We Don't Need A Map

by Alexander Hudjohn

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  • In a world where digitally altered voices rule the airwaves and manufactured "artists" are plastered all over our children's lunch boxes. I still believe there are musicians out there wiling to spill their guts onto tape and let the listener sort it out. There is a reason we love to go watch musicians perform live. It's raw, it's real and all the true emotion is still evident. These tracks are simply me. One mic, one guitar, one voice. recorded in my living room one rainy September evening in Northeast Portland. What you hear, is what you get friends. This is tangible, this is real. Art is subjective and we don't need a map. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for your support.

    -Alexander Hudjohn

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02:42
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04:56
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03:10
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03:13
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03:49
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04:33
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credits

released 18 September 2010

All song writen and recorded by Alexander Hudjohn, September 2010. Mixed by Patrick Hills in Sacramento California. Artwork by Vanessa Jean Speckman.

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Track Name: The Rolling Stones Were Right
The harvest moon touched down
On the west side of the county.
Mosquito smoke was thick I pedaled through the flooded trees.
There's a blonde there with a buckle.
Who'd heard a lot about me.
A honeysuckle flower unmolested by the bees.

My chest was getting tighter as I pulled into her drive.
With a shoebox full of tapes, like a cowboy's loaded gun.
I'd swoon her with the stories that I'd heard a thousand times.
Better said by better men who'd wrestled bears and won.

It was 1994 my intentions were at war.
With my inner limitations, what could have laid in store.
I don't regret those words or the songs I sang to her.
I was painfully inadequate and somewhat immature.
If silence is a cancer boys then alcohol is the cure.

I never made my move.
It's a good thing that I didn't.
The Rolling Stones were right, sometimes you get just what you need.
She was chiseled out of stone.
They broke the mold God would admit it.
She could shake those Georgia peaches boys and make a bottle bleed.
Track Name: Thorns
It's dark as a mine for months around here, they say
It's bitter as bourbon on the virgin lips, of a babe.
And there's nothing to do on a Monday but drink.
Tuesday through Sunday it's more of the same thing.

Us NE boys are holding it down.
While the girls out in the SW, I hear they get around.
Midnight down on Broadway, The homeless men they mourn.
While the high school kids, are cruising the strip on Hawthorne.
Her roses never bloom, when there's no sunlight in June.
All that she's left with is a garden of thorns.

So you wear your apathy like a badge.
On the collar of your used leather jacket you bought, because it matches your messenger bag.
Beards aren't reserved for rednecks and truckers.
We're all just hipsters and sappy drunk suckers around here.
Track Name: Bare Bones
I can't sing like Austin Lucas.
Or play like Chuck Berry did.
My talents won't impress you out of that dress.
But my words just might win me a kiss.

Your freckles sure look pretty.
In the soft neon glow of bar light.
I'd venture to say.
There's some guy on his way.
But for right now that some guy is I.

Can I buy you a drink home Amanda
Before this conversation heads south.
I'm picturing you and I, bare bones and bare thighs.
Your strawberry lips on my mouth.

Can I carry you out to your Chevy?
Are you sure that you're OK to drive?
I've had a few too, but if it's alright with you.
I'd be a happy to give you a ride.

There's a bear trap on I-84.
But I know the back roads to dodge park.
With this half a jug of wine.
And whats left of the night,
We'll be fumbling for clothes in the dark.
Track Name: Teach A Man To Fish
Treat your mother well and kiss her goodnight.
Treat your mother well and kiss her goodnight.
She gave you life she'll take it back don't test her boy I've tried.
Treat your mother well and kiss her goodnight.

Son always keep your gun by your side.
Son always keep your gun by your side.
There's nothing to protect you but this fire and it's light.
Son always keep your gun by your side.

You catch a man a fish he eats a day.
You catch a man a fish he eats a day.
But you teach a man to fish and he will always find his way.
Son, don't ever trust what fishermen say.
Track Name: Summer
The nightly howl of clutches.
From beat up old Fords.
The heat on the street.
Slamming screen doors.
The street lights come on.
As dome lights go off.
And backseat romantics.
Fill dirt parking lots

And they go...

The boats down on the river.
They toss and they sway.
As lightning bugs flicker.
And dance on the wake.
The water tower rises.
Beneath and orange and blue sunset.
A more perfect picture.
I ain't seen it it yet.

Bicycles laid out.
In freshly cut yards.
Clothes pins on the frames.
Holding baseball cards.
There's a silence that only.
The twilight can bring.
It's broken by the crickets.
In ditches as they sing.

And they go...
Track Name: Porch Light
She said boy this is your last chance.
I'm getting sick and tired of this rock and roll romance.
Cause your gone for weeks at a time.
And I'm at home with the phone waiting patiently by my side.

So if you're not.
Gonna give it one more shot.
then don't bother coming home.
So if you're not gonna give it all you got.
Then I won't leave the porch light on.

Love is gentle, Love is kind.
You've been out there chasing your dreams boy, what about mine?
I had dreams of being a painter.
Having a family, owning a home.
How do you have anything on 20 bucks a night?
How do you make love, when you're always on the road?

I won't leave the porch light on.
Boy I'm better off alone.
Track Name: Tattoos
Jimmy just got back.
From afghanistan.
The nightmares won't go away.
All he can think about is killing.
While she's picking out baby names.

He's not as bad as you might think.
Just a victim of human instinct.
And put in that situation.
You'd pull your trigger too.

What we hear.
Is what we want.
What we see.
Is angry and rough.
What we know.
It ain't enough.
These tattoos don't make me tough.

Susan hops on a bus.
In a questionable part of town.
When a man in an oversized hoodie.
Walks up and asks to sit down.

She clutches her purse
and slowly slips aside.
With an awkwardness you could cut with a knife.
He didn't ask to be black
and you didn't ask to be white.
This bus is too small for stereotypes.