this is a sign for something much bigger than i can predict, but the indigo clouds in the distance calm me now.

in a distant world i am a tanner girl, younger and full of spice without a guitar in my room, past of rhythm and drums or desire to pump myself full of it again, but instead a voice that bellows folk songs ancient and old - full of secrets woven by mamas past, crinkled voices hauntingly slow and names syrupy and smooth like the sun which plays all day and sleeps soundly at night, not hiding like the hateful one we receive these days.

it took me a bit of searching but i finally stumbled upon it - the original of one, if not thee favorite of my traditional folk songs. Diver Boy, a haunting murder ballad that some classify as a part of the neofolk era, but i beg to differ full heartily. the song was originally sung by ollie gilbert, a woman of a somewhat scratchy gospel voice who reportedly has a catalogue of over 500 songs, impressive for her short career. information is beyond hard to find on her, though i know she's from arkansas, was a christian woman, and occasionally accompanied herself on the banjo. one website says she died at seventy eight, the other said eighty three. i've figured out this means she's still alive and kicking. decidedly she's become one of my heros, even if google and other search engines tell me that is near impossible to find most of her music.

hence why i am so fucking ELATED to have been able to download this version of her singing the diver boy. see, for me, i have always envied folk songs for their story telling aspects. i've got a billion stories to tell but either a deep desire to keep them all my own until the time is right or the inability to tell the stories properly - but folk songs and appalachian rock capture images or moments lyrically in a simple ease that i've never been able to do, albeit i don't exaclty try, and leave me feeling haunted by their deliveries and blunt simplicity. this song is no exception.

this version of mrs. gilbert singing was recorded in Timbo, Arizona on october, 13^th 1959.

this scratchy, passed along song, sung by a woman whom traveled america in her fifties in the 1960's, an intense era as it was, singing her soul out and passing on the history she knew, is almost FIFTY YEARS OLD and shuffled around casually, the way a good story should be, so do me a favor and give the song a chance, thank you.

ollie gilbert - the diver boy (young edmond dell; young edwin in the lowlands low)

how i originally got into the song was actually by way of the astounding natalie merchant. her voice is one i try to emulate, and OPHELIA was that angsty 'oh-god-i-am-so-filled-with-estrogen-and-alone-someone-save-me-weeps-in-a-poetic-manner' song for a solid month at the end of last year. so, having downloaded a super ton of her work i stuck on headphones and set about falling in love. her version is not as bare, of course, and the drum work in it gives it a celtic sort of vibe (along with the bit of strings in there, a beautiful touch she puts in to a lot of her songs), which turns the song from a southern story to one that speaks of grays and greens against magical lands and burning forests, angry kings and sinful evenings. it becomes much more powerful in an effortless way, which is all very folk to me.

natalie merchant - the diver boy (young edmond dell; young edwin in the lowlands low)

young emily was fair lady bright, she loved her diver boy who sailed over the ocean to gather up some gold. seven long years returning, his money for to show he'd been sailing over the main down in the low land, low. "my father runs a big hotel down by the river side. you go there go for to stay and i shall be your bride. meet me early morning, don't let my parents know, you have been the diver boy down in the low land, low" young henry taking a drink that night before he went to bed, not thinking of the danger that crowned all over his head. young edward said to his father, "let's take his money sure and send his body sinking fast down in the low land, low." young emily went to be that night; she dreamed an awful dream, she dreamed she saw her true love's blood go flowing down the stream. waking early morning to parents she did say, "where could be that stranger boy who came here for to stay?" "oh, father you're a robber, you robbed me of my wren! oh brother you have murdered the one that i loved best! the trees on yonder mountain are bending to and fro, they remind me of my diver boy, down in the low land, low..."

i wont even start as to why the story means so damn much to me right now.


the last fortune i got in a fortune cookie: "your smile is a curve that can get a lot of things straight"
i've taped it next to the one that told me i "have a way with words, write a book someday!"
fuckin' cookies...