Tuesday, December 29, 2020

Love Cult!

 I took a poke at your Love Cult, Jimmy. The original song was written to an already-existing tune with no chorus, as Dennis favors the 32-bar AABA form.  I used the same form, so once again no chorus. However since Dennis thought "anthropophagic" was too hard to sing, I've cut his supper up for him and used (almost) all words of one syllable. Love cult!


Love cult, love cult

Come be part of our rite

Love cult, love cult

We only meet at night

 

Love cult, love cult

We sing our hymns of praise

Love cult, love cult

Just like the good old days

 

Boys and girls

Meet by night lit by the stars above 

Make their vows

That they’ll give their lives to live for Love

 

Love cult, love cult

Let all love be free

Love cult, love cult

Come make love with me!

Tuesday, December 08, 2020

 I dreamed I was getting new strings for my bass, and as I woke up, my left hand was playing "Baby, Won't You Come Upstairs." What a great song that is.

Wednesday, December 02, 2020

Happy Birthday Jymn

 I seem to have gotten my birthday wish--may you get all yours!

Monday, November 30, 2020

The Tragi-comedy of Love

Love is comic
Anarchic and anomic
Love is hilarious
So funny, so precarious
 
Love is tragic
Grotesque and anthropophagic
Love’s Grand Guignol
With a mad king and mad queen role
 
Angels laugh
When two lovers kiss 
And suddenly their hearts beat faster
Demons laugh
When the whole show turns to
Horror and to disaster
 
Is it catharsis?
Is that really what this farce is?
How can we know?
On with this tragic vaudeville show!

Thursday, November 26, 2020

Music From a Time of Immaturity

 Archivist Phil Milstein sent me this fragment of a solo electric tuba performance. My guess is Chet's circa 1987.

https://soundcloud.com/user-60976419/solo-live-electric-tuba-fancy

Monday, November 02, 2020

Happy Birthday Johny! This is a big one!

I sincerely hope that my birthday wish for you is the same as your birthday wish and that it comes true.

Love on ya

Saturday, August 22, 2020

Yer Darn Tootin' Round Two

 The Book of Jones will be presenting our pitch to be Your Next Favorite Musical next Thursday the 27th at 8 PM Pacific time. It was supposed to be a live competition last April but instead it's an online video, which means that you my dear friends who are far away can view it by following the links from here. If you miss it the first time, it should be archived at that site afterwards.

Friday, July 24, 2020

King Corona

Here's my Covid song. I was thinking of those old blues songs about diseases, like the TB Blues



There’s an old demon worryin’ ‘round my door
Oh, King Corona
I told him I’m not the one he’s looking for
Oh King Corona
I said, Sir you must be mistaken
I locked my door, but he tried to break in
He’s a nasty devil and he means to score
Oh, King Corona

I thought maybe I could hide
Oh, King Corona
Spend the rest of my life inside
Oh, King Corona
I don’t know what makes him desire us
So much power in one little virus
Couldn’t get away no matter how I tried
Oh, King Corona

When he comes knocking, will I be able to refuse?
Oh, King Corona
Will I be the one that he grabs and subdues?
Oh King Corona
First you have a little cough
Soon that demon tries to carry you off
Don’t want to sing those ventilator blues
Oh King Corona

Today's Verse: 24 July 2020

We met on the eve
Of Covid 19
Your lips were rubies
Your eyes shiny green

We made love all night
You left the next day
I learned from the app
Covid took you away

Sunday, July 12, 2020

Open Song

I had a little secret
I had a secret just for you
I found a little stone
A perfect little pebble
Gray and smooth like any other 
For you, it was for you
For no one else but you
I couldn’t put it in your ear
I couldn’t, so I put it on your tongue
Behind your tongue
Beneath your tongue
I put it under your tongue
I had a little secret
I had a little button and I didn’t know where to hide it
So I put it under your tongue
A secret for you to find
To find when you were ready
Maybe one day as a lisp
Maybe one day as a stammer
It was a little pocket with a secret 
 I hid it under your tongue
Your little tongue
Your little tongue
A little snake that pops out
A little jack-in-the-box 
I made a little puzzle
I made a little riddle
It was just for you, I made it just for you
I made it for you but I kept a piece for me
Just one piece for myself
I wanted to give you something to read
I wanted to ask you to read me but I didn’t want to
I was afraid to
I made a thing to read to you
A little thing for you to read
Folded paper, folded words
I kept one piece and I hid the rest
I hid it where you could find it 
You know where, you know where
I hid it where you can find it
It was a present for you, that’s all
I wanted you to find it
I wanted you to read me
Little button, little pocket
Little riddle, little present
Little secret
Little stone


Wednesday, June 03, 2020

Today's Verse: 3 June 2020

My god is a son of a bitch
Thank god he's a son of a bitch
He'll make you suffer one two three
He'll make you suffer so you'll see
Nothing on earth is stronger than he
My god is a son of a bitch

I was born to sing his praise
To worship him and be his slave
Through countless nights and countless days
A joke, a jester, and a knave
Lost inside his endless maze
Confused, confounded, and half-crazed
My god is a son of a bitch

I was born to be a tool
To realise his awesome might
A dunce, an idiot, a fool
Irreverent and impolite
My god is a son of a bitch

I was born to be a shout
Proclaiming his omnipotence
A goof, a hooligan, a louse
Shameless in my innocence
My god is a son of a bitch

I was born to bear the load
Of Sovereign desire
Light me up and I'll explode
Bursting into righteous fire
My god is a son of a bitch

My god is a son of a bitch
Thank god he's a son of a bitch
He'll make you suffer one two three
He'll make you suffer so you'll see
Nothing on earth is stronger than he
My god is a son of a bitch

Friday, May 22, 2020

Selfie in place

I hope you don't mind that I put you in the song, Poppa. One worries.



Selfie In Place

I just wanted to take the time to say Hey--
I’m healthy and working and doing OK
No sign of the virus, no fever, no cough
I haven’t been furloughed, still not laid off.
I’m inside all day working, which I know’s not unique
I walk the dog once a day and I shop once a week.
I cook dinner most nights, then I read or hang out
I’m trying to quit drinking, it’s bringing on the gout.

I wanted to write you a quarantine song
How we’re all in this together and need to stand strong
A song full of uplift and affirmation
Or a blues about being lonely in isolation
Or something putting down fools who won’t stay six feet apart
Something clever and fun, inspiring and smart
But I can’t, man. I can’t. Whenever I do
Just sounds hokey, cliché and untrue.

If I get the flu and am laid up in bed
It won’t be much fun but it beats being dead
I worry abut my dad, he’s now 89
Younger than Lee Konitz but much older than John Prine
And my friend James who had surgery last year
They took out his teeth and then took off his ear
If he gets sick he’ll die, which he says he’s not scared of
He just has some shit he was hoping to take care of

Even if we flatten the curve out and all
The virus will probably be back in the fall
There’ll be fires in the summer, and universal depression
Things may just get worse with the November election.
A vaccine might be ready in 2021
I can’t imagine myself or the world when it’s done.
Well, when it’s over let’s get wasted like Noah after the flood
‘Til then
         I’m as ever
                Your friend,
                     Mister Blood

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Today's Verse: 22 April 2020

Peter stepped out of his mind
To leave all his troubles behind
His body a shell
That echoes of hell
His eyes though wide open
Are blind

Peter's gone out of his head
To find what it's like to be dead
The things that he feels
Are all very real
But nobody hears what
He said

Peter was Adonis
Peter was Einstein
I can't believe that Peter
Was a friend of mine

Peter's taken leave of his senses
Of posturing and of pretences
He's naked and base
The smile on his face
Betrays not a thought or
Intention

I wonder what got into Peter
A ravenous, glorious creature
It came in the night
Flame burning bright
Transforming his pain into
Pleasure

Peter was Johnny Thunders
Peter was Frankenstein
I can't believe that Peter
Was a friend of mine

Wednesday, April 08, 2020

Today's Verse: 8 April 2020

I'm looking forward to the time I will forget you
There'll come a day that you'll have vanished from my mind
Every night will be a night that I can get through
And tomorrow is the reason why
I'll be glad you're left behind

Thursday, April 02, 2020

Today's Verse: 3 April 2020

Now I have the time to ponder
Have the time to stare
Look out the bedroom window
Life's growing over there

Now I have the time to wonder
Floating in my head
Businesses unfinished
Memories un-dead

Things I need are nagging me
To tend them day and night
But what I want's abandoned me
And taken appetite

Thursday, February 27, 2020

Yer Darn Tootin'!

Dennis and I and the rest of the Book of Jones will be doing a live, extended version of this pitch in April.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqQohRwWgjo&feature=youtu.be

Monday, December 02, 2019

A very happy birthday Jymn! Sacrificial remains make it hard to forget.

Sunday, November 24, 2019

#116

Recently Dennis and I did a piece at a little Shakespeare event, where he performed a musical setting of Sonnet 116 and then I gave a midrash. In case you forget, here's how Sonnet 116 goes:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
     If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


And this is what I read, while Dennis backed me up on guitar:


I love that this sonnet about the permanence of love is by the man whose characters are so divinely fluid, whose stories are full of mistaken identities, twins, and men who don’t realize that the boy they like so well is the woman they will marry. That’s comedy, isn’t it, not “the marriage of true minds.”  Ha ha ha. 

Let me be clear. In this sonnet he’s not saying that lovers never change, but that love itself is “ever-fixed,” that it’s “a star to every bark.” Love, we’re told, is not Time’s fool. It’s not a clown, it’s not a chump, it’s not a comedian.  

Let me play the Fool here a bit myself. You may remember that in the plays, the Fool is the character who is allowed to mock the wise. His fooling shows them their own folly. The powerful tolerate him or ignore him; the cleverer or more cynical characters see the wisdom in his folly.  Well that, I think, is what Love does to Time: it mocks the Great King even as it bows to him, keeping for itself, at least for a moment, the pleasures that Time and Death cannot reach.  In that way, maybe Love is Time’s loving Fool.

Think of the most loving and lovable Fool in the plays, the Fool in King Lear. He taunts the King and he teases him; he offers Lear his fool’s hat to wear, and he says that he and Lear together are the sweet fool and the bitter fool. He also follows him into the fierce, raging storm; as in the sonnet, he “bears it out even to the edge of doom.”  To the edge but not beyond, since the Fool famously disappears after that scene. 

In a strange way, in the way of words, the Fool returns at the very end of the play, just before Lear himself dies, when he calls Cordelia, “my poor fool.”  When he hears that Cordelia is dead, he says:   

“And my poor fool is hanged: no, no, no life
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more
Never, never, never, never, never.”

The moment when he finally acknowledges his love for his “poor fool” is the moment of no no no and never never never never, the moment of death.

Some people say this reappearance of the Fool, a reappearance in name at least, was an inside joke, since Cordelia and the Fool might have been played by the same actor.  Some say that they are actually the same person.  I don’t know about that, but it does befit Love, Time’s Fool, to say to the King, the Father, to Time itself with his bending sickle, as Cordelia does say, “I love your majesty according to my bond, nothing more, nothing less,” which is to say, only infinitely.  That is the bond of love that does not “alter when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove,”  as the sonnet has it. That’s the love that “bears it out even to the edge of doom” and maybe in this case beyond. 

And just to play the Fool a bit further: Perhaps Love has its own Fool, the joker that tries to kid Love, and in the end outlasts love. I mean poetry, I mean these sonnets.  After the lover and the beloved are both gone, after Love itself may have left the stage, the poems stay on to tell the story, like Horatio at the end of Hamlet

Touchstone, the fool in As You Like It says that, “the truest poetry is the most feigning” but he’s fooling, right? If love is changeable and fickle, why then, the sonnet tells us, Shakespeare never wrote. So tell me, who’s fooling whom?