Machine

By Eric Smith (2000)

This song is actual history. I was waiting for someone in my car outside of a therapist’s office. Having forgotten to bring something along to read I found an old City Beat (a free weekly magazine detailing “cultural” events in Cincinnati)under the trash in my car. To my surprise, there was an article about a local bar / laundromat combo that was known for showcasing local music in Cincinnati (at the time, a very rare thing - cover bands were a dime a dozen). To my shock, the article stated that this establishment would no longer be showcasing live music at all! It was always the hope of members of the Hill to get our big break by playing live in this venue. That hope was dashed upon the rocks (it seemed). Shortly after writing this song, the bar / Laundromat resumed showcasing live, original, local music. I’d like to take credit for this turnabout but I can’t (unless it was the result of some sort of mental telepathy between myself and the owners of this establishment).

When I heard the news about you

I was sitting in my car with nothing to do

I’d forgotten to bring along something to read

I found a 3 month old City Beat

They said it was over - the music was gone

You can hear the machines - but never a song

You stood all alone in what you stood for

All alone when time closed your doors

You encouraged creativity and free expression

From delicate prose to raw aggression

Now all that’s over - the music is gone

You can hear the machines - but never a song

But nothing is final, nothing’s complete

We’ll get a place to play, on gold paved streets

One day I know that we will find it

A place to play where nobody minds it

We’ll strum and we’ll sing until our hearts’ are content

We’ll wake up the next day and do it again

It not all over - the music lives on

No more machines - and always a song

Always a song. . .

Forever a song. . .