Van Ronk - Tom Russell: Song Lyrics, Music Videos & Concerts

Van Ronk

252

Alternative Folk

Van Ronk was released on March 1, 2005 by HighTone Records as a part of the album Hotwalker

Song Details

Release DateMarch 1, 2005

LabelHighTone Records

LanguageEnglish

Melodicness

Acousticness

Valence

Danceability

Energy

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Tom Russell

Vocals

Andrew Hardin

Guitar

Fats Kaplin

Fiddle

Joel Guzman

Accordion

Mark Hallman

Vocals

Mikael Lorca Martin

Mikael Lorca Martin

Mandolin

Tony Campise

Flute

Dave Van Ronk

Vocals

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Tom Russell

Songwriter

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Tom Russell

Producer

Lyrics

He had a little apartment on Sheridan Square in New York

Had it almost forty years

They say Dylan slept on the couch once

And Phil Ochs during his final psychotic days

When Phil called himself John Train and sat up all day on the sofa

Cutting up National Geographics

Making whacked out collages and

Threatening people's lives with scissors

Then Phil Ochs hung himself in Far Rockaway

But Dave Van Ronk tried to watch over all of them

Every kid who walked in wide-eyed with a guitar and a song fragment

They called Dave the Pope of Greenwich Village

And I sat on his couch a few times

And it was better than any hundred dollar shrink or hooker

His second wife Andrea is a beautiful

Little woman who plays classical harp

And Dave would direct her to play records as we sat there and drank

Then he'd tell us to shut up and listen

And if we didn't listen Van Ronk would command

Her to play a song again and again until we got it

Like "Play that goddamn thing again Andrea, play it

Now listen to this goddamn thing you people

Listen to this goddamn song you people"

And he'd close his eyes

Boy would we listen

We'd try to clear out our drunken heads and listen deep

And then that big magic glass pitcher of white wine would appear

With an ice cube shaft down the middle

Magically refilled in the kitchen

Gallons of it

And Van Ronk would cough and close his

Eyes and suck on a forbidden cigarette

Till he was finally asleep

Passed out snoring and muttering on the couch

And you could hear his smoke-destroyed

Lungs struggling to clear the air

And we all staggered down those stairs

That little rent-controlled apartment

With all its books and Micronesian art

And guitars and harps and cigarette smoke

Wine bottles and folk ghosts

And wonderful wonderful stories and

The magic glass pitcher of white wine

We all loved Dave Van Ronk

He was the Pope of Greenwich Village goddamn it

And when he died they had all the appropriate tributes

I heard they even named a street after him in New York City

But who the hell can conjure up those nights we

All spent feeling honored and blessed by the Pope

Melting into a couch

Hearing him rant and rave and tell old stories

That's the way it was

Sinking further and further into that couch

Giving us benediction with a cigarette stub

Ashes flying everywhere

As some new guitar poet kid walked through

We were wondering if Dylan dropped any songs between the cushions

That were still down there

All we found was old pennies

So go down to the Village

Do yourself a favor one of these days and put your ear to the ground

Over there near Sheridan Square

Listen to him goddamn it listen

He's still there

Listen to Dave Van Ronk

"Play that goddamn song again Andrea

Play it play it

Play that goddamn Van Ronk song one more time"

I can hear him coughing, singing, barking, lecturing, laughing

Ranting and raving in heaven or hell or purgatory

Oblivion, nirvana

Wherever they send the real good ones after they pass on through

And their earthly gig is over

Written by: Tom Russell

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