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
