Wait no longer! "Toad" the .mp3 is here!
In a last-second editing decision, WMH's back-up vocal was, shall we say, held back. It may reemerge in subsequent mixes (yes, there will be more. I envision horns, strings, choral effects). But for now, save for bass track by Rooster Van Dyke, who flew in from Terre Haute for the session, it is all-Baba.
And yes, "Toad Without No Wings" appears here as an .mp3 file. If you CLICK HERE and nothing happens...make sure your browser (Internet Explorer? Netscape?) is properly enabled.
So lah-tee-tah...we're off to Joan Baez's holiday feast in Taos. Or is it Santa Fe? Somewhere down there in desert country....
Wednesday
Monday
COMING SOON!
Studio recording of "Toad Without No Wings."
For some time, WMH has been nagging me to let him sing backups the next time I went into the studio. Only...it didn't seem to be coming about anytime in this century or the next.
So he paid for the studio time himself, and we laid down tracks at Westwood Drive Studios.
The session engineer was a young Baba devotee, Marc Minsker, a performer himself, a fan of Sun Ra's Arkestra, and an overall Sixties nut who can answer questions like: "When Bob Dylan says 'Are we rolling Bob?' who is he talking to?" (Marc, by the way, even remembers being at Applestock--though he was born eighteen years later.)
Bill Henderson's contribution to "Toad" was...welcome, of course.
But what was planned as a back-up vocal, turned into something more like a second lead. Bossy as I am, I have a hard time telling people like Henderson to "lay back" or "cool your voice" or any of those euphemisms musicians use when what they really mean is, "try shutting the f--k up."
Okay: posting date is only days away, on ApplestockNation.com. Stay tuned. (Efforts may now proceed for global release parties.)
Studio recording of "Toad Without No Wings."
For some time, WMH has been nagging me to let him sing backups the next time I went into the studio. Only...it didn't seem to be coming about anytime in this century or the next.
So he paid for the studio time himself, and we laid down tracks at Westwood Drive Studios.
The session engineer was a young Baba devotee, Marc Minsker, a performer himself, a fan of Sun Ra's Arkestra, and an overall Sixties nut who can answer questions like: "When Bob Dylan says 'Are we rolling Bob?' who is he talking to?" (Marc, by the way, even remembers being at Applestock--though he was born eighteen years later.)
Bill Henderson's contribution to "Toad" was...welcome, of course.
But what was planned as a back-up vocal, turned into something more like a second lead. Bossy as I am, I have a hard time telling people like Henderson to "lay back" or "cool your voice" or any of those euphemisms musicians use when what they really mean is, "try shutting the f--k up."
Okay: posting date is only days away, on ApplestockNation.com. Stay tuned. (Efforts may now proceed for global release parties.)
Sunday
I'm baaaaaaack!
Walkabout is officially over.
Who could have imagined I'd be out walkabouting as long as I was? Bizarre things have happened since I swore of blogging. I mean, damn it, people!--Blogger itself has been bought by Google! and that's only the beginning.
The book? Done! (cackling madly) Yes, done, by cracky, I swear on my sainted mother's Strunk & Whyte! Done. And the beast is stirring. So fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night!
Walkabout is officially over.
Who could have imagined I'd be out walkabouting as long as I was? Bizarre things have happened since I swore of blogging. I mean, damn it, people!--Blogger itself has been bought by Google! and that's only the beginning.
The book? Done! (cackling madly) Yes, done, by cracky, I swear on my sainted mother's Strunk & Whyte! Done. And the beast is stirring. So fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night!
Saturday
Brothers and Sisters, Baba Ray is on. . . Walkabout.
ApplestockNation.com, will resume as an active site just as soon as WMH gets off his butt and finishes Applestock '66 the manuscript. This will be soon, since his wife and daughters have served notice that, until "Dad" dots the last "i" and crosses the last "t," he is in danger of being reclassified as persona non grata in his own home.
In the simplest possible terms, either Applestock '66 will be out the door or WMH will be out in the street by end of May.
Oh--wonder why WMH has so much trouble getting things done? Have a taste of his Preface to the novel itself. That'll give you a hint.
Stay tuned. If you're on the mailing list--I'll be in touch. If not, wouldja like to join the Friends of Applestock? Send a quick e-mail to. . . babaray@applestocknation.com
ApplestockNation.com, will resume as an active site just as soon as WMH gets off his butt and finishes Applestock '66 the manuscript. This will be soon, since his wife and daughters have served notice that, until "Dad" dots the last "i" and crosses the last "t," he is in danger of being reclassified as persona non grata in his own home.
In the simplest possible terms, either Applestock '66 will be out the door or WMH will be out in the street by end of May.
Oh--wonder why WMH has so much trouble getting things done? Have a taste of his Preface to the novel itself. That'll give you a hint.
Stay tuned. If you're on the mailing list--I'll be in touch. If not, wouldja like to join the Friends of Applestock? Send a quick e-mail to. . . babaray@applestocknation.com
Saturday
Since ApplestockNation.com went live, I've been inundated with requests for more info on "Toad Without No Wings." One day soon, it will be an audio link on ApplestockNation.com, but for now, friends, try to make do with the lyrics alone.
I don't apologize. Let the words stand or fall on their own. Just remember, this was 1966...roughly the same time frame wherein Barry McGuire put out "Eve of Destruc-shennn."
"My blood's so mad
Feels like coagulatin'
And I'm just sitting here
Contemplatin'. . ."
That's what was in the air.
Toad Without No Wings
(copyright 1966 by Ray Riffles)
Come on, all you
children of the
present,
Grow your hair and
smoke some weed to-
night.
The road ahead is
guarded by a
pheasant.
Pheasants ain't gonna
let you see the
light.
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in that road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
We...
are the future's
amphibians.
We could swim the
daaay we were
born.
In a previous
life we were prob'ly
Lybians.
Waitin' ten thousand
years to be
born.
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in that road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
America! Don't make us live a lie.
The truth is gonna make us (truth is gonna make us, truth is gonna make us)
High!!!!
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in the road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Note: usually there's a stunned silence at this point. It's okay...don't feel you have to say anything. Baba understands.
On the other hand, you may be (as many are) deeply affected, and wish to connect. If so, I'm here for you. . . BabaRay@excite.com
Click here for a "Toad" related excerpt from Applestock '66. . . .
I don't apologize. Let the words stand or fall on their own. Just remember, this was 1966...roughly the same time frame wherein Barry McGuire put out "Eve of Destruc-shennn."
Feels like coagulatin'
And I'm just sitting here
Contemplatin'. . ."
That's what was in the air.
Toad Without No Wings
(copyright 1966 by Ray Riffles)
Come on, all you
children of the
present,
Grow your hair and
smoke some weed to-
night.
The road ahead is
guarded by a
pheasant.
Pheasants ain't gonna
let you see the
light.
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in that road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
We...
are the future's
amphibians.
We could swim the
daaay we were
born.
In a previous
life we were prob'ly
Lybians.
Waitin' ten thousand
years to be
born.
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in that road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
America! Don't make us live a lie.
The truth is gonna make us (truth is gonna make us, truth is gonna make us)
High!!!!
I'm a-goin' down the road
smellin' like a toad
smellin' like a toad without no
wings
Gonna rest my weary load
squattin' in the road
smellin' like a toad without no
wings.
Note: usually there's a stunned silence at this point. It's okay...don't feel you have to say anything. Baba understands.
On the other hand, you may be (as many are) deeply affected, and wish to connect. If so, I'm here for you. . . BabaRay@excite.com
Click here for a "Toad" related excerpt from Applestock '66. . . .
Wednesday
(Ahem...) On this date forty years ago (that's right, 40), the picture below was taken.
Assuming you were born by then, can you recall where YOU were on Feb. 5, 1963?
I can. I was about as young as the kids in the picture, but instead of freewheelin' through the Village, "Assistant Dean Riffles" (that's how I was known in those days) was out breaking up a snowball fight between Rodney Duke and Robby Cahill, two of the more notable "boys" at Newton Academy for Boys.
Here's how I looked later that year (Spring).
Note the contrast with Dylan, who is full of spritely presence, forward energy, lightness, THE MOMENT, ready to spring like a gazelle into his future.
"Asst. Dean Riffles," by comparison, is all morose self-absorption, and yes, loneliness (where's the girl? There wasn't one).
So you see me above as I was in '63, age 26—without the slightest clue what was in the cards for "Assistant Dean Riffles." In my world, it was still 1958 and would be forever.
Even though. . . I was the same man who, within 3 years, would be. . . THIS MAN!
The mystery of history. Ain't it grand?
Assuming you were born by then, can you recall where YOU were on Feb. 5, 1963?
I can. I was about as young as the kids in the picture, but instead of freewheelin' through the Village, "Assistant Dean Riffles" (that's how I was known in those days) was out breaking up a snowball fight between Rodney Duke and Robby Cahill, two of the more notable "boys" at Newton Academy for Boys.
Here's how I looked later that year (Spring).
Note the contrast with Dylan, who is full of spritely presence, forward energy, lightness, THE MOMENT, ready to spring like a gazelle into his future.
"Asst. Dean Riffles," by comparison, is all morose self-absorption, and yes, loneliness (where's the girl? There wasn't one).
So you see me above as I was in '63, age 26—without the slightest clue what was in the cards for "Assistant Dean Riffles." In my world, it was still 1958 and would be forever.
Even though. . . I was the same man who, within 3 years, would be. . . THIS MAN!
The mystery of history. Ain't it grand?
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