Monthly Archives: April 2017

Song: ‘Sawed off Euphoria’. For Cookie, wherever you are

No law that a song has to be over 2:32. Esp if it’s titled ‘Sawed-off… etc’
I have hours/ days/ months of what to say to her, bless her many-chambered heart. A couple years drinking in her wisdom/ word-salad, and you’re blessed/ scarred for life.

Excuse the ambivalence. Just now I’m certain that if I knew where she was, I’d walk there. Or swim. Crawl?
And the chorus, begging for ‘A Love that will never die.’ is not necessarily or even particularly for ‘us’; it’s kinda a universal port-noise complaint, no?
I do need, some time, to WIKI that AA wry saying: ‘life and death, but not serious.’ Along with a ton of other Mormon Sterno heart-string-plucks she’s left me here adrift with.
So there ya go. I owe it to fans to ‘explain’ the tunes, right?
Enjoy:

Sawed -off Euphoria
I think I ‘know too much’
But I paid for the story
And I can.. look, but
I can never touch that
One simple feeling: Love that will never die

Blackmail’s in season
I think I paid too much
But’s all for a reason
I can think, an’ I can
be such a stand-up comedian
Dying to say Goodbye…

And she wants to know why….
Why?
Verse Two:

Stand in the shadows
Then you wait for the rush
Well it’s nothing the matter
But it’s life, and Death,
but it ain’t serious
All an illusion
Lose if you nevever try

Sawed off euphoria
Guess I paid too much
But I, fell for the story
An’ I can look, but I.. can’t touch
That one simple feeling

Love that will never die

I wanna know why
wanna know why
I wanna know why
Why..

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WTF wuz I supposed to do?- Song

Anyone who supposes that I write songs for and about hypothetical characters overestimates my capacity for imagined relationships.
This tune is as real as it gets;    still a bit of craft is worth mentioning , since I’m tagging ’em ‘song-writing’, (whatever that nets me in the WP town-w/o pity)

A play on words:
‘What was I supposed to do?‘ can be either:
1) A fellow awakening at 2AM convinced, in a cold sweat, that he’d forgotten some serious commitment..
Or, 2) The classic ‘Trolley Quandry:
The poor (songwriter?) forced to choose between certain death for one(1) stranded motorist on a perilous bridge, or pushing the guy, car and all, off, into the depths, to save an on-coming load of equally innocent passengers.
In my case, of course, not nearly as fateful, yet the parallels are there.
I’d thought to lay out the details of this ethical conundrum, but, if the tune has any universal relevance, it’s better left as hints and winks. In the end I saved both the stranded motorist and the fated riders. But don’t ‘try this at home!’


Enjoy:
Verse One:

There was something I was supposed to do?
Now I can’t recall
Something I was supposed to do;
Way back in the fall
Something I was supposed to do;
Now I can’t remember?
Something I was supposed to do;
Way back in September…

That’s why I’m asking you, girl:
What was I supossed to do??

Verse Two:
Well, I can ask anybody; get the same advice:
But I know I could never…. pay that price
Supposed to turn around.. and never cry?
But I’m gonna love you girl, till the day I die.
Honey, I know your love is true…
What were we supposed to do?
Istru-

Verse Three:

Well there’s something we’re supposed to do;
And it won’t be long…
Something we’re supposed to do;
Right or wrong
Some day soon we’re gonna fly away
And we’ll be together… night and day
As long as our love is true…
*That’s what we’re supposed to do*

Song: “Something’s Wrong with you!”

 Ok, not every tune I put together takes endless hours of thought.

In this case I had plenty of help: from the other 12 guys on my hand-picked elite house-framing crew.
Somewhere between the first and second floors of a random Cape Cod we started one day to pass the time fishing around with insults. By the end of the afternoon I had collected enough little barbs to malign a moderate-sized wildebeest.
The guys didn’t wanna believe how fast I could race production; songs, that is.
In those days, competition was the whole world; the big Polish guy who could carry 13 2X4s got to sit wherever he wanted for lunch break. And of course as the Owner of the company but also a fellow noble savage who drove his own 20 pounds of nails a day, I wuz all fer it.
Anyway, the bet was that by next morning I’d have made all their slings and arrows into a song.

Sometimes you do have to work till dawn; five bucks iz riding on it.
I won’t say this song is perfect. Lots of little mistakes.  But the thrill of hearing one’s pet insult immortalized… (thinking RCA Victor ‘His Master’s Voice’ here. )
But it did win the bet.

And thanks to the originality of a dozen well-paid carpenters, each blazing with that sweaty youthful arrogance which made cranking out a hundred or so houses a year into less a job than a shining lifestyle.
Enjoy:

Lyrics:
Something’s wrong with you..
Maybe your hat’s too tight
They gotta change your medication
Lower your pilot light

You been gnawing on the woodwork?
Maybe sniffing glue?
Count the cards in your deck
Something’s wrong with you!Something’s wrong with you..
Maybe your hat’s too tight
They gotta change your medication
Lower your pilot light

You been gnawing on the woodwork?
Maybe sniffing glue?
Count the cards in your deck
Something’s wrong with you

Stick your oars in the water
Tuck your shirt-tail in
Look at the way you walk
Look at the shape you’re in!

Tell yer Mamma to tie your shoes
Check your points and plugs
I’m gonna tell you the news:
Something’s wrong with you!

-Instru-

Blow horns!

Something’s wrong with you
Maybe your hat’s too tight?
They got to change your medication
Lower your pilot light..

You been gnawing on the woodwork?
Maybe sniffing glue?
Count the cards in your deck
Something’s wrong with you

Stick your oars in the water
Tuck your shirt-tail in
Look at the way you walk
Look at the shape you’re in!

Tell yer mamma to tie your shoes
Check your points and plugs
I’m gonna tell you the news
There’s something wrong wid you!

Ah, ya look terrible!

All you gotta do is just copy me!

Stick your oars in the water
Tuck your shirt-tail in
Look at the way you walk
Look at the shape you’re in!

Tell yer Mamma to tie your shoes
Check your points and plugs
I’m gonna tell you the news:
Something’s wrong with you!

-Instru-

Blow horns!

Something’s wrong with you
Maybe your hat’s too tight?
They got to change your medication
Lower your pilot light..

You been gnawing on the woodwork?
Maybe sniffing glue?
Count the cards in your deck
Something’s wrong with you

Stick your oars in the water
Tuck your shirt-tail in
Look at the way you walk
Look at the shape you’re in!

Tell yer mamma to tie your shoes
Check your points and plugs
I’m gonna tell you the news
There’s something wrong wid you!

Ah, ya look terrible!

All you gotta do is just copy me!

Guarded Optomism: ‘Song- ‘Do Nothing till I hear from You’

 Ok, so what do you do when you learn that the woman who supposedly ‘belongs‘ to you (to the extent that the possessive pronoun ever had any meaning) is poised to fly off to far-away Wisconsin?
To ‘take care of some affairs’, in her words.?
Obviously, you steam open a letter from the evil ‘ex’… wishing you hadn’t?
Yes, he’s dying to swap spit with ‘your girl’.
You pretend innocence.
Try to talk her out of it : ( “Planes crash daily; you didn’t hear?’)
In the end, song-writing , as I’m trying to prove here, saves the day (?)
‘Milwaukee’, fortuitously, rhymes with ‘walkie-talkie’ ‘So there’s that…’, you whistle in the dark.
And you remember all the good times, before you were cursed to meet this slut. …
The sweating gospel true-believer choir members: ‘Bethel A.M.E’, ‘Ray’s Temple,’ ‘Brightside Baptist Church’. They may have mistaken my artistic exuberance as a belief in the ‘Walks on Water!’ Guy, but who careth? In the end, even Dylan said ‘Ya gotta believe in somebody’)

And as a musician from birth, I was always in awe of their ‘sing like a bird’ natural power. No one cared that their average BMI was marginally off-scale.
(Anyone ever read a review which led off with ‘Though fat, Arethra Franklin none-the-less does a yoeman’s job on ‘RESPECT’.
Anyway, this song is my sad-sack best-effort to recreate the experience of having 40 maroon-gowned, corpulent backup singers.
I recorded 5 (five) 4-man chorus tracks and mixed ’em together, with reverb. Two of them purposely drunken. Hey, whatever it takes.
So yeah : ‘Do Nothing till I hear from you’. That was my policy, while I waited out the anguish.
She did, tearfully, at the airport ,confess that she’d miss me. Yeah sure, there with your pajamas down to the ankles….
When she returned, I studiously avoided any request for details; instead choosing to quickly overwhelm any errant genetic foreign matter with a flood of my own proven Einsteinian stock.
And as usual, at least a song emerged from the horror.
Which is the real point, decades later, of this soul-wracking episode.
Enjoy:


Lyrics:

Verse One:

Ain’t gonna ride into the sunset
Ain’t gonna fall in love with nobody
Ain’t gonna sell the house
Ain’t gonna move the mouse
I’m gonna:
..Do nothing till I hear from you (sing it!)
Do nothing till I hear from you (that’s right!)
Do nothing till I hear from you
Do nothing till I hear from you

Verse two:

I been standing at the Station
I read the writing on the wall
Somebody try to start a conversation
He ain’t talkin’ to nobody at all.
We ain’t got no problem we cain’t talk about
How come you don’t answer the phone?
I been walking in; you been walkin’ out
Oh, baby, I’m all alone

Do nothing till I hear from you
Do nothing till I hear from you
Do nothing till I hear from you
Do nothing till I hear from you

Ain’t gonna dye my hair
Ain’t gonna change my shirt
I’m gonna stand right here
And try to not to hurt myself
I’ll cry if I wanna
all the way to Milwaukee
I’ll cry if I wanna
And watch my walkie-talkie

-Instrumental…to pass the time..-

Do nothing till I hear from you
Do nothing till I hear from you

‘Nothing left we can do’-Another break-up Song

Actually, there is something left to do: I ‘could’ spend my newly-free time collecting all 57 kinds of Heinz Ketchup. That’d be as impressive as having a world-class super-model beauty queen wetting my sheets daily and nightly?
One might legitimately ask: ‘So when does ketchup catch up and trounce Heaven-on-earth? ‘ Answer: Surprisingly and convincingly quickly. When the catsup of Love stops oozing from the bottle, even upside-down (and yeah, I added hot water, shook it up; no deal.)
In fact, the moment of truth was a random night-club appearance, when the guitarist was missing the cables to ‘direct-input’ to the sound-men’s giant board. He ran out to his car and brought a rat’s nest of wires; only problem was that none of ’em matched up ‘female-to-male’.
And while telling the mixer-boss: ‘All of his connections are the.. ‘wrong gender’. it hit me:
Yo, dat’s me!’
Sick unto death from having to defend my ‘prize’ against hordes of wanna-be suitors, I wrote this song that very night.
Of course (happy ending) she’s still with me, stealing my ketchup bottles for who knows what prurient porpoises.
But at least the Song: it’s ready, waiting for ‘This time I really mean it!’

For now: call it Heinz’s ’57 kinds of ‘I forgive you’.

Lyrics:

Verse One:
There’s not the shadow of a chance
I’m not the kinda man who’ll give you a song and a dance
I’m not the middle-man you need
I can’t stay and watch you bleed

Verse Two:

This world is not an easy lay, girl
I’ve seen the cities that you say weren’t built in a day
I’ve seen the weapons that you use
I won’t be watching when you lose

Tryin’ to make me out as a big spender
All of your connections are the wrong gender
Let’s talk about a compromise
There’s nothing left we can do
Verse Three:

I might be killing it too soon’
But I can’t be putting on a face like the man in the moon

I’ve got the Title and the Deed
We’ve got all the numbers that we need
Verse Four:

We met as lovers in the sand
I can’t be living in a dream in a never-never land
I came back to find you here..
Where all the evidence is clear

Yeah, You go from latitude to longitude,,, in a half a minute
Started out a dreamer, but my heart’s not in it
Let’s talk about a compromise
There’s Nothing Left We Can Do

-Instru-

Well there’s daze and confusion.. in a grain of sand
Got to give the credit to your medicine man!
Trying to make me over as a big spender
All of your connections are the wrong gender
Talk about a compromise
There’s nothing left we can do, girl

There’s nothing left.. left we can do, girl
-repeat-

‘Breaking up is hard to do’? : Song- ‘Asleep at the Wheel’

Actually, after you get the tools and ducks (in the previous tutorial) in line, ‘goodbye’ songs become remarkably cheap ‘n easy.
I must note that I’ve not personally ‘broken up’ with all that many ‘significants’.

I, (or Eleanor Rigby?), wrote these as exercises. You say to yourself at 7:39 AM ‘Ok, that’s all she wrote, girl’ and vow to never speak to her again!
By 2:30 in the afternoon, some devil’s advocate in your brain/conscience has already made a case for re-thinking it all.
‘Nobody’s perfect’, you tell her on the phone, all the while wondering how anyone could be more ‘imperfect’!
But meanwhile you have a new song in the bin. In this one the Hammond plays a supporting role. Enjoy…

Lyrics:

Verse One

I’m not asleep at the wheel
I’m a dreamer, with a license to kill
I stayed till the end of the show, now it’s over
Easy come, easy go

Directions simple and easy to follow:
Just respect for the dead
I turn my face to the wall; I’m bleeding
But ‘it’s nothing’ you said
Chorus:

Long enough to wonder why I met you.. and say goodbye
Long enough to say goodbye, I’ll let you wonder why…

Verse Two

No time to wait; I’m a part of the action at the end of the road
You gave me promises made to be broken Too good to be true
I’ll leave my cards in the place where I found them; face down in the mud
You bet my future away but I let you
Now I’ll pay for the ride

Long enough to wonder why I met you.. and say goodbye
Long enough to say goodbye; I’ll let you wonder why

Instr-
Recap-

I’m not asleep at the wheel, I’m a dreamer, with a license to kill
You gave me promises made to be broken Too good to be true
I’ll leave my cards in the place where I found them; face down in the mud

I stayed till the end of the show, but now it’s over
Easy come, easy go

Long enough to wonder why I met you.. and say goodbye
Long enough to say goodbye; I’ll let you wonder why

Eleanor Rigby’s ‘Songbook’ Free to anyone with a heart

I’m so reminded of the Beatles’ classic ‘Ah, look at all the lonely people’. With the classic prophetic lines:

Yonatan Solberg, writing the words
for a song-thing that no one will hear/
No one comes near

Word Press kinda does that to anyone ‘still human after all these years.’
At any rate, (metaphorically) I found, tossed out on the sidewalk the jar where she kept her favorite tunes (‘Who were they
for ‘?)
And having recently discovered the true delight of sending tunes to a sweet co-conspirator here, …jus’ because she asked
nicely, I’m thinking to post daily a song from that above-mentioned jar I chanced upon. Five minutes later, and it would have
been tossed into a dumpster, lost to history.
So without further angst, here’s a C&W style sing-along.
This fellow is tryin’ to look like a nobody. So as not to ‘attract flies’. Yo, never knew what my own excuse was… ’till I
heard the tune.

Lyrics:

You can hardly recognize the man you tripped on
Down ‘n out, tired, an’ feeling blue
Everything I didn’t lose
Guess I gave away?
Nothing left I ever got from you…

I went from rags to riches
Now I’m back with ‘my own kind’
which is exactly
where you wanted me to be

Last night I laid awake and thought about you:
Thought about the little thangs you said..
Your love was like a burning Sun
Now you’re just someone I
can’t remember when you crawled out of my bed

Don’t let the clothes deceive you
I never could believe you could have
Thrown away a Decent Man like me

-instr-

Chorus:

I’m tryin’ to look like nobody
No girl could ever love..
‘specially if she looks like you
an’ fits me like a glove
Well it’s time to take my broken heart
an’ give it to somebody smart-enough
to never love a girl like you

I’m tryin’ to look like nobody
No girl could ever love..
‘specially if she looks like you
an’ fits me like a glove
Well it’s time to take my broken heart
an’ give it to somebody smart-enough
to never love a girl like you