Tuesday, September 17, 2013

The 66 Chevy Nova Blues

We come to a milestone in the countdown: guest slots. Tonight I'd like to introduce Dugym Qycfyl (pronounced duggum quick fill) as a songwriter who will be collaborating with Knees Calhoon for several songs coming up. Dugym writes the lyrics and Knees adds the music. Just like Rogers and Hammerstein or Abbot and Costello.

How did this magical pairing come about? One day back in the 90s or so Dugym dropped off on my desk a folder of song lyrics he had scribbled overnight. This was one of the first that I recorded and it has one of my favorite effects -- singers who can't hear each other. It's like having Don and Phil Everly in separate rooms when they sing -- and they have to guess at each other's phrasing. 

It was only later that Knees discovered that there was a short story to go along with the song. Read all about it below.


I spill out a gallon of reg'lar
  Fillin' up my Nova at the pump.
Got me an old dead battery.
  Now I'm just waitin' for a jump.
So I roll me up some sensemilla
  Just to pass the time away.
I light up with a match from my pocket
  And step up to the winder to play.
Well I drop that match and it lands in the gas
  And the whole damn station blows up.
The fire engines come and they put out the fire
  And then I'm talkin' to a cop.

He asks "What happened?" and I tell him "Don't know--
  I was just here fillin' up my Rolls.
When for no good reason the gas catches fire and
  The whole damn station blows."
Now I don't think he believes me, 'cause I'm greasy
  And I'm dressed in blue jeans.
He asks me what I've been smokin' and I ask him
  Just what he means?
And he says "Now don't get smart, kid,
  Or I'm gonna have to take you in."
And I ask "Oh yeah?" and he says "You bet."
  And he belts me smack on the chin.

I drop like a sack of potatoes
  And I lay there lookin' up at the cop.
And he reaches out with his taser
  And zaps me--so I ask him to stop.
He laughs and says “I don’t think so, kid,”
  And reaches out to shock me some more.
So I jump up and get him in a headlock
  And smash his face to the floor.
That just makes him pissed so he pulls out his stick
  And pokes me once or twice in the groin.
Then he slaps on the cuffs and reads me my rights
  And asks, “Kid, you know where you’re goin’?”

And I say “Yeah, I know. But you’ll never make it stick.”
  And he says, “Now, watch your head.”
But they do make it stick, and the judge says twenty years
  And now I wish I was dead.
That damn old 66 blue Chevy Nova
  Was just more trouble than I need.
I shoulda fixed the leaky gas tank.
  I shouldna lit me up that weed.
I guess I just wasn’t thinkin’
  ’Cause the sign said “No smoking here.”
But to go to jail ’cause I didn’t read the sign
  Well it just don’t seem quite fair.

So I sit behind bars and I watch TV
  And I wait for my sentence to end.
And if I stay out of trouble and act real good
  I’ll only do five or ten.
But they won’t let me have no matches here
  And I can’t get my hands on no pot.
When you’re in a Federal prison for arson
  You just got to sit and rot.
But man! that blaze was a beauty!
  I think I’d like to see it again
So I’m learning all I can about ’splosives
  In the library here in the pen.


  
Dugym says this song was inspired by Knees Calhoon's 1959 Pinocchio Timex Blues, but unlike that song which was made up out of whole cloth, this one is about a real car and a real event. If you'd like to read the whole story, here it is.

NOTE: The following is a PDF of the 10-Cent Book Ramble House published back in 2004. It's no longer in print so why not enjoy all THREE of the short stories in it? There's even an introduction that tells you quite a bit about Ramble House and its genesis. 



Jacket design by Gavin L. O'Keefe

Monday, September 16, 2013

J.D. Salinger's Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes

This is a blatant attempt to get hits by dropping a name that has been in the news recently. I even changed the title, which used to be "Night Caller" or "I Can See It All Right Now", to the name of the short story that inspired the song. J.D. Salinger is getting a revival of sorts thanks to a biography and since I recently recorded an updated version of the song I decided to cash in on the publicity.

 (2013 edition of "Night Caller")

The original Rambler version of this song, recorded in 1993, is here. You can also hear the Calhoon Brothers play it at the Las Cruces Inn back in the 70s..


Monday, September 9, 2013

The Man with the Plastic Skull

Here's the story: 

A guy named Harry Stephen Keeler wrote many books and they're so interesting a society of Keelerites was formed and for the past decade or so has encouraged its members to write short pastiches of Harry's style. Apparently I recorded an audio version of one of mine back in 2001.



  
Chapter I

A Disturbing Telegram

Philo vunPtaffholster leaned back in the specially-designed car seat of his brand-new 1960 Metropolitan convertible and once more regarded the telegram that had just arrived from Mora Bora, informing him that like it or not, he was not the only man on the planet with a plastic skull!
He was on his way to spend an hour or so with the most beautiful woman in the world—bar none!—and now, as he pulled out of his driveway into the slow-moving 5 p.m. traffic, he began to read the message from the far off Pacific that threatened to strip him of his fame, his fortune, and more importantly, the most beautiful woman in the world—nuff sed!

MORA BORA 5:13 a.m. JULY 5, 1960

FROM: DWIL SPROCKET
TO: PHILO VUNPTAFFHOLSTER

PHI, OLD FRIEND, I’VE GOT BAD NEWS. A NATIVE OF MORA BORA, ONE MANUEL AMANO, IS GOING TO REVEAL TOMORROW AT HIGH NOON THAT HE TOO HAS A PLASTIC SKULL LIKE YOURS.

Philo swerved around an 18-wheeler that was making a wide right turn, then drove on.

NOW, AS YOU KNOW, YOU’VE MADE QUITE A NAME FOR YOURSELF IN PAST YEARS AS “THE MAN WITH THE PLASTIC SKULL”, EXHIBITING YOURSELF IN TRAVELLING MOTOR­CADE CIRCUSES, ALLOWING PEO­PLE TO FEEL AND MANIPULATE YOUR NON-RIGID SKULL.

A car in the right lane cut Philo off and he had to slam on the brakes, sending the car into a tight, well-controlled spin. Straightening out, Philo once again turned to the telegram and drove on.

I’VE MANAGED TO FIND OUT THAT THE OPERATION ON AMANO WAS PERFORMED BY A DOCTOR WESLEY TOOTH­WELL, WHO PRACTICES AT PEPPERDUKE UNIVERSITY, JUST DOWN THE ROAD FROM WHERE YOU LIVE IN NORTHEAST CHICAGO. HE’S A, WHAT DO YOU CALL IT, BONE SURGEON.

Philo pulled into a service station and told the attendent to fill’erup. The attendant gave a toothy grin and shuckled, “Gawsh, Mr. vunPtaffholster, anytime!”
“How did you know my nam—” Philo shot back, but immediately realized his mistake—he was one of the most well-known and beloved circus performers in the Tri-State area.
“Wa-all, Mr. vunPtaffholster, it’s writ’ raght thar on th’ sida yer car!”
“That’s right,” Philo thought, “I forgot that I had a sign painter come over and paint:


PHILO VUNPTAFFHOLSTER
“THE MAN WITH THE PLASTIC SKULL”
A Circus Near You


on both sides of my car.” He paid for the gas, got back in the convertible, and picked up the telegram as he started the car, and drove on.

THERE IS MORE TO TELL YOU BUT THESE TELEGRAMS ARE, WELL, EXPENSIVE. I’LL WRITE YOU A LETTER AND SEND IT TO YOU VIA THE U.S. MAIL.

A policecar pulled up alongside the Metropolitan, which was going about fifty, and the policeman who was riding shotgun held his billy club up and, through the closed window, thumped it against his gloved left hand once, twice, three times, all the while gazing at Philo with a sleepy grin on his face. Philo winced, and felt the skin on his hump loosen. He knew what those three thumps meant—the third degree! Then he saw the cop’s eyes drift down to the sign on the side of the car, and the cop’s face went ashen. He yelled at his partner to speed up and to Philo’s astonishment, the policecar sped on ahead and was soon out of sight.
Philo breathed a sigh of relief and resumed his telegram-reading. Once again he drove on.

I GUESS THAT’S ABOUT IT, PARTNER.

                                          DWIL

Philo put down the telegram and thought about the implications of another person having a plastic skull like his. And how? Philo had always been told that it was ol’ Doc Winkerdoll that had saved his life by removing his heavily radar-active skull back in 1954, replacing it with a skull prosthesis made from Plastene, a new form of plastic the doctor had invented, a form that was actually more like a soft rubber with incredible tensile strength. It wasn’t the whole skull, but just the bowl-shaped top part, from the tops of the eye orbitals up.
But ol’ Doc Winkerdoll was killed not long after per­forming the operation, and never revealed the secret formula for Plastene. He left a note saying it was hidden in a 2-inch Plastene sphere, but the four government agents who killed Winkerdoll searched every inch of his office and home and never found it.
At this point in his ruminations Philo pulled into the posh driveway of the Smith-Smythes, where dwelt the most beautiful woman in the world, Confessa Smith-Smythe.


Chapter II

Confessa Worries!

Confessa met him at the door as she always did, giving him a warm kiss while rubbing his hump for luck. But she had a look of worry on her pretty face.
“Oh, Phi, oh Phi, oh Phi,” she bewailed, “I’ve just had the most dreadful news!”
“Me too! You first,” Philo countered.
“Well, you know that Daddy has had some bad luck in the market lately, and he just found out that unless he pulls a big score with Plastene, Inc. the company that you and he started in anticipation of the day when the formula is found, he’s dead broke! And you know we can’t get married until he can afford to pay for the lavish wedding ceremony!”
“Gosh, Confessa, that is bad news. My news isn’t quite so bad, but it’s sort of in the same category. I just found out that there is another person who now has a plastic skull, and that may put a damper on my circus career. As the only man on earth with a plastic skull, I was quite a draw, but with this Amano guy—”
“Oh Phi! What are we to do? You’ve always been so resourceful. In fact, it was because of your hump that Daddy was happy for us to become, well, an item. He always said, ‘If a man can grow up with a handicap like a huge hump on his right shoulderblade, and still not be bitter with the world, that man is good enough for my daughter!’ Of course I've come to love you in spite of your hump—although it does get in the way of our lovemaking sometimes and I do wish it could be removed—but that’s not to mention your brave experience with your radar-active skull.”
“We-ell, Confessa, I feel the same way about your father. As for my skull, you remember how I discovered back in 1954, quite by accident one day when I wandered too near an army air force installation, that my original osseous skull was hyper-sensitive to those new-fangled radar waves used by the military since WWII. I got an excruciating headache that knocked me out and it was only through the good luck of being found by Ol’ Doc Winkerdoll that I survived. Apparently, the radar waves caused my skull to contract, giving me the horrible headache. So he removed the top of my skull and replaced it with a Plastene facsimile. I was in a coma for a month afterwards but came out of it in good condition.”
“Oh, Phi, if only he had told you what he did with your old skull, we might be able to help Daddy. I've heard that the military and the police are very interested in any material that can detect radar-waves. Of course it’s obvious why the air force wants it, but—”
“—Why would the cops want it? I know what you mean, Confessa, it’s a real mystery.”
He pulled her close to him for another kiss, then snapped his fingers. “Hold it! I just had an idea. Can I use your ’phone?" He reached for the telephone and dialed 0. “Operator, connect me with Professor Wesley Toothwell at Pepperduke University!”
A few minutes later a voice answered. “Toothwell here.”
“Doctor Toothwell, my name is Philo vunPtaffholster. Did you just perform surgery on a Mora Boran native, giving him a plastic skull?”
“Why, yes, I did. Did you say, ‘vunPtaffholster?’ ”
“Yes I did. I’m the original Man with the Plastic Skull. Er—ah—did you use Plastene for your skull?”
“No I didn’t, Mr. vunPtaff—”
“Just call me Philo, please.”
“Thank you, Philo. No I didn’t use Plastene. As you know, the formula is still unknown and the Plastene in your head is the only bit of it known to be in existence.”
“That’s right, Doctor. May I ask two questions? One, is the man you operated on planning on travelling around, exhibiting his skull in circuses? And two, was the operation difficult? I mean, would it have been easier if you had had some Plastene to work with?”
“Well, Mr. vunPtaff—er, Philo, the answer to your first question is, absolutely not. Mr. Amano has an abject fear of circuses, especially clowns, and wouldn’t get near a circus. In fact, he leaves his village in Mora Bora whenever a circus comes to town, and lives on another island until the carnies leave town for good. As for the second question, the answer is yes, yes, yes, and double yes, yes! The qualities of Plastene, as exhibited by the hundreds, if not thousands of circus-goers who have seen and manipulated your Plastene skull, show that it is a much better material for skull-fabrication than the hard bakelite I used. The formula for Plastene, when it is finally found, will make mill—”
“That’s what I wanted to hear, Doctor! I think you’ll be hearing from me again—sooner than you think. Thanks for everything!” With that Philo hung up the phone and turned to his Confessa. “Darlin’, I think I've got the answer to all of our problems!”


Chapter III

All Strings Tied Up

Bong Hai, leader of the tong, the Fat Black Lemurs, leaned back in his papa-san chair and tamped down another bowlful of his tong’s best brand of opium. He lit the pipe and took a long, slow pull, gazing at the wall as if it were ten miles away. He set the pipe down and settled deeper in the chair, then reached up and rubbed his skull vigorously with his hands. He pushed with both hands, squeezing the sides of his head until they receded about an inch. Then he pushed the top down, squeezing the sides out. He had a plastic skull!
The sensations Bong Hai felt as the inner side of his Plastene skull rubbed against his brain, even moving it a bit, were exquisite. He simply could not describe the pleasures to anyone who did not have some good opium and a Plastene skull.
He thought about how he got his new skull. His photographic memory had it all down in detail and the opium was making it seem especially real. His lips mumbled soft words as he drifted into the warm, rolling clouds of nepenthe.
“It began wi’ that ’Melican fella, vunPtaffholstel. He velly smalt. He have filst plas’ic skull. He got skull in fi’ty-fo’ because he fin’ his skull contlac’, get smallel, w’en he get neal ladal.”
Bong Hai chuckled to himself at his pitiful attempt to say “near radar”. And drove on.
“But he luckily foun’ a bone sulgeon docta’—fella name’ Winkeldoll—who lemove skull an’ leplace it wi’ Plastene. Docta’ also hid folmula fo’ Plastene at ’loun’ same time. Folmula not foun’ until day six yeals latel, w’en vunPtaffholstel get blight idea w’ele it be. He kill two bilds wi’ one lock! He fin’ folmula fo’ Plastene an’ fin’ his ol’ skull w’ich contlac’ w’en neal ladal. All in same place!”
The wizened old tong leader smiled to himself as he continued to manipulate his Plastene skull with much pleasure. His softly spoken ruminations continued.
“He get bone docta’ name’ Toothwell to op’late on his hump and he fin’ that oliginal docta’ name’ Winkeldoll, aftel lemovin’ skull an’ leplacin’ it wi’ Plastene skull, also lemove hump an’ leplace it wi’ oliginal skull! T’en he hide folmula ball inside skull-hump! Why? Because he know govelnment agents wan’ to kill him fo’ bot’ seclets an’ will sealch offices flom A to Izzald.”
He took another pull on the opium pipe and continued to manipulate his Plastene skull, which he got at the Chicago Center for Frivolous Elective Surgery, or CCFES. Once the formula was released by Plastene, Inc. to much public hooplah and unheard of investment by the stock market class, Bong Hai, thanks to his huge fortune amassed from opium sales, was one of the first to receive a new skull.
“So much pleasule I get. Make me glad vunPtaff­holstel get lich flom Plastene, get lid of hump an’ mally sweethealt, an’ sell impoltant ladal-sens’tive skull to militaly so they can tell if ladal bein’ used ’gainst them.”
Bong Hai’s eyes glazed over with extreme joy as he mumbled one last question.
“Nevel did figule out w’y cops wan’ed ladal-sens’tive matelial. Cops nevel use ladal ’gainst own cit’zens, would they? Aftel all, ’tis ’Melica, lan’ of flee, light?”


I heartily recommend googling "Harry Stephen Keeler" and reading one of his many books. To discover more -- much, much more -- check out Richard Polt's Harry Stephen Keeler Society. Here's what the Wall Street Journal had to say.



What? No music? Okay, how about a song from 1968 recorded at an Enlisted Men's Club music room at Redstone Arsenal, Huntsville AL. Rick Murphy on piano, Peter Blue on comb, harmonica and vocals, Fender Tucker on guitar, Chris Clements on the tape recorder, and John Lennon (a Colorado skier), Rockee Blue and Joyce Butler as the crowd. It was the first of the two times they played together. 

(c)1968 by Toehold



 

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Rest in Peace

I'm sorry, but Buffy the Vampire Slayer was one of the best shows ever on television and the musical episode, "Once More with Feeling" is a masterpiece of musical storytelling. Since I had the sheet music for the episode I decided to do one of the excellent songs that Joss Whedon wrote, and Spike's song is probably the only one I could sort of do justice to. 


All of the episodes of Buffy are on Netflix. The lyrics of the songs in this episode may not mean much to you but the music and production is highly recommended. Check it out.