revision99

A happy, rockin’ Solstice season to all!

I love this time of year. I like the short days, the long shadows, the cold weather (I know, I know, you people in Minnesota could tell me a thing or two about cold weather). I love the way my neighbors put lights all over their houses and yards, and the way the hardest hearts soften just a little. Even my own heart beats more warmly for this cold, cold world.

To celebrate I have recorded a holiday rock’n'roll song, my third such effort in three years. I should have my Christmas album finished in time for the 2019 holiday season, so stay tuned for that.

The other day I heard a segment on NPR about Senator Orrin Hatch’s Chanukah song, and when the question arose Why were there not more Chanukah songs? the answer was that all the Jewish songwriters were probably too busy writing Christmas songs.

This was exactly what Johnny Marks was doing. He was a Jewish songwriter who wrote a ton of Christmas songs, including “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, ” “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” and the awful “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas,” currently in heavy and sickening rotation on KOST-103.5 in Los Angeles.

But he totally redeemed himself by creating this gem for Chuck Berry, which is not only a Christmas song by a guy who should have taken more time out to write a few Chanukah songs, but sounds so much like a song that Chuck himself would write that even I was fooled until I looked it up. I now present my version of “Run, Rudolph, Run.”

It’s an ambitious project. My ambition was to get it posted here before Blue Girl and Neddie Jingo post their annual Christmas collaboration, which, if this were a competition, they might win, but they won’t, because it’s not, and I’m not competing. (I don’t know about them, though.) If you notice any shortcomings in the playing or singing, you can put it down to me trying to get finished in time to beat them to the internet. [UPDATE: BG & NJ finally posted their Christmas song, and the links above now point directly to it.] I did play and sing all the parts, except the drums, which I programmed, and the bass, which was played by the great Don Wittsten. Thanks, Don!

Click one of the blue buttons to hear the song. If that doesn’t work, click the crazy, writhing squiggly words below. Have a cool Yule, everyone!

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NOTE: If you’re on a slow connection, you can right-click the “Merry Christmas” animation above and “Save Link as..” or “Save Target as…” It’s 3 MB, so go get a cup of coffee while the song downloads to your computer, then double-click the file to play it.
(My previous Christmas songs are here and here.)

How many girl singers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Answer: Just one, because the whole world revolves around them.

On the small-time cover band level that I’m on, girl singers are a mixed blessing. True, they allow you to perform Sheryl Crowe songs and lots of other material not easily adaptable to being sung by guys. You have to face it — when you’re doing covers, sooner or later you’re bound to run into an audience that wants to hear something by Alanis Morisette. Naturally, you’d say no to that request under pretty much any circumstances, but what about Tracy Chapman or Fleetwood Mac? No matter how much pride you have in your musicianship or the integrity of your song selection, eventually you’ll at least have to consider such requests.

I stopped working with girl singers 30 years ago, not on purpose, but it just worked out that way. When I worked with them, they always arrived late, left early, and carried nothing but their own microphone and maybe a tambourine. On the road they always got their own room, while the rest of us shared. On stage, they were always the complete center of attention, even though musically everyone else in the band had equally important parts. During performances they could never hear enough of their own voice in the monitors. In those days we were lucky even to have monitors, much less separate monitor mixes, so we all had to listen mainly to her.

To be fair, some of them had great voices, some of them had great looks, some of them worked hard to front the band and entertain the people. Self-centered whiner that I am, though, I grew resentful of them. I had to learn an instrument in order to be in the band. I had to buy an instrument to be in the band. And when I sang, I still had to keep playing the guitar. So it didn’t seem fair to me that the girl didn’t have to bring anything to the table but her voice, which she was born with and — in most cases — was completely untrained. Then during the breaks people would say to her something like “You’ve got a good band,” as if somehow the band — and I — belonged to her or were taught how to play by her. In my bitterness I turned to strong drink.

Childish, I know.

So to penalize me now, at this late hour of my life, the universe has thrown another girl singer at me. It’s temporary — just for one show — but things don’t seem to have changed much. We only had time to rehearse with her once, and she arrived almost an hour late for a three-hour rehearsal, and she didn’t even bring a microphone or a tambourine. Then it turned out that she hadn’t had time to listen to the CD I made for her or look over the lyric sheets I gave her. All true to form as I remember it.

It will be fine, of course. We invited her to sing with us because we think she has a following around town from her extensive work in karaoke bars, and frankly, we need to put some butts in the seats. This compromise of my principles is nothing compared to what I would do for a chance to play with Aretha or Tina Turner or Linda Ronstadt.

Our girl didn’t knock my socks off at the rehearsal, but I can see she has the pipes, and nothing focuses you like an impending gig in front of a live audience. The show is Wednesday this week, and she’ll have a microphone, a tambouine and her own separate monitor mix. I expect she will practice her parts like crazy until then, and come out rockin’.

And then the whole world will revolve around her.

You can’t sleep.

You lie awake for what feels like hours before you finally lose consciousness, and even then you see her in your fevered dreams. In the daytime you are distracted, nervous. She keeps slipping into your thoughts. What would it be like? you wonder. You got a thing for her. An animal thing. You want to know what it smells like, that velvet skin at the back of her knee. You want to touch that area with your tongue, and feel her shudder.

But she gives you nothing, just sweet innuendo and sexy texts.

So you get up in the morning, drink coffee, get dressed, and get on with it.

Call me, Gwyneth. I got a great big honkin’ thang for you, baby.

And a new song:

I got a thing for you, baby.
I got a great big lovin’ thing for you, baby.
I got a thing for you, baby.
Won’t you have a thing for me?

You make me think about love when I see you walking down the street.
My heartbeat is racing, baby can you feel the heat?
You do something to me.
I want to do something to you.
Listen to me, baby, I’m trying to get a message through.

I got a thing for you baby, blah, blah, blah.

If you want me, you want to please me.
Why do you taunt me? Why do you tease me?
You make me crazy!
I only want your… I only want your…
Heart!

You lied to me, baby, when you told me that I was the one.
You were playin’ with my heart and then going out and having fun.
Make up your mind tonight!
You could make everything all right.
Aw, listen to me, baby, I’m trying to get a message to you.

I got a thing for you baby, why don’t you have a thing for me?

I guess I don’t have to go anywhere to be home for Christmas.

I have two brothers and two sisters, but both our parents have long ago left this world, so we will not all be getting on planes tomorrow and traveling somewhere to get “home” for Christmas. The notion always appealed to me, though, when we used to do it. Now that I think of it, I realize that home was where Mom was, wherever that might be. It felt good to be together with them all, in her warm home.

As I mentioned in my previous post (and elsewhere), I love Christmas music, and after Blue Girl teamed up with Neddie Jingo to give us all a song for Christmas two years ago I decided I’d like to get in on the fun. Since Blue Girl wouldn’t do it with me (sing, I mean) last year I performed alone. It was so much fun for me that I’m doing it again this year, and since I really am home, the song I chose is “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” by Buck Ram, Kim Gannon and Walter Kent, made famous by Bing Crosby in 1943.

Too late, I realized that it was beyond me to pull this one off. I ended up spending this evening just trying to make it presentable. I promise next year I’ll tackle something that is within my power. In the mean time, won’t you please give a listen to my 2008 Christmas song?

Just click the blue button to hear the MP3

For last year’s selection, go here.

And I have to tell you that you really should check out Blue Girl’s and Neddie Jingo’s three Christmas Collaborations, here, here and this year’s surprising tune here.

I wish every one of you a very Merry Christmas, unless you celebrate something different than me, in which case I wish you peace, love and beauty.

==========END OF POST – START OF TECH TALK==========

For those geeks who might like to know this stuff, here’s how this was recorded: I used a monster PC that I built myself, and a multitrack recording application called Sonar 7. The gorgeous electric piano is actually a Roland D-50 Linear Synthesizer, an 80’s-era relic that can make sounds which have still never been duplicated. The guitar is a Schecter Blackjack solid body with Seymour Duncan humbucking pickups (I used only the neck pickup) played through an old Line 6 Pod. The orchestral sounds are string samples from a Roland software synth (inside the PC), triggered by me playing the D-50. So there are just three instruments and one voice on the recording, all performed by me, even though I don’t know how to play keyboards.

Here’s my log of the evening’s activities:

7:13 PM (PST): Have to finish this thing tonight, or else I might as well wait until next year. Six vocal takes last night, for a total of 13. I think I finally got a usable one, but was too tired to listen to it. This really makes me feel like an amateur. I hope my singing is good enough. Nuts to those jerks who say “Good enough, isn’t.”

7:48 PM: OK, the vocal will have to do. A little reverb, and brighten it a bit. Now must fill up long, boring passage in the middle where nothing is happening. I’d like to do something with chimes or some Christmas-y sound, but no time. Must be guitar – only instrument I actually know how to play.

8:28 PM: This would sound better on acoustic guitar, but I’d have to put new strings on the Gibson, plus it would really hurt my fingers. I’ll try for a Larry Carlton vibe with the Blackjack.

9:44 PM: FUCK! I’ll never finish this. I’m in over my head. What was I thinking? I can’t play this kind of song. Plus, I used the electric guitar, and my fingers hurt anyway.

10:10 PM: Well, the guitar part ain’t good enough, but it isn’t gonna get any better tonight. Now, let’s see about the string part.

10:54 PM: Strings. Ha! Who needs string players, with their prima donna attitudes?

10:56 PM: It’s sparse, but I think it’s finished. I should learn to stop before I clutter it all up.

11:10 PM: Why is the mix so lopsided?

11:11 PM: Barb’s gone to bed, so I have to finish this on headphones. I hope it doesn’t suck when I hear it in the morning.

12:25 AM Christmas Eve: OK, I’m putting it up. I’m worried about the mix, but it’s too late to fix. Must get some sleep.

Merry, merry, everybody!

I love it when I don’t have to play all the instruments. (But I did add a guitar.)

Click the blue arrow to listen.

[More holiday hoo-ha at Neddie Jingo and Blue Girl.]

As always, I wish you love and peace.

Yes, Bobby Darin still owns it.

But I borrowed it for a little while, and ended up proving my earlier point.

Join me in my admiration and embarrassment:

(WARNING: The blue button represents three minutes and eight seconds of your life that you will never get back.)

Question to ponder:
Has any singer, anytime, anywhere, ever owned a song the way Bobby Darin still owns “Mack the Knife”? I mean, sure, other singers can sing it, but it takes a lot of damned nerve, and it is always compared to this version.

The irony is not entirely lost on me that since I finished The Protest Song Project, I have been royally one-upped by various Bigger Names.

First came Dolly Parton with her CD “Those Were the Days“, featuring 60’s folky faves Where Have All the Flowers Gone?, Where Will the Children Play? and John Lennon’s utopian vision of a better world, Imagine.

Then Bruce Springsteen came along with “The Seeger Sessions,” covering the songs of protest-singing hero Pete Seeger. I admit I haven’t heard this one, because sometime during the eighties I choked on too much Boss, and I can’t listen to any more of his tortured snarl or witness his gotta-be-fake-by-now blue collar pose. Also, he dances like a girl. Nonetheless, I have to say he has jumped on the protest bandwagon with this release, and good for him.

In March The Dixie Chicks came storming back from their three years of death threats and righteously indignant wingnut attacks (brought about by the Chicks’ public opposition to the war on Iraq) with an unapologetic CD and single, Not Ready to Make Nice and Neil Young has just released “Living With War,” a merciless indictment of the moral bankruptcy of the Bush Administration and its bloody and useless war on Iraq (you can hear his entire CD if you click on the link).

Dolly and Bruce are hedging their bets a little, doing old songs by other writers. If they get too much heat for saying bad things about the government they can always claim they just liked the tunes, grew up with them, etc., and wanted to do some kind of “tribute,” but God forbid they actually meant to actually say anything to their audiences, or to the administration. Still, the songs on their current CD’s are legitimate protest songs, and hearing them sung by artists of their stature can only help the cause of peace, honor and justice in America and the world, so I say “Right on, Dolly and Bruce!”

Neil and The Chicks are putting more on the line with their releases. They are unmistakeably speaking truth to power, and attaching their names and reputations to their words, not to mention that their new music might cost them a lot of money, not just now but for years to come, as ignorant jackasses boycott their records and concerts. Do you think “ignorant jackass” is a bit too strong? These are the same people who will “never go to France,” for God’s sake, or drink French wine, because the French didn’t join the coalition of the willing in the runup to our invasion of Iraq. So to Neil and The Dixie Chicks I say “Right fucking on!!”

I don’t have the juice to put a piece of music in front of millions of listeners. But even though it will forever look like these artists came forward bravely at a time when no one else dared speak, you know and I know that The Protest Song Project originated here last June, so we know who really came forward first. My fellow bloggers, I think you deserve a little credit for your vision and your bravery. You’ve been speaking out and raising concerns for six years now, and whether or not you rolled up your sleeves and wrote a verse to Not In My Name, may I offer you my fondest regards, and my best power salute:

Right on, brothers and sisters!

Ladies and gentlemen, your protest song is ready.

Note: If you don’t want to read the following long explanation,
you can download the song (”Not In My Name”)
by clicking on this clenched fist, or play it immediately by clicking the little “Play” button beneath it.

I’ve been having a lot of fun for the past four or five months writing a protest song for the 21st Century. I’ve been able to spend about eight minutes a week working on it, so it’s not like I’m only producing like a minute of music per month or anything. If I were working on it full-time, adding up all these eight-minute segments I figure I would have finished it in a day or so.

For those who weren’t here or don’t remember, let me fill you in on this project.

On June 6th of this year, my good friend MPH at the blog Heightened Thoughts wrote the words “Where’s the music?” You can read the entire post here, but the gist is that we live in a world of violence, injustice and corruption, and our musical artists are strangely silent about it. Silent, that is, compared to the power and the energy exhibited by the musicians and songwriters of the 1960’s and 70’s. In MPH’s words, “What you had was a collection of artists really responding to the world around them…And it was powerful.” Today’s music scene, according to MPH, is just not providing us with the inspirational rallying songs of days gone by.

Fair enough, and maybe even true.

So, to help rectify this state of affairs (and have a little fun at the same time) I issued this challenge: If you are really angry, if you really want to protest, if you really feel like marching and singing, send me your angry lyric ideas and I will set them to music, record them and post the results on my blog. Who better to do this, than someone like me, the Oldest Blogger, who was actually there in the sixties and seventies, even though I don’t remember a lot of it? You can find my original challenge in the comments on Heightened Thoughts.

Then I began to hype the “uncontest.” Those of you who weren’t here for it can catch up by reading…

• this
• and this
• and this.

Those are the main three posts in which I exhorted you, dear readers, to send me your song ideas. If you take the time to read them now or later, you will also have the pleasure of re-reading the entire lyrics to “Eve of Destruction,” which I posted to show how easy it is to write a protest song.

Most of you were not eager to try this. Maybe you are not as angry as I thought you were. Maybe it was a stupid idea in the first place. But I did hear from some of you, and I also visited a lot of your blogs and captured your ideas for use in the song. Because, as I told you, the penalty for not writing this song with me would be that I would write it myself.

So here it is at last: “Not In My Name.” Those of you who helped, wittingly or unwittingly, I thank you. This list includes (but is not limited to)

• MPH of Heightened Thoughts
• Carla of No Bad Days
• Theresa the Hot Chik
• Ron Southern
• Tacit One of Symbiosis
• Aydreeyin, who has quit his old blog
• Steph
• L of Random Speak
• Wichita Brent, who has all but stopped blogging
• G.D. of Lions and Tigers…
• the redoubtable Slinky Cat
• Digitalicat
• SJ the Mom
• Emma Goldman of War On Error
• Alex
• Drink More Jack
• My brother Rick, who played the Big Strum guitar part

and all the others from whom I may have stolen an idea. My plan here is to spread the blame around, so everyone gets a thin coat of it and no one – especially me – has to bear the entire responsibility. Don’t bother emailing me to have your name taken off the credits, because I won’t do it.

To hear the song, click the angry fist at the top of this post. Warning: This is a five and a half megabyte download. If you have a DSL or cable connection you should be OK. If you are on a dialup, a smaller file (but still pretty big) is available by clicking this green “play” button . This version will only work for Windows users, and probably only if you use Internet Explorer.

I need a break.

My previous post, Another Memorial, got me down and I still feel like shit. Many of the truths I believe are crappy, but I know that the world sux and I put it out of my mind and laugh and live my life. But after writing something like that I can’t forget it easily.

Making music has always been good therapy for me, so this past week I fired up my home recording system, which is basically just a PC with some special software on it, and recorded a song, just to get my mind free. I started from scratch, and I played and sang all the parts, except for the drums, which I sequenced. Extremely careful readers will know that this is a song I wrote a long time ago. I just thought it would be easier to (re)learn the recording process if I already knew the song.

It’s just an experiment, folks, but I have posted the project if you’d like to hear it. Just click on one of the buttons below. Both files are MP3. The low-resolution one is 2 megabytes, and the high-resolution version is 4 megabytes. Either of them will take a while if you’re on a slow connection. Sorry, I just can’t stand to make the sound any worse by compressing it more.

Oh, yeah: The song is called Maybe Someday. Turns out it was good therapy, and it made me feel better.