The Prairie Visionary
Energetic and fast but melancholic anarchist folk-punk with raw, throaty, crusty, dirty off-key vocals, that crack at times, and an untuned old acoustic guitar, also a cello and whistle. Bitter and heart-broken, but with an underlying anger. Very lo-fi production. A campfire ballad. Dirty as hell. But also a banger melody, both catchy and touching.
The Prairie Visionary
Energetic and fast but melancholic anarchist folk-punk with raw, throaty, crusty, dirty off-key vocals, that crack at times, and an untuned old acoustic guitar, also a cello and whistle. Bitter and heart-broken, but with an underlying anger. Very lo-fi production. A campfire ballad. Dirty as hell. But also a banger melody, both catchy and touching.
Lyrics
Verse 1
Born in Ontario, in a Methodist home,
To the classrooms of Toronto, young William would roam.
But the bank took the business, the family went dry,
So he walked to Prince Albert under a wide western sky.
He was a man of the classics, with a heart for the poor,
And he found a new fire on the Saskatchewan shore.
Chorus
Oh, Honoré Jaxon, the Prairie Visionary,
From Riel’s own secretary to a New York sanctuary.
He was a bridge for the people, a voice in the gale,
An apprentice of logic who chose the long trail.
Verse 2
He met with the Métis when the buffalo was gone,
He wrote down the grievances from the dusk until dawn.
He left his old life and he changed his own name,
Baptized in the river, he entered the flame.
He accepted the Prophet, he accepts Riel’s word,
But the drums of the battle were all that they heard.
Verse 3
The soldiers they took him and called him a spy,
Then they said he was crazy and shan't have to die.
They locked him in Selkirk, in an asylum's cold cell,
But he broke through the window and left that old hell.
Across the border to Chicago he’d run,
To fight for the worker under a new rising sun.
Chorus
Oh, Honoré Jaxon, the Prairie Visionary,
From Riel’s own secretary to a New York sanctuary.
He was a bridge for the people, a voice in the gale,
An apprentice of logic who chose the long trail.
Verse 4
He joined with the Wobblies and he marched on D.C.,
He found the Baha’i and a world yet to be.
He built him a castle out of old ammo crates,
Dreaming of justice and rewriting the fates.
He gathered his papers, three tons of the truth,
To build a great library for the kin of his youth.
Verse 5
But the winter of fifty-one came with a chill,
They threw out the Major against his own will.
Ninety years old, in the falling white snow,
Watching sixty long years to the city dump go.
A month in Bellevue and his spirit gave way,
The last of the rebels was buried that day.
Chorus
Oh, Honoré Jaxon, the Prairie Visionary,
From Riel’s own secretary to a New York sanctuary.
He was a bridge for the people, a voice in the gale,
An apprentice of logic who chose the long trail.