This one’s in memory of Robert Harmon, who died in Carrboro on Sunday, July 10th. Anyone who ever spent any time at the Open Eye Café knew Robert. That seemed to be his second home. I lived in the Music House with my band and best friends around the corner from there in the old Open Eye days ten years ago. Robert would tell us all kinds of stories, including those of his time in the military, for which he earned the affectionate nickname The Colonel. But more often, we’d talk about music. He’d take off his headphones and let you listen to whatever CD or tape he had just picked up at PTA. And he was usually carrying around some new keyboard, guitar, boombox, harmonica, or other instrument that he had also just picked up.
This is a song that I recorded on the fly on my old handheld Sony tape recorder back in those early days of My Dear Ella and the Music House, when we’d hang out for hours at the old Open Eye and when I first met Robert. During a break from band practice, Doug White (on keyboards) and I were still making up some stuff, and during this I remember being struck by a heavy sense of melancholy as bass player Bob Dearborn got up from our sweet gold couch and reached for the door knob to leave the room. Doug must have already been playing these chords, because I pressed record on the handheld and started to sing. I’ve always loved the ethereal quality of this spontaneous song and recording. But like most songs and ideas over the years, for some reason I just let it collect dust. Ten years later, here it is.
— Eric
