So ... why should you bother perusing this book?
Beats me. I’m open to suggestion.
I’ve always wanted to write a book of some sort ... not a mishmash of stuff I’ve already written, but—you know—a real book. In trying to release a few creative blocks and get a foot into this new world (one that deals not with sound, but with strictly text instead), a couple of friends of mine suggested that I put out an anthology of my lyrics. Bingo. We all have to start somewhere, and it got the ball rolling, anyway. Many folks have asked me over the years where they could find lyrics to this, that, or the other. Some might call it an anthology, or if you don’t read music, I guess you could call it a songbook.
As I began what was initially a quasi-mindless task of typing up six albums’ worth of lyrics, it occurred to me that I could also include lyrics I’d written for other recordings I’d been involved with or groups I was a part of (such as Tornaod or The Poor Clares, respectively). But why stop there? I’ve also included a whole lot of unreleased stuff here—songs I’ve never recorded, lyrics I haven’t yet put music to, some random poetry—the ones that got away. Songs that for some reason or another didn’t seem to belong on any of my albums; the true misfits among misfits. Perhaps someday they’ll pop up in subsequent recordings, but for now they are here amongst the “official” songs for you to ponder. (And yes, there are a few songs included which no longer delight me—and delight others even less so—but I decided I’d throw in the cheesy with the profound.)
It’s been enlightening for me to go back and look at over 25 years’ worth of writings in one fell swoop. Some of these were cannibalized from snippets of songs I had written in my teens, only to be reassembled in adulthood in a grisly fashion that might make Mary Shelley shudder. The whole process has been nostalgic, frightening, heartwarming, and amusing...but always leads me to the same thought: Where did these years go?
BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!
How does one break into this thing called “fiction”? For me, it was hanging out with my friends who already were writers, most of whom were already established in the sci-fi, fantasy, or horror vein. A perpetual mimic, I decided to follow in their examples.
Preternatural New Orleans: it’s been written about a thousand times over, doubtlessly better than I ever could—not that this was going to stop me from trying. The one different perspective I could offer was from the point of view of its working musicians...not the pretty little vampiric divas, but the folks who have to haul their gear along endless city blocks, deal with drunken hecklers, and make sure that they aren’t getting stiffed at the end of the night. In short: my own experiences and those of my friends in the scene who deal with the ups and downs that come with that territory. Friends I seldom see because I’m so busy with my own gigs.
But truthfully, in order to remain gainfully employed in music—even if it’s just picking up a blues gig here and then a country gig there—we all have to be shapeshifters to some degree.
By the time I had finished what was originally intended to be a short story, it looked back at me with wild eyes, daring me to make it Chapter One of something bigger, so there’s a chance that you haven’t heard the last from this fictitious broody bass player and her companions.
But I digress. Enjoy!
— BWP, July 2013