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Wednesday, August 14, 2013

A PAGE OUT OF MICKEY`S NOTEBOOK ..................and.................DISCUSSION OF A SONG




             The tunnel is dark and endless and there`s no way out.
Nothing moves down here, not even the bottom-feeders.
My underwater world is in stasis.
      Someone took a snapshot and now I`m trapped
in it... This world is rough. You don`t
even know you`re alive until something stings you
under a reef somewhere.
        In this  camera-still  existence there`s no hope.
But I don`t need hope.I don`t want hope
I don`t trust it.
      All I trust right now is in front of me on this table -
 my car keys, my fists, the bottle of Seagram`s VO  Rye Whiskey beside my fist and my .45 pistol.

           I`m subject to terrible depressions and I`m in the basement of a deep one now.You`re not interested in this, and I don`t
expect you to be interested in these alien fields.           What I need is fuel... more fuel - bottles of it! And a massive sprinkling of anti-depressants.Then maybe I
can discuss this unfortunate situation further.

       What did Mickey Spillane say about a scene
 when  nothing was happening?
        He said:"If the story`s getting dull, bring a gun
into it."
       It was Raymond Chandler actually
who said that. But  Mickey Spillane just did it. And he
wrote stories like, "MY GUN IS QUICK!" Very
direct writing.Tonight I want to give Mickey some
 respect and love.

       His story`s would start something like this:
         
       "There she was ... a body that just wouldn`t
quit in a silky red dress and a .45 in her purse.
         Mona warned me about the gun
before Ms. Hilton walked into my office.
         Harrison, my 2nd assistant, was fascinated
by her legs, her  nylon stockings and her 4 inch heels
But Harrison has only been around this block  once or twice... I`ve been living down here forever. I can recognize every kind of species... even before they slide in the door.
            This woman didn`t slide but as she walked
I could see her glide over the old oriental rug and onto
the hard wooden chair.
            Her dress clung to her in all the important
places, and was tight around her hips and thighs
as she adjusted herself to sit down...
            I reached and felt the holster attached underneath  the middle drawer of my desk. I cocked the revolver  and made sure all the snaps were ready.  All the while I pretended
I was lighting a cigarette.
            She reached towards me with a lighter
and said, "Forget the gag, I know you`re well armed.
I`d never respect you otherwise."
            I had to laugh.  She`d caught my every move.
Except the brutality that could appear at any time
right here, right now in  my office called
"WISH WELL INVESTIGATIONS."
           The name was a joke. My  true love
always used to say to me: "You always expect the worst."
           My comeback was always: "And I`m never disappointed."
           We used to have lots of fun. We used to be
in love.  That`s until Rachman Zayjak shot her
right in the middle of the forehead from across the street.
He shot her with a 1917 bolt-action 303 rifle. She didn`t feel
a thing. 
        The bullet went in small but left with most of
the back of her head.   I`ve been hurting ever since.
      Yeah, this business is lot`s of fun! Sure! I`d been having a ball, you bet. The fun was all over now.

            "I want you to find the person  who killed my husband," she said to me. "I was starting to hate the
 fat, arrogant bastard but I didn`t do it. I thought
I`d tell you that before you asked."
            "Thanks.  You`re doing my work for me,"
I said. I lit a cigarette, too, and looked back
out my fourth floor window.  The last of the
straight business folks were driving home after a busy
day at the office. Hundreds of cars waiting
at the red light on the street below. It was
raining. It was a fine warm rain. The cars
passing made a continuous swishing sound,
like a twisted living thing. Like an endless
snake rising up out of the depths
of the city.
          As I say, the business people were
heading home. This was my favourite
time on Mainstreet.  The real monsters were
waking up or driving south into
these streets, if they didn`t live here already.
           It was eight p.m.The night life
of the city was just beginning. The pimps
and the gangsters and the used car men -
the used-identity men was more like it.
        These were my people and I knew them all,
even if they didn`t want to know me.
          "You`ll have plenty of work," the gorgeous
blonde wife said to me. "My boyfriend
is Lamont James. He didn`t kill him
either, as far as I know."
           Lamont James owned three hotels
in the dirtiest parts of the downtown.   His
hotels were brothels and strip houses and a lot
of crack was smoked in the cheap upper rooms.
          Lamont was not known for his generosity
or human understanding. He was a crippler.
He had two heavies who more or less lived with
him, corrupt ex-cops who had forgotten all
sense of right or wrong.
          "Why do you care who killed your husband,
if you hated the guy?" I asked.
          "I don`t hate him anymore  But he owes me money.  Quite a lot of money. My  loan to the sneaky prick was for
a million, five.  I want that back. But the
total inventory of his car lots is not worth
that much ."
           "You might be out of luck," I said: "Did your
husband have any bad habits?"
            "You mean... other than screwing his
secretary and smoking a little crack?"
            We both laughed when she said that.
            "A little crack." Yes, everybody smokes
just a little crack.  Right. I`d heard that story 
before.... Just a LITTLE crack... yessireee....
Like that famous old Rock `n Roll expression:
"Just one last line!" That`s all anyone ever does.
          
           (( I want to know what happens next.  So I`m going
to write more of this sordid tale.  And I hope you`re
going to want to read more...  ... I don`t want to
think I`m doing all this alone.))
        These pages...Let`s call them, `Mickey One.`
 The next bit of the story let`s call,
`Mickey Two` ))




        
              LETTER TO AN ARTIST- PROMOTER FRIEND
              _______________________________________

  Dear Gary:
                    I`m sending to you the sad old country tune
I discussed with you over the phone....
                    I`ve always loved George Jones` song,  "He Stopped Loving Her Today." It wasn`t written by George (God
rest his soul).. except the last verse.  George wrote that one
because the song seemed just too damned sad to him. He carried the words of the song in his back pocket for over a year.
                    George wrote the verse that starts:
 "She came to see him one more time... and oh, we always
thought he would"
                    But, of course, she came to see him after he was DEAD. And, why did he stop loving her today? Well,
because he was DEAD!
                   And think of the line:  "First time I saw him smile
for years..."
                    Well, he was smiling because the undertaker put a smile on his face after he was DEAD... By himself, when he was living, he never smiled at all. 
                   " First time I saw him smile in years..." That`s the joke in the song... except it`s not that funny.
         When I hear a country band play that song on a Saturday afternoon... I`m not laughing...  I`m shedding a few tears along with everybody else in the Belmont Tavern, North Bay,Ontario...as it once was.

               The song I`m sending you,  "DON`T BLOW KISSES
AT THE MOON!"   is about one of those skinny five foot tall little guys with a silver belt buckle and a black shirt and black cowboy hat, black pants and cowboy boots... you see
this fella at a lot of shows... hanging around
the outside of a crowd, darting in and out of where the people are.
          In the song his name is Eddie Turner
and he falls in love with a six foot blonde lady
of the evening...She works at night  down on Larabie
Street, in  Anytown USA  or Canada.
            Her name is Sara Thompson.  She
mostly wants to avoid Eddie, but comes to love
him later in the song when her circumstances
become truly intolerable...and she realizes he`s the
only one still there for her.
            If I tell you more of the story now,
you`re going to want to laugh when you hear the song.
But if you hear the song first and manage to discern
the words in this 1 1/2 track recording, I`m hoping
you shed a few tears at the story of the song,
 before you think of the gag  and start to chuckle.
             I was thinking of "He Stopped Loving Her Today"
when I was writing it... My song isn`t perfect or quite
as great as the original, but it`s not far off... ( If you look closely at the five or so verses of the original song by the duo who wrote it, you`ll probably agree their song is almost without  flaw. These two song wizards who wrote "The Green Green Grass of Home" and one or two other great tunes, they had a masterpiece on their hands in "He Stopped Loving Her Today." I mean, truly, they didn`t miss a beat. Even with the verse that George Jones added, the song is perfect.
             
             When you hear my song, you`re going to
think I was trying to make the recording rough...
but that`s not the case... I was doing my best with the half-assed recording system I have in my office.
              Hope you enjoy it and can hear the words.

        To my readers - soon as I upgrade technically
I`ll upload the video of the whole song, then maybe we can
talk about it some more...  I hope you enjoy it when
that time comes.
           I truly believe... in fact, I know the time will
come when I start posting songs sung and played by me ,  and also by many of the fine reggae, jazz, soul, calypso
and rhythm `n blues singers and musicians who recorded the songs with me.
       Some of them have gone mad.  Some have shot themselves or jumped off bridges...one has cut his wifes`s head off...  But  most of these geniuses
in what my literary friends used to call THE MONSTER
BAND, or JOHN ROCK AND THE MIDNIGHT MONSTERS...
OR THE MAIN STREET  MONSTER BAND... some of these guys are alive still and are very well indeed. 
           I can`t wait to play tunes these guys one more time.
          
             For the majority,  however, madness was in the streets in those days.  And drugs were in our veins.... and if it wasn`t drugs - it was mania, schizophrenia, or a very very bad attitude and hatred of all forms of `normalcy`.
         Some band members are doing very well and are not locked up in  forensic wards ... Some have even survived the blast... the first blast and so far the second blast of cranial derangement that has finished most of us...
          Still... some of the Angels live!  And Johnny Rock survives with them, as long as anybody still lives.

            This will be a retrospective CD, disk, album
or whatever the hell you want to call it. One thing
is clear, this album and these songs are unique. No one has ever heard anything like  them before. No one has ever heard
these words before.
 
            In a while I`m going to get up and play the whole collection a 52nd time.

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