When The Blues Was Dues- Lucinda Williams’ “Lake Charles”

…she knew he was trouble from the first minute that she set eyes on him. What kind of trouble, heartache, money, sex, other women, drugs, drink, lazy no account laying about, she didn’t know but trouble spelt in big letters. Just that minute though she was looking for a little trouble, a little trouble after her old beau Jean Jacques (Johnny) Dubois up and left her with her younger sister (the bitch, and she can have that damn two-timing him) and lit out for the Dakotas, and she could feel it in her quickened breathe at the sight of him and that moist little feeling down by her thighs, what did Johnny call it, down by her love hole, after that first look when she realized that she was looking for just his sized trouble. So don’t blame him entirely for everything that happened. Yah, don’t blame him entirely.

She knew she should have walked right on by when she saw him standing, standing Texas tall (all six feet two of him to her five foot three), kind of lanky, dark hair, a little long, a little too long to have been a local bijou Cajun boy and so Texas tall was about right, dark eyes, devil’s eyes with long lashes, tooth -pick just kind of hanging off to the side of his mouth, and a little permanent smirk setting that jut jaw off. Yah, standing king hell standing with one booted foot curled up against the wall in front of old Doc’s Rexall Drugstore just waiting, waiting for some woman, her, to come by she guessed. He took a look in her direction and he must have sensed that she was looking for a little trouble as he undressed her with his eyes, and she, hell, she ready to take that dress off right there. He, without saying a word, just pointed one finger toward his canary yellow Camaro, convertible, top down parked kitty-corner just then as he invited her into the vehicle. And she, no questions asked, no names exchanged, no life stories exchanged, sat herself right down in the front passenger seat after he opened the door for her. And she, they, their thing had started.

He, later name exchanged Lanny, he and she headed out of town wordless toward the bayou road that ran over to Lafayette that meant only one thing, Jimmy’s Pier, the local lovers’ lane. Her breathe quickened again (and she got wet down there by her thighs all over again) at the thought of heading there in broad daylight as he turned on the car radio as some Hank Williams jambalaya stew broth came on. After they landed at Jimmy’s, still wordless, they went about their savage love business (hell, not love- making just pure buck- naked sex).She had practically torn off her dress in a flash like some two dollar whore to let him at her. And so that is how they started, started their short intense trouble.

And she didn’t mind the trouble for a while because Lanny was sweet to her, kind to her, knew how get her going but there was always something dark in his mood even when making love, something Texas- sized that was eating at him. He started to drink a little more as time went on, at first she joined him but finding she could not keep up just kind of stopped and would drive the car when he got too blasted. Later he was taking drugs (unknown to her, cocaine and some meth) and for a while he would be calm, they would make great love, and she would be happy. Then his love-making became more savage, more insistent. he hurt her with his penetrations a couple of times. During that time he started talking about him, they, but usually he used him unless she corrected him, moseying on back to Texas and some wildcatter work, or something. She didn’t want to go, but would, because, well because she was his woman. And that was that.

Then one night, one misty bayou night, after he had left her in front of her house, he revved up that canary yellow Camaro and headed out on rained- slickened roads fast. According to the later state police report they found him crashed, flame crashed, almost at the Texas line in a ravine. His body filled with alcohol and cocaine.

Her Lanny lived too fast to live too long but every once in a while she would think back to that first date, that unspoken first date, and have no regrets about taking in that little trouble that tall Texas boy brought her way.

…and hence Lake Charles

Lucinda Williams Lake Charles written by Lucinda Williams

A E A

He had a reason to get back to Lake Charles

D

He used to talk about it

A

He'd just go on and on

E

He always said Louisana

A

Was where he felt at home

A E A

He was born in Nacogdoches

D

That's in East Texas

A

Not far from the border

E

But he liked to tell everybody

A

He was from Lake Charles

D A

Did an angel whisper in your ear

D A

And hold you close and take away your fear

E A

In those long last moments

A

We used to drive

E A

Thru Lafayette and Baton Rouge

D

In a yellow Camino

A

Listening to Howling Wolf

E

He liked to stop in Lake Charles

A

Cause that's the place that he loved

A E A

Did you run about as far as you could go

D

Down the Lousiana highway

A

Across Lake Ponchatrain

E

Now your soul is in Lake Charles

A

No matter what they say

D A

Did an angel whisper in your ear

D A

And hold you close and take away your fear

E A

In those long last moments

SOLO

A E A

He had a reason to get back to Lake Charles

D

He used to talk about it

A

He'd just go on and on

E

He always said Louisana

A

Was where he felt at home

D A

Did an angel whisper in your ear

D A

And hold you close and take away your fear

E A

In those long last moments

D A

Did an angel whisper in your ear

D A

And hold you close and take away your fear

E A

In those long last moments

From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- Lucinda Williams’” Sweet Old World”- A CD Review

Click on the headline to link to YouTube film clip of Lucinda Williams performing Sweet Old World.

CD Review

Sweet Old World, Lucinda Williams, Chameleon Records, 1993

The first song of Lucinda Williams that I remember hearing, song of her own that is, I had heard her do an excellent tribute cover of Hank Williams’ Cold, Cold Heart and a contribution to a Mississippi John Hurt’s tribute album, was Lake Charles. That song about listening to Howlin’ Wolf, chasing after corner boy-less boys with big flash cars, and dealing with back roads fatal dreams told me here was kindred spirit. And being French-Canadian (on my mother’s side) I sensed that mystic cajun-rooted arcadian longing connection from when we were altogether as one tribe up in Nova Scotia and places like that. That was just my sense of the thing though.

Recently I did a short review of a Roy Orbison’s Greatest Hits CD where I mentioned that growing up, early teenage early 1960s growing up, Roy spoke to our angst about facing a world we didn’t create, about how to deal with, ah, girls, and how to be cool around them. (I don’t know if I would have been able to articulate it exactly that way but there you are.) Lucinda Williams speaks to a different angst, adult angst, maybe, about never drawing a break, about one night’s, about drunken days, about the debris of society, about broken dreams, or no dreams. But also about a kind of stoic perseverance in this sweet old world. Maybe that is really where the kinship lies.