I feel a song coming on. Nothing’s more fun than taking an old forgotten tune and writing new words. Many times these songs had wonderful melodies and useless lyrics. Who could really feel comfortable singing, ‘Where The Boys Are?’ Especially the soulfull way Connie Francis sings. Yet the tune is memorable. And it is organized so that one line is repetitive. Perfect for when the pope does something like telling Africans with Aids that condoms are not effective. That small speech of his inspired most of the songs I wrote last year.
When you write new lyrics for an old tune, it is imperative that they fit as though the melody was written just for them. It also helps if you feel passionate about the message. Outrage and a sense of injustice has always worked for me.
I listen to the proposed tune over and over. Then I do the same with the information I’ve researched for the song.
After that, I let the two boil up in my mind together and go do something physical, usually exercise at the community pool or walk or make dinner. Sleeping on it helps but sometimes keeps me awake so I try to start in the morning.
Suddenly a line comes floating along and then another and there’s the song.
What am I feeling passionate about this morning? The Tories, of course, and their willingness to rob the poor of what little that remains. The homeless shelter down the street having a waiting list. (Arghhh!)
The way older people are all lumped together and not seen as individuals the way the rest of us are. Not as Phyllis and Bob and Fred and Patsey but as, ‘that old lady’ and ‘the old duffer,’ (and aren’t they cute and FEISTY?’ – the word that every older person dreads the most).
Not understanding that the end of life is fully as amusing, full of wonder and opportunity as the beginning. There’s so many great bits, community and wisdom, yet trying to have a voice is a huge struggle. It is even MORE important that the old and unestablished have a place to speak than the young and unheard.
If you’ve always had a public voice, then okay, you probably don’t need a lot of help but so many older people are just beginning to speak out. I think the criteria for grants and assistance should be ONLY on the basis of personal record, never on age.
Then there’s having your friends dying around you. No one’s ever prepared to let go. At a certain age, going to funerals becomes a regular part of your life but how do you face it? A song for it? That may be ‘Where The Boys Are,’ comes in. But upbeat, even if that seems impossible.
Science says we are all condensed energy, waiting to be liberated. So passing on is just that, going somewhere, a definite place, where we’ll be free to resume the explorations we did here in our mortal restrictions.
I always wanted to be a historian but there were just too many paths to follow first. Of course, we all want to fly (without the airplane), to help someone heal physically from a great blow, to be three inches high and enjoy a spring garden, to play among the stars, to actually BE the music, to stop what suffering we can, to impart our experience to some purpose, to protect the innocent, to bring understanding to the wayward – all of that should be the fruit of physical liberation, it seems to me.
Whispering in the ear of the evil doer BEFORE he gets a crack at any of the malevolence he has in mind. The ability to stop him in his tracks, yeah, stop wars, killing, hatred. Condensed energy can have a great impact in the right place.
This has all been noodling on, not analyzing facebook, (the main project this month) but it’s what’s on my mind this morning.

1 Comment

  1. That music is totally incredible, and I’m not even into that type of music!

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