Commentary
In my early twenties I twice traveled around Mexico hitchhiking and by bus. Returning to California the slow way overland it struck me that my own California, by topography and climate as well as history, is part of Old Mexico. This song expresses that connection and, in its inspiration, reflects the rendition of the traditional song, La Llorona, by one of the men with whom I dug an irrigation canal in San Antonio de Hidalgo. “The earth is parched and dry.” “Aunque la vida me cueste.” Tony Unger’s classical guitar does a fantastic job on this recording of capturing that Spanish and Mexican feeling.
For the concept of subdivisions as California’s leading crop I thank Jerry Royball, a Navajo friend from the old days.
This also is a folk protest song in the spirit of “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” “The Answer is Blowing in the Wind,” and “Outside of a Small Circle of Friends.” About climate change and the drought . . . . . No one wants to think or hear about that, do they? Certainly not those who buy our politicians. Nor, perhaps, after a discouraging while, the rest of us.
Listen
Lyrics
<instrumental intro>
We like to be in motion, you driving there me flying here
Mass transit is inadequate, and besides we like to steer.
We've planted streets and houses where crops and forests belong
We blow exhaust into the sky and wonder what went wrong.
Muy poco rain . . . . . . , no moisture from the sky.
We need some rain . . . . . . . . , the earth is parched and dry.
It’s flooding elsewhere . . but here the rivers hardly flow.
Though reasons might be figured out we'd just as soon not know
Muy poco rain.
The ski slopes are rock fields, our lawns -- baked to a turn.
The smoky air is choking as western wildfires burn.
Climate change, all can agree, is partly cycles partly chance
But now man's involved, it's way too dry, we're doing the wrong dance.
<instrumental chorus>
Our politics are arid - with hot invective filled.
The “elected” kneel to money - for industry they shill.
The third world wants what we have – to burn gas like we do
And while oceans rise we cannot lead or limit C O 2
Muy poco rain . . . . . . , no moisture from the sky.
We need some rain . . . . . . . . , the earth is parched and dry.
It’s flooding elsewhere . . but here the rivers hardly flow.
Though reasons might be figured out we'd just as soon not know
Muy poco rain.
We'd just as soon not know.