This is a true story from my high school days.
The Gulf of Mexico
©2015 Sperry Hunt
1. The sun was in our eyes.
We couldn’t see the end.
You were my girl.
He was my friend.
I glanced away,
You waited for me.
He waited for you.
Chorus. Some dreams take you over.
Some dreams take you under.
Some just drag you where they go.
Some live in the heart forever.
Some change like the weather.
This dream drowned in the Gulf of Mexico
2. You called to me.
I did not come.
I didn’t even know.
What I had done.
I broke your heart,
Like dreamers do.
I didn’t even care,
I broke it in two.
3. You turned to him.
He said let’s wait.
You were my girl.
He was my mate.
He left you there.
Said he really should go,
But he would return from
The Gulf of Mexico.
T. S. Eliot said, “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.”
Everybody has an interesting story, but it’s generally not the one they’ll tell you first. How Bob kicked the winning field goal in the last high school game is interesting to Bob. It’s the story that makes Bob feel giddy as he anticipates excitement rising in your expression. To get a grand sense of this, read William Shatner’s or Donald Trump’s autobiographies. They’re stuffed with vignettes that portray them as brave, smart and very cool. (I actually enjoyed Shatner’s.) They’re the same stories you’ve been button-holed in the corner at a cocktail party to hear. There are one or two in this blog to be honest.
The good stories are the ones you pull out of yourself like arrowheads. They make you squirm. They’re embarrassing or shameful – so much so they’re likely to be embedded in fiction, or told as though they happened to someone else.
Those are the ones I want to hear, and write. Most of us, I suspect, have several. But, like I say, they’re hard to tell.
*The painting is Leonardo DaVinci’s Ginevra de’ Benci, c. 1474.
Songwriting is the charmer’s art. When I first hear a song that moves me, I become thoughtlessly rude. My senses shift from whatever or whomever held my attention to the source. I am instantly captivated by a voice. A groove. A line of melody, A wave of harmony. Songs like John and Paul’s A Day in the Life, Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne, Joan Baez’ version of Tom Paxton’s There But By Fortune, Pentangle’s version of Lord Franklin, Jackson Browne’s Our Lady of the Well, Jimi’s take on All Along the Watchtower.
I wrote this song a few years ago after hearing that the son of high school friend of mine taken his own life. I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind. I woke up from a dream several weeks later with this song ringing in my head. Click on the picture below:
Songs, like antiques, are more valuable with a bit of provenance. Document your music with a piece of background.
What happens between songs on stage is important. As you check your tuning, tell a story about the next number. Draw the listener in. Be clear. Don’t rush into it. Allow the moment of the last song to fade gracefully. Then set the stage for the next one with a little bit of story.
“I wrote this about my wife during a trial separation.”
“I derived the next song from my great-great-grandmother’s diary written when she was a teenager in Northern Virginia during the Civil War.”
“This is about a certain day in the life of Sir Isaac Newton.”
Prefacing your songs in this way will help guide your audience into the moment you’ve prepared for them.
As the essential element of music is rhythm, the essential element of the novel is yearning.
I was talking about Chuck Berry’s poetry recently to someone recently, who laughed and asked, “Poetry? Really?”
For those of who associate 50’s poetry solely with the Beat poets like Ginsberg and Ferlingetti, I say, open your mind. No one supasses Chuck for the poetry of sexual, political and racial freedom. If ever there was a man, to quote Bob Dylan, who “danced beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,” it was Chuck. He bolted through life with his eyes wide open, expecting to be cheated (as he often was), daring the authorities to stop him from living his life as a free man. He paid the price with three prison terms, none of which broke him. Like O’Henry, he wasn’t the first poet to make mistakes. A great humorist, story teller and poet of the open road in the tradition of Mark Twain, Robert Service and Jack Kerouac, Chuck served his poetry straight-up.
Before reading Chuck’s lyrics as poetry, I suggest you put away your prejudices – all of them – and see the film Hail! Hail! Rock & Roll. Then read Chuck Berry: The Autobiography, do so as soon as possible.
I wrote this song. The music came out of a dream that woke me up at 4 AM. In the dream, someone I loved wouldn’t return my call. She was on the run in some way, in a car “inside the rain.” She felt like she had done something wrong and wouldn’t come home.
Humming the tune I went down to my basement and played it in the key I heard in the dream. I only had the melody of the verse and the opening few lines. I added the chorus over the next few days and the other verses by the end of a month.
This video was done soon after I wrote it. The song brought me back to songwriting after decades of rarely touching a guitar.
©2010 Sperry Hunt
1. Call – I can’t call you, please
Call – I’ll be waiting for your
Call. From the darkened lane
In your car inside the rain.
2. If you call me, I’ll be there.
I’ll whisper “Baby” in your hair.
Feel my arms around you.
Pull me inside. Call.
I know why you run.
From what you might have done.
But this is not your world, my girl.
No one saw this heartbreak come.
No one saw this heartache come.
3. They’re empty days since you’ve been gone.
And every night is just so long.
Please don’t stay away.
I’ll bring you home with what I say.
4. I am the moonlight on your breast.
You are the stars in my chest.
Ten thousand miles from home
You don’t have to be alone.
5. My arms are strong. My eyes are bright.
I’ll keep them open for the night.
If you feel the same,
You will call me name.
6. I wait and wait for what is real,
For you to tell me how you feel.
A braver girl would say it all,
But she would call.