.jpg)
c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(8-25)
With an incentive to stay active and present in the moment, I decided to ride my creative groove, despite being in a funk over Kookshow Baby. The Old Drunken Buzzards had provided a spark of inspiration. Feeling the ferocious kind of courage that had been lacking for many years, I was ready to revisit my songwriting ambitions, once again.
Subject matter was easy to identify. Having lived in an isolated community of mobile homes for well over 20 years, while sliding deeper into personal hardships and alienation, I had a heightened sense of being on the social fringe. A metaphorical location that had inspired many pioneers in Blues, Folk, or Country & Western music. That mindset worked well to bring out the darkness in its full measure. Something that sharpened my lyric output, and overall approach to wordsmithing.
While sitting at my desk, ideas began to stream directly to the keyboard. Every verse interpreted this slow-paced, emotional descent into a hard, hellish environment. One built on a foundation of exploitation, abuse, and a lingering desire to escape. With the only true relief coming from cigarettes, marijuana, or beverage alcohol, enjoyed in mass quantities.
This was the world that I had inherited. Bad when viewed against a contrast of career goals and familial affinity. Yet good in the name of making art.
Disability Blues
“Sitting alone in a funk and a daze
Wondering why I decided to stay
Somebody said that there’s a fall for a fool
When you brush up on the golden rule
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
Sitting silent, with my face in my hands
Trying to remember playing in a band
My guitar wasn’t primo, perhaps
But I damn sure followed Hound Dog’s roadmap
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
How does it feel when you ain’t got a friend?
Pretty much like every day since then
I never cried about the hand of fate
‘Cause it was always hard cheese on my dinner plate
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
I got loved, and left in the lurch
Kicked out of Sunday School, up at the church
Went walking home with no socks or shoes
What else is a poor boy gonna do?
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
The judge said, “It’s time to repay!”
I should have bargained with the magistrate
But instead, I toughed it out and learned
Life is rough when the bridges burn
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
On my knees, looking through a storm grate
Coughing up what I could not escape
The best advice I got was, “Leave it alone!”
But I ignored, the ringing of my telephone
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
Broke and busted is my new address
I’m damn sure no overnight success
I heard laughter, and happened to see
The old bum they were teasing was me
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
Slept in my truck for more than a day
Under a bridge back in New York State
Every morning brought a sunrise chance
But I was already dumped at the dance
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
I might have turned around this hopeless affair
Got my ass, out of the electric chair
But too late, I came to know
That there’s more to life than taking it slow
That’s the way it goes
‘When good times run cold
Stood up tall, at the river’s edge
Rambling and ready for whatever came next
With a promise, a wing and a prayer
Looking down at the deep made me scared
That’s the way it goes
‘When good times run cold
Don’t bother to bury my bones
I doesn’t matter that I walked these streets, alone
When the breeze blows my ashes away
You’ll have forgotten that I went astray
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
Somebody said it’s a natural fact
You get stronger, after a heart attack
I’ve survived too many to complain
They just make me glad to lessen the pain
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
A bottle neck turned up in the air
Whiskey fills my throat, and empties my cares
If I wanted to debate the details
I would have studied books, not slugs and snails
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
She looked at me like a painted rock
Said, “Boy, you must be good at picking a lock!”
It made me grin that she felt so sure
I was glad to spend a minute with her
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
On the road out of town, I went
After packing up, and folding my tent
The last thing I saw was a pillar of salt
And I knew everything was my own fault
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold
That’s the way it goes
When good times run cold...”
I was gaining momentum now, penning new lyrics almost every day. For the first time in months or years, I took out guitars from the household stash, to record demo tracks for future sharing. These included a vintage, American-made Applause roundback acoustic, and a Gibson Les Paul Special, a sleek pluckster, hued in black. Both favorite tools for composing.
For the moment, I gave up on trying to contact Kookshow Baby. It seemed clear that she had either been sidetracked by some avalanche of responsibilities, or simply did not wish to continue exploring a long-distance relationship. Either way, I had to accept that verdict of circumstance cheerfully, as a practical matter, or wallow in a useless pool of self-pity. Doing the latter made no sense when I had been so busy at my desk. But I logged a mental note to check in with Tiffany DuFoe more often, just to keep my place in the Cult Radio A-Go-Go community.
I had no time to be grumpy. There was more, meaningful work to do in the Swindle Shack!
No comments:
Post a Comment