Last month I went, for the fourth time, to see Conor Macpherson’s modern masterpiece Play ‘The Weir’.
It’s a comic tragedy or a tragic comedy depending on your point of view.
The whole action of the Play takes place on a single evening in an Irish rural bar.
As the drinks flow the four characters tell, in sequential monologue form, riveting stories imbued with puzzled pain, aching regret and unending longing.
Strings break in Heaven.
As each story unfolds more is revealed by the tale than the teller had ever expected.
By the end of the play though they are raw from the experience there is a shared sense of catharsis and, almost miraculously, a feeling that the surrounding darkness is pierced by rays of light and fragile hope.
The search for that fragile hope is one of the main reasons we tell stories – both to others and to ourselves.
As I drove home a song began to play in my head.
A song that is a comic tragedy or a tragic comedy depending on your point of view.
A song of puzzled pain that tells more about the teller than ever anticipated.
A song filled with aching regret and unending longing.
A song that breaks strings in Heaven.
A song that has achieved a sense of catharsis by its conclusion.
A song that, almost miraculously, ends on a note of fragile hope.
A song that takes place at Christmas Time when even the most cynical like to believe in Hope – however faintly it glimmers.
A song by a supreme storyteller.
Tom Waits.
‘Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis’.
Now, aint that just Grand!
Tom Waits, in this freewheeling pre Swordfish Trombones period, wore a baggy coat with pockets stuffed with the works of John Fante, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Charles Bukowski and Alan Ginsberg.
Playing in his head were the recordings of Lenny Bruce, Lord Buckley, Howling Wolf, Bob Dylan and Hank Williams.
He had pretty much taken up residence on the Lost Highway.
Because, of course, it’s the best way to see the Moon and Stars clearly and to find out what kind of storyteller you might become.
Tom Waits became the kind of storyteller who could make you gasp, make you laugh out loud and then cry hot tears as his crazy lyrical stories unfolded.
A Tom Waits song makes you relish the details.
I love the way while the piano rolls meanderingly along the lyric seems to spontaneously emerge out of thin air.
The use of ‘And’ and, ‘Hey’ to kick off each exhalation of thought and invention gives the song a tremendous immediacy.
Hey Charley I’m pregnant
and living on 9-th street
right above a dirty bookstore
off Euclid avenue
It’s important that the song is addressed to a specific person.
It’s thinking of that person, that one person, who might, just might, make it all right again, that makes a person put pen to paper.
And you should always kick off with the news that’ll make the reader sit bolt upright and want to read on.
Read on.
And I stopped taking dope
and I quit drinking whiskey
and my old man plays the trombone
and works out at the track
You want to convince Charley and yourself that things have changed.
They really have changed.
You’ve changed.
Those vices you shared are memories now.
And, you found a guy.
A guy who plays the trombone and brings the dollar bills home.
And he says that he loves me
even though its not his baby
and he says that he’ll raise him up
like he would his own son
And, hey .. a guy who won’t let you down.
Not like all the other Guys.
A guy who will raise up your unborn son – even though he’s not his own son.
And, he gave me a ring
that was worn by his mother
and he takes me out dancin
every saturday nite.
Now, Charley knows somewhere in his heart that there’s no woman who ever lived who doesn’t want their Darling to give them a ring that was worn by his Mother.
And, Hey, whatever anyone tells you there ain’t no feeling better than goin’ out dancin’ on a Saturday Night – just the two of you.
Just the two of you.
And, I still have that record
of Little Anthony & The Imperials
but someone stole my record player
how do you like that?
When you’re lost and you think you’re going out of your head and your heart’s about to jump right out of your chest you can’t help but remember those old songs.
There are some songs you’ll never get out of your head.
Little Anthony with the soaring voice.
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you, you
If we could start anew, I wouldn’t hesitate
I’d gladly take you back, and tempt the hand of fate
Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you
Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
Wo oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
hey Charley … I went back to Omaha to
live with my folks
Charley knows, like you do, that you can never really go back to the home you grew up in.
If you ever had a reason to leave you’re never going to be happy back in Omaha.
And, hey, you had so many reasons to leave.
Reasons to leave.
and I wish I had all the money
that we used to spend on dope
I’d buy me a used car lot
and I wouldn’t sell any of em
I’d just drive a different car
every day dependin on how
I feel.
You and Charley, his hair all slicked back with grease used to drive with the top down at ninety miles an hour on the two lane blacktop.
And, hey, wouldn’t it be great if you had all that wasted cash and could roll down the highway every day in a different car.
Just the two of you.
You can almost feel the warm air caressing you both.
Dreams are like that.
Dreams are like that.
Sometimes dreams are all that can keep you going.
All that can keep you going.
hey Charley
for chrissakes
do you want to know
the truth of it?
I don’t have a husband
he don’t play the trombone
and I need money to pay this lawyer
But. But. It takes a lot of energy to dream.
And, hey, sometimes you just don’t have the strength anymore.
Just don’t have the strength.
So, you breathe deep and let it out.
Let it out.
All of it.
The blood and the guts and the tears.
And, hey, you find yourself saying the thing you promised yourself you’d never say.
The thing you promised yourself you’d never say.
and Charley, hey
I’ll be eligible for parole
come valentines day.
The Immortal Jukebox 