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Released: Mar, 12 2007 embed code Embed this album on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it.
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Description ___Dont buy this album, buy the song___ A nifty little song i came up with... its pretty cool. This is not my final copy however, it is just a preview until i fix the sound quality and add in a little more intricisy. (how the hell does one spell "intricasy" like intracate?) Credits ummm.... me? I kinda made this one on my own... id like to thank my keyboard.... my computer... this site.... and any other peice of equipment that i used in the making of this song... (no philosiphers were harmed in the making of this song) |
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Seasons
Released: Nov, 15 2001 embed code Embed this album on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it.
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Description "Todd's playing displays an introspective vulnerability, a poetic sense of space and an undeniably romantic lyricism. His writing stretches genre boundaries, establishing an exciting benchmark for the future in instrumental and experimental music." Thomas Bacon "Horton is a first when it comes to creating moods and grooves." JazzReview.com Seasons features Todd's quartet of many years. All of the tracks were recorded live in the studio and all of the first takes were used. Blending Jazz, Rock and African rhythms, Todd's writing demonstrates a unique style, which transcends the typical Jazz format. Credits Produced by Aaron Comess for Soulsearch Music (www.soulsearchmusic.com) Todd Horton - trumpet and flugelhorn Rob Reich - guitar Tim Givens - bass Aaron Comess - drums |
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Nothing Romantic
Released: Nov, 05 2005 embed code Embed this album on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it.
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Description Performing Songwriter, May 2006 Danielle Miraglia "Nothing Romantic" Folk fans in the Northeast are already hip to the talents of Danielle Miraglia, and with her latest release, Nothing Romantic, it won’t be long before the rest of the country takes notice as well. The record begins with “Snow Globe” which showcases her impressive talent on the acoustic guitar, fingerpicking like ol’ Doc Watson himself. Next comes “Sell My Soul,” a rowdy, bluesy number about the temptations and frustrations of the music scene. “Pull up the black limousine, dig me from this hole, set up the drum machine, I’m ready to sell my soul,” Miraglia sings as soulful harmonica and bari sax commiserate. Mandolin, bass, piano, dobro, pedal steel and drums all make appearances on the record, weaving in and around the true star of the record: Miraglia’s smoky vocals. They sweetly draw you in, while spiritedly getting her point across. Blogcritics.com Danielle Miraglia, "Nothing Romantic" - By Jon Sobel www.blogcritics.com Danielle Miraglia's country/folk/blues sound descends in large part from Mississippi John Hurt, and she is a worthy carrier of that guitar-picking tradition. Her voice, reminiscent of Bonnie Raitt's, is strong but vulnerable, feminine but never precious, with a gutwrenching catch to it. Her guitar playing is both accomplished and soulful, and her songs tap into the ur-melodies and fundamental chord changes that form the essence of western music, while still saying something in a distinct and original voice. Both as a writer and as a musician Miraglia maintains a deep connection to traditional styles of playing and singing. The folky "Snow Globe," with only her guitar-picking as accompaniment, may be the saddest and best song about self-imposed isolation since Simon and Garfunkel's "I am a Rock." From its sparse beauty Miraglia segues into the draggy blues of "Sell My Soul," the obligatory "I wanna be a star" confessional every highly talented, unjustly obscure singer-songwriter has to write. It has the kind of dirty-blues feel John Hiatt mined a few years ago on his masterful Crossing Muddy Waters album. Normally I'm not much for feel-good folk weepies, but it's hard to resist "Moment By Moment" with its earworm of a chorus and Kevin So lending backing vocal and keyboard support. "Say One Thing" is yet another winner, a harshly funny indictment of hypocrisies large and small: Said the blind man, This is how I see it Said the stalker, If you love that bird then free it Said the white-hooded man, Love your brother Say one thing and do another Miraglia's lyrics are full of such pithiness. "Better," a clever and bouncy country-folk love song, leads into her masterpiece, "You Don't Know Nothin'," one of the best new folk songs I've heard in years. Its depiction and dissection of human misunderstanding is both sharp and tender. All you need to know about what drives people apart and what draws them together can be witnessed in a few hours spent in a bar. Many of us feel something along those lines, but Danielle Miraglia is that rare songwriter who can put it into words. Returning to the country-blues groove, but in a minor key, "Cry" is literally about the grim frustration of being an infant who can't communicate her feelings. Perhaps metaphorically it's about artistic expression, but the lyrics draw such vivid pictures there's no need to reach for meaning. It's a fitting subject for a songwriter who's so good at getting to the roots of things: what could be more rootsy than infancy? The title track sounds like a traditional country shuffle about life on the road, and for the most part it is, but it turns the cliched American "romance of the highway" on its head: "There nothing romantic about a highway/No big revelations, nothing new/And I can write a road song any day/There's nothing romantic about missing you." Then, in "The Only Way to Win," the protagonist pleads amusingly for misfortune and heartache so she can write great songs, sing the blues with authenticity and become a star. In the pretty closer, "The Wind," Miraglia sings folk with authenticity. But it's the kind of song any reasonably talented folkie could have come up with. Danielle Miraglia's talents go far beyond that modest level. This CD kicks Americana ass. Credits Produced by: Danielle Miraglia All songs written by Danielle Miraglia copyright 2005 Mixed by Julian Russell, Magpie Sound Mastered by Jeff Lipton Danielle Miraglia - Guitar, Vocals, Harmonica Tom Bianchi - Bass, backing vocals, harmonica Dana Colley - Baritone Sax Chris Harris - Drums Paul Chiasson - Percussion Kevin So - Piano, backing vocals Ruth Peterson - Backing vocals Jon Kleber - Lead guitar Lloyd Thayer - Dobro, lap steel Trevor Mills - Mandolin |
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Snow Globe
Black clouds and Danger signs are hard on the eyes
I’m gonna close the blinds until it’s all blue skies Blindness is a gift reserved for the wise See no evil Nothing bad happens here, the colors are so bold Snow is white and water’s clear, it never gets cold I’ll never feel pain or fear and I won’t grow old Here in my snowglobe The tune those sirens sing ain’t music to my ears I’ll stick my fingers in until it disappears It doesn’t make a sound if nobody hears Hear no evil Chorus If the glass should ever break I’ll pray the clouds my head to take My friend I see you at the edge about to fall My lips are frozen shut I can’t move them at all Anyway there’s nothing I can do inside these walls Speak no evil Chorus embed code Put the clip of this song on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it. |
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You Don't Know Nothin'
Where it’s fish sticks and flannel
The waitress smokes Camels And the coffee costs more than the beer I was picking my bone In a self righteous tone Thinking minds just don’t change around here I sang of Vietnam with a reaper-like charm Code red and counting the dead When an 8 o’clock shadow with eyes like arrows Slammed down his glass and said You don’t know nuthin’ You weren’t there Til you’ve had shrapnel under your skin You couldn’t begin That shifted my tune Because how do you argue With a man who’s been on the front lines Tore my last Keno ticket When a pro-lifers’ picket On TV waved their judgment signs He cheered them on Said values are gone Those women make their own bed And that’s where they should lie My mouth went dry And all the blood rushed to my head I said.. You don’t know nuthin’ You’ve never been there Until you’ve had to make that choice Keep your voice in your beer He said I can’t believe how you think But I’d still like to buy you a drink Last call lights flashed Jukebox played Johnny Cash When an ill-dressed man wandered in He said have you found Jesus He’ll heal all that grieves us If you’d only repent for your sins He thumped that black book Til the whole place shook As if all of our hope lived inside We drank to the wrong The weak and the strong We drank to the places we hide We don’t know nuthin’ Or if we’ll ever be there Until the answers fall from the sky We look for them here embed code Put the clip of this song on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it. $0.99' style="width:90%;"> |
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Keasbey Nights
Released: Mar, 07 2006 embed code Embed this album on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it.
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Credits The RISC Group Victory Records And All the other artists who performed on this album that aren't members of our band. |
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Keasbey Nights
It was the summer of 95 (so what!)
In the backyard, shaving the old plies Feeling so strong (strong!), something went wrong (wrong!) Straight into my finger, what a stinger, it was so long I still remember that day, like the day that I said that I swear "I'll never hurt myself again", but it seems that I'm deemed to be wrong To be wrong, to be wrong Gotta keep holding on...they always played a slow song. When they come for me, I'll be sitting at my desk With a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest singing "My, my, my, how the time does fly, when you know you're going to die By the end of the night." And said hey I still remember when we were young and fragile then. No one gave a shit about us because times were tougher then. Feeling so good (good!) cruisin the hood (hood!) straight into the real world where rich kids never understood. But I don't care. I can fade away to anywhere don't stop because you might get dropped and if you do who's going to pick you up well I wont, well I won't... they always played a slow song. When they come for me, I'll be sitting at my desk With a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest singing "My, my, my, how the time does fly, when you know you're going to die By the end of the night." And said hey When they come for me, I'll be sitting at my desk With a gun in my hand, wearing a bulletproof vest singing "My, my, my, how the time does fly, when you know you're going to die By the end of the night." [x3] and said hey. HEY, HEY, HEY embed code Put the clip of this song on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it. |
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Dear Sergio
Run, run, run all you do is fucking run,
[explicit]
But you'll never run away from yourself. I know it's hard but you've been there before, and you know you're gonna be there again. I don't care what the stars may say because they always feed their bullshit to me. It's kinda sad how you lost what you had, and you're never gonna have it again, and so I say: Hey Sergio, you've got to get us out of here And so I say: Hey Sergio, it's getting kind of hot in here And so I say: Hey Every other day you don't care what they say because they always leave you two steps behind. You try to smile and it lasts for a while, but they always send you back to the start. Eenie meenie miney mo they shoot down everyone you know, and then they leave you there all alone. You wish they'd stop but they never give up, and you know deep inside that you're stuck, and so I say: Hey Sergio, you've got to get us out of here And so I say: Hey Sergio, it's getting kind of hot in here And so I say: Hey Sergio laughed for the last time today, He said It never really bothered me: we all have dues to pay. Like a man that's cut off at the knee, he hobbles, and hobbles because nothing is free. So wake up, wake up, wake up, but don't cry because you'll fuck up your make up, and if you do, you won't get laid, you won't make money, no you won't get paid. And you act so free, you act so free, everybody's happy because you act so free. Well you might fool them, but you can't fool me with your mindless chatter like I don't need them, I don't need help, I don't even need to see the end. Hey Sergio, you've got to get us out of here And so I say: Hey Sergio, it's getting kind of hot in here And so I say: Hey embed code Put the clip of this song on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it. |
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Is That a Riot?
Released: Oct, 17 2006 embed code Embed this album on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it.
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Description Is That a Riot? is YoungBlood's 4th studio album, and a total departure for the group. This is the most raw, aggressive, diverse, experimental, straight-up explosive music the collective has produced. 5 horns, 3 drummers, sousaphone, MC. From Jamaican dancehall/punk/hiphop freakfests to downtempo improvisatory explorations, from spoken word to AK-47 rhymes to jumping around screaming and shouting, and of course the hardest brass this side of the sun, this music will - at the very least - surprise you. Nuclear Summer is the single, already a 12" classic in Europe/the UK, where ITAR? was released earlier this year. This sh*t is loud, unapologetic, purposeful and one hell of a party. Drops in the states on Oct 17 2006. Credits Recorded 2005 at Layered Studios in Madison, WI. D.H. Skogen produced, recorded and mixed. Roger Siebel mastered at SAE. The entire album was made with horns, drums and voice. Layered Music is distributed by: Carrot Top (US) All City Music / Vital (UK) PIAS (EU) also new from Layered: Cougar - Law - A shimmering debut from the band whose music has been dubbed 'emergency rock'. John Mcentire (Tortoise) mixed the record with them. It's lovely, we swear. www.cougarsound.com |
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Nuclear Summer
from the left shoulder of a nation; from skies lacking the mechanisms of death; from the burdened bellies of wrought iron angels we come, we drop. We're bombs.
And were in... hordes of us, scraping over the walls... There is no darkness so deep that we cannot paint it present. There is no cause so bleak that we will veil in vain. We are the rains army, dispatched in vein and we course... Dead eyes run through. Ink and pigment splattered on barren ground. Swords aloft. Screaming battle cries in all tongues lost. The old blood boiling over timeless ideals. We are staining every soul present enough to look up. Go home scarred and tattoo the sound all over your body for these sun-dipped blades herald brighter spirits coming once that gray lump you call a head is sliced clean off. Once a benevolent president tears open your cheek, a tongue will come flopping out. It will lay on the ground licking brown slush off our frozen streets. Then it will die. Your love curdled already besides. I'll kiss your hand, but you wont see the smirk beneath my lowered eyes. Nothing-king get wise: all my children are carrying knives. More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. More people more free more heat more live. More voice more feet more song more rise. More echo more cloud more test more sky. No quarter no vote no power no vice. No king no vision no womb no right. More signal more move more center more light More pressure more fire more peace more vibe. How about a little warhead in your abdomen? Ooh! How about a stain? How about armada is to javelin what battle is to game? Oh inverted world Im thinking Nobel Prize, because the marriage of pre-emption and commerce: that was mine. I prefer a phallus to a circle every time. I prefer to make a beat that wipes a village from the map. I prefer a fallen payload when its dancing on your lap. Are you perverts having fun yet? it all comes out gray and matters less with each sunset. Here come a bomb. The sound above language. The sound off-kilter with casualties pending. The sound of patented death. The action-packed ending. Its not sarcasm. Were training eyes. Hands where we can see them. Ass in the sky. Asinine lies for assassins in need of motives for making that human ink bleed. Champions, fly. Calling all living. Affirming all dreams Screaming all hell. As real as it seems. Rescind those explosions. Get up off toes. Kids are at attention tending towards prose. Smolder at shows, shoulder all comers. Dirty old bushmen your season is waning. Sorry about peace big fucking bummer. Ignite a new kind of soul fusing father and mother. Here come the heat: nuclear summer. embed code Put the clip of this song on any of your html web pages. Copy and paste the code below to embed it. |
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March
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