Sadie Compton: dig it

Most of my ramblings will be found on my myspace. I did it like that so I can control who sees what and who doesn't see what. Some of them don't deserve to see what, if you dig... But THIS one, THIS ONE IS GOOD. Read on, you crazy diamonds...

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what does she want? oh, it's endless...
another sunny day. another pair of cowboy boots. another hardanger fiddle. another hard rain. another girl. another flower. another shot of vodka.
another lottery ticket. another beer. another song. another night like last night. another baby. (What?!) another chance. another fence.
another dance. another one of them. another thousand bucks. another babysitter. another trip to the redwoods. another bottle of wine.
another pick like that little white one I like so well.
another memory. another clove cigarette. another tattoo. another tattoo. another tattoo. another beautiful inspiration. another adventure.
another night out on the town. another day at the swimmin pool. another porch swing. another light bulb. another lipstick. another blues song.
another kiss. another car. another fuckin shot of vodka. another trip to clifftop. another boy to kiss. another pardon. another love.
another banjo tune. another sunrise. another pair of long curtains. another door. another arrangement. another way out.
another lost week of debauchery. another crawfish boil. another pair of platform shoes. another window. another trip to louisiana. another laugh.
another cup of coffee. another watering can. another night drinking cheap wine on the fire escape. another grateful dead show.
another jar of locksteady. another look at that beautiful man. another book of poetry. another email. another singing lesson on the porch, with scotch.
another listen to that song. another new friend. another copy of "let it bleed." another sweet hug from my kids. another avocado. another evening for you to come over and sing with me on my porch.
another look at that beautiful light at the end of the tunnel.... another chance for that long hair to be in my face as he whispers in my ear.... another set of keys. another chance to talk to bono. another recording session.
another strawberry. another fiddle tune. another check in the mail. another slap on the ass. another road trip. another toy. another beautiful sunset.
another bottle of skeeterbeater. another kind hippiechick. another slide down the waterslide. another night alone in the wilderness.
another chance to sing with her. another pack of toilet paper. another bonnaroo. another invite from john paul jones, and damnit man this time i will go.
another chance to hear her say "fuckin' A!!" another laugh. another visit. another phone call. another text message. another clue. another one of those. another meeting with the lawyer.
another damn shot of vodka. another smile. another vintage 70's maxidress. another chance to get it right this time.
another sunflower. another candle. another kiss from you. another dream. another bliss.

another one.

I'm on myspace. Check out myspace:
www.myspace.com/sadiecompton
Almost everydamnbody's on myspace. Go 'head and git on it, too.

Howdy, folks.
I have been doing some renovating in the art gallery. There are more paintings, but on the downside, you'll notice the insidious copyright detail stamped on 'em. Sure, it makes it so you can't see the paintings quite properly... It also makes it so folks out there can't be liftin' my artwork and using it without puttin' the credit where it's due. I've thought a long time about whether or not to do this, but I guess the bottom line is, it's something that came from my heart and, although I enjoy sharing it, I don't really relish the thought of having it ripped off and used elsewhere for someone else's benefit without my knowledge or consent. Now, the Dead let folks tape their shows and we're all glad they did. I dig the attitude that it's just "out there for the enjoyment" but... when you hear the Dead, you know it's the Dead, and no one is taking their music and using it as their own -- because everyone knows when they hear it that it's the Dead, right? So. There you have my sideways apology/explanation. I want folks to see my work, but I want folks to know it's MY work when they see it. It also allows me to show more of my past, current, and future artwork here on my website. Blah blah blah. Go check out the artwerx section of my gallery.

'Nuff said, I reckon. Got other fish to fry. Tryin' to figure out which fish to fry and which big fat nasty ones to leave for somebody else to deal with, that's where it starts to get too complicated... Too much fishfryin' and not enough fiddlin' or paintin' makes Sadie a sad girl. And that's all you need to know for now.

I turned off my guestbook. Been getting too much spam, got tired of having to check it all the time just to delete the random nonsense BS entries. It is aggravating that I have had to do this, because it had been signed by a lot of swell folks who had really cool things to say, and I wanted to keep the good stuff on my site. However, CDBaby's web hosting "wizard" apparently doesn't allow for any kind of filtering to deter the sorry spamming bastards from signing the thing, nor do they have it set up so that I can leave it open for people to simply read the old entries without giving the option to post anything new, and therefore spam my freaking guestbook. So to get to the point of my rant: if you got anything you'd like to say to me, send me an email. (There's plenty of spam on that front as well, but at least I have filters for that sh*t and the whole world doesn't have to see it on my site.) Please refer to the contact page if you care to send me a message. I do enjoy hearing from the decent folks out there who actually have something to say to me. That's it, that's all.

Made Me Sing by Sadie Compton; Acrylic on Canvas, November 2006

Thank you, Lord, for what you've done for me.
Thank you, Lord, for what you're doing now.
Thank you, Lord, for ev'ry little thing.
Thank you, Lord, for you made me sing.
- Bob Marley

Autumn is a second Spring when every leaf is a flower.
(Albert Camus)

This is a song I wrote a few years ago. Banjo and vocal number. You can't hear it, because it's not recorded yet -- except on a little old cassette someplace stuffed someplace secret and I won't share that. But you can read the lyrics. I'll put it on the fabled second CD. I never posted the lyrics anywhere because she was still alive and somehow it seemed wrong. But there's no time like RIGHT NOW to share this. While her beautiful spirit soars among the stars...

YOU DANCE: (For Aunt Hannah)
You dance with the grace of a flower in the wind
And your smile it does shine like the Sun
Oh Hannah Lucinda, the pride of my heart,
Your race it is nearly run
Your race it is nearly run

When I was a child and I did not know
You taught me the good from the bad
No matter life's trials and stumbling blocks
Your heart it has always been glad

You dance with the grace of a flower in the wind
And your smile it does shine like the Sun
Oh Hannah Lucinda, the pride of my heart
Your race it is nearly run
Your race it is nearly run

Now I see you fading, your body is weak
And some things just don't work anymore
But you still got the spunk and your laughter is strong
And your glorious spirit still soars

You dance with the grace of a flower in the wind
And your smile it does shine like the Sun
Oh Hannah Lucinda, the pride of my heart,
Your race it is nearly run
Your race it is nearly run

When you finally fly to that Home in the Sky
When the Great Spirit for you does send
I'll see your laughing eyes in the blue summer skies
Yellow flowers will dance in the wind.

You dance with the grace of a flower in the wind
And your smile it does shine like the Sun
Oh Hannah Lucinda, the pride of my heart,
Your race it is nearly run
Your race it is nearly won

Today's the day I would have hopped in the car and driven like hell to get to the Ola Belle Reed festival first thing in the morning. And tomorrow's the day I would have jumped back in the car and driven like hell to get back home to get the kids to school and me to work on the day after tomorrow. Hellish and hectic, but I was delighted to do it and looking forward to it. But as things developed, it became clear about a month ago that there was no way in hell this was going to happen. My parents (the foreordained babysitters) were scheduled to come up and keep the kids, since Mike would be out of town doing what he does best. (Well, he does a lot of things damn well, but I'm talkin' 'bout playing the mandolin.) But recent events have produced health concerns which resulted in their not being able to make the trip and do the babysitting. That's the way life goes... Also, this is the fullest week in the month as far as back-to-school-related obligations go. And what kind of mom would I be to ditch the kids and all their back to school events and parties and necessary ordeals, just to go on a music binge for the sake of one of my most powerful and influential heroes?? Of course the Ola Belle Reed fester appealed to me much more than the back to school picnic and all that rot (can you tell I'm not a gleaming favorite among the PTO??) but it was important for the kids, and that means it was important to me. I love my babies. So all things considered, I had to back out of doing the festival.
Dammit.
On the up side of it all, my dad's health situation is turning out well, and the kids got their school year started off right. The picnic ordeal (which took place last night) was fun even for my surly ass, after all, and I'm quite sure that the Ola Belle Reed fest will get along just fine without me anyway.
SO.
Instead of driving like hell to North Carolina this morning, I am sipping coffee, asking my son repeatedly not to throw his stuffed dog at the ceiling fan, setting Hope's Peace Lily out on the front porch for a little communion with nature, checking my email, and bloggity blog blog blogging about it all to all you people who could probably not give half a flying crap about it anyway. So there you have it.
I think the kids and I are gonna set up the tent and "camp" tonight in the living room. That's always fun.
Life as a parent.
It's good.
Even if ya can't make it to the Ola Belle Reed festival.

It's August 18-20 in Lansing, North Carolina and you should go!!
www.olabellefest.com
You know you want to.

There have been a few website tweaks herelately. Well, I'm redesigning, rethinking, reconnoitering (that's a word my mom likes to use.) There's a whole lot of that going on these days in my krazy life. Things have to change. Sometimes it's a dumb ole thing like the look of a website, sometimes it's a whole lot bigger'n that.

More on that later...

So. Paint It Black.

We were out in the front yard chasing fireflies this evening. I turned on the porch light and Hallie noticed something moving inside the light. Well doggone if we ain't got us a bird nest full of brand new baby birdies in there! (I did my best to snap a picture of 'em since I had my camera on me.)

Sweet. Needless to say, I turned the light off, and intend on leavin' it off till the little fellers fly away...

Speaking of birds and brand new things, there's a brand new festival in North Carolina early August to celebrate the life and music of our most beloved mountain songbird, my major hero, Ola Belle Reed!!! Go to www.olabellefest.com for details. I'm listed as a possible performer. I can't know yet whether I'll be able to make it, but I'm incredibly honored that they asked me. If you any of you'uns can get there, I think it'll be a cool event.

looka heah at what's bloomin' in mah yawd!

FINALLY...


The goddess of Spring is opening her eyes in Tennessee. AAAHHHHH... Delicious. Delovely.
So long, WINTER. Nanny nanny boo boo.

http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/inspiration_trailer.htm
Like I said on my Links page: If this little film doesn't inspire you just a little bit, you're probably half-past-dead. The music itself is worth the click. Get yourself some of it.

There is an interview with Mike Compton in Newsweek Magazine, regarding the recent release of the most sublime "Stomp" CD.



"Stomp" is a duet project with Mike and his talented musical partner (and extremely cool dude) David Long. Go here to read it:
http://msnbc.msn.com/id/11753751/site/newsweek/
Despite the fact that the first words include "Knee-slapping" -- ugh -- it is a very good article.
But... Knee-slapping?! Please! This music is not the hay bales and checkered shirts and bandanas kind of music. "Stomp" is more blues-influenced than any kind of twang which would invoke the "knee-slappin'" stereotype. Gawd. It will never cease to amaze me how so many people get that ridiculous cheeze in their minds when they hear anything remotely acoustic. Come on, folks, there ain't even a banjer on the CD. Which, incidentally, was produced by none other than David "Dawg" Grisman, and is on his Acoustic Disc label.
Anyway, perhaps you'd like to overlook the headline and read the article... it is quite interesting, actually. Each track on the CD is discussed in detail from Mike's point of view.
Pretty cool, if you ask me.
...And since you're reading my blog, you pretty much DID.

But I have created a new perfume. Most of you probably have no idea that I am on the quest to make the most perfect (for my tastes) perfume in the history of the world. But I IS, and I have recently been working on it. I am using essential oils, mixing and blending and experimenting. (It's a secret which ones, naturally.) And have come up with a dandy. I need a name for it but it's mighty righteous. So. Here goes an attempt to describe the world's most perfect scent... heh.

My first thought: Ozymandias. You know, the poem by Shelley. But without the despair and lonesome. Mostly just the sand in the sun. It smells like sunshine. And blue sky. It smells like lying in bed on a breezy morning with the windows open and long white curtains blowing in the wind. And a ceiling fan going slow, just right. It smells like what banana trees look like. It smells like what sunflowers look like. It smells like love. It smells like comfort. It smells like the sound of "Melissa" by the Allman Brothers. It smells ancient and faraway, and it smells like dancing all night long. It smells like the taste of honey wine and lovers' kisses. It smells like the moon shining bright in the middle of the night. It smells like bliss and sunshine. It smells like candles burning all night long and warm nights full of music. It smells like the sound of an old guitar. It smells like fire. It smells like happiness. It smells like pure love. It's like the flight of a heart in love. It smells like yellow butterflies and hot sand. Walking barefoot in the summertime on wood floors in an old house. The low slow sound of a cello, too. Candles and bliss. It smells like the lyrics to "Stars Fell on Alabama." It is earthy. Not girlie but sweet. A man might could wear this too. Not girlie. Human heart in its best happiness. A long, slow, sweet kiss full of love. A long dream night and the morning after with the curtains blowing in the breeze and windchimes lightly singing.

A PERFUME review for your disgust or delight, whichever the case may be. (...I can't tell, myownself...)

Bandit.

What a strange stray cat this one is. I bought it because it's made by Robert Piguet, the same man who created my first favorite perfume, the one I fell in love with in high school (that's a long time ago, folks) and still love best of all: Fracas. But Bandit was created before Fracas, and the descriptions I had read about it intrigued me. I thought anyone who could make Fracas must have a Midas touch with any perfume. SO. Let me tell you what it smells like, the Sadie way:

Bandit doesn't smell like any kind of flowers. It's not girlie. It's not delicate. There ain't nothin' purty about it. Bandit is not for the weak. I like bold and it's almost too much for me. It's ODD. I don't know what is in it. But it smells like Ma Rainey. Like it smells like what Ma Rainey must have smelled like; smoke in her hair, stinky pits, funky breath and all. It smells like Geechie Wiley singing "Skinny Leg Blues" -- I'm gonna cut yo throat baby, Gon' look down in your face; I'm gonna cut yo throat baby, gon' look down in your face... I'm gonna let some lonesome graveyard be your restin' place...
It smells like the movie rendition (eek) of The Great Zora Neale Hurston's Beloved -- the scene where Beloved comes out of the swamp and leans against a tree and snores, with ladybugs or whatever they are crawling all over her -- it smells like wetness and swamp and bugs. I sh*t you not. I'm crappin' you negative. That is what Bandit smells like. With some low tone clawhammer banjo tuned to a creepy tuning (like in Dirk Powell's version of "Hop High Lulu Girl." That sound.)
It has taken me all afternoon and evening to dwell on whether I like it or hate it. It's a strange perfume, I tell you. But I can't dismiss it.
I had to stand in line for my car tag renewal for an hour today after spraying it on, and I was actually concerned that I was offensive to the people around me. Normally, mind you, I am NOT paranoid that I smell bad. Because I usually smell good, okay. But Bandit -- it doesn't even seem like a perfume. Like people might not know ya smell that way on purpose! Like it just smells like musty hatred and dusty lust and monkey piss. HA! And warm leather. Old warm brown tore-up leather like some old nasty jacket you'd find in a Goodwill store that you like but almost hate to try on 'cause you don't know what could be living in it. And it smells like Gaither Carlton's tobacco spit. Did he chew tobacco? I don't know. Seems like he would have. Ew, that smell...

But ... I think I like it. It's nothing like the stuff I usually wear... I like tuberose and blackberry and jasmine and amber and sandalwood and champa. And apparently monkey piss and tobacco drool on an old leather jacket. Mike hates it, and I can understand why. But. It is growing on me ever so slowly..... Like kudzu. Like ladybugs.

You know betta but I know him.

Like I told ya...
What I said...