We have updates!! Crazy, crazy updates!!
More lyrics now on this site than have been seen ever before!!
Individual song links to your left!
Song lyrics and notes to your right!
More stuff, more stuff, more stuff!!
Check out this crazy list of sings that you can now sings along to:
AMBITION
BEAVER DAM
BIG BLUE RUBBER HANDS
CAUGHT IN THE SPOTLIGHT
EMPLOYEES AREA ONLY
GARAGE SALE
HABITAT
HEMINGWAY
MENUTIA MADNESS
PARKING LOT
RANTERTAINMENT RADIO
SOME GOT LUCK
SPLIT MY SKULL
TALKING 7 NIGHTS A WEEK TOILET TALK BLUES
THERE'S A MAN (ZOMBIE SONG)
UKE SONG (NOT A ZOMBIE SONG)
Much much more to follow soon!!
All of these songs are guaranteed to be listenable at low volumes, but are more accessible to larger audiences at higher volumes.
- Mark Otis
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Beaver Dam
This is a tune with age-old roots, and requires a lot less backstory than I have written here. So: hang on, if you will.
Originally only consisting of what is now the chorus, "Beaver Dam" was a taunting song I wrote when, and for when, my two brother's (Rik and Eel) and myself would go camping/fishing with our Pop, which would always require leaving Anchorage (thankfully) and, therefore, a road trip. A road trip meant (among other things) a bevy of music to listen to, some of which I can still bear to listen to, and some of which I cannot: The pre-disco Bee Gees (Mom gets credit for our appreciation of the disco-era Bee Gees), Gordon Lightfoot ("Gord's Gold", both volumes), Arlo Guthrie ("An Evening with"), Dickie Lee ("9,999,999 Tears To Go"), Ray Stevens ("The Streak", etc.), and, most notably: Jim Croce. I loved listening to Croce, and I feel such a strong connection to my father through that music (though we never really talk about it). I still listen to Jim Croce occasionally, though more and more often it just makes me sad. Being more than happily married and in love (conveniently, to one single person - wait, shouldn't that be that "to one married person"? I better ask my lovely and happy wife), I do not connect with the world of sorrow and longing in many of Croce's songs, as lovely as they are, and therefore I categorize his music as "Dad Music", and more of an historical, umm... record, if you will.
Any-hoo: we listened to a lot of Croce. And around our Father we were not allowed to cuss at all. So I would like to now submit into evidence our singing of the words "..baddest man in the whole DARN town" along to JC's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", as it took it's frequent turn in the eight-track playlist. I did not so much care for having to hold my tongue, but did want Dad to see me as purer than I knew I was, and remember singing "DARN" loud enough so that he could hear me NOT swear on purpose.
You see:
Our Mother was the much more liberal parent back then, and the fact that our parentals were divorced meant we spent every-other-weekend with our Pop, pulled into a slightly jarring environment of not having as much freedom as we normally enjoyed; ever on our toes, monitoring our own behavior for some reference or off-color remark which would signal to Dad the hipper, cooler, looser attitudes which prevailed behind his bi-weekend-ly back. We did push the boundaries when actually with him, sometimes leading to trouble, sometimes not. But we knew Mom was having a hard time keeping us to herself as much as possible - with Dad looking to get custody - and I, for one, never questioning Mom's motives at the time, only appreciated her attitudes towards being, well... cooler. I wanted to be with Dad more than we were allowed to, but being a kid, I wanted to be cooler more than anything, and that was one reason I loved living with Mom. I did not wish for the boat to be toppled in favor of a stricter homelife, so I walked around Dad on tip-toes, desiring his admiration in seeing me as a purer person, who was not affected by the more liberal environment of Mom's house. Did I actually think that he would love me more if I was not a cusser or fighter, or of the understanding of things of which I should not be having an understanding???
Well, yeah. And I think us three sons still, to a minor amount, do. I continue to catch myself questioning my choice of some of the rougher words around him.
Speaking of understanding: please be of the mode in which you would have an understanding of this: I loved Dad very much back then, as I do know, and looked up to him with great admiration, desiring a vast amount more attention and time with him than I ever received. It was not until several years later, and goaded by my Mother's ill-will towards him, that I developed a "dis-taste" for my father, which I feel robbed me of several years of being around him as I casually kept my distance. As I grew a little older, however, and started learning some of the deeper truths about humans, I remembered that I loved my Father deeply, and started spending more time with him. I regret now not always basing my actions from within that love.
But enough about me - or, at least, that part of me.
I do not recall the exact section of highway upon which this song sprang from my lips, though I am damn sure it was "North of Anchorage". If you've been to Alaska, you know the location of which I speak. That area is always sunny or overcast, giving you all of the visual cues required to accurately paint, in your mind's eye, the backdrop to this musical creation. Oh yeah, there were a lot of trees and mountains (real mountains, not California mountains) and valleys and lakes and rivers and long stretches of the same thing, interrupted here and there by something else completely, but really only slightly, different. It kinda bored me in a kid-friendly way back then.
Let me show what I can picture, in the foreground:
As Jim Croce was in constant rotation, I can imagine us recently listening to "Leroy Brown". I can hear us not listening to any more music, and whatever conversation there was has been vacuumed up by this particular stretch of the road. I see myself on the lookout for animal life. I can hear myself ask: "when we will we get there", and waiting to go pee at the next stop. I can see...well, well... I can see a beaver dam ahead!
We would sing "beaver dam, beaver dam, beaver dam dam, beaver dam, beaver dam, crow's nest" over and over and over (alternating the "crow's nest" lyric with the names of other animal's abodes), as a not-so subtle way of getting our "damns" in. Finally, Dad (whether tired of hearing the word "dam/damn", or merely weary from hearing our kid-chorus trio sing-songing the same thing over and over and over and over, I don't know) says:
"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."
(Editors note: out father's statement does not actually require an exclamation point, but needs more than a period, hence the joining of the two using the forward slash. He was emphatic, but did not yell. We knew to stop. For a while at least.)
Many, many, many moons later I decided to update this song, this first song I remember writing by myself. The additional lyrics - the verses - were built up over the better part of a year. The hard part was how to fit the new verses around the old chorus-taunt. Eventually it all worked out pretty well, methinks.
This recording made within the last year consists of two layers of me on b-uke, lead and rhythm, and one vocal track. Some effects added aft'wards - (maybe that should be "on the poopside" instead)?
Enjoy. If it gets to be too much, you know the magic words:
"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."
And now for the lyrics!
Rippling River or Crickling Creek
A certain sort of scenario which you seek
Nearby trees and your perfect teeth
Crosscut chewing, tongue in cheek
Fell 'em well slow the water flow
Fill the spills so water nary goes
Down
But backs upstream
That is how it am
When you build your beaver dam
Beaver dam
You've made you mind, so take you time building that floor of mud up
Stopping holes with sticks and stones so they stay shut up
And what's more you got a store:
Roots and tubers - food galore
Upon which you and you family sups
In your...
Beaver dam
The dome upon your home is identifiable to some
As a mound of sticks so round sticking out like a healthy, happy, hippy thumb
Water all around surrounds the door your enter and exit from
Looks so fun floating free; wishing I had one
You sell it well, you know just what to show
Gives me thrills, this back to basic way to go
Now
The fact is, for me, well I know I can
And I am gonna build me a beaver dam
- Mark Otis
Music and Lyrics Copyright 2009 Mark Allen Johnson
Originally only consisting of what is now the chorus, "Beaver Dam" was a taunting song I wrote when, and for when, my two brother's (Rik and Eel) and myself would go camping/fishing with our Pop, which would always require leaving Anchorage (thankfully) and, therefore, a road trip. A road trip meant (among other things) a bevy of music to listen to, some of which I can still bear to listen to, and some of which I cannot: The pre-disco Bee Gees (Mom gets credit for our appreciation of the disco-era Bee Gees), Gordon Lightfoot ("Gord's Gold", both volumes), Arlo Guthrie ("An Evening with"), Dickie Lee ("9,999,999 Tears To Go"), Ray Stevens ("The Streak", etc.), and, most notably: Jim Croce. I loved listening to Croce, and I feel such a strong connection to my father through that music (though we never really talk about it). I still listen to Jim Croce occasionally, though more and more often it just makes me sad. Being more than happily married and in love (conveniently, to one single person - wait, shouldn't that be that "to one married person"? I better ask my lovely and happy wife), I do not connect with the world of sorrow and longing in many of Croce's songs, as lovely as they are, and therefore I categorize his music as "Dad Music", and more of an historical, umm... record, if you will.
Any-hoo: we listened to a lot of Croce. And around our Father we were not allowed to cuss at all. So I would like to now submit into evidence our singing of the words "..baddest man in the whole DARN town" along to JC's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown", as it took it's frequent turn in the eight-track playlist. I did not so much care for having to hold my tongue, but did want Dad to see me as purer than I knew I was, and remember singing "DARN" loud enough so that he could hear me NOT swear on purpose.
You see:
Our Mother was the much more liberal parent back then, and the fact that our parentals were divorced meant we spent every-other-weekend with our Pop, pulled into a slightly jarring environment of not having as much freedom as we normally enjoyed; ever on our toes, monitoring our own behavior for some reference or off-color remark which would signal to Dad the hipper, cooler, looser attitudes which prevailed behind his bi-weekend-ly back. We did push the boundaries when actually with him, sometimes leading to trouble, sometimes not. But we knew Mom was having a hard time keeping us to herself as much as possible - with Dad looking to get custody - and I, for one, never questioning Mom's motives at the time, only appreciated her attitudes towards being, well... cooler. I wanted to be with Dad more than we were allowed to, but being a kid, I wanted to be cooler more than anything, and that was one reason I loved living with Mom. I did not wish for the boat to be toppled in favor of a stricter homelife, so I walked around Dad on tip-toes, desiring his admiration in seeing me as a purer person, who was not affected by the more liberal environment of Mom's house. Did I actually think that he would love me more if I was not a cusser or fighter, or of the understanding of things of which I should not be having an understanding???
Well, yeah. And I think us three sons still, to a minor amount, do. I continue to catch myself questioning my choice of some of the rougher words around him.
Speaking of understanding: please be of the mode in which you would have an understanding of this: I loved Dad very much back then, as I do know, and looked up to him with great admiration, desiring a vast amount more attention and time with him than I ever received. It was not until several years later, and goaded by my Mother's ill-will towards him, that I developed a "dis-taste" for my father, which I feel robbed me of several years of being around him as I casually kept my distance. As I grew a little older, however, and started learning some of the deeper truths about humans, I remembered that I loved my Father deeply, and started spending more time with him. I regret now not always basing my actions from within that love.
But enough about me - or, at least, that part of me.
I do not recall the exact section of highway upon which this song sprang from my lips, though I am damn sure it was "North of Anchorage". If you've been to Alaska, you know the location of which I speak. That area is always sunny or overcast, giving you all of the visual cues required to accurately paint, in your mind's eye, the backdrop to this musical creation. Oh yeah, there were a lot of trees and mountains (real mountains, not California mountains) and valleys and lakes and rivers and long stretches of the same thing, interrupted here and there by something else completely, but really only slightly, different. It kinda bored me in a kid-friendly way back then.
Let me show what I can picture, in the foreground:
As Jim Croce was in constant rotation, I can imagine us recently listening to "Leroy Brown". I can hear us not listening to any more music, and whatever conversation there was has been vacuumed up by this particular stretch of the road. I see myself on the lookout for animal life. I can hear myself ask: "when we will we get there", and waiting to go pee at the next stop. I can see...well, well... I can see a beaver dam ahead!
We would sing "beaver dam, beaver dam, beaver dam dam, beaver dam, beaver dam, crow's nest" over and over and over (alternating the "crow's nest" lyric with the names of other animal's abodes), as a not-so subtle way of getting our "damns" in. Finally, Dad (whether tired of hearing the word "dam/damn", or merely weary from hearing our kid-chorus trio sing-songing the same thing over and over and over and over, I don't know) says:
"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."
(Editors note: out father's statement does not actually require an exclamation point, but needs more than a period, hence the joining of the two using the forward slash. He was emphatic, but did not yell. We knew to stop. For a while at least.)
Many, many, many moons later I decided to update this song, this first song I remember writing by myself. The additional lyrics - the verses - were built up over the better part of a year. The hard part was how to fit the new verses around the old chorus-taunt. Eventually it all worked out pretty well, methinks.
This recording made within the last year consists of two layers of me on b-uke, lead and rhythm, and one vocal track. Some effects added aft'wards - (maybe that should be "on the poopside" instead)?
Enjoy. If it gets to be too much, you know the magic words:
"Alright, boys, that's enough!/."
And now for the lyrics!
Rippling River or Crickling Creek
A certain sort of scenario which you seek
Nearby trees and your perfect teeth
Crosscut chewing, tongue in cheek
Fell 'em well slow the water flow
Fill the spills so water nary goes
Down
But backs upstream
That is how it am
When you build your beaver dam
Beaver dam
You've made you mind, so take you time building that floor of mud up
Stopping holes with sticks and stones so they stay shut up
And what's more you got a store:
Roots and tubers - food galore
Upon which you and you family sups
In your...
Beaver dam
The dome upon your home is identifiable to some
As a mound of sticks so round sticking out like a healthy, happy, hippy thumb
Water all around surrounds the door your enter and exit from
Looks so fun floating free; wishing I had one
You sell it well, you know just what to show
Gives me thrills, this back to basic way to go
Now
The fact is, for me, well I know I can
And I am gonna build me a beaver dam
- Mark Otis
Music and Lyrics Copyright 2009 Mark Allen Johnson
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Hemingway
Hemingway, Hemingway
prolly true I never read ya
instead of time to play
you were a do they said ta
doesn't matter any which way
life aint so simple
though the rhyme
that bind us all of all the time
mean more to me
than I can find
anyday
in Hemingway
mind aint so simple
so to be kind
behind us after all this time
a history
of major minds
having heyday
having heyday
hey Hemingway
that is all o a-o ok
Hemingway, Hemingway
prolly true I never read ya
instead of time to play
you were a do they said ta
doesn't matter any which way
today
to Hemingway
- Mark Otis
Music and Lyrics Copyright 2009 Mark Allen Johnson
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Split My Skull
Fire eyed sun god shining through the shadows
crazy tongue speaking and drooling from his lava lips
Some blood brother secret centennial choice
to prove this dude happy say they gonna have to do me in
I got a chance now to save my folks
local yokel turns hero by giving up the ghost
Split my skull on the altar rock
and the sun god gonna let the clock groove on and on
I was a farm boy back then, now a present day, big city man
cause the high priest sent for me said I was meant to be key to the plan
but doubt my heart shouts out and I can picture the flames
and the knife-like sun god teeth and my feet start stepping away
I got a chance now the save my hide
local yokel turns yellow sacrifice denied
I yell don't ya crack my shell, don't ya spill my yolk
the church preaches hell just to control you folks
Half second huddle decision decided
priest thinks what he thunk but I override it
I'm running down the stairs at a high speed pace
looking at the frown on the high priest's face
Priest yells freeze I can't help but heed to his call
I fall knees to the ground get dragged to the altar
He's the one with the sun power you understand if yer
antennae were connected to the greater granduer
gonna split my skull on the alter rock
and the sun god gonna let the clock groove on and on
knees go wobbly neck goes slack
got me drinking a drug from a skin like sack
starburst alchemy and ancient rite
switches me around from night to light
Here come the sealer the big ole' kiss
I'm on the road encoded born to deal with this
My soul is yours fiddle as you will
you want another hundred years, take the kill
Crowd gets tense beyond my ken
taking me back to the beginning to begin again
Fire eyed sun god scraping through the shadows
crazy tongue speaking speaking drooling from his granite grin
they gonna split my skull on the altar rock
and the sun god gonna let the clock groove on and on
Music and Lyrics Copyright 2009 Mark Allen Johnson
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