Sayulita 2006 Oh Sayulita, mi senorita. Te encanta cantar. You came to me in an afternoon dream, and the sky on fire. Your dark body sways, commanding the music to start. Enchanted by passion, your song casts a spell in the twilight. The cool evening air cannot quench the fire in my heart. The days melt away and the evening, I pray, will go on and on. Into the hours when only your voice fills the night. “Te amo,” I plead, as your song goes higher and higher. But in your dark eyes there burns an unreachable light. I know not whether the future can ever release my love. For now I know clearly, your song was never for me. The flame in your heart…I see now that no man can own it. El canto del mar…you only can sing to the sea. One of my favorite get-aways is a small fishing village in Mexico with soft sand, warm surf, hot music, flaming sunsets, and beautiful, friendly people. I asked one of my local friends how the town got its name, Sayulita. He told me it was just a name…a name for a woman, but no specific woman. I was inspired to write a love song to Sayulita. She may or may not really exist, but my image of her beauty and passion blend with the sensuality of the town as she sings her song of love. Gracias to Debbie Brooks for conjuring forth the mysterious and passionate song of Sayulita. Written and sung by Smitty West Sayulita Vocals Debbie Brooks Guitars, Bass, Scott Percussion Luedke Drums Larry Aberman Electric Piano Scott Smith Produced, Recorded Scott and Mixed Luedke It Ain’t Mine 2005 Coyote, loping through the night. I’m thinking, “Man, you’ve got it right!” ‘Cause when the light goes pink on the mountain range. And we’ve just had our short exchange. I start feeling a little strange. Because it’s your world, it ain’t mine… The clean air, floats like sweet perfume. Behind me, the smell of the baby boom. But when the lilac and the sage combine And drift around this place divine, I nod and say to old cloud nine, “It’s your world, it ain’t mine…” Hey Sunshine, warming up my day. You’re burning, but I still feel okay. But when the night air drops down a few degrees And the moon shines blue through the silent trees. The nighttime gives no guarantees, because It’s your world, it ain’t mine…. I really love living in Ojai, where the people are not in charge. The famous” pink moment” at sunset. The essence of sagebrush , or “coyote cologne.” The dismissive look on the coyote’s face when you cross his path, “What choo you lookin’ at, dude?” Thanks to Jim Monahan for bringing drive and originality to the production with his acoustic guitar and trademark Telecaster. Written and Smitty sung by West Guitar, Bass, Jim Mandolin Monahan Drums Larry Aberman Piano Scott Smith Backup Vocals Jim Monahan Produced by Jim Monahan Recording and Scott Mixing Luedke Coyote Smitty West Sequoia 2007 I was born to this forest floor Rising here before the hand of man. Your lifetime’s just a breath. A thousand years…an hour of falling sand. Selfish striking hordes lay on Tearing at my flesh. I stand alone beneath my proud green crown Facing your machines I’m stuck in stone. Why the hell you came here, I don’t know. I stand and I wait for the blow. Pride gives you false power. Blades tear down my tower. A fortune for your small-minded dreams. Nobody hears my silent screams. It’s all for a stack of Sunday Times Or a thousand fallen fence posts. You forgot…I’m coming back as a redwood coffin for your rot! I wrote this song while camping in the Sequoia National Forest in the California Sierras near some old groves of giant Sequoia trees. One I area I visited had been logged over one hundred years ago, and only black stumps remained…huge charred sentinels from days gone, guarding a verdant meadow of new growth. Sequoias are among the oldest living things on Earth, and are the most massive life forms in existence. They have adapted to the harsh Sierra life of fire, ice and wind, but were ill-prepared for the woodsmen’s ax at the turn of the century. One famous stump is called the Chicago Stump, all that’s left from the General Noble Tree. The cutting of this huge tree was commissioned for the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. Too big to transport, a section of the tree was cut into hundreds of smaller pieces and reassembled at the fair site. All for naught…Fair visitors thought it was a hoax. No tree could be this big. The irony in our age of human conquest for financial gain is that Sequoia wood is virtually worthless. Relegated to fence posts and roofing shingles, it rotted away within ten years. This…after 3500 years of living glory. I wrote this song standing on a Sequoia stump with my guitar. I felt the old tree screaming silently of what he had seen and what he had survived. …only to be felled for human pride. In the end, the only thing of any value that could be built from sequoia wood was a coffin. So I was pleased to give my tree the last laugh here. Thanks to my friend Julija Zonic for the passionate backing vocals, and to Jim Monahan for the great guitar and mandolin work. Written and sung by Smitty West Guitars, Mandolin, Bass, Jim Monahan Toy Guitar Drums Larry Aberman Piano Scott Smith Backup Vocals Julija Zonic Jim Monahan Produced by Jim Monahan Scott Luedke Recording Engineer Scott Luedke Mixing Engineer Scott Luedke Sandman 2005 Sandman! Screaming in your wasteland. Praying to an oil can. You’re working such a bad plan. With a sad hand. In a dead land. Why can’t you try and understand? Sandman! Screaming out loud, but the world don’t hear ya. The only one that gives a damn is al jazeerah. You dug yourself a hole, you bow and cower. Your hiding days were over when you flew into the tower. Sittin’ down with OPEC, it’s a price alert ‘cause your suckin’ black gold from the burnin’ dirt. I don’t think it’s what the prophet had in mind: Bowing every day to the Exxon sign. Open your eyes. Take off that sheet You ain’t going nowhere treating women like meat. Spend a million dollars on a western blond. I hate to be the one to tell you, “you got it wrong!” You look just like his brother, you play the old game. Didn’t know to hate him till you heard his name. Nothin’ for the fellow but the sole of your shoe. And now.. …you gotta get in line to take a slap at a Jew. Sandman! I have a pretty good dose of Middle Eastern blood in me, as both of my maternal grandparents were Lebanese. I have visited Lebanon several times and have never experienced anything like the hospitality there. I firmly believe that people are the same everywhere. I also believe that people are different everywhere. The “Sandman” in my song isn’t any man in particular; rather represents tribalism, greed, misogyny, and religious intolerance. Written and sung Smitty by West Guitar, Bass, Scott Synth Luedke Drums Larry Aberman Percussion Scott Programming Luedke Backup Vocals Julija Zonic Produced by Scott Luedke Recording and Scott Mixing Luedke Waitin’ For You 2005 In my dreams you’re sitting right here next to me. But when I wake up I see that you’re not here. I’ve been waiting for the day, thinking about the way That your endless love keeps me hanging on. I only hope that endless lasts forever. Waitin’ for you… In my dreams, the moonlight looks for your eyes. The golden sunlight searches for your smile. Got the gentle cool breeze blowing through the trees Coming down to linger in your hair. The beauty of my world can wait forever. Waitin’ for you… I left you crying…there was no one around. I see the teardrops...petals…scattered on the ground. October leaves will fall and fall forever. Seasons spin, and the years will come and go. But I’ll wait until the leaves have fallen off the trees And they’re buried deep under the snow. I only know that I’ll be here forever… Waitin’ for you… I originally wrote this song as a rock ballad, but when my co-producer, Scott Luedke, got his hands on it, he immediately had a better idea. He knew renowned drummer Larry Aberman from work they did together at DW Drums here in Ventura Couty. Larry had a cool beat that Scott affectionately called “ the Abershuffle.” He thought it would be a more modern sound that fit the story well. Well, we ran Larry down in Las Vegas, and we collaborated over the Internet wire-ways. It worked so well, I ended up using Larry on most of my songs. Scott liked the song so much he insisted on singing it too. Nice job. Written by Smitty West and Scott Luedke Sung by Scott Luedke Guitars, Bass, Scott Luedke Synth Drums Larry Aberman Piano Scott Smith Produced, Scott Luedke Recorded, Mixed My Piano 2005 Touch me, touch my fingers. Hold me, hold my hands.