Thinking About a Protest Song (Songwriting Week 12--Plight of the Pontiac)

I've never felt qualified to write a protest song. What does a guy like me have to protest? Caucasion male, raised in the suburbs by a loving family, seemingly well educated, gainfully employed and basically never gone hungry a day in my life. I do, occasionally, feel qualified to write blues numbers, and I have. More on that in a future post.

But not a protest song. Unless. You see ... they got this thing called empathy and I've been feeling a lot of it lately. Especially for family and friends struggling in this economy, and especially so for folks up in Detroit where my Dad's people are from. That's where decades of bad management by auto industry execs and city government, coupled with a policy of off-shoring labor to get around unions has created a wasteland of a once proud town.

Which leaves bittersweet memories for my immigrant grandfather who worked the Chrysler factories for over 40 years. And worse, it leaves a joke of a devastated economy for younger generations like my cousins to limp along beside while trying to support their families. One such cousin has been out of work in the housing industry for almost a year now even though he was previously an award winning high achiever. Why don't they leave you ask? Family, basically. For all the things Detroit doesn't have anymore, one thing it's always had is a strong tradition and respect for family, especially amongst those descended from European immigrants.

So they trudge along, doing the best that they can, while companies like GM continue to make baffling decisions, like the one they made when they decided to discontinue the Pontiac line of cars. To my way of thinking, that was a short-sighted, bone-headed move. Pontiac has given us some great, inspiring cars like the Trans Am, the Firebird, the Bonneville and, my personal favorite, the GTO. These were cars that for prior generations symbolized cool and speed and excitement. We even made movies that centered around them:

The point is, Pontiac was the one part of GM that seemed to employ people with some imagination and fire. They made their share of crappy decisions along the way just like rest of the industry, but at least they did it with style. They gave us something to get fired up about while the rest of the industry, especially GM, was putting out cars like the Buick (fill in the blank ... they all sucked) and the Ford Tempo.

So when GM blew out the star in the Pontiac dart I threw up my hands in disgust, so to speak ... What's that? Don't know what the star in the Pontiac dart is/was? You actually do, you just didn't realize it. Take a look:

Looks like an arrowhead, yes (harkening back to the American Indian Chief Pontiac), but was referred to by many as the Pontiac dart. And from what I remember, the little cross inside the dart is supposed to depict a star, maybe even the North Star, but I'm not sure. What matters for my sordid purposes is that when GM discontinued Pontiac they blew out the star in the dart and made the world a little less bright for all of us.

So yes, I protest. I protest for all the guys who dreamed of driving a muscle car with the girl of their dreams cozied up next to them. And I protest for my cousins and the devastated landscape they struggle to keep calling home.

PLIGHT OF THE PONTIAC

21,000 hourly jobs

Still protecting the management slobs

With the cash they took from me

Unemployment at 15 percent

Union bennies don’t make a dent

In the stuff us blue folks need

Take me back to the Fabulous Fifties

Bonnie hardtop fit my need for speed, luscious speed

When GM blew out the star

In the fine red Pontiac dart

The people were next in the line of fire

Now they’re closing my old high school

Board of Ed looked like a bunch of fools

Last night on my TV

Say we got to be the windmill state

How they’re gonna drop the jobless rate

In a land of oil beats me

When our pride died? I don’t really know

But I had plenty driving my GTO, she could go

There’s rebellion in the air

Politicians better damn well care

‘Bout the land between the lakes

UAW is on the attack

Gonna bring back Chief Pontiac

If we don’t get our fair shake

Still remember the wind cutting through my hair

Grandpa driving his Chieftain without a care, not a care

Coming to you from the land of Honda, Nissan and Toyota, the country that used cheap labor, quality control and our own big managment arrogance to beat us at our own game, I remain faithfully yours and thank you for sharing in my rant and reading my blog.

To listen to "Plight of the Pontiac" please click here and use Steve's MySpace Music Player.

The Image In Your Heart (Songwriting Week 11--Picture This)

I'm traveling in northern Europe this week with my wife. She's asleep next to me right now on a train from Amsterdam to Brussels. We were visiting my daughter who's studying abroad this semester. She comes home next month. In the meantime, I had the surreal experience of kissing her good-bye for another month plus in the red light district of Amsterdam. Yep. It's just too weird on too many levels so I'll leave it alone.

Back to my other lady love--the sleepy one. I wrote the song featured this week during another weird experience. I was smack in the middle of falling in love not long after swearing on a stack of beer coasters that I never would again. And she was falling for me, an older and rebounding, soon to be divorced guy, after promising herself never to go there. But we did. We both did. Thank God.

Now we're traveling through Europe together, taking pictures as we go, with visions of what lies in store at the next new place along the way, and I'm reminded of the mental imagery that inspired this song. The images that convinced us we could see things that others couldn't, and that sometimes vision is worth the risk. With that as a premise, it won't surprise you that the first serious gift I ever bought my wife was a camera, which was right about the same time I wrote this:

PICTURE THIS

Picture this, two tattered snapshots folded into one
Don't you turn and run, it'll be alright
Picture this, a silent movie classic etched in rough
If we stay tough, it'll be alright

Bet they didn't think we'd get this far
I saw from the start how strong you are
So I hitched my broke down wagon to the star
Of this film noir
It's only black and white, but that's alright

Picture this, the judges and the preachers are all wrong
If we stay strong, it'll be alright
Picture this, the image in your heart is our best shot
Ready or not, it'll be alright

Bet they didn't think we'd get this far
I saw from the start how strong you are
So I hitched my broke down wagon to the star
Of this film noir
It's only black and white, but that's alright

(c) Steve Celestini, 2007

It was tempting to dismiss our chance at a successful relationship because of all the obvious obstacles. The temporal and demographic stuff on the surface was tilted against us, no doubt. We even tried "breaking up" a couple times, self-imposed moratoriums on time together, but that only made sense to others, not to us. So we took some risk, even though we seemed destined for a melodramatic B-movie ending, because all the things we could see, all the things we pictured for ourselves, were trending upwards.

There's a thing about going up, though. It's harder than going down. Falling down tends to happen quickly and be done. Going up is hard work. There's all kinds of physical, emotional and relational gravity pulling against you. You've got to have a picture in your heart, I think, an image that you turn your face towards, like a light at the end of a tunnel, something that helps you overcome gravity.

And it really helps to have someone holding your hand and climbing with you.

Thanks for reading. Next week I'll be coming to you from a plane to Japan. That should be interesting.

To listen to "Picture This" please click here and use Steve's Myspace Music Player.

(Songwriting Week 10--My Connection Home)

Technology has a way of reminding you once in awhile that IT is in control, not us. I got such a reminder these last few weeks when my digital home studio recorder (the Korg D1200) went haywire; that’s why I’m a couple weeks overdue with this blog entry. It’s not that it quit working, but it did decide to do two jobs instead of one: (1) record my songs; and (2) simultaneously record phantom radio programs from locations unknown on the same tracks as my songs. And then after two weeks of this nonsense it just stopped. The same thing happened a couple months ago, so if any techies out there know why this might have happened and can help me prevent it from happening again, by all means, please stand and be recognized.

Meanwhile, I was traveling quite a bit on business and planning several more trips this summer for vacation and business. For instance, I’m on a plane to NYC as I’m typing this. Just a daytrip today, but tomorrow we fly to Amsterdam to visit my daughter who’s been there “studying” abroad for months. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from her and I miss her very much. Can’t wait to hug her and smell her hair for tell tale traces of too much time in the Amsterdam coffee houses ;-).

During one recent business trip I made a whirlwind tour of my company’s California sales territories and then caught a Saturday night red-eye home from San Francisco that connected to Raleigh in Boston. Those of you who travel frequently know the drill on West-East transcontinental flights: three or four hours of fitful sleep and you wake up feeling like someone drugged you. So, I was in that physical state sitting at Logan Airport waiting to make my connection home to Boston while thinking about all the other travel I’ve got coming up, including a trip to visit sales territories in Houston, Dallas and Austin. And I was thinking about my band and all the great gigs we’ve got coming up and how at Merlefest this past month we actually dared to dream what it would be like if we got signed to a record deal and went on the road for awhile. And I was sitting in Boston trying to make my connection home and missing my wife and my kids. And I was mulling over why so many of the people in Los Angeles weird me out with their “if you ain’t in the business (of TV/movies) I got no time for you” attitude. And I was sitting in Boston trying to make my connection home. And then I was clacking away on my Blackberry Notepad …

MY CONNECTION HOME (G)

© Steve Celestini

Ran to Houston from the, damned confusion

That L.A., put on me

Texas is hotter than a, body oughta be

But least, I can breathe

L.A.’s, sly and foxy like a, devil’s proxy

But they chilled me, to the bone

Now I’m, melting in Houston trying to

Make my connection, home

Next stop’s Austin on my, way to Boston

Where a band, needs a song

Red street river might just, drown my liver

If I stay, too long

But a, night at Antone’s where the, music’s so gone

Could renew, my soul

So I’m, boozin’ through Austin trying to

Make my connection, home

I go round and down through bedrock ground

Just to come up on the other side of … where?

And every town I bounce around

Confirms that I’m just plain homesick and … scared

When this, bus hits Richmond, I’ll be, primed and itching

For a telephone

To tell her I’m, quitting in Richmond trying to

Make my connection, home

If she’ll take me back I’ll jump this track’s

Got me living like a man without a … plan

Spent all this time living in my mind

So why should she agree to take me back … again?

Still I’m, hitching to Raleigh picking, flowers on the highway

Cuz I finally know

It’s time to, quit this roaming and to

Make my connection, home

I suppose this one’s mostly self-explanatory, but I’ll cast a little light on some of the more obscure references for you. “Red street river” and “a night at Antone’s” refer to a couple of the more popular drinking/live music locales in Austin. I’ve never been, but I hear tell that’s a crying shame and I intend to get there soon. “[H]itching to Raleigh picking, flowers on the highway” is a tribute and note of thanks to the band Old Crow Medicine Show and their song “Wagon Wheel”. My band covers that song regularly and people seem to really love our version as evidenced by the standing ovation we got when we played it at the last Merlefest. Read the lyrics in the first verse of that song and you’ll get what I mean. And finally, “It’s time to, quit this roaming” is my tribute to another great artist we love to cover, Steve Earle, and more specifically his song “Steve’s Last Ramble.” That’s another tune that we regularly play late in shows that consistently gets a rise out of folks.

Just about time to land at La Guardia, so thanks again for reading and hopefully I’ll be more consistent with my entries in the future. To that end, I’m hedging my technology bets by wagering heavily on Apple: I’ve got a MacBook on the way that should serve both as my writing and recording device and my until recently reliable Blackberry has just been replaced by an iPhone. The signs are good that I’m making the right move. Turns out the guy in the seat next to me on this flight is a banjo-playing business man who loves his MacBook and says I should definitely check out Apple’s Garage Band software for recording live before sinking a lot of money into ProTools. Thanks, Mike from Chapel Hill.

To listen to “Make My Connection Home”, please click here and use Steve’s MySpace Music player.

When Sad Makes Glad (Songwriting Week 9--A Beer and a Cry

Fair warning: if you're not feeling up to reading about someone else's divorce misery in graphic detail, skip this one and I'll see you next week ...

When my ex and I separated, I went through all the emotions you would expect, plus a few I was pretty sure I invented, as ego-centric and silly as that sounds. If you asked me what was the worst of them, I would have said, and still say, that feeling nothing was the worst. More precisely, there was a hollowness that overwhelmed more frequently and intensely than sadness or regret ever did. Like floating in a state of emotional ignorance, with an unseen hand applying just enough pressure to your chest and abdomen to make it slightly hard to breathe.

The intense “negative” emotions are much easier to tolerate, much easier to understand and palliate. I suppose that’s why one of the few songs I’ve been able to write specifically about the immediate trauma of marital separation was the one I’m featuring this week, “A Beer and a Cry”. I wrote this one back in early 2007, and I’m featuring it now in part because I was too busy at Merlefest with The Gravy Boys this past week to write anything new. But I think I’m also posting it now because it’s taken me this long to put it in perspective; to see it as more than the outpouring of raw nerves and self-sedation.

You know, a beer and a cry does make the evening go by, and a lot more tolerably than staring at the wall. I tried meditation at the suggestion of my fantastic counselor of five years, Ellen, God bless her, but it didn’t work for me, at least not in a way that I expected, hoped or comprehended. The idea is to empty your head and just exist. Supposedly, with practice, many people get good enough at it that they can go into calming trances for hours at a time. Me? I could never clear my head for more than 30 seconds. Still can’t. I’m pretty sure now that that’s a symptom of whatever it is in me that drives creativity, which I appreciate. But it makes me a world class failure at meditating. A couple minutes after I started, I inevitably found that my eyes had snapped open and that I was staring at a point on the wall with a song in my head, sometimes my own, or maybe someone else’s. Like I was taking comfort in a new or familiar pattern. Not the ground breaking, soul searching, emotional development that the experts wished for me, but at least it was more tolerable than the aforesaid emptiness, so maybe I did get something out of meditation.

So gradually I spent more time focusing on the songs in my head, letting them coalesce. (Is it just me, or have we all started using the word “so” as the first word in way too many sentences?) You see, at first I had ignored the sad-songs-post-separation-experience, because I assumed they would be too trite, too predictable, too cliché to even bother writing down. But eventually I did start writing them down, telling myself at first that they weren’t really songs, just journal entries in the form of songs (Ellen was always on me to keep a journal, which I only did haphazardly). In retrospect, I think “A Beer and a Cry” is the one that is the most accessible to others, provided they can tolerate the decidedly honky-tonk, cry in your beer nature of the music. For the music, I blame my buddy Joe. At the time, he was doing some badgering of his own, telling me I needed to experiment with George Jones’ singing and lyrical stylings.

Here are the lyrics:

You know a beer and a cry make the evening go by

When you can’t be with the one you loved

Cause she walked out your door, don’t wancha no more

And brought a curse on you from heaven above

Put some George Jones on the phonograph

Don’t think of how she used to laugh

At how them old songs made you clutch

Just have a beer and a cry, let the evening go by

And forget about the one you loved

When the tears in your eyes make you wanna die

And you’re sprawled out on the cold hard floor

When there’s no one to say, you’ll be better some day

And you don’t think that you can stand anymore

Put some George Jones on the phonograph

Don’t think of how she used to laugh

At how them old songs made you clutch

Just have a beer and a cry, let the evening go by

And forget about the one you loved

When enough months go by that you’ve spent enough time

Hiding from the light of day

When the worst of the pain goes away with the rain

And you’re strong enough to walk away

Put some George Jones on the phonograph

Don’t think of how she used to laugh

At how them old songs made you clutch

Just have a beer and a cry, let the evening go by

And forget about the one you loved

© Steve Celestini, 2007

Not bad for what it is, for what it was selfishly and unconsciously intended to do. What I like most about it now is that I see in it the beginning of the slow, steady climb out of the emotional abyss. I was finally feeling sad in a comprehensible way and having real emotional outbursts. And ultimately I’m glad of it, for it meant one sad chapter was closer to closing and a happier chapter was opening up. I was glad to be sad.

Unlike other songs I’ve posted, none of this is made up, lyrically speaking, except for the George Jones hook. All the emotional outbursts portrayed herein are based on actual events. Plus it gave me an excuse to use the word clutch as an emotional verb … love that. The judges at the Merlefest songwriter’s contest weren’t blown away by it. I got the digital cricket’s chirping response from them on this and three other songs that I entered this year, but that’s OK. I listened to some of the finalists and their stuff was really good. I’ve got some more baby steps to take.

And I thank all of you kind readers for being there to hold my hand in your own way while I take those steps. And thank you, Mr. Jones. Talk to you next week.

To listen to “A Beer and a Cry”, please click HERE and use the Myspace Music Player when it opens up.