Innovative indie folk rock with consciousness.

11 MP3 Songs in this album (40:29) !
Related styles: Rock: Folk Rock, Folk: Urban Folk, Type: Political

People who are interested in Paul Simon Pete Seeger The Postal Service should consider this download.


Details:
Hammer In the Morning is the new musical project from artist/organizer, Mark Porter Webb. The debut release, âThis Machine Builds Blissfully The Unstoppable Force of Change,â is a rich journey through ten years of songwriting. Balancing insightful social critique with melodic musical orchestration, Hammer In The Morning makes music that fills the mind, moves the body, and lifts the spirit.

Lyrics:

Gonna Live

Iâve got some hesitations about being a man
itâs not that I canât fill those shoes
itâs that I know I can
but who writes our love songs
and when will they change?
because I need falling in love to be okay

and howâs my spirit today?
did I take time to stop along the way?
and how lonesome will I have to be
before I find God, or God finds me?
and whoâll write my bible and what will it say?
because I need living with soul to be okay

what would it take to recreate this life of mine?
who would I be if I were free to be anyone at all?
what would it take to recreate this life of my mine?
what would it mean to finally know how the song should go?
beginning to see that Iâm not what I seem
thereâs so much more and less to me
to walk unafraid of the stillness inside
like silhouettes of trees against a pastel sky
if I write a story what would it say?
or could I leave the pages blank
and write something new everyday?

And Iâm gonna live
live like I want to
like I want to be here

Iâm gonna love
love so completely
so completely sincere


A Story About Memory

if I could Iâd write a song
that we could sing to change it all I would
if I did that song would be
a story about memory it would

first we forget, then we forget we forgot

there was a time the Earth was flat
and the ships they sailed right off the map
but there was a place with people there
and on their coast those ships appeared
they resisted but nearly disappeared
death, disease, and the trail of tears
and as the temple tumbled down
the steeple rose up from the ground

first we forget, then we forget we forgot
through the door of no return
the ships brought slaves like cattle herds
people taken from their homes
to create wealth they would never own
the wealth was taken in those ships
far away and Empire was built
and this is how a âNew Worldâ was made:
a genocide and 12 million slaves

first we forget, then we forget we forgot
first we forget, then we forget we forgot

there was a war, we freed the slaves
but not enough has really changed
because people still work to the bone
to create wealth they will never own
when you got no property
you sell yourself like a commodity
we got stolen wealth on stolen land
but weâve got flags and marching bands

to help us forget, to help us forget we forgot
first we forget, then we forget we forgot

you and me, you and me
weâre actors in this history
you and me weâre the ones
organize, organize
there ainât time for standing by
you and me weâre the ones

Footprints

wake up, stay there
this moment is the only one
eyes wide, chin high
deep breath and an honest smile
mind here, heart here
living for the sake of life
not fire, not air
the miracleâs to walk upon this earth

you notice little details
when running through the bluegrass state
freckles kissed by the sun
the wind reminds you how your loved
and everything is wonderful
you wake to find your thoughts a joy
mindfully you touch your face
there is no rush when youâre already there

Y-12, Oak Ridge
smart people make stupid things
we canât forget the horror of our acts
some ran, some walked
each mile was filled with hope
our steps, their drums
the beauty of the spirit unleashed

her words cut right through me
maybe even found my soul
to live life with beauty
so simply yet so full
with tears in my eyes
I turned to you and smiled
we walked down to the gate
remembering our mistakes
and working for a better world

and now Iâm sure of who I am


Nica Winter

Have you ever walked in a foreign land where youâre never understood or quite understand why, oh why?
and all you need is a little love, a warm embrace or a friendly hug, and smiles, oh smiles

âCause loneliness is rain, same tired metaphor, but Iâve never seen rain like this before

Sometimes loving means letting go and the Nica winterâs a time of growth, yeah rain, and growth
but theyâre have been days when I need you, when the rood leaked and you seeped through like rain, for growth

And you were like that letter that was lost and not received, so I dreamt I was the envelope just to hold you close to me

Why do I forget thereâs more?
Why do I forget my soul?
Until the day I reach those shores, I will be bitter and baffled by the rain

I returned to the land of the kitchen sink, I turned the knob and took a drink of pain, and ghosts
âcause it all poured out when the faucet broke and my heart sank because it couldnât float for pain, and ghosts.

well 6 months is a long time, when the earth is dry, and 6 months is a lifetime when the rain falls from the sky.

Summer in Ohio we donât get much rain, except for when thereâs a hurricane of the coast of my heart
but the futureâs bright like a sunny day, if only I could find my way from the coast, of my heart

âcause love is a cornfield planted with the rain, with out some soul its got no roots, love is washed right away

Hold On Sweetly

Iâll sing you a song for the day that never ends
and it wonât be long âtil Iâm in your arms again
and itâs like you said: itâs not always about feeling better
and itâs like you said: sometimes itâs about knowing you could
So Iâll sing you a song for the day that wonât begin
and it wonât be long âtil your in my arms again
and itâs like you said: happiness is not about purpose
and itâs like you said: being sad is just lack of acceptance

Hold on sweetly, hold on sweetly
âcause things are easier in twos
Hold on sweetly, hold on sweetly
âcause things are easier with you

Iâll sing you a song for the day thatâs still to come
And It wonât be long before weâre living them
and itâs like you said: no one really wants to talk about this
and thatâs when I realized: all Iâve got is my voice and Iâm going to sing

Study Peace

this is a triumphant song
it wonât take me long to to tell you how I feel
this is a song of joy sung by a little boy
who loved to learn and then finally learned to love
maybe Iâm naive just because I believe
your smile could change the world

I know we can
I hope we will

some say that war is inevitable like kids hating vegetables
but hey, Iâve always loved broccoli
so this is a song of hope
the one that no one knows
except for the part that goes: la la la la la la la

this is a song because I know the world can be a-ok
and there is no reason to want it any other way
this is a song about cultural change
because violence is perfect at keeping things the same

this is a song with words, because we think with words
our thoughts are contained by our vocabulary
with the words in our dictionary we play cultural Pictionary
weâre given a card and we draw what it says
but our cards our filled with hate, hostility and rape
the pictures that we live are much the same

and yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
we can make it stop, put new cards in the box
with words that unite people to mobilize resources to meet needs
and if you want to say, something words wonât let you say
just sing with me now: la la la la la la la

what Iâm saying is this cultureâs changing
because we all need to love
what Iâm saying is this cultureâs changing
because we all need to love
la la la la la la la



The Fire

I watched the yesterday rise and fall
of the breathing deep, the breathing deep sea

just as the light, the light, the light
was leaving
curiously
in the morning
returning

inquiring softly if it could use a hand
rising through the cloud
it did, and we lifted

and the fire spilled onto the land
and the farmer chopped and watered
and I thought about what I must not think about
and I wrote about how I must change
and I shared the breathing deep with you
and you kissed me unexpectedly

one of your hearts is broken
you are letting me hold it
I am holding it

And it is an incredible thing how you love


All My Heroes

Punkâs not dead, it rocks suburbs
where kids want to be different and can afford to buy difference
thatâs strange, quite ironic
anarchy in the UK is now part of the market
things have changed, thereâs new context
mom and dad have a job thereâs no reason to riot
but where have all the factories gone, long time ago?

punkâs not dead, itâs just different
what was a response is now part of the structure
thatâs okay, in fact important
we must consume whatâs produced or the economy crashes
services jobs, corporate sponsors
late capitalism shines and punk is a product

counterculture commodified
take the image put the message aside
worse still weâre yet to respond
living life with the TV on
nothing natural about the economy
it donât work without you and me

punkâs not dead, its depression
but while you are passed out the world is still here
youâll drink, youâll sing sad songs
cursing a culture that just doesnât care
well Iâm sick, and Iâm sorry
and this is my tribute to you:

all my heroes are alcoholics
please donât break their hearts no more


Rojo y Negro (Lyrics adapted from the poetry of Angel Pichardo Almonte)

I have come clandestine to your door
my arms are bearing the dawnâs first light
distant is my name, name in love
distant is my name, name in struggle

I have come walking from where the storms blow
I have come to hold the tears of my people
trampled and battered

I have come clandestine to your door
my arms are bearing the dawnâs first light
I have come with hope on my back
far too much to carry alone

Bring with you the colored butterflies their wings red and black
bring with you the dreams of a new world breathing

Rise, stand together
let us work united making a path towards hope
Rise, stand together
let us work united threshing a path towards hope

A Garden, A Treehouse, A Swingset

In the backyard of my childhood home
there was a garden, a tree house, a swing set
my parents would call me in but I didnât want to go
Iâd say, âhey mom and dad, I ainât done yet!â
and Iâd be out there all by myself, you know just swinging along
and I am not quite sure what I was doing all that time
but I might have been singing this song:
ha-aigh ha-aigh ha-aigh aigh

From the tree house we used to jump
into golden leaves piled high
but the wood began to rot
we tore the tree house down
I had to say goodbye
but my grandpa was a tinsmith
he made ornaments for Christmas
he cut that tree house out of tin
and said, âhey now, weâll never forget thisâ
ha-aigh ha-aigh ha-aigh aigh

In the winter my dad would plant seeds
in trays under lamps in the basement
and in the spring heâd take the sprouts outside
to the garden with perfect placement
and in the summer weâd watch the vegetables grow
with great anticipation
and in the fall on the deck eatinâ green beans
with deep appreciation
ha-aigh ha-aigh ha-aigh aigh


Like Histories

I think maybe our lips touched once
perhaps not
it was dark and you were me there we were
silent
except for the trace of fingers finding bodies
for the first time
I felt you felt we me us felt
that it was no longer necessary to say what I had wanted to say
when you let the words out that you had been holding in
like hallways

And I wanted to say yes and you wanted to lead
and so I wanted and you led and we arrived
It was cold and I trembled and we waited
just long enough, but not too long
the kind of moment that needs to be awkward
so that all the rest that follow
can be clearly the opposite of awkward
that is to say
glorious

glorious, like hands touching the unknown
with little intention of knowledge


in the morning the light came in slightly
and there were birds
I remember this because I cannot forget.
I cannot forget
because our closeness has refused it
so now I am sure that penetration is a myth
and closeness has nothing at all to do
with filling up your space with mine
it has everything to do with creating our own space
and filling it together
with silence and sensation and story

so when, perhaps (again), our lips do touch
our kisses will be like histories
writing the present into past futures

Guitar, vocals, violin, digital percussion and other sounds performed by Mark Porter Webb

âThis Machine Builds Blissfully The Unstoppable Force of Changeâ also counts on artistic contributions from:

Daniela Arbizi- Cello, âNica Winterâ
Mario Asti- Lead Guitar, âNica Winterâ
Joe Blickenov- Drums, outro âAll My Heroesâ
Ben Johnson- Bass, outro âAll My Heroesâ
Felipe Osorio- Piano and percussion, âNica Winter;â Charango, âA Garden, A Treehouse, A Swingsetâ
Len Webb- Trumpet, âA Story About Memoryâ
Emanuele Sassi Zanichelli- Bass, âNica Winter

All songs written, recorded and produced by Mark Porter Webb. Lyrics of âRojo y Negroâ adapted from the poetry of Angel Pichardo Almonte.


A big thanks to:

Scott Soloman- Production and mixing advice
Jaime Rojas- Production advice and equipment
Irene Osorio- Graphic Design, love, and support
Diana Porter and Len Webb- Countless hours of patient listening and vocal coaching