Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

Jist Jammin'

The lights are low.
Smoke is so thick; 
You can just reach out
To take a handful, 
To put in pockets
Of faded denim.

Somewhere, 
Deep in the mist, 
A solitary guitarist sits.
Slouched on a beaten up bar stool.
Strummin' slowly on an acoustic.
Bottle-neck slide wails from the pressure
Of a real bottle.
The gob-iron moans, 
In harmonic reply.

The air is filled, 
With the smell of tired sweat.
Formed by hard labour
Of a day in the field
Or on a hot factory floor.

Bootleg booze, 
Piedmont cigarillos, 
and Cheap cologne.

This is blues, 
At its best.


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

It's rainin' the blues

it's raining the blues, momma, 
it sure is raining the blues.
it's raining the blues heavy now, momma.
yes, it's raining them there blues.
it's raining down the blues heavy momma, 
and your boy ain't done got no shoes.

when I woke up this morning, 
I had that ol' familiar poundin' in my head.
I got up this morning with my brain
jist repeatin' everything I ever said.
the pain was so bad, momma, 
I just got back into my bed.

recently I been badly battered, 
done had many of my dreams
well and truly shattered.
was told tales of terrible things, 
as though it really mattered.
had my mind constantly confused, 
only to be left bruised and tattered.

it's rainin' the blues, momma.
it's pourin' down the blues.
I’m lookin' up to the darkenin' sky, momma,
and all I can see are them different hues.


Dusti Rodes  (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

Twelve Bar Blues (An' gittin' drunker in every one of 'em!)

I woke up this morning,
Dum dum dum dum.
I was feelin' real bad,
Dum dum dum dum.
'Cos the way that's you treats me,
Dum dum dum dum.
Makes me feel real mad.
Dum dum dum dum.

You says that you loves me,
Dum dum dum dum.
You tells me you cares,
Dum dum dum dum.
but when I calls you, woman,
Dum dum dum dum.
You is never theres.
Dum dum dum dum.

I don't knows what it is that makes you,
Dum dum dum dum.
Thinks that you can treats me this way,
Dum dum dum dum.
But you gots it all wrong, woman,
Dum dum dum dum.
If you thinks I's gonna beg you to stay.
Dum dum dum dum.

I is jist a man,
Dum dum dum dum.
Mades outta flesh, blood and bone,
Dum dum dum dum.
But with all the misery you is causing me, woman,
Dum dum dum dum.
I'd be better offs alone.
Dum dum dum dum.

Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

Blowin' the Blues

Remembering the men I have fought,
The women I have bought.
The drinks I have drunk.
Bad beer, gut-rotting whiskey.
Southern style,
Down in the deltas.

Recalling the sights I have seen,
The places I have been.
Hot whorehouses in the south.
Bar-room bordellos in the north.

Me and my bitches.
Those fancy foreign fillies,
Monique and Monica.
The Delta Lady and the Bar Belle.
Who would harp on so well.

Cajun queens,
Both of them.
Blow-job beauties.
Who would accompany me,
The many times, that I travelled,
To the crossroads.

Where I often heard,
Johnson and the ol' Devil,
Duelling on ghostly guitars.
Manic music playing.
Causing the howling baying.
Emitting from the throats,
Of the Hounds of Hell. 


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

The Camden sessions

I'd observed it for a while,
His developing love affair,
With the long-necked lady.
Pretty in pale blue,
Adorned in silver,
Shining like the stars.

The gentle coaxing to obtain
Audible verbal response.
The warm embraces,
Fingers firmly plying
Intimate places.
To go where no-one
Had ever been before.
Or since.

Alvin Lee?
Oh, yeah, he was good,
But he wasn't Smokin'.
Fastest fingers alive,
In my opinion.
Eric Clapton?
Rightly deserved the title,
Slowhand, in comparison.
And what Hendrix stole
From Smokin's skills
Is another story, completely.

Long gone midnight,
Silently sitting, slouched,
On the sofa.
Jist jammin' the blues.
Echoes from deep down,
In the Delta, reverberating.
Needing no artificial amplification,
Electric or otherwise,
To portray the genius.

Rampant riffs,
Luscious licks,
Complex chords,
Paranormal phrasings.
Rumour has it that
Robert Johnson,
Did a deal with the Devil,
At the crossroads.
Some say so must have Smokin'.
There is no other way,
That he could play,
Like that.

But I know the truth.
He was gifted by God.
And forty years on,
I still feel humbled,
And very honoured,
To have heard the musical magic.
Performed nightly in Smokin's front room, 
for an audience of one.


Dusti Rodes (2007)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

A Modern day Cowboy.

 " But signor, if he is the best,
 With the Gun, AND the Knife;
 Then with whom does he compete? "

 " With Himself ...."

 ( Scene from the film - The Magnificent Seven )

 Perfoming with puppets,
 Plied from papier mache.
 Drafting drawings,
 Scribbled from sketches.
 Making models,
 Worked from wood.
 Crafted from clay.
 Moulded meticulously
 In metal.
 Pummelling putty,
 And plasticine.
 While leaving puddles
 Of Plaster of Paris.
 Working with words,
 In a wonderful way.
 That continues to paint
 Personal pictures,
 Framed in people's minds.
 Potter, Puppeteer,
 Painter and Poet.
 Writer & raconteur,
 Teller of tales.

Dusti Rodes (2007)