Word Thingys: Salome Strangelove
(With my apologies to the Sisterhood…)
I’d depart in preppy pastels, but return in day-glow bandeau
And it’s safe to say my Grammy raised up more than just an eyebrow
She knew why I bounced about between The Grove and Ocean Drive
Yeah my soul was in the music but my skin was wired live
She tried reason and tried fussin’ but knew she was too much in me
Sat me down, took a breath, and then poured us both some sweet tea
It was too late for birds or bees but she had aces up her sleeve
(Shared some stories from her youth that I still can’t quite believe)
Warning bells were ringing, but I hung on every word
Her wedding photos made a lot more sense after all those truths I heard
Yeah, she knew it wouldn’t stop me, but she had wisdoms to impart,
“Enjoy it while you’re young, but try to hide that tender heart —
There are those that want to break it and those’ll send it walkin’
And, I guess, so long’s I’m talkin’…
Don’t date drummers, they’re all crazy
And they’ll drag you through their trauma
While the boys that tickle keys
Bring only tears and drama
There’s the ones that hold a bass
They’re consistent, but lack pluck
And those lead singers — my sweet child,
Only want to … change their luck
A sax blower can be generous
To every girl at every bar
But the devil holds a special place
For the ones that play guitar…”
I ain’t sayin’ she was right and I ain’t sayin’ she was wrong
But she sure hit every note she ever sang of any song
Still it’s a sad reality some lessons never stick until
It’s way past the time the poison’s been pushed deep into their pills
It’s a bumpy ride with hairpin turns you’ve gotta hold the groove and move it
(You may think I’m talkin’ nonsense, but I’ve got t-shirts that’ll prove it)
Sure as lightning stops your heart and oysters hide their pearls
There is a sacred code of knowledge passed in trade by groupie girls
Yeah, my Grammy and my Momma, and even I, all breathed and burned
Without shame within the church pews of those tour bus night nocturnes
Some of us go weak for crooners
Some of us need power chords
Some might say yes a little sooner
Some may hold out hopes for more
It’s a tango; it’s an avalanche; a bite of sin, a blush of raunch
Only pantomimed by those of us who live our lives carte blanch
Oh, I don’t recommend it, but it also don’t much matter
You know better’n me if you’re a saint or wildcatter
So if you’ve got half the self control and you lean a little meeker
Maybe steer clear of all the chaos caused by us careless pleasure-seekers
As for the others — I can’t stop y’all, but I’ve got wisdoms to impart,
Enjoy it while you’re young, and please protect those tender hearts
And if you want the best of all worlds and if you’re askin’ my advice
Find the true lovers of the music and don’t be afraid to roll the dice
Avoid DJs, managers, producers, avoid the wannabes and toadies
You know what, I’ll keep it simple, girls, just go get yourself a roadie
They build stuff ‘tween the rockin’
And, I guess, so long’s we’re talkin’…
Don’t date drummers, they’re all crazy
They’ll drag you right into their trauma
While the boys that tickle keys
Are just drama, drama, drama
There’s the ones that hold a bass
They’re consistent but lack pluck
And those lead singers — best believe
They only wanna … change their luck
A sax blower will be generous
To every girl at every bar
But the devil holds a special place
— a finger-pickin’, twelve string, sunburst brimstone inlayed space —
For the ones that play guitar!