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New Old Stock

Recorded by Todd Hutchisen at Acadia Recording and Doug Cowan at Epona Farm.
Mixed and Mastered by Tim Phillips.
Artwork by Doug Cowan

Copyright Plucksongs 2023, ASCAP

Musicians

Doug Cowan words, vocals, guitars, keyboards, percussion
Greg Bjork mandolin, Tom Kubasik bass, Bob Hoffman drums

Lyrics

Mighty Joe Meek

Mighty Joe Meek

Turns the handle

Dimes the machine

Holds a candle

Mr. Misunderstood

What were you thinking of?

Yawning through years

Hit after no hit

Crowding your ears

With pity’s secret

That they don’t get me

And I don’t get love.

Ahead of his time

He’s London’s behind

He’s London…

Hooked his dim star

To tinny Telstar

Only took him so far

Taps the tempo

Box of gravel

In sulky echo

Rhythm unravels

So they don’t get me

And I don’t get love

Just take what they give

The love that you missed

The love that…

Keep the tape running

Can we take it again?

Else I’ll never be a has-been

Mighty Joe Meek

Half step to heaven

Out on his own feet

Tripped by a demon

Who says “they don’t get you.

And you don’t get love.”

Picking a Fight

Picking a fight at a funeral

Starting a war on my own

A square bullet in my Sunday suit

Tryin’ to wipe the smile off of skin and bone

The hammock holds you in your wedding gown

Staring at a clown car of clouds

I’m on a seesaw, always up and down

And you’re on the other side if the sun

Wasting time before you’re gone

Picking a fight on the tip of your tongue

But you’re on the other side of the sun

Wasting time before too long

Wasting time before you’re gone

Wasting time before you’re gone

You’re on the other side of the sun

Wasting time before too long

Fishing Pole of the Drowned Man

In the quiet

Of the castaway

As luck had it

Feet stuck in clay

Stillwater wraps ‘round my waste

No heroics, please

It’s just one of those days

The left out letter

In your hand

Is the fishing pole

Of the drowned man

And the best kept secret

Is the best laid plan

Like the fishing pole

Of the drowned man

Lures

Halo my hat

In falsetto

Cry out Falstaff

And if only

I’d left her with a map

She coulda found me here

Before the bottom had

The left out letter

In your hand

Is the fishing pole

Of the drowned man

And the best kept secret

Is the best laid plan

Like the fishing pole

Of the drowned man