Today marks twenty-one years since Dave Carter died. I published this as a Note on Facebook on this day in 2010, but since Facebook has shut down that feature, I‘ve begun the migration of many of my Notes to Medium, editing them a bit in the process.
Yesterday, I clicked through to my friend Guy-Michael Grande’s YouTube page, and listened to his version of Dave Carter’s “Merlin’s Lament” when I decided to listen the original version. Recalling that Dave died a week or so before the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival weekend (the last weekend in July), I looked up what the exact date was. That day was eight years ago today.
I then went back to the Dave-and-Tracy Yahoo! Group archives to find a couple of things I’d posted, which I’ve re-posted below (with a couple of edits): the first was written the day he died; the latter written the following day, as all of us on the list tried to catch our collective breath about the news.
There is something wrong with a world without Dave Carter.
When I Go [19 July 2002]
I often fancy myself a songwriter.
However, when I’ve stepped back and considered the likes of Dave Carter or Richard Shindell (amongst others), I hardly consider that my adventures with the pen and guitar approach the level of what either of these two have no doubt left on the proverbial editing room floor.
I saw Dave and Tracy for the first time in Albuquerque, New Mexico at a North American Folk Alliance conference showcase. I had heard so much about them on a couple of listservs I subscribed to and I wanted to finally find out what the big hubbub was about. It didn’t take long to understand why the raves came so often and excitedly. They played three songs: When I Go, The River, Where She Sleeps and Kate And The Ghost Of Lost Love.
I sat with a wonder that people must have experienced when they witnessed “It’s All Right Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” or the like coming from the mouth of twenty-year-old Bob Dylan… the ability to crystalize such broad, deep “humanscapes” into a couple of minutes worth of song left me feeling so lucky to be living on this planet at the same time as this amazing songwriter; this wonderfully woven entity known as Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer.
Last year sometime, shortly after the release of their record drum hat buddha, after listening several times to “Gentle Arms Of Eden” (which floored me when I first heard it at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival a couple of years ago, then floored me yet again three months later after hearing his story of its origin) or “Ordinary Town” or “Merlin’s Lament”, I wondered what it was that made Dave the great songwriter that he was.
All I could really come up with was that he was completely consumed with wonder, that he was constantly searching for something; he was driven to learn, to know.
At some point, as I pondered Dave Carter (while ignoring my work), words and music took form in my head and by week’s end I had written a song for Dave. I e-mailed the lyrics to him along with my somewhat lengthy dissertation about how it came to be (proclaiming him a genius in the process). and he politely responded that he’d be happy to hear it some time. I was prepared to play it for him last year at Falcon Ridge, but couldn’t make the leap. I had planned on trying to summon the courage to do it this year.
Alas…
I can’t claim to have been a friend of Dave Carter’s, although I think he finally came to recognize me in small crowds whilst I wore a name badge. He and Tracy played at my coffeehouse series once (I take pride in being the first presenter in Michigan to book them) and I was in the process of booking them again for March of 2003 when he died. As we all know, he was a special, gifted person, and I will mourn his passing, for I believe he was as genuine a person as I will ever meet. I will mourn for Tracy, whom Dave clearly deeply loved, honoured and respected; I will mourn for the songs that Dave had yet to write, and for those that must live on now without his voice to sing them.
SERIOUS MAN (for DC)
Copyright 2023 by Patrick T. Power
He’s a serious man
With the eyes of a beggar
Who looks for a meal;
Who does what he can;
Whose only forever
Spins ‘round like a wheel
He’s a serious man
In the eyes of a stranger
Who passes him by;
Who looks when he can
In spite of the danger
Of catching his eye
Sometimes I trip, sometimes I fall
And all I know is: I know nothing at all
He’s a serious man
His eyes see a glory
In the shadows of grace.
He holds in his hand
A song and a story —
A hobo’s embrace
Sometimes I run, sometimes I crawl
And all I know is: I know nothing at all
He’s a serious man
With the eyes of a sparrow
And the soul of a dove
Who speaks when he can;
And, like the pierce of an arrow,
He spends out his love
Sometimes I rush, sometimes I stall
And all I know is: I know nothing at all
He’s a serious man.
When I Go [20 July 2002]
As a testament to Dave’s kindness…
I drove to Grand Rapids, Michigan (about an hour west of here) a little over a year ago to catch Dave and Tracy at the local folk arts’ coffeehouse. The show was in a very lovely theatre (250 capacity or so) within a public museum.
About thirty people showed up.
Given all the miles that they were apt to drive any time they toured out this way*, it had to be thoroughly disappointing to play to such a small crowd, especially for what was surely a small guarantee. Dave told me that it was probably the smallest crowd they’d played to in some time (outside of house concerts). Tracy said that it was rather difficult to get up for the show, especially considering that it was the first show of the tour after having been on the road for three days.
Still, after the show was over, after chatting with people and signing CDs, and with 11:00 drawing nigh, someone who had arrived late for the concert boldly asked for Dave and Tracy to sing “Gentle Arms Of Eden” again.
And there, in the vestibule of the theatre, they did.
Grace.
*Dave and Tracy lived in Portland, Oregon.
