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
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 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.
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
Thursday, April 1, 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
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, 1893My 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
Monday, March 22, 2010
Deep Cuts (Songwriting Week 3--Settle for Beer)
I'm calling this installment "Deep Cuts" because I freakin' LOVE double entendres. Just ask any of the guys in my band, my book club, or my fantasy baseball league (he said ball). In fact I would rather speak in double meanings (he said wood) than breathe. OK, that's a slight exaggeration, but give me a couple drinks and I'll gladly enter any double meaning contest even if I'm just competing against myself (he said ... uh, nevermind). Thank you, Beavis. Thank you, Butt-head.
What does this have to do with songwriting? Well, the song I'm featuring this week is a "deep cut" in at least two senses of the phrase. First, it's one of my oldest tunes and I have to go way back in my personal songwriting history to dredge it up. Second, the lyrics are quite literally ripped out of some seriously internal places in my psyche. If my spiritual and emotional core was the continental U.S., this song came from somewhere between Casper, Wyoming and Rapid City, South Dakota: just left of center, very old and very rustic.
Deep as all that sounds, it started innocently (and not very deeply) enough. A friend of mine's wife walked by me in a public park and as we exchanged hello's while passing each other I could have sworn that she leered at me! This was out of character for her, totally inconsistent with the relationship we had or have since had, and basically just didn't make any sense. I actually fretted about whether or not to ask her about it for about 15 seconds, but luckily I came to my senses. Instead, and some time later, I jotted this down:
Caught your eye, at least I think I did
Coulda been my imagination
Girls like you don't usually care for guys like me
And man oh man did I have an instant love-hate relationship with that phrase! All the angst and frustration of being a high school boy who never really had a serious girlfriend, who enviously watched his dumb-ass friends date all the girls he wanted to date, just came roaring back. And I hated revisiting that feeling, but the phrase summed it up so nicely that I got painfully enamored of it.
Fast forward to another time and place, and I'm sitting at one of my favorite watering holes and me and a buddy are doing what guys do when they drink ... make fun of each other. Then when that gets boring you start telling stories, usually blatant lies about meaningless crap just to get a rise (he said rise) out of somebody. This particular lie involved some bragging by my friend about sexual exploits. Now I knew he was lying, and he knew that I knew he was lying, and there was no specific sexual partner implicated, but somehow I also knew that the lie was covering up a painful truth:
That reminds me of a talk I had
With this fella 'tween shots of tequila
One night as we were telling lies and comparing scars
And with that I laid the groundwork, the structure, for the rest of a song about what most men want, but few of us will admit: a closet full of killer shoes. Wait ... wrong blog. What I meant to say is that what we want at our core is to love and be loved, but most of us don't have the language skills or courage to admit that. So what do us guys do? We go to a bar hoping to meet that dream girl, but we settle for beer. And that predisposition to settle, that willingness to compromise from the start, makes us miss a lot of important things in life. And why? Because we're afraid to get burned again, or ever, or have to admit we need or think we need somebody else to feel whole. So we settle for beer. I've been going to that same bar for 10 years now and I can promise you it's chock full of people who are settling for their favorite brand of, or substitute for, the sweet beer.
As for me? I like to believe that I didn't settle, but in order to have the courage NOT to settle, I had some serious soul searching to do first. Which raised the question, how the hell do you search your soul--it's not like we have a built in switch to flick, especially us guys? As I asked myself that question, I thought of my high school sophomore English teacher who taught us how to write "stream of consciousness" and this happened:
Treat this guitar just like a key to a door
Kinda scared of what's behind it
Takes all my nerve just to crack 'er open and step inside
But I'm more afraid of being alone
Never been content with coasting
Wanna step through that backlit door and see what's there
It all makes perfect sense to me. All the things I wanted to do or change in my life but was afraid of, and the reasons I was afraid, are all there. Just six little lines of phrase was all it took. How pathetic and ethereal at the same time.
You probably won't be surprised to hear that until now I really didn't circulate this one outside of my inner sanctum of friends and family. But I'm OK with wider distribution now. I think I've learned a lot of the lessons that I was challenging myself to tackle at the time. How that all subsequently transpired will show up in future posts on this blog.
Until then, thanks for reading, and thank YOU boys.
To listen to the song Settle For Beer, please click on the link below, navigate to "Audio" on Steve's Sonic Bids page and select "Settle for Beer" from the music player list:
http://www.sonicbids.com/epk/epk.aspx?epk_id=48837
SETTLE FOR BEER
Caught your eye, at least I think I did
Coulda been my imagination
Girls like you don't usually care for guys like
That reminds me of a talk I had
With this fella 'tween shots of tequila
One night as were telling lies and comparing scars
He's a regular at my favorite tavern
Always something wise to say
Considers himself to be the public house Voltaire
Told me that night as he was fading fast
The reason that he hangs in bars
He said, "I'm hoping for some love, but I'll settle for beer."
Me and my boys started playing one day
Cause we had us an awakening
Figure to get a little more out of living if we live a little more
Treat this guitar just like a key to a door
Kinda scared of what's behind it
Takes all my nerve just to crack 'er open and step inside
But I'm more afraid of being alone
Never been content with coasting
Wanna step through that backlit door and see what's there
So I thank you folks for listening tonight
Don't expect you to respond
Because I'm hoping for some love, but I'll settle for beer
Yeah I'm hoping for your love, but I'll settle for beer
(c) Steve Celestini
What does this have to do with songwriting? Well, the song I'm featuring this week is a "deep cut" in at least two senses of the phrase. First, it's one of my oldest tunes and I have to go way back in my personal songwriting history to dredge it up. Second, the lyrics are quite literally ripped out of some seriously internal places in my psyche. If my spiritual and emotional core was the continental U.S., this song came from somewhere between Casper, Wyoming and Rapid City, South Dakota: just left of center, very old and very rustic.
Deep as all that sounds, it started innocently (and not very deeply) enough. A friend of mine's wife walked by me in a public park and as we exchanged hello's while passing each other I could have sworn that she leered at me! This was out of character for her, totally inconsistent with the relationship we had or have since had, and basically just didn't make any sense. I actually fretted about whether or not to ask her about it for about 15 seconds, but luckily I came to my senses. Instead, and some time later, I jotted this down:
Caught your eye, at least I think I did
Coulda been my imagination
Girls like you don't usually care for guys like me
And man oh man did I have an instant love-hate relationship with that phrase! All the angst and frustration of being a high school boy who never really had a serious girlfriend, who enviously watched his dumb-ass friends date all the girls he wanted to date, just came roaring back. And I hated revisiting that feeling, but the phrase summed it up so nicely that I got painfully enamored of it.
Fast forward to another time and place, and I'm sitting at one of my favorite watering holes and me and a buddy are doing what guys do when they drink ... make fun of each other. Then when that gets boring you start telling stories, usually blatant lies about meaningless crap just to get a rise (he said rise) out of somebody. This particular lie involved some bragging by my friend about sexual exploits. Now I knew he was lying, and he knew that I knew he was lying, and there was no specific sexual partner implicated, but somehow I also knew that the lie was covering up a painful truth:
That reminds me of a talk I had
With this fella 'tween shots of tequila
One night as we were telling lies and comparing scars
And with that I laid the groundwork, the structure, for the rest of a song about what most men want, but few of us will admit: a closet full of killer shoes. Wait ... wrong blog. What I meant to say is that what we want at our core is to love and be loved, but most of us don't have the language skills or courage to admit that. So what do us guys do? We go to a bar hoping to meet that dream girl, but we settle for beer. And that predisposition to settle, that willingness to compromise from the start, makes us miss a lot of important things in life. And why? Because we're afraid to get burned again, or ever, or have to admit we need or think we need somebody else to feel whole. So we settle for beer. I've been going to that same bar for 10 years now and I can promise you it's chock full of people who are settling for their favorite brand of, or substitute for, the sweet beer.
As for me? I like to believe that I didn't settle, but in order to have the courage NOT to settle, I had some serious soul searching to do first. Which raised the question, how the hell do you search your soul--it's not like we have a built in switch to flick, especially us guys? As I asked myself that question, I thought of my high school sophomore English teacher who taught us how to write "stream of consciousness" and this happened:
Treat this guitar just like a key to a door
Kinda scared of what's behind it
Takes all my nerve just to crack 'er open and step inside
But I'm more afraid of being alone
Never been content with coasting
Wanna step through that backlit door and see what's there
It all makes perfect sense to me. All the things I wanted to do or change in my life but was afraid of, and the reasons I was afraid, are all there. Just six little lines of phrase was all it took. How pathetic and ethereal at the same time.
You probably won't be surprised to hear that until now I really didn't circulate this one outside of my inner sanctum of friends and family. But I'm OK with wider distribution now. I think I've learned a lot of the lessons that I was challenging myself to tackle at the time. How that all subsequently transpired will show up in future posts on this blog.
Until then, thanks for reading, and thank YOU boys.
To listen to the song Settle For Beer, please click on the link below, navigate to "Audio" on Steve's Sonic Bids page and select "Settle for Beer" from the music player list:
http://www.sonicbids.com/epk/epk.aspx?epk_id=48837
SETTLE FOR BEER
Caught your eye, at least I think I did
Coulda been my imagination
Girls like you don't usually care for guys like
That reminds me of a talk I had
With this fella 'tween shots of tequila
One night as were telling lies and comparing scars
He's a regular at my favorite tavern
Always something wise to say
Considers himself to be the public house Voltaire
Told me that night as he was fading fast
The reason that he hangs in bars
He said, "I'm hoping for some love, but I'll settle for beer."
Me and my boys started playing one day
Cause we had us an awakening
Figure to get a little more out of living if we live a little more
Treat this guitar just like a key to a door
Kinda scared of what's behind it
Takes all my nerve just to crack 'er open and step inside
But I'm more afraid of being alone
Never been content with coasting
Wanna step through that backlit door and see what's there
So I thank you folks for listening tonight
Don't expect you to respond
Because I'm hoping for some love, but I'll settle for beer
Yeah I'm hoping for your love, but I'll settle for beer
(c) Steve Celestini
Friday, March 12, 2010
Starlight, Star Bright, First Song I Write Tonight ... (Songwriting Week 2--How's This End)
Thanks for re-enlisting. This week I intended to dig up one of the first songs I wrote (The Vision) and do a compare and contrast to the most recent song I wrote and posted last week (The Rest of Forever). But then a couple things got in the way of that idea. One, I must have "accidentally" deleted my recording of The Vision as part of a desperate attempt to salvage whatever songwriting credibility I've mustered so far. And two, The Rest of Forever is no longer the most recent song I wrote. Had another idea this past week while sitting at a traffic light outside my neighborhood Starbucks, and it goes something like this:
www.sonicbids.com/stevecelestini (Click to the left, click on the "
Audio" icon in the page that opens and select "How's This End -- Up Tempo")
Or ... should it go like this?:
www.sonicbids.com/stevecelestini (Go back to the sonic bids music player and this time select "How's This End -- Stripped Down")
Same song, same chords, but different tempo, key and vocal style makes for two very different feels. So, in addition to whatever comments you guys want to make, I'd love to hear your votes on which version you prefer and why. And oh by the by, if these recordings sound rough it's because they are ... very. These are basically first drafts that I had to record immediately after a long weekend of revelry in order to still miss my self-imposed publication deadline. That's all I'll say about that. That and thanks for your patience.
Eventually, I'll tell you what I was going for with this number. Before I do, though, let me acknowledge some very astute and collaborative advice I got from a friend. On Friday I played one of the two versions of the tune for Jim Ermilio. Jim was visiting from Boston to take part in our annual fantasy baseball draft. He listened carefully and essentially said, "I don't know anything about music, but do me a favor and play it [the other] way instead." And I did.
Now, let me make two comments about what Jim said. First, Jim may not be a musician per se, but he's an AVID music appreciator, concert goer,and collector (especially of albums on vinyl). PLUS he has two children who are brilliant musicians in large part due to the love and encouragement of Jim and his lovely wife, Sharon. So for Jim to say he doesn't know anything about music is preposterous, and I told him so. Second, when I played it "the other way" it sounded truer to the song's lyrical intent, more natural. Note that I didn't say it was better. I may think it's better and Jim may think so, but better is like beauty: it's the eye of the beholder thing (ear in this case but nevermind, I'm on a roll, or so I think; stop self-editing, Steve). In any event, that's why I'm giving Jim partial songwriting credit on this one; he also made some great lyric suggestions that I adopted.
To resume, what I was going for was to capture several simul-thoughts that popped into mind outside the Starbucks. While sitting at that traffic light, the ages old childhood wish "starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight" came to mind at the same exact moment I was remembering how much I used to like the 1960s-70s show "Hee Haw" when I was a kid. Then I remembered an old Buick my father and mother used to drive back in those days and how it looked sitting in the driveway of our house at 1508 Swope, Colorado Springs, CO. Strange mix of ingredients, but put them in the form of a recipe and it would look something like this:
One wish upon a star, One traffic light, Dash of Buck Owens, Dash of Roy Clark, One old car, One driveway, Three tablespoons bacon fat (because I pretty much always have bacon on my mind). Mix all ingredients and pat into disk shaped cakes. Fry in black cast iron skillet over medium heat (serves 2).
Not sure how well that food analogy works. Looks pretty stupid, upon reflection, but what the hell, I gave it a shot. To state it more literally, that mental mish-mash swimming around my head at that light is what prompted me to come up with the line "Red light, green light, first one I see tonight, tell me do I stop or go" and use it to start a pseudo-country song. Once I had that core concept in mind, I manufactured the rest of the story: basically, two star crossed lovers who can't decide whether they can stand each others company long enough to have a relationship with staying power. We don't know how it ends (I'm not writing Hollywood screenplays). All we do know is that the guy in the car wants to keep trying, but his patience is wearing thin and he really needs this lady to give him a sign, a gesture, that tells him she wants to keep trying, too.
I think that about does it for this week, but before I close let me state for the record that the story in this song is COMPLETELY MANUFACTURED AND FICTIONAL! Christina and I are fine and dandy and loving every minute of each others company. Hopefully that goes without saying, but I've met a lot of people over the years who think that every line of every song is based on something going on in the writer's life. Sometimes that's true, but many times it's not. If it was true all the time, every member of my band The Gravy Boys would have a cirrhotic liver, seven divorces, a felony record, and a moonshine still in the backyard. Oh, and we'd all be living in Kentucky or Oklahoma. See you next week.
(c) Steve Celestini and Jim Ermilio
www.sonicbids.com/stevecelestini (Click to the left, click on the "
Audio" icon in the page that opens and select "How's This End -- Up Tempo")
Or ... should it go like this?:
www.sonicbids.com/stevecelestini (Go back to the sonic bids music player and this time select "How's This End -- Stripped Down")
Same song, same chords, but different tempo, key and vocal style makes for two very different feels. So, in addition to whatever comments you guys want to make, I'd love to hear your votes on which version you prefer and why. And oh by the by, if these recordings sound rough it's because they are ... very. These are basically first drafts that I had to record immediately after a long weekend of revelry in order to still miss my self-imposed publication deadline. That's all I'll say about that. That and thanks for your patience.
Eventually, I'll tell you what I was going for with this number. Before I do, though, let me acknowledge some very astute and collaborative advice I got from a friend. On Friday I played one of the two versions of the tune for Jim Ermilio. Jim was visiting from Boston to take part in our annual fantasy baseball draft. He listened carefully and essentially said, "I don't know anything about music, but do me a favor and play it [the other] way instead." And I did.
Now, let me make two comments about what Jim said. First, Jim may not be a musician per se, but he's an AVID music appreciator, concert goer,and collector (especially of albums on vinyl). PLUS he has two children who are brilliant musicians in large part due to the love and encouragement of Jim and his lovely wife, Sharon. So for Jim to say he doesn't know anything about music is preposterous, and I told him so. Second, when I played it "the other way" it sounded truer to the song's lyrical intent, more natural. Note that I didn't say it was better. I may think it's better and Jim may think so, but better is like beauty: it's the eye of the beholder thing (ear in this case but nevermind, I'm on a roll, or so I think; stop self-editing, Steve). In any event, that's why I'm giving Jim partial songwriting credit on this one; he also made some great lyric suggestions that I adopted.
To resume, what I was going for was to capture several simul-thoughts that popped into mind outside the Starbucks. While sitting at that traffic light, the ages old childhood wish "starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight" came to mind at the same exact moment I was remembering how much I used to like the 1960s-70s show "Hee Haw" when I was a kid. Then I remembered an old Buick my father and mother used to drive back in those days and how it looked sitting in the driveway of our house at 1508 Swope, Colorado Springs, CO. Strange mix of ingredients, but put them in the form of a recipe and it would look something like this:
One wish upon a star, One traffic light, Dash of Buck Owens, Dash of Roy Clark, One old car, One driveway, Three tablespoons bacon fat (because I pretty much always have bacon on my mind). Mix all ingredients and pat into disk shaped cakes. Fry in black cast iron skillet over medium heat (serves 2).
Not sure how well that food analogy works. Looks pretty stupid, upon reflection, but what the hell, I gave it a shot. To state it more literally, that mental mish-mash swimming around my head at that light is what prompted me to come up with the line "Red light, green light, first one I see tonight, tell me do I stop or go" and use it to start a pseudo-country song. Once I had that core concept in mind, I manufactured the rest of the story: basically, two star crossed lovers who can't decide whether they can stand each others company long enough to have a relationship with staying power. We don't know how it ends (I'm not writing Hollywood screenplays). All we do know is that the guy in the car wants to keep trying, but his patience is wearing thin and he really needs this lady to give him a sign, a gesture, that tells him she wants to keep trying, too.
I think that about does it for this week, but before I close let me state for the record that the story in this song is COMPLETELY MANUFACTURED AND FICTIONAL! Christina and I are fine and dandy and loving every minute of each others company. Hopefully that goes without saying, but I've met a lot of people over the years who think that every line of every song is based on something going on in the writer's life. Sometimes that's true, but many times it's not. If it was true all the time, every member of my band The Gravy Boys would have a cirrhotic liver, seven divorces, a felony record, and a moonshine still in the backyard. Oh, and we'd all be living in Kentucky or Oklahoma. See you next week.
Steve in North Carolina
PS: You may note below that this week I've included the guitar chords I use to play the song, just in case anyone's interested, wants to play along, etc. I'll try to do this in all future posts as well. Cheers.
PPS: I can't wait to hear how Jim reacts to being the co-writer of a song associated with memories of Hee Haw. He hates Hee Haw!!
_____________________________________
HOW’S THIS END [A (G form, Capo II)]
[G] [D] [C]
[G] [C] [D] [D][C][A][D]
[G] Red light, [D] green light
[G] First one I [C] see tonight
[G] Tell me, do I stop or [D] go [D][C][A][D]
[G] Rear view, [D] side view
[G] Both fill my [C] eyes with you
[G] How’s this end, [D] I’ve got to [G] know [G7]
[C] Walk to me, [Cm] talk to me
[G] Give me hope
A [D] reason not to [G] drive off in this [G7] lonely car!
[C] Please, my dear, [A] make this year
One where neither breaks the other's [D] heart [D][C][A][D]
[G] Waiting, antici[D]pating
[G] For a time when [C] no one’s [Am7] hating!
[G] How’s this end, [D] I’ve got to [G] know [D]
[INSTRUMENTAL TO FIRST VERSE THRU G7 CHORD]
[C] Walk to me, [Cm] talk to me
[G] Give me hope
A [D] reason not to [G] drive off in this [G7] lonely car!
[C] Please, my dear, [A] make this year
One where neither breaks the other's [D] heart [D][C][A][D]
[G] Waiting, antici[D]pating
[G] For a time when [C] no one’s [Am7] hating!
[G] How’s this end, [D] I’ve got to [G] know [C]
[G] How’s this end, [D] I’ve got to [G] know [C]
(c) Steve Celestini and Jim Ermilio
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Song a Week, Starting Riiiiiight ... Now (Week 1--The Rest of Forever)
Like all my best ideas, this one is stolen ... from a movie (sorry, Joe). This time the film was "Julie and Julia." (http://www.sonypictures.com/homevideo/julieandjulia/) If Netflix hasn't mailed it to you yet, it's a great film about an aspiring chef/blogger (Julie) trying to walk in the shoes of her heroine Julia Childs by cooking her way through 500+ recipes from Ms. Childs cookbook in a year. Along the way, Julie learns a lot about cooking, but much more about herself. A couple of weeks after seeing the movie I started wondering, what might I learn about songwriting and myself if I did something comparable? Well, we're gonna find out, starting this week. Except the food for thought on this blog will be music; specifically, songs that I have written and performed (or at least recorded) myself. I will post a song a week from past, present and future songwriting efforts, and try to explain to you and me why I wrote what I wrote and what, if anything, I hoped to achieve in the effort. And come next spring, well, who knows? Let's decide that next spring ...
I guess I could begin at the beginning, with the first song I ever wrote and recorded, but that seems too predictable. Instead, I choose to start with the last thing I wrote, a song called "The Rest of Forever." You can listen to it on myspace now at this link:
http://www.myspace.com/stevecelestinimusic
Of course, you can do what you like, nobody's watching ... but might I suggest you give the song one listen before reading on? This whole exercise will, I predict, be more interesting if you read MY thoughts only after thinking about YOUR initial thoughts on song meaning, motivation, etc. Go ahead, give it a spin. I'll wait right here ...
Welcome back. So what's going on here? Well two not quite parallel events drove this one. First, my wife of five months today has been battling a couple of chronic maladies. Nothing life threatening or dire (please don't call her if you know her), but there was a morning several weeks back sitting on an airplane flying to a business meeting on a way too early flight after way too many beers the prior night when I didn't know that yet. So I wallowed. I let myself imagine the worst. And it sucked. Luckily, I was in an aisle by myself and there was no beverage service so nobody else had to witness my quasi-breakdown. The second event happened earlier: the death of my grandmother in late '08. The two events came together in my consciousness such that while I (irrationally) muddled over disaster scenarios for me and my beloved, washing myself with self-pity, the image of my grandfather, my beautiful, 97 year old grandfather, mourning the loss of his wife of 71 years crept in and drove the emotional pain wedge home with devastating precision. I'm really proud of how well I composed myself by the time the plane landed and the fact that I didn't further embarrass myself, or my company, at my meeting that day.
Back to the song's composition. If you've ever been married, you know that on the days leading up to a marriage ceremony, on the day of, and many times thereafter, the word "forever" gets tossed around a lot. What does forever mean to a relationship? Is it something more than "till death do us part?" I like to think so, so ... hopefully ... when you listen to this song, you'll hear not only the sadness and poignance of the earthly story, but also the vision of a future worth dying for. That's what I think I was shooting for, anyway. Am I on target? We all get to decide for ourselves. That's one of the things I love best about music.
Talk to you next week. Thanks for reading and please feel free to share this blog with friends.
Steve
I guess I could begin at the beginning, with the first song I ever wrote and recorded, but that seems too predictable. Instead, I choose to start with the last thing I wrote, a song called "The Rest of Forever." You can listen to it on myspace now at this link:
http://www.myspace.com/stevecelestinimusic
Of course, you can do what you like, nobody's watching ... but might I suggest you give the song one listen before reading on? This whole exercise will, I predict, be more interesting if you read MY thoughts only after thinking about YOUR initial thoughts on song meaning, motivation, etc. Go ahead, give it a spin. I'll wait right here ...
Welcome back. So what's going on here? Well two not quite parallel events drove this one. First, my wife of five months today has been battling a couple of chronic maladies. Nothing life threatening or dire (please don't call her if you know her), but there was a morning several weeks back sitting on an airplane flying to a business meeting on a way too early flight after way too many beers the prior night when I didn't know that yet. So I wallowed. I let myself imagine the worst. And it sucked. Luckily, I was in an aisle by myself and there was no beverage service so nobody else had to witness my quasi-breakdown. The second event happened earlier: the death of my grandmother in late '08. The two events came together in my consciousness such that while I (irrationally) muddled over disaster scenarios for me and my beloved, washing myself with self-pity, the image of my grandfather, my beautiful, 97 year old grandfather, mourning the loss of his wife of 71 years crept in and drove the emotional pain wedge home with devastating precision. I'm really proud of how well I composed myself by the time the plane landed and the fact that I didn't further embarrass myself, or my company, at my meeting that day.
Back to the song's composition. If you've ever been married, you know that on the days leading up to a marriage ceremony, on the day of, and many times thereafter, the word "forever" gets tossed around a lot. What does forever mean to a relationship? Is it something more than "till death do us part?" I like to think so, so ... hopefully ... when you listen to this song, you'll hear not only the sadness and poignance of the earthly story, but also the vision of a future worth dying for. That's what I think I was shooting for, anyway. Am I on target? We all get to decide for ourselves. That's one of the things I love best about music.
Talk to you next week. Thanks for reading and please feel free to share this blog with friends.
Steve
| The Rest of Forever |
Written by: Steve Celestini |
Lady I see you Turning your face to the moon that betrays you And led me to this place To show us the rest of our lives Honey I want you Not for the moment but now and forever Till time and all memory take back the ring you now wear Cuz the rest of forever starts here Beauty walk towards me now This aisle leads you down A primrose pathway of faith And I won't forget the vows We promised to keep somehow No matter what bitterness waits Wife I adore you And I always will so I humbly implore you To tell me you still want me Just like the day we first kissed Woman I hear you I'll try to be better at listening to you With more than my ears please don't cry now, it tears me apart Can we just let forever restart Darling don't leave me don't Your suffering grieves me so My every breath labors inside I can't sleep without you dear But last night I woke in fear Sure that this morning you died When I didn't wake up I just cried Where's God when I need him this time Please Lord give us just one more night ... Angel I miss you But soon I'll be with you and never will leave you Once we rendezvous at the moon that first lit up our hearts And the rest of forever will start |
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