West Virginia, My Home

by Annick Odom

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credits

released May 23, 2019

Tracks recorded and mixed by Pat Stewart and Alla Blehman

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Annick Odom Amsterdam, Netherlands

Annick Odom is a Belgian-American double bassist and clarinetist. Her newest project, "West Virginia, My Home" explores the region of Appalachia in the United States through new commissions of pieces inspired by the area and through collection of old folk songs from musicians living in the region. ... more

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Track Name: Camp a Little While
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.
Track Name: Ivory Bones
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!
Track Name: Breath
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.
Track Name: Edge
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.
Track Name: Dust to Dust and In-between
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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