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Jon Gomm - The Weather Machine

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Published on Aug 18, 2015

Pay What You Want single and album pre-order available exclusively here: http://jongomm.com/music Guitar Tab available here: http://jongomm.com/guitar-tabs

This is the second of nine new videos from the Live In The Acoustic Asylum sessions.

This song is an angry metaphor about Western anti-terror propaganda, with a president or prime minister represented as a Wild West snake oil salesman, striking fear into the hearts of the townspeople with tales of scary invaders, and using that as an excuse to send The Weather Machine to far-flung poverty stricken regions in the East. SPOILER ALERT: The Machine is supposed to bring rain to the desert to transform it into a Western paradise, but instead it rains down fire and destruction.

Musically it's a metal-heavy Arabic-influenced onslaught. It might offend the sensibilities of some of my acoustic purist fans (sorry folks), but to me being a songwriter is sometimes about more than painting pretty pictures.


CREDITS:
I played the song on Wilma, my trusty Lowden guitar, fitted with Newtone Jon Gomm signature strings and Bill Keith banjo tuners, and tuned to CGCEGC. The sound is coming primarily from a Fishman Rare Earth Blend pickup. My vocal mic is a Sontronics STC-80. I used various effects pedals, mostly Boss.

Video filmed by Owen Plummer and Danielle Millea, directed and edited by Owen Plummer.

Audio engineered and produced by Ed Heaton (The Coal Room, Leeds) and Jon Gomm. Mastered by Tom at Hippocratic Mastering.

LYRICS:
Well it’s high noon at the Last Chance Saloon
Second home to racketeers
Where magic man sells his masterplan
He’s a global pioneer

He says “Villains roam towards our homes
And they’ll burn away the clouds,
But my new invention, my weather engine
Is already eastward bound”

Terraform the desert into paradise
With our weather machine
We’ll perform the necessary sacrifice
With our weather machine

So the giant device spewing liquid ice
Is flown to foreign lands
Where the locals curse their forever thirst
And the neverending sands

But the rain falls hot with a kill-o-watt
Of the magic man’s bloodlust
And funny little rivers form
Black ribbons in the dust

Terraform the desert into paradise
With our weather machine
We’ll perform the necessary sacrifice
With our weather machine

Spinning words at the hungry herds
He’s twisting a new truth
It’s the magic man and his faithful gang
Dreaming of eternal youth

He says “Villains roam towards our homes
And they’ll burn away the clouds
But worry not cos I wrote the plot
And I know how it turns out”

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