The Korean War Mattered Too (Songwriting Week 8--Watching Miss Mabel Jean Waltz)

You ever notice how there aren't many songs written about or set in the Korean War? There's plenty of songs trumpeting the heroism of WWII vets and exponentially more written about the national trauma that was the Vietnamese conflict, but I challenge you to name one song about the '50s and Korea. Why is that? Speaking for my generation, we wouldn't have learned jack about Korea if it hadn't been for the marathon run of the hugely popular sitcom M*A*S*H in the 70s-80s (You tell 'em ferret-face!).

It's not like nobody suffered and died over there. Almost 34,000 US personnel according to this source. And that's just the US. Another source claims over 400,000 Koreans died and over 115,000 Chinese. And it wasn't an overnight conflict like Somalia where most of us missed it because it didn't last long enough to hit our radar until they made a movie about it (Black Hawk Down). We're talking about a conflict that lasted seven brutal years.

Out of curiosity, I did a Google search for "famous korean war songs" and this was the number one hit: Conelrad/Atomic Platters. If you're like me, you've never heard any of the featured songs on this website, even though one of them ("Weapon of Prayer") is by the very well known Louvin Brothers.

Okay, so I think I've made my point, and as you're probably guessing by now, I decided once upon a time that SOMEbody needed to at least set a song in the vicinity of the Korean War timeline. The lyrics you see below referencing the Red Threat, MacArthur and the Chosin Reservoir (site of the coldest, most miserable battle in modern history) are my effort in said regard. The other pivot point in this song is the name Mabel Jean. What a great Southern name, right? And I didn't make this name up. I have a dear friend whose name is Mabel Jean. Most folks don't realize that her given name is Mabel Jean because she goes by the moniker of MJ, which is all I knew her as for years. As soon as I was told that her full first name was Mabel Jean, I knew it would show up in a country song penned by yours truly some day.

Some day turned out to be in Spring 2008 when Christina and I were driving through Onslow County on our way to Topsail Island NC for some beach time. We were driving through some pretty remote country and spotted a sign for Juniper Swamp just as we were discussing my love affair with MJ's name. I saw that sign and said out loud, "Hmmm. Juniper Swamp and Mabel Jean. That's got the makings of a song in it."

For reasons that I can't explain, I put the Juniper Swamp/Mabel Jean thing together with my sense that nobody was writing songs set in the '50s regarding Korean War vets together, mixed it up with my desire to write a tune that approximated a waltz and, well, what you see and hear is what you get. Oh, and the detail oriented readers will note that my copyright claim specifies 2008 and 2010. That's because I wrote the majority of the lyrics for this in 2008, but didn't like the original musical concept enough to finish it. Just this week I woke up humming the "new" musical version of this tune and got motivated to rewrite the lyrics to make them fit. And here we are.

And I thank you for being here. Until next week, thanks for reading and listening.

To listen to "Watching Miss Mabel Jean Waltz" click HERE and use Steve's Myspace Music Player to check it out.

WATCHING MISS MABEL JEAN WALTZ [F/Capo III]

[D] [D] [G] [G] [A] [C] [D] [D]

[D] Round Juniper Swamp, in the sandhills of Cracky

Way back in the moss and the [G] trees

Met a [D] fine flatlands girl, with bottle green eyes

Who brought me to my very [C] knees

She was [D] just seventeen, and I weren’t much older

When the market day chanced us to [G] meet

And on [D] that same night, in a make shift dance tent

T’was a waltz brought us [A] both to our [D] feet

We [G] joined hands we smiled

Not [D] neither a child

The second our feet left the [G] floor

The whirling the tapping

The [D] sight of her laughing

Sheer bliss … was that heavenly [A] score!

So I [D] promised that lady, my God and myself

Just as soon as the enemy [C] falls

I’d [D] return to this place and the [G] thrill that I felt

[D] Watching Miss [A] Mabel Jean [G] waltz, whoa-oh-oh!

[D] Watching Miss [A] Mabel Jean [D] waltz

INSTRUMENTAL TO INTRO

[D] Three years have since past, and my youth shot away

By the threat of the enemy [G] Red

I’m a [D] disabled vet, give my legs to MacArthur

And the ChiCom who left me for [C] dead

Like [A] thousands in Chosin, that [G] hellish cold place

I left something precious be[D]hind

But it [A] could have been worse, what a [G] damnable fate

If the Conflict had stricken me [A] blind [A7]

Now [D] when I get home, stage a war heroes’ dance

You can wheel me straight into the [G] place

And I’ll [D] watch as she dances with every young man

Let the memories [A] play on my [D] face

REPEAT BRIDGE AND CHORUS

(c) Steve Celestini, 2008 and 2010

On Writing Piecemeal (Songwriting Week 7--It Takes Time)

I thought I'd write today about composing songs piecemeal, i.e., episodically. I chose this topic because I wrote something this past weekend that I'm pleased with conceptually, but that seems to me to need another component bolted onto it to qualify as a "song". I'd love to hear what you think after you listen.

The idea behind the lyrics is a notion I've pondered many times: are old people wiser than the rest of us? Can we learn something from them that will accelerate our own pace of learning? The American culture as a whole doesn't seem to think so. When's the last time you saw a magazine targeted at a young audience extolling the virtues of an older person? The only people who seem to give a damn about old people in the media are old people (e.g., AARP). An overstatement? No doubt, but you have to admit there's a grain or two of truth in there.

Before I go on, I'm going to call my grandfather and see what's on his mind. Be back later.

I'm back. Man. What's better than a 97 year old, more than half-blind guy, living alone in an old folks home who's in a good mood? I'd be pissed off ALL the time if I was him. And not because he's in a bad place (it's very nice with a private apartment) or because we put him there (he and Grandma picked the place and bought the apartment themselves), but because it would mean I'm old and can't do all the things I'm used to doing. Or will I be wise enough to let "doing" go and be content with a lifetime of "knowing"? Hmmmm. Might be another song in there. Or another piece of this week's song.

Segue ... this week's song is entitled "It Takes Time", but the complete thought behind the title and song is "it takes time to know what to know". Just a little catch phrase that popped into my head as I was making our frittata Saturday morning. Yeah, I said frittata. It's EYE-talian for omelet. It just means you mix the fillings in with the beaten eggs before/while they're cooking. Like a flat souffle you make in a skillet. Where was I?

It takes time to know what to know. What do you make of that? That we're destined to make mistakes as we live, so deal with it? Live in the moment? Take heart in your trials because they translate into wisdom in the end? Take heed of what the elders say lest you repeat their mistakes? None of the above? Well here's what I make of it:

It Takes Time
(To listen, click on the link above and use Steve's Myspace music player)

Basic outline of the story is this: young man ignores wisdom of kindhearted old woman, young man becomes older man who realizes how right the old gal was, still older man tries to pay it forward by imparting same advice to a child in his sphere of influence. Essence of the life lesson? Be patient and live with big eyes and ears. Now that we know the moral of the story, I wonder if you think, like me, that it needs more context? I'm almost thinking this works more as a song in a play or musical than as part of a traditional CD/album. I guess I'll let this one sit awhile and come back to it when the spirit moves me.

See you next week, and thanks again for reading.

IT TAKES TIME

It takes time to know what to know
Do you bet to win, place or show?
Ageless wisdom takes years to grow
It takes time to know what to know

Sweet old timer, she said to me
I can predict your history
Live too fast and you'll learn too slow
It takes time to know what to know

Sure to God her words did come true
Spent a fortune living the blues
Had I only heard what she said
I'd be ten steps further from dead

Little baby, hear what I say
Let these words seep in as you play
Us what loves you all live to show
It takes time to know what to know

(c) Steve Celestini, April 17, 2010

Another Week, Another Break-Up Song (Songwriting Week 6--100 Miles Away)

I've had a great week, but you wouldn't know it from the song I just wrote.

Last weekend was spent in Boston having fun with Jim and Sharon, as loyal reader's know. This weekend was spent in Blowing Rock/Boone, NC taking son John on a tour of the Appalachian State campus. And what a great campus it has become. If John doesn't go there, I think I'll enroll myself.

Yet in the midst of all this upbeat stuff, I wrote another song about love gone bad. The easy explanation is, well, Steve: you were married to another for 21 years and that doesn't go away emotionally overnight. True, but that's not the whole truth. Maybe not even the partial truth. The "culprit" this time is T-Bone Burnett.

Huh? Yep. T-bone Burnett, the genius music writer and producer. His latest work resulting in my personal inspiration was the soundtrack for the movie "Crazy Heart". If you haven't seen it and style yourself a country music fan, stop reading this drivel and get to the movies/netflix/blockbuster, etc. It's worth it for the soundtrack alone. Add to that Jeff Bridges stunning performance of down and out musician Bad Blake, and it's a can't miss. I'm actually stunned that I've only seen it once, but I know it's a flick I'll own as soon as it's released on DVD.

I liked the story so much that my lovely wife bought me a copy of the book on which it's based, "Crazy Heart" by Thomas Cobb. A solid book. Cleanly, even sparsely, written. I like how it gets right to the point of character development without any fluff. Great look at the seamy underbelly of living and working on the road when you don't have an entourage like Garth Brooks and that ilk (ick). Anyway, the point of bringing this book up is to describe a particular thought that Bad Blake has during one of his many darker, alcoholic haze moments on the road. He's remembering one of his ex-wives (number three?), and basically recalling how he knew they were done: when when they got to the point where they were sleeping as far as physically and geometrically possible from each other in the same bed. That divining rod of marital destitution, so to speak, sunk in pretty deep and made a lot of sense to me.

Fast forward to later that week and our weekend of fun, food, and HIGH quality alcohol in the South End neighborhood of Boston. One of the fantastic restaurants we ate at was a place called Petite Robert Bistro. OMG. Quality with a capital Q. We capped a great Friday afternoon and evening there. And yes, I got over served, both food wise and drink wise. When I woke up Saturday morning with a well earned headache, I glanced over at the missus and she happened to be sleeping with her back to me. I did a quick mental recall and have to admit that in my haze I couldn't recall with exact specificity how the night ended and whether I might have done anything to upset her. Happily, all was well, as confirmed by Christina when she woke up, but in my moment of doubt, the following thought occurred to me: she's 100 miles away from me, lying next to me in bed.

And I was off to the races.

While Christina slept in and Jim and Sharon attended a crew race featuring their amazing daughter, I sat at a South End coffee shop and tapped out the first two verses of this week's tune on my blackberry memo pad. After reading that much to Jim, Sharon and Christina, I was encouraged enough to keep going, and later that week the bridge and final verse coalesced. So here's what ultimately became of my ruminating on Bad Blake's rumination:

100 Miles Away
(You can listen to this song by clicking on the link above and clicking play when the Myspace music player opens up)

I'm far from completely sold on the melody line and musicality in general, but it's a good start, I think. I might just let the Gravy Boys work their song changing magic on this one eventually. In the meantime, I'm pretty happy with the imagery and I think I captured the idea that caught my attention to start with while I was reading the book, so I'll thank the lyrical gods for this one and keep working at it.

Oh and yes, the "french cafe" referenced in the lyrics is a tribute to Petite Robert Bistro, or "Little Bobby's" as we affectionately call it. Speaking of french cafes, I'm in the airport waiting to board a flight to Lyon, France for business, so maybe I'll get some real french inspiration this week for next week's post.

Until then, voir vous plus tard et les mercis de la lecture.

100 MILES AWAY

Now I lay me down to weep
My courage to take flight
Regretting all the things I said
When we got home last night
What's worse are things I didn't say
Still swirling in my head
Now you're a 100 miles away
Lying next to me in bed

Another public tragedy
Between a man and wife
Unfolded in the french cafe
Where we broke bread last night
The look on that poor waiter's face
Your eyes of bloodshot red
Now you're a 100 miles away
Lying next to me in bed

It’s a crying shame

That we play this game

When we could both forgive the other and let go the pain

But since we’d rather both take punches then take the blame

You’re still a 100 miles away

Lying next to me in bed

“Not again,” I half-way cried

We’ve too much history

For you to hide in fitful sleep

And me in more whiskey

Remember when we laughed at night

And face to face we slept

Now you're a 100 miles away
Lying next to me in bed

(c) Steve Celestini, April 2010

Well Formed Foam (Songwriting Week 5--Baby Likes PBR)

If you've been reading regularly, you know this blog is due for some lighter fare. If that's your wish, read on. If you read this thing to revel in the angst of another, stay tuned, but this is not your week.

I'm in a book club. There. I said it. And yes it's an all male book club, not that there's anything wrong with that. Actually, we like to call ourselves a drinking club with a reading problem, but we do actually read and talk about books. A book a month for 11 months a year, first Wednesday night of each month. Once a year we go to the beach for a long weekend and instead of reading something, each Head (we've dubbed ourselves the Well Formed Heads; that's another story) is obligated to prepare a one-page writing assignment to be read to the rest of the club. And you know what? They're good ... REALLY good. They take the form of poetry, chapters of a nascent novel, soliloquy, travelogue, song lyrics, speeches, comedic script, memoirs, personal essays and other works that I don't know how to categorize other than to say you should have been there.

This is not about one of those writing assignments, in case you thought I was going there. It is, however, about a song I wrote that was partly inspired by one of the books we Well Formed Heads read. And by a woman I'll never know who danced really well with a can of beer in hand.

The book was The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson. It's a dramatic work of non-fiction describing the exploits of two overachieving men: one a visionary builder of the "White City" of Chicago that was the center of the 1893 Worlds Exposition/Fair and the other an American Jack the Ripper who used that frenetic setting to go on a serial killing spree to the tune of several dozen mostly single young women. A weird book, but a good one. If nothing else it will give you a perspective on Chicago, especially the lakeside thereof, that I bet you've never had before.

The White City, 1893

My personal takeaway from said book for today's purpose was the date I mentioned above: 1893. Throughout my reading of the book, I kept thinking there's something familiar about that year, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. I'm willing to bet that, like me, none of you can name a historical event that occurred in 1893. It's not like 1812, or 1776, or 1941, right? Still, I knew there was something. And then, the book itself gave me the answer to the date dilemma: beer. Specifically, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. If you've got a can handy, take a look at the marketing quote on the bottom of the label (or scan the pic I've loaded below):

"This is the original Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. Nature's choicest products provide its prized flavor. Only the finest of hops and grains are used. Selected as America's Best in 1893."

Turns out the Chicago World's Exposition/Fair selected good old PBR as the best beer around at the time. There's actually some debate as to how accurate the labeling claim is. Some say there were no "best" awards given at the Fair, but I don't need to confirm or deny the claim to use it for my tuneful/sordid purposes.

So now I'm reading this book and I've got PBR on the brain. Truthfully, it was already on my brain because the bar I frequent most (see Week 3) serves PBR on tap and 80+% of the time that's what I order. But now it's even more on my brain. And somewhere in that same time frame, I went to see a band play at The Pour House Music Hall in Raleigh. God help me I can't remember which band it was. I recall that they were young and unknown. The most memorable part of the show that night was a young woman dancing in front of the stage. Now I know what you're thinking, but that's not it. She was memorable because she was dancing like there was no tomorrow, all the while holding a beer can perfectly level. I thought to myself, she is loving this band but NOT at the expense of one drop of beer!

And I ruminated and pondered that thought for awhile. Then I melded it with PBR and it's own "performance" at that World's Fair, and the next thing you know I had come up with this, dedicated to all you cheap beer lovers out there:

Baby Likes PBR
(To listen to the song, click on the link above, select Audio and click on the word "Listen" under the song's title)



Clearly I wasn't trying to win any songwriting awards here. No deep thinking involved, aside from what I outlined above. I did get some plugs in for Ernest Tubb and Bill Monroe, two lesser knows giants of country music. It would help if I knew whether either one of them ever drank a PBR, but I'm betting the odds are pretty good they did.

I'm thirsty, so I'll see you next week. Thanks for reading. And thank God baseball season starts tonight!


BABY LIKES PBR

Well my girlfriend walks to work every morning
Brings her money home and puts it in a jar
And come this Friday night
When her factory shuts down tight
She'll grab that loot and meet me at the bar

My girlfriend don't like fancy foreign movies
And she don't need no A/C in the car
But she knows who Ernest Tubb was
And where ol' Bill Monroe's from
And her way around a can of PBR

My baby just likes to drink PBR
Dancing, sitting, standing at the bar
She don't give a damn if I ever become a star
Baby just likes to drink PBR

Them blue hair hens all raves about the bubbly
'Bout wine and stanky cheese from old Pair-ree
But my gal likes old time flavor
So she sticks by the USA beer
Voted world's best in 1893

(c) Steve Celestini, 2006