Pray For Rain

by Marty O'Reilly

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Recorded at The Creamery in Oakland, CA. January, 2014.


released March 17, 2014

Marty O'Reilly - Guitar, Banjo, Harmonica, Vocals
Chris Lynch - Violin, Vocals, Glockenspiel
Jeff Kissell - Double Bass
Alexis Hawks - Cello, Vocals
Heath DeAngelo Nieves - Trumpet
Allen MacMorris - Drums
Marissa Miller - Vocals

Engineered and mixed by Greg Ashley

Mastered by Jonathan Kirchner

Album Artwork by Margaret Niven



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Marty O'Reilly Santa Cruz, California

Marty O'Reilly is a songwriter and multi-instrumentalist from the Sonoma Valley. By combining a passion for Delta Blues, American Primitive, Folk, and Gospel, Marty hopes to both bring back the old and create something new with his renditions and original pieces. ... more


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Track Name: Dempsey
Jackie left Willard broken and bloody,
He cracked a hundred bones in his mouth,
Jackie doesn't dance and Jackie doesn't sing,
but he knows he could lick any son of a bitch in the house
Jackie's the Manassa, hes the Manassa Mauler

Seven times he hit the ground,
he can feel himself losing the crown,
but he knows he's got to give him one more round,
got to give him one more round.
Track Name: The Captain's Daughter
I'm staring across the deck up at the captain's daughter,
and her eyes, they look brighter than the sun on the water.
Boys, that's right. I hear we're setting sail tonight.

She lets me look but just from a distance,
and she won't speak to me, but when i sing she listens,
late at night without a single speck of land in sight.

Her dress was bright green and embroidered.
Honey, I know because i've been staring since the day that we boarded:
staring at her thigh. But now I'm looking in a brand new light.

at first in the heat of passion, but its been fifteen days since we exhausted all the rations. Boys that's right. Now I'm looking at her with an appetite.
I'm going to make her mine,
Track Name: Cold Canary Gaslight
He reads like a bible, acts just like a birdcage,
roars like an engine, dying out on burnt rage,
you can blow out all the candles and fire up the lime light,
she looks through him with the cold canary gaslight.

Oh sister, don't you look at what I've done.

Fathers at the front door, dusting off the floor mat,
brittle like his thick bark and tired like his old hat,
he used to wonder how a young boy travels to a grown man,
said he walked on water he was dancing on quicksand.

Oh father, don't you look at what I've done.

You see me tearing up the floor boards, white sheets covered you,
fire in my eyes and water pouring through the roof,
you heard I found a mine shaft, digging past midnight,
i crawled into the dark with the cold canary gaslight.

I tried to throw a rope down and didn't feel it pull back,
dead canary chirping now, cold blood in pitch black.