no more sugar plum dancing fairy

For some reason this song has been a tough son of a bitch to get done. Let's have a look, shall we? Margaret and I have been waking in the early morning, and I mean early; between about 4AM and 5:30AM, for the last week or so. No idea why that is happening. The cat is laying on the pink pillow, between us, having a bath. Lapping cat. That could do it. The light of late summer keeps leaving. Maybe that's a factor...

Both of us are dreaming up a damn storm, too. Margaret dreamed that I was driving in the car, going downhill fast. Going downhill fast, eh? Well, alright, fair enough. And I dreamed I saw Michael Jackson, in terrible agony, his choreographer holding him, trying to ease his pain. He looked like he had just downed some Oxycontin and chased it with a Propofol shake. He was suffering.

In the same dream I saw my friend Ravi, and we were hanging out in some kind of art gallery. Ravi showed me a piano and the piano had heavy wooden keys that were hard to push down. Around the piano there were some small children, enjoying themselves.

A melody was playing. The melody was pretty strong, so when I found myself awake, at 4AM, what the hell was I gonna do? I took out the guitar and played the tune while it was still stuck in my head. That was a couple of days ago. Since then I have been working myself into some kind of mood disorder trying to tie together those images into a decent little song story. I think I've achieved that with this offering, but I want to tell you, the song was born in sweat and tears. On Saturday I got so caught up and frustrated, so burned out trying to get something good on tape, that I succumbed to the worst temper tantrum I've pitched in quite some time. Poor Margaret was in tears for a moment.

I mean I was acting the asshole, full stop.

And then that passed. I explained what was going on inside, as best I could, and Margaret promised to forgive me some time in 2012. This is all a learning process, is it not? The song is about the haunting, the horror and the heartbreak of drug addiction. That's tough territory for me to enter into. Of course it's self-referential. But I trust the creative energy that brings a dream to us.

I'm learning that I need to learn the songs I'm writing, really get some comfort with them before attempting to record them in any fashion at all. I hurry to get a song idea on tape for two reasons: any musician who has done any song writing will tell you a melody can be lost from consciousness very quickly. So recording is a way of ensuring that does not happen. And I like seeing myself performing the songs, if I feel like I'm doing a good job. There is some ego there, and that can lead me out onto thinner ice.

I set myself up for all manner of sore fingertips and Mount Saint Helen's barely contained rage when I try to force the thing. That applies to everything in life. In any case, I will hope this song was worth the trouble...

No More Sugar Plum Dancing Fairy

1-In a dream I saw Michael Joseph Jackson

Doubled over in pain

Gathered up into the arms of Jesus

Who was trying to keep him sane

He was crying that he took some poison

It was making him hurt

Just some powder that he kept in a bottle

In a pocket of his shirt...

Bridge

In the morning the sweat comes rolling

And your body starts to ache

Black fear dog howling by your window

And your hands begin to shake

No more Disneyland sleepy time visions

Until the needle finds a vein

Got to find a little more magic beige powder

For to take away the pain...

2-I remember those tropical breezes

That were blowing in my life

I had some friends and I had some family

I had children and a wife

I was the king and the world was my castle

And all of us were safe

All it took was some powder in a bottle

I kept taking out to play...

Bridge

In the morning the sweat comes rolling

And the fever comes to call

Black fear dog howling by your window

So you turn and face the wall

No more sugar plum dancing fairies

Are gonna visit your head

You got to find a little more magic beige powder

For the drawer by your bed...

3-In a dream I saw my good friend Ravi

We were walking in a hall

He sat me down at a big old piano

I could see my fingers fall

All the children singing glory hallelujah

A melody began to form

I was standing with some powder in a bottle

In the middle of a storm...

Bridge

In the morning the sweat comes rolling

And your body starts to ache

Black fear dog is howling by your window

And your hands begin to shake

No more Dorothy gone to see the Wizard

The Wicked Witch ain't dead

Got to find a little more magic beige powder

For the drawer by the bed...

4-In a dream I saw Michael Joseph Jackson

Getting ready to dance....

a yearning for late afternoon sun

"These thoughts just keep rolling, like a train along a track..."

From A Blue Chair, Johnny Maudlin

My car is in the shop. It want's a fuel pump. It wants a money pump. So I walked home from work today, and through the park where I spent such happy hours last summer. I felt a real yearning for those moments. So what is that about? Well, there is some connection between time passing and a need to hang on to those better moments.

I did some math. I'm 56. If I'm optimistic, there are perhaps 30 summers to go. I'm guessing I won't be sitting out in the park for some of those. God willing, and the river don't spill over with swine flu, I'll be sitting in the park for some of them. And what is it about the sun? It's warm. How's that? Like a very large source of energy, yeah?

If I have to summarize it with one word? Free. I feel free sitting there in my blue chair. Free of the workday just behind me. Free of the evening ahead, even if I'm looking forward to something about that evening. Free of the past and the future. No better way to feel and no better place to be. Today was a soft autumn day. A day without sideways rain, at this time of year on the West Coast, is a good day. It was soft and the colours were lovely. Margaret points out those colours, and when I am unavailable, I just say, "yeah".

When I am a little more available, I say, "nice". But those are not my favourite colours. My favourite colours, are burned out brown, golden brown, and deep blue. Arizona colours. Summertime colours. Late afternoon sun colours.

the idiot's lullaby

This is the true story of how this little tune was born: Sunday, last, as the cold front moved in to settle over British Columbia, I suggested to Margaret (who was in the bedroom, sorting through her jewelry) if we might buy some new flannel blankets for the bed. No, Margaret, responded, we have enough quilts to keep our aging bodies comfortable...

I looked to the other end of our living room, which is approximately two feet away from where I was sitting, at the computer (naturally), and I saw a massive wave forming, heading in my direction. It was a tsunami of self-righteous indignation and self-pity. I tried to duck, but it was too late.

I was overcome.

"Arghh! You see, Margaret", I snarled, "There is no point in my offering an opinion, so just forget it..." I could not see Margaret, she was around the corner, but I am pretty sure she did not stop examining her jewelry. But she thought, "Idiot!" I just know she did.

I doggy-paddled to the top of the water, swam over to where my guitar was leaning against the wall, and began to pick out some lullaby-like notes that calmed my blanket-deprived rage. This is the result of the moment...

I want to thank dear wee Shamus O'Milligan (Sean Stevens) and Sweet Georgia (Katrina Vanderbeek) for their help and forbearance making this little tape of the new tune. We've been having fun making music; it's a wonderful way to break up the work-a-day grind and stretch a creative muscle or two. Look for us at your neighbourhood open mic night, soon.

And finally, a special thanks to an old homeboy, Doug McNicol, who suggested the song needed a bridge. I responded to Doug's message by saying the song not only needed a bridge, it needed an on ramp, two exits and an emergency lane. I added the bridge. Good call, Doug.

Idiot's Lullaby (Keep A Civil Tongue)

It's hard to talk

When no one is listening

And keep a civil tongue in my head

Here in the dark

Can't you hear me whistling

I'll keep a civil tongue in my head...

Now I lay me

Down to sleep

Another night for counting all these sheep...

I could live my life

With few regrets

If I could keep a civil tongue in my head

But it's so hard

Just to shut my mouth

And keep a civil tongue in my head...

Now I lay me

Down to sleep

Another night for counting all these sheep...

It's hard to talk

When no one is listening

And keep a civil tongue in my head

Here in the dark

Can't you hear me whistling

I'll keep a civil tongue in my head...

Now I lay me

Down to sleep

Ah what the fuck I forgot to brush my teeth...

I could live my life

With few regrets

If I could keep a civil tongue in my head

But it's so hard

Just to shut my mouth

And keep a civil tongue in my head...

Now I lay me

Down to sleep

I pray the lord my soul to keep.

sheila jean daly (january 4,1917-0ct 13,2001)

"Warm breeze and the ocean spray, and then we know they are never far away..."

Shades of Blue

My Dad was a good man. He worked hard. His flaws were plain, and he was aware of them. His heart was true, though, and I loved him for that, and for much more than that. He needed a lot, and he sometimes took up a lot of space. He took up so much space, in some ways, that I never really saw my mother until my father was gone.

And then I saw that when she talks her hands are constantly moving, small movements, like a raccoon’s hands. She carries her pain like a warrior, and though the weight of grief is upon her she will tell a story, one that tickles her in the recalling, and then she will laugh…

godforsaken road

"Still we just keep chugging forward like some great moronic train

I think I better take the very next turn off this Godforsaken road..."

Johnny Maudlin, Godforsaken Road

Well, this song, chord-structure-wise, is a shameless Bob Dylan lift, inspired by the imprint the Nevada badlands make on my inner eyeball. Driving north of the Hoover Dam, and then flying out of Las Vegas, looking down from 5000 feet, the land looks dusty and brown and dead. Coyote ugly. And south of this barren wasteland are the Red Rocks Lynda and I love so well. We were coming back to Las Vegas, from Sedona, and I had the words; "Everything is brown and burned out, as far as I can see....", and the words; "God forsaken road..."

I got home and commenced to write Looking For Lynda (Sedona Daydream). And then I happened upon my musical buddies, Shamus and Katrina, working over one of their new songs in the hallway at work. I was impressed. I was intimidated. Afterwards I sort of mused about the role of the singer-songwriter after he has (mostly) come to terms with the fact he will not be headlining the Ed Sullivan show, or any other show for that matter. Beyond, naturally, the Myles of Beans-type venues.

Well, what ambition remains is to write good songs. Shamus told me he's written "hundreds" of songs. He writes a song nearly every day. That much song-writing might get in the way of my reading time, and my House M.D. television watching time. Still, I have some things to say, and there are some things I want to share. This song, Godforsaken Road, leans heavily on the early Bob Dylan of blessed memory. The strum came naturally, and it's challenging to go that fast. No wonder Dylan looks so old now.

The story came naturally too. It's not contrived. It's what I see and feel and believe. See how you like it...

Godforsaken Road

Everything is brown and burned out

As far as eye (I) can see

Everyone is under cover

In the land of the free

And the headlines warn of trouble

That will not lighten your load

I think I better take the very next turn

Off this Godforsaken road...

You would think we'd learn our lessons

That have been taught from on old

There ain't nothing ain't be bought now

There ain't nothing ain't been sold

Still we just keep chugging forward

Like some great moronic train

I think I best turn on my windshield wipers

Here comes a Godforsaken rain...

I went looking for some music

Another Fox jumped from my right

He smiled and said what's his is his is his

He was looking for a fight

I cannot fight I thought I should have said

I have come from far away

I did not sneak across your border at night

I only come down here to play...

I never thought I'd live to see the day

When change became a dirty word

When every portrait was painted into a mirror

When every worthless thing was heard

When every poem was shrieked with such a fever pitch

Even the artisans went deaf

I think I better sing myself a happy song

While I've got some happy left...

Everything is brown and burned out

As far as I (eye) can see

Everyone is under cover

In the land of the free

And the headlines warn of trouble

That will not lighten your load

I think I better take the very next turn

Off this Godforsaken road...

looking for lynda (sedona daydream)

I want to thank Sedona, the sun, a dry throat, Chris Isaak, fear and the urgent need to pee for this most recent pop tart...

The lovely Lynda and I were just down in Arizona, our paradise south. Walking down the main drag of Sedona, eyeballing the pretty things in the boutiques, Lynda had to find a bathroom, pronto. She rushed ahead of me, and around a corner. I lost sight of her in the crowd.

Suddenly I was over-taken by a day-mare; what if Lynda were gone forever? You could say the fear dry-gulched me, partner. The words; "...the sun is so hot...my throat is so dry..." came. Literal stuff, yeah? And then; "I come down here looking for Lynda..." I was imagining this quest, trying to find my Disappeared One in the desert.

The "...now she is part of everything..." weirdly enough, is a reference to Yoko Ono's comment to her son, Sean, when telling him his father, John Lennon, had been killed. My mind finds some dark corners, even in the noontime sun. So I came home and tried to make this into a song. I've been listening to Chris Isaak lately, and really enjoying his approach to song writing, playing and singing. I tried to get some of that influence injected into this piece as well.

Finally, I am thinking about a chat I had with some men friends of mine, this week. We meet on Tuesdays, in an effort to maintain solidarity in our quest for life with isms managed. One of the guys was sharing some important information about his recent struggles in a relationship with a lady friend. We admitted to each other that these affairs of the heart get tangled and need our wisdom and attention if we're going to have a shot at much success in love.

For men, the mother-lover connection is central, and we can get very scared, very quickly if we perceive ourselves about to be tossed into the bottomless ocean of aloneness. That is the nothingness I'm singing about in this tune.

And still, as we attempt to overcome unhealthy neediness (among about a zillion other pitfalls and pratfalls...) we want to be warriors, and to regain our warrior energy and spirit when we are weakened by storms. I think that's why I wrote a lone eagle, flying high, into this short tale. I hope you like the song...

Looking For Lynda (Sedona Daydream)

The sun is so hot

My throat is so dry

My eyes have been blinded by the sky

When she walked away

With nothing to say

The night came falling down on me...

Chorus

I come down here looking for Lynda

Now she's a part of everything

And around every corner

I lose her in the shadows

And then it's nothingness for me...

Bridge

Deep in the desert

The lonely wind is blowing

High above an eagle flies alone...

My tears fall so fast

I can't catch my breath

Is this the morning and am I awake

I wander these streets

My heart never sleeps

If I'm alone why should I pretend...

Chorus and out....

leaving sedona (again)

It's cooled down, about 15 degrees, but by 10AM the poolside was just fine. Lynda and I spoke our thoughts and feelings about this wonderful place, glad and grateful to have found it years ago...

One year ago, here at the Comfort Inn, the story was the collapse of Wall Street, the coming election, the farce that was (and remains...) Sarah Palin. One year later this country is just as wild and crazy, and the story is Obama's attempt to legislate universal health care. Their system of goverment is complex with check (cheques) and balances. The sub text of the political conversation down here remains as polarized, and violent, as ever.

Assholes like Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly, motivated by their own hold on popular support and celebrity, do everything but call for an overthrow of Obama's government. Confronted with that they become God Damned righteously indignant, they are only good 'ol Americans, don't ya know. And the beat goes on!