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Saturday, January 25th, 2003
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11:12p - By Invitation, By Request
Tonight, as I sit here with a cup of mu tea, I'm going to post something I probably ought to have posted long ago, as it is in answer to a question. Five months ago, P. asked for my take on the lyrics for the song-poem "A Has Been." (You can see his own interpretation by following the above link.) I'm only just now getting around to posting my own spin, but it's been an interesting process. I went looking at ASPMA for a link to the .mp3 of the actual song "A Has Been;" and here it is!
While browsing again through ASPMA, I found a few other neat things as well. First, one of the main contributors of song-poem recordings to the ASPMA site is Pea Hicks, of Optiginally Yours. I'd wager that that has something to do with Rob Crow name-dropping Shooby Taylor. Second, a book of transcriptions of the somniloquies of Dion McGregor (and if you've never heard these, find them and do so) which was published in 1964 was illustrated by none other than Edward Gorey. Neat.
But I digress. Below is a transcription of the lyrics to "A Has Been," and following is my own review.
Jeepers, folks call me a has-been -
Maybe they're right, maybe they're not.
The Lord gave me a voice, then He lay me on the shelf.
Yes, He took my voice and said "Shift for yourself."
Can't say nothing, can't do nothing, but have no cause to panic or frown:
I might sink or float, but I won't drown.
I keep rollin', rollin' right along.
Oh, Lord, maybe I am a has-been.
Could be they're right, maybe they're not.
The Lord gave me two hands, then He wadded one up tight
like a fist (not much to use, not even to write).
Can't say nothing, can't do nothing, but I can still wiggle my thumb,
so I keep on rollin' - rollin' for the crumbs.
Oh, Lord, I wonder, wonder if I am a has-been?
I'm afraid I'm going to have to digress right from the start: although there's certainly a lot of interesting material in this one, were I to call this one a pretty good song, I'd also have to quickly amend that it isn't one I particularly fancy. The backing vocals put me off a great deal, and the bizarre and almost manic-depressive quality of the lyrics doesn't exactly lend the song stability. Compositionally, it's sound, and the fourteen-bar verses are a pleasant and unlooked-for treat. It's also free of the glaring and generally hilarious mistakes which seem to be surprisingly common in song-poems. The piano accompaniment is friendly and cordial, too. Even the lo-fi recording is marginally endearing - but my favour always goes more toward song-poems that are a bit more over the top, lyrically (cf. "Five Feet Nine And A Half Inches Tall," "Blue Atoms"), and especially those among them that actually have a hint of something special in the music (the brilliant "Psychic Cigarette," for one, and of course "What I Am You Know," which P. and I sampled along with friend Morgan, and turned into the backbone of a rather smooth hip-hop track).
I do agree with two early-stated points: First, the tone is set from the first line; indeed, from the first word. Unfortunately, "Jeepers" as a first word puts me on edge. What's the etymology of that word, anyway? Joe Stanton is a fine choice as the vocalist, and certainly the one to deliver this one, ja. Ralph Lowe (the man who brought you such lines as "Please God keep your ramrod in motion / 'cause socialists have a big notion / to destroy the world") would make this song simultaneously far more maudlin and saccharine than it aims to be, and still possibly have it coming off as vaguely boastful or macho.
The lyrics seem to me to spell out that the protagonist - whom I too am inclined to think is Albert Maddox himself, the lyricist - was a fellow of merit and possibly of some accomplishment. Then tragedy struck - the Lord took his voice, and as for his hands, well, "He wadded one up tight." So, essentially, we're served in courses the image of a person rendered mute and unable to use one of his hands. Yes, a stroke can absolutely cause just such a condition. If Mr. Maddox is a stroke victim and still has the wit and ability to painstakingly mete out song lyrics, he got off light. The bouncy, jolly tune the pianist strides through somehow manages to at once undermine the lyrics' gravity and to make them all the more disturbing. The words spell out upset and suffering, and end with the back-handed slap in the face of "I keep on rollin' - rollin' for the crumbs." And yet, the piano seems to land somewhere between the well-meaning but oblivious sentiment of "It's alright! In fact, it's wonderful!" and the devil-may-care, grasshopper mentality of "O, who cares?! Let's play!" I can see the comparison to Dr. Teeth, but it's a Dr. Teeth who seems to be poking fun rather than sympathizing.
So, all told, I agree with the original interpretation of the lyrics. And though it might be amusing to see the jaws drop were we to break into this one in the middle of a performance, I'm still more inclined to reserve that honour for the likes of "Psychic Cigarette." The motives of my wellfare, after all, show in my home.
current music: Tear Garden: "In Search of My Rose" (2 louches | share your thoughts)
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