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Whiskey Lament and Other Tall Tales
Written and recorded as part of the February 2023 RPM Challenge, “Whiskey Lament and Other Tall Tales” is a debut EP collecting five songs recorded and finished within February 2023.
This album was completed for a grand total of zero dollars using instruments, microphones, and facilities on hand. Drums were recorded quite poorly in the spare half of a garage, the rest tracked in a spare bedroom doubling as a home office. While I considered hiring a fiddle player, the sonic garnish seemed undeservedly vain and unnecessary. Two songs were left incomplete at the finish line and were sadly cut from the album.
The cover image is a portrait of my great grandparents, Lillie Etter Barnes, and Lawson Hill Barnes, taken by the Lively photography company in McMinnville, Tennessee, sometime in the early 1900s. My middle name traces back to Lawson Hill and was passed down through generations on the paternal side.
The album title “Whiskey Lament and Other Tall Tales” was chosen to highlight the song that may be the most digestible while also suggesting that none of these lyrics are about anyone in particular. As these tracks ruminate about struggling with alcoholism, disrespecting women, and suffering from multi-generational depression, separating the producer from the product becomes necessary to avoid unwanted concern and sympathy.
I hope this offering does not offend your ear too plainly, and I admit that it could have gone better. If there is blame to be had, let it be cast towards the rest of the band who indeed fell short of the mark.
They say that art is never finished, it is simply abandoned, and so I hope you find some pleasure in these ruins.
- JLB, March 1, 2023
Track Listing
Click on the track link to navigate to the lyrics and details for each song.
1. Oh Lord, Why’d You Have to Make Me So Goddamn Handsome?
2. See Where it Lands
3. Whiskey Lament
4. Henhouse Shuffle
5. Grandpa Won’t Be Coming Home For Your Birthday
Credits and Details
Performed, recorded, mixed, and “mastered” in Logic Pro X by James Lawson Barnes.
Reverend Buckshot electric guitar, Reverend PA-1 electric hollow body guitar, Fender Mustang JMJ Electric Bass, Fender Conchord II acoustic guitar (Nashville tuning), Rogue mandolin, & 1970’s Pearl fiberglass drumset.
Shure SM57, Shure SM81, AKG D112, Lewitt LCT-940, Apogee Quartet.
Story of the Song
Sometimes you struggle with lyrics or a song, and sometimes the song just writes itself. One day while minding my business, a line popped into my head and refused to leave.
“The man in the mirror is such a disappointment because the man in the mirror don’t look a thing like me.”
John Prine had a knack for telling a whole story in a single line, and this is probably as close as I’m getting to that level of clarity. The rest of the lyrics just wrote themselves, and I mostly tried to stay out of the way.
I admit that this is the one song on the album that’s mostly about me.
Oh Lord, Why’d You Have to Make me So Goddamn Handsome?
The man in the mirror is such a disappointment
Because the man in the mirror don’t look a thing like me
I’m all boots and hat and smile
Better lookin' by a country mile
Sad sack lookin' back wouldn’t dare to disagree
Oh lord, why’d you have to make me so goddamn handsome
It’s a burden to be the world’s most perfect man
Oh lord, won’t you share the wealth
I been blessed so much myself
And that man in the mirror could use your helping hand
The man in the mirror don’t have a friend in Jesus
No faith, no kids, no creed, no legacy
And on the moment when he’s dead and gone
The whole world will just move on
Shadows don’t leave much of a memory
Oh lord, why’d you have to make me so goddamn handsome
It’s a burden to be the world’s most perfect man
Oh lord, won’t you share the wealth
I been blessed so much myself
And that man in the mirror could use your helping hand
That man in the mirror, he sometimes looks familiar
Like he reminds me of someone I think I used to know
When I look into those eyes
My heart swells up with pride, and I say
There but for the grace of God, I go
Oh lord, why’d you have to make me so goddamn handsome
It’s a burden to be the world’s most perfect man
Oh lord, won’t you share the wealth
I been blessed so much myself
And that man in the mirror could use your helping hand
Oh lord, won’t you share the wealth
I been blessed so much myself
And that man in the mirror could use your helping hand
Credits and Details
Performed, recorded, mixed, and “mastered” in Logic Pro X by James Lawson Barnes.
Reverend Buckshot electric guitar, Reverend PA-1 electric hollow body guitar, Fender Mustang JMJ Electric Bass, & 1970’s Pearl fiberglass drumset.
Shure SM57, Shure SM81, AKG D112, Lewitt LCT-940, Apogee Quartet.
Story of the Song
One of the oldest songs in this album, "See Where it Lands," was originally written for the band Lacklustre, but never found its footing.
I held onto it for quite some time before trying to record it at a faster tempo. The arrangement, lyrics, and melody were the same, but the tempo made all the difference. The result become more of a rock-and-roll number, in opposition to the original intent as a rollicking country jam.
I’d love someone to do this as a pop-country number someday to see if the original intent was valid.
See Where it Lands
I don’t drink to forget
No, I drink so I won’t remember
It ain’t the things I done but the things I might do
When I’m 10 shots into a bender
That's when I’m ready and I'm willing to entertain a quarrel or feud
But in the light of the day any promises I made
Ain’t likely to be renewed
Honey I’ve been trying all of my life to not try at all
And honey I’ve been lying every night when I said I’d call
You see, a man like me don’t do things to plan
No, I might take my last chip, and throw it in the air
just so I can see where it lands
I bet on black label whiskey and raked in a win
I bet on red Johnny walker and doubled up again
But I made a bet that the check wouldn’t ever come due
Got cleaned out by a bar tab while I was drinking for two
I'm laying bricks on the road to hell
And I ain’t paving with with the purest of intentions
I’ll drink a fifth of the cure, and take a shot to be sure
If I can avoid the prevention
I know your momma thinks you can do better
And your momma ain’t wrong
But if she’s looking to me for some apology it ain’t coming by the end of this song
Honey you’ve been waiting night after night for me to evolve
But honey I ain’t some kind of puzzle that you need to solve
See, a man like me ain’t taking no stands.
I might jump off a cliff with you in my arms
Just so I can see where we land
I might jump off a cliff with you in my arms
Just so I can see where we land
Credits and Details
Performed, recorded, mixed, and “mastered” in Logic Pro X by James Lawson Barnes.
Reverend Buckshot electric guitar, Reverend PA-1 electric hollow body guitar, Schecter Sun Valley Screamer sustaniac electric guitar, Englehardt Upright Bass, & 1970’s Pearl fiberglass drumset.
Shure SM57, Shure SM81, AKG D112, Lewitt LCT-940, Apogee Quartet.
Story of the Song
I came up with the first line and thought it would be an excellent motif to base a whole song around.
I wish the song had written itself, but I struggled with the second verse for years until I finally asked my friend Brady to pick the best line out of the three on offer. He chose well.
I think these are some of my better lyrics, and it’s one of the songs I’m most comfortable singing, though I’d love to hear someone with a good voice do it someday.
I must apologize for attempting to play upright bass on this recording.
Whiskey Lament
I’ve been drinking it over
I’m thinking about trying to go sober
But I ain’t found much else to do when the workin' day’s done
I’m digging holes while counting the days until I’m lying in one
I’ve been drinking it over
I’m thinking about trying to go sober
But I ain’t found the end of a bottle without dreaming of you
And that rips a new hole in my heart to pour the whiskey into
I drink from rivers of fire in the hope to expire
All the dreams of what could have been
Sing a whiskey lament, a broken quitter’s intent
To be forever on the mend and getting no better
I’ve been fretting tomorrow
Because the good times I had were all borrowed
And the headaches, they never get better, they just paper the walls
And I lose myself in these bars and lose my guts in the stalls
I’ve been fretting tomorrow
Because the good times I had were all borrowed
And I’ll race you to the grave but I guarantee you ain’t gonna win
I am baptized in bourbon, and every morning I am born again
I drink from rivers of fire in the hope to expire
All the dreams of what could have been
Sing a whiskey lament, a broken quitter’s intent
To be forever on the mend and getting no better
Getting no better
I’ve been drinking it over
I’m thinking about trying to go sober
But I can’t find the end of a bottle without dreaming of you
Credits and Details
Performed, recorded, mixed, and “mastered” in Logic Pro X by James Lawson Barnes.
Reverend Double Agent OG electric guitar, Reverend Buckshot electric guitar, Reverend PA-1 electric hollow body guitar, Fender Mustand JMJ Bass, Keyboard, & 1970’s Pearl fiberglass drumset.
Shure SM57, Shure SM81, AKG D112, Lewitt LCT-940, Apogee Quartet.
Story of the Song
This song was always intended to be a dichotomy, and after a mighty struggle, I think it was largely successful across the arrangement and lyrics.
Half romantic wooing and lust for a coquettish maid, half screwball chase theme music, all set in the backdrop of a barnyard at supper time.
When writing this song, I thought it would be cool if children and adults could listen to the lyrics from entirely different perspectives.
If I ever have any fans, I’ll see if the intent holds up.
Henhouse Shuffle
I promise you can trust old red.
Don’t listen to those rumors they spread
Every barnyard has a nag or a hen that’ll put those evil thoughts in your head
I tell you that my love is true
It’s the kind of love they wish they knew
I dream of your flesh and our rendezvous
I just wanna have dinner tonight with you
Oh, I just wanna make dinner tonight with you
Sneakin in a chicken coup
Quiet as a church mouse
Looking for the menu
Of the specials in the hen house
I been cookin' up a story,
But it’s stinking like a fox tale
Tonight, if the farmer don’t come
I’ll be dining in a chicken jail
I drive the chicks into a craze
And I know you love my foxy ways
If you let me in your pen I’ll never need another hen
I’ll be yours for the rest of your days
Don’t pay that old yard dog no mind
He aims to keep you close and confined
If we can be together, I’ll get my teeth underneath those feathers
Don’t pay that old yard dog no mind
He’s just barking cuz he don’t like my kind
Sneakin in a chicken coup
Quiet as a church mouse
Looking for the menu
Of the specials in the hen house
I been cookin' up a story
But it’s stinking like a fox tale
Tonight, if the farmer don’t come
I’ll be dining in a chicken jail
Well I hope you don’t mind a few friends of mine came along to join the bash
And we’re looking for fun until we scare up the sun, but we’ll probably just dine and dash
And I bet you’ll always wonder if my love for you was real
Hon I know I will remember that you made one hell of a meal
Credits and Details
Performed, recorded, mixed, and “mastered” in Logic Pro X by James Lawson Barnes.
Art and Luthrie Woodland Pro parlor guitar.
Shure SM81, Lewitt LCT-940, Apogee Quartet.
Story of the Song
This song has been kicking around for a while, wholly finished and awaiting an opportunity to escape the confines of a notebook. When writing it, I wanted to try and write the saddest song I could imagine, but I’m unsure if I even got close.
Two other songs were halfway complete and intended for this record, but time was not on my side, and there were still many parts left to record. As I entered the final day of a largely self-imposed deadline, I scraped the two songs in progress and recorded this instead.
Also, this song is not about either of my grandparents, who were fine upstanding citizens.
Grandpa Won’t Be Coming Home For Your Birthday
Grandpa won’t be coming home for your birthday
He’s all tied up and tired from hanging around
He took wing for one last swing in the night air
and he’ll be that high until the cops can bring him down
Those that live to fight
As he would say
Only earn the right to suffer another day
I tore apart a stack of his old paperbacks
For the kindling to try and keep us warm
And as the pages burned, the fire looked poetic.
Though they came second, those books were always his firstborn
I thought that someday he might say he was proud of his son
But someday is not tomorrow
Some days never come
But Grandpa didn’t give us just a surname
He gave us all his genetic traditions too
Like a thirst for Gin, a taste for sin
And an appetite for sadness
He passed them on to me, and I passed them on to you
The only sign I ever had that he couldn’t cope
Was the necktie that he made from a length of rope
No, Grandpa won’t be coming home for your birthday
Because this time it’s gone and hung himself from a tree
But I thought we’d still have your party by that old sturdy oak limb
And you could look up and say “someday that could be me”
Yeah, I thought we’d still have your party by that old sturdy oak limb
And you could look up and say “someday that could be me”
And he’ll be that high until the cops can bring him down