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Seed & Silo

by Rebekah Rolland

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Brad Legg
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Brad Legg I listened to the first song and knew I had to buy this album. Fresh, but holds just enough traditional sound. Favorite track: Hole in the Earth.
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FoddToward Rebekah has a very distinct voice, and I mean that in a good way. Favorite track: The Spirit.
wwickham thumbnail
wwickham I just love this album. Rebekah's voice can be either plaintive or mysterious, and sometimes both at once. The songs are great and the recording surprisingly free of gimmicks. Well done. I paid $12 and should have paid more. Feeling a little guilty now. Favorite track: Hole in the Earth.
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Man put a hole in the earth/Settled down in the earth/Deep down in the earth/ Man put a hole in the earth/Row by row of the earth/And he fell and rose with the earth// Man made a town of the meadow/ Broke the ground of the meadow/Settled down in the meadow/ Man measures life by the meadow/By the length of her shadow/ By her sighs, soft and shallow// Chorus// And the clay makes its way through my veins/Smoothing out the ruddy walls of the river bank/Marble shining in the walls of the river// The sky breaks our silence in mourning/With her cries in the morning/ A reckoning and a warning/ In our beds in the mud and the water/ Winter and summer/Ever one or the other// Chorus// And the clay makes its way through my veins/Smoothing out the ruddy walls of the river bank/And the cold settles deep in my bones/Smoothing o’er the muddy shores of the river bank/Marble shining in the walls of the river/ Man put a hole in the earth/ Settled down in the earth/ Deep down in the earth//
The Spirit 04:11
Do you know where you go?/Do you know where you go?/ When the setting sun sinks down like a stone to the bottom of the river/ Sleep is a river and your dreams, a boat/And we’ll sail it together // My father was a fine man/ My father was a fine man/ But everybody pines for the waters of life because everybody’s broken/A crack in the back of his old violin/And we hung it in the kitchen/ Take me back to heaven for a second/You were singing in the morning/ Streaming through the floor and the open door/And the windows of the second story// Chorus// Oooo/Don’t you know that time does a number on the mind?/Oooo/ The spirit, like a west wind, making for the far side// Build it beside that red road/Build it beside that red road/With walls come down from the forests and towns of Northern Minnesota/Where the water is wide and it cries in the night/You can hear it from the second story/We swore before that we’d make the most of it/Keep each other closer/ Wild in the night, eyes to the sky/Your shadow on the water // Oooo/ Don’t you know that time does a number on the mind?/Ooo/The spirit, like a west wind, making for the far side// -For Ryan
Little blackbird on the gable/Blackbird callin’ ‘bout trouble and woe/Trouble and woe, trouble and woe/Fill the cracks in the wall and fill up our store// There’s a spirit at my table/Spirit aglow when it spoke unto Moses/Spirit aglow, spirit aglow/But the fire burns cold and we’ve no place to go// Pretty Sarah, sweet and able//Won’t you come down and tell us, now, where do we go?/Where do we go, where do we go/When the cup runneth low and the river is froze?// Little Bessie in her stable/The baby’s a cryin’ and the cold wind’s a blowin’/Cold wind’s a blowin’, cold wind’s a blowin’/Put a line in the snow and we’ll find our way home// Little blackbird on the gable/Little blackbird, don’t you call here no more/Don’t you call here no more, call here no more/ Don’t you know, it is well it is well with my soul/It is well, it is well with my soul/It is well it is well with my soul//
Ring the golden hour/A bell like rain and a sky like fire/I see home from steps of stone/When I’m looking to the sun/If I’m looking long enough// Mama doesn’t know/What I press to the page with the words they gave me/Light moves in the way that it does/We hold to what we know/Made still, but still we go// See the planes of time/Golden waves that flood my mind/No birth at all, no end in sight/Behold, what power have I/To fall and still to rise// I am but a child/And you are proud, face to the ground/Quiet words meant for the sun/There’s sorrow in the sound// Beating in the night/With bated breath, a boy in flight/One day, we’ll get it right/But for now we fall in silence/But time will not forget us/No, time will not forget us//
Standing Still Pressed to my mind/Wrapped up tight, a midnight ride/Floating on the dreams that we have carried many miles/Pressed as the stars to darkness/A hum in the night, seed and silo silent for a little while //Chorus// Drawn like the prairie dawn/ Flickering through the night/ Faded now, but you never really said goodbye// Pressed to my mind/ A blanket of white, fast asleep/But you know that life is buried in the ground underneath/Shining as light through the trees/Snow to my knees/We’re making wings/My heart beats for the things like these // Repeat Chorus// Figures and faded lines/Red as summer light/ Black as February frozen in my mind, in my mind/ Pressed deep in memory/ The plough, the tree alone, and she is standing still in front of me// Repeat Chorus//
“Bury me not on the lone prairie”/These words he spoke came mournfully/From the cold, pale lips of a youth who lay/At his dying bed at the close of day// He wasted time ‘til upon his brow/The dew- drop clouds were a gathering now/He thought of his home and his friends so nigh/All the cowboys gathered to see him die// I always thought I’d be laid when I died/In the old churchyard by the green hillside/By the side of my father let my grave be/Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie// Bury me not on the lone prairie/Where the old coyotes may howl over me/Where the buffalo rome and the wind blows free/Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie// I want to be laid where my mother’s prayers/And sister’s tears will linger there/Where my friends can come and weep over me/Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie// ”Bury me not” and his voice fell there/We heeded not his dying prayer/In a narrow grave, just six by three/We buried our boy on the lone prairie//
Paradise 03:12
It’s a quarter to four at the break of day/And I really should be on my way/It’s getting late, but the wind blows somethin’ fierce/And the city is grey/Like an iron bell on judgment day/I’m at the black gate/Lord, won’t you stop the rain?// Holes in my pockets, soles are busted/Luck worn thin like a handkerchief/I’m a gentleman, bound for better than this/Grind, push ‘em and a shove ‘em/Shining there over the Hudson/ “You want land? Son, we got some”// Chorus// You’ve never dared, only dreamed it/A call to live like you mean it/It’s a paradise like you’ve never seen// Rattle in a tin jar, bees in a glass jar/Tap, tap, drummin’ to the beat of the march/Slow in comin’, there by summertime// Here then there, station to station/ Winds with a chance of decimation/A letter to my mama and my relations // Repeat Chorus// Come summer, I’ll have something to show, but it’s seven days grey, two hundred to go/Seven days grey, two hundred to go/ Seven days grey, two hundred to go//Repeat Chorus//
Don’t wait around for me, baby/I’m holding onto you and you to me tonight/But when we’re through, bid me adieu and don’t think it means, “’Til next time”/Step one, now, to the left and now another to the right/Light on your feet, babe/And you’re mighty sweet, babe// But don’t you go wishing we were something/I’m sure of one thing—that I ain’t sure of nothin’/And if I was, well, then maybe I could love you/I think you’re fine, but I’m a movin’ all the time/Ants in my dress, babe/I’m a live-long mess, babe// I never did need no one but little Katie/She’s a funny duck and I’m a little crazy/We give ‘em stuff to talk about over their morning tea/What is it to us but free publicity?/ “Saturday only! It’s Antigone!”// Katie and me, we are dreamers/Hitch a wagon to the sun and make a run for it/There’s a stage for the best of ‘em and we belong on it/In a city far away and all the folks back home will say/ “We knew them when” and/ “Ain’t they just something?”// Don’t wait around for me, baby/The moon shines like a liberty dime/It’s a night made for the dreamers/I’m a creature come to life, flitting and flying like it was easy/Tonight in Michigan, tomorrow Tulita or Paris/Just try and catch me/I’m halfway to New York City// Don’t wait around for me, baby/Don’t wait around/Don’t wait around for me, baby//
In wintery fields of silver sheen, there stands a mulberry tree/Where me and my true love did lay/And he was all to me// Late one night, one wintry night, a knockin’ at my door/His face was black and his eyes were white/I’d seen him there before // A face in shadow turned to me/ “My darling, you must know; I am your dearest Emory/ Returned from Mexico”// Then through the kitchen to the door, my husband standing by/”Who’s this a knockin’ at this hour?/Ain’t seen you here before// He caught my eye then turned to him/ “I fear I am mistaken/ The one I loved and left behind/ Has since this place forsaken”// Winter passed, then come the spring, my husband said to me/ “I’ve need of men and company/ To break the ground for me”// “Help from the boy from Lexington, help from the miller’s son/And what of that boy Emory?/ Has he but come and gone?”// So Emory returned to me, but to my husband owing/And late at night when all would sleep/ We’d lay so quietly// One night, a tappin’ on the glass, the wind did toss and tear/My husband woke and then, alas/ He did not find me there// He went into the darkened hall, in anger called to me/Then through the kitchen, to the door, out to the fields went he/Out to the fields went he// ‘Twas there he found me in the arms of this boy Emory/But quietly turned back to home/And fell back into sleep// The next night, still as heaven come down, we stole out to the fields/And there, he watched for us to come/We fell there at his feet/Lay still there at his feet// Then through the field, into the woods/ from there he stole to Lincoln/And there they watched for him to come/He’d not return again// And where we lay in darkest night now stands a mulberry tree/When the light of heaven shines down on it/It burns red as can be, it burns red as can be//
Even then, morning meant thumbing through pages of home and you and me/Early light on the sea looks something like when the meadow is tossed in the breeze// Even now, bent and bowed, built them to look like the faces of our father’s house/Mother’s words hang like birds, circling over the church on the edge of town// Chorus//And still, we are carrying pictures that cover the walls of our hearts/And still, we are lying and looking for traces of grace in the stars// Even now, waiting round/The lilies will bloom and a southern wind will sound/You to me, a red ruby tree/Fired by your faith in the spring and summer ease// Chorus// And still, we are burying letters and photographs deep in the yard/And still, we are keeping them there like they’re lighting our way in the dark/Keeping them there like they’re lighting our way in the dark//


"...Rolland's spirited heart is unrelenting. The way in which she so passionately delivers these authentic slices of folk storytelling makes for some of the most compelling listening from out of the roots world so far this year."

-For Folk's Sake


released July 20, 2018


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Rebekah Rolland Tucson, Arizona

Rebekah Rolland is a singer, multi-instrumentalist, and songwriter based in Tucson. Characteristic of some of the most forceful and compelling voices in folk music, Rolland’s writing succeeds in building worlds of dust and clay, worn pages and weathered pearls, highways and high rises, the faces and hands, the trials and triumphs that make up the stories of the past and the present. ... more

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