Sunrise, Sunset

There is no typical day. Yesterday morning before sunrise, arrived at Sandy Beach in the dark. Helped set up video shoot for Hawaiian wedding of friends. Beautiful sunrise blessed the wedding.

The rest of the day worked in my music studio.

Then. At sunset, a Tahitian party not far from my old canoe club in Waikiki. The sun goes down.

Update: CD will be available on website within two weeks.

Native Joy for Real

Please check out the new song, The Last World of Fire and Trash. Let us know what you think. The album will be available for sale by mid June on the site. The official release date is September 2004. The tunes are:

The Last World of Fire and Trash
Grace
Fear Song
Hold Up
Woman Hanging
Reality Show
Eagle Song
This is My Heart
Morning Song
Had it Up to Here Round Dance

Please note that these are all new tunes. Musicians include: Harry Orlove, guitar; Jennifer Condos, bass; Jay Bellerose, drums; Carolyn Dunn, voice and drum; Teresa Obra Padua, voice and percussion; Ralph Guzzo, percussion; and FEATURING Charlie Hill improv and voice on the Had It Up to Here Round Dance. Wonderful co-producer and engineer, Richard Barron of Sonora Recorders.

Fear Song

It's late afternoon on a Tuesday afternoon. There's a heat wave outside. The final mix of Fear Song is captured to disc. The countdown is on to the completion of this project, to need for the realization of kindness in this crazy world. What insanity, to invade a country for private interests, and manage to deceive millions of people into standing behind you, for God, who are willing to send their sons and daughters as fodder for such foolishness, because they are afraid. These so-called leaders in this crusade for oil and money could be the consummate magicians, wizards, or how about small time crooks swollen to massive proportion? This is part of the creation story of this country, an old theme of invasion and destruction of precious ones in this world. This country was a project of their civilization project. Civilization? A civil country is one in which leaders are chosen on the basis of their commitment and love for all their people, not for how much they own, how much money they make, and who they've managed to buy off with promises and oil. How dare the monsters send their emissaries of armies of poor people to stand in someone else's home with blood on their hands and ask to be welcomed.

Fear Song is an offering against this kind of madness. May we remember the truth of the matter. We must remember how to trust our perceptions and dreams. They will reveal the stink behind the glitter.

Be kind to someone.

Reality Show

Might as well include the final version of the Reality Show lyrics. Another new song on the forthcoming CD.


REALITY SHOW c Joy Harjo

Nizhoniigo no hey nay
Nizhoniigo no hey wa ney
Nizhoniigo no hey nay
Nizhoniigo no hey wa ney

Chorus:
How do we get out of here?
Smoke hole crowded with too much thinking
Too many seers
And prophets of prosperity
We call it real

What are we doing in this mess of forgetfulness?
Ruled by sharp things, baby girls in stiletto heels
Beloved ones doing street time
We call it real

What are we doing napping, through war?
We've lost our place of in the order of kindness
Children are killing children
We call it real.

Chorus

What are we doing forgetting love?
Under mountains of trash, a river on fire
We can't be bought, forced or destroyed.
Just what is real?

Chorus

Nizhoniigo no hey nay
Nizhoniigo no hey wa ney
Nizhoniigo no hey nay
Nizhoniigo no hey wa ney

Nizhoniigo: Navajo (or Dineh) which means movement of beautiful within and without

The Last World of Fire and Trash/Final lyrics

Here is the final draft of the lyrics of one of the ten tunes of the new CD. This was the first song I wrote using Band-in-the-Box and the versatile Garage Band program from Apple. Both are useful programs for songwriters.

Also note there was an earlier version of this lyric. It has been through several revisions. Most of my creative work goes through revision, some more extensive than others. This is why I have shied away from blogging...I prefer to let the work develop in private, perfect it, then let it free.

THE LAST WORLD OF FIRE AND TRASH
c Joy Harjo/Katcv Publishing ASCAP



I don’t know anything anymore
or if that cricket is still singing
in a country where crickets are banned.


I’m Indian in a strange pastiche of hurt and rain
smells like curry and sweat
from a sunset rock and roll restaurant.
A familiar demon groaning with fear
has stalked me here, ruins poetry, then
his swollen pride commandeers.

Chorus:
So long, goodbye, oh fearful one.
My desires had turned into a small mountain.
Of dirty clothes, sax gig bag, guitar
books, shoes and grief
that I packed and carried
from one raw wound to another.


Beneath the moon rocking above Los Angeles
or outside the stomp dance fire of memory,
I told him, you can choose to hate me
for going too far, or for being a nothing
next to a pretty nothing like you.


I can’t get betrayal out of my mind,
out of my heart
in this hotel room where I’m packing for home.
I’ve seen that same face whirring
in the blur of a glass of wine
after the crashed dance,
the goodbye song
in the last world of fire and trash.

Chorus

The most dangerous demons spring from fire
and a broken heart, warning of bittersweet aftershave
and the musk of a thousand angels.
And then I let that thought go running away
because I refuse to stay in bondage
to an enemy, who thinks he wants what I have.


The last council of peace was disrupted by this fearful beast,
as I fled from the house of my mother
through this severed country.
I turned my cheek as my head parted through a curtain of truth
and erupted from the spirit world to this gambling place--


And I send prayers skyward
on smoke.
Release this suffering.
Let the pretty beast and all the world know peace.


I refuse to sum it up anymore; it’s not possible.
I give it up
to the battering of songs against the light,
to the singing of the earnest cricket
in the last world of fire and trash.

On the road again

Performed last night at Edmonds Community College to a warm and exciting audience including many many local native peoples. Didn't know that Seattle was the relocation city for the Blackfeet back in the fifties, which was why I was greeted by so many Blackfeet there near the water. Read poems, sang, played some of the new tunes. There's a powwow there this weekend, the 18th Annual Powwow hosted by the American Indian Student Association at the Seaview Gymnasium in Lynnewood, WA. Also a powwow this weekend at UCLA. Will see you there if I am out of the studio in time.

Please note too the new publication, first issue of the UCLA native student law journal: Indigenous People's Journal of Law, Culture and Resistance. It's an impressive effort, includes articles by Abby Abinanti, Duane Champagne, Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Michele Companion, and R. Hokulei Lindsay, poetry by Sara Littlecrow-Russell, Mehealani Kamauu, and Cecilia Vicuña, and artwork by Nadema Agard and Elizabeth Whipple. You can order your very own copy for $20 (second class postage) by writing: IPJLCR Business Manager, UCLA School of Law, Box 951476, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1476.

The Nisqually poet Duane Niatum showed up too, much later after a late start from Tacoma. He's still writing and is looking for the perfect teaching position.
He was responsible for the first publications of many known native poets.

Will put a new song up on the site in the next week for your listening pleasure. Stay tuned.

In the studio, on the road

It's an seasonably hot early evening in Los Angeles. Working in the studio on the new tracks here in Los Feliz. The Oneida funny man Charlie Hill was in yesterday jamming on a funky new Round Dance song. Carolyn Dunn, Mvskoke, of the Mankillers added her gorgeous voice to the vocals. (See the photo in our photo album.) We were all part of the entertainment Thursday night for the California Indian Education Conference at the Westin, along with Arigon Starr, Floyd Westerman and others. (If I had the names of the "and others" I'd include them here. I never liked being listed as "and others", but am and was always grateful for a place to be.) Right now we're editing, "The Last World of Fire and Trash", one of my favorite new tunes. Features Jay Bellerose on drums, Jennifer Condos on bass and Harry Orlove on guitar. Look for the preview of Native Joy for Real in mid to late May.

The Vagina Monologues at Hawaii Theatre

I will be appearing with several other Hawai'i performers in the Honolulu offering of the show THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES, one performance only at the historic Hawaii Theatre on Sunday, February 15th, 2004 at 8:00 PM. Other performers include: Lois-Ann Yamanaka, Nora Okja Keller, Brenda Kwon, Tanisha, Cocoa Chandelier, Grace Alvaro Caligtan, Amelia Borofsky, Selah Geissler, Kasi Nunes, Jaquie Yang, Luciana Tarantino and DJ Primmitiv. Directed by Kathryn Xian and Steve Kealoha Wong. Tickets are on sale at www.hawaiitheatre.com. Can also charge by phone: 808/528-0506. Box office purchase: 1130 Bethel. Reception party to follow at the W Hotel. 90% of proceeds of the show benefit local domestic violence prevention, 10% donated to V-Day Juarez, Mexico campaign.

How Do We Get Out of Here, or Reality Show, Lyrics

HOW DO WE GET OUT OF HERE, OR, REALITY SHOW

What are we doing in this mess of forgetfulness
Ruled by sharp things
Baby girls in stiletto heels
We call it real.

What are we doing napping through war
We’ve lost our place in the order of kindness
Children are killing children
We call it real.

How do we get out of here
Smoke hole crowded with too much thinking
Too many seers and prophets
of prosperity
We call it real.

c Joy Harjo, Mekko Productions Inc.

The Last World of Fire and Trash, Lyrics

This is the near final copy of the lyrics of a song I'll be putting down in the next few months for the new Native Joy CD.

Others will follow.

Enjoy.

Strange world. Where lying is the predominant virus.

THE LAST WORLD OF FIRE AND TRASH

Open:
I don’t know anything anymore
or if that cricket is still singing
in a country where crickets are banned.

Verse:
I’m Indian in a strange pastiche of hurt and rain
smells like curry and sweat
from a sunset rock and roll restaurant.
A familiar demon groaning with fear
has stalked me here, ruins poetry, then
I let his swollen pride commandeer.

Chorus:
Here is is, oh fearful one.
My desires have turned into a small mountain.
Of dirty clothes, sax gig bag, guitar
books, shoes and grief
to be packed and carried
from one raw wound to another.

Verse:
Beneath the moon rocking above Los Angeles
or outside the stomp dance fire of memory,
I told him, you can choose to hate me
for going too far, or for being a nothing
next to a pretty nothing like you.

Verse:
I can’t get betrayal out of my mind,
out of my heart
in this hotel room where I’m packing for home.
I’ve seen that same face whirring
in the blur of a glass of wine
after the crashed dance,
the goodbye song
in the last world of fire and trash.

Chorus:
Here is is, oh fearful one.
My desires have turned into a small mountain.
Of dirty clothes, sax gig bag, guitar
books, shoes and grief
to be packed and carried
from one raw wound to another.

Verse:
The most dangerous demons spring from fire
and a broken heart, warning of bittersweet aftershave
and the musk of a thousand angels.
And then I let that thought go running away
because I refuse to stay in bondage
to an enemy, who thinks he wants what I have.

Verse:
The last council of peace was disrupted by this fearful beast
as I fled from the house of my mother
through this severed country.
I turned my cheek as my head parted through a curtain of truth
as most humans do when erupting from the spirit world to this gambling place--

Bridge:
And I send prayers on tobacco skyward
on smoke.
Release the suffering.
(Repeat in Mvskoke language.)

Coda:
I refuse to sum it up anymore; it’s not possible.
I give it up
to the battering of songs against the light,
to the singing of the earnest cricket
in the last world of fire and trash.

October 2003/January 2004 West Hollywood copyright Joy Harjo