin’ pot Gotta black eye and you wear it proud Guns and Roses way up loud
Just a little cut up on your brow The principal said don’t come back now Every night it’s a scream and shout There’s a new boyfriend and he wants you out
You know your going to pay for the things you do You know what you’ll put your mama through
You hitchhike to work then you hitchhike back Hope you’re home before the sky goes black Cars go by but they don’t stop These days no one picks you up
You know your going to pay for the things you do You know what you’ll put your mama through
Over the bridge to the Texaco There’s a guy works there you used to know He knows a dealer off the interstate Now you got a plan and a .38
You know your going to pay for the things you do You know what you’ll put your mama through
In your black t-shirt, in the parking lot In your drone boots out back smokin’ pot
Slaid Cleaves is a singer-songwriter born in Washington, D.C. and raised in South Berwick, Maine and Round Pond, Maine. An alumnus of Tufts University, where he majored in English and philosophy, Cleaves lives in Austin, Texas.
His full name is Richard Slaid Cleaves, but Slaid is the name that he has used his entire life.
Cleaves is a full-time touring musician, but like most musicians has held many day jobs: janitor, warehouse rat, ice cream truck driver, rope-tow operator, film developer, groundskeeper, meter reader, and pizza delivery driver. He was even a human guinea pig. He was paid to be a subject in drug studies by a pharmaceutical company.
Cleaves’s musical roots extend back prior to his days playing in a high school “garage band” with his childhood friend Rod Picott. The two shared a love of music, especially Bruce Springsteen and named their band The Magic Rats, after a character in Springsteen’s song “Jungleland.”
He brought his love of American artists such as Woody Guthrie, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Chuck Berry, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Tom Waits, CCR, and more with him to Cork, Ireland, where he spent his junior year of college. To help pass the time he learned how to play the songs on guitar and on November 18, 1985 he made his debut as a busker—a street singer—in Cork City, Ireland.
After several false starts he started to gain notice around Portland, Maine and in 1990 released his debut cassette, The Promise. Only a few songs off this album, “Sweet Summertime”, “Lonesome Highway” and “Wrecking Ball” still occasionally get played in concert. The original tape has unfortunately been lost, and only copies remain.
That was followed a year later by Looks Good from the Road, recorded with his rock band, The Moxie Men, which featured Cleaves on lead vocals and acoustic guitar, his brother J. on bass, Mark Cousins on drums and Pip Walter on electric guitar, acoustic guitar, and vocals. By the end of the year they were the darlings of the Portland press and touted as one of the bands “most likely to succeed.”
However, Cleaves’s solo acoustic side took over and in 1991 he moved with his wife, Karen, to Austin, Texas. In 1992, he was a winner of the prestigious New Folk competition at the Kerrville Folk Festival, an award previously given to such artists as Nanci Griffith, Robert Earl Keen and Steve Earle.
-Wikipedia
Slaid road story:
The Perfect Gig We were tired. Charles “King” Arthur and I had just done a quick sound check for an afternoon show at the Greenwich Odeum in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. The rooms we had requested didn’t come through, so we just sat in the car on Main Street, staring through the windshield. It was our default location.
This would be our tenth show in the past eleven days. We had left Austin, Texas, in my ’74 Dodge Dart Sport, driving straight over to Florida, then up the coast to Vermont before heading south that morning for RI. We had seen our share of bland, sterile chain motels in the last two weeks, and the thought of driving around to find one more was not agreeing with me. We were so used to hurrying along on this tour that we didn’t know what to with this moment of inaction, so we just sat in the car and stared ahead.
“So, where are we going to crash tonight?” Charles was always asking questions like that. We could drive up to Portsmouth after the show, only two more hours, to stay with friends. I even had a friend in Providence I could call up, but it was kind of late notice. Besides, I just didn’t want to drive another mile that day. I was sick of being in that old car. I was really sick of making decisions (I still can’t afford a road manager).
And then I saw it. About a block away there hung a huge, boxy, old iron sign over the sidewalk. “HOTEL” was spelled out vertically. Not “Motel.” The building was dull red brick, not white cement. Black iron fire escapes perched onto the sides. The sign was black and rusty and the neon was long gone. “I’m gonna go up and see if that really is still a hotel,” I said to Charles, who thought I was nuts.
I walked up the chilly sidewalk on this gray spring day in this small town of about 5000. Past a diner, some restaurants, a ladies clothes store. When I was just about under the mammoth sign, a doorway opened up to my left, and I stepped in. This was no hotel. It was a bar. But I knew right away that this was a special bar. It had the look of a bar you might see in an old black and white boxing movie from the 1940s. But it had this post-apocalyptic feel about it. Paint was peeling, the light fixtures were ancient, tiles were missing from the floor. It smelled like old wood, like an antique store. It had the accouterments of any modern blue-collar bar: the cardboard Budweiser posters, loud with color and pretty girls, the video poker game. But, though it was run down, the dinginess could not totally hide its elegant past. There were tiny mirrors in art deco patterns on the ceiling, which was painted aqua. Some of the doors were padded with faded dry leather. The bar itself was a solid piece of mahogany which curved around in a semi-circle. I sat on a naugahyde barstool and my elbows rested naturally, perfectly into the counter of this beautiful piece of wood. Even though I was a stranger, eyed by the half-dozen regulars smoking there, I felt totally comfortable at that bar. Read more…
Saturday night live. here is the link for the above read more,,,
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