Artist: Utah Phillips
Album: The Telling Takes Me Home
Originally released: 21-OCT-1997
Let me sing to you all those songs I know
Of the wild, windy places locked in timeless snow,
And the wide, crimson deserts where the muddy rivers flow.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Come along with me to some places that I've been
Where people all look back and they still remember when,
And the quicksilver legends, like sunlight, turn and bend
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Walk along some wagon road, down the iron rail,
Past the rusty Cadillacs that mark the boom town trail,
Where dreamers never win and doers never fail,
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
I'll tell you all some lies, just made up for fun,
And the loudest, meanest brag, it can beat the fastest gun.
I'll show you all some graves that tell where the West was
won.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
I'll sing of my amigos, come from down below,
Whisper in their loving tongue the songs of Mexico.
They work their stolen Eden, lost so long ago.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
And I'll sing about an emptiness the East has never known,
Where coyotes don't pay taxes and a man can live alone,
And you've got to walk forever just to find a telephone.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Let me sing to you all those songs I know
Of the wild, windy places locked in timeless snow,
And the wide, crimson deserts where the muddy rivers flow.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
The Telling Takes Me Home
Once there was a kingdom, Deseret, built in the tops of the mountains and surrounded by largely unexplored wilderness. The Kingdom of God encompassed vast wealth in water, land and minerals, and the children of Zion labored patiently to make the desert blossom as the rose. The faith upon which the kingdom was built emerged from that fit of religious madness which, in the early 1800s, turned unlettered farmers into prophets and visionaries overnight. They in turn led the faithful out of that larger madness in which prophecy succumbs to politics and prophets to a**assination. The frontier was real then and all beyond it unknown and mysterious save for the stories of a handful of wanderers who had journeyed through the wilderness and returned. In 1847, their prophet murdered and their city in ashes, the Mormon pioneers crossed that wilderness, placing between them and their enemies the high mountains of the West. The building of Deseret is not a new story but probably as old as the migrations of man. Perhaps Deseret's counterparts can be found in the Indus Valley or in the Land Between the Rivers where mud and time swallowed the city states of Sumer.
Today, the kingdom exists only in shadow. A series of unavoidable mistakes over the past century have drawn this small madness back into the larger, and the fanatic's dream has become merely another submerged in the rowdy clamor of other men's dreams. In 1896 the Utah Territory became a state, from which date we number the years of its gradual decline into anonymity.
A romantic notion, I suppose, for someone who shares neither the faith nor the history of the Saints. In fact I have spent much of my adult life opposed to the theocratic policies of those who control the economic and political life of Utah. But I must say that the Mormons are splendid adversaries, shrewd, intelligent, and adept in even the most subtle abuses of power. I am reminded here of Jomo Kenyatta's introduction to his memoir in which he congratulates his enemies on being so uncompromising and thanks them for inspiring the strength with which they were eventually overcome. Not that I have any real intention or, indeed, desire to bring down the Temple, but I am grateful in having had the opportunity to whet my own natural combativeness against so hard a stone.
I have been away from Utah and "out in the world" now for five years, having barely avoided a series of public and private disasters which are of interest to me alone. By "out in the world" I mean to say that, looking back, growing up in Utah was like growing up in a sort of vacuum. Utah does have a separate c**ture and a unique historical background which continues to affect the lives of its citizens in quite unusual ways. The twenty years I spent there had me pretty well convinced that Utah was typical of the rest of the country, which, I later discovered, it is not. When the Tourist and Publicity Department advertise in national magazines the delights of a visit to "The Different World of Utah" believe me, they are not just playing with words. Still, in spite of its differences (which Boston Athenians may incorrectly define as dullness and provincialism), I carry with me a fondness for the place and still entertain thoughts of returning, especially considering that being "out in the world" is not all that it's cracked up to be. And occasionally I afford myself a moment of fantasy in which Deseret, the Kingdom of God, still rules the tops of the mountains, safe and secure from the 20th century, the positive benefits of which continue to elude me.
I mentioned earlier that the wealth of Zion was to be found in its water, land, and the industry of its people. Today, two-thirds of the land in Utah is owned, in trust, by the Federal government which lotteries it away to private developers just as it does the oil shale in the Uintah Basin. Our rivers are now interstate waterways under the control of Congress, which is more responsive to the water needs of states having large congressional delegations. Utah has only two congressmen. The average annual income of our citizens is 5% below the national average, while since we produce only a fraction of what we consume, the cost of living is somewhat higher. In short, Utah is a poor state in the midst of tremendous wealth. I sometimes wonder how it would be if that wealth had remained with the Kingdom to be used in the proliferation of those examples of co-operative ownership and communal living which were the original Mormon experiment. Suffice it to say that there was a Kingdom once and, though vanished, it has left its mark on me. Legend, lore, history, events common and extraordinary flow through the mind, rumble, disturb dreams, confuse and enlighten and at length combine (hopefully) into tales and songs. This collection is only a series of small histories concerning both the recent and less recent past. They emerge from a portion of my mind separate from that other mind which seems concerned mainly with trains, b**s and the politics of labor. I admit without reluctance that there is a part of me that must always live out here wherever my temporal abode may be. Perhaps these histories will serve to acquaint you with some things about the West which you have not known. My purpose in telling them, however, is more simple than that. The telling takes me home.
Album: The Telling Takes Me Home
Originally released: 21-OCT-1997
Let me sing to you all those songs I know
Of the wild, windy places locked in timeless snow,
And the wide, crimson deserts where the muddy rivers flow.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Come along with me to some places that I've been
Where people all look back and they still remember when,
And the quicksilver legends, like sunlight, turn and bend
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Walk along some wagon road, down the iron rail,
Past the rusty Cadillacs that mark the boom town trail,
Where dreamers never win and doers never fail,
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
I'll tell you all some lies, just made up for fun,
And the loudest, meanest brag, it can beat the fastest gun.
I'll show you all some graves that tell where the West was
won.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
I'll sing of my amigos, come from down below,
Whisper in their loving tongue the songs of Mexico.
They work their stolen Eden, lost so long ago.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
And I'll sing about an emptiness the East has never known,
Where coyotes don't pay taxes and a man can live alone,
And you've got to walk forever just to find a telephone.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
Let me sing to you all those songs I know
Of the wild, windy places locked in timeless snow,
And the wide, crimson deserts where the muddy rivers flow.
It's sad, but the telling takes me home.
The Telling Takes Me Home
Once there was a kingdom, Deseret, built in the tops of the mountains and surrounded by largely unexplored wilderness. The Kingdom of God encompassed vast wealth in water, land and minerals, and the children of Zion labored patiently to make the desert blossom as the rose. The faith upon which the kingdom was built emerged from that fit of religious madness which, in the early 1800s, turned unlettered farmers into prophets and visionaries overnight. They in turn led the faithful out of that larger madness in which prophecy succumbs to politics and prophets to a**assination. The frontier was real then and all beyond it unknown and mysterious save for the stories of a handful of wanderers who had journeyed through the wilderness and returned. In 1847, their prophet murdered and their city in ashes, the Mormon pioneers crossed that wilderness, placing between them and their enemies the high mountains of the West. The building of Deseret is not a new story but probably as old as the migrations of man. Perhaps Deseret's counterparts can be found in the Indus Valley or in the Land Between the Rivers where mud and time swallowed the city states of Sumer.
Today, the kingdom exists only in shadow. A series of unavoidable mistakes over the past century have drawn this small madness back into the larger, and the fanatic's dream has become merely another submerged in the rowdy clamor of other men's dreams. In 1896 the Utah Territory became a state, from which date we number the years of its gradual decline into anonymity.
A romantic notion, I suppose, for someone who shares neither the faith nor the history of the Saints. In fact I have spent much of my adult life opposed to the theocratic policies of those who control the economic and political life of Utah. But I must say that the Mormons are splendid adversaries, shrewd, intelligent, and adept in even the most subtle abuses of power. I am reminded here of Jomo Kenyatta's introduction to his memoir in which he congratulates his enemies on being so uncompromising and thanks them for inspiring the strength with which they were eventually overcome. Not that I have any real intention or, indeed, desire to bring down the Temple, but I am grateful in having had the opportunity to whet my own natural combativeness against so hard a stone.
I have been away from Utah and "out in the world" now for five years, having barely avoided a series of public and private disasters which are of interest to me alone. By "out in the world" I mean to say that, looking back, growing up in Utah was like growing up in a sort of vacuum. Utah does have a separate c**ture and a unique historical background which continues to affect the lives of its citizens in quite unusual ways. The twenty years I spent there had me pretty well convinced that Utah was typical of the rest of the country, which, I later discovered, it is not. When the Tourist and Publicity Department advertise in national magazines the delights of a visit to "The Different World of Utah" believe me, they are not just playing with words. Still, in spite of its differences (which Boston Athenians may incorrectly define as dullness and provincialism), I carry with me a fondness for the place and still entertain thoughts of returning, especially considering that being "out in the world" is not all that it's cracked up to be. And occasionally I afford myself a moment of fantasy in which Deseret, the Kingdom of God, still rules the tops of the mountains, safe and secure from the 20th century, the positive benefits of which continue to elude me.
I mentioned earlier that the wealth of Zion was to be found in its water, land, and the industry of its people. Today, two-thirds of the land in Utah is owned, in trust, by the Federal government which lotteries it away to private developers just as it does the oil shale in the Uintah Basin. Our rivers are now interstate waterways under the control of Congress, which is more responsive to the water needs of states having large congressional delegations. Utah has only two congressmen. The average annual income of our citizens is 5% below the national average, while since we produce only a fraction of what we consume, the cost of living is somewhat higher. In short, Utah is a poor state in the midst of tremendous wealth. I sometimes wonder how it would be if that wealth had remained with the Kingdom to be used in the proliferation of those examples of co-operative ownership and communal living which were the original Mormon experiment. Suffice it to say that there was a Kingdom once and, though vanished, it has left its mark on me. Legend, lore, history, events common and extraordinary flow through the mind, rumble, disturb dreams, confuse and enlighten and at length combine (hopefully) into tales and songs. This collection is only a series of small histories concerning both the recent and less recent past. They emerge from a portion of my mind separate from that other mind which seems concerned mainly with trains, b**s and the politics of labor. I admit without reluctance that there is a part of me that must always live out here wherever my temporal abode may be. Perhaps these histories will serve to acquaint you with some things about the West which you have not known. My purpose in telling them, however, is more simple than that. The telling takes me home.