While preparing for my Carousel Lounge Show tomorrow (August 26, 2017) I needed to cut many songs from my set-list, and well, I don’t want to cut anymore, so I have decided to cut my banter. Here you will find my extensively crafted and artistic rendering of well-told stories to accompany my song performances. Perhaps if you are in the audience, you can follow along and consider this banter augmentation for your reality. In fact, I plan on casting my 7:00 set on my Instagram, so if you’re at home or wherever you can watch me and follow along.
Anyways, without further ado,
Witty Banter From My Carousel Show Tomorrow Night
How about that hurricane huh? It [was/is] sure [terrifying/disappointing/fun maybe ad-lib appropriate adjective]. Did you guys see [thing from youtube about some idiot probably]? I’m Zirque Bois d’Arc, and I’m going to get tuned up a bit here.
Stang’s Swang (partial)
I Fall In Love Too Easily
Sycamore Dream (partial)
Thank you. I thought I would start off with a couple of rousing numbers there to get the old blood-pumper pumping and get our limbs all limbered up and all that [hold for reaction as those are apparently slow mopy tunes]. That first tune was originally a Frank Sumatra number as far as anyone here knows and of course, to hipsters like us, it is famous because of Chet Baker Street. I’ll take this opportunity to launch into a little artisanal history for you all. Chet was fantastic trumpet player with a very smooth voice – he also happened to be pretty enough what with his blonde pompadour to move some vinyl. This was back in the 50s and 60s, so a nice wholesome image was everything. Over time Chet got into drugs – hard stuff – heroin. At one point, he was behind on his vig to the man, and so the man knocked his teeth out. Which sounds awful. I mean to have your teeth knocked out. Even more so if you’re a trumpet player – you use those choppers to line up your embouchure so you can play. Don’t do drugs. Or at least, don’t do drugs if you’re a trumpet player.
The second tune was, you may have noticed, pretty. Pretty short. It’s just the first verse – I need to write more, but I haven’t gotten around to it, and I fancied playing it in front of people as a little test – do I want to expose people to such profound beauty? Can they take it? Since there don’t appear to be any whambulances at this moment, I am assuming you are all exceptionally high, especially attractive people – just the sort of people I would like to see at this show. Speaking of attractive, you have probably at this point deduced that I am from East Texas based on my very attractive accent.
Specifically, I am from Nacogdoches in Deep East Jesus Texas, well behind the Pine Cone Curtain. It was a pretty good place to grow up – we lived out farm to market road 1878, and many weekends I would find myself crawling along Carrizo Creek or stuck to the waist in some quicksand in some cow pasture somewhere. It wasn’t until much later that I realized how many back-asswards, racist, genuinely terrible people live around there. And that is because, despite all those cannon-fodder, speaking-in-tongues, believers-that-Jesus-loves-money morons, there are many very attractive very smart very thoughtful people that you can seek out and hang around with. Much like the people in this room. Anyways I’m going to do a song about being a kid in East Texas, and then a song about a kid who wanders off never to be seen again.
Well, that’s enough with the de-tuning, eh? It’ll take me a few seconds to bring this back up to pitch. That last tune was by my good buddy, Tim, and I have it on a record over there that’s for sale, and in fact, I have a lot of records over there for sale with a lot of the songs that I’ve been playing and will continue to play.
I came here planning for this to be about you; I don’t know how it all turned in to be about me all of a sudden. My first formal concert was Heart in I don’t know 79,80,81 maybe. But it was almost going to be Parliament/Funkadelic, except that I got grounded for smoking pot with Jay Negus – Jay lived down one of the country roads from my house, we’d go hang out and listen to records on his quadrophonic system. He lived with his grandma. They had Siberian huskies. I’ve been told that if you want to make things relatable to an audience you need to include little details. Anyways, now that I’m thinking of the piney woods it reminds me of an old folk tune of my people, and I would like to play it for you now.
We learned that little ditty back in the tin can cabins tucked away off gravel roads – we’d stuff Marshall stacks and double kick drum kits into the kitchen and blast through every Led Zeppelin or Rush song we could think of and drink beer and smoke pot and build fires. It was a lot of fun. It breaks my heart with shame when I now realize that many of those fuckers, if they’re not dead from bad decisions involving handguns motorcycles booze and drugs, probably voted for that moron.
I Admit (partial)
Lottery Ticket (partial)
Those two are works in progress and aren’t designed for me to sing, so thank you for indulging me.
I’ve got a few more to play through here, and then I’ll turn over the stage to If You Know What I Means, if you know what I mean.
Lonesome and Low
New New Writing, Part 2