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Bluegrass Vacation

by Robbie Fulks

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    140 gram blue vinyl packaged in a single sleeve jacket with printed inner sleeve .

    Includes unlimited streaming of Bluegrass Vacation via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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    Purchasable with gift card

      $26.98 USD or more 

     

  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Packaged in a 6 panel eco-wallet.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Bluegrass Vacation via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 2 days
    Purchasable with gift card

      $16.98 USD or more 

     

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $10 USD  or more

     

1.
Sittin’ on the front porch Face toward the hill A trail of years behind me And a night ahead to kill One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find Starin’ up at the mountain Like to drive me mad The mountain never changes So I guess I better had One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find You know I came to the city With a plan to get rich fast Next time I’ll take the money And I’ll put the plan last One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find These L.A. bars are friendly Small-town bars are rough I don’t need no more unkindness The memory’s enough One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find And when I feel I’m sinkin’ low I reach for the first friend I see All I need is to look at him and know He’s sinkin’ faster than me... Well, life gets stranger The more it goes on It’s a wonder how I worry When nothin’s really wrong One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find One glass of whiskey to ease my mind And another one to take it too far away to find Woo-woo
2.
Cabin in the hollow, tea kettle on the cookstove And pickin’ on the Cluck Old Hen, Molly and the old man First and only daughter, and when God called her Mom was 27, but two can make a good band How her blue eyes sparkled as his bootheel marked the time Fiddle tunes on the banjo, tell me what else sounds so fine If you gotta go, just make sure you leave a song behind Southern town, 15 years old, football was the main show But us pickers used to gather in a cabin in the hollow His better days behind him, he sat sippin’ on the Old Crow While his darling Molly played the hell out of the banjo Same town, whole new world, now it’s me and her and the blue-eyed girl And life is like the old songs, it never drops the tempo Now his cabin’s fallen, but the memory’s a mansion And you can’t get back a loved one, but you can get the spirit dancin’ Now her blue eyes sparkle as the baby claps in time Fiddle tunes on the banjo, tell me what else sounds so fine If you gotta go, just make sure you leave a song behind Well, I’m resining up the bow, and it’s Molly on the banjo And we’re pickin’ on the Cluck Old Hen, Molly and this old man And it sounds just like back then, Molly and the old man
3.
The lights of this town look a lot dimmer now Than they did back in my single years That high life I knew back before I met you How empty it lately appears I hear half the world is heartbroken And I can’t believe it’s true For there’d be no room in all the graveyards If the world felt the way that I do Hard times can turn your soul tougher Good times will take you so high True love’s the top of the mountain Oh, but lonely ain’t hardly alive, no Lonely ain’t hardly alive Now a woman is strong, she gets up, she goes on But a man left lonely won’t last He gets stuck in old dreams like a worn out machine That just can’t stop replaying the past As one stumbles out of a tavern Another stands begging for food Me, I’d rather be cold, broke and blind Than to live one more night without you Hard times can turn your soul tougher Good times will take you so high True love’s the top of the mountain Oh, but lonely ain’t hardly alive, no Lonely ain’t hardly alive Hard times will turn your soul tougher Good times will take you so high True love’s the top of the mountain Oh, but lonely ain’t hardly alive, no Lonely ain’t hardly alive
4.
Any old somewhere may call you When you’re a middle-of-nowhere kid With Tennessee and California On either side of your head The radio gods whispered a promise Of easy work and no hands And that’s how I became a starstruck fool And a stranger to my old man I close my eyes and I see the woodpile And the creek just past the trees And a neighbor girl whose true intentions I never could quite read Search me why I still carry this Dog-eared book of dead names All you ever gave me was blows to the heart And I love you, just the same Oooh… Didn’t I make myself clear? When are you gonna get wise? Don’t come around me and my friends up here With your clodhoppers and your big dumb eyes All you ever gave me Was the fear of God and this Slow way of talking I can’t disguise Yeah I go by my second name now Oooh…. 21 and I was stumbling But I soon hit stride With nothing but a road before you You just learn how to ride That’s me at the wheel, and me on the radio And we’re sailing down the 101 This is the last hundred dollars I’ll need from you, Dad I can feel like my time is…. Tonight I’ll shout my story And shout myself raw From the footlights before me Straight clear to Arkansas Tonight The whole town’s in the hands of the man With the microphone Here’s one you may remember Angels Carry Me Home Hey kid, I’m sorry… Wish I could offer you something, but I’m Still out there Still stumbling That was no god on the radio Only a breeze passing through But that old farm, your first love, your father’s tears Are somehow eternal and true And old folks never do get out of nowhere It’s a sad thing to say And only a fool thinks he can leave Just by driving away
5.
Well, Daddy packed the van fulla campin’ gear Mama filled the ice chest up with beer And I rode shotgun all the way up Route 15 It seemed every picker in the USA Had landed in a Culpeper field that day Fifty years gone, I’m still groovin’ on that scene There was old men doin’ the buck and wing Young gals skinny-dippin’ in the spring While the singin’ and the fiddlin’ and the feedback filled the air While Mom and Daddy were getting’ fried I was sittin there with my eyeballs wide ‘Cause comin’ straight at me offa the stage Just like a demon with a Hypno-ray Stealin’ my mind away It was that longhair bluegrass Settin’ my young spirit free Yeah that longhair bluegrass Well, a little rough and shaggy but man it spoke to me Hey, what’s it matter how a fella looks If his song is true and his playin’ cooks I mighta known that, but I was just a dumb old kid Those hippies knew Bob Marley note for note And they didn’t shove religion down your throat And I was pretty sure they smoked dope like I did There’d’a been police and pepper spray If a few old-timers had had their way Ole Dr. Ralph Stanley looked a little unamused Oh, but anyone with ears could not deny Blake on the guitar, Tony on the five There was somethin’ in the air for sure It wasn’t all peace and make-love-not-war No, it was somethin’ more It was that longhair bluegrass That was the sound of ’73 Yeah that longhair bluegrass Man, it swept the South and it swept over me Clarence White, that’s a name I adore And John Hartford, just to drop one more And don’t forget the Nitty Gritty Band, Earl Scruggs and his sons, Mr. Dave Grisman And you know Monroe is still the King But now his church has a new wing Where an outcast like me can feel at home Singin’ that longhair bluegrass Just like Sam said it should be Yeah that longhair bluegrass Well it wasn’t all the greatest songs And the solos were a little long But it spoke to me strong, and it still speaks to me Longhair bluegrass I remember it well Longhair bluegrass Under the moonlight Longhair bluegrass Can’t Stop now, singing that Longhair bluegrass Well I reckon it went away
6.
Done with the compass, done with the chart Stuck in these shallows that I know by heart Thoughts of the future are yesterday’s news The sun never sets on these backwater blues I came to sample the tropical pace I’ll likely stay till the dirt hits my face I went and hung up my workingman’s shoes And planted my toes in the backwater blues Tin cup for coffee, dirt for a yard Old dog too sleepy to move Long as you’re living you’re lost in a spell And when you’re dead, well, man who can tell? Bridge to the mainland is closed for repair Peg-leg policeman asleep in a chair Could be the boredom, could be the booze Even the cops get the backwater blues Tin cup for coffee, dirt for a yard That flop-eared bitch rarely moves Try not to breathe lest you take in the smell Try not to stop ‘cause Done with the compass, done with the chart Stuck in these shallows that I know by heart My mind is drugged, now I’m too stoned to choose All’s I got left are the backwater blues No, the sun never sets on these backwater blues
7.
Hey, sweet li’l Cora-Mae You’d be in my spell if I could sing that well Hey good ole Cora-Mae You’re no good to me gone I can’t find the old groove since you left me I stumble round as if in a dream Stare at the morning paper and I wonder what the strange words mean A week, a month, and no break from the heartbreak So I got my Mama on the phone She said all you’d ever done for me was poison my heart But we all know that Mama was against you from the start Hey, sweet li’l Cora-Mae If there was a way, I’d sure use the way Hey good ole Cora-Mae You’re no good to me gone Ooooooh Ooooooh Now it’s true I snuck a few looks at your sister The day she wore that halter-top and thong But what law says just for looking, a man should have to suffer this long? And if I once believed I loved you only I believe that twice as much now And if you miss me just a little, well, imagine how I feel ‘Cause when we’re split in two I get the worse end of the deal Hey, sweet li’l Cora-Mae You’ve made your point know, now it’s time you came home Hey good ole Cora-Mae All you ever seem to do hurts me and not you Hey, sweet li’l Cora-Mae Back when we shared a bed, girl you wrapped around my head Just like the sweetest song But you’re no good to me gone
8.
9.
Momma's Eyes 04:23
Daddy saw it first, before the hard years came A wrong turn on the road back home, a few forgotten names But the rest of us were slow to realize That the light was fading fast from Momma’s eyes Friday games, family nights, those early days just flew Holding on and putting off what we knew we had to do How the heart resists the breaking of the ties But her heart had lost its path to Momma’s eyes If there’s a God in heaven, does he pay us any mind? If it’s a story we’re living, why is the author so unkind? So Dad kept the house, cared for her, and worried over debt Some nights he thought of doing a thing we’d all regret A chilling thought, but easier to die Than into a stranger turn in Momma’s eyes If there’s a God in heaven, does he pay us any mind? If it’s a story we’re living, why is the author so unkind? Now in a white room she sits rocking, looking over prairie land Some weeks there’s just no time, but we visit when we can You can’t reach her, but we touch her, and we try ‘Cause we remember all the love in Momma’s eyes
10.
11.
High in a Hillhurst tavern Me and my roustabout pals We lost track of time and that’s how come I’m outside your window now It’s late in the night and I’m begging Don’t put me in that small house again Just open up your heart and unlock the door Honey let the old dog in It was down at the scene of destruction where whiskey and old dogs meet We wuz howlin’ along with the jukebox And leavin’ our messes on the street It’s late and I beg you believe me It’s all the fault of my friends Just hear my plea and on the wagon I’ll be Honey let the old dog in So, open up the door and I’ll slink in My tail tucked my head hung low Yes I’ll eat out of your hand, and I’ll follow your command And never back to the barroom go It’s late in the night and I’m begging Don’t put me in the doghouse again Just git up outta bed and I’ll quit howlin’ off my head Honey let the old dog in It’s late in the night and I’m begging Don’t put me in that small house again Just open up your heart and unlock the door Honey let the old dog in
12.
Church bells soundin’ dark clouds on the mountain Dog in the pantry actin’ strange My old man’s callin’, each day a new problem Only the worryin’ don’t change Bolt on the back door and a rocker on the porch Where I rock my cares away Hearts fall, troubles rise, hopes dim and rain dries Old time music’s here to stay Pluckin’ on the 5-string keeps my hands from idling And takes me back when I was young When I’d see some hobo pickin’ on his banjo I’d plug my ears and run That electrified guitar I bought in ’84 Sits back in the closet these days And to watch the years unreeling, the more I get the feeling Old-time music’s here to stay Using your mind for what it weren’t designed for ’s a good way to go insane Me I’ve kept less than half of what I’ve pressed in My poor unwilling brain But when those old songs get down in your bones You just let your fingers play Livin’ much makes you humble, everything built just crumbles But old time music’s here to stay So, I bolt the back door and sit out on the porch And listen to my fingers play What kills joy and sorrow? A little thing called tomorrow But old time music’s here to stay Hearts fall, troubles rise, hopes dim and rain dries Old time music’s here to stay

about

Robbie Fulks’s adventurous spirit has defined a critically acclaimed 30-year career that has included 15 solo albums and two GRAMMY® nominations. He came to national attention as a defining artist of the alt-country scene in the 1990s, with releases on the Chicago-based indie Bloodshot Records, North Carolina’s Yep Roc, and Los Angeles’s Geffen Records. While Fulks’s aversion to genre constraints and conventions has sometimes made him hard to pigeonhole, American country music, in the widest sense, is his home base—whether the country of Doc Watson, Bill Monroe, Merle Haggard, Bobby Charles, or Mississippi John Hurt. For the last ten years, he has focused on his writing and performing with homespun tales and acoustic instruments.

But while bluegrass music has always been a part of Fulks’s musical vision, BLUEGRASS VACATION, is his first purely bluegrass endeavor. Paired with a cast that features some of the brightest stars of the genre including Sam Bush, Sierra Hull, Ronnie McCoury, Tim O’Brien, Alison Brown, John Cowan and Jerry Douglas, the result is one of the most remarkable bluegrass albums of the century. In the end, Fulks plants his flag firmly in the bluegrass tradition, a genre that built the stepping stones Fulks walks on today. He muses: “Electric guitars might give way to computers, as seems to be happening now, but the mountains will still be right there.” It’s abundantly clear that BLUEGRASS VACATION is more than just a musical dalliance for Fulks. He owns the music as much as it owns him and the listener is left hoping that this bluegrass vacation will end up becoming a staycation.

credits

released April 7, 2023

PRODUCED BY ROBBIE FULKS
Recorded and mixed at the Sound Emporium in Nashville, TN by Dave Sinko, assisted by Skyler Chuckry
Mastered by Randy LeRoy at Tonal Park, Takoma Park, MD
Cover photo by Andy Goodwin · Musician photos by Scott Simontacchi
Design by Robert Hakalski | vmdigital.com

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Robbie Fulks Chicago, Illinois

Robbie Fulks is a recording artist, instrumentalist, & songwriter living in Chicago. His most recent release, Upland Stories, earned wide-spread recognition & 2 Grammy® nominations. His early work helped define the 90s "alt-country" movement while his newer work extends that tradition with old-time rambles, reflections on love, & the troubles the people. ... more

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