Get all 19 Pi JACOBS releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Hallelujah, Coyote, Too High Too Low, Weed and Wine REMIX, Live From Memphis, Broken Cup Live, Broken Cup Intro, First Thing Tomorrow Live, and 11 more.
1. |
Broken Cup Intro
05:04
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Before I met my now husband, I had a perfect track record with dating – I chose badly 100% of the time. By my early 20’s, I could include the following types in my former boyfriends: The controlling one, who liked to point out that the DOG was getting fat while eyeballing MY tummy. The one who came to my shows and hit on women while I was on-stage, even leaving with one of them. The sweet one that never quite went anywhere, but years later I saw him walking a leather clad man down the street on a dog leash and choker. The one with an obsession for Middle Eastern women, who kept me around, while constantly letting me know that I was “Not his type.”
All of these unreliable relationships led me to make a list of dating rules for myself:
1.NEVER make the first move. (I could not be trusted to be attracted to someone nice).
2. WAIT to return any messages at least 2 days, a week is better.
3. DO NOT let yourself be excited about anyone you are dating.
4. Keep introductions to friends and family to the bare minimum.
5. Most importantly, BE UNRELIABLE – cancel at the last minute, forget to call, get caught up in something, or just plain “no-show”.
I was operating on all of these rules when I met my now husband, and I started our acquaintance out with a bang, by being really rude to him.
Being just 20 at the time, he couldn’t get into the bar where my band was playing. He was friends with our guitar player, and they cooked up the idea that he should “roadie” for us to get past the bouncer. No one had told me any of this, so when I saw him carrying our equipment, I said “Who are you, and why are you touching my stuff?”. “Shh” he said, explaining the situation. So, I let him carry my stuff. After load in, he started setting up our sound system. I didn’t think this was part of the deal. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked, “You better not screw up my sound!” It turned out he did know, and our sound was quickly dialed in. Then he asked if I would like a beer? “No Thanks” I said. I didn’t drink at the time, but I didn’t think that was really any of his business. He politely asked me again, a little while later, and the third time he asked, I said “NO, thank you!”
The gig started, and my (he) grabbed a table, and was joined by a date. This is the point where his story and mine diverge. Here’s my version: I, was doing my thing, looking into stage lights, and playing to a room I could barely see. (he) was sitting in a corner, where it was a little darker, and whenever I turned his way, I could see, shining through the blinding lights, a HUGE Cheshire Cat smile. For the first time I thought, hmm, he’s cute, but way too young for me.
HIS version of this story is that I spent the entire show, smiling directly at HIM. We may never know who version is right, but we do know that his date asked him if she should leave, the electricity between us being painfully obvious to everyone, except cranky old me.
After this evening, he started showing up randomly at band practice and suggesting that we should all go dancing afterwards (he was subtle like that). Slowly, we became an item. The first thing I noticed that was different about our relationship, was how calm I felt. He did what he said he was going to do, was unfailingly sweet, and seemed to like me despite my snarly attitude. This calmness made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I liked it.
A few months into dating him, I had an epiphany. I thought to myself- WOW, I’m dating a truly NICE guy - Oh NO. I’m going to have to be nice BACK - there go all my Rules!” This seemed really daunting, but I began to try treating him the way I wanted to be treated…. And even though it felt like walking on the moon, it also felt GOOD.
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2. |
Broken Cup Live
03:53
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CHORUS
I got a good one, Days of bliss and wonder
There’s no earthly reason for my dumb luck, So I pour it all out of my broken cup
V1
I am versed, In all the ways, Of goodbye
Divorce, Whiskey, Legal problems, Cheaters lies
I’m a pro, At what not to do, I did so well until I met you
CHORUS
V2
Now I know, All the ways, To run and hide
And I know, How to leave, Before you say good bye
I got skills, To deal, With the cheating kind
But a man like you, Requires a new state of mind
BRIDGE
You disarm me, With your kindness, In the night
You sing me, Such a sweet tune, I know everything will be fine
CHORUS
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3. |
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First Thing Tomorrow Intro
In 2016, I was confident, cocky even, that Hilary Clinton would win the election. That spring, I had gone on tour in Europe, and everywhere I went, people wanted to know “what is up with… we’ll just call him ‘Voldemort’”. “It’s never going to happen”, I would say, until I started to get annoyed at the question. It pained me to have the Europeans think we were so gullible. When I got home, I did phone banking and hosted parties for Hilary, and I was thrilled that we were finally going to have our first woman president.
The night of the election, we hosted a party. Twenty-five of our closest friends parked themselves in front of our TV to watch the results. Now, I have never completely understood the electoral college, but some of my friends know ALL about it. It was one of these friends who first figured it out. I believe it was Iowa? that was called for VOLDEMORT? Suddenly I look down, and my politically astute friend was sitting with silent tears streaming down her face.
At this point, most of us were still partying, drinking wine, chatting, and not paying attention. Suddenly, another person, got up and ran outside slamming the door. Slowly, we all peeled off into recognition of defeat. Some crying, some raging, some running away to be alone with their wounds.
I was one of the last to give up the ghost, “there must be some mistake” I thought. I was terrified of the idea that one with so little respect for women was going to be our leader. What kind of message did it send, having a known “grabber” in the White House? Were we women suddenly going to be assaulted in the streets while society stood by doing nothing? When I finally came around, only my husband and one of my best friends remained.
My bestie had taken a position out in our yard, where she was calling her family on the east coast, where it was now about one am and colorfully cussing them out for being VOLDEMORT supporters. I made her a bed, we had one last drink, and stared at each other in bewilderment.
The next day we took a walk. This particular friend and I have always been able to cheer each other up, but not this day. We walked with stomachaches and pounding heads, each trying to be the “brave one” like little kids whistling in the dark.
That day started a bender for me. I didn’t care. VOLDEMORT was president, and there wasn’t a dang thing I could do about it. I refrained from naming him and started happy hour earlier and earlier. I watched the news like a person watching a car accident - and drank more.
In 2018 I started writing a new album. In a co-writing session, we wanted to write a funny song about some poor soul trying to drink away their president. The song came out great but was uncomfortably parallel to what was going on in my own life. The song made onto the record, and every time I sang it I would inwardly cringe.
Eventually, I had to take the advice we had written into the song. I began to do activism again, and it made me feel a little bit better. The more I spoke my mind, the less I needed to make my days resemble a Lost Weekends. It was a relief, and I am proud to have participated, in a small way, in getting rid of VOLDEMORT!
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4. |
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V1
Well I been drunk since the election, Trying to make it not be real
Every morning when I’m hurting, I take two tylenol and deal
Every time I see a headline, I don’t think it can get worse
Well I used to be OK, But now I think we’re all cursed
CHORUS
First thing tomorrow morning, I’m gonna finally make a plan
Put this bottle down, wake up and take a stand.
V2
I grab another bottle, Can’t turn my TV off at night
I never thought that Nazis, Would come out in plain sight
They’re taking babies from their families, They say to make us more secure
But when those kids are grown, They’ll be out for blood for sure
CHORUS
I’m at the bottom of the bottle, Stagger from my couch to bed
Messed up as I am, I can’t kill these voices in my head
They’re saying girl you better show up, Even if it don’t mean boo
So that if the evil wins, You’ll know you did all you could do, yeah
CHORUS
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5. |
Rearview Intro
08:51
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Rearview Intro
People often ask me about my name. The name itself is another story, but I’d like to tell you why I love my name, and the new identity that came with it.
When I was just 19, a well-meaning friend strongly suggested I needed Therapy. After my initial shock and indignation, I had to admit I was struggling, so I went. The very first session, my therapist asked about my absent father, and I said what I had been saying my whole life: “You can’t miss what you never had”. Luckily, the therapist saw right through that, and after some time with her, I decided to go find this dad who had skipped out on me.
I tracked him down in Alaska, wrote him a letter, and said that I was coming. I might mention here that I had barely ever traveled, had no money, and was scared stiff, but off I went on a plane. When I landed, I went to the address I had, and there he was, walking down the sloped driveway from an old rundown ranch-style house. I had been afraid I wouldn’t recognize him, but he was as familiar to me as my own face.
His living situation was…. Sketchy. He lived in the basement of the dilapidated house. It was dark and cold. The first night there, I slept on the pool table, and was up all night, freezing and listening to animal sounds all around outside.
The next day, I went into town, and in with an outrageous stroke of luck, met a woman who had been through the EXACT thing I was going through. She had been adopted but had found and reunited with her birth parents! I can’t say exactly why she wanted to help me, but she had a daughter my age, and must have seen how scared I was. She invited me on the spot to stay with her family.
So, I spent my days with my Dad, driving around listening to music and talking about movies. It turned out we liked all of the same stuff. I learned a little bit more about his life. He didn’t have a lot of money, or any job it seemed. He would talk about winter, when “things got tough” and they had to kill a bear just to eat. Being Filipino, he looked like the Inuit in the area, and had assimilated into their community. He even had his own talisman. Besides his living situation in the basement, there were a few other things that were… ‘off’ about my dad. He introduced me to his girlfriend, an Inuit about my age named “Angel”. My Dad told me that he had “rescued” her from the street when she was just 14. I had no idea how to deal with this, so I put it in the WAY back of my mind.
Luckily, every evening I went “home” to my saintly friend, her husband and daughter. They were wealthy and spoiled us: inviting us to come to dinner, go fishing, even fly in their small plane to see a glacier. My Dad told me “I haven’t been in a white person’s house in 20 years” but I guess having me there, was enough for him to make an exception, and we did all of these activities with my new friends. It was awkward, but in the small minutes, it was the Father fairytale I had wanted my whole life. When it came time to leave, he cried and told me that he thought of me every year on my birthday.
When I got home, we sent occasional letters to each other, but I felt like I had accomplished my mission. Then one day my dad showed up unannounced at my door. He had returned to California to see my grandpa who was very sick. He had one shirt, and no money, so he stayed with us for a night, borrowed my boyfriend’s shirt, and drove us both, in my car, to go see Grandpa.
After a sad visit in the hospital, my dad was restless. We drove around San Francisco aimlessly, and at nightfall ended up at Ocean Beach. The highway cuts over the dunes at this beach, and to get to the water, you have to park and walk through a tunnel that goes underneath it. When I looked into the tunnels, I could see fires in trash cans, homeless people and addicts milling around and I didn’t want to go. My dad got angry and insisted we should go see the water, but I stood my ground. When we finally we got back in my car, my dad pulled a handgun from his jacket, put it under the driver’s seat and said “well, I guess I won’t need that anymore”.
Whoa… Questions shot through my brain like ticker tape: Was he trying to endanger me? Did he WANT a fight? Did he WANT to shoot someone? WHY did he want ME involved? At that point, all I wanted was to go home and so I left my dad at my grandma’s and drove away.
Later that year, when I transferred colleges, I didn’t give him my new address. I hadn’t formed a plan really, I just knew I didn’t want guns in my life, and that there were a lot of aspects about my dad that scared me. I didn’t know if this was for “forever” or just for now, but I definitely didn’t want to be found by him.
That first year at State I became depressed like I had never been before. I had terrifying, murky dreams and walked around campus afraid of everything and everyone. While most were partying and making lifelong memories, I was driving around the city, looking at concrete abutments, and thinking, “what if I drove into that?”. I had to start therapy again, and with help, I realized that I didn’t have to define every fear, I just had to accept the facts: My dad was a criminal. He carried concealed handguns, had no visible means of income, liked lying to and controlling people. He did NOT like white people, which while understandable, really sucked for me as his daughter. With regards to women, He was at best a creep, and at worst, a pedophile. As terrible as these conclusions were, once they were defined, I started to feel better, and even enjoy my last few years of college.
One day, about a year before graduation, I was in my dorm room, and I got an outside phone call. It was him. He told me that he had become a Police officer?! and that my school wasn’t supposed to give out my number, but he had “cop talked” them into it. I didn’t confront him. I just tried to and get him off the phone. When I hung up, I panicked, I cried, and then I wrote a letter. I told him truthfully, I was forever changed, and better for re-meeting him, but I didn’t want to have a relationship, or frankly, ever see him again. I said nothing of his underage “girlfriend”, his scary gun-toting behavior, or even the bit about finding me by “cop-talking” to my school. I didn’t want to give him anything to argue about, and I’m sure he knew all of this.
For a few years, I was afraid he would find me. When I was told I needed to adopt a stage name, I was all for it, thrilled to have a reason to drop my ‘real’ name. When I got married, I couldn’t wait to change my last name. Without realizing it I had created my own sort of “witness protection program”. These days, I no longer fear that he’ll show up in my life. I’m a new me. And that my friends, is the story of why I LOVE being Pi Jacobs.
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6. |
Rearview Live
02:56
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V1
She packed her bags, while he was working, Emptied out the bank account
Told no one where she was going, Headed west, out of town
CHORUS
It’s taken all of her nerve, but he won’t catch her
She’s got nothing to lose, in the rearview
V2
It ain’t so bad, starting over, Soon these bruises will fade
She’s gonna be a different woman, Dyed her hair changed her name
CHORUS
BRIDGE
It’s in the rearview, All them ghosts
In the rearview, oh
Go on ghosts, go on, go on whoo ooo hooo
CHORUS
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7. |
Party Girl Intro
06:51
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Party Girl Intro
I was one of those teenage girls who thought about things, a LOT.
My mom had raised me on her own, and I had seen men come and go from our lives. Some were sweet and fatherly to me, and some who betrayed us, like Scott, who lived with us the year I was in Third Grade, who I liked, and who had THE DOG.
THE DOG’s name was KESEY, for the merry pranksters, which should have been a warning to us all. KESEY was a beautiful, sweet Australian sheepdog, who immediately became my best pal.
That year we lived as a family – my mother SO happy, Scott always laughing and fooling around, and of course my best bud KESEY, it was a little girls dream.
One day I woke up, and Scott and KESEY were gone. My mother lay on the kitchen floor like a wet mop rag doll. Apparently, Scott had moved in with some other woman (Maybe one without a kid?). My poor mom had no idea there was someone else and was devastated. I remember lots of my mom’s friends, women in floor length hippie skirts, coming to console her. They acted like it was sad, but also normal, to be abruptly left in the middle of the night without warning. I missed Scott, and I missed my mom being happy. Most of all, I missed my best bud Kesey.
SO, when it came to boys/men, I was pretty circumspect. As I became a teen, there were messages EVERYWHERE, be fun, be sexy, be available, and oh god how I tried. I drank, I smoked weed, I took diet pills, I was stupid, I partied HARD. Throughout this debauchery, ¬I was smart about just ONE thing: sex. I wasn’t going be duped by romance, and I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone get close enough to hurt me in THAT way.
When I was 16, I fell in madly in love, with the “right” kind of guy. I considered this new boyfriend an artsy soulmate, for we were in band, choir, drama, creative writing, and all of our AP classes together. When we were cast as lovers in the school play, and had to kiss onstage, I would almost pass out before every performance. I wondered my heart could be seen pounding from the back of the auditorium. What was supposed to be small kiss, took on the epic proportions of Bella and Edwards first kiss in Twilight, at least in my mind. To top it off, he was the son of a couple of my mother’s friends, so in a way, he was already family, and everyone was happy to see us together.
The boyfriend lived 90 minutes from our high school by car, and with all of our after-school activities, he often would spend the night at our house. In my room. Being in
love, and 16, well, things happened…. but I always knew when to draw the line. As I say, I thought, A LOT.
One day, while doing all of this thinking, I made a decision. My boyfriend was THE ONE, I was ready, and it was time to go ask my mother to take me to get birth control. After all, she had raised me on the idea that I could talk to her about ANYTHING.
So, I asked. “Sure”, she said, “I’ll take you to the Dr.” When the day came, and she dropped me at the curb, I was surprised. “Aren’t you coming in with me?”, I asked. Suddenly, she adopted an authoritarian look, something kind of rare for her. “If you’re old enough to make this choice, you are old enough to do this on your own” she said.
I was shocked, but I got out of the car. I think I had imagined that my de-virginizing would be some kind of celebrated Mother -Daughter thing. After all, she wasn’t gross about it, but she had had boyfriends, and was open about that fact that she had a sex life, so I assumed she would welcome me into mine, especially if I did it the RIGHT way, with a capital ‘R’. In my mind, I had already decided that this was the RIGHT way lose my virginity, without consulting a soul.
The Clinic was scary. Full pelvic exam, and informative, clinical nurses. I left with condoms and a pack of pills that I was told needed to be taken for one month before I could safely do the deed.
The boyfriend had no idea I was doing all of this. He continued to spend school nights in my bed, both of us in states of serious frustration. That month, he became stranger and stranger, spending the night with me, then acting as if he hardly knew me at school. Then, just one week before I was “ready”, He slept with a girl who was one grade younger than us, and in my humble opinion, seriously not worthy of him. I was devastated, but also furious.
With just 3 days to go till I was “ready for business”, I confronted the boyfriend. I told him that I would be all his, but that I wouldn’t share. I’ll give him this, he was honest when he said, “I can’t give you what you want”. So, I threw away the last 3 pills, remained a virgin, and was sad for a few months.
Is this a success story? I don’t know. I know that my heart still hurts a little bit over it.
I didn’t lose my virginity for another year, so when it did happen, I was a whole year more ready, which means a lot at 17. People who knew me from that time, probably would say I was a TOTAL party girl, but people who REALLY knew me, will know that I was secretly just a girl who thought… a LOT.
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8. |
Party Girl Live
03:09
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Party Girl
Live Lyrics
CHORUS 1
I tried hard to be a party girl, All my days trying to fit in
I’m not Asian or Caucasian, Though I look it, I’m just the future before it begins
V1
Now Mama says I got that from my Daddy, I never met the man, but I aint heard nothing good
I’m too young to be pronounced a bad seed, I’m just the future, pre-understood
CHORUS 2
Well I tried hard to be a party girl, All my nights, desperate to fit in
I’m not gay or straight, but you’re gonna say it, I’m just the future before it begins
V2
And in 20 years a study will come, Telling us what we already know
All the screens and devices that connect us, Leave us more alone than history’s shown.
CHORUS 3
Well I tried hard to be a party girl, Most of my life desperate to fit in
I’m not fat, or thin and it aint your business, Yea I’m the future before it begins
BRIDGE
Whoa oh oh, Whoa oh, I’m the future
CHORUS 4
Yeah, I tried hard to be a party girl, Now I ain’t wasting time trying to fit in
I’m no genius, but I have my moments, I’m just the future before it begins
Oh, I’m the future before it begins, Yeah, I’m the future before it begins
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9. |
Weed And Wine Intro
03:40
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Weed And Wine Intro
How does a nice girl, in AP classes, band, choir and theater, who skipped two grades, end up dropping out of high school? There were a lot of reasons, but some of it was where I grew up.
As hippie kids, we saw weed getting smoked, from the time we were born.
Even though it was illegal then, it was a just part of our parent’s lifestyle, like long hair, tie-dyed clothing, communal living, nude beaches, giant pots of rice and beans, and of course, lots of amazing concerts.
So, it was natural that eventually us kids started to get high, and it was fun! Stealing our parents weed and running around the vineyards laughing and stoned in the sun.
My first inkling that weed might have a dark side, came when I started high school, and met the Pot Farm kids. They were different from us “hippie kids”. They came from the far north of Sonoma County, wore old clothes, and sometimes they looked so tired, as if they were 35 when they were really only 15. Occasionally they just stopped coming to school altogether.
A friend of mine filled me in. Their farms were not welcoming places. They had electric fences, guard dogs, and guns, LOTS of guns. Robbery was a daily concern of their lives: robbery of the pot, and robbery of the large amounts of cash that came in.
The wine kids, in contrast, were usually upper-middle class to rich, good students, and popular in school. Us hippie kids were not close with this group either. We envied them their big estates with giant gates and fancy names, and we may not have admitted it, but we also envied how “easy” they had it…. being…. you know… mainstream and all.
So, what do you do, when everyone you go to school with is supported by weed or wine? Well for one thing, it makes it really easy to party. Our parents didn’t notice their weed disappearing (they were smoking it too!). Wine was everywhere and considered “classy”.
Of course, us hippie kids had started early, and by the time we were teens, we considered ourselves experts at getting wasted. We spent our days stoned in cars, and our nights dancing around someone’s living room fueled by stolen
wine, and by 16, I had dropped out. l was on diet pills, and anything else I could get my hands on. I had screwed up all of my friendships. But the worst thing, was that I hated myself – and I was pretty sure everyone else did too. It had quit being fun.
It was a long, hard climb, but eventually, I did get my life back on track, and was even able to finish college.
Looking back, I’m not sure how I could have done it any differently:
The freedom we had, the art, the music, the smell of Sonoma dirt, buds, and fermented grapes, all made me who I am. I can’t regret anything. I love being from this unique place, a land that survives, on getting high.
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10. |
Weed And Wine Live
04:13
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Weed And Wine
Live Lyrics
CHORUS
I come from the land, Of weed and wine
I pray to the gods, Of good crops and good times
I answer to mother nature, Who aint always kind
The gifts that she gives us, Lord they get us, through the life
V1
Livin is high on a farm, With kush and cabernet
A 3 hour ride on the bus, What did you learn today?
The old man speaks physics and Nietzsche, And cleans out his gun
When the harvest comes we’ll all run out, And make hay in the sun
CHORUS
We come from the land, Of weed and wine
We pray to the gods, Of good crops and good times
We answer to mother nature, Who aint always kind
The gifts that she gives us, Lord they get us, through the life
V2
It’s hard to keep the kids satisfied, With fields and fresh air
Homemade clothes, homegrown food, They know what’s out there
Well 3 months of harvest beats working, For minimum wage
Lots of folks say they will leave, But they come back to stay
CHORUS
They come from the land, Of weed and wine
They pray to the gods, Of good crops and good times
They answer to mother nature, Who aint always kind
The gifts that she gives us, Lord they get us, through the life
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11. |
Diana The Hunter Intro
03:34
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Diana The Hunter Intro
Revenge fantasies were not a thing for me. I never used to take pleasure in the suffering of people, even bad people, but when the #MeToo movement hit in 2017, all that changed.
The sheer number of stories I was hearing from famous people down to my personal friend circle was mind-boggling. I was angry about my own #MeToo stories, but having that echoed by every woman I knew, threw me into an all-out rage. Suddenly I was daydreaming vigilante justice: Armies of women tracking down the bad guys, and legal systems that locked them up, and threw away the key for life.
Then one day I stumbled upon a story called “The missing women”. It was a gruesome and true story of Ciudad Juarez, right across the Rio Grande border with El Paso. The young, poor, women who flocked to Juarez to work in factories, were systematically being kidnapped, raped, tortured, and killed. This was first documented as far back as 1993, and had continued, until up to 200 + women went missing every year. Local police had never been able to crack the case, in fact, they often blamed the victims, suggesting that they were immoral or “loose”.
The reality was these women had no choice. They needed jobs, and the only jobs available, required late night bus rides, and EVERYONE KNEW that the Juarez bus drivers were procurers for the cartels that were doing the kidnappings – but, with starvation knocking, these women had to take the chance.
Twenty years went by, and nothing changed, until in 2013, a middle-aged woman, with dyed blonde hair or maybe a wig, decided she had had enough. In broad daylight, she would board buses, and shoot the drivers point blank. A panic came over Juarez, with bus drivers refusing to go to work. Then an anonymous email went to a local paper, and “Diana, the huntress of bus drivers” claimed credit for the killings. “Diana” became the number one priority of local police.
The women of Juarez, however, were openly supportive of Diana. One rider was quoted as saying “With the police doing nothing and a society that doesn't care, it is understandable that she took justice into her own hands!"
Like the women of Juarez, I found Diana’s rage and vigilante-ism completely understandable, justifiable even. Her actions satisfied me, and I fantasized that I was somehow in position to be her judge and jury, set her free, and raise her up as a national hero.
Well, it turns out there was no need, as Diana, and her true identity have never been discovered. Obviously, I am no detective, lawyer, or judge, but I do write songs, and I figured if ANYONE deserved a song, it was surely Diana, the Huntress of Bus Drivers.
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12. |
Diana The Hunter Live
03:31
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Diana The Hunter
Live Lyrics
V1
What kind of beast, eats its own? Ignores the pleas, of the weak and alone
They disappear, on the bus from there to here, You need the job?, live with the fear
The streets of Juarez, the dark of night, Aa girl is missing, by morning light
When the system fails, everybody knows, Diana Hunter, grabs her bow
CHORUS
You will know justice
You will harvest fear
Mr. Bus Driver, your end is near
Diana the Hunter is here
V2
What kind of land, betrays the young, Calls them liars, whores, scum
At a dark bus stop, hidden down behind a rock, Diana Hunter, hits her mark
Rumors fly, just what went on? When bow and arrow, rights the wrong
A vigilante, to bring a killer down, Signs a note, left on the ground
CHORUS
BRIDGE
CHORUS
END
Mr. bus driver, Feel the fear
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13. |
No Sin To Be Poor Intro
04:22
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No Sin To Be Poor Intro
I was four the first time I realized that we were poor. My hippie mom had decided we should “get back to the land” – to a tiny town called Fort Bragg on the coast north of San Francisco. We lived several miles up a long dirt road, grew our own veggies, and attended sweat lodges with the other hippies in the area. To keep me occupied, My Mom gave me three albums, Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty. I played them over and over again, singing every song and acting out the stories - to the point where my mom had to put the record player in the basement out of earshot. Being an only child, I was used to playing alone, and I was completely happy to sing in the cellar all day every day.
There was almost no work in town for my mom, who was cleaning houses, so we signed up for food commodities. I remember standing in a long line, and having people walk by and sneer at us. For the first time, I felt shame, dripping down my insides. The food we got was AWFUL: government cheese, and mysterious meat byproducts, but we took it home and made meals with veggies from our garden, which made it all pretty OK.
Eventually we moved back to San Francisco, and then when I was 8, we moved again- this time to rural Sonoma County. This was a shock to my system. It was the first time we had lived in a conservative area with only a handful of hippies, and we stood out. I went to school with wild hair and hippie clothes, bringing carob chips and homemade yogurt in a woven basket for my lunch. The farmers kids thought I was a complete freak, so I became something of a loner.
Our new house was right across the street from my school, and all of the kids could see it from our classroom door. It was a small, neglected clapboard house. The yard was full of weeds, and the paint was peeling. One room even had mold from the floorboards up to waist height on every wall).
I didn’t mind the house too much. I loved being alone, and I was suddenly allowed to go home for lunch. This was the best part of every day. I would heat up a can of soup, read books, listen to records, and watch our tiny B&W TV. Saturday mornings were even better. I’d sit on the floor in the sunny spot and dig into my mom’s extensive record collection. Sometimes she would join me, and we’d dance around – especially if I put on Stevie Wonder’s “Songs In The Key Of Life”. So, in general, I was happy with our house. It had the solitude, books and records that I craved.
One day in class, I got mad (I can’t remember why) and kicked a cupboard door. One of the popular boys said in his loudest voice “That’s why her house looks like that” and the entire class laughed. I was mortified. I cursed the luck that put my house on display, for the whole school to see.
So, I had two worlds: School, where I was the weirdo, picked on, poor kid – and Home, where I was rich with books, music, dancing and fun.
Around this time, my mom, became the first person in our family to graduate college. She got a good job teaching public school, and our financial situation improved. I was able get braces, and we ate better, but we never moved out of that house. Eventually I learned to live with the house, and not care so much about what other people thought of me.
My mother ended up teaching public school for 40 years before she retired. She more than paid back the government for the help they gave us, by teaching over a thousand kids how to read & write.
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14. |
No Sin To Be Poor Live
03:02
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No Sin to be Poor
Live Lyrics
V1
Oh Mary get back in the line, As if you got nothing but time,
You gotcha kids counting on you, Waiting on stamps for food.
But it’s no Sin
Three jobs and a couple a babies, Oh Mary you ain't never been lazy,
But you can’t make water from wine, You’re paying that rent on time,
Girl it’s no sin..
CHORUS
So Go on, Shine up those go-gos, Take A big solo,
Oh, dancing in the dollar store is no… Non sin to be poor
V2
Oh Mary fill out the form, let that bureaucrat lecture you more
Well he don’t know you, Never stood in your shoes, So don’t cha go look at the floor
No no it’s no sin..
CHORUS
BRIDGE
Now Mary don’t you go takin no guff, From some kid living up on a trust.
Or some lady in designer wardrobe, You’re looking good in them second hand clothes
Oh go on
CHORUS
OUTRO
Go on, Trade in those bottles, Cash for that lotto
Oh dancing in the dollar store’s no…..
No sin to be poor.
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15. |
Good Things Intro
06:12
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Good Things Intro
In 2002 I moved to NYC and fell in deeply in love with the place. I had never left home before, but I had landed my first record deal with a French label, and signed with a manager who was based there, clearly, it was time to move to the big apple.
The first night I was there, I hit up the famous open mic at the Sidewalk Cafe’. This open mic has had MANY famous people come through it, Beck, Regina Specktor, Shakey Graves - so I was excited! The moving truck that had my clothes hadn’t arrived yet and I was running low on clean things, so I put on a pajama top that was almost clean, and almost looked like a real shirt, and rolled on down.
The open Mic was run by a guy named Latch. When I introduced myself saying “I just moved to town” Latch stopped me and said to the audience, “Let’s give her a BIG NYC welcome!”. As one, the entire audience all screamed “F-YOU!” Even though I was taken aback, I thought it was hilarious and after my one song, Latch booked me to play a regular show at the club. Man, I had arrived!
I loved the East Village songwriter scene, I felt like I was home, that all doors were opening for me, and I was a part of a beautiful, talented community. Having that high, New York City bar, made me get better fast, and I could tell I was growing as a singer songwriter. It was all I lived for.
The city itself seemed like some promised land I had been waiting for my entire life. Just walking up the street I saw so many things I had never seen before, the stimulation made me feel like a giddy little kid all over again.
Eventually, I got used to living in the city, and some of the sheen wore off. My record deal was going nowhere, and my manager, seemed pretty uninterested. The money I had saved to move had long since run out, and to make ends meet I was bartending, going thorough crappy gig after crappy gig. My man was also struggling to find a job, and ended up having to take one in CHICAGO, flying home on the weekends. My beloved city started to feel a little bit lonely
Then, it got worse:
I was feeling run down and went for a physical. My Dr. called me back and said, “Your platelet count is very low”, explaining that platelets are a part of your blood that is responsible for clotting. She thought I had an autoimmune disease called ITP. It was either that or Leukemia.
In the weeks that followed, I contemplated that I might have Leukemia. I was terrified, and my friends in NYC were new friends, people I partied and played music with. Not lifelong friends I felt comfortable leaning on. Life in NYC turned very dark for me.
After about a month of tests, it was determined that I did actually have ITP. My symptoms were getting worse. I had bleeding sores in my mouth, and bruises from just wearing my purse. I was tired all the time and very depressed. I began doing monthly IV treatments. I would take the subway alone, to an “Infusion Suite” where most were cancer patients. I felt an awful combination of fear and guilt. Fear, for the obvious reasons, and guilt because it was pretty unlikely that I would die from my ITP.
After 12 lonely months of this, and NO local job on the horizon, my man got an offer, in Los Angeles. Now, like all good northern Californians, I was raised to HATE LA, and I did. I had been there many times to play shows, and I hated the car culture, the strip malls, the lack of center to the city, and the shallow people. Hell NO, I did NOT want to go. I was an intellectual, a New Yorker, edgy, streetwise. But I DID need health insurance, so I went, kicking and screaming.
My new Drs wanted me to try a brand-new cutting-edge treatment. It would be twice a week in the infusion center for 2 months, and then…. Wait and see…
That new treatment gave me my first real remission from ITP, and I began to feel healthy again. I started to make some friends, and get involved with the LA songwriter scene. The weather was sublime, and the cost of living, so much less than New York City, that I even seemed to have a little money left over at the end of every month. One day, I realized, I actually LIKED it here.
I had convinced myself I could only be happy in NYC - and for a time I was, and then, I wasn’t. I was so sick, I had almost stopped doing music and I didn’t believe anything good would ever happen to me again. Ironically, the LAST place I would have chosen, Los Angeles, turned out to have a very different, but also great life for me. My years here have been full of music, friends, and good things.
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16. |
Good Things Live
05:33
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Good Things
Live Lyrics
V1
You don’t look back when you go to fly the coop, An old guitar and a New York City room
Sidewalk open mic in my damn pajamas, I can do no wrong, I got a phentermine hammer
I’m in love with these freaks, I thought I had arrived, Surprise Surprise
CHORUS
Good Things, Yeah Yeah
Still Happen, Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah
V2
The good news baby is you don’t got cancer, Three percent chance that you’re gonna meet your maker
Once a month you take a cab to St. Luke’s, A needle go drip you sorta feel like you
It’s an autoimmune thing, So don’t bleed out tonight, Surprise Surprise
CHORUS
BRIDGE
Even, oh even, even for you
V3
So, I quit having any expectations, Save me from those painful explanations
Took my dreams, chuck em in the ocean, Current come around, you never know what’ll come up
No one’s more surprised than me, I thought I’d say good night, Surprise Surprise
CHORUS
BRIDGE
CHORUS
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Pi JACOBS Los Angeles, California
Pi Jacobs is amplifying the concert experience on Live From Memphis, an inventive new album that places eight original songs alongside the personal stories that shaped them. Recorded with a full band, live at DittyTV in Memphis, the project offers a sincere and sometimes funny look at her formative years, her family relationships, and even a few lessons she’s learned along the way. ... more
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