Woke up from a weary sleep
And I feel the winds of change.
Blowing through hometown streets
Oh, I wonder what will remain.
Large crowds rally in Chester Park.
I hear the winds of change.
For them the future is the past.
But nothing remains the same.
I hear the sounds of change.
I fear the sounds of change.
This was once a peaceful place.
Oh, I wonder what will remain.
Protester’s signs stream before my eyes.
I see the winds of change.
This community was peaceful once.
Now, neighbors shout epithets, standing in a pouring rain.
My curious tongues explores split lips.
I taste the winds of change.
Salty minerals trickle over my chin
Or down my throat, another place to drain,
Baseball bleachers burn in Chester Park.
I smell the winds of change.
Megaphoned voice provided the spark
Then claimed he was not the one to blame.
I smell the winds of change.
I fell to the winds of change.
This was once a peaceful place.
Oh, I wonder what will remain.
Large crowds rally in Chester Park.
I hear the winds of change.
For them the future is the past.
But nothing remains the same.
I hear the sounds of change.
I fear the sounds of change.
This was once a peaceful place.
Oh, I wonder what will remain.
I fell victim to another musical fantasy and wrote another song. In this fantasy, I was playing guitar in Palm Springs. My, well, it’s a long story, so let’s just say half-sister, winters in Palm Springs. Our mother left her for adoption before I was born, and she had been trying to connect with her blood relatives for decades. A couple of years ago, she reached out to me and my siblings. She had also been wintering in California every year, so it’s natural to meet-up in Palm Springs. My other half-sister (my mother’s first child, she kept this one, but that’s another long story) taught me guitar.
As it turns out, all three of us learned at least some classical guitar. Two of my three guitars are nylon stringed. I prefer nylon to steel.
Anyways, in my fantasy, I’m playing guitar in some public place. My siblings are there. I quickly exhaust the songs I practiced and decide to play House of the Rising Sun. For guitar students of my generation, House of the Rising Sun is the second song we learned.
I can’t remember the name of the first song we all learned to play. I call it Oh, Gee Cee Dee. Literally dozens of songs can be performed with just these three chords from Leaving on a Jet Plane to Sweet Home Alabama and so many more.
Since Oh, Gee Cee Dee is the first song we learned, we pretty much just strummed the chords. Down-Down-Up-Up-Down. Two bars of G, one bar each of C and D. Over and over again. Playing the same chord (G) twice through sounds a little off, so many players through in a Joe Walsh hick-up so it sounds more like Cha-Chum-Down-Down-Up-Up-Down.
Many guitarist continue playing Oh, Gee Cee Dee. It becomes a right hand thing where they experiment and play differing strumming or picking patterns.
Most of saved right hand experimentation for the second song, House of the Rising Sun, Am C D F, Am C E7 E7, Am C D F, Am E7 Am. I’m one of those guitarists. I have my own picking pattern, a variant of that pattern, a semi-classical interpretation for the second C and the third E7 and a full blown classical playing of the second E7 and the last Am.
In my fantasy, I play through the chords my way. My family is intrigued. I play though the chords a few more times to make it a full song’s worth. Somehow, Joe Walsh overhears it and tells me he never heard House of the Rising Sun played that way. He asks me to play it again and he plays lead guitar over it. Remember this is a fantasy. I have no idea where his electric guitar and amp came from. He wants to record this version. I agree, but think new lyrics should be used. I penned the lyrics above.
Fact(mostly), Fiction and Opinion 