1. |
Camp a Little While
03:25
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We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
in the wilderness, in the wilderness.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness
And we’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
And we’ll all journey home.
Oh mothers, are you ready?
Ready, oh ready.
Mothers are you ready?
And we’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
And we’ll all journey home.
Oh sisters, are you ready?
Ready, oh ready.
Oh sisters, are you ready?
And we’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll all journey home.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
And we’ll all journey home.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness,
in the wilderness, in the wilderness.
We’ll camp a little while in the wilderness
And we’ll all journey home.
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2. |
Black Lung
05:49
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3. |
Ivory Bones
05:24
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Casting lots with iv’ry bones
Acorns flowers and old pinecones
You left me here upon the sea
With only angels wings for company
As I look back at that new year
I cannot find a laugh nor tear
All I see is wash’d out white
Lost in manes of mares that reign the night
In the dark I know I was in pain
Thunderstorms of summer rain
Snow and wind upon the trees
Drown’d out cries to God upon my knees
In disbelief that these were wounds
Far too long I hid the ruins
For fear of being held as weak
Silence stole the words that strength would speak
Of late I’ve wonder’d how to heal
All these ruins where once I kneel’d
All these stories left untold
All these iv’ry bones I’ve come to hold
The healer finds me by surprise
Opens up my blinded eyes
Gives me strength that I may see
Yours were the hands that wounded me
My ship returns to my homeland
Where once I pray’d on desert sands
There healing flows from hands I know
Where love is deep, new seeds may grow
I will choose the empty path
Mark’d by neither tear nor laugh
Cast these bones away at sea
Your hands are gone, and I am free!
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4. |
Breath
04:27
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Rhythm is a shell, a shelter, a comforter.
This is how we dance. Six weeks, no rain, no rhythm.
The lady at the counter, oh the poor horses,
Oh the poor horses, already in their winter coats.
Still, color comes, it comes down the mountainsides.
Leaves on the spider webs, oh, the night’s a living thing!
Grandma says the moon, the moon pulls up everything.
All we held inside, brings it brimming, spilling out.
At last it comes, oh it comes pouring.
We are relieved, astonished at the sound it makes.
In a moment, quarter mile through the woods,
The brushy hillside fills the pond with water.
For six weeks dry, and everybody holds their breath.
Everybody holds their breath.
May America be just another place. History a spiral, seeking no arrival. Being here, born of contingency, may we love actively, intimately and actually.
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5. |
Edge
04:14
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An edge, a border, a skin, a seam, starin’.
The moon is swelling full as a dripping yellow tomato.
The sensual joy of life and the sufferin’.
Your body falls away and you become the sound.
The edge between the streetlight and the dark starin’.
Orion rises early in the mornin’, starin’,
And oh, the land, the land it breathes and pulls us in.
The dogs are still, the crickets rest their ancient song.
An edge, a border, a skin, a seam, starin'.
An edge, an openin’ a beyond, starin’.
The world recedes, falls down the sky and pulls us in,
Two vultures spread their wings to the morning sun, to the morning sun, to the sun.
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6. |
A Spitting Story
07:22
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7. |
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Dust to dust, and in-between
Mist in tendrils on every hill.
Golden bittersweet on the trunks of the pine trees.
Blood orange morning climbing.
Old concrete stairs, to new forests in the rubble
To the flame of a black gum tree.
In the old house, in the old house,
Raccoon kits nearly grown.
In the old house, in the old house,
Raccoon kits nearly grown.
We’ve got lots of work to do,
And all day to do it.
Watching water soak in.
In the old house, in the old house,
Raccoon kits nearly grown.
In the old house, in the old house,
Raccoon kits nearly grown.
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Annick Odom Morgantown, West Virginia
Annick Odom is a Belgian-American double bassist and clarinetist. Her ongoing solo project, "West Virginia, My Home," explores the region of Appalachia in the United States through new commissions of pieces inspired by the area and by learning of (sometimes old and sometimes folk) songs from musicians still living in the region. ... more
Annick Odom recommends:
Elk River Blues
by Sweet Joe Pye
This is a trio I play in - with fiddle and cello added! We have made arrangements of Appalachian ballads and fiddle tunes we love.
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Through churning dynamics and elongated, arc-like melodies, clarinetist Joanna Nicholson casts a hypnotizing modern classical spell.
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Moments Remixes
by Michael Vincent Waller
There’s a quiet beauty to this remix album of compositions by Michael Vincent Waller, with contributions from JLin, Prefuse 73, & more.
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Thinking of Blue Almonds Part One
by Lou Lyne & the Blue Almond Project
Somber, beautiful string meditations abound on the debut album by Oxford cellist and composer Lou Lyne and her ensemble.
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Ki moun ou ye
by Nathalie Joachim
Vocalist, flutist, and composer blends traditional instrumentation with jazz-inflected neoclassical arrangements.
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Diaries: Schumann
by Tiffany Poon
Comprising 32 takes on iconic Robert Schumann compositions, the emergent pianist's Pentatone debut is a must-hear for classical fans.
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