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about

This song's history began with a line I just couldn't shake:

"Every day I wake up further from home"

When Buckman Page decided to move to Chicago I don't think I fully understood what we were doing. All of a sudden we went from playing to crowds of 100+ enthusiastic college fans cheering and singing along to nothing - - absolutely nothing. We got gigs at dying bars trying to pick up business in February with the "Tuesday evening crowd" (if you know what I mean). The line, "every day I wake up further from home" came out of that time, though it doesn't appear directly in this song. Over and over I wrote song after song where the crux of the lyrics were "every day i wake up further from home," but nothing seemed to make sense. That happens. Sometimes the songs you want to exist just can't. And that's ok.

A few years after giving up on that song, I was walking toward Lake Shore Drive, about to cross under the drive and onto Promontory Point (in Hyde Park). It was a gloomy early March day. The Point, in my view across a busy 4 lane highway, had a thin backdrop of white dreary fog - I hated every minute of it. But I persisted, if only to wallow. Walking the path onto the point, a distant Chicago skyline, dreary and foggy, came into view to the north. I hated Chicago for a minute. I hated winter and the cold and the fog; there are 2 - 3 months of winter here that I'm just not used to. I've lived in the midwest for seven years and I still can't adapt - (thank god for a warm winter 2012). It had never been clearer that I was far from home -

"where my summer nights were spent
in the stars, in (the) blue mountains
in a field with all my friends."

This new, flat, mountainless, starless, seemingly soulless, city left me feeling as if i'd wandered into a reality I couldn't explain or escape. My face beaten cold from the wind I headed back home, defeated and lost in a city that didn't seem to care.

Since I can remember I've always let out a thick belly laugh at the site of a crocus. Seeing a crocus pop up in Spring makes me forget winter for a split second. That year I saw, for the first time in Chicago, a crocus poke its head through a pile of 2-week-old big-city (blackned) snow and I let out a laugh. However unnatural this poor little flower seemed against a backdrop of soot and fog, I didn't care - maybe I wasn't far from home.


Special thanks to Bekki Lohrmann, my wife, for her guest trumpet playing on this one. Matt also contributed some trombone to the tune, a BP first!

lyrics

Oh, a crocus through the snow
It's cold in Chicago
I'm starting to miss my home
Where my summer nights were spent
In the stars, in blue mountains
In a field with all my friends

If dreamy memories were't such thieves
I would love it here
But as blazes of delight
flow through my heart I'm lost -
But every time I try to find home
I'm back in those old fears
But the truth
Make heaven where you are.

But i'm grown
like a king without a throne
Like sadness left alone
Old with none to show.
Where I'd sit
And I would stop to stare
Over seas of drowning cares
Never met, no cross to bear.

If dreamy memories were't such theives
I would love it anywhere
But as blazes of delight
Flow through my heart I'm lost -
It's every time I try to find home
I'm back in those old fears
But you, it's up to you.
Make heaven where you are.

But I'm unknown
Like a pebble never thrown
Like a sad seed on a stone
Waiting for the crows.

If dreamy memories were't such theives
I could love it here
But as blazes of delight
Flow through my heart I'm lost -
It's every time I try to find home
I'm back in those old fears
It's up to you.
To make heaven where you are.
It's up to you.
You, make heaven where you are.

Oh, a crocus through the snow
It's cold in Chicago
I'm starting to miss my home.

credits

from 12 Songs, 12 Weeks, track released April 28, 2012
Crocus
Written by Marcus Lohrmann
Performed by Buckman Page
Recorded, Mixed, Mastered by Stark Naked Records
Artwork by John Williamson

Matt's favorite line -

"But I'm unknown
Like a pebble never thrown
Like a sad seed on a stone
Waiting for the crows."

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Buckman Page Chicago, Illinois

From belting vocal presence to passionate lyricism, from rhythmic precision and elegance to powerfully sweeping guitar solos, BP presents an engaging sound both in their recordings and live performances that is straight forward, charming, and alive. Their music is raw, clear, and full of hope. ... more

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