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The TreK
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This is a 'mystical rock' song about someone wandering through mountains in a quest for enlightenment.
dreamy singersongwriter folk rock neofolk soft rock mystical
Artist picture
Michael Dyer is a singer-songwriter whose songs contain well-crafted lyrics and multi-instrument arrangements. He is a master guitarist and his songs are about
I am a singer song-writer who has written folk-rock, soft blues and soft-rock songs for many years, mostly to maintain my own sanity. Then, in 2006 I discovered music editing software and the joy of DIY music production. The result is that, in 2007, I produced 3 CDs () and in 2008 (so far) I have produced 2 CDs (). I perform all vocals/harmonies and instruments (guitar rhythm/picking/lead, bass, keyboards, didgeridoo, harmonica) and produce percussion through careful use of drum loops. I have also composed some classical music for solo piano and also for solo guitar. The music and score of my solo guitar piece "Hummingbird in Flight" can be accessed at my web page (http://michaeldyermusic.com). That piece contains very rapid, chromatic finger movements and is reminiscent of Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee" but my real love is composing and arranging folk/rock/blues/pop songs. I am also a glass blower on the side and so my glass creations tend to appear on the front/back covers of some of my CDs. My CDs are available at CDBaby.com, iTunes, Amazon.com and other web sites.
Song Info
Genre
Rock • Folk Rock
Charts
Peak #1,298
Peak in subgenre #79
Author
Michael Dyer
Rights
2006
Uploaded
May 18, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 5.4 MB • 128 kbps • 5:50
Story behind the song
I was reading a lot of Zen literature, listening to Joni Mitchell and living in a commune when I composed this song. The guitar is tuned to a balanced C turning and goes through a strange progression where 9 out of the 12 major chords are played (and some minor chords too).
Lyrics
A caravan of oxen lumber slowly near the place where I have slumbered. Can the morning’s semi-pace, have encumbered me so soon? As the crust my sore eyes hold in, opens, rusting iron bells do toll in the town I am to lose my soul in, down the road. Many days in lonely mountains, with a sun-trekked path and the only sounds in my head, of voices dead and companions lost, long ago. As I stand the hopeful gather. They wail and kneel but it doesn’t matter. With scattered souls running pitter-patter. Seeking the blest, but finding no rest. Can the mystic nymph of laughter, hold me back from the now and here-after? Can the priestess, with a subtle kiss, release me from this abyss? Can the child-man sage’s vision, come to one when one’s of age And the grave and death’s derision let me go? If so, I draw nearer and I soon will know.
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