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1.
ALL YOUR MIGHT (for Vivian) Put on your red stocking cap You don't want to get shot at Walk the Horton-Shipley line And stitch together that blue sky x2 And sing with all your might Conquer kings and queens and rooks Dig down deep into your books Know what's right, write what you know And make them prove what they say is so x2 And learn with all your might Help your mama make the bread And help her plant the flowerbeds Gather the eggs and thank the hens Speak your mind, but love your friends Listen to and love your friends And love them withal Love them with all your might Don't worry about heaven Or the old prevailing tide Don't worry yourself with worrying Just live your life With all your might.
2.
Not That Far 03:51
Not That Far Well, I’ve been to the top of the mountain And I was duped by the youth ministers And I attended all of those meetings But I was mostly there for the girls And that turned out to be a pretty good reason. I’ve been arrested for a misunderstanding I’ve been busted for telling the truth I’ve done worse that I never got caught for I almost got away with wasting my youth Trying to keep all my options open. It’s not that far, it’s not that far From the case to the crush. Not that far, not that far, From the look to the lust. I’ve climbed the towers of the ancient cathedrals I have walked along the Great Wall And seen the ruins of the old Roman forum I’ve marked how the mighty fall. And how they leave mostly rocks behind. I’ve spent hours in the libraries I’ve pored over the old documents And translated the faded handwriting And I haven’t been back there since I started feeling like the end of the line. It’s not that far, it’s not that far From the forge to the rust Not that far, not that far From the core to the cusp Only one small surgery Between the boom and the bust Barely one slight century From the dust to the dust From the dust to the dust. Just one singular sliver, Just one tiny taste Of this one sweet second. Where there’s no second place.
3.
And Now for the Good News In the fading of the evening light 
In the middle of an uncertain life 
With the seven hours gone 
Working the wheel, the wire, the hammer, the hill, and the stone, 
With the coaching and the talismans, and still
 You are wet to the bone The bodyguards of the breakneck pace
 Kicked you out of their crew 
Here's your chance
 To stand up straight 
And embrace
 this good news You're sleeping
to compress the time 
You're leveled out
 And glassy-eyed. The bodyguards... Here's to the misfits and the loners,
 The comediennes and the stoners. 
Love to the lost philosophers,
 Love to the maidens of honor-- 
I honor you. Oh, how I would lift you up
 And carry you home. C'mon, let's go home.
4.
i write myself a note to speak less and try to hear when talking turns to feeling my words aren't very clear i analyze the things i say i turn myself to stone the words i say are useless now like plastic beads they throw sometimes i drive real slow and take the curves with care forget about the mirror's light i contemplate what's fair i ask you what i ought to know i'm feeling guilty all the time you're in this thing and close to me I hope everything is fine it happens all the time and it wont be pushed away i feel it down within my chest i don't mind the things you say the idea dawned on me last week or was it twenty years ago careless laughs are tossed right off and weeds of anger grow my friends are all around me now no attacks come from the rear so take it easy take it slow i think the coast is clear
5.
The Luddite 03:16
The Luddite Dozers and loaders and shovels erase the terrain They carve out the coal and remake of a mountain a waste. Where the machines have spoken Digging the devil's token What the machines have stolen Won't be growing back. The water ran black from the tap into his great-grandmother's sink No one came to explain, no one paid, no one fixed anything. The blasting and rude repacking The walls in the basement cracking Then when the flood came rolling It all went down... And when the last bale was piled on He covered his head in nylon Put all of his blackest clothes on And stuffed his pack. As he shouldered his fireworks through rubble and mud His red light split the night into shadow and blood. He set the tubes, lit the fuse, and flew staggering away When they blew, how they blew, And the new dark became his new day. The plans of the malefactors Didn't count on the counteractor Backlit by the burning tractors Returning medicine. Leaving the land he grew in At the end of his great undoing Ruin begetting ruin One battle down. He made up his mind to kick out all the teeth Of the beast and its priests and their wretched machines. He would never sleep… Until… All the machines are broken...
6.
Origin 03:48
Origin The silent sun climbs up the morning It warms the air and primes the sea Its light is life that even fuels by night The auroras' fine fireworkery The color still within the thin magnolia leaves The flightless flies inside the golden amber beads Make clear the crystalline endeavor Through fleeting windows in the earth To stitch and staple all the world together And to launch the living matter from the dirt The holy rollers flinch and fight with their own shadows Those frozen lives residing somewhere after now But out in the wider world of sediment and sparrow The bleaching bones promote the flowering of doubt Without The feral fears That paralyze and faze Orchid and amaranth Still easily amaze All those threads parallel Twisting and splitting The mighty minuscule hands Ever ticking…ticking…ticking….
7.
New York Times They work hard in Lyttelton Harbour Where container ships roll in their berths And the diesel smoke flows from the tunnel He supposes it could have been worse He thought he might see seven wonders But mostly he saw seven seas And the bottom of the bunk above him And maps marked with depths and degrees In the evening, he leaned on the railing And watched the world move beneath him unchanged He made friends with Russians in Sydney He danced with Brazilians in Rome He fell in love once in Dublin for most of a week When anywhere was more or less home He scrawled on the pages of sketchbooks Where he graphed out his Grand Unified But one warm night out on the Pacific expanse He dumped them all over the side He lived such that nobody noticed too much Kept to his place in the line But one day he sent off a letter That got published in the New York Times The New York Times © James M. Davidson
8.
Francesca, the Field of Flowers in Our House The sun gets up, but we can wait Morning glory wants to sleep a little late. After an hour, it will be time To wake my pretty, procrastinating columbine. You're as full of life as they come My joyful peppermint geranium; Calm and kind, what a spirit you've got, I'm in awe--you are a true forget-me-not. It's Saturday, in field and arbor, In the greening garden--all over. You're pulling flats in an antique wagon Painted poppies following my fine snapdragon; And there's a smile--I hope you know I want you to be my only heirloom rose. In the yard, new leaves, Slow honeybees, drunk with spring. And I am buzzing with that sense of purpose, I am dizzy, doing circles in the doorway; I'm homing in on a favorite-- It's you, it's you, it's you--and I will have no other. If we take a walk around Cedar Lake I always want to travel in your jasmine wake; If we're on the couch, I take a look: I see a delicate delphinium, pressed into a book. Folding up the evening hours With my sweet south-of-the-border sunflower, You're my comfort, you're my love, You're my shooting star, my lily, my foxglove . . . In the air, vines climbing; Roots intertwining underground. And I just want to put you in my pocket, Pick you up, and dance you down the hallway; I'm holding on to a favorite-- It's you, it's you, it's you--and I will have no other. Every moment, every hue, fully saturated; You're the field of flowers growing in our house.
9.
Still Life With Cake The class clown is out of practice
 All his lines come a minute too late 
The journalist is out of questions
 She is shocked to be in such a foreign state

 The rate of change changes just enough...
 It's hard to say where it all sped up.

 The photographers hide out in the corners 
Finding and freezing their fractions profound
 The storyteller sweats in the spotlight 
Even though she is purely background. 

Sidelined and superfluous--
 The special guest is a total bust. (Down in flames.) There is no finer way to go. The interpreter who once was golden 
Quickly recognizes his mistake;
 He sees the awkward interloper
 Hunkerin' down on his piece of chocolate cake. The cool command is Kill! Kill! Kill! There’s no reward for standing still. (Beat the clock to a pulp.) There is no mercy to mete out. There is no favor; your luck’s run out.
 There is no later; there's only now.
10.
Waffle Joint 03:23
11.
Last July 04:01
Last July I got your letter It’s been a year I know I shouldn’t have But I read it fifteen times Usually, I frown on superstition But here I am, giving heavy weight To your every little move Valentine awakened Puncturing my armor of regret So count me in For another late night With lightning hours Will you accept My backwards invitation To extend Last July?
12.
My Pocketknife Says "Life is Strange…" All the basic needs are met. If I could only stop window-shopping, I'd be set. Chemical delivery, aching electricity on the wire; Old magnetic resonance relegating common sense to the fire. Somewhat civilized, But animal inside. Forgot my hat again, and it's cold on my poor bald head. Up one little hill, and then two or three, up to the fence-line hickory on the ridge. A privilege to stand At the finest spot in the land. Chorus: Etched on my pocketknife Opposite the name Time-worn and elliptical The words, "Life is Strange…" It's curious how it all tends to go astray But sometimes the design dissolves in such a lovely way Destinies and best-laid plans handed off to the idle hands of the Fates Histories of missing years whisper into the willing ears, "No, it's never too late." And vital in the void: The unexpected joy. (chorus)

about

No. 8 Wire is the second full-length recording from the Worthless Son-in-Laws, recorded at the Fidelitorium with Mitch Easter (Let's Active, R.E.M., Game Theory, etc.), with songs inspired by wayward adolescence, snail-mail, evolution, Edward Abbey, New Zealand, friends, family, and other things close to home...or halfway around the world.

credits

released December 1, 2013

The Worthless Son-in-Laws / No. 8 Wire

Recorded at the Fidelitorium, Kernersville, NC
Additional tracking at Lazy Limbertwig Farm, Vilas, NC
and at The House in the Hollar, Fox Cove, NC
Engineered by Mitch Easter / Bob Engel / Worthless Son-in-Laws
Produced by Mitch Easter / Worthless Son-in-Laws
Mastered by Scott Craggs, Old Colony Mastering

The Worthless Son-in-Laws are:
David Brewer: drums, additional percussion, harmonies, noises, rude comments, porch, music trivia
Rich Crepeau: bass guitar, chips, candy, mod-art practice room
Rob Brown: electric guitar, vocals, gear fetish, roots
Jimmy Davidson: vocals, acoustic guitar, piano, sound effects, insatiable appetite, pacing, staring off into space a lot

Additional musicians:
Electric guitar on 12 by Mitch Easter (mitcheaster.com)
Rolling sea of violins on 7 by Melissa Reaves (melissareaves.com)

1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 12 ©2013 James M. Davidson
4, 10 ©2013 Robert N. Brown

Orchard Hill Media #OHM0002

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The Worthless Son-in-Laws Boone, North Carolina

“The songwriting...is through the roof here both melodically and lyrically, bolstered by a band that nails the songs with pinpoint perfection.... The vocal delivery...is rock solid on what can only be deemed one of the most pleasantly surprising releases of the summer. This one rests near the very top of the ‘highly recommended’ list.”
—Bill Hurley, The Alternate Root
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