Courtesy James Villa Photography © 2011
W.A. Fite
Courtesy James Villa Photography 2012
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Production Stills III: Video "Western In A"
Last set of stills....maybe...
Courtesy James Villa Photography © 2011
Courtesy James Villa Photography © 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Video: Western In A
Dallas-Fort Worth provides the eclectic backdrop of art, architecture and culture for the first video installation for W.A. Fite; featuring the track "Western In A". The song is a trek into the composer's past, recalling the loss of an early love for an equally beleaguered run at making music for a living.
W.A. Fite
"Western In A"
Poisoning the Medicine Tree
Hand Drawn Records / El Villa Films
Copyright Fite Lite Productions 2011
http://www.youtube.com/wfite
W.A. Fite
"Western In A"
Poisoning the Medicine Tree
Hand Drawn Records / El Villa Films
Copyright Fite Lite Productions 2011
http://www.youtube.com/wfite
Friday, February 18, 2011
Lyrics: Feet in the Water
Feet in the river, now calm the waters.
Dirty black toes and eyes that wander.
Clap on the lap and whistle nonsense, but please don't you shake the water...
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
Feet in the river, who's making breakfast?
We rose earlier than Mom should've let us.
Head full of hat, weary pant legs, snapping thumbs and whistle nonsense.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Feet in the river, who's gonna join me?
I'd ask Sister, but she called me ugly.
Called big Brother said, "Come sit beside me." But he's too busy with Neighbor Holly.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Dirty black toes and eyes that wander.
Clap on the lap and whistle nonsense, but please don't you shake the water...
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
Feet in the river, who's making breakfast?
We rose earlier than Mom should've let us.
Head full of hat, weary pant legs, snapping thumbs and whistle nonsense.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Feet in the river, who's gonna join me?
I'd ask Sister, but she called me ugly.
Called big Brother said, "Come sit beside me." But he's too busy with Neighbor Holly.
It's calm, the shade won't glide, won't move an inch.
The heat it wears, it wears me down.
My hands go brown, the mind clears up and out the head...I hear no sound.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Lyrics: That Ain't The Way (To The Heart)
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of liar.
It's best to get then go. Clean the pants and on with the show.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A bow. A gun. A dart.
A doubled down face of a liar, enough to catch a fire.
That ain't the way to get at me.
That act is not complete.
Them ankles look good, like them feet, so get them on the street.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of a liar...a liar.
A doubled down face of liar.
It's best to get then go. Clean the pants and on with the show.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A bow. A gun. A dart.
A doubled down face of a liar, enough to catch a fire.
That ain't the way to get at me.
That act is not complete.
Them ankles look good, like them feet, so get them on the street.
That ain't the way to the heart.
A doubled down face of a liar...a liar.
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Picture Show: "Western in A" Video Stills / Take 2
"Western in A"
Production stills from upcoming music video.
Courtesy El Villa Films and James Villa Photography
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Paunch Gut. Speedy Nose.
A paunch gut and a speedy nose, the middle child of three, both now a man and my foe. Not in a fiendish sense, but in the place of a deterrent; one that would not allow me to fulfill my own time as I incessantly metered his watch during his slow decline.
The man was wildly incoherent for most of his mid-life, which was for him, only the age of 32. I had not the intention of predicting his short lifespan, but it was rather impossible to dismiss, being part of an ongoing conversation amongst the ones who knew him the worst.
I would not like to trifle his life; conversely he was one of my closest friends. I would only like to say that I knew him, and in knowing him I instinctively did not trace his steps, seeing that they were ones only a fool or lonely heart would dare to take.
Perhaps that drops him into one of the two tattered categories, which would probably not offend a man with so distended a stomach. As a man like that lends himself to consumption, but little else.
The man was wildly incoherent for most of his mid-life, which was for him, only the age of 32. I had not the intention of predicting his short lifespan, but it was rather impossible to dismiss, being part of an ongoing conversation amongst the ones who knew him the worst.
I would not like to trifle his life; conversely he was one of my closest friends. I would only like to say that I knew him, and in knowing him I instinctively did not trace his steps, seeing that they were ones only a fool or lonely heart would dare to take.
Perhaps that drops him into one of the two tattered categories, which would probably not offend a man with so distended a stomach. As a man like that lends himself to consumption, but little else.
Friday, January 28, 2011
ALBUM ART: Poisoning the Medicine Tree
"Poisoning the Medicine Tree" by W.A. Fite
Artwork by Dustin Blocker
Monday, January 10, 2011
Lyrics: Jack
Waters mix with the paint and brush. An orange fleck stroke makes your Granpa's hand rush.
People who wait, are the ones who mind. They mind their Mothers. They mind their hairlines.
Will you be just like me?
Resigned to draw your walls in colored streaks?
Should we keep the house unlocked when we leave?
Your Mother preens and primps the house. She wipes the tables, wipes your mouth.
The clothes have grown big, with closets small. The pets go wild waiting in the cramped hall.
Will you be just like me?
Restless at the age where most find peace?
A cold day in December, one marked in ink.
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That only brave men dine in the Captain's seat.
Will you be just like me?
Slow to write your numbers, slow to speak?
Should your Mother and I wait up till you sleep?
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That we're all tied bound to the Family Tree.
People who wait, are the ones who mind. They mind their Mothers. They mind their hairlines.
Will you be just like me?
Resigned to draw your walls in colored streaks?
Should we keep the house unlocked when we leave?
Your Mother preens and primps the house. She wipes the tables, wipes your mouth.
The clothes have grown big, with closets small. The pets go wild waiting in the cramped hall.
Will you be just like me?
Restless at the age where most find peace?
A cold day in December, one marked in ink.
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That only brave men dine in the Captain's seat.
Will you be just like me?
Slow to write your numbers, slow to speak?
Should your Mother and I wait up till you sleep?
Son you'll see...I'll give you words to see.
That we're all tied bound to the Family Tree.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Production Stills: W.A. Fite Video "Western In A"
Video Stills "Western In A" by W.A. Fite
Courtesy James Villa Photography
El Villa Films / Fite Lite Productions 2010
Courtesy James Villa Photography
El Villa Films / Fite Lite Productions 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Lyrics: Carney's Lake
Fishing with the fiddle at the old man's place.
Hooking big and little out at Carney's Lake.
The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet.
Big John's stroke hadn't took his legs.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
Fussing with the signal on my grandpa's set.
Indians and armies flicker while we rest.
The Main Street bust hadn't hit us yet.
Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.
The trees bend deep to the woods.
The wild eyed boy found his soul.
Soil ain't dirty when it's mixed with work.
Soul ain't worth a penny when it's got no hope.
Wishing, praying, dreaming that our bellies grow.
Edmund Junior's Grocery hadn't been closed yet.
The Town Hall scandal hadn't been broke yet.
The wind blows soft in the house where I was raised lost it's walls.
The smell of spring fills the halls; halls I remember at Carney's Lake.
Fishing with the fiddle at the old man's place.
Waiting for a smile from the old man's face.
The love of another hadn't took him yet.
The scent of his wife hadn't left him yet.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
Halls that I remember out at Carney's Lake...hooking big and little out at old man's place. The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet. Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
Hooking big and little out at Carney's Lake.
The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet.
Big John's stroke hadn't took his legs.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
Fussing with the signal on my grandpa's set.
Indians and armies flicker while we rest.
The Main Street bust hadn't hit us yet.
Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.
The trees bend deep to the woods.
The wild eyed boy found his soul.
Soil ain't dirty when it's mixed with work.
Soul ain't worth a penny when it's got no hope.
Wishing, praying, dreaming that our bellies grow.
Edmund Junior's Grocery hadn't been closed yet.
The Town Hall scandal hadn't been broke yet.
The wind blows soft in the house where I was raised lost it's walls.
The smell of spring fills the halls; halls I remember at Carney's Lake.
Fishing with the fiddle at the old man's place.
Waiting for a smile from the old man's face.
The love of another hadn't took him yet.
The scent of his wife hadn't left him yet.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
Halls that I remember out at Carney's Lake...hooking big and little out at old man's place. The White Rock Flood hadn't hit us yet. Pa's poor heart hadn't quit just yet.
Whistle overhead...the rockets shake...exploding greens and reds in soft cascades.
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