Category Archives: acoustic

Someday, Baby

Someday, Baby

Ever done the right thing when it came to someone who was in love with you that you didn’t feel the same about?

Me, neither.

But being a sensitive and empathetic guy (I’m assuming you just started reading this blog so I figure I can say anything) I figured I could imagine what someone might say to let the girl or guy down easy.

In this case, someone who likes to look at the Big Picture

 

Someday Baby

someday, baby
you’ll be looking down on me
but don’t you ever think I don’t know
what you’re bound to see
it’s just destiny
it’s just got to be
that’s my prophecy

someday, baby
when you’ve got this
whole thing straight
after you contemplate
maybe meditate
you’ll see that it was fate
it had to be this way
besides
it’s all too late

someday, baby
you’ll be laughing in the sun
I can see you with your Only One
and I know that it just has to be
it’s prophecy
it is destiny

someday, baby
this will all be washed away
that’s what the old men say
but it’ll be okay
a million years from today
it’ll end our pain

someday, baby
youll be laughing in the sun
I can see you with your Only One
and you know it just has to be
it is prophecy
it’s destiny

7/27/98

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His or Mine

  Continuing right along in the slow boil, passive aggressive vein… This one goes back to August 1990.

There’s not a lot of meat on this song’s bones but it always seemed to go over pretty well in my shows. Maybe it was just from getting through some of the tongue-twisting lyrics — when I did.

 

His or Mine

how come you love me
how come you hate me
how come you just won’t leave me a alone
did you ever have the notion
you ain’t gotta monopoply on emotion
honey can’t you tell my pain is real

honey come here put your hand on my heart
there’s a world of feelings trapped inside
look in my eyes
and tell me once and for all
honey make your mind up
are you his or mine

how come you love me
how come you hate me
how come I can’t tell them apart
where was your conscience
when your mind told my body
to make sure that your soul
had my heart

honey come here put your hand on my heart
there’s a world of feelings trapped inside
look in my eyes
and tell me once and for all
honey make your mind up
are you his or mine

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When You Look Through Me

When You Look Through Me

Not sure, really, why the lyrics of this 1994 tune came to me.

I wasn’t in a relationship at the time and I wasn’t thinking of any specific relationship from the past. Still, the situation talked to me. In a sullen, passive-aggressive way, of course.

Though it comes off here as a kind of mutant bossa, I initially conceived of the music as a European tango. I’m not a big fan of European tango, with its cliche rhythm and the cartoonish dance styles associated with it, but I thought that very baggage suited the style to the lyrics.

(I go on at length, because I am a big fan of the modern Argentine tango of Astor Piazzolla. I saw him in performance in 1987 at UCLA, and it was an amazingly deep musical evening. No cliches in Piazzola’s tango.)

 

When You Look Through Me

You ask me where I’ve been
I wonder what it matters
I wonder why you should care at all
I wonder what you see
when you look thru me
I feel like a ghost in my own home

Oh but weren’t the old days grand
our lives together like love letters in the sand
raise a glass to the past
but don’t look through
to a time when you loved me and I loved you

I go out walking
you stay home talking
those people on the phone know more about me than I do
I hear your laughter
I don’t hear what you say after
but I hear that I’m a joke in my home town

Oh but weren’t the old days grand
our lives together like love letters in the sand
raise a glass to the past
but don’t look through
to a time when you loved me and I loved you

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Sheena No Sheena (No Sheena No)

Get Down BabyThis song started with me dropping my head into my hands, addressing a friend who was not present but who was being talked about by a pair of caring but exasperated friends, saying, “Sheena… noSheena.”

You probably get the drift.

But no vexation is so troubling — or irritating — that it can’t be turned into art. Well, maybe not art, exactly, in this case. But something trapped in the no man’s land between edification and amusement, yet somehow probably failing both.

Sheena eventually quit her wild ways, grew up, settled down, and, last time I checked was a happy suburban soccer mom.

She was lucky.

 

Sheena No Sheena (No Sheena No)

Sheena was a spy
for the FBI
her contact never showed
and she never wondered why

but the saucer people came
and the hours just disappeared
the dreams began again
and the eyes behind the mirrors

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no

the house began to talk
and the giant spiders came
she went out for a walk
she was gone for seven days

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no

in the morning she was fine
her eyes were bright and clear
I’ve got two left she cooed to me
and dropped one in her beer

Sheena no Sheena
no Sheena no

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