From The Recordings Html
An elderly gentleman reflects on his long history with Eleanor; the shifting musical language reflects the changing "dance” of their lives.
Kathy Sparling – vocal, ukuleleDennis Finnegan – guitarChris Grady – trumpetsLisa Mezzacappa – acoustic bassTim Rowe – drums, percussionLila Sklar – violinsFelix Sparling – additional violin
Can one white-hot moon rekindle the tune that died out too soon?Each turn in time winding back through our past.That old melody charms my wife back to my arms, safe there from harm.But melodies, like mem’ries, burn too fast…Maybe by moonlight, maybe under a ballroom chandelier. The first time I noticed how she outshone any light source near. And after each dip, I’d long for the rise, And easily lift the weight of our lives. It’s faded, but how this memory revives…These stacks of old Victors, and the still glossy black shellac. So brittle and fragile, but you can’t scratch the surface of a woman like that. It wasn’t a cakewalk, that’s for sure, But somehow I never stopped crossing that floor, Always ready for more,More dancing with Eleanor, as her gown swept the floor. Dancing with Eleanor, oh my arms never held more. So light on her feet, the light in her eyes – The small of her back, our larger than lives. And it even survivesThe frozen smiles on our children, our grandchildren at play,When she asks so politely, “tell me whose sweet babies are they?”Those memories rest now in the old glass and Joy perfume. I unstop it sometimes and we glide joyfully around this room. She still knows the steps, still knows my name. Starts over each day; we’re always the same. And it should have been me, then I’d be happy to beStill dancing with Eleanor, her nightgown sweeps the floor. Dancing with Eleanor, oh my arms never held more. So light on her feet, the light in her eyes – The small of her back, our larger than lives. And it all still survives…