Check out Generations, lyrics and sound samples, right here. Buy Generations at The Gailmor Music Store.
"SOLO -- Contrary to public opinion, being a musical performer isn't all glamour, romance and ego-gratification. This song is to help end that misconception, and is also my way of venting some frustrations that have occurred along the way. The lyrics are based on experiences of mine and others who dare bare their souls in public watering houses. Pass the cream and the classifieds. Is that salesman spot still there? You can chalk up last night to a lesson in life, just one more jukebox affair Well, it happened again, like the last time. Thought I had this couple all night As I packed up, they asked what I do for work, and I smiled, though my mouth felt real tight I hope I reached someone tonight. Made 'em laugh, left 'em feeling alright And if I offended a mind ripe for bending, at least I'll have found a nerve tonight Standing there, screaming the soft ones, my eyes shut to block out the din Must've looked like a fool, but only to myself. Seemed like nobody knew I plugged in So I cranked up my volume to seven. If only I'd been a choir This crowd brought a P.A. with power to spare. Rendered me a log in the fire I tried to make contact, tonight, singing sad or a tad impolite And if, by some chance, my music made 'em dance, maybe I touched a soul tonight Could be the folk circuit spoiled me, and those church basement concert hall rooms Where they listen so hard you can hear yourself sweat And you think you're worth paying to see Winding the wires I got hoarse through, from four hours that felt like a life I see a man through his snifter, nudging his date: "Look, honey, live music tonight" So why should I pour all my guts out, when they're only received by the floor Give me one set of eyes looking my way, and I'll sing to 'em out there some more I hope I reached someone tonight.... Hear 'em loading the ice during the love songs. Hear my ballads with blender on lead Hear the register crash, and I'm drawn to that drawer The only reward I'm guaranteed Thank God for unbreakable egos, 'least that's what I tell folks, these days I hope I'm still resilient tomorrow, when I'm standing on some other stage So I head home to woods and to loved ones. It's a drive, but I welcome that time To haul out the memories of magic and fine ones that got me through this one I tried to make contact, tonight.... ONE ROOM -- Vermont is strewn with hunting camps that used to be one-room schoolhouses. It dawned on me a while ago that if I ever want to see this vestige of education's past in action, I'd better do it soon, or it'll be gone. So, I traveled to the nine in Vermont that had at least grades 1-6, and talked to the kids and teachers. They sang me songs they liked, read their stories and poems, and gave me a feel for the pros and cons of one-room schooling. This little tour became a nine-part series on "Just Kidding", my radio show (see "Just Kidding" link). All but one of the schools are gone, either bigger and modern, or only heated during hunting season, now. I felt enriched and grateful for my sojourn. Got a song out of it, too, inspired by what I heard and witnessed. One room we got. Some need more. For others, it's a lot Learning to read, write and divide and come together, come together in one room Crack of dawn, it's a yawning room, warm as the middle of a grandma's hug Handful of half-awake, sandy-eyed souls gather 'round the morning Some are down from the mountain top, born, bred and buttered just a bike ride away Flatlander city folks sitting there, too, sitting in one room Belt a tune. It's a music room. Stares say my melody is loud and wrong Sounds of an older voice ring in my ear. Hum it to me one time Multiplying used to get me down. Faced with a fraction and I felt like crying Kids came together. Now I can teach, too, together in one room Now, sometimes one room's awful small. Got to wait for the teacher till your arm falls I need much more room to roam, and to be alone Eating time. It's a dining room. Trade you an apple for a Milky Way Teach me to bake and I'll lend you my pan. Bigger pie the better There's a word got me all confused, long as the winter and a hard one, too Show me the meaning, I'll show you my glove. Sharing in one room Now, sometimes when I'm stuck inside, got to yell, got to wrestle, run and hide Oh, if we only had a gym to unwind in All the day, it's a living room. Me and my buddies that I know so well Never a hallway, never get lost. Know my way around here Daddy moved to another town. He got my sister and I'm here with Mom Got me a family where the bus goes. Family in one room DON'T TELL ME TO SMILE (the full-diaper blues) -- It should be a felony for one person to tell another to smile. When I'm in a rotten mood and somebody tells me what shape my mouth should be, I suspect I can empathize with an infant who's had a loaded Pamper for far too long. Chalk up that inexcusable analogy to the sleep-deprivation and the inherent irrationality of early fatherhood. Raised on peace, sister and brotherhood. Now my dog's picking fights around the neighborhood Limping home bloody, got me hot and confused. I'm feeling like a newborn with the full-diaper blues So, don't tell me to smile. Don't want to have no nice day Let me stew in my juice. What if I need to be this way? Just leave me alone. Stop with your concern Don't be cheering me up. I've got some trash to burn Got home late, driving all night from Maine. Idiot lights winking at me, calling my name My kitty left me presents I know I'll never use. Irate, crib-crazy, got the full-diaper blues I'm a zipper in this vel-cro world. In Synthesizer Town I still sing the "Duke of Earl" Bottling up my anger when I'm watching the news, wearing all my rage inside the full-diaper blues So go ahead - keep feeding my pet peeve. Pin your smile button right there on my sleeve When you call me "sweetheart", I'm a bomb with no fuse. Can't you see I'm cranky? Got the full-diaper blues. GENERATIONS -- A friend of mine sent me a George Bernard Shaw quote, which fit my philosophy of life to a tee. It became the first verse, and I added two more of my own. Wish I'd known GBS... I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live I rejoice in life for its own sake. I rejoice in life for its own sake Life is no brief candle to me. Life is no brief candle to me It is a sort of splendid torch that I have got hold of for a moment , and I want to make it burn Yes, I want to make it burn as brightly as possible, before passing it on to future generations And the child paints the sky brown below the purple grass And the four-eyed cow with fangs is upside-down It's a work of art for its own sake, what a masterpiece for its own sake. May the canvas of fantasy go on May the canvas of fantasy go on. Don't grow them up before their time Let the children have their childhood, and they'll paint the world they see, always paint the world they see And never forget the art, and carry that spark within them, forever Simple gifts of bygone days are treasured over time, and the music of the past returns as gold It's a silver song for its own sake. Sing a silver song for its own sake As we celebrate the innocence of age, and we welcome the innocence of age Hold the strong hands of gray-haired children, whose lives have come full-circle And they'll teach us their dances, and we'll join in their dances Remembering the lessons, and learning that we must move to our own dance SOMEBODY GONNA CHANGE MY NAME TO DADA -- I suffered from acute pre-natal hysteria (PNH) when I found out that I was going to be the father of my first child. My physician prescribed songwriting and plenty of sleep. This is the resulting tune. I still haven't gotten the sleep. My mind may seem a little off, deviating from a normal pattern My behavior may be vaguely reminiscent of a soul from Saturn My demeanor, on which I pride myself, is abominable. I'm beside myself And the two of me need to scream out what I found out Somebody gonna change my name to Dada There'll be company for the trillium in May Longing to be a father, still learning to be a son Growing with the child inside my lady I'm drawn to dreaming fantasy. Been known to fancy myself a turtle It appears my imagination's not the only attribute that's fertile Try Maggie, Ethel, Don, Lee, Irving. This reality is so unnerving But the melody is the antidote for the malady Somebody gonna.... Do I wear a pipe? Smoke a cardigan sweater? Season passes for the zoo? What does a pregnant papa look like? What's a father-to-be to do? What's a father-to-be to do? In shock, elated, thrilled, afraid, not to mention how it all preoccupies It's a foggy day in Papa Town, hard to see ahead of me through misty eyes I'm an embryonic father, in love with an unborn mother On a road with many unseen bends and washboards Somebody gonna.... And with all the joy, my only wish is that I could share the nausea, too I'd even put on weight, if that could help her What's a father-to-be to do? What's a father-to-be to do? To be to do, to be or not to do? That is the.... JACOB AND EVA -- The most sublime memories of my childhood are the times I spent with the only grandparents I knew. I remember the fragrance of their apartment at 2260 Bronx Park East, I remember the sound of the bells of the ice-cream man we waited for, together. Most of all, I remember that I never felt safer and more loved in my life. He was the softest man I ever knew. He sang me my first song The one about the animal fair, and the raccoon was there, and somebody brushed its teeth in a frying pan I see my grandma's hands. I can feel 'em. She threw me my first ball. I missed it, and it landed at my feet "If at first you don't succeed..." And when she said that, I knew Eva made it up Jacob and Eva, Jacob and Eva Son and daughter of a gentler time Jacob and Eva, Jacob and Eva Grandparents and friends of mine We used to take in the zoo, me and Jacob. The monkeys made us laugh We watched lions and bears and the seals made us feel good. I saw my grandpa's face. I loved the seals I remember Grandma's cornmeal, really lumpy. It was a special order Along with scrambled eggs and baked beans, known the Bronx over History-making jell-o, the first with character He told me about the old days, over ice-cream, across the street in the park How he was four when he got here, and as he nodded to another, I tried to imagine my grandpa being four My grandma loved her long walks. Took me with her. Recited Shakespeare along the way And she made it into music to crunch among the leaves to. I don't remember words, but I can hear her voice I loved to watch their wrinkles rise and fall. Their faces told me stories I saw furrows and ridges, roots un-earthed and re-planted. Deep-seeded smiling lines went on and on and on and on.... As if it weren't enough, they raised my mother, and taught her love, by example Not to mention jell-o and Othello and scrambled eggs with lumps, and baked beans and walks to the zoo I loved the seals Jacob and Eva, Jacob and Eva Son and daughter of a gentler time Jacob and Eva, Jacob and Eva Grandparents and friends of mine Grandparents and friends of mine Grand friends of mine FLAIL AWAY -- When my first child began to wave his arms and legs around, at the age of two months, I figured he was the first baby ever to do that. I knew I was exhibiting symptoms of an advanced stage of Paternal Neurosis (PN), but I didn't care, and wrote a song about it, anyway. Cheerfully vague, often staring off at nothing. I'm readily teary and scattered I've got my son in my eyes, and I sing to the little one: Welcome, my baby, to the big, old world. You kept us guessing 'bout a boy or girl I know it's colder here than inside Mom. Your little body's got to flail away Flail away, flail away, flail away all your days Flail away, flail away. With folds unfurled, flail away I hold you against me and I rock you slow, a powerful feeling like I've never known You grab my shoulders and I'm glowing like the moon. You let out a yell and flail away Might've been gas or a sideways yawn, but I could swear you put a smile on When you're grinning with your gums all around, makes a daddy want to flail away I love you when you're cranky and I love you when you laugh I love you when you giggle in your bubble bath I love your pooping, when I just changed you. That's when you REALLY flail away So hard to leave you, and just between us, I wish I could feed you like your mommy does But when you're eating from a bottle and a spoon, I'll nourish you to help you flail away Your wandering eyes bring tears to mine. You trust me like none in my time I'll teach you reading and I'll teach you how to strum, if you'll teach me how you flail away LOST IN SONG -- This was supposed to be about how I lose myself in my music. Well, once again the creative process took me where it wanted to, and the song evolved into a tribute to my lady. One never knows what'll happen when you let the tune take over. I wish I had all the answers stashed away in my secret drawer O.K., how 'bout knowing the questions: Why am I here? What's in store? Fed this mind of mine to science, trying via the high-tech route Hard to process what's important. Glad my life does not compute So, if my eyes are disappearing, though my voice is loud and true I may seem gone, but I'm here with you. I'm only lost in song It's about my sense of humor. Folks have been locked up for less Both my ears can wax poetic, just a phase I'm in, I guess Taught myself to stifle anger, back in days when I could hide I could open a bottling plant for all the things I've pushed inside Feelings may hold my thoughts hostage, making prisoners of my needs Thinking may invade my feelings, but not when I'm lost in song Mittens made my childhood toasty, hanging there outside my sleeve Now I'm wearing all I feel there. You give me love that I believe Part of you you keep way back there, like a hidden rhapsody But when your piano soothes the silence, more of you is clear to me How I long to know your music. Play me what no words can say I love what I learn about you when you're lost in song THE KILLYLOO CAPER -- A triathlete told me a joke in a locker room, once. Quite a moment it was, given how serious triathletes tend to be. Great joke, too, and I had him write it down so I could make a song out of it. In a hamlet called Killyloo, not more than a mile from this one Stood a pub, green grocer, butcher and a bank, and a church and another church There twice was a man of the cloth, Father Flynn being quite the Kerryman And from Inverness, Very Reverend Smythe came along into Killyloo Killyloo, Killyloo, where the handlebartenders are, and the rumors are true Killyloo, Killyloo, where there's a wheel there's a way in Killyloo 'twas a car taboo in Killyloo, so every bottom had a bike beneath it No exceptions were our clergymen. On their Big Wheels they did ride On their way to pray, Sunday morn, the priest would pass the pastor With a "top of the morning, John." "Aye, Dan, and the rest of the day to you." Now, a year'd been swallowed by time, when this one very odd Sunday There walked a bikeless minister and, to his peddling pal he said: "All blisters aside, Dan my boy, 'tis a dismal day in Killyloo When a man's own bike gets pinched from his porch, 'tis a desperate day, indeed" Ah, but Dan was a priest with a plan, designed to find the Big Wheel He and John would preach the Commandments Ten, with a sharp eye on the pews "Thou Shalt Not Steal" is the one to be dwelt on with great fervor Then the shamed thief would return the prize, and Smythe would ride again On the following Sunday morn, came the peddling pastor, smiling "Good work," said Flynn. "I see it did the trick." "Well, not quite true to plan" Said John: "I preached as agreed, with a poignant pause on stealing, But when came 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultry', I remembered where I'd left my bike" RANDY'S TAIL -- Nothing can be more painful than having to put a pet to sleep, especially one that's been through all of life's travails with you for many years. My dog, Randy was my companion, confidante, and close friend for nine years. He and his brother, Ned (see Randy and Ned Go To School GO TO SCHOOL on the GONNA DIE WITH A SMILE IF IT KILLS ME album) were fixtures in my life. Ned passed away at five, but Randy stayed around another four years, and it nearly killed me to have to say goodbye. Writing this helped. No wonder you were different, no mystery there at all Neurotic was an understatement. You were off-the-wall I'm blaming the game warden for every little quirk When you were just a piddler, I showed you to that jerk I held you like a champion. You licked the man in green He said you were the strangest looking pup he'd ever seen Well, he didn't even whisper. No, he said it to your face The damage to your self-esteem had surely taken place Your early years were troubled. A thousand tears were shed You took it out on chair legs and your normal brother, Ned Surviving adolescence matured you with a flare Your nose no longer paisley, you could face the world out there But just when life got mellow, and brothers became friends The ones who loved you, she and I, went separate ways again I would've been so lonely without you loving hounds And when you lost your sibling, I turned the favor around We weathered all the traumas. We held each other up And I can't count the good times, Randy. Numbers aren't enough But now you bend in misery. Your hurt consumes me, too There is no pain like powerlessness. I know what I must do I'm not sure where you're going, but there's no need to grieve I hear they've got some t-bones there that you would not believe Good night, my pooch and partner. Sweet memories and take care When my time comes, I'll find you. We'll take a walk up there. BONE OF CONTENTION -- Thanks to my chiropractor, I'm able to make a living standing around with a heavy object hanging from my neck. I wrote this for my appearance at the annual dinner of the Vermont Chiropractic Association. It's the least I could do. Well, I've been bent out of shape since a baby, maybe due to some old crooked genes Took me thirty-five leg, neck and back-aching years to listen to my body scream Pill after pill after pill after pill after pill after pill got me through day after day But when the drug wore off and the pain wore on, there had to be a better way Takes a whole lot of nerve to make a body move. Got to have a straight channel to move through Takes a whole lot of nerve to make a body move. Got to have a straight channel to move through It's the bone of contention, the bone of prevention. It's your backbone Somebody told me chiropractic helps your body heal on its own Now, I'm a natural-born cynic, bound to be a skeptic, but the misery brought the notion home So I hobbled on down to Back Street. Took some 8x10's of my spine I saw the subluxating, stationary vertebrae. No wonder I was crying It takes a whole lot of nerve.... Manipulate me, doctor, all hands on neck. Adjust me, doctor, hands-on Manipulate me, doctor, both hands on back. Adjust me, doctor, hands-on What a change since my realignment! Moving better than ever before I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I'll settle for a dance I'm going straight with my chiropractor, and I can bend over backwards for my friends Feeling so well-adjusted from my head to my heels. My body's feeling whole, again!
