St. Michael Told Me So

It's a typical northern night
In a typical northern town
And the tips of the northern lights
Come tiptoeing along the ground
See the face of a ghost in the sky
Saints marching in from the south
Tears rolling down from my eye
And then I find that northern music in my mouth

It's a typical northern scene
We're gathered around the fire
Sniffin' that gasoline until we
Couldn't get much higher
And I feel like I've gone blind
But I hear St. Michael call
He echoes around in my mind and he says
Boy, there's a northern music in us all

Bridge:
Well spirit of that northern sound
Can you help me turn my ways around
I ain't so lost I can't be found
St. Michael told me so
Spirit of this northern land
Can you help me now to make my stand
Can you help me calm my shaking hand
I can, I will, I know
St. Michael told me so
St. Michael told me so

I'm gonna make myself a nest
In the shade of an old blue tarp
Gonna breathe the fire from my chest
Into my beautiful blues harp
I'm gonna drown these demons out
Gonna blow these blues apart
Cuz I can hear St. Michael shout
And he says,
Boy there's a northern music
Boy there's a northern music
Boy there's a northern music...
In your heart

A friend of mine was hosting an event for ArtsCan Circle, and asked me if I'd write something about the harmonica master Mike Stevens and the work he's done bringing music into remote communities in dire straits.

I based the images on stories I'd heard Mike tell and the videos he'd shown of his work on some of the most desperate of northern reserves.

The "saint" motif refers to the fact that a Marine Band harmonica - the first kind I ever played - used to come with a little instructional booklet that explained how to play "When the Saints Go Marching In."

Mike's too modest to think of himself as a saint, but I feel like saints hover over him like the northern lights.