THREE SONGS?

STUCK in Garibaldi for a few more days—the van died on the way out of town, and the local mechanic has to figure out why. I haven’t a clue, and at this point, he doesn’t, either. Hopefully, it is neither time-consuming nor expensive. I will accordingly write and post the blog from here, using my wife’s computer. I do not know how long it will take for things to get back to normal (not that I have any clear idea what “normal” is).

A COUPLE MORE NEW SONGS: That makes three in the space of a week, and that’s not a bad track record for creativity. It should mean I’m doing something right. (I wonder what it is.) I already mentioned “Twenty Saddles for My Chicken,” the bouncy, surreal little romp in response to the “twenty chickens for a saddle” contest; I did another one, too.

Someone mentioned one of the few things that rhymed with “saddle” was the name of an obscure Aztec divinity, Ixticihuatl—and of course there was a song in that. “Twenty Chickens for Ixticihuatl” (I decided the name was pronounced “Itchy Twaddle”) answers the burning question, “What happens when it’s time for the volcano god’s annual sacrifice and there’s no more virgins?” It’s probably less marketable than “Twenty Saddles,” because it takes too much explanation, but it’s got a nice rock ‘n’ roll beat to it.

And with “Electronic Love,” I finally got away from the chickens. (Not chicks, though.) This one was triggered by Beth Williams’ “MySpace or Yours?”—an Internet love story with a sad ending. I really wanted one with a happy ending, but “Electronic Love” didn’t come out that way, either: instead, it turned into a dark (but tongue-in-cheek) look at Internet porn. Very burlesque-y music—the sort of thing people take clothes off to—that may be hard for a country boy to express on a guitar. I’ll have to try.

Marketable? Depends on what you mean by “marketable.” I don’t think any modern artist, country or otherwise, would touch it; everybody’s way too conscious of “image” these days. Even Britney “Oops, I Did It Again” Spears would probably consider herself too wholesome to record this. It’d take (I think) somebody of the caliber of Mae West to pull it off—somebody who’s conscious of their own sleazy sexuality and comfortable poking fun at it. I’m not sure there’s anyone like that in the music business any more.

On the other hand, I’m almost certain it’d be a hit with audiences. My next opportunity to try something out on a live audience will be Sunday, 22 June; I’ll be in southern Oregon again, to perform at the big “Star of Stars” fundraiser for Rogue Community College, and will stay over to play at the Wild Goose. They’re a great audience to try out new things on—both attentive and appreciative.

Begs again the question, “Where DOES inspiration come from?” I’ve been living completely alone the past three weeks, seeing no one, essentially camping out in the Cascade Locks house while I repair the extensive damage from the last tenants’ pet squirrel. (Never rent to people who have—or get—pet squirrels. Never.) And playing no music. And I have three new songs—two of them “keepers,” I think—in the course of a WEEK? Is it because I’m missing everybody? Or is something else going on?

SO… I now have three songs to record—solo, I guess, on the Tascam, because there isn’t anyone else around (I may be able to get some assistance on line, though). In addition, I have two artist interviews to do for the music publisher, plus the liner notes to finish for her album. Foot-in-the-door stuff rather than cash-in-the-pocket stuff. Important, in other words. And a lead guitar part to record for a Vonee Rose song, if she’s still interested.

Joe