I'm Quite Alright

The Tendrils of My Soul

I died, once.
I know. Dead people can’t talk.
…But they can sing.

They can lie there, dripping in reverb like drops of sweat off a guitar neck.
They can waltz through strings and ride soft, flowing waves of a trumpet-sound, blurting out in an empty room.
They can bloat and swell in melodies and come crashing down into nothing at the end of a crescendo.
They can move. Through you. Around you. Over top of you.
Underneath you.

In one ear and out the other.
So to speak.

Me? I’m gone.
What’s left of me is collecting dust under my brother’s coffee table.
There isn’t much left of me to find.
I was never much for personal belongings.

But that’s beside the point.

There, under the coffee table, my essence remains.
The tendrils of my soul… In the jet-black grooves of a vintage record.

A 78.

I found it in my uncle’s closet back in 1983.
It has a white label on one side, and a smiley-face sticker on the other.
I call that the “Be” side. You know…?
Don’t worry…
Be happy?

There was also the “Ey” side, aptly named for the Fonzi my sister drew in the middle.
I didn’t know what I had discovered.
I figured it was one of my mom’s old Elvis records that got misplaced when she was growing up.

But it wasn’t.

I laid that needle down on the first groove.
Perfection.
The comforting pops and clicks of static filled the orange-fabric speakers I got as a gift from my Aunt Susan.
They were from Sears.
I remember them because they were the first speakers I ever had. And they matched my turntable that Billy Richards lent me (before he moved away) during the summer of my freshman year.

Oh right.
The music.

A banjo. It was a banjo that played first.
Next, a guitar.
And then… A woman.
I remembered she sang about war or something.
Some kind of tragedy.
But it didn’t matter. I could feel the pain in her voice.
It was real.
More real than anything I had ever heard before.
Of course… I didn’t know it at the time.
But it didn’t matter

Her song ended, and the next began.

It was some kind of Asian music.
Made with instruments I didn’t know the names of.
It was alright, I suppose.
To be honest, I probably skipped it more times than I listened.

You can’t like everything.

The third song hit me like a brick.
I distinctly remember getting a headache.
But I liked it. I really did.
I had never heard a guitar sound so angry before.
I had never heard a man play drums harder. (It could have been a woman, I suppose. But I doubt it)
I had most certainly never heard it before.
But I liked it all the same.

I remember many drunken nights… I would come home, howling and slurring the lyrics.
I would play it, locked in my room, going through my “teenage rebellion.”
It never failed to amaze me.

It still doesn’t.

The fourth song was rather long. It took up the rest of the side, in fact.
The man singing sounded like Neil Young.
But I would always second guess myself.
And I would always fall asleep…
I don’t know why, but I always did.

I was only 14 when I discovered the record.
And because we’re being honest, I’ll tell you…
I never bothered to play the other side.
Not for a long time.
I don’t regret it.

I wouldn’t have appreciated it, anyway.

Finally, on a particularly lonely night in college, I tried out the “Be” side.
I’d smoked weed for the first time and I was feeling pretty good about it.
I remember seeing that yellow sticker and giggling to myself like a little girl.

It beckoned to me.

I had to listen.

So I did.

I don’t know who made this record, but I think they were on to something.
The entire side was just one song.
20 minutes long.
It had guitar solos. Drum solos. Accordian solos. Kazoo solos.
And I think there was an opera singer somewhere in there, too.

It was wild.
It was a hit.
Every night, we would smoke.
My friends and I.
And we would listen.

I tell you… That record saw more plays than a boardwalk nickelodeon.
It never warped. It never scratched.
It was like a museum of its own. Pressed into 180 gram vinyl.

And now…
This is where I reside.
This is where I will remain.
Inside the shiny, black crevices of a well-loved piece of music.

…

My brother is five years younger than me (Though he’s older now than I ever was)
He never quite understood why the record was so special.
But he kept it anyway.

My parents are gone too.
It’s just him and my little sister.

When I died, they picked through my studio apartment.
They gave most of my stuff away.
God bless them.
My turntable went to my sister’s son.
He’s 9 now. He hasn’t even turned it on.
My clothes went to a thrift store. My books to the library.
My record, though. That was safe.

I don’t know why he kept it. He always laughed when I tried to play it for him.
Like I said, he never understood.
But he took it. And I’m glad.

Sometimes he’ll bring it out. And he’ll give a listen.
Most times my sister is with him too.
They share a bottle of wine and joke about all the stupid things I used to do.

Sometimes… they cry.

Sometimes… I get scared.
Scared that someday my brother will forget.
About the record.
About me.
I’m afraid the next time the needle hits the grooves, it will be my last.
The end of me.

I don’t want to fade away. I’d give anything not to.
But I have nothing left to give.
And I can feel it.
The warping of time…
…Falling apart from old age.

But until then…

I like it here.

I think I’ll stay.

The Process of Writing a Song Step Two

Lyric revision! Based on how I naturally sang the song on my first try, I took a second look at the lyrics and adjusted them to be easier to sing.

Katie With a “C”

On my birthday we were so tired
Goddamned fools for each other
Pulling hairs and telephone wires
And we were so tired…

And you were the only one
My mind in yours
And you were the only one
It wasn’t meant to be

You had to go
You had to go
I know, I know, I know
Smothered by desire
With nowhere to go
I know, I know, I know, I know

I hope it’s cold where you are
Lord knows you can’t stand the fire
Instant desire, spinning and wild
Into the afterglow

And you were the only one
You’re sins leak from your tongue
And you were the only one
And you were always so cold

You had to go
You had to go
I know, I know, I know
Smothered by desire
With nowhere to go
I know, I know, I know, I know

I hope it’s cold
I hope it’s cold
I hope it’s cold
Wherever you are
I hope it’s cold