On WUML’s longest-running folk-based program Almost Acoustic, with Tracy Milton, there was a live performance Saturday, February 23 by local performer Dale Reynolds (http://www.myspace.com/dalereynolds). The WUML podcast site has been down for a couple of weeks and may be down for a few more, so I’m posting the live on-air performance here until it can be moved bac to that site. On his Myspace page, you can read about an upcoming benetfit for the recent massive fire in Lawrence and about his March 20 CD release party at the Tupelo Music Hall (http://www.tupelohall.com/music_hall/Shows/032008.htm)
Also, in an effort to fulfill a request from Blue at BlueMountain Music ( http://www.myspace.com/bluemtnmusi), I made a request for something about cold and ice and snow for her. The request got sort of garbled, but I’m also posting it as a separate mp3 file below, along with a recitation of Robert Service’s “The Cremation of Sam McGee”. Enjoy!
PS:
Here’s a song that might be apropos:
The Frozen Logger
James Stevens
As I sat down one evening within a small cafe,
A forty year old waitress to me these words did say:
“I see that you are a logger, and not just a common bum,
‘Cause nobody but a logger stirs his coffee with is thumb.
My lover was a logger, there’s none like him today;
If you’d pour whiskey on it he could eat a bale of hay
He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide;
He’d just drive them in with a hammer and bite them off inside.
My lover came to see me upon one freezing day;
He held me in his fond embrace which broke three vertebrae.
He kissed me when we parted, so hard that he broke my jaw;
I could not speak to tell him he’d forgot his mackinaw.
I saw my lover leaving, sauntering through the snow,
Going gaily homeward at forty-eight below.
The weather it tried to freeze him, it tried its level best;
At a hundred degrees below zero, he buttoned up his vest.
It froze clean through to China, it froze to the stars above;
At a thousand degrees below zero, it froze my logger love.
They tried in vain to thaw him, and would you believe me, sir
They made him into axeblades, to chop the Douglas fir.
And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I come,
And here I wait till someone stirs his coffee with his thumb.”

Dale Reynolds in Studio Almost Acoustic WUML 2008-02-23:
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A song about coldness for Blue:
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The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Servce from Librivox:
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