Thanks for visiting!
I’m happy to have my first album, North Light, done and ready for listeners. It was last winter’s labor of love (and hate), and an initiation into the world of home recording and studio mixing, etc. I probably put too much thought into it, but I intended to make it an album that could offer more with each listen. Please check it out and send me your thoughts. I heartily welcome your feedback, whether positive or negative.
You can keep up with some happenings here. I’ll try to post clips and show dates and times as they become available, and when new music is presentable, I will present it here.
For now, enjoy this song, which I had the pleasure of playing with my wife, Abi, at the Gathering of Singer/Songwriters at The Dietrich Theater in Tunkhannock, PA. Seeing this video should dispel any misconceptions that you may have that I make my music alone. No one does, and I certainly do not, even though the website here is “timothyziegermusic.com”. Whether it is Abi adding her voice, the bass, or her constant support, or you listening, I do not–and cannot–make music alone.
Here are the lyrics, if you are interested:
Moses sent me a postcard,
and I ripped it, like a ticket, in two.
I thought to hand the stub to my neighbor,
and tell him of the show that’s about to debut.
But I felt once the show got started
I would regret ever letting him in
because there’s something about progress and potential
that sounds an awful lot like a family sin.
Like a ripple on the bank of a lazy river.
Like the fringes of a shadow on the summer ground.
It’s a thing that just keeps moving on forever,
a thing that you can’t ever quite nail down.
I talked with a quiet, gray-haired old woman,
she wore a dress with purple flowers that her daughter found.
She told me Jesus was a carpenter by trade,
that he built the clocks and Peter kept them wound.
That the pendulum’s swung back and forth since Easter,
that her baby and her clothes are all she’s ever changed,
that her husband was the mayor of this town,
but he still liked to spend his nights roving around.
And with a laugh like a quiet whimper
she sang me a simple song, she sang:
“That’s the way that the world goes ’round,
that’s just the way this silly world goes round.”
And I had right then a brand-new revelation,
lit with seven plastic lanterns scattered all around
her imitation pearls like some gateway to my brain,
but I forgot to get a pen and write it down.
So I think I’ll leave this stub in my pocket.
It’s better off there than spreading it around town,
and I’ll spend the nights talking with my baby,
and maybe I will get her some flowery gown.
Like a ripple on the banks of a lazy river,
like the fringes of a shadow on the summer ground,
like a thing that just keeps moving on forever,
like a thing that you can’t ever quite nail down.