Rimel & Proutt

When the Needle Hits the Wax

Analog recording takes the listener back in time to the intimate experience enjoyed when the vinyl LP was slipped out of its jacket, placed on the turntable, and culminating in the magic moment when the needle hit the wax. Recorded in the living room of an 18th century farmhouse, our goal was to capture the feel and warmth of our live performances. Analog recording, the precursor of digital recording, is captured on reel-to-reel tape. We believe analog recording represents the rich and authentic history of the artists who came before us. We have welcomed the analog and hope you will too!

This ‘old fashioned’ recording method is more challenging for the artist and the engineer because there is little overdubbing and because recordings have to, more or less, be captured in a single take. However, we feel that analog recording yields a warmer result. Also, because none of the recording can be digitally ‘fixed’, analog results in a more authentic representation of the artists’ talent. . Well, at least that is the way we like to think of it.

This endeavor is truly an in-house production, a cohesive collaboration of family and friends. Except for the amazing percussion work of our good friend Stuart Gunter and the beautiful vocal harmonies of Tom’s daughter Emily Shipman, everything else heard here is simply the two of us contributing creatively to each other’s songs.

Musicians:

Tom Proutt:  Electric, Acoustic, and Bass Guitars, Vocals
John Rimel:  Pianos, Organ, Vocals
Stuart Gunter:  Drums
Emily Shipman:  Harmony Vocals
T. Rock Phillips:  Bass Guitar Harmonics

Credits:

Analog Recording:  Stooge Studios
Recording Engineer:  T. Rock Phillips
Arrangements:  Tom Proutt, John Rimel, & T. Rock Phillips
Production:  T. Rock Phillips & Rich Cieslewitz
Design & Photography:  Brian Rimel

When the Needle Hits the Wax

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   © Tom Proutt

The room is dark and cool, pull the curtain on this day,
It was so light before, I like it this a-way;
Change the ringer on the phone from silence to ignore,
The mood is set, I’m gonna scatter LP’s on the floor.

The ground hum hums, the tonearm drops and digs into the track,
Dug in snug where it ought to be, time’s come to just kick back;
The balance is just so, leaning back in my chair,
All my favorite chestnuts propped against the stair.

Welcoming the analog, I’m in its warm cocoon,
I’ve taken off my tin foil hat, I’m howlin’ at the moon;
The players long ago, resounding from the stacks,
Time stands still when the needle hits the wax.

How about some Moody Blues, Brian Wilson, and Wild Honey?
I still have the disc that included 20/20;
The cover art of the records from jazz to rock and roll,
Complement with manuscript that soothe the heart and soul.

Tuned in to late night radio, FM underground,
Listened to album tracks, that’s where they could be found;
I’d look for half price new releases at my record store,
Not to mention cutouts and 45’s galore.

The music’s still alive from Vancouver to Peru,
When it’s digitized, I keep returning to

Welcoming the analog, I’m in its warm cocoon,
I’ve taken off my tin foil hat, I’m howlin’ at the moon;
The players long ago, resounding from the stacks,
Time stands still when the needle hits the wax.

Pieces of Dixie

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

There's a dusty road down Tobacco Row just off the rural route,
There's a weathered barn with its roof caved in that no one cares about;
The home place is in steep decline, it's about to go to seed,
And one last look for old time's sake, might be all I'll need.

That general store ain't changed a lick since my daddy's day,
By the time we'd lost the five and dime, hard times had come to stay;
Those old blue ticks on the Esso steps, they've seen a better day,
But then, so have I, so I'll be on my way.

All these pieces of Dixie make me who I am;
All these pieces of Dixieland remind me I'm still a Southern man.

The kudzu's like an urban plague, it's bound to have its way,
And life as we knew it here has fallen in decay;
I've heard it said so many times, you never can go home,
But then again, you can't escape the past we've known.

CHORUS

Unconscious shame still haunts us like an old gray ghost,
The history we can never change always hurts the most;
And Thomas told us long ago, ‘You never can go home,'
But in the end you can't forget the past, I know.

CHORUS

Sleepy Town

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   © Tom Proutt

Stars pass, windows shine,
The streetlights glow a steady line,
It’s just a swept-up sleepy town.
The walks are bare, the rails are wood,
Linger long enough, the parking’s good,
Just my type of swept-up sleepy town.

At the end of Main, the mighty James,
Railroad cars and baseball games.

The tennis courts will fill again soon,
There’s a huge white ring around the moon,
The farmer’s mart, and the past you can’t live down,
Another Southern swept-up sleepy town.

Bruce’s stained glass corner drug
Adjacent to the fire plug that
Keeps the peace when sleep invades this town.

Familiar rush of sweet despair
Brings a hush through cool night air
In this sleepy sleeping swept-up town.

At the end of Main, the mighty James,
Railroad cars and baseball games.

Passersby nod and wave,
Tonight is quiet as a grave,
The farmer’s mart, and the past you can’t live down,
Another Southern swept-up sleepy town.

Familiar rush of sweet despair
Brings a hush through cool night air,
Silence wins tonight, hands down;
Sleep tightly in this sleeping swept-up town,
Sleep tightly in this sleeping swept-up town.

Rosa Lee

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

I can smell those sweet magnolias
Down along plantation row,
The only thing that lights the night
Is the firefly’s glow;
I’ve got me a midnight rendezvous
With a pretty little debutante,
I can’t give her everything she needs,
But I can give her what she wants.

And what her daddy don’t know won’t hurt,
Out of sight, out of mind, you see;
A little bit of black magic
Might just work for me and
Rosa Lee.

She sashayed down by the cotton fields,
And all eyes turned her way;
Flashin’ her cute, little coquette smile
And her hips all a-sway;
And although I was soaked in sweat,
A shiver ran up my spine,
When she leaned in close and whispered,
‘Meet me tonight for a real good time.’

CHORUS

I ain’t nothin’ but his whippin’ boy,
And he’d kill me if he knew,
But the chance for romance like this in life
Is far between and few;
I hunger for forbidden fruit,
The nectar of the gods;
For a taste of honey in the rock,
I’m willin’ to play the odds.

CHORUS

Dad's Red Sweater

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   © Tom Proutt

Dad’s red sweater makes his hair shine blonde,
He’s the life of the party when he puts it on;
The life of the party a little too long,
This time of year.

The center of attention with a wide-eyed grin,
That’s what he is when he’s within
The sad old tatter like a second skin,
This time of year.

Mainly I’d say it stays packed away,
The cedar chest keeps the moths at bay;
At the start of the holiday,
It comes out with a cheer.

Found out once he had wandered off,
He was easy to find in the bright red cloth.
Easy to find with a mind gone soft,
This time of year.

Dad’s red sweater on mom’s strong arm,
The arm that keeps him out of harm,
Escorts him safely like a good luck charm,
This time of year.

CHORUS

Sailin' to Savannah

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

I like the taste of rum, my friend,
And I like a Southern breeze,
And I like the way that the red sun sets
Behind the magnolia trees;
And I like the feel of a dark-skinned girl
On a moonlit balcony,
And I like the taste of a Georgia peach,
When it’s ripe and ready to eat.

Sailin’ to Savannah,
I’m tired of being alone;
I’ve had it with the snow
When the North winds blow,
Savannah, I’m comin’ home.

I like Piña Coladas, boy,
And I like the smell of the sea,
And like the sight of those harbor lights,
Winkin’ and blinkin’ at me;
And I like a drawl that says ‘you all,
Come back again real soon,’
And I like the style of a Southern smile
That’s as warm as the month of June.

CHORUS

I like a hammock on a cool verandah
On a hot summer afternoon,
And I like the sound of an old piano
Bangin’ out a ragtime tune;
Shrimp delight on a starlit night,
How I like this Southern life,
But it’s nothin’ new, girl, that I love you,
And that’s why I’m headed south.

CHORUS

Daniel Boone's West Virginia

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   © Tom Proutt

Daniel Boone’s West Virginia was duly conquered,
Taken over by the where for all for greed;
Give your birthright and pride, in the Earth you now reside,
If you want our nation to succeed.

The Battle of Blair Mountain, the workers took up arms,
Damned if there was a tougher band;
And to the hills through the rocks and the rills,
The brave men fought to save the land,
The brave men fought to save the land.

They say coal, I say no way,
Leave it in the ground, leave it in the clay;
Tall trees adorn our mountains,
Let the air cleanse their leaves in its sway,
God intended it to stay.

There was once a distinction between Down and Dirty
And the fertile giving bosom of above;
When their tunneling required ventilation,
The company turned their back on love.

The miners were a-dying, their widows left a-crying,
Their concerns were to fall upon deaf ears;
When it came to the mine, there was no bottom line,
Your dead will not monkey up our gears,
Your dead will not monkey up our gears.

CHORUS

Mountaintop removal with Government approval
Leaves the company at least risk of decline;
The Man erased the land, now machines replaced the man,
Somehow this is supposed to be benign,
Somehow this is supposed to be benign.

CHORUS
Shake the grate make everything coal again.

Guilty

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

Guilty, I’ve got no excuse,
I’ve tried to quit your memory, it ain’t no use;
No matter what I do,
I’m still in love with you.

Guilty, I’ve got no defense,
Feelin’ this way, I know, makes no damn sense;
But what else can I do?
I’m still in love with you.

I know that it’s over,
I know that we’re through,
I should know better than to think about you, but I’m

Guilty, sentence me to life,
Bein’ without you cuts me like a knife
I’m confessin’, yes, it’s true,
I’m still in love with you.

I know that it’s over,
I know that we’re through,
I should know better than to dream about you, but I’m

Guilty, sentence me to life,
Baby, please, don’t you tell my wife,
Yes, it’s sad, but it’s true,
I’m still in love with you.
Yes, I’m guilty through and through
And still in love with you.

I Just Roll That Way

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   © Tom Proutt

Springtime brings out the fuzz,
Stopping cars, so what’s the buzz?
My stickers dead, the reason is was
I failed to pay the fine.

Write the ticket and allow me to go
On my way down to Mexico;
To buy some weed and maybe some blow,
I just roll that way.

Roll that way.

Dirty drivin’ on a stolen tag,
It’s the third offence, I don’t mean to brag;
Failed the breath test, my lady’s on the rag,
I just roll that way.

My car is grimy, and my tailpipe is bent,
Like my life to a lesser extent;
Just got out of anger management,
I just roll that way.

CHORUS

So lock me up and trailer my junk,
I’m difficult to manage ‘cause I’m drunk;
I ain’t no saint, and I surely ain’t no monk,
I just roll that way.

CHORUS

Panasonic Prairie Schooner

Words & Music by Tom Proutt   ©Tom Proutt

What’s inside this radio that sat so long and warm upon
The kitchen table, down the dark steps,
Placed next to where she would draw on?
I thought for sure the tuning knobs
Were permanently fixed on FLO FM,
Farmville Virginia’s pop gazette
With a Sunday sermon.

Years and years this old beat house sat derelict, long forgotten,
I remember visiting
Before the beams went rotten;
Poor old Eula prepared the meals for Annie upstairs crying,
Hard of hearing, a deaf ear turned,
The dishes laid out drying.

FLO FM - Farmville Virginia Pop Gazette’s Sunday sermon
Blared to Eula’s working rhythm,
Saving souls among the brethren;
Saving souls, I saved just one, AM/FM radio tuner,
I can’t believe I brought it home,
This Panasonic Prairie Schooner.

Washed it off, plugged it up, and listened to some dead crooner
Singing songs about lost love,
Panasonic Prairie Schooner.

The wheels weren’t hard to turn at all,
The canvas was a wood-grain plastic;
It carried all the breaking news to shut-ins and the ecclesiastic.

So fantastic, I wish that I had come upon it sooner,
It may have carried me away,
This Panasonic Prairie Schooner,
So fantastic, I wish that I had come upon it sooner,
It may have carried me away,
Panasonic Prairie Schooner.

Southern Comfort

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

Float me out on the bayou
Underneath those ‘Bama stars,
Pop a top for me, baby,
Hand me my guitar;
I’ve been too long out on that highway, girl,
But now I’m home and free,
And some Southern Comfort,
That’s all I really need.

Roll us up a big fat one,
Hey, let’s sail away,
I got no plans for tomorrow, girl
Let alone today;
So let’s drift on downstream to who knows where,
We’ll see just where it leads,
‘Cause some Southern Comfort,
That’s all I really need.

Let’s cook up some gumbo,
Yeah, some red beans and rice,
Top it off with some Jack Black, babe,
It only adds to the spice;
Your Southern fried is the best I’ve tried,
‘Cause it tastes like home to me,
And some Southern Comfort,
That’s all I really need.

Send me on down Southbound
To see that Cajun girl;
She’s the closest thing to heaven on Earth
Anywhere in this world.

It’s gettin’ late, ain’t it, darlin’?
Let’s head back to the farm,
Slide up under those covers, girl,
Wrap me up in your arms;
You can jump my bones when we get back home,
And rock my blues away,
That kind of Southern Comfort’s
The best way to make my day.

BRIDGE

It’s gettin’ late, ain’t it, darlin’?
Let’s head back to the farm,
Slide up under those covers, girl,
Wrap me up in your arms;
You can jump my bones when we get back home,
And rock my blues away,
‘Cause that Southern Comfort’s the best way to make my day.
Yeah, that kind of Southern Comfort’s the best way to make my day,
Go ahead and make my day.

The Last Thing on My Mind

Words & Music by John Rimel   © John Rimel Music LLC

When old friends ask about you,
I smile and say I’ve lost track;
I can see they’re all convinced,
‘Cause to them it all makes sense,
You’d be the last thing on my mind,
You’d be the last thing on my mind.

‘Cause they all said I’d forget you,
Though it might take a little time;
Now they’re all too glad to say
That, of course, they knew one day
You’d be the last thing on my mind,
You’d be the last thing on my mind.

But when that old blue side of
Midnight rolls around,
As I lay and wait for
Sleep to take me down;
Time and time again,
I’m not surprised to find
You are the last thing on my mind,
You are the last thing on my mind.

BRIDGE

In this lonely room they’ll find me,
With all your pictures ‘round my bed;
Though my pride never let it show,
In the end they all will know,
You were the last thing on my mind,
You were the last thing on my mind,
You were the last thing on my mind.