Boy Genius (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music I remember steel guitar legend Lloyd Green smiling right before he played his part on this in the studio. And I remember smiling right after he started playing his part. When I gave the song to Lloyd, it opened with “strum, strum, strum.” When he finished with it, it opened with “da da da DAH DAH,” and it had a wondrous solo and an ending like nothing I’d ever heard. “This is a pretty fabulous song I wrote,” I remember thinking. “And producing records is kind of a snap.” As for the lyrics… Imagine gifted former youngster Ryan Adams waking up one bleary late morning, opening up a magazine and realizing that the Bright Eyes kid exists in the world. And then there’s the FEMA fellow – the guy the president put in charge of emergency management – who heard one day about a mighty storm and realized he wasn’t going to be able to coast through his federal appointment. And then there’s me, who has more in common with those people than I’d normally like to admit. I’d have taken that FEMA gig and screwed it up, too. We have nothing to fear but fear itself. And, man, that’s plenty. When the boy genius looked in the mirror Boy genius didn’t like what he saw He thought, “The genius thing is somewhat in question And now I’m not looking like a boy at all” He had gray hairs poppin’ at the temples Gray half moons under his red eyes Somewhere resting in a feather bed Was another boy genius with a new surprise Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me out The big chief called his old buddy Said, “Mike, I got a job for you. I know you’ve messed up, hey we all mess up But this is nothing hard to do. Man, you get a six-figure salary, big leather chair Starched shirts and sweet silk ties.” Michael knew he could jive his way through If the Good Lord was willing and the creeks didn’t rise Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me out Pretty sure that we can fool them for a week or two Maybe we can fool them for a year Maybe we can fool them for the rest of our lives But… I don’t know Was that the whole dam busting or just another leak Is that a fine antique or just past the peak Is that a blush of shame or a rosy cheek Is that a foolproof system or a lucky streak We got dark sunglasses and push-up bras Control-top pantyhose and probable cause We are breaking the bank, we are breaking the laws We are basking in the glow of polite applause And singin’ “Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me Oh Lord, don’t let ‘em find me out” Don’t let ‘em find me out Don’t let ‘em find me out ---------- All the Way to Heaven (Eric Taylor) Blue Ruby Music/Universal Songs, Inc./BMI Charlie Rich plays and sings, a beautiful woman dances, somebody gets shot and Eric Taylor tells me it’s pretty much a true story. I can’t resist. Eric is among the best songwriters in the world. He was a big part of the 1970s’ Houston scene that included Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark, he invented a way of playing the guitar that has been put to good use by Nanci Griffith, Lyle Lovett and others, and he writes with an emotional literacy that is off the charts. This was the last song recorded for the album. It features an all music journalist rhythm section. Bass man Jason Moon Wilkins and drummer Nicole Keiper could hardly play, they were so busy critiquing everyone else’s performance. Kidding there, I am. Please check out Jen Gunderman’s big piano chords, and Lloyd Green’s spacey, “how-on-earth-did-he-do-that?” steel solo. I saw Charlie Rich singin’ at the Continental Ballroom He let the whiskey do what whiskey does the best Here’s a song about Kentucky with a big, bright blue moon Put a little somethin’ in my glass Can you put a little somethin’ in my glass? With a song like that you make it all the way to heaven Pearly gates open when the doorbell rings When you can sing like that, all can be forgiven I’m hearin’ ol’ Charlie Rich sing tonight I’m goin’ to hear ol’ Charlie Rich sing I saw a girl from north of Houston, looked just like you do Movin’ through another Friday night She was dancin’ with her husband, but she did not want to She had a little somethin’ in her eyes She might have had a little somethin’ in her eyes When you look like that you make it all the way to heaven Pearly gates open when the doorbell rings Eyes like that, man, all can be forgiven I’m hearin’ ol’ Charlie Rich sing tonight I’m goin’ to hear ol’ Charlie Rich sing I saw the bartender talkin’ to this uptown fella Uptown fella with the alligator shoes Must have been one of those things, One thing leads to another The bartender stepped aside and started shootin’ He pulled somethin’ from his pants and started shootin’ With a gun that you make it all the way to heaven Pearly gates open when the doorbell rings You get shot like that, all can be forgiven I’m hearin’ ol’ Charlie Rich sing tonight I’m goin’ to hear ol’ Charlie Rich sing I said a great good evenin’ to the Continental Ballroom I made it all the way home before it hit me Can’t help thinkin’ I might have left too soon Those alligator shoes could’ve fit me I think those alligator shoes might’ve fit On a night like that you make it all the way to heaven Pearly gates open when the doorbell rings Just like that, all can be forgiven I’m hearin’ ol’ Charlie Rich sing tonight I’m hearin’ ol’ Charlie Rich sing Blue moon of Kentucky Keep on shinin’ ------------ Wine (Peter Cooper/Baker Maultsby) Well Known Music/SESAC and Maultsby-Cooper Music/BMI/admin. by BUG Music Baker Maultsby is a great and trusted friend of mine. In the 1990s, we co-wrote an album called Bingo=Sin and recorded it in a bedroom. It was all about the oddly evolving South, and it wound up getting favorable notices in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal. Baker still plays a bunch of shows in South Carolina. He came up to visit me the day I was trying to finish this song. I couldn’t finish it. He did. One time I was in a position where it would have been socially advantageous to be able to dance. This was problematic, so I had a drink or two in hopes of “loosening up.” The first line of the song is, “Wine don’t make me no dancer.” Wine Don’t make me no dancer Don’t give me no answers Don’t bring you my way Wine Don’t paint me no pictures Don’t make me no richer Just leads me astray Wine Don’t make this a party Don’t help me stay on key Don’t throw me no bones Wine Don’t make me no lover Don’t give me no cover It don’t know my way home It don’t make me feel better But it makes me feel different Something to hold While I’m wonderin’ where I went Fruit of the vine Bottle of wine Wine Don’t make me no smarter Don’t help me work harder To right what I’ve wronged Wine Sweet as a berry Bitter as envy Soft as a song It don’t make me feel better But it makes me feel different Something to hold While I’m wonderin’ where I went Fruit of the vine, baby, bottle of wine ----------- Couple of Lies (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music I know a guy who played power forward on a really good high school basketball team. And now he doesn’t. But he wants you to know that he did. Athletes die while they’re still alive, you know. “Playing ball in a high school gym/ Was the last time anybody clapped for him.” Tom T. Hall once told me that applause is the only unbeatable addiction. Sometimes a void causes all manner of unbecoming behavior, and sometimes you can make a song out of just such a situation. By the way, the line in here about “back pocket money” wouldn’t have happened without Tom T. The first hit song he wrote after moving to Nashville was “Back Pocket Money,” recorded by Jimmy C. Newman. Car tire scraped up against the curb Hands on the wheel like a hummingbird Killed the engine, then he sat there still Still not believing that he’d closed the deal Up the walk and through the door Clock on the wall said a quarter to four Up the stairs and his wife said “Christ, I kept waking up wondering if you were okay” She said, “Where’d you go tonight?” She said “What’d you do?” He told a couple of lies But the rest was true Playing ball in a high school gym Was the last time anybody clapped for him Then it was five day weeks on a company shift Barroom nights trying to plan some grift Years ago there was a chance he blew And it marked him wrong, like a dumb tattoo But in just one night, Lord, he got it all back Took the whole damn thing from red to black She said, “Where’d you go tonight?” She said “What’d you do?” He told a couple of lies But the rest was true Back pocket money is a small town whore Won’t stay long, ain’t hard to score Briefcase money is a different thing It’s a church bell chime and a diamond ring Church bell chime and a diamond ring And a secret dark and threatening And a sin that’s too fine to repent And a feeling things are different She said, “Where’d you go tonight?” She said “What’d you do?” He told a couple of lies But the rest was true He told a couple of lies But the rest was true He told a couple of lies ------------ Take Care (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music It’d be nice to live fast, love hard and not die young. This song is about Townes Van Zandt, one of the absolute greats. He sang one that went, “Won’t you lend your lungs to me? Mine are collapsing.” And he was dead serious. Todd Snider is also sometimes dead serious, and he plays the crazy harp on this one. I met Townes on several occasions, all of them woozy. The first time I met him, I was young enough to ask for an autograph. With a shaky hand, he signed, “Take Care.” Yeah, I met him, but I never knew him I like that song about “Won’t you lend your lungs to me” I heard him sing it one night when he was too messed up To remember most of the words After the show, if you could call it a show I watched a man walk up to him and say “Let me tell you, I love what you do” The singer said, “That’s good, you’re one of the few” Take care Take care Take care Couple weeks later, in the record store I saw one of his sitting in the used bin I picked it up, took it to the counter I was thinking ‘bout the man singing “Won’t you lend your lungs to me” I drove on home, opened it up Inside the jacket, written with a shaky hand A little prayer, offered for a stranger Tell you what it said, it said, “For Jerry” Take care Take care Take care He was hot on the trail of a cautionary tale A stumbling scarecrow, way beyond the pale Blew it all off for the sake of the song The song goes on but the man didn’t last long I got two lungs, I must attest I’m gonna hold ‘em pretty close to the vest No way to sing unless you inhale, exhale Tell the world he tried, the only thing he failed to do was Take care Take care Take care ----------- Mission Door (Eric Taylor) Blue Ruby Music/Universal Songs, Inc./BMI There are only two cover songs on this album, and they’re both written by Eric Taylor. I guess I must think a lot of that guy. One time, I visited Eric at his home near Columbus, Texas, and I got out of my rental car with big suitcases in both hands. As I reached the gate and clumsily entered, two big dogs charged towards me, barking and snarling. I was concerned. Then the screen door slammed and Eric shouted from the porch, “Dogs, get down!” They did. Then he shouted, “Peter, don’t be tentative around those dogs. Don’t be tentative about anything… (expletive) ever!” I live my life by that quote, along with one by Flava Flav (“Oh well, Operation Nothing I Can Do About It Now is now in effect.”). Nanci Griffith is Eric’s ex-wife and current friend, and it was through her that I first heard his songs. It was a thrill for me to have Nanci, Todd Snider and Fayssoux join me on “Mission Door.” It’s a hard life, singing your favorite song with your favorite singers. By the way, Lloyd Green plays Dobro on this, and it’s the exact same Dobro he used on Don Williams’ recording of “Amanda.” So, take that. Through the mission door Winos sing hymns for their supper Blind Sally talks back to the preacher, she says She can’t tell one sin from the other, no So it’s hands on the Bible and tears in your eyes Kneel on the corner, pray for more wine Well it’s beans and it’s bread, it’s a small price to pay To hold hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing On the old Devil’s grave Well, the night falls through the mission door You get a cot with a blanket, don’t you spit on the floor And Sister Theresa, she’s friends with the Lord So no smokin’ in bed, no sleepin’ late in the morning And it’s hands on the Bible and tears in your eyes Kneel on the corner, pray for more wine Well it’s beans and it’s bread, it’s a small price to pay To hold hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing On the old Devil’s grave Hey now, look, comin’ through that mission door It’s Tokay Sam and his best friend, Dollar Bill Hines I ain’t really a preacher, I’m Tommy the Frenchman I like Lucky Strikes, Jesus and Wine So it’s hands on the Bible and tears in your eyes Kneel on the corner, pray for more wine Well it’s beans and it’s bread, it’s a small price to pay To hold hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing On the old Devil’s grave When you leave out through the mission door If you got any money, you better keep it down in your shoes ‘Cause every hard luck story from Houston to Hell Ain’t worth 25 cents towards huggin’ the moon So it’s hands on the Bible and tears in your eyes Kneel on the corner, pray for more wine Well it’s beans and it’s bread, it’s a small price to pay To hold hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing On the old Devil’s grave We’ll hold hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing Hands and go dancing on the old Devil’s grave ----------- They hate me (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music This one has been through several incarnations. Funny how sometimes the truth is hard to tell. In this case, at least it rocks out pretty well. Anyway, hate spreads like kudzu on the side of a blue South Carolina highway, and this song is about what happens when you can’t find any kind of clippers or a machete or whatever it is you would use to whack away at kudzu. The startling solos come courtesy of two of my rock ‘n’ roll heroes, Bill Lloyd and Jason Ringenberg. And I’m pleased to introduce Jen Gunderman in the role of Johnnie Johnson. Her daddy made his nut selling cars on a used car lot He talked hayseed but he was smart enough to not got caught Raised in the country, man, raised up hard Now it’s dealer tag Chevys and a big front yard Her daddy made his nut selling cars on a used car lot They say that mama was a smart one, graduated way up high Settled down with that man and began to calcify Answers the phone like she knows it’s bad news Quick to judge, slow to amuse They say her mama was a smart one, graduated way up high And they hate me Yeah, yeah, they hate me They hate me Yeah, yeah They even threw me off their property She got a brother, full grown, good job, still living at home Out on the Plainview Drive, Extension And he don’t feel a need to roam I have no idea None of my business Only thing I’m saying about this thing is She’s got a brother, full grown, good job, still living at home And he hates me Yeah, yeah, he hates me He hates me Yeah, yeah One thing we both agree is that he hates me She’s got another brother, too Man, I don’t want to go into that Suffice to say we don’t sit around Chewing the fat I don’t know what I did Don’t know what I’ll do I’m afraid I’m gonna start To hate them too Afraid I’m probably gonna start To hate them too Her daddy made his nut selling cars on a used car lot Talked hayseed but he was smart enough to not got caught Raised in the country, man, raised up hard Now he’s got himself a house and a big front yard Her daddy made his nut selling cars on a used car lot --------- 715 (For Hank Aaron) (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music I thought I was done writing this, until Todd Snider asked me one day why I cared so much about sports. That’s when I remembered the part about the beauty salon. No, really… Dice games ending with the flash of a blade All in the wrists if you want to get paid Daddy sold beer at the Black Cat lounge Sold a little shine until the man came around Little boy walkin’ through a place like that Hitting bottle caps with a broomstick bat Skinny ‘cause there wasn’t much of nothing to eat Walkin’ through the mud ‘cause there wasn’t any street This was Alabama, down the bay Whole world looking off the other way Henry Aaron was looking for a reason to dream In ’47 when a black man signed with a big league team Jim Crow smilin’ while the sun beat down On a sandlot field on the wrong side of town He took it all in stride Striding to the ball Turn of the wrists Crack, jog and touch ‘em all Ten years later, still playing the game Stands full of people screaming his name Won the pennant for the Braves with a four base knock Same day they were rioting in Little Rock Up in old Milwaukee he was MVP Back in Alabama he was still not free Not free to drink a beer in the white folk’s lounge Not free to have a meal in Mobile, downtown Young man rising from the hard hot south Speaking his mind with a bat and not his mouth Holdin’ it inside Striding to the ball Turn of the wrists Crack, jog and touch ‘em all (interlude, where I tell you why I care so much about sports) Dice games ending with the flash of a blade All in the wrists if you want to get paid Daddy sold beer at the Black Cat lounge Sold a little shine until the man came around Little boy walkin’ through a place like that Hitting bottlecaps with a broomstick bat Skinny ‘cause there wasn’t much of nothing to eat Walkin’ through the mud ‘cause there wasn’t any street That was Alabama, down the bay Whole world looking off the other way Henry Aaron was looking for a reason to dream When the dream came true, that’s when the world got really mean He opened up death threats in the mail ‘Cause he was taking a hammer to a great white whale Had no place to hide Striding to the ball Turn of the wrists Crack, jog and touch ‘em all -------- Sheboygan (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music If everything we do has been divined by some greater power, then we are doing the Lord’s work, no matter how we’re acting, what we’re saying or who we’re with. I’ve spent a lifetime searching for cop-outs, and this is the greatest I’ve found. And as a proud member of Sheboygan Elks Lodge #299, I’m happy to sing about my adopted hometown. I went to church one Sunday I heard the preacher say “God knew 10 million years ago The things you’ll do today” It’s all pre-destination I figure what it means Is that we do the things we do ‘Cause God wills us to do these things So I’m sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Everything according to the master’s plan Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again It’s not for us to understand The things that He divines Shout or curse or praise But it was He who wrote your lines He decides our mortal fate Scholar, star or fool He meant for me right now to be Right here on this barstool So I’m sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Everything according to the master’s plan Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again I would not change this lot He left me Even if I could The life that He breathes into me Is sweet and fine and good So long as I’m sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Everything according to the master’s plan Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again I said everything’s according to the master’s plan Sittin’ in Sheboygan drunk again Again Again -------- One by one (Peter Cooper/Dave Hixx) Well Known Music/SESAC and Dickey Dice Publishing/BMI/admin. by BUG Music I met Richard Goerke in a New York City bar, and he explained to me with very little patience that he loved Johnny Cash more than I do. I argued at first, then shrunk back down when he got up in arms about this. I asked Richard when it was that he had learned to love Johnny Cash, and he told me that he learned to love Johnny Cash when he was in prison. I asked why he was in prison, and he said it was because “they” said he had done this terrible thing. I asked why “they” had said that, and he said, “Because I did it, damn it!” I was glad I’d shrunk down a while back. We talked for hours, and the best part of the story wasn’t what he did but why he did it. Or maybe that’s the worst part of the story. For sure, though, it’s part of the story. Thanks to Dave Hixx, the world’s greatest songwriting tour manager (or tour managing songwriter), for help in getting all this down the way it may have happened. I ain’t no honky-tonk hero But I’m honky tonkin’ all the same Been coming here for years, double Jack rocks Don’t you act like you don’t know my name You know my name Larry, you know my name And I’m tired of all your bullshit Yeah, you heard me right If you’re gonna throw me out again It ain’t gonna be without a fight I ain’t afraid to fight you I think I’d do alright And the jukebox sucks And the girls dress like they’re working for some pimp I ain’t no VIP but I ain’t no circus chimp That’s how you treat me, Larry Like a circus chimp Let me tell you something Me and Hamp had the run of this place Me and Hamp and Ashley Fly Now they’re gone without a trace It’s like they were never here It’s just me left in this place And my wife is dead And my oldest boy don’t talk to me at all And you never knew Junior He got shot down in the gulf Friendly fire, Larry Friendly fire The jukebox, man, it just bangs and pounds Turn it down, turn it down a lot I ain’t one of your sweet young things But I ain’t no afterthought That’s how you treat me, Larry Like an afterthought And hey, hey... if we’re all God’s invention And not the other way around I’d like to ask Him About the way it all goes down I’d want an answer For how it goes down I’d say, “Did you put me here to love these people A little more every day? Teach me how to love them So you could take them all away? One by one. One by one.” Come back here, man I’m dry, you can see I’m dry What? No. And I won’t take a cab Hey, look me in the eye And mark my words I’ll leave But I’m gonna go out to my car I’m gonna get in my car And I’m gonna drive it through the window of your bar And there’s gonna be screams and glass And you’re gonna have to tear up some tabs And then I’m gonna walk right back And pour myself a double Jack And when the cops come They’re probably gonna ask you for my name You know my name Don’t you, Larry? You know my name -------- Andalusia (Peter Cooper) Well Known Music/SESAC/admin. by BUG Music It’s a town in Alabama, and my grandfather used to live there. And Hank Williams used to live there. And those two sounded just exactly alike when they talked. They didn’t sing alike. My grandfather sang like Bing Crosby. He was just a young man Felt better with a bottle in his hand Drank it down like it was gonna cure him It didn’t cure him, it was poison to him And Andalusia was just another stop on the circuit Greenville, Brewton, Georgiana When the world was the middle of Alabama Andalusia Andalusia Looking for a specter, looking for the fabric Walking down a hot street, straining for a melody That sounds something like kin to me In Andalusia My grandmama was from Bay Minette Grandaddy hadn’t met her yet When he saw Hank Williams singing cowboy songs From a flat-bed stage on the courthouse lawn And it was nothing, nothing to speak of then But later on the old boy made it big And my granddaddy filled a Cadillac talk Three years later when the drifter came through Andalusia He was walking through Andalusia Looking for a barroom fight or some motel sin Before he got back on the road again Hell, he was just stopping in To Andalusia Now they’ve paved over red dirt And there’s smooth asphalt where the footsteps were And it looks a lot like every place I’ve been No one I know lives here They haven’t in a lot of years And there ain’t been no more like them Hank Williams died at 29 Granddaddy moved to Caroline He sold spare parts and old cars And then he sold auto, home and life A couple of my heroes right there They had the same flat drawn and the same hard stare Look around here you won’t find ‘em nowhere You’ll go home without the prize Home from Andalusia I’m walking through Andalusia Looking for a specter, looking for the fabric Walking down a hot street, straining for a melody That sounds something like kin to me In Andalusia There ain’t no kin to me In Andalusia -------- Thin Wild Mercury (Peter Cooper/Todd Snider) Well Known Music/SESAC and Nobody's Collecting On These Songs/BMI admin. by BUG Music Todd and I wrote this after having numerous discussions about the night Bob Dylan called his folk-singing contemporary Phil Ochs “a journalist” and then threw Phil out of his car. That’s the sort of thing we have numerous discussions about over on my side of town. The story is in the song. To our way of thinking, Dylan and Ochs probably both wished everything had played out differently. “If he ever thought better, he thought too late,” is the way we wrote it. We never said who “he” was, because we didn’t have to. My heart goes out to Dylan, wherever he is tonight. And to Phil Ochs, lying in that cold, cold ground. Poor Phil Ochs Sad and low Hands in his pockets Wonderin’ where to go Thrown from the limo For speaking his mind Like a red-eyed photo Into a garbage can At the corner of Hero and Also-Ran A fragile heart skipped a fragile beat It’s warm in the limousine Cold on the streets of Thin, wild mercury And gold lame Where things will go your way Or they won’t Thin wild mercury And gold lame You know what they say Or you don’t It was all over some new Dylan song That Phil had the nerve to say sounded wrong Dylan stopped the car Words shook like a fist Phil you’re not a writer, you’re a journalist Phil you’re not a writer, you’re a journalist Death of a rebel in a twist of fate If he ever thought better, he thought too late Poor Phil Ochs, he slipped through the cracks Judas went electric and he never looked back on Thin wild mercury Or gold lame Where things will go your way Or they won’t Thin wild mercury And gold lame You know what they say Or you don’t No, you don’t No, you don’t