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Native Son | ||||||||||||
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| Recording Artist: | Bryan Adams | ||||||||||||
| Writers: | Jim Vallance Bryan Adams |
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| Date Written: | July 1986 / Vancouver Canada | ||||||||||||
| Albums: | Into The Fire (A&M Records, 1987) | ||||||||||||
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| Audio: | |||||||||||||
| Bryan Adams: rhythm guitar, piano, vocal Jim Vallance: percussion Keith Scott: rhythm guitar, lead guitar Tommy Mandel: organ Ian Stanley: keyboards Dave Taylor: bass Mickey Curry: drums |
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Produced by Bob Clearmountain and Bryan Adams. Associate producer Jim Vallance. Recorded by Bob Clearmountain, September 1986, at Cliffhanger Studios, West Vancouver. Mixed by Bob Clearmountain, January 1987, at AIR Studios, London. |
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Comments:
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Bryan: "I had that title Native Son for about two years", Bryan Adams said on the Rockline
radio show. Initially however, we had trouble finding a lyric
to go with the title." Jim: When I mentioned this to my friend Duris Maxwell, who's part Native Indian, he suggested I look into the story of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce ("nose pierced") tribe of Dakota. I went to the Vancouver library and read everything I could find on Chief Joseph, a truly fascinating story. I wrote a page of notes at the library (see left margin), most of it direct quotes from Joseph's speeches. With some slight adjustments, those notes became the basis for our lyric. Here's what I learned: In 1877 Chief Joseph resisted the takeover of his Oregon lands by white settlers who had forced Joseph and his people to move to a reservation in Idaho. During a skirmish, members of Joseph's tribe killed a group of settlers, afer which Joseph tried fleeing to Canada with his followers. They travelled more than 1,500 miles through Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Montana. Along the way they fought several battles with the pursuing U.S. Army. Eventually cornered and forced to surrender, Chief Joseph spoke these words on October 5, 1877: |
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"I am tired of fighting. Our Chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is dead.
Ta Hool Hool Shute is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets; the little
children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the
hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are - perhaps
freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how
many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my
Chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands
I will fight no more forever." |
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| Lyrics: | I've seen
many moons through these wrinkled eyes The years have made me old but they've made me wise Now the white man lives where our rivers run For now better days have passed We walk the streets of broken glass Our people vanished as snow before the summer sun Like dogs we were driven from this place Such injustice time will not erase All these changes cannot be undone When you feel the anger inside of you Hold your head high - let your aim be true Though your heart beats like a drum My native son Once there was a time my little one Before the wagons - before the soldiers' guns When this land was ours as far as the eagle flies No white flag - no broken truce With few words one can speak the truth I don't hear it Time won't heal it now With each new day that comes to pass Will the great spirit free us all at last? He said we were the chosen ones For all we had there's nothing left We wont forgive - we can't forget You know that your day will come My native son With each new day that comes to pass Will the great spirit free us all at last? What has happened can never be undone When I was young - not yet a man The sun rose and set upon our land We were the chosen ones My native son |
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