Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Music: Jeffrey Foucault

When a man sings a song about Mesa, AZ how can I not love him?

I came across this Mesa, Arizona song a few months ago via my brother, and I've been hooked ever since. Folk music, guitar, slightly raspy vocals, my beautiful desert hometown...well, neighboring hometown anyway...what's not to love! Some other favorites by Mr. Foucault include Heart to the Husk, Northbound 35, Passerines, Tea and Tobacco....and um, several others. I'm absolving myself of any further responsibility to narrow it down. Too many.

Plus, I simply can't handle the bio on his Facebook page:
Jeffrey Foucault grew up in a small town in Wisconsin. His father played a plywood guitar and his mother liked to sing. Winter Sundays were for church or ice fishing, which are not so different when you think about it. He went to college and dropped out, took a job on a fruit farm and started writing songs about a girl from Iowa. He finished school, roofed houses, drove a snowplow, and home-schooled the son of the local bar owner in exchange for beer. He cut his first album in the winter of 2000.
Dear J. Foucault, come perform in the Bay Area soon, please and thank you. California is quite nice in the winter. And all other seasons.

And just to mix things up, I'm going to skip posting a video of any of the above songs (though I encourage you to click on any link above and let your little ears feast) and post lyrics from a different song of his instead. Because man....MAN...I love these words. And if there are two things I'm all about in this world, it's good words.......and great corduroy. (No seriously, favorite fabric.)

Americans in Corduroy

We pushed back at JFK
And watched our country fall away
Two lovers chasing hours into the dark
Who blacked their boots
And locked the doors
And now for richer and for poorer
Go vagabond and wild as a spark

It was a civilized affair
You wore flowers in your hair
And your Mother's dress
So white against your skin
The stars of pale blue
Above the morning found a new
And nameless country
Where no one had ever been

We raced the valleys down
Through the sleepy little towns
As blind as any traveler you could meet
They took us as we came
No one even asked our names
Two Americans in corduroys
Kissing in the middle of the street

Back home behind closed doors
Where the bread and circus roars
They turn the volume up
And pull the shade
But on the cobbles in the square
People laugh and smoke and stare
And no one looks to me like they're afraid

At home the trees are turning
Red and gold the leaves are burning
Ruined apples fall
Too heavy and too sweet
But right here the birds are calling
The early stars are falling
For Americans in corduroys
Kissing in the middle of the street

Trading evening for midday
We touched down at JFK
And our country rose to meet us in the air
With all its beauty and its lust
Its diamond teeth and heart of dust
That beats inside us
Though we travel anywhere

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