Listen to the Cold: Studio Notes

Listen to the Cold was started back East, then finished once I returned home to California.

The road to Benton Hot Springs from Mammoth Lakes, CA

Listen to the cold was one of the 4 songs off the new album which was recorded in a single session here at the home studio in Carlsbad, CA. I recorded a demo version of the song during Christmas break while visiting family back east, if I recall correctly, it was written in Downingtown, PA, filmed in the Mammoth Lakes region, & recorded again in the Carlsbad, CA home studio.

This song more than anything else I’ve written comes close to the sound I’m going for as a live band, once the band cut the song in the home studio, nailed it on the first take, I knew something special happened. Before I even added the finishing touches, the layered vocals, and the spaghetti western guitars, I knew the rhythm section of the band created something timeless. These factors compelled me to press the album to vinyl, which as we all know, is a huge undertaking.

Baby Listen to the cold as it blows
Blowing through the window panes
Hand blown glass warp my vision
Looking though the wooden frame

There’s a front room in my parent’s farmhouse that I often write songs in when I visit home. The glass on the window is from the 1800s, the frame itself lets the cold wind through without resistance. Through that window, I could see when my father was waving us out to help in the field across the street. I could see when a guest arrived, when a family member came home from school, when our cousins came to visit. Like so many of those old memories, those lyrics could only have been written in that room, in that house, on that red velvet loveseat.

The front room in Downingtown, PA. My place to write.

The house is an old log cabin with wood siding and old newspaper insulation. It was purchased by an ancestor in 1868. He fought for the Union in the Civil War and purchased the land with his soldier wages. Generations later, my father’s father moved his young family onto the farm with his older cousins, to help take care of the land. Another generation later, from Pittsburg, my family moved in with my father’s widowed mother, when I was in preschool. The memories of my youth swim in and around that family farm.

Hear the floorboards speak in the morning
Footsteps 'fore the break of day
Always caught him in those in between hours
Always coming home after working late

There’s not much to that old house, those floors creak and squeak, the windows let in the wind, whatever the temperature. It was tiny, when there was a fight or an argument there was no place to hide in the house, we’d always have to take things outdoors. We’d play football or whatever sport we felt like playing on any given day. A big reason my family has been so close over the years, has something to do with that tiny house, and the family magic created under that roof. As I’ve said before, I don’t even have to try, songs just write themselves and freely flow when I’m visiting home.

Street view from Gallagherville Road, the small curb by the road was dug and poured by brothers and I under guidance from my father.

It’s interesting to come home and visit a place that, when I was younger, I could’t wait to leave. I knew early that farm life was not something I ever wanted for myself. During harvest, it’s hard, backbreaking work, from sun up till sundown. In such a setting, wanderlust came easy for me. I daydreamed regularly about anyplace outside our farm.

Perhaps the reason I miss it so much is that my dad loved it, his spirit is still very much part of that land. That farm was my dad. I often get homesick, it has nothing to do with a house or a location, but has everything to do with my friends and family who’ve passed. It’s not easy to write and perform songs written about loved ones who are gone, but those are the ones we have to sing.

Buzzy on top of the old International Harvester Farmall C from the 1940s.

Songwriting and performing demands the uncanny ability to recall the specifics of any time or place, at any given time, at a moments notice. Recalled both from the artist’s own life experience, and from the collective human experience of humanity. Singing about my father, is important for many reasons, mainly his is a song that needs to be sung. He was a damn good human being. Many still miss him profoundly. Singing about him, both re-opens the wound of loosing him, while acknowledging how important it is to memorialize our ancestors.

When I told him I was leaving
He said, just I know that I love you
God's speed on your way
Now that he's gone I come back home
To the memories of this old place

That specific conversation happened many times. When I first moved to New York City in my early 20s, when I fell in love with my wife and moved to San Diego, CA in my late 20s, when we began to have kids. Any major decision I made, his guidance and blessing were there. It was a family mandate, because his advice was universal, his trust in us to do the right thing and succeed was limitless. He always let us know that if it didn’t work out, we’d always be welcomed back under his roof. His roof was big as the sky above, as was his heart.

Lyrics:

Baby Listen to the cold as it blows
Blowing through the window panes
Hand blown glass warp my vision
Looking though the wooden frame
Hear the floorboards speak in the morning
Footsteps 'fore the break of day
Always caught him in those in between hours
Always coming home after working late
Always coming home after working late
Always coming home after working late
Late

Beneath wooden beams my childhood dreams
All the good times coming back to me
Nothing like the sound of that Farmall C
When you're sitting on top of that tractor seat
When you're sitting on top of that tractor seat
You can hear in the fields such a beautiful sound
Music to the hand that holds the plow
Dinner bell rings call me back to the house
On the harvest evening when the sun go down
Yeah when the sun go down

I used to look out in the evenings
Dream of rambling
Moving lights on the old highway
Dreaming of the places they were off to
On a wide open interstate
When I told him I was set on leaving
He said, just I know that I love you
God's speed on your way
Now that he's gone I come back home
To the memories of this old place
To the memories of this old place
To the memories of this old place
To the memories

Beneath wooden beams my childhood dreams
All the good times coming back to me
Nothing like the sound of that Farmall C
When you're sitting on top of that tractor seat
When you're sitting on top of that tractor seat
You can hear in the fields such a beautiful sound
Music to the hand that holds the plow
Dinner bell rings call me back to the house
On the harvest evening when the sun go down
Yeah, when the sun go down
Down, down, down
Down, down
Sun go down
Down
Down
Down

This wasn’t the only song written that day, if you want some insight on another songs written with similar lyrics, read this article about another song off the album:

Warmth of the Fire is a related song written at the same time

About the Ram
Mark "The Ram" O'Donnell is an independent American composer and visual artist based out of Carlsbad, California. He performs original, surf-inspired, West Coast rock-and-roll.

For more information about the Ram and his music, go to www.TheRamMusic.com

Song Metadata

Listen to the Cold
The Ram
UPC: 199080246245
ISRC: QZHN52570339
Release date: April 18, 2025
ASCAP Work ID: T3242510818
ASCAP Singer Songwriter IPI Number: 375350750
ASCAP Publisher IPI Number: 375351159

More Information
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