The Rider

A song we recorded many years ago with zero thought (on my part) to the band aside from A and B substyle choices in BiaB. So this was fun to revisit.

This song is a bit of American history (and mythology) and a whole lot of cautionary tale with regard to disruptive technologies. For those unfamiliar with the Pony Express, here's the Wiki. This genre of Old West music was wildly popular in the USA 60 years ago; Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs is my favorite album example of that style. Our vocalist learned to play the guitar by playing along to this album, which is pretty cool, and he REALLY enjoyed singing this song.

THANKS in advance for any comments/input. Know there's a lot going on in the forum of late...

Lyrics: R.W. Davis
Lead Vocals: D.A. Hughes
BGVs, music, arrangement, production, mix, master: me (Think this is my first posted BGV. Dusty didn't sing one at the time so decided to stretch a bit. He's obviously much more skilled, but I had fun doing this. So there's that. Ha!)

Style is _CNTRY34.STY (Melodic Country Waltz)
RealTracks in style: ~1123:Bass, Acoustic, CountryWaltz Sw 140
RealTracks in style: ~2050:Piano, Acoustic, Solo-Accompaniment CountryWaltzJohn Sw 140 (played MIDI transcript using Wave Grand Rhapsody)
RealTracks in style: ~2055:Guitar, Acoustic, Fingerpicking CountryWaltzBrent Sw 140
RealTracks in style: 1298:Pedal Steel, Rhythm CountryWaltz Sw 140
RealDrums in style:NashClassicWaltzSw^1-a:SideStick, HiHat , b:Snare, Ride
(This is the stock RealStyle. The piano, guitar and steel tracks were faded in/out to provide the dynamics.)

He’s been riding all night
With the bag in his hands
His horse is so tired
As it races ‘cross the lands

The hooves beat up a cloud of dust
He wipes away the dirt
He turns his ear towards a sound
As a bullet rips his shirt

Down a steep ravine he rides
The outlaws on his trail
He kicks the horse with his spurs
As he protects the mail

West, west, head west, young man
No matter who pursues
But you’ll get no glory
As you bring the news

A dozen men hot on his back
Their rifles miss the mark
His horse is fast and terrified
And they lose them in the dark

The next station is abandoned
No riders can be found
So he grabs a fresh horse
And continues westbound

He enters the last station
His final destination
All bloody and worn
His clothes are all torn

He dodged an uncertain fate
The mustachioed man begins to laugh
“Sorry, boy, you’re a little late.
We’ve already gotten a telegraph.”

West, west, head west, young man
Communication is desired
One day you’ll be replaced
By messages through the wires

He collapses to the floor
The crumpled letter in his hand
He thinks about his sacred oath
And smiles at the man

Last edited by DC Ron; 09/13/24 04:21 PM.
DC Ron
BiaB Audiophile
Presonus Studio One
StudioCat DAW dual screen
Presonus Faderport 16
Too many guitars (is that a thing?)