Union Garage

by Love Camp 7

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03:38

about

All songs (p) and © 2008 by Love Camp 7
Words and music by Dann Baker, but lyrics of “Mock On” by William Blake.
Engineered and mixed 2006–2008 at Excello Recording, Brooklyn, U.S.A., by Ethan Donaldson with Love Camp 7
Additional engineering by Ross Bonnadonna and Nathan Rosborough
Mastered at Arf !

credits

released March 17, 2009

Love Camp 7:
Dann Baker—vocals, guitar
Bruce Hathaway—bass, vocals
David Campbell—drums, percussion, vocals
Stephen B. Antonakos—lead guitar, vocals

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about

Love Camp 7 New York, New York

Like the Kinks and Beatles careening down the Pacific Coast Highway in a Woodie with Captain Beefheart screaming in their ear.

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Track Name: The Killers
What my crime was I can’t recall—
Or what I’m doing here at all.
What my crime was I can’t recall—
But I know you led me to it,
And I know I let you do it.

The town is silent, the town is small—
There’s no use hiding, no use at all—
A couple shots will do it—
There’s really nothing to it.
Now that I’ve been through it . . .

The killers aren’t bad guys;
They’re just doing a job somebody’s gotta do.

When the night comes, I see it all—
The stars are brightest when they fall.

You better get used to it—
There’s no way to undo it—
Now that I’ve been through it . . .

The killers aren’t bad guys;
They’re just doing a job somebody’s gotta do.
Track Name: Crazy Bet Van Lew
Just a daughter of Richmond, richer than most—
Her daddy was a hardware king.
She was well-educated, better than most—
The Quakers taught her everything:
Freedom, equality before God and man;

“When we find injustice we must do what we can—
O, dearest mother, set them free, let them be;
Are they not from God as are we, as are we?”

When Virginia seceded, war was declared,
The Union won her sympathy.
There were prisoners taken after Bull Run—
She visited them frequently,
Bringing comestibles rich and varied from her home;
Books of impeccable learning, books of moral tone:
“Make sure, my soldier friends, you read between the lines—
Who knows what truth ye may find even in the spines . . .”

Just a daughter of Richmond, richer than most,
She’s singing like a little child.
There’s a gleam in her eye, her mother would cry
To see the way her hair’s grown wild.

“Take care that harridan not surmise what we’re up to.”
“No need to worry, sir—it’s just Crazy Bet van Loo;
No need to detain her, sir, there’s nothing she can do;
She is quite insane, sir, it’s a shame what she’s been through.”
Track Name: Nobody Here But Us African-Americans
Here she lies at last, finally at peace;
All her works of charity will cease.
A day and night have passed;
A nation does not mourn;
All the same, a nation has been shorn.

Let her spirit fly away, let her spirit soar.

Nobody here but us African-Americans—
Is this any way to lay a hero down; is it any way?

The lady looks so small, she looks so unconcerned;
In her heart a fire always burned.
Deep within the earth, she’ll sleep forever now;
We above must carry on somehow.

Let her spirit fly away, let her spirit soar.

Nobody here but us African-Americans—
Is this any way to lay a hero down; is it any way?
Track Name: Letting the Brass Band Speak for You
Dailies and the weeklies calling for blood,
A trickle of resistance turns into a flood,
Formerly great minds are wallowing in the mud.
Little children singing; hear the church bells ringing everywhere.

Senators are waving fists in the air,
Sabers being rattled in comfortable chairs,
Old men telling young men that it’s time to prepare.
Hear the music playing; battle flags are waving everywhere.

Letting the brass band speak for you—
Take your mind away, away.
Letting the brass band speak for you,
Till a better day, OK.

Cotton and tobacco have mastered us all,
Laws of economics demanding a fall,
Old men telling young men that they must heed the call.
Little misses sighing, handsome soldiers riding, so we wave.
Track Name: No Negro Shall Smoke . .
Nervous were the gentlemen of old Richmond town;
At the merest mention of the name John Brown;

Nervous were the gentlemen of old Richmond town;
Fearing insurrection, harsher laws came down.

Meeting in secret in the middle of the night,
They burned a light, they set things right:
“No negro shall smoke in any public place, any public square,
Or carry a cane at night, unless old or infirm.”

Nervous were the gentlemen of old Richmond town;
Turner’s insurrection, printed up and bound.

Thousands liberated along the Underground;
Thousands a belated education found.

Meeting in secret in the middle of the night,
They burned a light, they set things right:
“No negro shall smoke in any public place, any public square,
Or carry a cane at night, unless old or infirm . . .

Or block a sidewalk, or
Speak insolently to
Any white person, or
Gather in groups of more
Than five except in church,
And churches must be cleared
Within a half an hour
After the service ends.”
Track Name: Start from Nothing
If something wants to be a song, then it can start from nothing,
Like me lying in the grass—this might be a photograph—
Please, love, don’t be long . . . if something wants to be a song.

If something wants to be a flower, it can start from nothing,
Like a summer afternoon—a secret message from the moon—
An unexpected shower—if something wants to be a flower.

If something wants to be a true love, it can start from nothing,
Like a book of nursery rhymes—even in the worst of times,
It’s you I’m dreaming of . . . if something wants to be a love.
Track Name: Beware of the Angry Driver (Yeah)
Down Manhattan Ave. you can see gleaming towers of the city,
And here comes the B43—is it honking continually?

Stars and stripes above every door—
Yellow ribbons—good little war!
And here comes the B24—
Is it taking turns a bit too fast?
Is it breaking so hard that its passengers are losing footing?

Beware of the angry driver, yeah.

Golden city, gold river run,
In the light of the setting sun,
And here comes the B61,
Barreling down densely populated corridors, frustrated—

Beware of the angry driver, yeah.

Now, my friend, it’s getting quite late;
Hands pull down the last metal gate;
And here comes the B48—
Tell me where on earth you’d rather be
Than Greenpoint in its glory?
Track Name: Blue Heights Drive
This life is spinning me ’round—
Good-bye, Motherland.
This life is sitting me down—
Who will hold my hand?

I walk along a new shore—
Will my dream survive?
I’m counting on the Blue Four
To keep it alive—
Blue Heights Drive.

I always found a star to steer by.
I always set out with a clear eye.
My mother gave the faith
To follow my heart;
I followed it to a place
I thought it might thrive—
Blue Heights Drive.

Standing alone at the top of a hill—
Faces I’ve known, they are here with me still.
Let the sun shine down on me and my own;
When will I arrive?
Blue Heights Drive.
Track Name: Johnny's Got a Little Bag of Tricks
Johnny’s got a little bag of tricks;
Hey! Watch out for your heads ’cause here he comes;
He’s gonna make you look like you’re all thumbs.

Johnny’s got a little bag of tricks;
Hey! He plays a hundred notes where one would do;
And if it fits the song that’s OK too.

Though the drummer can’t abide him
And his bandmates often chide him,
All the kids adore him,
They all turn out for him.
Pouring forth notes like a fountain,
He recalls the days of Mountain—
See him up there wincing—
Do you need convincing?
Track Name: Lady Ottoline Morrell
Consider us your humble servants.
Your every wish is our command.
You shield us from the heat of battle.
Behind your walls we’ll take a stand.

I’m serving my country, I’m serving it well;
I’m doing my duty,
Drinking up the wine from the tender vine of
Lady Ottoline Morrell.

The masses lack imagination;
They pray the trains will run on time;
Just give them two weeks’ paid vacation—
They will forgive the gravest crime.

I’m serving my country, I’m serving it well;
I’m doing my duty,
Drinking up the wine from the tender vine of
Lady Ottoline Morrell.

The best minds of a generation,
The brave young men of many parts
Have vanished in a conflagration;
Have given up their fearless hearts.
Track Name: Mock On
Mock on, mock on,
Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, ’tis all in vain—
You but throw the sand into the wind
And the wind blows it back again.

And every sand becomes a gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back they blind the mocking eye,
But still in Israel’s path they shine.

Mock on, mock on,
Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, ’tis all in vain—
You but throw the sand into the wind
And the wind blows it back again.

The atoms of Democritus,
And Newton’s particles of light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore
Where Israel’s tents do shine so bright.