Category: Music

One of the high points of my life

I don’t know why I feel like telling this story now, but I do; it’s the story of a moment–an instant–in my life that I look back on with intense pleasure.

It was the winter of 1990, and I had left the Party some years before, but still considered myself a sympathizer.  In International Falls, there was a wildcat strike against Boise-Cascade, which had brought in non-union workers to build a new paper mill.  For those who don’t know, a wildcat strike is one where the officials of the union say no to the strike, and the workers tell the officials to bugger off.

One of the leaders of the strike was a guy named Dan; a big guy, with a good voice and clear eyes and an easy smile.  Though no longer involved with the movement, I of course saw my parents a great deal, and they were working closely with Dan, so I got to know him.  The greatest bitterness was directed against the leadership of the union, which was leaving them on their own, and in fact actively working against them.  For whatever reason, I got inspired to write a song, and I did.  It was called, “Never Trust a Bureaucrat,” and, really, from a songwriting standpoint, it isn’t one of my best efforts, but it made it’s point.  I played it for Dan, and he loved it.

There was a rally to be held in support of the strike.  The UAW workers at the Ford Plant in St. Paul donated the space for the meeting, and ran the concessions (beer and potato chips, as I recall).  Dan told me to show up, and to bring my guitar.

The speakers were pretty awful.  One was a leader (read: bureaucrat) of the pilot’s union, then striking against Eastern Airlines, and he bragged (bragged!) that they had pioneered the policy of givebacks–that is, offering to the company to reduce wages and benefits.  The other speakers weren’t much better.

Finally, Dan had had enough.  As some other bureaucrat was about to speak, he stood up, walked up to the mic like an army, and started talking.  There was more passion than science in his speech, but there was a lot of passion.  He was mad, fed up, disgusted.  He spoke of the need for a labor party, and he spoke of the need for revolutionary leadership in the unions.  He mentioned my parents by name, and then mentioned me–asking me to come up and sing my song.

I made a decent job of it; there was a line of bureaucrats–the speakers–against one wall, but I focused on the rows of construction workers from International Falls in front of me, and the Ford workers in back of them.  I have no memory of how much or how little applause I got, but as I went to put my guitar away, Dan gave me a nod, and that meant a great deal.

All I was sure of, as I packed up the guitar, was that I really, really wanted a beer.

I walked back to the concession stand.  The guy behind the counter, a Ford worker, gave me a nod and a beer.  I put a dollar on the counter, but he pushed it back at me.  “Your money’s no good here,” he said.

I walked out of the place feeling ten feet tall.

My Latest Chartbuster

Inspired by a discussion on Making Light

As an agent phones
On a blue and white computer screen
A book completes its final scene
In the ghetto
And it’s author moans
Cause if there’s one thing he knows for sure
It’ll never win the Pulitzer
In the ghetto.

Poeple do I have to plead?
He wrote it to be fun to read
And there’s even subtext ‘tween the lines.
But no matter how profound
No mention of it will be found
In the the literary supplement
Of the New York Times.

And the sellers try
And the little book that the critics missed
Starts to climb the Locus list
In the ghetto.

As the readers buy
It scorns the critics it can’t please
And just starts earning royalties
In the ghetto.

Then one day in jubilation
The young book breaks away
It goes all in for mass appeal
While it’s author signs a three-book deal
In the ghetto.

And the eager fans form in a line
For the paperback book with the price on the spine
In the ghetto.

And as the book reprints
On a blue and white computer screen
Another book completes its final scene
In the ghetto
And its author moans

A Poker Song

(If the tune isn’t obvious, you are lucky, and I won’t ruin your life by directing you to the original)

It’s after midnight on Saturday
The tourney’s been running since nine.
The rock to my left is my only hope
Since he’s never defended his blinds.
So the action folds all the way round to me
I make the only move that I can.
But for just once this round, the bastard looks down
And somehow comes up with a hand.

La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Chorus:
Push it all in you’re the bubble man
Your tourney has come to a stop.
But at least on the long list of losers
Your name is right at the top.

Lee6 in seat one is a maniac
He bets like he just doesn’t care.
And it’s fully a lock he’ll be starting to mock
Me before I am out of my chair.
He types, “U play like an idiot
i always nu u’d be gone.”
I want to shout how he always sucks out
But I’m afraid that he isn’t wrong.

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da dat

There’s DoctorNo in the seven seat.
Who groans and whines all the time
He types “This is such rot, I’d have won that whole pot
If I had just played my queen-nine.”
And Dupo66 in the four seat’s
Been quiet the whole bloody game.
He’s here for the cash and doesn’t talk trash
Besides he’s from the Ukraine.

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Chorus

I did pretty good for a Saturday
This time  I reached a new peak.
But if I could just make my original stake
I could buy-in and do it next week.
I’m staring now at the tournament board
I don’t usually make it this long.
But there’s no reason to cry I guess sometime I’ll try
Without the tequila and bong.

Chorus


My latest chartbuster

The world that we call Mother

One morning at a requirements meet as the coffee break was ending
I got an IM from my buddy Jim and he said I’m not attending.
I’m tired of jobs that are pointless and dull where one’s just like another.
I’m headed for the tangle called Bermuda Triangle toward the world that we call Mother.

In the world that we call Mother there’s a land where the coast goes round.
Tasty contraceptive plants are growing in the ground.
Where the humans are all friendly, and the aliens rarely bite.
Where you can be kissed by an intimiste
And watch the sky while you’re good and high
In the world that we call Mother.

Oh the Gurge and the Gale no courtroom or jail
And you do just what you’d druther.
The drugs are free and the sex is kinky
In the world that we call Mother.

In the world that we call Mother LSD is mixed in vats.
There’s decent public transport, and there are no talking cats.
The internet’s a snap to use and pages load so fast.
I’m bound to where people like to share
Hemp abounds, there’s universal health care.
In the world that we call Mother.

Oh the Gurge and the Gale no courtroom or jail
And you do just what you’d druther.
The drugs are free and the sex is kinky
In the world that we call Mother.

In the world that we call Mother good sex is easy to find.
The nearest thing they have to cops always say, “If you don’t mind.”
The jobs are fun and easy and you pick the one you want.
They have lots of cheese and no STDs
You can park where you like without any fees
In the world that we call Mother.

Oh the Gurge and the Gale no courtroom or jail
And you do just what you’d druther.
The drugs are free and the sex is kinky
In the world that we call Mother.