I’m actively recording music again. As such, I have a need to return to this blog and finish my songwriting journey so I can actually blog about other stuff and post new recordings. Because I know you want them.
Bald was very much a lesser tune, although it’s a crowd pleaser when it’s performed live. I have several other songs from that era, none of which deserve an entire blog post to themselves. So I thought I’d dump ‘em all on you at once as I attempt to reboot this blog for the umpteenth time. (Look, it’s not like you’re paying for this or anything, right?)
1. The Laundry Song was attached to a melody that had been floating around in my brain since the early ‘90s. It began with the words, “Clean Your Clock/You’ve got God on your side/You’ve got nothing to lose/So you’ve got nothing to hide.” I actually still like that, but that’s all I could come up with for years, and I have no idea where to go with it. I also feel wildly uncomfortable writing religious-themed music. I hate pop/rock religiosity, and I also don’t take myself seriously enough to write real hymns. So the stanza became “Clean Your Clothes/You’ve got soap on your side/You’ve got nothing to lose/Except your animal pride.” Problem solved.
I fleshed out the song, such as it is, some time around the turn of the century. This was recorded at Tuacahn in the summer of 2001. It’s a terrible recording, and the song really bugs me, only because it doesn’t really have a third verse. The one that’s there is a placeholder, filled with nonsense. I really like this tune, though – I’ve used it for a number of things, including a parody I sang for the final MBA awards dinner in 1999 when I was the evening’s entertainment. I think there’s a fine lyric that should be attached to this tune: just wish I knew what it was.
2. The Dog/Birdie War was written while I was bored at the Utah State Fair sometime in the mid-to-late 1990s. I sang the first verse to my wife off the top of my head – “Got a load of birdseed, and fed it to my dog/ The bird got very angry and said I shouldn’t hog/ All the seed for the dog when the bird needs it more/ That was the start of the dog birdie war.” I was impressed with that spontaneous burst of creation, so I spent the rest of the night coming up with the rest of the story. It all fell together very quickly.
It’s a fun conceit, but the song doesn’t work, because it has no chorus, and it’s too busy – it’s all exposition, and it needs somewhere to land. The verse about the drooling dog named Otis bugs me, too – it doesn’t move the story ahead at all, and it was just written as an excuse to mention drooling. Because, come on, who doesn’t like drooling?
I’ve retooled the song with a chorus, and it’s much better, but I haven’t rerecorded it yet. This recording was from the fabled Tuacahn sessions of 2001. It was recorded in the key of C but then digitally lowered a full step, because I liked hearing my voice sound lower than it is, and almost everything else I recorded was in the key of C, and I wanted to be a bit more diverse.
3. The Pterodactyl Flies has its roots in spontaneous jam sessions I used to have with an old USC buddy, where he’d vamp out a chord structure and I’d start improvising a lyric. The one that always brought down the house was the one that began with sentence, “I sing a song of pterodactyls screaming through the sky.” When I got an mBox mini recording studio for Christmas of 2002, I decided to put it to good use and write a whole song around the theme. I don’t really like it – it doesn’t have the playfulness that was inherent in its original inspiration. It has the feel of an academic exercise, and it has too many verses, none of which are particularly funny.
4. Dig was written while I was filling the baptismal font for my second daughter’s baptism the day after Christmas in 2006. There was only so much hot water in the tank, so you had to get there early in the morning to empty the tank of hot water, wait a few hours, and then fill it again. I really enjoyed this song while writing it, and I hoped to record it with a real heavy metal feel. My limited musicianship skills killed that idea. I still think the song has its moments, but it meanders and has no real conclusion. The most painful part in the recording is my attempt at a guitar solo. It sound like a pathetic piano solo, but it’s really an even-more-pathetic attempt at a guitar solo.
Some have asked me if this song was inspired by the character The Shoveler, played by William H. Macy in the underrated movie Mystery Men. The answer is that, no, it wasn’t, but it should have been. It was, however, partially inspired by an old SNL sketch with Will Ferrell where people dig tunnels across the world and then die.
I think these are all the songs I have recorded at the moment. More shall come. That’s both a promise and a threat.