Saturday May 16th – Sky Music Lounge 6:30 to 8:30
Saturday July 25th – Syberg’s (Dorset & I-270 9:00 to 1:00)
Friday, September 11th – Brewskeez (4251 Keaton Crossing Blvd, O’Fallon Mo 63368 7:00 to 11:00)
Friday, November 20th – Sky Music Lounge 6:30 to 8:30
Welcome everyone! Thank you for visiting our website.
OPEN>SundayTM is a full size 9 piece band rooted in original music, but flourishes in performing horn based classic rock and roll.
Their sound features a three-piece horn section (Trumpet, Trombone & Saxophone), with electric guitar leads, subtle keyboard riffs and three-part harmonies. They pride themselves on having six different lead singers, four of which are prolific song writers that yield an eclectic variety of music styles ranging from acoustic ballads and melodic melodies, to jazzy blues and straight forward rock & roll.
Those that have seen the band at places like the Pageant, Blueberry Hill, the Diamond Music Hall or the Sky Music Lounge have described the band as being a guild of high energy horn driven performers that cover bands such as Chicago, Steely Dan, Little Feat and Blood Sweat & Tears. They have a solid history as a concert opening act as well as headlining midsize clubs and performance halls throughout the region. Musicians and friends of musicians find this multi-songwriter band addictive as well as refreshing; returning again and again to shows so they can stay current with the new lyrics & melodies that routinely come from this group.
The culture that exists within this band is similar to a musical guild. The majority of the players in OPEN>SundayTM are well seasoned performers that bring a unique freshness to the studio and the stage. At their weekly rehearsals it is not uncommon to have a multitude of guest musicians and sidemen stopping by. Some just to hang in the smoking lounge outside, discussing music and issues of the day. Others to introduce a new piece or to support projects in development. Their music and performance blends well with a wide variety of bands.
So if you consider music as an art form, this band, OPEN>Sunday TM is a must.
“Swimming in paradise, wouldn't that be nice. To be living in paradise, wouldn't that be right" - Bart Berry
My trumpet journey began in December of 1964 with a Trumpet gift for Christmas.
I joined the school band at Griffith Elementary in Ferguson, Mo. and made first chair trumpet by early February. Ferguson Jr High and McCluer Sr high went very well in spite of orthodontic braces causing trauma and frustration. The summer after my junior year the braces were removed and could not play at all!!
Had to retrain my embouchre.
I was very active in high school in band , jazz and orchestra plus church and even a few rock bands.
After my senior graduation McCluer High School Symphonic Wind ensemble traveled to Vienna , Austria and received Best Band Honors at the Youth in Music Festival.
When I returned to St.louis, my high band director, Ron Frede invited me to a trumpet clinic sponsored by St. Ann School Music Service where i met Claude Gordon, a trumpet pedagogue and virtuoso from Los Angeles.
Mr Frede believed my desire to play trumpet professionally would dissuaded by Mr Gordon’s impressive skill set and knowledge.
Claude made it very clear that playing is a physical endeavor that requires systematic practice and training.
Anybody who wants play must practice.
Essentially the difference between my playing skills and Carl “Doc” Severinson was simply that Severinson practiced more than I did.
Claude offered a Systematic Approach method book that outlined the way forward.
Claude invited me to L.A. to study! Eventually i did just that.
First i went To Central Methodist University to pursue a Music Education degree. That was amazing all by itself. I practiced from the Claude’Method book and in the summer 75 made the trip to LA for a week of lessons with Claude Gordon.
I was advised that a degree in education is needed to teach but not needed to perform. I decided to be a performer.
It was a tough choice, a hard choice. I had become an EMT at Central Methodist and did ambilance work to pay for school. I found work in St.Louis and started auditioning for bands.
I played for Bob Kuban, Russ David, Jack Engler, Johnny Polzin, Tommy Whitelaw, Gary Dammer etc etc big band. I joined Herb Sadlers Salt’nPeppa orchestra my first soul band. I auditioned for 6 Flags Palace orchestra and got the gig! I took lessons from Robert Ceccarini another player who had studied with Claude. Robert Ceccarini was the principle trumpet chair at the Miny and Fox orchestra’s did contract for SLSO and was first call for any trumpet job in town.
I learned all about freelance work from Bob. Absolutely the best player in St.Louis. I also traveled to LA two more times.
In 1980 the palace gig ended. They replaced the band with prerecorded tracks. Live band work changed alot as well with fewer and smaller horn sections, sometimes no horns at all.
I had really good regular employment as a paramedic,but playing music for a living became unsustainable.
Long story short i eventually took work as a Firefighter/ Paramedic at Pattonville Fire District. I continued to play in bands.
Elvis impersonator Steve Davis, Butch Wax and The Hollywoods, an Amzing R&B group The Benders. The Benders Horn section had a marvelous opportunity to play with St . Louis favorites Mama’s Pride and we dubbed ourselves The Dogtown Horns. We even did two opening gigs with The Pride in front Ringo’s all Star’s in 1990 at Riverport and Sandstone amphitheater in Kansas City.
It was about 15 minutes of fame.
I did not quit my day job.
In 2001 at age 46 began to study jazz performance at SIU/Edwardsville easily one of the top jazz schools in the country. I spent all of my 20 days a month off from my firehouse rotation practicing, preparing, studying how to be a jazz musician. It was daunting and resulted in a failed junior recital performance. Devastated, I had a severe incapacity to accept my overcome what i believed to performance anxiety in front of my instructors. In my view i could not figure out why i was fearless as a firefighter/ Paramedic but terrified in a room full of seriously amazing jazz in structors
I sought therapist who patiently asked what happened at the recital jury. I shared my anxiety, difficulty breathing , chest and ultimately anger and rage.
I was advised to get an eval from a cardiologist. He said “ you are a paramedic, doesn’t this incident sound like a cardiac problem?”
Turns out i had a genetic heart defect called HOCM. (Hypertrophic Obstructive Cardiomyopathy)
I was immediately disabled from my Firehouse job and began the task of rebuilding life going forward. It was more intense than any challenge I ever experienced but the outcome is good.
My heart condition is well managed and get to be atrumpet player for as long as I like and so I am!
Currently i enjoy playing with Open> Sunday Band, A wonderful Oldies Band The Jorrells.
The Jazz Kosmonauts, Webster University Wind Ensemble , Webster U Jazz Collective, Convergence Symphonic Wind ensemble, Oasis Concert Band.
I’m very grateful to all of my Dr’s, and none this delightful life would be possible without the love and support of the most amazing human being I’ve ever known, Steffanie, wife, best friend,life partner and sweetheart❤️
Live everyday like it’s your last day on this earth.
Don’t wait for permission! Do that thing you love!
Singing Utensil: Shure 58 Mic.
Guitar: Alvarez 12-string acoustic/electric (about to buy 6-string…yeah!)
Drums: 1970 Rodgers 4 piece English-style kit.
Percussion: Timbales, Roto Toms, Tambourine, Tocoa Egg & Wood Block
Words and melodies: Pen or pencil (Pref. a #3 pencil), paper, patience and imagination (to wit).
So I am told that I get to do and say anything I want in this “SPACE” of the web site huh? I am sure I will leave out valuable information into what has, does and will move me as far as music goes. I know music has always been a very sacred for me. For some reason I have never felt compelled to share my music or the music I enjoy with others (big mistake). Music always has been and always will be the most important secret I’ve held & hold over everyone……anytime any place…..(maybe).
Do you have your reading shoes on? ……. I guess it all started with my brother’s record collection in his basement room. I would sit under our pool table and listen to what he listened to: Pink Floyd, The Beatles, The Monkeys etc. Then I was introduced to RUSH …..a good friend turned me on to them and I took it from there (1st album you ask?….All The Worlds A Stage RUSH) then on to Kiss, Van Halen, Led Z. & countless others. Then, on my own, I discovered U2 & The Cure in high school. Whoa, did I love the sound those two bands made. Others included: Modern English, Ice Castle Works (“We are, We are, We are the dark children”….), Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Plimsouls, The Police, Various Reggae….etc. (blah, blah, blah!)
Musically important moment #1…… my world changed…….. I went with some my North County brohams’ to Animal House (a young “alternative music diggers’”) dream. It’s an old converted movie house with a great stage, ok sound & killer ambiance! Anyhoot…..I walk down the isle to the front, I must have been 5 feet from the front of the stage. A band called THE EYES were kickin’ it & they hooked me from the moment I heard them doing a cover of an Ice Castle Works song.
Then my musical taste went straight to “ALTERNATIVE” if you can call it that. Bands like The Cult, Soundgarden, Bad Brains, Smashing Pumpkins & early PJ Harvey were some of the harder influences. While Concrete Blonde, The La’s, Toad The Wet Sprocket, & early Live were a few of the softer bands that effected me.
The reason The Eye’s were so important to me musically was the fact that they jump started my musical being. First, I was inspired to learn and play the drums, then the guitar and then on to song writing (if you can call it that). Pla’ Dow’…… I rapped that up pretty quick & once again, I guarantee I left out some important people and moments.
During my final years in college, two good buddies of mine & and my older brother Gabe truly inspired me to stay on the song writing train. My buddy Mike McKowski inspired my guitar playing, Mark Johannesman my ability to write a song and my brother provided the guitar. Mike taught me tricks and things I couldn’t learn on my own. Mark spent hours with me learning the words and sounds of my songs. Then countless other hours helping me learn to sing. And to both of you……I say, “Thanks from the bottom of my heart”.
After college Mark and kept singing and writing together. We actually got pretty good at making our voices sound good together. As we got better we started thinking of starting a band. That’s when Mr. Andrew Foster and Mr. Steve Maness joined up with Mark and I and wha la …………OPEN>Sunday was born
Vocals (Sure 58a Beta wireless Mic.)
6 String Acoustic (Fender Montaro) w/ Crate CA125D amp, Shure BLX4 wireless
Percussion (LP Cabasa, Guiro, Chimes, Tambourine, Vibraslap, Claves)
Harmonica (Hohner 20 Specials & Chromatics) w/Hohner 'Blues Blaster' mic.
4 String Bass (82’ Fender Precision Lyte / 65’ Kay Deluxe 5923) w/ Ampeg SVT-150H amp and an Ampeg 8-6” cabinet, Shure BLX4 wireless
Born last into a large family of musicians I initially was drawn into the music scene by my siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles that came before me. Most family functions and social gatherings found the Foster family melodies and harmonies echoing thru the living rooms and gathering halls around the Lake of the Ozarks area.
As one of the singer/song writers in OPEN>SundayTM my initial instincts for song writing came from my father, Buford Foster, who is famous for lyrics and melodies like ‘Rubbing Doctor’, ‘Sons of the Beaches’ and ‘The Lake of the Ozarks Anthem’ (See book written by Buford Foster ‘That’s the Way it Was ‘). Other music directors such as Larry Maness and Florence Thompson encouraged me to develop my skills as a player and as a soloist. But it wasn’t until I and fellow songwriters Steve Maness and Steve Blair began playing together, that the vision of writing, playing and recording music went from dreams to reality. The three of us soon linked up with Mark Johannesman and Bart Berry (two more song writers) and for years we developed and refined the song writing and playing methods that I use today.
Other song writing influences ranging from RUSH (Jack Secret) to John Denver gave me a broad musical base. But in my song writing development years bands like Toad the Wet Sprocket, Massive Attack, Todd Schneider and John Hargrove inspired me to write and arrange complete musical pieces.
But by far and with no doubt, the talented musicians that have chosen to surround me over the years have provided the catalyst for my emergence as an all-around musician. Players such as George and Steve Whitlow, Pat and Thom Roe, Gabe Berry, Paul Schaffrin, Kevin Watson, Dave Kalz, Terry Melton, Rob Compton, Mike Fish and most of all, the sidemen and players in OPEN>SundayTM have truly provided the driving desire I have to create and enjoy the magic that music brings.
"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much room" - Mike Fish 1999
Vocals: (Shure 58)
Keyboards: Yamana KX5, KX500, DX7II-FD
Synthesizers: Kurzweil PC-88, 2500X, MicroMoog
Organ: (2) Hannond B3 w/Leslies
Well it was a ways back when I started my musical career singing and ear training with the nuns at St. Joseph's grade school in Cottleville Mo. Each student was given a little metal six-hole flute and we learned to play and sing songs together in class. By the time I started accordion lessons at the age of 9 I already knew about Do Re Mi etc. As a freshman at age 13 I sang in the choir and performed the lead role in our high school production of Oliver.
Aah, those were the years. Porch swings, homemade pie and buggy whips. Ok, ok maybe not that far back but I was 13 when I started my first combo on accordion and coronet, playing old standards with a drummer and horns. I played my little fingers blue as it all came so natural for me. But then, at the age of 16, I realized that the accordion was not really hip for rock, pop, & soul music so I got an electric Wurlitzer piano and finished out a stint with Jerry and the Penetrations. Wow, what a concept... getting paid to have all this fun. That pretty much sums up my first gig ‘in band experience.
From there I traded my Wurlitzer in on a Farfisa, then to a Vox Super Continental and began to play in soul and rock bands such as the SOUL SEEKERS / SOUL REVUE. Other various bands and incarnations followed, leading me to divers musical interests. In the late 70’s I found myself studying classical music at a local junior college and taking road gigs in rock, soul and disco groups such as STARSHIP ENTERPRISE, The Ralph Cooper Show, CARNIVAL, and Denise Day & Fantasy. But by the time this cycle of life had run its full turn, I was shifting my interest to Jazz. Here I had the honor of studying piano under this monster of a piano teacher by the name of Herb Drury. Can't say enough good things about this fella.
Also, after the road days I trained at KBK Studios as a recording engineer. During this time (early 80's) I worked at Sugar Creek Records engineering, co-writing and producing music with songwriters and musicians. It was there that I developed the sound editing and mastering skills that I use today. In this same period I continued to play keyboards and sing with Maga / Tim Reynolds, WHITE STARLINE, NIGHT MAGIC, FELIX and LUCKY DOG BAND. Then came RISING STAR and my first Jazz quartet experience with BIG NOTES. Most recently I played keys with BROWN BEANS & HAM and that morphed into FUZZY BRIDGES.
I was also an original member of the BENEVOLENT MUSHROOMS with Rich Hamilton and Jim Wheeler. This was/is a very interesting project that developed over a period of 20 years. We recorded all original music and released tapes and CDs. Check out the Benevolent Mushrooms website at: www.mp3.com/benevolentmushrooms
Currently I work as a freelance audio technician for many Audio/Visual companies as well as the St. Louis Rams and the Edward Jones Dome. I also own and operate a recording studio and sound company called AUDIO CONSUNTANTS. There I record, arrange and produce custom sound tracks for private and commercial clients.
Then one day, as most good stories go, I was attending a Danny and Pat Liston's reunion concert at a nightclub in downtown St. Louis called Mississippi Nights. There an old friend by the name of Sam Ferranto introduced me to Andy Foster, a fellow band member. The two of them reviewed the OPEN>Sunday™ project that they were involved with and asked me if I was interested.
Here again was an opportunity to collaborate with musicians and songwriters. So with the shake of my lucky rabbits foot, badaboom - badbbing, I found myself hanging out with a community of skilled musicians that we all now call OPEN>Sunday™. I feel that my interest and background in jazz, sole and the world beat gives the group a wider variety of styles in which to meld.
We are a fun loving bunch of players and we enjoy developing, playing and recording our own music. Hope you can dig what we be lay ‘in down!
BABASABUTI !!!
Musical Journey of Paul Schaffrin (Singer/Songwriter/Guitarist)
Born 1965 in Saint Charles, Missouri to a large family of 11 children.
Married to Angela with 8 children (4 girls & 4 boys) together. All of them play music and in local bands. Also 21 grandchildren (11 girls & 10 boys).
Paul attended and graduated from Duchesne High School in Saint Charles, Missouri in 1983.
Paul started at Lindenwood College in 1983 as an Art major on scholarship. He requested an audition with the Fine Arts department to move his art scholarship to a Theater scholarship—he passed, and the funding was transferred. The following year he decided to switch to a Music major, later attending UMSL to also study music, while taking classical guitar lessons through CASA at Washington University.
Paul pursued music as a career initially. In 1986 he moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, where he had family and friends. Rather than join a band, Paul focused on writing—aiming at commercial jingles, movie soundtracks, or TV shows. In 1987 he composed and recorded the soundtrack theme for a local San Francisco cable program called “Moving Arts,” a martial-arts show serving a regional market of over 7 million.
During a Christmas visit home in 1986, Paul reconnected with his sweetheart from Lindenwood, Angela. They decided to resume their relationship and start a family. He moved back to Missouri to continue real estate and construction work to support that family—eventually focusing on construction and opening their company, Creative Renovations Inc., in 1991.
Paul believes in doing music for the love of it, not to be gone constantly for business. He loves music, but he loves his wife and family first, and didn’t want to be away on the road chasing a “maybe someday” break. So he chose to make music a passion rather than a full-time touring pursuit—playing semi-professionally in the St. Louis area and continuing to perform locally.
OPEN>Sunday has been a great outlet for his songwriting. Paul also performs occasionally with his family band, Clan Schaffrin. He often tells business clients he does construction to support his “music addiction”—and that’s about as true as it gets.
I've been a drummer for over 50 years, from St. Charles MO and have traveled the world in various bands. Full Moon Blues, Partners in Crime and the Tony Campanella Band are just a few.
During the 2000 - 2010 decade I did some studio recordings with a new local originals band called OPEN>Sunday and as a result, ended up on their CD named “Flashes of Adequacy”.
And in the fall of 2023, I was asked to fill in on drums for OPEN>Sunday at one of their scheduled events and have been playing with them ever since.
I started playing tenor saxophone in freshman year at St. Mary's High School in south St. Louis. By the time I graduated, I was in several different bands.
My last group was called "We The People" and I played with them until 1972. I decided I was tired of the infighting and drugs, so I walked away. 43 years passed by and I only had my mouth pieces to remind me of that past life.
I received a call from a former band member of that group and never looked back. They fell apart a few years later and I was approached by fellow musicians to join "Open Sunday". This is my latest endeavor at 77 and I am loving it!
I learned to live life in the key of music at an early age. My dad bought me a set of bongos and a snare drum when I was six or seven and I was playing brushes on these drums with a group of his friends shortly afterwards.
We didn’t have a piano, so my dad bought an accordion from a door-to-door salesman and I learned music like a lot of other kids in the St. Louis area in the early 60s.
When it was time to go to high school and play music in the marching band, he told me I couldn’t use an accordion and handed me his trumpet, told me how to double and triple tongue, and I have been enjoying playing the trumpet and all other types of instruments for the last 50+ years.
Visions from the rain. Seen through a fallin’ veil. Never asking no one. Never seems to fail. Always in the shadows. Mystic and so frail. Numbers are so massive. Why do men prevail... Fears, desperation blinding. Nowhere to set sail. Thoughts so full, all binding. No hope to prevail. Sleep tight, good night. Sing a song and get along. (Instrumental break) Fears, desperation blinding. Nowhere to set sail. Thoughts so full, all binding. No hope to prevail. Sleep tight, good night. Sing a song and get along. (At least that’s what you say to your kids) Visions from the rain. Visions from the rain. Visions from the rain. © Andrew Foster, 2002
Sonny Boy wants a girlfriend. Sonny Boy wants someone to love him. Sonny Boy’s got time for dreamin’. Don’t you know he’s got time for schemin’. But then, he don’t know what it’s all about. I try to teach him, and I try not to shout. Tell him love isn’t all there is— Won’t always get you there, no! Just a boy now, soon be a man. Little boy is growing way too fast. Sonny Boy wants a girlfriend. Sonny Boy wants someone to hug him; he wants someone to hold him tight, someone to make him feel alright. But then, he don’t know what it’s all about. I try to teach him, and I’ll try not to shout. Just sees the good, doesn’t see the bad. Trusting everyone but me! Sonny Boy, growin’ fast. Sonny Boy, got no past. Sonny Boy, big boy at last. He just wants someone to know him. But then, he don’t know what it’s all about. I try to teach him, and I’ll try not to shout. He just wants to get on with it anyhow. All his patience there, wearing thin… Sonny Boy, he-da one. Sonny Boy, he-da man. (Instrumental break) He don’t know what it’s all about. I try to show him, and I try not to shout. He don’t want to listen anyhow. Just got to learn it all the hard way, ooh-ya… © Gabe Berry, 2004
Sell My Soul for Justice I give you truth and honesty. I turn them ’round to fit my needs. In every case you’re on the offensive. What’s yours is mine and that’s just fine. You work alone; you’re not a team player. What’s in a team? A team of one. It’s with a smirk, it’s with a smile— Man, that’s some demented style. Control is power, whether it’s yours to take. Sell my soul for justice—just enough to see the day. All of us—we’re such a close family. I’m far removed, don’t understand. Trust is earned, every day— On that I haven’t much to say. You work outside your own jurisdiction; No matter what—I’ve gotta win. Others’ needs don’t calculate; All that builds is hate—Hate—HATE! Divide and conquer—my time has come to save the day. Sell my soul for justice—just enough to see him pay. Ooo-oo, what to say? The devil’s gonna make me pay. Sell my soul for justice—just enough to save the day. (Guitar solo) Your needs — can’t wait Your way — manipulate My needs — my fate And your best — don’t rate! No, they don’t rate! They don’t rate! On my nest, protect my young. I lie low, forked tongue. Soaring high, spread my wings. I salt your tail; it really stings. I return with plenty to share— Raided nest; loathing, despair. If there’s a heaven, if there’s a hell, Don’t have to wonder where you may dwell. Ooo-oo, what to say? Just enough to see the day. Sell my soul for justice—just enough to see him pay. Ooo-oo, what to say? The devil’s gonna make me pay. Sell my soul for justice—just enough to see the day. © Andrew Foster, 2001
Think About You I can’t stand sleeping at night; I keep my arms open wide and wait for you. You’ve got what I need from you. I just can’t get through the night; I keep my eyes open wide and wait for you. You’ve got what I need from you! You’ve got nothing to say; you just keep walking away. When we get through, you know I tried to get through to you. When we get through, you know I try to get through to you. ’Cause I’d say I didn’t need you if I didn’t care about you, yeah. You know I really love you, and you know how much I think about you— think about you, think about you. You’ve got so much to give; you don’t care if I live without you. I try to get through to you, oh yeah. You’ve got nothing to say; you just keep walking away. When we get through, you know I tried to get through to you. When we get through, you know I tried to get through to you. ’Cause I’d say I didn’t need you if I didn’t care about you, yeah. You know I really love you, and you know how much I think about you— think about you, think about you. © Paul Schaffrin, 1996
Get Yourself On A Motorbike Half the world’s gone crazy, old and the young in a motorcycle frenzy. On every highway and shopping mall, so many choppers, can’t handle them all. Now I got one in my neighborhood. It doesn’t sound muffled like a good boy would. Leavin’ their rubber in the cul-de-sac, flippin’ the bird as he’s yellin’ back. He says… Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight. Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight! He said… Get yourself on a motorbike— on the road tonight! The biggest brand is the Harley, the bad-boy look makes the meek look gnarly. Flathead, Knucklehead, Panhead, Shovelhead, Blockhead—gimme head! Intimidate. Dominate. Sonny Barger would control your fate. If you can read this, then the bitch fell off. If you’re offended, you can all kiss off!! Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight. Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight! I said… Get yourself on a motorbike— on the road tonight! We can’t forget about the rice-burners, with all the names that are hard to pronounce. You got Kawasaki with their four-strokin’ engines, throwin’ the mud all over the competition. You got the Yamaha that screams its name; as it shifts through the gears it goes, “Ya? Ma? Ha?” Honda Gold Wing— smooth through the air, you can barely hear it sing. Put yourself on a motorbike. Get yourself down the road tonight. Get yourself on a motorbike. Get yourself down the road tonight! I say… Get yourself on a motorbike— on the road tonight! Now you can buy them for all kinds of scenes. The market’s been revised, if you know what I mean. With the three wheels, the four wheels, the ATVs, haulin’ tons of gear to the world’s extremes. Draggin’ back the trophies and dozens of fowl, keepin’ the belly full of the tender, fresh kill. You don’t have to carry those heavy guns— just straddle a motor and rest your buns. ’Cause—yeah: Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight. Get yourself on a motorbike, get yourself down the road tonight!! Get yourself on a motorbike— on the road tonight! Get yourself on a motorbike. (repeat 4x) On the road tonight!! © Andrew Foster, 2003
Good Stuff Break out the Good Stuff, I'm gonna tear it up… The paper’s not worth holding if you can’t be true. Get out the Good Stuff, I’m gonna fire one up… I was in love with the Good Stuff, and now I’m over you. I was the man, after your father gave me your hand. Time spent together, both of us living life on our own. But when we’re sharing—never daring—close to the heart, nothing worth living, and wishing we were back at the start. Pour me the Good Stuff, I want to down a bunch… and stand right next to the jukebox and sing out all night long. Leave out the Good Stuff, until I’ve had enough. Then help me up and walk me on out to my bus. (Instrumental break) With education comes a desire for life on your own. So for a while, we spent time alone. King of my castle, watching the walls come crumbling down. Opens up a new view, glad to see I’m upward bound. Now that she’s gone, I’m not worried—on top of the world. Hear the sweet music, the ringing, singing jubilee. All my close friends gathered ’round me when I was so blue. I’m gonna make it—all this time I think they knew. I want the Good Stuff, I want to shake it up… and pop the cork and watch it spray all over the room. She was the Good Stuff, and now I’ve had enough. I was in love with the Good Stuff, and now I’m over you. Oh yeah. I was in love with the Good Stuff, I wish I was over you. No, no. I was in love with the Good Stuff, I was in love with the Good Stuff, I was in love with the Good Stuff… and now I’m over you. (Somebody pass me that bottle of moonshine down here!) Break out the Good Stuff… © Andy Foster, 2000
Little Girl I met a little girl the other day; she stole my heart and went out to play. Out to play—she was out to play, out to play—she was out to play. Met her at the lake—she was my girl; I looked away—she’s just a little girl. Little girl—she was my little girl, little girl—she’s just a girl. I wish that she were mine, hugs and kisses all the time. Dream about it all the time— well, I know that she can’t be mine. Lookin’ at her face with a little smile; so darn pretty, want to hold her a while. Little while—just a little while, little while—hold her a while. Well, I might be crazy, but I don’t care; if she walked away I’d follow anywhere. Anywhere—I’ll follow anywhere, anywhere—I just don’t care. I wish that she were mine, hugs and kisses all the time. Dream about it all the time— well, I know that she can’t be mine. (Instrumental break) I met a little girl the other day; she stole my heart and went out to play. Out to play—she was out to play, out to play—she was out to play. I wish that she were mine, hugs and kisses all the time. Dream about it all the time— well, I know that she can’t be mine. Little girl, little girl, little girl. © Gabe Berry, 1996
Ground Hog Scooter After all has been merry and the New Year grows wary, there comes my favorite time of the year. When the north wind blows and it gets bitter cold, when February gets really near. You know the hog will arrive on something shiny that glides; it takes off when he gets it in gear. He feels the wind really blow when he gives it a go— the Groundhog’s on a scooter this year. Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride… It rolls two on the floor and the band says it soars; it’s got a modified rack for the gear. With the amp on the back and his guitar on the stack, he can handle it without any fear. Well, the boys like his style ’cause he can go for a mile with only one push from his right ear. He cruises into the night with a neon light that’s bright— the Groundhog’s on a scooter this year. Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride… (Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride…) Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride… “Auld Lang Syne” was rockin’ and rollin’ through the night. Valentine brought lovin’, but now the Groundhog’s scooterin’ by. (Instrumental break) Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride. (Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride.) Ride your scooter, Groundhog, ride. Let’s go!!! © Andy Foster, 2002
Tijuana Sauna Gonna tell you a little story now, how I met my little Jezebel. I was rollin’ down the road, on my way to Tijuana. Gonna spend a little time in the Tijuana sauna. This ain’t no country club—nope! It’s the home of the Mexican Blackbird—tweet, tweet. So there I was—visor on, leathers on, life is good, until I hit that piece of wood, and I had to lay the Fat Boy down. Wicked!! Slide show—with sparks! Blacktop horizontal mumbo! Crash with no burn! Damn—ruined my good set of leathers. Hey—hey! Push—walk… Hey—stop!! Push—walk… A dually pulled over to give me a ride, two gyrenes with a girl by their side. Whoa!! She must be six feet tall. Nope—that’s a five-foot girl in big shoes, and she loves me. “Hey man, you want us to load up your bike?” “Yeah.” And that’s what they did, and they left me on the road to nowhere. Wicked! And there goes my ride. And the lady. Oh lady—those legs—oh lady—well… she’s still inside. That little Jezebel!! Well, I guess I’ll make like a tree and get out of here. Walk! Hours went by; the sun left the sky. I came across this old-town shanty. Surprise, surprise, surprise!! My old scooter… and those goobers. Well, they’re pretty handy. They fixed my bike and now it’s a trike—room for two! We’ll be leavin’ tonight! Me and my lady—she’ll understand. I got a score to settle with a pipe in my hand. I’m gonna send them to the promised land! Wicked!!! Goobers—come out to play! Ha ha… ah ha ha… ah ha ha!!! (Guitar solos) So there ya have it—that’s how I met my little Jezebel. I win! They lose! See ya never! © Andy Foster & Terry Melten, 2002
Ol’ Willy Spent time with an old friend. He’s been brown, red, and green. Buf (Buford) sold me the Willys when I was just fifteen. Left a-ban-doned. Grass growing through the floorboards. A thousand-hour truck genes-i. Amazing traction when you’re out and in a bind. No—other like it. One of a kind. I like riding in my — ’52. You’ll like riding in my — ’52. Arm extended, hangin’ on to the mirror bar. The vent windows, doubled—open wide. Emotions flowing, heavy-duty memory feedback. Time stands still for just a little while. (Instrumental break) Doing 50, pedal down to the floorboard. People passing on the left and right. I feel I’m flying, gettin’ there in half the time—whoa— the world grows smaller on the highway and byway. I like riding in my — ’52. I like driving in my — ’52. Named it Ol’ Willy! I like riding in my — ’52. Called it Ol’ Willy. I like driving in my — ’52. Named it Ol’ Willy! I like riding in my — ’52. Called it Ol’ Willy. I like driving in my — ’52. I like riding in my — ’52. You’ll like riding in my — ’52. © Andy Foster, 1998
Night Hawks There’s a little restaurant on the west side of our town. Everyone’s been there—at least that’s the way it sounds. Vinyl booths, salad bar, pies baked there every day. This ain’t no chain abode—no, this is the family way. We’re talkin’ about the Night Hawks—restaurant with the gift shop on the side. Coffee talks at 9:05, county politics on the fry. Big men and wannabes politely exchange thoughts. Small town like this—everyone knows who walks and talks the talk. Hardly ever changed hands—the last time in ’45. Postcards can tell it all—that place was really alive. Ma Bell construction workers caught eggs and ham at dawn, packed their lunch and headed out—before I knew it, they were gone. We’re talkin’ about Night Hawks—the Rodeo Room with the Rotary Clubs and JCs. Hung their plaques and banners and tried to help many. Growth and wealth and partnerships were formed there every day— this is the rural-town way. Other men who worked the fields seemed to treat it like its home. All the time they spent there, you’d think that they were drawn. Leathered hands, worn-out hats, and cigarette-smoky breaths— when they got up from their plates, you know there wasn’t nothin’ left. We’re talkin’ ’bout Night Hawks—the bowling lanes that opened after five. Drop your boots and slip on shoes, and roll a 209. We’re talkin’ ’bout Night Hawks—the manual pins, you know, the ones without machines. Those who visited regularly rolled 300 in their dreams. But for me—the one who’d been there for most of all my life: from the boss’s big boy, to the teenager, to the college-bound—hope for strife. “Bigger and better” isn’t what you call home; it’s familiar places and friends. That’s what it meant to all of us—that small-town eatery. We’re talkin’ ’bout Night Hawks—the hangout after school and games and dates. Night Hawks—the café that was always open late. We’re talkin’ ’bout Night Hawks—the melting pot, the place in town to be. Night Hawks—the restaurant that lives in you and me. © Andy Foster, 1997
Little Sweetie Hey, little sweetie, I’m the man for you— ooo, ooooo… little sweet-a. Smooth-walkin’ girl with the eyes so blue— ooo, ooooo… little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. Hey, pretty girl, won’t you walk my way — aaaa… A—A—Aaaa… little sweet-a. By my side is where I need ya to stay — aaaa… A—A—Aaaa… little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. (Instrumental solo) And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. Hey, pretty girl, I sing this song for you — ooo… ooooo… this little ditty. Soft, tender love — you know I’ll always be true — ooo… ooooo… little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I, little sweet-a. And I — ahhh ahhh ahhh ahhh — I… Little sweet-a!! Little sweet-a!! Woo-wee!!! © Andy Foster, 1998
Reminders The sun, rising over the ocean haze. The moon, shining down upon the lake. (Such a beautiful lake) A tattered blanket on an easy chair. The fragrance of mimosa in the air. No matter where I am in this world, these things bring me home to you. Wherever I am in this world, these things bring me home to you. (Instrumental break) A stranger, reading in an urban park. Dim candles in a late-night restaurant. (It all seemed so romantic) A novel lying open on the bed. Reminders of your words so softly said. In this world, these things bring me home to you. Wherever I am in this world, these things bring me home to you. © Andrew Foster, 1999
Me & Miguel It’s the old clientele at the vacant motel down on Second Street. People dance upon my doorway; the streetlight shines down on me. Now Jesus—he’s my neighbor; he sits and spits poetry. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. There’s a place on the pier where the sky brings a tear and the children smile at the old castaways with the crooked rows of teeth. There’s a shower and a shave if you want to get saved— meant to last a while. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. But oh no—people come and go: people laughin’! people cryin’! people livin’! people dyin’! We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. I was sitting at a table in an open café, waiting for a drink of rum. When I asked the waiter for the time of day, he said, “Look out! There’s a centipede coming your way!” Down in Lahaina, where the sugar cane grows. Down in Lahaina, where the living is slow. Down in Lahaina, where the mango is sweet, but the centipedes—they crawl all over your feet. Down in Lahaina—down in Lahaina—but… Oh no—people come and go: people laughin’! people cryin’! people livin’! people dyin’! We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. There’s a star in the sky for each soul that has died— try to count them all. There’s a skull in the ground for each poet that’s had a dream. There’s a hole in the door and a dime on the floor at the funeral hall. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. I was lying in the water in the morning sun, shaded by a coconut tree. When I turned around it was all I could see— there was this great big centipede staring at me. Down in Lahaina, where the sugar cane grows. Down in Lahaina, where the living is slow. Down in Lahaina, where the mango is sweet, but the centipedes—they crawl all over your feet. Down in Lahaina—down in Lahaina… I had only just a second to decide what to do, staring at his poisonous fangs. When I said I thought it was a beautiful day, he said, “Hey, Mr. Haole, think you’re pullin’ my leg!” Down in Lahaina, down in Lahaina, down in Lahaina… Down in Lahaina—but… Oh no—people come and go: people laughin’! people cryin’! people livin’! people dyin’! We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. Well, my name is Miguel, and I live in the grass house by the sea. The waves crash against my doorstep, the sun shining down on me. Now, the monkey—he’s my neighbor; he lives in the mango tree. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. But oh no—people come and go: people laughin’! people cryin’! people livin’! people dyin’! We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. Yes, we do! We just sit and watch the big boats pass us by. Ha-ha—on by… Bye, bye… bye… © 1996. All rights reserved.
Progress Pushes Paradise They began pouring footings the other day, over trails and memories of yesterday. Headstrong, misguided—people in control. What’s there to do? What’s the toll? Souls float down the river. Progress pushes paradise — away. Turning soil that’s never been seen; daylight shines with an eerie gleam over ridges and valleys that were covered before, with oaks and dogwoods that have seen two world wars. Buildings rise up from the land where a girl and two boys used to play in the sand. (What I’ve got to say…) It’s not fair! It’s all wrong! It’s too one-sided! Is the money all gone, or have we been blindsided? Your time runs short—gotta run from the chores. To give up the business you just close your doors. With a stroke of a pen and the shake of two hands, our precious hideouts come down where they stand. Priorities—debates over “what it will take?” Feelings turned to fact, saying “it’s too late.” Values and thoughts not derived from the heart— progress pulls paradise apart. Finding a buyer has not been a breeze; sell out, get out would not come with ease. Dump it, bury it—pennies on the pound; it doesn’t really matter—just shut it down! To sell the land? Don’t do it today. Progress pushes paradise — away. (You know what I’ve got to say!) It’s not fair! It’s all wrong! It’s too one-sided! Is the money all gone, or have we been blindsided? Your time runs short—gotta run from the chores. To give up the business you just close the doors. To give up the business — (you just close the doors.) To give up the business — (there’ll be no more chores.) The business — (no more chores…) © Andy Foster & Gabe Berry, 1998
Progress Pushes Paradise (Old Version) They began pouring footings the other day, over trails and memories of yesterday. Headstrong, misguided—people in control. What’s there to do? What’s the toll? Souls float down the river. Progress pushes paradise — away. Turning soil that’s never been seen; daylight shines with an eerie gleam over ridges and valleys that were covered before, with oaks and dogwoods that have seen two world wars. Buildings rise up from the land, where a girl and two boys used to play in the sand. (What I’ve got to say…) It’s not fair! It’s all wrong! It’s too one-sided! Is the money all gone, or have we been blindsided? Your time runs short—gotta run from the chores. To give up the business you just close your doors. With a stroke of a pen and the shake of two hands, our precious hideouts come down where they stand. Priorities—debates over “what it will take?” Feelings turned to fact, saying “it’s too late.” Values and thoughts not derived from the heart— progress pulls paradise apart. Finding a buyer has not been a breeze; sell out, get out would not come with ease. Dump it, bury it—pennies on the pound; it doesn’t really matter—just shut it down! To sell the land? Don’t do it today. Progress pushes paradise — away. (You know what I’ve got to say!) It’s not fair! It’s all wrong! It’s too one-sided! Is the money all gone, or have we been blindsided? Your time runs short—gotta run from the chores. To give up the business you just close the doors. To give up the business — (you just close the doors.) To give up the business — (there’ll be no more chores.) The business — (no more chores…) © Andy Foster & Gabe Berry, 1998
Strange Lands I don’t know why; I don’t know when. I don’t know what’s happenin’. I hope I find my way again— more troubles comin’ ’round the bend. I feel something isn’t right: you’re in a strange land—no trees, only sand—and nothing looks familiar. Darkness—not a glimpse of light. You’re trippin’ on stones, mixed in with the bones—so obvious in daylight. I’ll find it hard to sleep tonight; the weather so cold, the wind steady blows, outside without any shelter. Nobody left in sight. Far and away, my eyes closed they stay—I must be in a strange land. There’s somebody following me, through the desert and across the sea; behind the corners and in the trees— so many people… just let me be. I feel something isn’t right: you’re in a strange land—concrete where you stand—and nothing looks familiar. Darkness—not a glimpse of light. You’re trippin’ on stones, can’t find a damn phone—so obvious in daylight. I’ll find it hard to sleep tonight; the weather so cold, the wind steady blows, outside your normal shelter. So many left in sight. Far and away, my eyes closed they stay—I must be in a strange land. In the desert I see ice cream; I realize nothing’s what it seems. So I wake up with a loud scream— lucky for me, it was just a dream. Just a dream, just a dream. © Andy Foster & Brian Bertrand, 2000
Pretty Brown Eyes She’s that girl in my dreams. She’s that girl in my dreams. I cannot forget her — she’s the one I will remember, ’cause she always comes to me in dreams. I remember when I met her — Wednesday, I believe; working in a nightclub, dancing there for me. I remember talking, staring in her pretty brown eyes, thinking that she was the one for me. For some reason I believe her when she’s telling me to build my world around her, a thousand miles from me. Lying here beside me, though I am the only one there, she’s the one who comes to me in dreams — in my dreams. (Instrumental break) She’s that girl in my dreams. I will not forget her — she’s the one I will remember, ’cause she loves to come to me in dreams — in my dreams, in my dreams. © Gabe Berry, Andrew Foster & Terry Melten, 2002
Word (Prelude) If you’d seek the Northern Tier, no flushing waters will be near. So take it from someone who knows— you’d better dig a private hole! ’Cause stories from ten thousand lakes say outdoor toilets look for bait. Old-timers nod to say it’s true— please listen, or they’ll take you too! So… ~~~~ Don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, says d’a leader to d’a crew. Wipe d’e butt clean with d’e ivy— make it nice for all but’chu. So don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, yeah! A boy of twelve holds firm to d’e toilet, with a grip that’d choke a loon. Won’t let go the rim for fear that in d’e toilet he’d go boom. So dare if you do in d’e fiberglass toilet, yeah—word… Don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, says d’a leader to d’a crew. Wipe d’e butt clean with d’e ivy— make it nice for all but’chu. So don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, yeah! D’a boy grows up—he sits on d’e crappa, holds d’a bowl with just one hand. Swings and swats at d’a deadly mosquitoes— makes him feel like he’s a man. So dare if you do in d’e fiberglass toilet, yeah—word… Don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, says d’a leader to d’a crew. Wipe d’e butt clean with d’e ivy— make it nice for all but’chu. So don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, yeah! Treat d’e water with d’e chlorine— otherwise you get d’e runs. Louie dipped into d’e Jordan— now he trots and shoots like guns. So dare if he do in d’e fiberglass toilet—yeah! Everybody sing! Don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, says d’a leader to d’a crew. Wipe d’e butt clean with d’e ivy— make it nice for all but’chu. So don’t sit down on d’a fiberglass toilet, yeah! Oh yeah… Oh yeah… Oh yeah—whoo-hoo-hoo!!! (Clapping) (** Flatulation **) Oh! That’ll itch when it dries… © Andy Foster & Davie Warner, 2004
** Drinkin’ Problem© 2007 ** By Andy Foster We discovered girls back when we were 12 years old. We would long to kiss them and have their hands to hold. Then the college years came and we smoked ourselves a joint, and we would stare at the walls as say, ‘Brother tell me, what’s the point’. Then 21 came and things ain’t been the same, since we started playing that Silly Stupid Quarters Drinkin’ game. (~and every since then things have been kinda fuzzy~) You know it’s me and you and this band of booze that makes life kinda wild. But in a wick ’ed way, I just have to say, ‘you know Man, your crampin’ my style !” Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. You know the clubs we choose, there so easy to use, where the shoes are truly optional. The thrills, the spills. I get stuck with the bills. Even the ones from Monday Night Football !! Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. (Instrumental Break) You get to drunk to drive me home at night and when you talk, it’s like we’re at an auction. Then the Stake’n Shake, late at night. I overweight, ya know I don’t feel so right ! Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. You know old friend I think their right. I think I’ve had my last beer tonight. Those drinkin’ days, they sure were fun. But I’m checkin’ in tomorrow, my drinkin’ done. (~ are you with me ~) Ya know old friend it may be true. I don’t think I can quite with you. But since you’ve quit and you say your through. When I finish my beer, can I drink yours too? (~ Wait a minute… You want to drink my beer??? I don’t think so. ~) It’s the breakfast beers and the noon day cheers. At work, it’s hard to function. Then when the night is young and your song is sung, with a Flash! You turn to a pumpkin! Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine. Your Drinkin’ Problem gettin’ in the way of mine
Bang! Go! Win!
(Music by Gabe Berry / Word by Andy Foster 1/10/04)
1 of 2
(Wispering words start in the 8th measure of 4x4 time, along with the keyboard licks)
Only in the dawn of dreams,
Does the vision appear so clean.
Only in the dawn of dreams,
Does the vision come so clean.
(lady background singers sing along with the keys – Steely Dan like)
In the Groove,
In the Groove,
In the Groove,
In the Groove…
1st verse
(Lead singer sings three verses - only one verse show here three times)
I am in a race for more time.
Holding on to stretch out my life line.
Got it. Feel it. Love, love me Sue.
Show me the signal.
Make, make me move.
There is no finish. Only the race.
No first, no second, no just-the-space.
(talking voice here)
Bang! Go! Set the pace.
Heart rate, ‘Breath’ mate.
There’s no loose...
I ache to improve...
(lady background singers sing along with the keys)
In the Groove,
In the Groove,
In the Groove,
In the Groove,
2nd verse
(Don't have a 2nd verse yet so I show the 1st verse again)
I am in a race for more time.
Holding on to stretch out my life line.
Got it. Feel it. Love, love me Sue.
Show me the signal.
Make, make me move.
There is no finish. Only the race.
No first, no second, no just-the-space.
(talking voice here)
Bang !… Go !… Win !…
Bang !… Go !… Win !… There is no Loose…
Bang !… Go !… Win !…
Bang !… Go !… Win !…
3rd verse
(Don't have a 3rd verse yet so I show the 1st verse again)
I am in a race for more time.
Holding on to stretch out my life line.
Got it. Feel it. Love, love me Sue.
Show me the signal.
Make, make me move.
(Fade to talking voice here)
There is no finish. Only the race.
No first, no second, no just-the-space.
(talking voice here after the end of the music)
Bang !… Go !… Win !…
My Heart Doesn’t Dwell (9-9-03 AFF) It’s hard to keep a good person down. It makes no sense to stay put and frown. So to the river, to the water, to the shoals I dawdle. The healing, the bonding, the bass playing I muddle. But who cares. I care, for my sole feels rekindled. Full of flame and excitement that my spirit hasn't dwindled. So to my friends, they must know, they must know how it feels. To be Jo, Not some Shumo, That I have recently spindled. Thanks to those that have carried my burdens. Thanks to you all that somehow make it certain. That today I am better and tomorrow I am well. Do your best to keep up because, my heart doesn't dwell.
In the House, Tonight !! © 2010 By: Andrew F. Foster Hooked on a feelin’. She can feel it, in the air, Tonight!! Her mind is still reelin’, Got her tickets for the show,,,, No longer lost, She paid the cost. She found the groove that gets her rollin’ She’s on the floor, So much in store. When OPEN>Sundays In the House, Tonight!! The Pageant’s willin’, Buddy Lee has gave the nood. The Mummies come here dreamin’, of another sold out Job,,,, Rehears for months, on riffs and stunts, The perfect song for just this moment. The night is young, the time has come, Get on the floor and shake that sexy thing,,,, Shake that money maker,,,, Shake that thing,,, Tonight!! I see you’re hooked on the feelin’ We can feel it, in the air, Tonight!! Your body’s reelin’, raise your hands up, in the air,,,, No Longer lost, You paid the cost. You found the groove that gets you rollin’ The night is young, but this song is sung, So get on the floor and shake that funky thing,,,, Shake that money maker,,,, Come on!!! I said, Shake that money maker. Shake that thing,,, Tonight!! Tonight!!, Tonight!!, Tonight!!, Tonight!! In the House, Tonight!! - Words & Music - Copyright 2010 by Andrew F. Foster
I’ve Infected Myself©2006 By Andy Foster (1 of 2) What is this feeling, I don’t understand it. It’s something I cannot control. It’s crawling, it’s creeping. I feel its grips on me. Why is this happening today!!! I just wasn’t thinking, not physically able. To take more, one more than before. Resistance if fleeting, this voice so commanding. Come on lets go for the ride,,, Overdrive. The laughter the music, it blends all together. My lips move with little control. Don’t reach out, don’t stand out, don’t cry out for mercy. I’d just better set by the fire, I feel oh-so sleepy, Don’t know if I’m able. To hang on, to keep with my soul. I’m floating above you, I know you can’t see me. Who’s that you have on the phone,,, So Alone,,, Oh,,, So Alone!!! What Can I Say... What Can I Do... Where Can I Go... I’ll Make It So… I’ve Infected Myself! I’ve Infected Myself! Copyright 2006 by Andy Foster I’ve Infected Myself (page 2) Who are these people, all standing around me. Their hands and their eyes feel so cold. The pushing the prodding, the sounds all alarming. Then someone shouts “It’s a Code”! Can’t tell if I’m breathing. Can’t tell if I’m dreaming. Who’s that, that stands by the door. He’s looking right through me, but speaking right to me. He says that they all got to go. Got to go! I’m looking at heaven, but sinking to hell. The question of ‘Where I may dwell’ These sprits, these figures, all circle around me. The smoke in the sky. A call to my Father, I know your in heaven. Your went their a decade ago. I plead for your shelter. He comes to my rescue. I know that I’m never alone, Going Home,,, No not alone. I know it’s the end… So shall I begin… Not afraid to go… I guess I’ll make it so… I’ve Infected Myself! I’ve Infected Myself! I’ve Infected Myself! I’ve Infected Myself! Copyright 2006 by Andy Foster
Let it Blow, Let it Go, Let it Flow By Andy Foster Copyright 2005 (FIRST VERSE) Are you working for a living? Or living to work? Are those bones that they are giving? Where’s those office perks? Is that career worth feeding. Or is it just a job? Opportunity fleeting. Did you just get robbed? Drove off ‘Big Money’, when you told him ‘No!’ It holds no value. Just let him go!!! (SECOND VERSE) With the time that your given,, lets not pretend. The life that your liv’in,, its not for him. Your community is needing. Can you help the youth? Your family is pleading. ‘Spend time with Ruth.’ Still ‘The Man’ keeps calling. Says ‘You got to go!’ “Big Money’ is steaming. Just let him blow!!!! (THIRD VERSE) Tell me who’s your mentor? Is he near at hand. Aren’t you just a whisper, in his eternal plan? Those meaningless values, Let them slip away. Grab hold of his promise, in your own way! Understand that ‘time isn’t money’. Your love has got to show. So give yourself over. Just let it Flow! (CHORES) Like a trade wind that blows.
Miranda By : Andy Foster (4 – ½ Step Into with long lead in) Lost in this world of Greed and the Taking is a place, there is no mistaking. Where all is for one and one is for all of you. Known to us all, that are living out our dreams! Beware ! No Squares ! Come Share ! Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda’s calling me home. The Switchbacks, Floating Kayaks, Full Backpacks Lost in the out back takes me, Star Gazing, Moon Raking, Sun Bathing, Mind Shaping sends me, Reflecting, Prospecting, Collecting strength to lead again. Beware ! No Bears ! Time Share ! Miranda, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda’s takes me. Miranda, Miranda takes me… Home. Miranda, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda’s makes me. Miranda, Miranda makes me… Whole. (Rhythm and Melody rolls on and on with background vocals saying) Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda calls me home. (Rhythm and Melody Keyboards Strong holds and sustains) Bridge (4 – ½ Step Into w/Drum Solo with long lead in) Sun shining down on a sleepy campsite. Full of Abandoned Mines on their way to fulfillment. Its just a stroll, to the watering hole. Come join the quest. Come feed your sole !! No Fear ! Come Near ! Please Steer ! (Rhythm and Melody rolls on and on with background vocals saying) Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda’s calling. Miranda, Miranda calls me home. (Rhythm and Melody Keyboards Strong holds and sustains at end) Copyright Andy Foster 2003
Mulberry Tree 3/10/06 Words and Music: Paul M. Schaffrin Sometime after breakfast, She made sweet love to me. Sometime after breakfast her eyes would set me free. Sometimes in the darkness, it all comes clear to me. Most times in the daylight, so bright that I can’t see. But I’ll lay down right beside you; -Under that big Mulberry Tree. Yes, I’ll wake up right beside you; -Under that big Mulberry Tree. Sometime after Breakfast; she put a hook beneath my soul. Sometime after breakfast, we kissed or so I’m told. Somewhere in the night time; She got up and locked my door. Sometime after midnight, got what I was askin’ for. I’ll lay down and count my blessings -Under that big Mulberry Tree. I’ll wake up and count the big bright stars -Under that big Mulberry Tree. Sometime after Breakfast; She said good-bye to me. Gone right after Breakfast; She won’t say why to me. I don’t see the weak spots comin’; But they fall right into me. Lots more weak spots comin’; as far as I can see. But I’ll rest my tired body; -Under my Big Mulberry Tree. I’ll calm my troubled waters; -Under My Big Mulberry Tree. I’ll close my aging eyes; -Under My Big Mulberry Tree
Play Kindman Play By Andy Foster 2-28-03 Where did I hear about the CD that I buy. Forego my expressions except that I sigh. From a very Kindman that let me sing and play, music with him on one early May day. As I washed over his indescribable sort of happiness and pride, he began me on my remarkable week long ride. Play today. Play to save this day. Safe from deadlines and death. From jealousy and dismay. No matter what else comes my way. Play Kindman, Play. From the hall at the EMB Suites, the strong rhythmic style, the sway. To the back stage magic I was to experience. Opening act, the Hard Rock Cafe. To underneath the big ~~~ tree, where the venders, the tur-ads and the Miguel’s of Hawaii play. I was inspired by his kindness, the things of his life that he had to say. Of things that he dreams. None simple it seemed. Hope elusive,,, and bound to other paths but his own. And in Maui he found, the strength and the sounds. That moved him… All sense of anticipation and expectation just gone away and all that he was left with was this inspiration to play. Play today. Play to save this day. Safe from the deadlines, death and dismay. From jealousy and hopelessness. No matter if I loose focus. There is just this day. Play Kindman, Play. So I pay this humble fee, for this memento, to remind me. During the days of disasters, with deceit and malpractice. Hope elusive,,, Of a time back in May that I have long stored away… Of one special day… When this Kindman let me play… We played to save that day. Please, Play Kindman, Play…
Progress Pushes Paradise By Andy Foster and Gabe Berry They began pouring Footings, the Other day. Over trails and memories of Yesterday. Head strong, misguided, People in Control. What's there to do? What's the toll? Souls float down the River. Progress Pushes Paradise ~ Away Turning soil that’s Never been seen. Daylight shines with an Eerie gleam. Over Ridges and valleys that were Covered Before, with Oaks and Dogwoods that has seen two World Wars. Buildings rise up from the land, where a Girl and two Boys use ta play in the sand. ( What I've got to say…) Its Not Fair! It's All Wrong! It's Too One Sided! Is the Money all Gone, or have We been blind Sided? Your Time runs Short. Gotta Run from the Chores. To Give up the Business you Just close your Doors. With a Stroke of a pin and the Shake of Two hands, our precious hideouts Come Down where they Stand. Priorities - Debates over "What it will Take?". Feelings turned to fact Saying "Its Too Late!". Values and thoughts not Derived from the heart. Progress Pulls Paradise ~ Apart Finding a Buyer has Not been a Breeze. Sell out, Get out would Not come with Ease. Dump it, Barry it, Pennies on the Pound. It don't really matter, Just Shut It Down! To Sell the Land, don't Do It today. Progress Pushes Paradise ~ Away (You know what I got to say!) Its Not Fair! It's All Wrong! It's Too One Sided! Is the Money all Gone, or have We been blind Sided? Your Time runs Short. Gotta Run from the Chores. To Give up the Business you Just close the Doors. To give up the business / (You Just close the Doors.) To give up the business / (They'll be No More Chores.) The business / (No More Chores….) Copyright Andrew Foster 1998
Pyramids of Elysium© 1996 By Paul Ohlman Watching the stars in the sky, floating by past my window. Leaving the heat of a blast, from a comet in death. Looking up I can see there, is a new ray of hope there. Boarding our ships we begin on a new way of life. FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM Floating away in the emptiness, we start our journey. Leaving our red world behind, as we head for the blue. We are the ones; We’re the ones who have come here to guide you. Throw down your arms we have come here in peace not in war. FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM Into your arm you have welcomed us here in your own world. We rid you of sickness and hunger in no time at all. Together forever we in stand the land of the living. A testament worlds from a far, would do well to embrace. FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM FROM THE PYRAMIDS >>>>OF ELYSIUM Copyright 1996 All Rights Reserved
Share His Wine
Words By: Andy Foster & Catfish Bob
(Christian Rock / Gospel)
Minor Cords ~~~
Today, its here, Tomorrow, its gone...
People say without sorrow,
‘What is wrong?’ ‘What is wrong?’
Never thought of a future, or the world without Love.
Steals the minds of our children, No trusting, So smug.
Oh --- Oh --- All so smug.
Oh --- Oh --- What’s the drug…
Fast food, Fast cars, No wife, In strife.
Rids the body and Soul of
Time and Space and Life.
Image is all, substance is nothing.
It will lead, to only one something.
The world’s demise, Void of meaning.
Confusion! Madness! No one is dreaming.
(Instrumental Break)
So One must come, to slow’n this pace.
To shine the light for the whole Human Race.
And freeze the moment, cool these minds,
soothe their spirits, to feel sublime.
Bridge
One something, One vision, One person, One sign.
One Grace, who is willing to Share His Wine.
Switch to Major Cords ~~~
Share His Wine… (He will Share His Wine.)
Share His Wine…(Come On! Share His Wine.)
Share His Wine… (He will Share His Wine.)
Share His Wine…(Everyone now! Share His Wine.)
Repeat and fadet…
OOooooooooooooooWohowohoWohowoo…
OOooooooooo…
Copywrite Andy Foster 2006
Stiff Breeze © ~~~ By Bart Berry Tip toe’in to the other side. I’m slow dancing with you in time. You pull me over, then tuck me under. Tight roping on a steep incline. I’m sole searching with you in mind. Oooooo Pull me over, then calm my thunder. Cause there’s a, Stiff Breeze as we dance along the horizon. Cool chill as I guess I’ve learned, another lesson Stiff Breeze as we dance along the horizon. Lost will as I stomp upon your mansion. Stiff Breeze, you keep me off kilter, keeping me off kilter. Even when I needed your shelter. I never needed your shelter. I never wanted your shelter. I never asked for your shelter. I never wanted your shelter! Stiff Breeze as I hope you’ll find another victim. As I , dance along the horizon. Stiff Breeze, you keep me off kilter, keeping me off kilter. Even when I needed your shelter. I never wanted your shelter. I never asked for your shelter. I never wanted your shelter. I never asked for your shelter. I’m tight roping on a steep incline. I’m sole searching with you in mind. Oooooo Better pull me over, then calm my thunder. Copyright Bart Berry 1997
Strange Land ©2000‘’ ‘’ By Andy Foster and Brian Bertrand I don’t know why; I don’t know when. I don’t know what’s happen’in. I hope I find my way again. More troubles comm’in round the bend --- I feel something isn’t right. and nothing looks familiar Darkness, not a glimpse of light. so obvious in daylight I’ll find it hard to sleep tonight. outside without no shelter No-body left in sight. I must be in a strange land There’s somebody following me. Through the desert and across the sea. Behind the corners and in the trees. So many people, just let me be. Feel something isn’t right. nothing looks familiar Darkness, not a glimpse of light. so obvious in daylight I’ll find it hard to sleep tonight. outside your normal shelter So many left in sight. I must be in a strange land In the desert I see ice-cream. I realize, nothings, what it seems. So, I wake up with a loud scream. Luck for me, it was Just a dream. … Just a dream, … Just a dream. Copyright Andrew Foster 2000
Pretty Brown Eyes ©2001 ‘~’ Music by: Gabe Berry & Andy Foster Words by: Terry Melten Shes that girl, in my dreams. She’s that girl, in my dreams. I cannot forget her. She’s the one I will remember. Cause she always comes to me in dreams. I remember when I met her. Wednesday I believe. Working in a Night Club. Dancing there for me. I remember talking. Staring in her Pretty Brown Eyes. Thinking that she was the one for me. For some reason I believe her, when she’s telling me. To build my world around her, a thousand miles from me. Laying here beside me, though I am the only one there. She’s the one that comes to me in dreams. In my dreams! (Instrumental Break) She’s that girl, in my dreams. I will not forget her. She’s the one I will remember. Cause she loves to comes to me in dreams. In my dreams. In my dreams! Copyright Gabe Berry, Andrew Foster, Terry Melten 2002
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Lyrics Coming Soon
Yes, Andy is a “Tech-head” as well…
Some more cool tools hanging around the studio…
We’re good to go!!
(17 Channel Mix)
| Channel No. | Input | Type of Connection |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | Kick Drum | Mic. |
| 2 | Snare Drum | Mic. |
| 3 | High Hat | Mic. |
| 4 | Congas/Bongos | Mic. |
| 5 | Bass | XLR |
| 6 | 6 String Acoustic Guitar Amp. | XLR |
| 7 | 12 String Acoustic Guitar Amp. | XLR |
| 8 | Electric Guitar Amp. | Mic. |
| 9 | Key Boards | DI Box |
| 10 | Sampler | XLR |
| 11 | Harmonica (Bullet Mic. Provided) | XLR |
| 12 | Sax (Bell Mic. Provided) | XLR (Phantom Pwr.) |
| 13 | Vocal — Key Boards | Mic. |
| 14 | Vocal — Congas/Bongos | Mic. |
| 15 | Vocal — Electric Guitar | Mic. |
| 16 | Vocal — 6 String Acoustic Guitar | XLR (Shure-58 Wireless Provided) |
| 17 | Vocal — 12 String Acoustic Guitar | Mic. |
