Tuesday, May 27, 2014

$50, Brother!

$50, Brother!

(Frank Maier – 2014)
For the Basement Boys


Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah (E-G-E-G-A)

Guitar lick


Guitar lick


Guitar lick


Guitar lick


*(Verse 1)

We were playin’ the blues down in the basement one night.

We were feeling real good and sounding just right.

I was right in the groove and playing with pride,

Then the vocals ended and it was time for my ride.

 *(change from staccato dah-dah… to walking bass blues D for chorus)

Shit! I fucked it up again! (A)

Played some real bad notes, and then (E)

Everybody in the band yelled, “Amen! (D)

$50, brother!” (A)

*Keyboard ride (verse form-chorus form)

*V2 (back to staccato dah-dah-etc.)

The Godfather of Soul was Mister James Brown.

When he got his band rockin’, they could really put it down;

But if he heard you fucking up, he’d throw you a harsh frown;

Then charge you $50 and sit your lame ass down!


*Guitar ride (verse form-chorus form)

*Bridge (walking D)

Beethoven said you can play a wrong note, (A)

But if you play without passion, that’s what makes you a goat. (D)

If Ludwig said that, ya know it works for me,(E)

So I’m gonna set my solo spirit free!

*V3 (back to staccato dah-dah-etc. )

So we’re rockin’ this old basement every Tuesday night

And we really don’t care if each note is wrong or right.

The most important thing under the sun

Is that everybody’s down there just to have some fun!

*(Chorus – with responses)

Shit! I fucked it up again! (So what?)

Played some real bad notes, and then (Me, too!)

Everybody in the band yelled, “Amen! (That’s true!)

$50, brother!” (Not really!)

*OUTRO: (A) same as intro






Friday, May 16, 2014

To Brad Who Lives in My Memory

To Brad Who Lives in My Memory


Herculean hug from a blithe spirit warms my heart,
Wandering the halls of memory tonight.
Here at the end of the scene, wanting it to be the start,

Retrieving vignettes from my memory’s sight.
The warmth of his embrace, the Aether of his joy,
Enfolding me with enthusiastic energy.

Releasing for eye-contact, like a cherubic boy,
And asking sweetly about my family and me.

Not a worshipper of Haropcrates, he. Hermes better suited his style.
Always entertaining, maybe woo, never stuffy,

On the Sisyphean homilectic of unschooling. With a smile,
He’d endeavor to unscrew the inscrutable with me.

At LIFE is Good near Portland or San Diego’s Good Vibrations,
We’d deconstruct the meaning of meaning

Over breakfast, in passing, or with the bar’s nectarous libations,
‘til our families for sleep would be keening.

It was Brad and Lucretia and then there came Lena,
But before that sweet sprite, there was John.

A family so sweet, they would make you a dreamer,
But then quicker than Huginn, Brad was gone.

No hug for my corpus. No dialectic for my mind. For my dolorous soul, there’s no balm.
Lucretia, Lena, and John fill my head.

So many friends in so many places, so many souls feel the harm,
‘tho’ alive in our memory, in fact, Brad is dead.

Vita brevis, memoria aeterna. Life is short but memory is forever.
Eheu! Eheu! Oh so young, far too young.

But our memories of him will fade never.
And for now, my song for Bradley is sung.

Bradley Holcomb 14 May 2014
Frater, requiescas in pace.