I was planning a very thoughtful piece about religion and spirituality in connection with this song, something that probably would have cleared up lots of global conflicts and maybe gotten me a Nobel out of the deal, but all my measured, profound ideas are out the window now that I’m on my own with the kids for a week while Janet is in Scotland and right now Rona is in bed calling out that she thinks there’s a “creepy doll” in her room.  I should not have let her listen to this Jonathan Coulton song.  [Just transferred her to our bedroom, which is certified creepy-doll-free.]  Yesterday I got attacked by spyware that kept me out of commission most of the day, and there was also the tax return stuff, not to mention work and normal family stuff, like answering Thomas’s persistent questions about why presidents always wear long sleeves.  (“Why do you always wear long sleeves?” I countered, because we’ve been trying to figure that out for years; we can’t get him to wear a short-sleeved shirt.  “No, Daddy, we’re talking about presidents now.”)

So my take on the religion stuff will have to wait for awhile.  I’ll just say that I used to be against it; now, not so much, for some of the same reasons as the nutcracker.

OCCASIONAL REJOICING

The Song.  This is what happens, I guess, when I try to write a gospel song.

I’ve had occasion to listen to a lot of reformed drunks who’ve found religion, and while a lot of them can preach a pretty good version of the Word, they do seem to have retained some delight in stories of their debauchery.  Sometimes it’s kind of hard to tell why they quit their lowdown ways, as much fun as they seemed to have had. 

The song was written (if you could call it that; some of it was just pretty much ad libbed when I recorded it–something like this, it kind of doesn’t matter what the verses say as long as there are three of them) Friday, recorded early Saturday morning in a most hurried fashion, video made Sunday afternoon.  And it kind of sounds like that.

The Performance.  Remember the days when you’d be driving through the middle of nowhere trying to pick up a radio station and, out of the static, you’d tune in to some Piney-Woodsy low-wattage local AM station broadcasting gospel music played live in the acoustically bereft station through a cheap microphone?  I guess you haven’t seen Coal Miner’s Daughter.  But I do remember my granny and aunt back in Loving, Texas, going “to Revival” occasionally.  “Revival” was what you called it when some itinerant preacher set up a tent in a field at the edge of town and offered spiritual cleansing for a week or so, or until he’d gotten all the local money that hadn’t been spent on Franklin Mint Collectibles.  And I remember “Jamboree,” which was nominally secular but often had a gospel element and always had a guitarist who played a smokin’ lead like mine on this song.  That’s me and Mr. Nasty (see below) on harmonies.

The Video.  I went out on location for some of these shots.  The Easter egg hunt footage is from a couple of weeks ago when it was Panhandle-cold.  The shots of Buck’s Awakening were done Sunday along North Shepherd, which is where I usually go for my remote filming, because it’s close and I get frightened and confused when I’m away from the house for long.  The segments weren’t shot in sequence, because the pros never do it that way, so there might be some continuity issues, which the cineastes can have a grand time trying to spot.  I think Buck is holding his left hand up in one shot and then his right hand up in the next. 

This video introduces Mr. Nasty, Buck’s old drinking buddy, who plays the part of Larry in this video.  (Talk about your creepy dolls.  He’s called Mr. Nasty because he smells like the thrift shop where I bought him.)  The hideout is something I built from scrap wood left over from our kitchen remodel two years ago and have been stuck with ever since, because it’s so popular with the kids and their friends.  I recently re-wrapped it in plastic.  The final shots are of a backyard game we invented called Ring-a-Kid.  There’s some symbolism there–halos and whatnot.  I was having to do it left-handed while holding a video camera steady.  I’m usually a lot better at it.

Dedication.  This song is for a trio of my old hometown friends from the earliest days and valued Buck supporters, Elizabeth Oney Bughman, Cliff Brightman and Gabe Choate.

Next Week.  “Grandpa, Don’t Eat the Gravy” has been scheduled for weeks.  I’d have run it this week but needed to establish Mr. Nasty’s character, since he appears in that one without proper introduction.  It’s the last of the initial videos made and the only other video I have as of now.

Postscript:  A Word About Turtle-Cruelty.  I have discerned that a major recurring motif in some of my songs is cruelty to turtles.  I honestly don’t know where that comes from.  I love turtles and have since I was a kid, when my mother would always have me draw a picture of a turtle on letters she wrote to my granny.  When my grandpa died and we went through their drawers, I found those letters and all those turtle drawings.  If I had an animal counterpart, or if I were a superhero who could turn into an animal, or if I had a nickname that wasn’t Crawdaddy, it would be a turtle or a turtle derivative.  You haven’t heard any of the other songs about turtles yet, and I might not wind up using all or any of them, but if they do get used I just want you to know that I am not unaware of the odd thematic resonance and intend to explore it further.  I also want you to know that I don’t condone cruelty to turtles and that the views and opinions expressed by the characters in these songs don’t necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.