The song "Thread" -- rough recording can be heard at my myspace page
This is one of those speculative story songs. Where something I've observed gets stuck in my brain and starts to accumulate possible storylines, kind of like coral. In this case it was one of the numerous run-down old houses in our New England mill town and the semi-shut-in man who lives there. I guess what struck me was the fact that he's more or less middle aged and not elderly, this incongruity was enough to start me pondering and once I start pondering usually a song follows at some point. Originally the character's name was Edgar not Edward, but I realized that was because I'd recently been listening to John Gorka's Edgar the Party Man. So I quickly changed it to avoid one of those embarrassing public rock star law suits --- like the one Joe Satriani and Cold Play are embroiled in ---I mean it's just so much work for our publicists!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Back to it: This Garden
Sorry to have been away for so long, lots of life happening including a job loss unfortunately...there will be a song about that don't you worry! The posts also got a little sidetracked into coverage of festivals etc. and got away from the original purpose of telling what's behind some of my songwriting and hopefully helping to unlock the process for some of you...
Although I haven't recorded the song "This Garden" on CD yet, any of you who have seen me perform will have probably heard it. It starts out
I'm tillin' up this garden
back-breaking work
A little more than I bargained for
being a kid from the suburbs
My mother's father was a farmer,
carpenter, man of the sea.
These days I wish there was a
little more of him inside of me.
The song did originate as I was struggling with a rented rototiller trying desperately to create a patch of velvety furrowed earth from the conglomerate of granite, clay, glass, pot shards, old hardware and whatever else makes up the soil in the yard of my old Maine farmhouse!
While my parents were decidedly arty - mother a painter, father a theatrical agent, my mother did hale from hearty stock. My maternal grandparents had a small farm in Orange county NY, had built houses during the Depression (the first one not the current one!) , and I remember as a small child digging worms, scaling fish, and riding a tractor with my grandfather. Until I moved out of my parents house I could still find his old hand tools on our work bench. Unfortunately as is typical of kids I failed to appreciate my grandparent's simple but impressive skills, preferring the glow of television, the shiney, noisy and the new. By the time I was old enough for reason to take hold, my grandfather was gone. I honestly hadn't thought much about him in years, but as I stood there swearing at the rocks and roots, I did, and I wished I could have asked his advice.
Although I haven't recorded the song "This Garden" on CD yet, any of you who have seen me perform will have probably heard it. It starts out
I'm tillin' up this garden
back-breaking work
A little more than I bargained for
being a kid from the suburbs
My mother's father was a farmer,
carpenter, man of the sea.
These days I wish there was a
little more of him inside of me.
The song did originate as I was struggling with a rented rototiller trying desperately to create a patch of velvety furrowed earth from the conglomerate of granite, clay, glass, pot shards, old hardware and whatever else makes up the soil in the yard of my old Maine farmhouse!
While my parents were decidedly arty - mother a painter, father a theatrical agent, my mother did hale from hearty stock. My maternal grandparents had a small farm in Orange county NY, had built houses during the Depression (the first one not the current one!) , and I remember as a small child digging worms, scaling fish, and riding a tractor with my grandfather. Until I moved out of my parents house I could still find his old hand tools on our work bench. Unfortunately as is typical of kids I failed to appreciate my grandparent's simple but impressive skills, preferring the glow of television, the shiney, noisy and the new. By the time I was old enough for reason to take hold, my grandfather was gone. I honestly hadn't thought much about him in years, but as I stood there swearing at the rocks and roots, I did, and I wished I could have asked his advice.
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