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No Quarter

Real Warmth

by Joan Shelley

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1.
The sound of the drum The pulse of your feet The sight of the mountain The scent of the sea All of the earth that gave you your strength That formed you and bruised you and brought you to me Here in the high and low All that came before has to go… Guard what’s gentle Not castles or kings They’re future ruins You’re planted seeds That cover the earth With flowers and leaves For children to wander and hunger to feed Here in the high and low 
All that came before has to go… We’re building our ship We’re making our plans On rising water And sinking sand So join in the song Join in the band My only one, you don’t have to be the hero Here in the high and low…
2.
From the hay the pair arise Sun and moon on either side Clean the soot from cheek and thigh Soothe the burns with dew that’s gathered Sun the driver of the day Heat that bucks and dreams that fray Needs awaken, bellies ache All the grief you can imagine On the gold we’ve been waiting On the gold and the silver we arrive In the roses hide again Find perfection’s damaging The sensual resides within Rest here you’ll find the answer On the gold we’ve been waiting On the gold and the silver we arrive
3.
Field guide to wild life One human wild child She’s easy To catch when hungry Foot prints small next to mine I’m watching, tracking I make a steady line She’s dancing, spinning Blinded by the look of her Every emotion in one small hour A raging ocean, a meteor shower Blinded by the fire in her She’d like to live in groups One boat for the whole family Teach her fishing too She’d paint and sing her shanty “With you red and blue”
4.
Wooden Boat 03:17
Wooden Boat, sun and snow Breaking through the icy flow White and blue and gray and gold Cormorant and crow and gull Tracking snow lines, feline paws Chill me till your fingers thaw Hold my face and wet my jaw I’m all in Wooden boat, sun and snow To the islands we will go Sunken bear with sandy hair Find the belly, anchor there Pouring honey on her burns Hide among the softest ferns A den to sleep till season turns We’re all in
5.
For when you can’t sleep For when you can’t feel Alone in the dark The fuel without the spark Here’s an easy love You be the diver I’ll be the canopy The white sail The saving knot The clearing among the rocks Here’s an easy love… You be the captain On the widening sea When the storm comes in See the shore That’s me Here’s an easy love…
6.
Everybody 03:32
I’ve been waiting for a sound to take me out of my meanness I’ve been leaning on her smile to bring me out of the dark Because once I felt the shine Once I felt divine Was it mine? Now we’re living by the road, far from our little Eden I’m afraid I gave away our little bit of freedom Because we were pigs in mud We were sparrow, kea, dove We were love There’s no armor you can wear to guard the soft, open body There’s no serum they can sell To soothe the rug burn of time But god, if I could guard you Take your fire, then burn me now Is it allowed? Everybody join in Everybody We see what we want to see Everybody join in Everybody We hear what we want to hear
7.
New Anthem 03:49
I want the anthem that feels like first love I want the chorus that warms like fire I want the tune that swells like a full moon Knows your deepest desire Just like the wild bear that roams these mountains. Just like the wild cat that claims these hills. My songs the size of the room you provide it - If you don’t hear it, who will? You be the lead, I am the rhythm that carries. You have the hands, the touch, and the tone. My false rhyming, my crooked timing - You give it all a home And heaven help us when hate has the reigns. God forgive us, when we’re silent and stunned. Though bruised and burned, my love returns if you pour honey on my tongue. I want the anthem I want the anthem that feels like first love. I want the chorus that warms like fire.
8.
Heaven Knows 03:44
I was born in a breaking. I was born in love lost and a simmering anger, wild heat I was born loving you. I was born tied to a silent grief, a tangled thing You came in and with a glance made me spin your silver dance, broke my fever, fed my hunger You were bright in my torn sky. Filled my nights with lovesick eyes, like a rippling river of every color Wounds defended, wounds repaired. I turn my face to shield the glare and in your absence see what’s there We got more than we deserved. You got blinded, I got burned. Pulled apart but then returned The world expands, the world explodes I ground my feet and hold you close. Its not an end, its how it grows, heaven knows
9.
Ever Entwine 03:03
Begin sunburned Cool by iceberg Steep in river that runs from the mine One cup real moon Half-drunk teaspoon Beat well, fine tune For desperate times Press well, stop time Rise till alpine Braid with end rhyme Forever entwine Fold well, make room Heat at high noon Need me (I need you) In desperate times
10.
Give it up you breaking heart, it’s too much to hold Nothing extra, leave it at the door. Let’s see something worth begging, barking for. You need some meat, you’re an omnivore. I’m rare Give it up you breaking hearts You’ve been feeding the mice in the cellar while the garden’s as dry as a desert Oh honey you can’t hide / Full moon in each eye. Can’t you see that you’re wide open? The country choir’s spoken: It’s time Give it up you breaking hearts, it’s too much to hold
11.
The Orchard 04:12
The dark is closing in now, the air is going too. The water’s stuck below the ground, the power’s cut in two. The bakeries were blown to pieces for panels on their roof. They’re told to flee by foot we’ll see if they can make it through A child like mine was orphaned by design, a gruesome plan. A mother heard her baby birds crushed in the revenge. And all the while the vultures smiled who put the guns in hand. A factory for misery that prays that war wont end They’re burning orchards, fig and olive, trying to claim the roots They’re digging for a legacy, a claim to land that’s proof But who belongs to rock and farm when bombing fast and loose? You hear the ground below resound, the cracking land abused The scene is sad too sad to bear, but of this world I sing The happy tune is spun around a world of fantasy They say the stars will pull a part and gravity will lose Into this storm I launch my love, I watch her walking new So call the angels loudly now to enter every room. It cannot be that entropy will claim us for the gloom. But if you pulled away from me I hope you have a tune, the will, the seeds to grow again, the blossom, and the fruit
12.
This one will be in a minor key. What do you need on your way out? I’ll sort your clothes, I’ll take one of those. We have more than we need of that Say your feet ache and your hands ache And you can’t sleep at night And when you can’t see, who will drive? Who do you want checking in on you? Who do you want checking in on you? Who do you want seeing your decline? Is it my prying eyes, or a stranger’s who Never knew you in your prime? One who is strong enough to carry Your still thrashing frame Who do you want checking in on you?
13.
The Hum 02:03
Hum so that the spirits hear you come so they are always near you always At the shore, each wave an answer told before you asked an ocean’s knowing Always We are thrown by a world that’s spinning, grown at an angle singing “Always” So hum so that the spirits hear you come and I am always with you, Always

about

"I’ve been waiting for a sound to take me out of my meanness…"

When Joan asked me if I’d be interested in writing a few words about her new full-length record “Real Warmth” (her 6th for Philly’s institutional No Quarter label by my calculations, though an ever-productive stream of EPs and side-releases makes mush of that math), I was simultaneously filled with both prideful eagerness and sunken apprehension. I was honored, of course, by the invitation to puff-up the public-facing framework of a modern songwriting giant whose preceding reputation requires little to no puffing, but... what do I know? No, really, I’m not asking myself that rhetorically. What do I actually know? Like, about anything? On the best of days, I could maybe explain to you the various line-up changes that the Misfits endured from ‘77-‘83, and/or probably recite who skated to what song on Toy Machine’s 1996 “Welcome To Hell” VHS. But what would I ever be able to articulately surmise about things like, I don’t know, Sandy Denny? June Tabor? Hillbilly music, Gaelic reels, Appalachian mining songs, double-drop-D, or – more personally - the early years of motherhood and/or the semi-recent semi-major life upheaval/relocation that Joan and her family embarked on in the calendar months surrounding this record’s release?

There’s a lot to contextualize here, and there’s more authentic folk-cred in the contents (or lack thereof) of Nathan Salsburg’s Nalgene than there is in the entirety of my mortal luggage. But, in my defense, I am a listener – a much better one than I am a writer or a talker. And while I couldn’t tell you what exactly it is about the songs on this record that feel so heavy, so special, so... now, I similarly couldn’t tell you why I can essentially snore through 9 out of 10 deep-house or techno records I come across yet for whatever reason the tenth will make me want to throw a brick through a window (in a good way, with excitement). I don’t have the words for these things, but something within me does deeply understand them, and not only understands them but also processes their nutrients and responds to them on a core emotional level. I respond to “Real Warmth” because I respond to real warmth. Real people. Real nature. Real chemistry. Real alchemy, even.

Speaking of alchemy, and getting back to the task at hand... As a now decade-long victim of the various spells that Joan’s songs cast on those who behold them, the toad that they so often turn me into felt at once ill-equipped to wax intellectually upon jamming no more than the first minute of this album’s opening tune – an instant top-five Joanie all-timer by the name of “Here in the High and Low.” I mean… ouch. The inherent dread of my called upon duty only deepens with hearing the actual music therein. There’s a certain richness to the soil of the songcraft – and you can almost feel the soil of these songs in a paraphysical way while listening – as the album moves along, eventually ending only to, of course, start again, and again. I feel increasingly in tune with and charged up by the Unreal Warmth emanating from my speakers by third listen, and thirteenth, now thirtieth…

Risking the disservice of summary, I ultimately responded “Look… I’ll try.” But I’m not going to sit here and pretend to have all the headily deep reference points that an album like “Real Warmth” really warrants. There’s a whole network of roots in the groundwork of this thing that someone more educated and perceptive than myself could quickly trace into the farthest reaches of primitive-to-progressive, spiritual-to-secular, British revival and American rural balladry, etc. if one were so inclined. But even to me, in my own limited grasp of such channels, it’s fairly obvious that Joan and her singularly empathetic coven of collaborators on “Real Warmth” are an inextinguishable bunch; one of gatherers, custodians, students, co-educators, conduits, witnesses, whisperers, and all-around lifers of traditional musics, having here established a language with which they make even the arrangements themselves feel conversational and/or subject to breeze.

There is a sense of fellowship, an unforced gentleness with which truly classic-feeling song (ie ‘On The Gold’) after truly classic-feeling song (ie ‘Everybody’) organically unfold and bloom into one another’s shared space throughout the sequence at a consistently low-boil. It’s both subjectively and objectively beautiful. But don’t get it twisted, people. This isn’t “Sunday afternoon at the ole towne fair” folk fodder for the cosplaying masses, and these certainly aren’t such sunshine-and-softball times. Sure, it’s summer now (as I write this) and I see a small child playing gleefully with her father and dog two yards over from the kitchen table at which I currently sit. But governments across her world are policy-making/erasing her Earth’s biology into self-extinction (as I write this). Children are exploding (as I write this). This very music is not NOT about that…

"But who belongs to rock and farm When bombing fast and loose
You hear the ground below resound The cracking land abused
The scene is sad Too sad to bear But of this world I sing
The happy tune is spun around A world of fantasy..."

And even at its most worn, weary, and real, Joan’s musical world is ultimately one of, if not fantasy, at least some sweetly enchanted version of what we know, who we are, where we’re from. I mentioned earlier that one can virtually feel the soil from which these songs are sprouting, as if the ground of them is running through my fingers as I lie on the floor in front of my stereo. And I know Joan no longer lives in Kentucky, and I know this album wasn’t recorded in Kentucky, and I know most of the contributors are not only not from Kentucky but are also not, in fact, American at all, but even still I’ll project; there’s something so profoundly of this place in the DNA of every note. If you squint your ears you can almost hear distant cicadas calling in the wet summer night-air, but this is surely not the only phantom sound swaying freely in the fields of “Real Warmth.” Doug Paisley’s kind and perfectly measured vocals arrive roughly halfway through the record on ‘New Anthem’ and stick around for one more on ‘Heaven Knows’ before he has to get going, as if Doug’s presence was just a visit from the ghost of an old friend. Canadian percussionist Philippe Melanson’s drums sound so effortlessly cool and uniquely “other” on these recordings that every now and then – again, if you squint your ears just right – they almost sound like a subtly mixed/idiosyncratically programmed drum machine (Papa M’s “Live from a Shark Cage” or John Martyn’s “One World” both come to mind, for some reason), more phantoms. Real phantoms. Real people. More warmth...

As listener (toad), I catch myself fluctuating between two states: 1) feeling acutely in awe of the band and their ability to so sturdily yet colorfully hold Joan’s vocals aloft like a magic carpet delivering the words from song to song, and 2) feeling so mesmerized by (and later guilty about) said effect that I no longer notice they’re there at all; Here’s an easy love… Here’s any easy love, the words drift upward with an imagined quietness for only just a moment before falling softly back into their compositional cloth… But even by the album’s spellbinding ender “The Hum,” when the band really has all but left the room in Real Time, one doesn’t get the feeling that they’re any farther than a holler through the thicket away. Nor are whatever summoned forces that have so kindly guided us to and through this quite simply illuminating collection of contemporary songwork to begin with.

To, for, and with them we (toads, phantoms, friends, humans), taken collectively out of our meannesses,

"Hum
So that the spirits hear us come
So they are always near us
Always"

- Ryan Davis, July 2025

credits

released September 19, 2025

Produced, recorded, and mixed by Ben Whiteley at Casa Wroxton, Toronto.
Mastered by Josh Bonati.
Album artwork by Heather Goodchild.
Graphic design by Kate Hall.
Back cover photo by Nick Rasmussen.
All songs by Joan Shelley (Absolute Anthem, BMI)

Musicians: Joan Shelley, Nathan Salsburg, Ben Whiteley, Matt Kelley, Karen Ng, Philippe Melanson, Doug Paisley, Tamara Lindeman, Ken Whiteley, Talya Bloom Salsburg

Thank you to Ellen Manney and Ken Whiteley, Brent Webb, Mike Quinn, Sandra and Rikk Mills. Dedicated to Talya and Nathan Salsburg (who played less but held more and made this record possible).

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Joan Shelley Louisville, Kentucky

Joan Shelley is a songwriter and singer from Louisville, KY. Often joined by guitarist Nathan Salsburg, she has shared shows with the likes of Jake Xerxes Fussell, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, Richard Thompson, Wilco, Marisa Anderson, Daniel Martin Moore, the Other Years, & Michael Hurley. ... more

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