Sunday, May 25, 2014

Bobby Darin - "Long Line Rider" (1968)


Bobby Darin lived like a man on fire. With so much talent and so little time to nurture it, he had to do it all as quickly as he could. And he succeeded brilliantly, entertaining us all for too short a time, as he went from night club performer, to dancer, folk singer and composer.

This song really caught my attention when I was about 13 or so. It seems that there was a prison farm in Arkansas where the inmates were disappearing at an alarming rate. When all was said and done I believe there were over 100 bodies found beneath the grounds of the prison farm.

The movie “Cool Hand Luke” had just come out the year before, in 1967, just before Mr. Darin went into seclusion in a trailer in Big Sur after RFK's assassination (he was present that night) to write songs and re-invent himself yet again.

The subject matter in this song may seem more suited to Bob Dylan than the usually shark skin suited Bobby Darin, but watch and listen. Check out those dance moves. And notice that in introducing Mr. Darin, the usually flippant Dean Martin doesn’t have a whole lot to say…

To hear the original studio recording of this record, hit this link; and be sure to follow the bass line.



“Long Line Rider” by Bobby Darin

Wettin' it down, boss
Wet it down
Wipin' it off, boss
Wipe it off

Doin' ten to twenty hard
Swingin' twelve pounds in the yard
Every day
Every day

I came in with a group of twenty
There ain't left but half as many
In the clay
In the clay

Long line rider, turn away

There's a farm in Arkansas
Got some secrets in its floor
In decay
In decay

You can tell where they're at
Nothin' grows, the ground is flat
Where they lay
Where they lay

Long line rider, turn away

All the records show so clear
Not a single man was here
Anyway
Anyway

That's the tale the warden tells
As he counts his empty shells
By the day
By the day

Hey, long line rider, turn away

Someone screams investigate
Excuse me sir, it's a little late
Let us pray
Let us pray

This kinda thing can't happen here
'Specially not in an election year
Outta my way
Outta my way

Hey, long line rider, turn away

There's a funny taste in the air
Big bulldozers everywhere
Diggin' clay
Turnin' clay

And the ground coughs up some roots
Wearin' denim shirts and boots
Haul 'em away
Haul 'em away

Hey, long line rider, turn away

Well, I heard a brother moan
"Why they plowin' up my home?"
In this way
In this way

I said, "Buddy, shake your gloom
They're just here to make more room
In the clay"
USA

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