Songs
Every
Song
Tells
a
Story . . .
. . . but
what's
the story
Behind
the
song?
What' the Story Behind the Song?
The Poem ...
Giving Up
It's easy to give up. People do it every day. Takes no effort. Almost happens by itself. And all around, it seems, Circumstances conspire against you, making it so tempting to relax all defenses and stop trying. The battle is uphill. Momentary doubts make you lose your footing and slide backwards. But if you keep your purpose firmly in your heart nothing can stop you. And you find, upon reaching the top, that the air is exhilarating up there.
The Story ...
My band and I were working in Elko, Nevada - the middle of nowhere. Or as Mom would say, 'Out Where God Lost His Shoes.' (Hey, it paid top dollar and I had to keep the band working.) It turned out to be a terrible gig. Dishonest agent, squabbling backup singers, disgruntled band. To top it off, I lost my voice.
I sat up in my room, downhearted after croaking my way through three shows, and suddenly pictured my family and friends - all the people who love me - standing before me. And they were shaking their heads and saying, 'EILEE-EEN. What are you doing with your life?' I had no answer, except to write Giving Up, and the very writing of it helped move me through failure and find a little hope. I kept this poem close...
... and over the years, tried to turn it into a song. With no meter and no rhyme, it seemed an impossible task. Finally I said to myself, 'Forget the poem, Eileen. Put yourself back in that hotel room, with all the angst and frustration and people judging you. Remember it ... feel it ...
'Now write a song.'
The Song ...
From Where You're Sitting
* need mp3 file *
Are you watching my life Are you taking it in? Is it tough keeping track of my ups and my downs and the places I've been From where you're sitting, It all must be so clear Where I should go from here Are you wondering why I refuse to give up And give in to the pressure of keeping a smile on When life gets too rough From where you're sitting, It must be easy to see Except that you're not me I'm the one who's working on a dream And it won't go away And I'm the one who knows what it can cost It's a price I'm willing to pay So stop shaking your heads and saying a prayer Yes, I know the odds aren't looking so hot but guess what - I don't care From where you're sitting it may look like I've failed And though I can't say I've got the world by the tail I'm not quitting this crazy marathon I know just where I'm going I'm going on
Another Story ... Another Song
1942
The Story ...
There was this funny little record we had around the house when I was growing up. Too small to be a 33-1/3 rpm and too big to be a 45, it had no label. You didn't put the needle on the outside of the record, but on the inside. A 16 rpm. As the record played, the needle worked its way out to the edge. A woman with a beautiful voice sang a famous standard of the era:
You Go To My Head
And you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spinning 'round in my brain
Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne
The singer was our mother. My sisters and I had no idea why she made this record and weren't the least bit curious. We played it a few times and I think it ended up in the toybox. Years later, in 1989, Mom passed away and we looked in vain for this record. Gone! How could we have been so careless?? We asked one of mom's oldest friends, Marion Gilhooley, about it and she got a dreamy look in her eyes. '1940. The Blackhawk! Chicago's hottest club where all the Big Bands played. And where they played, we went! I'll never forget this one night...
'... the bandleader asked for a volunteer to come onstage to sing with the band, and before you could say Tommy Dorsey, your mother was up at the microphone. And she was a big hit! Everyone loved her! They pressed a record of her performance and we all thought she'd wind up on Your Hit Parade. Don't you know all this?'
No. We did not. Because our mother didn't tell us. She'd left it all behind. I thought of the times she might have said to me, 'I was really something in my day'. Or 'Why don't you sing the song this way, Eileen.' Instead, she was my biggest fan and never missed a performance. In return, I took her for granted – the dubious reward of all devoted mothers.
I knew what I had to do. I had to write a song.
The Song ...
My Mother was A Singer
I see my mother in the mirror I see her more and more each day There's no denying that's her nose her mouth, her laugh But guess what I heard someone say My mother was a singer Imagine my surprise I wonder, did she grow up with a dream or two And did they die, the way dreams do She never shared her little secret, And all the while, who'd ever guess She filled her world with little girls and shoes and socks and dentist trips She never needed to impress And say she'd been a singer And could've been a star And did she have her quiet moments now and then Wondering what might have been At center stage her heart set free She would have been A lot like . . . Me Oh, I can picture you, a gardenia in your hair Swingin' and swayin' in front of Benny Goodman Bet you would've made the men fall madly in love with you Every time you sang . . . Deep Purple So when I look at my reflection I know there's more than meets the eye My mother's dream of long ago, it lives through me Does that mean dreams don't have to die? And that's why I'm a singer, cuz she gave me her song The love and joy she poured into her family Are shining through my melody That's why I'm a singer, and she gave me my song From now on when I'm singing I'll hear her sing along
The first time I sang My Mother Was a Singer was at an event for ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) - of which I was a member. I knew no one would be interested in hearing a song about my mother. It was a personal story, after all. But I didn't care, I wanted to sing it. Not only because of what it meant to me, but as the writer I wanted to see if it all came together.
I was not prepared for the reaction. Within moments I felt all this emotion coming at me from the audience. Some people were even crying. When I finished, the applause was steady and long - not with hoorahs but with heart. We'd lost Mom only the year before and I barely managed to keep from crying myself at this outpouring that I knew was all for her. I'll never forget it. (I reminded myself later: everybody has a mother - of course they were moved!) I was at home with my baby but other singers sang it and it was nominated for Song of the Year by the Manhattan Association of Cabaret. Thanks, Mom!
A Long-Ago Story . . . and One More Song
The Story ...
One of my favorite books growing up was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. At the beginning, a 12-year old girl named Francie sits in a bakery and sees a very old man who is disheveled, dirty, and looks lost. As she watches him, she imagines the life he might have had. A beautiful scene from the point of view of a generous-hearted little girl. I used to see a very old man on the corner of 79th and Park in New York City and I dedicate this to him.
The Song ...
Somebody Held You Once
A park bench near a bus stop, I try not to stare Every day I see him sitting there Old and cracked like a dusty vase Tips his hat with a touch of grace In an instant I can see A man's life in front of me... Somebody held you once You were somebody's baby once She tickled your nose and kissed all your toes The whole world revolved around one baby boy. Somebody chased you once You were somebody's buddy once Climbing up trees and scraping your knees Every day was an adventure Somebody touched you once You were somebody's sweetheart once Your dream came true when she said I do Fairytale endings had nothing on you Somebody needed you once You were somebody's daddy once A cry in the night, a little girl's fright You held her close and made everything right. Now here you sit Smiling at the passers-by No one turns to say hello And it makes me wonder why For here I am, can't seem to tear myself away Could it be that I see me... Sitting on a park bench just like you one day. Somebody held me once I was somebody's baby once And somebody's sweetheart, now somebody's wife With all of the good things that fill up a life But you've let me know how quickly they go... I'd like to let you know somehow You're Somebody now.
Postscript: this song was chosen to be in a Broadway-bound review called Ball Games. Other songwriters were also asked to contribute, including Broadway legend Stephen Sondheim. Each songwriter was paid equally, based on the length of our song - very common in small-budget shows. Because my song was one minute longer than a certain someone's, I earned more money, week in and week out, than ... Stephen Sondheim. His name was right above mine on the weekly invoice we songwriters received, and I could see both of our totals. A heady feeling indeed. Poor Steve. I hope he was able to make ends meet.
Piano accompaniment by Lanny Meyers