2003 BEC Records
Produced By Terry Taylor, Derri Daugherty and Mike Roe, with Phil Madeira
CD:
1. Moses In the Desert (Taylor/Roe)
2. There You Are (Taylor/Roe)
3. Deeper In The Heart (Taylor)
4. Come Down Here (Roe)
5. Be My Hiding Place (Taylor)
6. Jesus On The Shore (Taylor)
7. Mercy Again (Taylor)
8. Cry Out Loud (Roe/Daugherty)
9. The Yearning (Taylor)
10. Crushing Hand (Taylor)
11. Home Again (Taylor)
12. Darkest Night (Taylor)
All songs 2002 Zoom Daddy Music.
Album Reviews
DA Timeline 2002
Lost Dogs Discography
Recorded: Spring 2002 @ Planet Of Tapes, Brentwood, TN by Phil Madeira
Sweetened & Mixed: Summer 2002 @ Neverland, Brentwood, TN by Derri Daugherty
Mastered: Fall 2002 @ Audio Production Group, Orangevale, CA by Ralph Stover
Art Direction @ Design: Brian Heydn
Photography: Amanda Feavel
Band photography: Dinah K. Kotthoff
Mike Roe plays Fender Guitars, Basses & Amps and Taylor Acoustic Guitars
Derri thanks Terry and Mike for once again making this one of the best times of my life, I love you guys. To my friend Phil Madeira for going the extra mile, your hard work doesn't go unnoticed. Peace.
Mike thanks our blessed Lord, Devon Siobhan, Cheyenne, Mark & Bruce, The Madeira family, Tim & Steve, JT & Amanda, Ralph, Donnie, Phyllis & Cliff, Mom, Dad & Grandpa (Still alive at 95!), Terry, Derri & Gene.
Terry wishes to thank almost everyone everywhere for everything.
Terry Taylor: Guitars and Vocals
Mike Roe: Guitars, Bass and Vocals
Derri Daugherty: Guitars and Vocals
Also Featuring:
Tim Chandler: Bass
Steve Hindalong: Percussion
Dennis "The Foot" Holt: Drums
Phil Madeira: Piano, Dobro, Lap Steel, Harmonium, Percussion
One of my earliest and most vivid memories concerning our family's churchgoing experiences is by no means a pleasant one. It's early evening at the Downy Nazarene Church midweek service, and I'm a very young child sitting in a church pew staring in wide-eyed disbelief and horror as my mother and grandmother, along with a small group of fellow parishioners, are falling to their knees, sobbing and wailing and vehemently crying out for God's forgiveness. Today I see this surreal scene as a kind of emotional frenzy of despair...a guttural disgorge of pent up guilt, shame, and remorse. I didn't understand then what much of the tumult was about, but I do remember thinking that God had to be a pretty mean and angry person to cause my Mom and my Grandma such misery. I want them to stop. I want desperately to comfort them, to hold them and tell them everything will be all right, but a kind of paralyzing force that is a fear previously unknown to me renders me immobile. This was my initiation into the world of unbridled religious zealotry, and it was like encountering a towering wall of fire whose awesome intensity kept me from attempting to save those it was about to consume. The experience was at once riveting, bewildering, mysterious, and altogether frightening. I could only look on helplessly as two of the people I loved most in the world threw themselves into the roaring blaze of fervent lamentation and were burned beyond recognition.
This mad delirium of self-loathing and soul despairing angst raged on for what seemed to me like an eternity until finally and mercifully, under the weight of complete emotional and physical exhaustion, the pair collapsed on the church floor like rag dolls suddenly let go by distracted children. Except for an occasional quiet sob or muted moan rising up from the shuttering heaps on the floor, both lay spent and silent.
Grandma was quick-witted and at times hilariously droll, possessing a dry sense of humor with a pointed sharpness that was often aimed at the character flaws, foibles and physical anomalies of others. To me she was the female equivalent of W.C. Fields. Self-deprecating to a fault, Grandma could also be grim and prone to bouts of severe depression. She was the family "worrier," and if you didn't worry about a particular something or other, she'd do it for you. In spades. Her worry and grief were never less than genuine, but from time to time she was known for blatant acts of melodrama in expressing her darker psychological tendencies. No one in the family seems to recall exactly when one particularly peculiar and infamous ritual first manifested itself, or exactly how it came to be in the first place, but all agree it was a real doozy. This eccentricity would rear its head a number of times throughout her life. Here's how it went: Grandma, under the dark spell of some overwhelming circumstance, would steal away to a back room of the house, find a seat, and begin to rock to and fro as she gripped a dish towel or small cloth of some sort in her right hand and furiously swung it in a high arching motion back and forth over her right shoulder.
(To Be continued...)