I wonder if we could find Troy this outfit to wear again?
My partner and mentor in music, cousin Troy is turning 50 in the year 2020. I struggled for a while to figure out what you could get an individual that has meant so much to you from a creative perspective (also, who has enough money in his coffers to buy anything he wants, much like any other 50 year old out there).
Of course a song was in order but I don’t like to push these things. Forcing a song to appear does not always produce the greatest results.
But if while drifting off to sleep you happen upon a melody, you snatch that iPhone up and videotape you humming that melody a few times so you can listen to it in the morning.
With a melody in hand and with the help of Troy’s wife Connie, I pieced together the epic tale of Troy and his 50 years on this Earth. Or at least the first 30. I heard the term epic as I was listening to a Gordon Lightfoot concert the other day and how Ian Tyson referred to a few of his songs as ‘epics’ and I thought “That is exactly what I’m creating when I have a seven minute long song chronicling their life.”
Finding the time to record this with two kids in the house was a challenge and as it stands, I’m not nearly finished but for the time being, it will exist in this form until I have enough time to add a jazz flute solo.
Happy Birthday Troy! Here’s to another 50 years of good health and laughs.
Recording notes
Lyrics, main and backing vocals, acoustic guitar: Ryan Palmer
Recorded in the basement over a few months of Pandemic Summer 2020
Recording thoughts: Not much to say. I had a really fun time layering some backing vocals and I’m happy with the end part of the song. I ran out of time to add a 12-string guitar over it and I was thinking of adding a french horn in there somewhere as that was Troy’s instrument of choice back in school. I was also playing around with a simple drum beat but Logic Pro kept crashing on me when I started introduce this and I was getting upset by the problems with software and a deadline approaching. Can I also say I was not impressed with Canada Post when the CD took another ten days to arrive after his birthday?
Package notes
I went all out with this one and made a neat little package for it. Unfortunately I didn’t proofread the text and had to reprint nearly all of it and even the final product had to be sliced and diced on the lyric sheet because I forget to make it the correct size to fit on a piece of cardboard. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the project!
Front
Lyric sheet and inner packaging
Back with a not so true quote from Nanny Sybil
Click here to download the song.
Lyrics
From the land of porketta
Here’s a tale that I betcha
Have heard time and again
Of a man who played bingo
I meant getting stinko
In Big Nickel, along with his friends
Playing dungeons and dragons
While falling off wagons
It’s a wonder they’re not all all in the grave
With a twenty sided die
Came a big sigh
When the party’s lives were swiftly saved
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
In Gatchell he grew up
But he kept his head up
There’s always someone stealing his mitt
The thief he was found
Laid down to the ground
Along with a red first aid kit
Oh it made him quiver
When he thought of his liver
After a night at the “I” and the Frood
Night after night
Getting right tight
Throwing haymakers in a blood feud
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
Treading trodding trails
To stand at the rails
Of gods with six strings in hand
Thousands of shows
Through rain, sleet and snow
All to see his favourite band
Learned guitar from Renaldo
But the truth you should all know
The music, it spilled from his veins
The girls would shed a tear
The boys let out a cheer
When he sang, they yelled “Play it again!”
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
Men from mining town
Sometimes get down
With thoughts their life’s a dead end
But our hero went out
His luck came about
When he entered a town of Grand Bend
There he worked a bar
Where the suds were not far
Mama didn’t raise a fool…
He took stock of his life
Sitting on that old bar stool
The playhouse of Huron
Is where he got his act on
To impress a lady so fine
He asked Mr. Dressup
How his act could be cleaned up
But all he said was “Pass me more wine!” (and rye!)
Two summers later
No need to date her
He’ll just stay in London awhile
He packed up his axe
Followed the rail tracks
She opened the door and there was his smile
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
Along came the desert
Perhaps a few dress shirts
Where then they exchanged a vow
Like Stan sang with grace
Wants her smiling face
Forty five years from now
In Wortley they do stay
In pubs they do play
Cards while finishing the keg
But at night they return
For food needs to burn
Crack open the big green egg!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
Fifty years gone
Lines on face are drawn
As a man sits and reflects
Of his life up to now
Wondering how
Of all the cause and effects
Take it all in
With a glass of gin
There are still many tales to be told
Fifty years is really not that old
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!
The memories, They Run Over You, boy!