Yer Blues – Daniel James
Recorded on July 25, 2010, original version recorded on August 13, 1968.
Daniel James: Vocals, Lead Guitar
Jazz Mills: Vocals
Roger Greenawalt: Ukulele
Produced by Roger Greenawalt at Shabby Road Studio in Brooklyn, NY
About the Song
“Yes I’m Lonely. Wanna die. Yes I’m Lonely. Wanna die.
If I ain’t dead already, wooo! Girl you know the reason why.”
August 1968, by W.H. Auden
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among it’s desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.
This is a poem about an empire that no longer exists invading a country, which no longer exists. One day that will be true of the current wars.
August 1968 was a savage month in a savage year. John Lennon was in full frontal rebellion. He wasn’t just thinking outside of the box, he had murdered the box in front of its boxy wife and children, then stood there hurling abuse and laughing at its boxy corpse. Peter Brown sent Widow and Orphan Box a nice check to keep the story quiet. The Beatles had only a year to live. Their condition was terminal.
The fun thing about being a murderer is that you are the only one who knows how long your victim is going to live. You can plan; get your manifesto in order. This is the source of the nihilistic glee contained in the lyrics of Yer Blues. Yer Blues is a suicide note on behalf of The Beatles. John telegraphs his homicidal intent.
Unfortunately, like The Taconic Death Mom, John wasn’t just killing himself, he was killing The Beatles, and in part, The Sixties too. In retrospect, The Sixties had to go. The Left was too unorganized, and too stoned to maintain in the face of push back from The Power Elite. Also, in Lennon’s case, he simply became TOO FREAKY TO LEAD. And he did not want to lead anymore. Unable to conduct an organized retreat from sixties, the hopes and dreams of the hippies were routed, and driven back to fringes of society, where grifters like Charlie Manson could desecrate the remains of the casualties.
In 1968, what you were singing about, and whether you were turned on or not, was more important than the song, or the songy qualities of melody and groove.
In 2010, it is the production, shiny, fearsome, mechanistic, that is the essential. The lyrics rarely stray from the battlefield of romantic love, a venue where Pope and peasant are equally powerless.
I’m watching a sixties movie called In Search Of Gregory on TCM, it’s a scene of musicians recording avante garde music in the big room at Abbey Road where all the James Bond music was made. Fascinating artifact. I seem to be surrounded by August 1968. I miss the past. Not as hazy as the present, but revealing.
You know what I don’t talk about enough in this blog? Ukulele.
The ukulele is a marvel, a miracle, a gift from The Gods. Yer Blues is my absolute favorite Beatles song to play on uke; it’s so dichotomous to perform such a fierce and primal piece on such a peaceful, serene, and enlightened instrument. And it’s hard to accept, but Kevin The Ukulele has an agenda. He stands for the absence of unhappiness. He stands for following your bliss. Kevin The Ukulele radiates Aloha Zen, the quality Obama used to embody. It’s a Hawaiian thing.
I began co-evolving with The Uke in October 2001. Now I know better than to bring binoculars to 9-11 at Dogshit Park, but back then I mistakenly thought I could take it. I was mooning around all hazesick over English Amy and writing poems like this…
Catapult My Heart,
Send it flying over the castle walls,
Like a dead dog infected with plague.
As I ravage the enemy ghosts,
They haunt me in dreamscape,
And chased by falling towers,
We genuflect before you,
And all the other foreign powers,
With love and fear and respect, and
Other undetectable affections,
And effect.
Bleak.
To cheer myself up I went down to DC to see the fam. Mom was in the psych ward at Holy Cross Hospital. Here are some notes from my visit on September 28, 2001.
As you can see, I’m always trying to mine the comic in every tragic circumstance.
Interesting Comments from Mom: 9/28/01
1) “The Muslim Doctor at the center of the International Pill Conspiracy wants to sleep with me.” I said, “Go for it Mom, Dr. Hamdan is hot.”
2) “When you get back to New York say hello to Tom for me.” “Tom?” I said. “Yes”. “Tom Who?” “Tom Brokaw”. I said, “OK, I’ll tell him at lunch next week.”
3) “We can’t have lunch tomorrow because the FBI won’t let me”. I said, “That must be my fault Mom, they’ve been watching me for years.” She said, “Oh, it’s the Marijuana Dear, isn’t it.” Funny.
4) She started to get agitated, so I got out the guitar and we sang 5 songs.
Climb Every Mountain. The Hills Are Alive. La Vie En Rose en Francais. Muy Quito Lindo en Espanol. And The Tennessee Waltz, her father’s favorite song.
Somehow this trip to DC didn’t really cheer me up. So I went to see Cousin Fritz in Pennsylvania. Magical, but sad.
So a week later, I took a $98 round trip to visit Cousin Nion in San Francisco. Nobody was flying. There was a Sikh guy, his wife, the flight crew, and me. In SF normality ruled, people weren’t being overly friendly and considerate to each other and the whole town didn’t smell like burnt jet fuel melted cable corpse. The first night Nion and Leslie and I sat around the kitchen table and commenced with Grappa Therapy. Clearly, I needed to reboot. And Nion, being a talented amateur musician, had ukuleles lying around from Hawaii. I had never even touched one before. It was Love at first sight, like when the angel appeared at my door on the First of Jul/y/ie.
The next morning I went to Haight Ashberry Guitars and tried all the ukes out. I got a $160 Ovation, because it had a pick up which would come in handy on stage. I went out to Golden Gate Park and started playing. What a transformation. I became calm, and quiet in my mind. And I attracted everybody. Old people, young people, Mommies, Kids, Cute Girls with dogs, Homeless Punks, no distinction. Everybody likes you when you are playing the uke. But when I went back to Nion’s and A/B’d my new uke with the one from Hawaii, I was crestfallen. Compared to the real one, my pathetic plastic Ovation was a toy, a joke. So next morning, back to the store.
Well I got a $260 uke and went back to The Park. I think a pretty girl actually came up to me that day, sat down and asked if I would like to smoke pot. I was hooked on uke now. Around 6PM I went back to my cousin’s, and sadly again, mine was a piece of crap compared to the Hawaiian instrument. So next morning, hoof it back to Haight Ashberry Guitars.
I finally bought a Martin Soprano O type. It cost about 5 times my round trip plane tickets. In other words, it was a bargain. I named her Mary Kate. My other soprano uke is Ashley. And nine years later, I’m almost recovered. Today I walked for an hour playing Mary Kate, and she’s better than ever. And I was so happy wandering around today, even though I am no longer in control of my situation.
Darlings, please take my advice. Cherish every stale breadcrumb of clumsy affection that comes your way. Give your love a ukulele. Then just wait until the healing powers of the little magic box take effect. Something good is bound to happen.
The New Improved Roger version of Yer Blues features the blasted blues voice of the handsome and talented Daniel James. James is a member of two of the most exciting bands in America, Leopold And His Fiction, and Cowboy And Indian. We cut this track live on three mics, with the great Jazz Mills, also of Cowboy And Indian, singing backing vocals. ENJOY!