Holy Man

We've got a real treat for you tonight in the countdown, a long-forgotten song by a famous writer done up modern-style by Knees Calhoon. Richard A. Lupoff is the famous writer and if you've been into SF, mystery, fandom, criticism, ERB or radio during the past 60 years, you know of Dick Lupoff and his works. Ramble House has published several of his books and now he shows his chops as a songwriter. Check out his latest Ramble House book here: WRITER 4

The lyrics were written by Dick back in the late 60s and John Cippolina of Quicksilver Messenger Service played around with some chords for it, but it was never recorded. Dick had forgotten all about it until he found a carbon copy of the lyrics while looking through his files. He sent them to me and I, of course, laid down some tracks, using the first chords and melody that occurred to me. Here's what resulted:

 HOLY MAN

After I'd done the drums and bass with Band in a Box and added guitars and vocals I sent the MP3 to Gavin O'Keefe in Maine and he added some viola parts to the choruses. That's how we did it back in 2013. 

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Holy man, oh Holy man

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Get you high oh yes he can

A lady took me home with her to see a holy man

He lived upstairs in a big old house that used to be a band’s

She said he’d get me super high, he’d put my head on straight

I think it was Mill Valley or it might have been the Haight

He let me in the door, I saw he had a holy look

He made me sit down on the floor and read a holy book

He started in to talk to me, I said I get the point

He performed a holy sacrament and handed me a joint.

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Holy man, oh Holy man

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Get you high oh yes he can

I looked around the room, the music must have been The Dead

It isn’t for your ears, he said, it’s strictly for your head

I coughed and asked him for a coke to ease my coughing spell

He said he never sold his coke to any infidel

He lit a funny candle just to make me feel at home

He looked me straight between the eyes and made me say an om

He handed me a bowl of rice – get ready for the land!

I said I’m just a rock and roll musician in a band.

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Holy man, oh Holy man

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Get you high oh yes he can

He looked like I’d spit on the floor, his face was a tip-off

That heavy ego-trip you’re on is an energy rip-off

The karma of your vibes is bad, you better meditate

Upon the great mandala, man, before it gets too late

Just then my lady friend came back with some ginseng tea

The holy man took one red cup and offered some to me

Before I took it from his hand I said – Here is where I stand

I’ll never make no holy man, I’ll just rock it with my band.

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Holy man, oh Holy man

Ommmmm Ommmmm

Get you high oh yes he can.

BONUS COVER!

This is one of the very last cover songs Knees recorded, and it turned out nicely, with Gavin O'Keefe's viola fitting the mood perfectly. I'm glad this was a folk song written back in the 60s. If it were a modern C&W song it would be called "If I Was a Carpenter".

IF I WERE A CARPENTER

The House at Pooh Corner

This is one of my favorite songs by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band who were probably Colorado's biggest band back in the 70s. They seemed to us in Durango as the kind of band we wanted to be -- not very commercial but still hip. I sort of threw the song together and played some keyboard in place of a wahwah guitar. I could have sworn I had a wahwah pedal but it must have gotten mislaid when we moved from Shreveport 5 years ago. This song has good words and chords and should be redone by some modern band.

THE HOUSE AT POOH CORNER

Sometimes You Just Cain't Win

This song has a history and I'll try to keep it short. The first time I heard it was early 1970, when I and my pregnant wife, Joyce, were living in Farmington NM. I had just gotten out of the army and we were pondering our future. I had an offer of an electronics job from National Cash Register but it was in Gallup NM. We were living in a $50 a month rent house on Vine Street, about three blocks north of Main, and right there on Main Street was The Copper Penny, a bar once owned by a good friend of the Tucker family.

So one Friday night I walked down to the Penny and checked out the band. Before I went into the army in March of 1967 I had played in a couple of bars in town. I asked if I could sit in on a couple of numbers and it was fun. I hadn't played in a bar in over three years. At the break the bass player, Max Herrera, came over and spoke the immortal words, "Hey Fenner, wanna play some lead?" Of course I wanted to play some lead.

The job was in Cortez CO, about 70 miles away. Friday and Saturday night, $35 a night. The band was Max, a drummer, me and the front man, Smoky Stover. None of us knew the other, but Smoky knew many old C&W songs that were quite easy to follow. It was an excellent, low-pressure opportunity for me to teach myself some C&W licks.

The job lasted for the rest of the year and I got to know Smoky. He had been a "lawman" most of his life, but loved to sing so he did them both somehow. He even wrote some tunes and one of them was recorded by George Jones.

SOMETIMES YOU JUST CAIN'T WIN

Smoky and his wife and I would drive up to Cortez every Friday and Saturday and she'd sit next to the bandstand, and Smoky would put on his huge cowboy hat and start singing. On the breaks I'd go out and smoke. It was a great way to spend those nights and $280 a month wasn't bad, either.

Later on, Linda Ronstadt sang the song on an album and my daughter, Naomi, used to sing it around the house when we were living on Gallagher Street in Las Cruces NM. I happen to have a recording we made on the 4th of July when Naomi was a teenager. Maybe 1985? You can tell it's the 4th because on the recording is the sound of a bottle rocket going off in the street outside the house.

SOMETIMES (Naomi's version)

 

American Illiad

In 1999 Dugym Qycfyl was inspired by an old song of Knees Calhoon's, Nocturnal Mission, to write a similar story song about an unfortunate trip he once made through the badlands of Texas. 30 ABAB verses later the story was completely told and written out for me to add music to. And I just now got around to doing the music. The song concerns intestinal woes while traveling but Dugym envisioned it as a pretty, sweet ballad in the vein of an old classic, Down in the Willow Garden, so I gave it a simple melody over major and minor chords and polished off my best Gordon Lightfoot voice for it.

Are you ready to give up the next ten minutes of your life for an explicit journey through the peristaltic bowels of Dugym Qycfyl's diseased world? Then click on it. I dare you.

AMERICAN ILLIAD

I was on the freeway cruisin'
in an all-fired rush to arrive
I stopped and ate at a drive-in
and was lucky to get out alive.

The burger was pan-fried all greasily.
The fries they were oily like wax.
And though they went down rather easily
I knew pretty soon they'd be back.

   But I hit the road in a hurry.
   I had a long way left to go.
   I had no reason to worry.
   I'd brought lots of Tums and Pepto.

But I hadn't a clue of the power and the might
of greasy potatoes and beef.
And inside of ten minutes later that night
my intestines were giving me grief.

A gurgle began in the middle
and threatened to breach my behind
I held it in for a little
and set out a toilet to find.

   But I was out in west Texas that day
   The exits were distant and few.
   I could tell my rectum would surely give
   Before I could get to the loo.

I held it in as I made a dash.
I didn't have one thing to lose.
For if I let loose I would soon have a rash
from shorts full of viscous brown ooze.

The pain like a firebrand was sharp and was hot.
It was stabbing me all through my gut.
I knew it was time now to pick me a spot
as it dribbled out onto my butt.

   I nearly waited too long that day
   before pulling aside for relief.
   I was able to get off the right of way
   but was just too damn late with my briefs.

I hadn't stopped for a moment before
my intestines demanded release.
My jockeys filled up like brown water balloons
Cause my boxers were in my valise.

So there I stood by the roadside that day
brown glop running down past my knees.
There wasn't a moment to slink away
and do it in back of some trees.

   Right there on the shoulder I dropped my shorts
   and proceeded to wipe up the mess.
   The passing drivers were all out sorts
   when they noticed my state of undress.

But there wasn't a thing I could do about that
Diarrhea must always come first.
So I pretended I just had a flat,
and smiled, 'cause it couldn't get worse.

But hubris hit me back hard that day
and Murphy had taken command.
I’d barely gotten back underway
when the gurgling it once more began.

   I uncapped the Pepto and took a hit
   to nip this attack in the bud.
   And took an Immodium after it
   to stop the screaming crud.

The gurgle promptly subsided
and I grinned me a satisfied grin.
But then I felt nauseated
so I had me some Pepto again.

It wasn't long I had finished that jug
though it said not to double the dose.
I had to forestall this intestinal bug
and hoped that a bathroom was close.

   The nausea soon started rising up
   and I had to pull over once more.
   And though I gagged briefly I couldn’t throw up,
   though it made all my rib muscles sore.

Then on the horizon a gas station loomed.
I took the next exit at once.
But I knew as I pulled in that I was still doomed
to dreadful intestinal stunts.

I filled the tank up and paid the clerk
and asked for the bathroom door key.
She handed it to me and went back to work
and I went there to poop and pee.

   But as I sat on the toilet that night,
   brown slush spewing from my behind.
   I got me the feeling that maybe I might
   could vomit if I had a mind.

I turned and faced to the sink as I sat,
my tush still attached to the head.
As the gorge rose upwards I sat there and spat,
some drool out that tasted like lead.

I tried hard to put off the puking until
the dribbling had ceased from my butt.
But I couldn't stop gagging on my rising swill,
so I gave up and muttered, “So what?”

   I opened my mouth up and outward there spewed
   a pink milky fluid, kerplunk.
   You'd think, looking at it that it was just food,
   Like a milk shake with strawberry chunks.

I filled the sink up with quarts of spew
while my buttocks still spattered the john.
And I sat there whining, "This simply won't do,
I don't think that I can go on."

But then my buttocks blew hot dry farts,
My retches stopped coming up pink.
I felt a bit better so I took heart
and started to wipe off the sink.

   I flushed the toilet and flushed it again.
   It sparkled all clean, blue and fresh.
   I washed the vomit all down through the drain
   and pushed all the chunks through the mesh

Then taking a towel I wiped the place down.
But I'm really quite proud of my aim.
There was hardly a droplet of vomit around
That didn't get washed down the drain.

I left that bathroom all sparkling and clean
though I'd dashed through the door to be sick.
Still I asked the attendant to take Listerine
and wash up the mens room right quick.

   I was back on the freeway cruisin'
   In no special rush to arrive
   I just drove on past all the drive-ins
   It feels so good to be alive.

BONUS COVER!

Most rock & rollers won't admit that a big influence when they were young were the Kingston Trio. They weren't as hip as the folkies who followed, but one of their songs is a masterpiece of sophistication, and would sound great in any bar. Written by Dave Guard.

SCOTCH AND SODA

Knees Calhoon's Midnight Ramble

Monday, November 4, 2013

American Illiad

In 1999 Dugym Qycfyl was inspired by an old song of Knees Calhoon's, Nocturnal Mission, to write a similar story song about an unfortunate trip he once made through the badlands of Texas. 30 ABAB verses later the story was completely told and written out for me to add music to. And I just now got around to doing the music. The song concerns intestinal woes while traveling but Dugym envisioned it as a pretty, sweet ballad in the vein of an old classic, Down in the Willow Garden, so I gave it a simple melody over major and minor chords and polished off my best Gordon Lightfoot voice for it.

The unique thing about this song is that the recording below is the ONLY time it was ever sung. Dugym gave Knees the lyrics on two sheets of paper, both sides, and said he was thinking of a sweet 3/4 melody when writing it. So Knees figured out chords and a melody for the verse and practiced a few times on the first two quatrains. Then he wrote a chorus-like melody and chord pattern and tried it out on the third quatrain. Then he laid down the drums, bass, guitars and keyboards for the whole song. He used Band in a Box for the drums so getting the right number of measures was no problem, but Knees insisted on recording without looping anything, even though every verse and chorus (?) are the same. Try playing any progression, no matter how simple, 30+ times in a row without screwing up too noticeably.

So then it was time for the vocals. Knees had the first three quatrains down okay but would have to read and phrase the rest of the lyrics on the fly. Gulp! He had read the words of course but had never sung the bulk of the song. Listen closely and you'll hear a few vocal blips but you have to admit, even Frank Sinatra couldn't have told the story better.

It is conjectured that the one recording made in 2012 is the only time before OR since the song has been uttered or sung out loud, making it unique in the annals of music.

Are you ready to give up the next ten minutes of your life for an explicit journey through the peristaltic bowels of Dugym Qycfyl's diseased world? Then click on it. I dare you.

AMERICAN ILLIAD

I was on the freeway cruisin'
in an all-fired rush to arrive
I stopped and ate at a drive-in
and was lucky to get out alive.

The burger was pan-fried all greasily.
The fries they were oily like wax.
And though they went down rather easily
I knew pretty soon they'd be back.

   But I hit the road in a hurry.
   I had a long way left to go.
   I had no reason to worry.
   I'd brought lots of Tums and Pepto.

But I hadn't a clue of the power and the might
of greasy potatoes and beef.
And inside of ten minutes later that night
my intestines were giving me grief.

A gurgle began in the middle
and threatened to breach my behind
I held it in for a little
and set out a toilet to find.

   But I was out in west Texas that day
   The exits were distant and few.
   I could tell my rectum would surely give
   Before I could get to the loo.

I held it in as I made a dash.
I didn't have one thing to lose.
For if I let loose I would soon have a rash
from shorts full of viscous brown ooze.

The pain like a firebrand was sharp and was hot.
It was stabbing me all through my gut.
I knew it was time now to pick me a spot
as it dribbled out onto my butt.

   I nearly waited too long that day
   before pulling aside for relief.
   I was able to get off the right of way
   but was just too damn late with my briefs.

I hadn't stopped for a moment before
my intestines demanded release.
My jockeys filled up like brown water balloons
Cause my boxers were in my valise.

So there I stood by the roadside that day
brown glop running down past my knees.
There wasn't a moment to slink away
and do it in back of some trees.

   Right there on the shoulder I dropped my shorts
   and proceeded to wipe up the mess.
   The passing drivers were all out sorts
   when they noticed my state of undress.

But there wasn't a thing I could do about that
Diarrhea must always come first.
So I pretended I just had a flat,
and smiled, 'cause it couldn't get worse.

But hubris hit me back hard that day
and Murphy had taken command.
I’d barely gotten back underway
when the gurgling it once more began.

   I uncapped the Pepto and took a hit
   to nip this attack in the bud.
   And took an Immodium after it
   to stop the screaming crud.

The gurgle promptly subsided
and I grinned me a satisfied grin.
But then I felt nauseated
so I had me some Pepto again.

It wasn't long I had finished that jug
though it said not to double the dose.
I had to forestall this intestinal bug
and hoped that a bathroom was close.

   The nausea soon started rising up
   and I had to pull over once more.
   And though I gagged briefly I couldn’t throw up,
   though it made all my rib muscles sore.

Then on the horizon a gas station loomed.
I took the next exit at once.
But I knew as I pulled in that I was still doomed
to dreadful intestinal stunts.

I filled the tank up and paid the clerk
and asked for the bathroom door key.
She handed it to me and went back to work
and I went there to poop and pee.

   But as I sat on the toilet that night,
   brown slush spewing from my behind.
   I got me the feeling that maybe I might
   could vomit if I had a mind.

I turned and faced to the sink as I sat,
my tush still attached to the head.
As the gorge rose upwards I sat there and spat,
some drool out that tasted like lead.

I tried hard to put off the puking until
the dribbling had ceased from my butt.
But I couldn't stop gagging on my rising swill,
so I gave up and muttered, “So what?”

   I opened my mouth up and outward there spewed
   a pink milky fluid, kerplunk.
   You'd think, looking at it that it was just food,
   Like a milk shake with strawberry chunks.

I filled the sink up with quarts of spew
while my buttocks still spattered the john.
And I sat there whining, "This simply won't do,
I don't think that I can go on."

But then my buttocks blew hot dry farts,
My retches stopped coming up pink.
I felt a bit better so I took heart
and started to wipe off the sink.

   I flushed the toilet and flushed it again.
   It sparkled all clean, blue and fresh.
   I washed the vomit all down through the drain
   and pushed all the chunks through the mesh

Then taking a towel I wiped the place down.
But I'm really quite proud of my aim.
There was hardly a droplet of vomit around
That didn't get washed down the drain.

I left that bathroom all sparkling and clean
though I'd dashed through the door to be sick.
Still I asked the attendant to take Listerine
and wash up the mens room right quick.

   I was back on the freeway cruisin'
   In no special rush to arrive
   I just drove on past all the drive-ins
   It feels so good to be alive.

BONUS COVER!

Most rock & rollers won't admit that a big influence when they were young were the Kingston Trio. They weren't as hip as the folkies who followed, but one of their songs is a masterpiece of sophistication, and would sound great in any bar. Written by Dave Guard.

SCOTCH AND SODA

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About Me

Fender Tucker

I channel Knees Calhoon every night at midnight and now you too can join in the Midnight Ramble. Light up and enjoy.

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Czardas

Okay, it's time for a real change of pace here at the countdown to Cthulhu's Day. It was back in 1984 or so and my girlfriend asked Gordon Butler, the fiddler in the Calhoon Brothers, to do a "gypsy" song for her. I had no idea of what to do but Gordon brought his violin over to my house one day where I had my electronic piano set up and said, "Let's do this song called Czardas. It sounds sort of gypsy and it goes like this." He ran through the chord progression (which was in some gawdawful flat key) and I said, "Let's record."

I wasn't sure of the rhythm of the song and Gordon said to just fumble around the beat. Then he took off.

Afterwards, I said I was surprised I was able to play all the way through without making a major mistake and he agreed. But don't listen to the keyboard. Listen to the violin. It's fantastic. Why didn't we ever think of playing something like this at the bar? The dancers would have loved it.

CZARDAS

 

The Mighty Calhoon Brothers (1985)

Mark Coker, Gordon Butler, Steve Roberts, Fender Tucker