Better Days

Welcome to the blog of Doug "Duke" Lang, songwriter and host of Better Days, a radio show spinning journeys from music and language, heard Thursdays ten-to-midnight Pacific time at www.coopradio.org Listen to songs at www.myspace.com/dukelang

Name:
Location: Vancouver, Canada

Saturday, September 24, 2005


My son, Joness, and his sweetheart, Catherine, glowing together Posted by Picasa

San Gabriel *

It was announced that the bodies of those who died in
New Orleans as a result of Katrina and the lack of an
efficient rescue procedure will be taken to San Gabriel,
Louisiana, where they will be identified in a makeshift
morgue. It's a warehouse, actually, located in a poor,
rural area along the Mississippi River. There are two
prisons nearby. The area was, for many years, home to
patients with leprosy.

Take my body to San Gabriel
Heaven’s any place that isn’t hell
Tell the stories that my lips can’t tell
Take my body to San Gabriel

I had no money for a bus that day
No other place to go to anyway
The levee broke and I did not survive
But you, my daughter, you are still alive
Sing the gospel from your open mouth
Tell the people all about the south
Promise every word you’ll say is true
Don’t let the shadows silence you

Take my body to San Gabriel
Heaven’s any place that isn’t hell
Tell the stories that my lips can’t tell
Take your daddy to San Gabriel

Tell my brother that I love him so
Tell my parish that I had to go
They found me floating with my neighbour, Sal
We never married but I loved that gal
She came around the night before the storm
I made her dinner and I kept her warm
If there’s room, my child, I’m asking you
See if the gatherers can take her, too

Take my baby to San Gabriel
Heaven’s any place that isn’t hell
Go tell the stories that our lips can’t tell
Take our bodies to San Gabriel
Take us home now to San Gabriel

DL

* Gabriel was also known as the Saint of
the Sorrowful Mother

copyrighted by Doug Lang (SOCAN)

Old New Orleans

I remember a barber shop, on Iberville I think it was,
where I got a haircut many years ago. I'd gone in to ask
for directions, and stayed for a trim. When I saw the
devastation earlier this month, I thought of the elder
black gentleman who had cut my hair and who, afterwards,
had walked me outside to point the correct route to the
St. Louis Cemetery. Bless the people and the city of New
Orleans, and the help that's finally on its way.


Old gal floats by on a raft of wood
Through the flooded ruins of her neighbourhood
Past a Canal Street sign where I once stood
When I was young and travelin'
Louis is buried with his brass cornet
The saints have not come marching yet
The Liberty corner is soaken wet
And history's unravelin'
Here in old New Orleans

Like a mad god come to flush out sin
Katrina blew the windows in
Sweet Mardi Gras won't come again
The Big Easy's under water
Armed guards are out and none can sleep
The bodies float down Gravier Street
A man and a woman hug and weep
Katrina stole their daughter
In old New Orleans

They've emptied Preservation Hall
The ghosts are gone, she took 'em all
There's no more Darktown Strutter's Ball
And Bolden's gone to Slaughter
There's a river where the brass bands played
Now cries are cried and prayers are prayed
By the black and poor, the ones who stayed
Behind down in the quarters
Here in old New Orleans

That old barber shop on Iberville
Has sunk to the upstairs windowsill
The levee broke and a voodoo spell
Tore Bourbon Street asunder
Took away the city's bright cornet
The saints have not come marching yet
Now Liberty is soaken wet
The Rising Sun's gone under
Under old New Orleans

Voices call in desperate need
Make these hell waters recede
Send food, our empty mouths to feed
Send love to stop the crying
Help retrieve a shred of grace
Relieve the woe in every face
Lift us up to a higher place
Do not leave us dying
In old New Orleans
Here in old New Orleans

DL

copyrighted by Doug Lang (SOCAN)