This grew its own legs and ran through my head. I don’t know what it’s about.
The piano part came to me unbidden. The lyrics, I have no idea, but my middle daughter says it sounds just like trying to borrow one of my books when she was a teenager.
I need to set up my studio and stop recording in the master bedroom closet. It’s a nice space but without a multitrack system I can’t stack the harmonies easily, so each track is sung against the primary melody in the hopes that I’ll get enough harmonic movement. As a result some of the chords are a mite sloppy. Next time, next time.
Part of my “Tom Waits for no man” phase, apparently.
I love being in the kitchen with Best Beloved.
These things come from I know not where, but they come. I found the whole thing amusing.
Needs piano or some such.
Some people can’t move on because they’re stuck
because they can’t move on
because they’re stuck
like this clown, who thinks it’s her fault.
I wrote the chorus to this as a straight country mandolin song and just couldn’t find this guy’s story. Somehow, realizing it could be gypsy jazz led me to his cluelessness and the story.
I don’t like writing sad songs. I understand that some folks want to (as someone said to me) “experience the full range of human emotion” but I’ve had all the sadness I’ll ever need, I don’t have to go searching for it.
Ireland sings to me most nights and some days. We spent a month there in 2005. I’ve been trying to go back (and if possible, stay) ever since. Yes, I’m one more of those people who want to be Irish. Seems everyone with a certain bent is inexorably drawn there.
I discovered this simple 2-chord tropical sounding pattern a few years ago. I have a mild number obsession. I don’t know where the whole coffee thing came from. I drink it but it’s not my religion or anything.