Song picture
Mama's Hands
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Roots, Americana
acoustic folk social commentary political satire western massachusetts oil coal climate change fracking incineration music for social change nuclear energy
Folk singer, social commentary, satire, people's stories, children's music
Hi Folks, The Bard Insurgent here. My comrade D.O. (the Poet Roofer) and I got that handle (The Bard Insurgents) from traveling town to town performing songs and poetry about people's lives. I've been performing since I was 3 years old, cutting my vocal chords on liturgical and classical music. I was a concert soloist as a child, when I wasn't herding cows, throwing hay and shoveling manure. During the Civil Rights movement and the Vietnam war, I began writing songs about social change. I left the country in 1970 and my dozen years in other countries, mostly in Africa & South America, have provided a global perspective to my music. My travels helped me realize that people all around the world are essentially the same in their basic life needs and their desires to live peacefully in their communities. These experiences have informed my commitment to working for international understanding as I organize at home. A powerful way to educate and inspire is with music. I tell people's stories, do social commentary with a touch of satire that I hope you enjoy and share with your friends, as well as sing together in the streets and in your living rooms. I also have children's music written for the children in my life with Jacob and Kayla as primary muses. Looking forward to seeing you on the road, Tom
Song Info
Genre
Country • Americana
Charts
Peak #30
Peak in subgenre #3
Author
Tom Neilson
Rights
Tom Neilson
Uploaded
December 31, 2010
Track Files
MP3
MP3 5.0 MB • 128 kbps • 5:24
Story behind the song
A tribute to my mom at 90 when she realized she could no longer play the organ for church services
Lyrics
Mama played piano when I soloed my first song. I was 3 yo, the song 30 seconds long She played piano for me at every talent show Her fingers moved across the keys and made the music flow. Poppey taught her to play in F, the rest she did by ear. She could recreate and rearrange any tune by ear And Sunday morning anthems to the congregation bring Transposing to a friendly key that everyone could sing. Mama’s hands turned a wrench. Her hands threw a ball. Her hands played the organ and the music filled the hall. Her hands cleaned the stables. Her hands shoveled snow. Her hands played that keyboard and made the music flow. Mama played at weddings. She played when people died She played with people laughing. She played when people cried. She’s got that music in her, and now 9 decades on, Sunday morning Mama’s still cranking out a song. One day in church I noticed – her hands a little slow Mama says her fingers don’t always move where they should go. Maybe I’m the only one who hears it when she plays But no one cares if a note or 2 is a little bit delayed. At home she says it’s maybe time to pass the torch along. For 90 years, 6 generations heard her play her songs. But she says she doesn’t know if she can sit there in a pew And watch another’s hands play for the Sunday crew. Sitting at her organ like she used to do. Mama’s hands turned a wrench. Her hands threw a ball. Her hands played the organ and the music filled the hall. Her hands cleaned the stables milked those cows in 10 below. And now her hands are thinking that it’s maybe time to go. Well, Mama’s wit and wisdom still is spread around And she still holds the rummy and the quiddler table down. And I wouldn’t be surprised when she hits a century If mama’s hands still playing these ole songs for you and me. Mama’s hands turned a wrench. Her hands threw a ball. Her hands played the organ and the music filled the hall. Her hands cleaned the stables. Her hands shoveled snow. And her hands’ll play those songs until it’s time to go.
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