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Dandelion ManHome: Venice, CA USA Elad Marish aka Dandelion Man is a wandering earthbound cowboy with stars slung in his eyes and hot songs beating tempo in his heart; a finger-licked love of the earth, the sky, and everything in between it, guiding his guitar picks. He lives somewhere in Los Angeles, but he can’t stay around there much. Restless, roaming, a little mad from always sensing the secret stories in the hearts of humans - he wa |
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He wanders mostly along the Pacific Coast, from the Baja through to the lost coast of California, and north to British Columbia. Through the deserts of Southern California. The ghost towns of old Nevada. The empty plains of Wyoming and Southern Alberta. Anywhere that the skies are quiet, the land is spacious and the spirits sing softly to him. One night, he can’t remember where it was... somewhere northeast of Los Angeles maybe... or maybe somewhere northwest or southeast of Reno... he was camped out on a little bluff overlooking a dried up lake bed in the middle of next to nothing, bundled and blanketed and campfired up against the cold high desert air... when this lady happened upon him. Though he couldn’t see her clearly, he remembers that when he saw her standing there, silhouetted against his campfire, EVERYTHING was clear. The world lay quietly open to him. He remembers that she knelt by the campfire with him. He remembers that she asked him questions that she seemed to know the answers to, and that he knew she would ask of him. He remembers that he felt compelled to strum a song for her, and so he did. He remembers, then, that it happened. That she was silent, the crackling fire softening with her in her reverie. And that after a good while - or was it only a moment of a while? – she spoke again, lifting her hands from beneath her coat to show a book to him. Her Book of Names, she called it. Her Hidden History, she called it. Her Lost Memory. And she told him she wanted to tell him some stories from it. Of a place she loved once, and a lover she loved once, and another lover she still loved, who killed him. She said that there were other things to tell. Of other places. And other events. And other beings. And an... an ultra-love of a larger something. She used that word specifically, he remembers that clearly. Ultra-love. He wondered at its meaning. Then she laughed and sang out, her voice echoing clean across the blufftops, “My Stars Over Shootland!” He remembers that clearly too. Then she was silent again, and he and the fire and the hills themselves were silent with her. He saw the fire slow. Felt his breath catch and hold. After that he really doesn’t remember much of anything else... everything is fragments... little shards of splintered memory....he remembers her telling him to keep these stories secret in his heart... the landscape wrapped around her, the stars bent close... he remembers the feeling, the feeling of the stories... the feeling of them, alive in him. After that he slept, and when he awoke, the fire still bright, the stars still alight in the sky as if no time had passed at all. A spark of wonder climbing in his heart, everything she told him came alive in him again. And then he remembered. She had told him her name. She had called herself überbabe. He couldn’t hold her stories in his heart, of course. He had to sing them into songs. And so he did. And here they are. The songs of überbabe. Her Stars Over Shootland. Presented to you by a solitary Dandelion Man.He wanders mostly along the Pacific Coast, from the Baja through to the lost coast of California, and north to British Columbia. Through the deserts of Southern California. The ghost towns of old Nevada. The empty plains of Wyoming and Southern Alberta. Anywhere that the skies are quiet, the land is spacious and the spirits sing softly to him. One night, he can’t remember where it was... somewhere northeast of Los Angeles maybe... or maybe somewhere northwest or southeast of Reno... he was camped out on a little bluff overlooking a dried up lake bed in the middle of next to nothing, bundled and blanketed and campfired up against the cold high desert air... when this lady happened upon him. Though he couldn’t see her clearly, he remembers that when he saw her standing there, silhouetted against his campfire, EVERYTHING was clear. The world lay quietly open to him. He remembers that she knelt by the campfire with him. He remembers that she asked him questions that she seemed to know the answers to, and that he knew she would ask of him. He remembers that he felt compelled to strum a song for her, and so he did. He remembers, then, that it happened. That she was silent, the crackling fire softening with her in her reverie. And that after a good while - or was it only a moment of a while? – she spoke again, lifting her hands from beneath her coat to show a book to him. Her Book of Names, she called it. Her Hidden History, she called it. Her Lost Memory. And she told him she wanted to tell him some stories from it. Of a place she loved once, and a lover she loved once, and another lover she still loved, who killed him. She said that there were other things to tell. Of other places. And other events. And other beings. And an... an ultra-love of a larger something. She used that word specifically, he remembers that clearly. Ultra-love. He wondered at its meaning. Then she laughed and sang out, her voice echoing clean across the blufftops, “My Stars Over Shootland!” He remembers that clearly too. Then she was silent again, and he and the fire and the hills themselves were silent with her. He saw the fire slow. Felt his breath catch and hold. After that he really doesn’t remember much of anything else... everything is fragments... little shards of splintered memory....he remembers her telling him to keep these stories secret in his heart... the landscape wrapped around her, the stars bent close... he remembers the feeling, the feeling of the stories... the feeling of them, alive in him. After that he slept, and when he awoke, the fire still bright, the stars still alight in the sky as if no time had passed at all. A spark of wonder climbing in his heart, everything she told him came alive in him again. And then he remembered. She had told him her name. She had called herself überbabe. He couldn’t hold her stories in his heart, of course. He had to sing them into songs. And so he did. And here they are. The songs of überbabe. Her Stars Over Shootland. Presented to you by a solitary Dandelion Man. |
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DIRECT URL: https://www.stockmusicsite.com/DandelionMan |
| ARTIST KEYWORDS: Dandelion Man, Rock, Americana, Alt Rock, Indie Rock, Folk Rock |
