A Note Before:

When you make a new album, only about 20% of what you do is actually playing the songs. Doubly true if you're a one-man-show, like myself. Apart from writing, arranging, and playing the music, there's also mixing, mastering, remixing, remastering, remastering, remastering, learning what a "High Pass Filter" is because you just can't get that weird rumble to go away, questioning your sanity--was that a click I haven't heard in the previous 1000 listens?--designing the cover art, uploading the files for the CDs, uploading the files for the digital downloads (yes, they're different files), designing the webpage updates, printing the CD jackets, realizing you're out of CD cases and buying more, fixing the printer that you don't use a lot, so now 50% of the covers have those weird lines through them, assembling the CD cases once they arrive, promoting, promoting, promoting...and writing these things.

Outside of actually playing the music, my favorite part is writing these things. It's fun.

"Old Times" is my folkiest record since 2011's "Wayne County EP." And THAT was an EP! So it's been a minute since I really focused on being earthy and bringing the acoustics to the front. Although there's plenty of electric on this one, too. So I kinda failed at making a folk record. It's really just another Americana affair...but it's got banjos and mandolins and stuff on it. So it's still much closer to a folk record than "Boop" was! Or the Christmas album! (How the hell do I have a CHRISTMAS album?)

I had fun making this one and I'm proud of it. It has some deep-cut family stories on it. Some nice instrumentals. A song featuring my friend Mike (the first time I've ever let anybody else sing lead on one of my albums). And it's fun. I hope you like it as much as I do.

For now, let's get to the lyrics. I'll tell you more after that, at the bottom of the page.

Lyrics and Song Summaries:

Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout the raid went down in ‘28.
Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout the things they can’t appreciate.
The feds came in and y’know they brought the whole thing down.
Wiped liquor off the map, but they never could destroy the town.
Lots of people wonder, but about what, they just can’t say.
Even the newspapers washed their hands and walked away.

May not seem like much of nothin’
but maybe you just can’t see.
This town’s the only place you’d ever want to be
if you were one of us.

It’s a long bus ride that most people won’t ever take.
Broken down buildings, strange people, but the fishin’s great.
Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘less you come across the drunk of the town.
The church changed hands years ago and they don’t like strangers around.
Only got the one hotel keeps a close watch on the company.
Not too many come, but when they do, some people never leave.

May not look like much of nothin’
but it’s where I want to be.
Guess you only learn to love it if your eyes are wide enough to see
and if you’re one of us.

You can say there’s something strange about the Marshes.
You can say this ain’t the kind of place you want to stay.
But you probably wouldn’t fit in here in the first place
and if we were desperate for your attention, we’d get it some other way.

May not seem like much of nothin’.
It’s clear you just can’t see.
Maybe you’ll change your mind one day and you’ll be…
You’ll be one of us.

 "One of Us" sets a tone for the themes of this record. It's a song about small towns and how often the people from them are so in love with their town that they can be standoffish to outsiders. Come to think of it, big cities can be like that, too...I know there's a St. Louis/Chicago divide for now good reason, by example. (Or for sports reasons. Most dumb anger seems to exist because of sports.) But nevertheless, in this case I'm talking about small towns.

As much as a new person might be considered an "outsider," there are usually ways for them to get grafted into the community. It usually takes time...but you can get there. You can be "One of Us." (Gooble gobble, or Gabba Gabba, depending on your preference.) So this is a song that is part warning, part acceptance. Or at least the potential for both.

Something you might not catch is that it's structured after the HP Lovecraft* story "The Shadow Over Innsmouth." You don't have to know the story, but if you do, you can probably see the references. You'll notice that the word "Marshes" is capitalized in the lyrics.

I wrote this one about 20 years ago and it's never seen an official release. It was demoed for my then-band, Blue Tattoo, but we never recorded it in any way I can find. It's been waiting for a full arrangement and mix for a long time. (The harmonica part is a recent add.) I'm glad to finally have a version out there.

(*For the record, Lovecraft was a horrible racist who must not be emulated. That said, he did shape modern horror and his work can't be completely ignored--which I know sounds a bit like arguing that Hitler did have some good ideas about making trains run on time. Lovecraft is a RARE case where time has been able to be far kinder to his writings than to the person. And at best, it should remain that way. Personally I've not re-read his writings since learning the facts--which was some time after I wrote this song. But I think the story and the song are good.)


You needed to believe
so much more than I did,
even when I did, I know.
So how did that work out?
Was it worth the bridge you burned,
or was that just for show?

Not that you’re gone,
are you singing praises
or not saying much at all?
All I know
is that you tried your best
to make me feel so small.

And they’ll know you’re Christians by your…what was it, again?

We never worked it out.
The things you said to me
made it worthless to even try.
But let there be no doubt.
I wouldn’t have wished it on you,
despite the plank in my eye.

I hope you’re home.
Where you thought that you
were going in the end.
But if I had known,
I still wouldn’t have met the qualifications
to be your friend.

And they’ll know you’re Christians by your…what was it, again?


You taught me how to walk away.
I guess I should thank you for that,
I’ve had to do it a lot.
I don’t know what else to say.
I don’t know if it matters much
if I say it or not.
But I won’t forget you.

You needed to believe
so much more than I did,
even when I did, I know.

 This song comes from a sad place. I know, shocking right? A SAD Derek Brink song? Rare...

Years ago, I had a "friend" who I worked with and trusted, at a parachurch organization. The bosses decided not to renew my contract for the next year--I wouldn't be coming back, and not by my own choice. The company explained it to me as a financial/experience thing (I was 25 and a manager in a Christian academic library that was seeking accreditation and needed someone with a degree). There were not hard feelings there, at the time. My "friend" decided this was their window to tell me I was going to hell for no longer working there (?) and for playing music in bars, etc... They also made it subtlety known that they'd been sending records of any perceived "sins" of mine to management, which if true may have played a part in my contract being non-renewed. (Though there were other, equally sinister things at play, as well.)

"And they'll know you're Christians by your... What was it, again?"

I terminated all contact, making it clear that they were not to ever reach out to me again. Apart from one Facebook reply on someone else's post that they might not have even thought about, they were good to their word and did not reach out.

A few years ago, they died after a serious illness. While I do not think I was in the wrong to walk away, and while there's still some anger coming up in my heart retelling the above facts, I am also sad that the person I had a good time with at least for a while is gone. They may have never really existed, I don't know...but I've carried the weight of that falling-out and the death that followed. And for my end, I hope they're at peace.

If nothing else, 14 years later I left the church for what feels like "for good." So maybe they had a point, after all?

Thematically, most of this record is about "small town" stuff or things that feel like rural stories, and this one's a little bit of an outlier in that regard, at first glance. But a rumor mill is at the heart of this one, in my mind. And if you've ever had your name brought up in a small town rumor mill, hey...you get it.

Eddie went down to the well seeking water.
Eddie went down to the well and he prayed.

Said, “Have you ever seen this kind of drought before?
Have you ever seen the dirt so gray?”

Little time passed by–everything changed.
Little time passed by–skies looking strange.
Eddie went back to the house seeking shelter.
Eddie went back to the house and he prayed.

Said, “Have you ever seen this kind of storm before?
Have you ever seen this kind of rain?”

Work for something. Expecting nothing.
Hopes low. Patience thin.
Not every seed sown will be a seed grown,
but it might be enough in the end.
Can’t have a good year until the next year,
then the cycle begins again…

Eddie went down to the field seeking harvest.
Eddie went down to the field and he prayed.

Said, “Have you ever seen this kind of crop before?
Have you ever seen these fields so green?”

You’ve gotta wait.


 "Wait" is a song that (while new) has been germinating as a thought for me for a long time. I know a lot of rural people, including family and friends. I've heard a lot of farmers talk about their crop...and the theme is the same almost across the board... "How're things looking this year?" "Oh, I don't know, we'll see..." That probably means a GOOD year. While, "it'll be alright" means they're scared. Can't trust the weather. Can't count your chickens. And so on.

That's what this one's all about.

The banjo part came first on this one. Played on a Vega tenor banjo from sometime in the 1920s. I've had it for a while, but I don't think it's been on a record since "Wayne County" in 2011. The harmonica came next--but you've heard those from time to time on other records, if you've listened to my stuff. Then the rest filled itself in. This was a "tone setter" for the record, when I wrote it. I knew I was working on an album and how I wanted it to sound, from the first demo of this song.

Lyrically, this is the first occasion (not counting "the Marshes") where I use a name on this record. As with most Derek Brink songs, if there's a name in the song, I probably just liked the name and it fit the space. That's pretty much the case here. Although I do have an Uncle Eddie who I like a lot.

My grandpa played the banjo with four strings, just like me.
He played it better, I just play it loud.
I’m not sure if Grandpa would like all the songs I sing,
but I know if he saw my banjo, he’d be proud.

Some things get passed down.
Some don’t stick around.
Some things are forgotten along the way.
Even such is time, and most things work out fine,
But I wish I could hear Grandpa play today.

Grandpa also played guitar in almost any style,
but when I think of him, it’s the banjo that I see.
I don’t think he planned it, but I hope it makes him smile
that when he passed, his instruments all came to me.

Some things get passed down. Some don’t stick around.
Some things are forgotten along the way.
Even such is time, and most things work out fine,
But I wish I could hear Grandpa play today.

Sometimes I take things for granted.
I’ve been lucky in that way, in my time.
Sometimes I throw the whole day away
rewriting words, hoping for a rhyme.
Sometimes I get so mad at my own hands,
when they won’t play the notes I had in mind.
But I hope I’ll remember to stop and give thanks
for all the music that led up to mine.

My grandpa played the banjo with four strings, just like me.
He played it better, I just play it loud.
I’m not sure if Grandpa would like all the songs I sing,
but I know if he saw my banjo, he’d be proud.

 Don't know what to tell you... My Grandpa (Brink) played the banjo--with four strings, just like me. And so on...

This one explains itself, but maybe this is a chance to talk about banjos a little more. (Thrilling!)

There are a few different types of banjos, but most people will be familiar with three basic styles. The Five String (the type that probably comes to your mind first--think Steve Martin, Earl Scruggs, etc) has a high-pitched "drone string" that demands a finger-picking style. That shows up elsewhere on the album. The Tenor is smaller, plays in a higher register, and has four strings. Common in Irish music and it's typically more of a strumming-type of banjo (used on "Wait")--I tune mine in "Irish Tuning." Then there's the Plectrum style, used on this song. It's like a five string with the "drone string" chopped off and was common in Jazz and folk songs. It's another strumming type banjo. And it's what Grandpa played.

I have my Grandpa's banjo. It's in need of some fairly serious repairs, so it's not the one I played here. (It's very old and time, children, and grandchildren wore it down.) Earlier this year, I was in a folk music shop in St. Louis and bumped into a Plectrum banjo hanging on the wall. It didn't have a name-brand on it, but it was clearly old. The guy at the shop said it's a Washburn, but I think that's just some of the parts...it's obviously not all original. But I fell in love with it and told him about my grandpa and we chatted about how rare it is to find a plectrum out there these days, and so on. He offered me a price I couldn't pass up (it was an EXCELLENT deal) and I took it home and wrote this song.

(Instrumental)

 I like instrumental tracks. This wasn't really supposed to be one...but I ended up liking it this way better than what I was doing with a lyric. I've been toying around with the progression for years and finally gave it shape and put it here. Enjoy!

By the way, my cats really hate the tin whistle. So props to them for putting up with take after take of this song!

I grew up running across the highway
when it was two-lanes. There are six of them now.
The old town store fell to progress one day.
The farm soon followed. Wish we could’ve kept it somehow.

Time changes everything and the earth will take the rest.
So if I miss what I had, it’s only because I once had the best.

I treasure the keepsakes and things that have come my way.
But if I’m honest, the old piano is still out of tune.
When the time it right, I’ll fix it up someday.
For now I think I just like having it in the room.

I’ve got a rock from the gravel road to remind me of the ride.
But the best things are the memories I’ll always have deep inside.

I don’t know who bought the place
or if the blueberries still grow.
I don’t know if the barn or the pond are still there,
and I may not want to know.
Ray’s trailer was a nice one,
but it couldn’t save the land.
The days gone by are the best parts
of who I am.

I grew up seeing my picture in the hallway
with all my cousins and some of their kids.
Now we’ve scattered and don’t hang out too much these days.
Saying goodbye is never easy, but it is what it is.

There may not be a whole lot left,
but a little means a lot.
So I pay my last respects
to the Johnston Family Plot.

 We now come to a little chunk of songs that were at one time part of a bigger concept. "The Johnston Family Plot" was an album my brother and I started talking about writing years ago. The family name on our mom's side is Johnston. And being a large, Southern, farm-based family, there are a bunch of stories there. So Dave and I wanted to tell a few, alter a few to be funnier, and pay tribute to our family. The word "plot" had multiple connotations--plot of land, funeral plot, story... It's an idea I always meant to return to. Unfortunately, it was one of those ideas that we just never tackled for various reasons...

But I never let go of what I think is a good idea, so I finally did something with it. I've had scraps of songs and ideas floating around for "JFP" for probably 15-20 years. So some of what you're hearing here goes back that far--but not near all of it. I'd consider 90-99% of this song to have been written in 2026. I emptied the notebooks and connected the threads...but it needed a lot of sewing. (Or a different metaphor of your choosing.) This obviously would've been the title track of that album--probably the opening track. As it is, I like it where it is on the album. Just kind of a glimpse at the family and what it means to me.

The family farm sold at auction in 2024. There just wasn't any way to keep it in the family. So this song is me bidding it farewell, basically.

Walter Wynne got the haintin’
every time he went to town.
Told the children all about it
and the grownups said,
“Walter, put that old bottle down.”

He went whippin’ at horses and seein’ visions.
Picking up that jug might not have been the best decision.
But he knew he was surrounded,
everyone could see and hear it.
Stayed out all night, just runnin’ from the spirits.

Walter Wynne, what’s been haintin’ you now?
Walter Wynne, put that old bottle down.

I’m sure the details changed a few times
as the tale was passed down.
I’m not from the first or second set of kids to hear it.
But I think it might be my turn to tell the story now.

So, I went out the other night, just minding my business.
Took a drink of something strong and said, “Hey man, what’s in this???”
It hit me like a shot of pure white lightnin’.
Next thing you know, I saw ol’ Walter riding by…

Walter Wynne, what’s been haintin’ you now?
Walter Wynne, put that old bottle down.
I said, Walter Wynne, what’s been haintin’ you now?
Walter Wynne, I think I better put this old bottle down.

 "Walter Wynne" is kind of a family myth that I made even more ridiculous. I had the story told to me when I was younger about how Walter (a cousin? uncle? I'm not sure) would go out horse riding and see ghosts and have to ride fast to get away from them. As I got older I heard a few deviations of the same story, with subtle nods as to why he might've been seeing visions... Who knows what's true and what isn't? That's the fun of a story--by the time it gets down a few generations, anything might've happened. My version here includes the horse riding, a jug, and some personal application. (I purposely didn't spell the last name right, though...if my version isn't true, why pin it on the real name?)

This one's probably the most fun thing on the album. It was definitely the most fun to write and record. Another one where the idea's been in my head for years and years, but I just finally put it down on tape...or...put it up on the internet...whatever!

By the way, "haint" is regional/archaic dialect for a ghostly encounter. "Haunt" or "haunted" are more common now. But you might remember "haint" from one specific old episode of South Park, at least.

Ride on, Walter!

Deep in indoctrination that I thought was sanctification.
Whatever it was, the Lord was coming and I just wanted in.
I knew the truth and passed it down,
there’s generations of believers now.
But I did one small, stupid thing I still don’t think was a sin.

Somehow the word got back, and the elders about had heart attacks.
Sat me down and told me that they knew just where I’d been.
I said, “There must be some mistake,
I went to the dance, but did not partake.”
They said, “So you admit it!” and told me
I had to repent.

So I got churched.
I got churched.
I got kicked around, run out of town,
but I know what is true.
So, glory hallelujah, I shall not be moved.

As you’d imagine, I refused.
I would not suffer their abuse.
They said until they broke me, they would not let me back in.
So they broke my heart, but not my pride.
I know who I am inside.
So those Pharisees, those vipers never saw me again.

Cause I got churched.
I got churched.
I got kicked around, run out of town,
but I know what is true.
So, glory hallelujah, I shall not be moved.

I died in 1968 and those hypocrites did not hesitate.
They praised me as a church founder and a man of good kin.
Now a little brass plaque bears my name
underneath a stained glass window pane.
And the heathen they kicked out is letting the good light in.

And that’s church.
That’s the church.
I got kicked around, run out of town,
but I know what is true.
If you hang around long enough,
it’ll probably happen to you.
I believe what I believe.
It’s not your faith to approve.
So glory hallelujah,
I SHALL NOT BE MOVED.


 This one ended up meaning a lot to me...

If you re-read the notes for "What Was It, Again?" this one kind of spins off of there. The "friend" in that song was apparently telling my bosses that I was a terrible Christian and going to hell and blahblahblah... And it's probably part of what cost me that job. Church organizations can be like that. I often say, "If you want to get in trouble in the church, be yourself."

So I got drummed out and rumors swirled around and whatnot... And as it happened, I went down to the family farm in Arkansas the weekend right after. I told one of my cousins about it and they said, "Well you know that runs in the family..." and told me all about a well-respected member of our family who had decades earlier been "churched." To be "churched" in those days meant that your church reprimanded you and punished you, often requiring a public confession and oath of repentance before they'd let you back in. It can include excommunication or just a slap on the wrist. My family member got CHURCHED and from what I understand never darkened their door again.

What'd he do? He went to a dance. He didn't actually dance. He didn't even go inside. But he went to it.

What can I say? We grew up Baptist.

So he was out...but when he died in the late 1960s, that church was quick to suddenly forget about that... He was a church founder and when they remodeled the building, they installed stained glass windows, each one dedicated to a different founder. So his name was put on a little brass plaque under one of those windows. Suddenly the heathen who got kicked out was letting in the light.

I walked away feeling a lot better about my situation. So this one's for both of us.

You’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.
They’re here to see you and they want to say hi.
What will they think if you run and hide?
You’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.

Don’t act so afraid. You’re loved, you really are.
I guess it’s just an awkward stage; you’ll grow.
Even on the best of days, too many people can be hard.
But you’ll do great with this, I know.

You’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.
They’re here to see you and they want to say hi.
What will they think if you run and hide?
You’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.

If you want to play, nobody’s stopping you.
You might be amazed who’ll join right in.
Remember, you’re not a stray. You’re safe and warm, it’s true.
So come on out and make some friends.

I won’t say “don’t be shy,” that’s just who you are.
And I get that, believe me, I do.
But open up your eyes, you’ve already come so far.
And that’s all because of you.

So you’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.
You’ve gotta come out when the family comes by.

 I picked up a 5 String Banjo and have been learning how to play it. This was one of the first things that fell under my fingers. It's not complicated. I'm not tearing it up on the 5 String yet...but it's pretty and it suggested a vocal pattern to me. So this is what came out.

I had it in my head that I was writing a bunch of family stories and I wanted to touch on as much of a family dynamic as I could. I had my grandparents in there, and GREAT grandparents. And cousins, and uncles, and so on... But y'know who are often just trying to barricade themselves in their rooms when the family gathering starts up? The kids. And they keep getting drug out and waved around in front of 90 year old aunts they've never heard of before...and that just makes them want to hide even more...and...

...oh, who am I kidding? This song is about how my cats hide any time we have company. It just happens to work for kids, too! (Though "remember you're not a stray" would be a weird thing to say to a toddler.)

He had a blue wing tattooed on his shoulder
Well, it might have been a bluebird, I don't know
but he'd get stone drunk and talk about Alaska
The salmon boats and 45 below

Well, he got that blue wing up in Walla Walla
and his cellmate there was Little Willy John
Willie, he was once a great blues singer
so Wing & Willie wrote him up a song

They said, it's dark in here, can't see the sky
but I look at this blue wing when I close my eyes
and I fly away, beyond these walls
up above the clouds, where the rain don't fall
on a poor man's dreams

They paroled blue wing in August of 1963
He moved north, picking apples in the town of Wenatchee
And then winter finally caught him in a rundown trailer park
on the south side of Seattle where the days grow grey and dark
And he drank and he dreamt a vision of when the seven still ran free
and his father's fathers crossed that wide old Bering sea
and the land belonged to everyone, and there were old songs yet to sing
now, it's broken down to a cheap hotel and a tattooed prison wing

It's dark in here... (repeat chorus)

Well, he drank his way to L.A., and that's where he died
and no one knew his Christian name, and there was no one there to cry
but I dreamt there was a funeral; a preacher and a cheap pine box
and halfway through the sermon blue wing began to talk

He said, it's dark in here... (repeat chorus)

 This is a cover of a song written by Tom Russell, although you might be more familiar with Dave Alvin's version. Me? I first heard it sung by Michael Feldman.

Mike was my friend and musical cohort for about 25 years. He died in November of 2025, after fighting cancer for 8 years. I miss him every day.

We met because he was recording an album with a friend of mine and he needed a bass player, so my friend called me and I went over and started laying down tracks. Because of the advent of multitrack recording, I didn't actually meet Mike until months later, when he called me out of the blue (first time I'd even heard his voice) to thank me for the work I was doing and ask me if I wanted to play a gig with him in a couple weeks. I accepted...and that's when he told me that the gig would be in a prison. He was part of a prison ministry that went around playing songs for convicts. So I passed a background check, and the first time Mike and I ever really played together or hung out was in front of the lifers--the murders and rapists--singing songs about Jesus. I always liked telling people, "Mike and I got to know each other in prison." He always laughed at that.

From there, Mike asked me to be in his solo band full time and we launched into 20+ years of playing every church, coffee house, bar, county fair, motorcycle rally, college, Christmas auction, nursing home, private party, duck club, and anyplace else we could find. Started out playing his songs. Ended up playing covers.

I ended up needing to dial back my involvement and he spent several years with another bass player being full time, but I'd do fill-in gigs and he worked with me to record several albums and demos as his engineer and background vocalist (and even piano player on one song!). We kept finding reasons to play together and be in each other's lives. When Mike got sick, he told me about it at a rehearsal for a fill-in gig he drafted me for, and we put down the guitars and just talked for about three hours. Then played a gig that weekend. And several afterward.

Then COVID hit (canceling a gig we had scheduled). We kept in touch but didn't get to play another show together. But he invited me over a few times and we just sat with acoustic guitars and played songs and told stories. His songs, my songs, covers...whatever. I loved those times. In July of 2025, he asked me if we could do one more album together--just the two of us--and I could do whatever I wanted with my parts. Any instrument, background noises, etc...just have fun with it. I eagerly agreed... But after a couple of weeks, he texted that his health was "failing badly" and he wouldn't be able to go on with it.

We had dinner one more time, at a barbecue joint. And you know those times where you don't know it's the last time...but you kinda do? He was gone four weeks later.

So it goes.

But remember how I said we'd recorded stuff together over the years? One of the things he recorded at my place in 2015(!) was "Blue Wing." Just him and an acoustic guitar. I fell in love with that song from those sessions. When I was working on this, I dug up Mike's tracks and presented myself with the challenge--"what if...?" And I worked on it, adding my own parts, and got a small taste of what that last album might've been like. And I love how it came out.

So, Mike and I first played together in a prison. The last time we're playing together is a song about a prisoner.

I know you're "up above the clouds now," Mike. But stop by anytime. There's a Telecaster in the kitchen with your name on it. It's always in tune.

(Instrumental)

 This is another song I primarily wrote on the 5 String Banjo. One of my many quirks is that I like to record rain storms. I'll crack open a window, put a microphone up to it, and see what I get. Then, later, I'll sit and play guitar (or in this case banjo) along with the rain.

On this particular day, I was enjoying what sounded like a heavy, but not scary rain storm on a Sunday afternoon, and I started noodling on the banjo. I liked what I was coming up with, so I recorded the rain, then laid down the banjo track, and I had everything else in place within about an hour--it's short and it came together quickly. I was immediately happy with it and happy for the persistent, but pleasant rain outside the window that day. Hence the name of the song.

That same storm crossed the river into Illinois and caused massive destruction, killing two people.

...but didn't it sound pretty in my part of Missouri?

We only see each other at funerals,
‘cause most of the weddings are over now.
We’re too far apart and both of our hands are full.
And vacations cost too much to think about.

When I see you next time,
I hope it’s a happy time.
Let’s do something in the sunshine,
Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

We keep tabs a little bit on the internet.
At least it’s good for that, I guess.
We keep saying, “let’s meet up,” it hasn’t happened yet.
Every time we’ve tried, it’s turned into a mess.

When I see you next time,
I hope it’s a happy time.
Let’s do something in the sunshine,
Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.

When I see you next time,
I hope it’s a happy time.
Let’s do something in the sunshine,
Creek willing and the Lord don’t rise.

 "Creek Don't Rise" is my nod to my cousins that I don't see much anymore. It could be to anybody that I don't see much anymore though. Just, "Hope you're good. Let's do something sometime, if we get the chance." We've all got that. That's all it really is...

And I like the wordplay at the end. It's something I say with some frequency. So I said it again.

A Word Afterward

It took me two years--almost THREE--to do another album after "Boop." Well...other than the Christmas album. Which was mostly covers, so it kind of exists outside of the Derek Brink canon, even though the two originals on it are pretty good. Seriously, I have no idea how I did a Christmas album. That was nuts...

So anyway, almost three years since "Boop." That's a good album. It took me a while to write songs that felt like a good follow up. And of course, I didn't just want to do the same thing again. So I did this. And I like it. A lot...

But it won't be three more years waiting on the next one. I'm already writing it. Probably in 2027. Probably sooner than you'd expect. It'll be good too. And another stylistic turn. It'll be fun. But this one's fun, too. So is "Boop." And "*." And most of the others. I hope you agree. Now here's the "credits" stuff...

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In memory of Michael Feldman, whose guitar and voice appear on “Blue Wing,” and who was, is, and will always be my friend.

All songs written and performed by Derek Brink, except "Blue Wing" written by Tom Russell, performed by Derek Brink and Michael Feldman. Used by permission, licensed via EasySong.

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THANK YOU:
First and foremost… Dad, Susan, Dave, Valerie, Tessa, Patterson, and Melody. Tessa will be in college by the time this comes out. On my first album, she hadn’t even been CONSIDERED yet. I love that kid. She’s going to make the world the place I thought it was going to be when I was her age. Patterson and Melody will, too. But Tessa gets the first crack at it. She’s gonna kill it.

Deepest thanks to the Feldman family, who allowed Michael’s voice and guitar to appear on this album. Mike and I worked together and were friends for 25 years. It breaks my heart that this will be the last thing we do “together,” but I’m glad to have the chance.

Jonco and McGuire are, as always, the two best boys. Extra treats for putting up with the tin whistle. They REALLY hate the tin whistle.

And then there’s Josh Woodard, Bruce Lynn (and family of all sorts), Jim Ousley, Kim Carpenter, Abby Ellert, the Gambills, Bill Green, The Johnstons (including Sara, to whom I’m not related), everybody I work with, everybody who likes my cat posts on social media, and of course, my undying thanks to The Who.

And thanks to anyone who should be listed, but I forgot to list them because I’ve had too much Ketel One while I’m writing this.

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Influences:
I mean… Drive-By Truckers, Jason Isbell, Neil Young, Bottle Rockets, Jayhawks, Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt, Wilco, CASH, Nelson, Waylon, Kristofferson, Prine, James and the Shame, The Folksmen (no, really), The Michael Feldman Group, Old 97s, Glen Hansard, The Chieftains, Madison Greene, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Del McCoury, Steve Martin, Tom Russell, Dave Alvin...

But also… Pearl Jam, Tenacious D, Pixies, Collective Soul, Aimee Mann, The Tragically Hip, The Who (obvs), more Rush that you’d expect, Big Star, Foo Fighters, The Kinks, and so on...

...and that's it. Thanks!