Completion

People often complain that since I'm the only source of Underwater Welders information on the Web (other than the highly unreliable commentator, el Tangerino, or whatever), I should be complete. If only life were that easy. With a band like the UW, how can you ever be complete? A complete listing of albums? Well, what constitutes an album? A complete listing of songs? What constitutes a song? One of my favorite UW songs, "Floating Like a Teabag in the Tea," consists of little more than a few words scribbled on a napkin and then trumpeted from a tabletop until the police came. And what about Songs to My Ex-Wife, the notorious "album of the mind" whose grooves were scratched onto a paper plate with a cake fork? Sure you can't find this album in stores, or even play it on anything remotely resembling a "stereo system," yet it contains some of my favorite songs, like "You Put the Humor in Humiliation," "You'll Be Receiving an E-Mail Shortly," and the stunning frankness of "You Were Right (When You Said the Police Were More Likely to Believe You)."

Then there were the flops. The albums with pressings of 10 or fewer that still didn't sell out, like the controversial McCartney Tribute Album, which because of copyright issues, didn't have any McCartney songs on it, but instead consisted entirely of original compositions:

Minefield Wristband
Your Decadent Toilet Paper Requires Its Own Flush
That Hamburger Had Feet Once
One Leg's Enough For a Kick
Birds Are Choking (On Your Vast Industrial Farts)
Peace Is More John's Thing (I'm Into Wellness)

and the universally misunderstood album, "Songs For Dogs:"

I Peed on Your Poopie
There's Other Meat Besides Chicken
That Tick Wasn't Really Bothering Me
I Can't Stop Biting You
She's Not Playing Anymore (She's Dead)
What Does That Taste Like?
No, I'm Ready Now

So, what I'm trying to say here is No, no completeness, no completion, no closure, no certainty. There is only the water, and the broken metal.

Composition

by which I mean the visual arts term: the arrangement of forms on the page. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, mostly because I suck at it. The most useful insight I've had from all this thinking is to define composition as an expression, in other words a gesture that creates an immediate impression, the way a smile or a frown does. Give it a try. Look at a painting for its expression. Don't think about the subject matter, skill, technique, just the expression. A quick glance should be enough to tell you, though some expressions are cloudy, or draw you in. Look at the entire painting as though it is a face. But do not look for eyes, nose, mouth, look only for an expression. This is useful to me because I have a cartoonist's knack for expression, and NO knack for arrangement.

Careering Solo

The other day I received a new CD from Gus Oog (the greatest unknown songwriter of our generation). He called me the same day, so excited because he'd finally gotten his songs to sound the way he wanted them. Four of the songs were familiar to me. Two of them (Twelve Step Recovery & Six Ways To Roll A Seven) I had written lyrics for, but they were rejected. The other two (Pigs Are Smarter Than Dogs & Eleventh Sub Free) had been previously released in Underwater Welders CDs.

As you may have guessed, Gus's enthusiasm was merely fuel for my own disappointment. I love Gus's songs, and often we would talk about how they'd never been done justice. The perfect versions existed in my head, and I always thought that they were Gus's perfect versions, too. That was the saddest thing for me, not the fate of these songs, but the falsity of our connection. I guess I should have known when he rejected my lyrics and wouldn't tell me why. My version of Twelve Step Recovery was called, simply, Beautiful:



By the time I met you I'd already met a few
beautiful ladies.
They were wild unfair
beasts with golden hair.
I would gladly leave them all just to be with you,
but they already left.
They were wild unfair
beast with golden hair,
the scent they left behind still fills the air.

You called me from a payphone while you were on a date
so you could complain.
He's not tall enough,
talks a little rough.
Can't a man be beautiful and still be big and strong?
Where did you go wrong?
You wanted him to be
a little more like me.
Maybe you'll come over after all.

BRIDGE
Beautiful things never last too long.
Hold on to love that will love you.
Beautiful people go round and round.

I'm so glad you stopped by, I love to look at you.
Want a cup of tea?
I know you want me to
fall in love with you,
but by the time I met you I'd already met a few
beautiful ladies.
They were wild unfair
beasts with golden hair.
The scent they left behind still fills the air.


These are the lyrics he ended up using, as best as I can discern them.

I'm so glad to speak with you. Hello, my name is Brad.
I'm an alcoholic.
We've got twelve steps to
help us make it through.
I admit I'm powerless. I can't manage life.
I'm an alcoholic.
We've got twelve steps to
help us make it through
when we've lost everything except our life.

BRIDGE
Twelve little steps make the world go round.
If you're not sure phone your sponsor.
Twelve little steps to recovery.

I woke up in the gutter I guess one too many times.
I'm an alcoholic.
A power greater than me
is needed to set me free.
Keep it simple, stupid. Stinking thinking stinks.
I'm an alcoholic.
Awareness, acceptance, action,
the keys to satisfaction,
and twelve steps to recovery.