The Blog Faltered - To The Ghosts - June 13, 2012

The blog faltered.  I failed to adhere to the construct. There was no song last week.  It was a busy week, but the real problem was my wife was away and all order, routine, and structure crumbled.  Subsisting on all meat pizzas, salt & pepper squid, and salisbury steaks; unclothed, unshaved, guzzling red wine by the box, subscribed to the 24 hour Charlie Sheen channel, marathon phone sex with a Moldavian heiress, filth, squalor, freestyle farting.  I meant to do the blog one night, but instead drank a bottle of wine and played sad songs for 3 hours.  There were two rehearsals during the week for the show we had with Cloudsplitter and  I recorded this song at the end of one of them....I had the potential to do the blog last week but never did!

Our friend Clifford Doerksen died an untimely and tragic death in December 2010 and flying home from the memorial service in February 2011 I composed this song, in its entirety, in my head.  When I got home I typed it up and promptly forgot about it for 6 months, until I stumbled on it again and started working on it.  Realizing the melodies I was coming up with referenced The Carpenters' Top Of The World, I checked out those chord progressions and messed around with them. I believe this is the kind of secret songwriting shit I'm not supposed to reveal.

Amongst many other things, Clifford was a brilliant, hilarious, and ruthless writer and reviewer. Here's an article remembering him that also contains many links to his writing:  

click here: CLIFFORD

And here it is, To The Ghosts, to Clifford....

with Rachelle Reath - violin and backup vox,
Emily Goodenough - viola
Marek Tyler - drums 

To The Ghosts

His heart lay panting on the floor

his mind just walked out the back door

into the winter's night

to fight the good fight

if he could still distinguish wrong from right

Did someone step on a crack and break his back

did someone say give up, turn back

The stolen years

will not be restored by our tears

and our memories will fade from grey to black

Whether we say yay or nay

the night is followed by the day

To the departed and their ghosts

we raise one too many toasts

then stumble numbly on our way