So Why Don’t You Climb Down Off that Movie Screen. Duritz.

I wanted to wake up before mid-afternoon ’cause that’s when it’ll hurt the most (- Duritz-ish).

And I blame facebook.

It started early in the week when my buddy, Tat, posted a few lines to an old(er) song as his update:

I dream I never know anyone at the party and I’m always the host.

The line flipped around between my ears like fragments from a dream, then turned into a film about my ghost (- Duritz-ish).

Knowing I couldn’t escape, I moved south down the coast of thoughts til the rest of the film played in my head (- Duritz-ish).

A long 7 seconds, indeed. But at the end, I remembered the title: “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby,” by Counting Crows. From the 2000 album This Desert Life.

I never claimed to like Counting Crows.

Still don’t. Spending college and everything after addicted to blues and jam bands, I had trouble appreciating the Crows’ craftsmanship. ‘Always thought they could do infinitely more with 34 guitarists standing on stage and one guy who thought he didn’t have to sing his lyrics because Dylan didn’t. Bob, not Thomas.

But eventually, I accepted them as folk and they crept into my consciousness. Especially when I realized my dreams of bumming out in Spain (coast side) and fantasizing about Picasso’s old guitarist were shared with lead singer / songwriter Adam Duritz. And he’s probably done it now. Many, many times. I wonder if Mr. Jones snuck into my thoughts without me ever realizing it. God knows any friend I ever played guitar wanted to play that jam. Except Gag – I thank you for the break.

He’s just an idiot walking a tightrope between fortune and fame (Durvitz). The lazy fat f*ck. Durvitz, no Gag.

Pot. Kettle. Black.

About 17 seconds in I wrote back to Tat the line line about the dreams being like movies and before you knew it I’m off on Grooveshark playing the song again, and again, and again. And I posted the song on Facebook.

That’s when my once and future partner-in-crime, Slewis – not C.S. Lewis though that’d be cool too – commented her fervor to not only learn to play guitar but to play “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby.” A quick search on Ultimate Guitar revealed all 4 chords involved and a little ditty involving the “A” chord. And a Capo. I hate Capos. Now I remember why I didn’t learn this song a decade ago.

But with all 4 chords and little “A” ditty, I already knew the song. It’s the lyrics that rival “American Pie,” in length that she’ll…we’ll have to remember.

Though I was a little pensive in saying “yes,” to teaching her this song. Extremely pensive.

When “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” came out, I felt a kinship to it. Like how the haunted is connected to their ghost. All the crazy late nights at the casino boat along the lake, the random road trips and the many concerts, waiting for Mrs. Potter to talk to me while trying to outrun her essence in case it all fell apart.

The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings – Duritz

‘But can one change destiny?

I really think the legendary TV show, “Dr. Who,” has it right about life when the Doctor discusses time. He says that some moments in time are fixed and never can be changed whereas other moments are flexible and can be rewritten. I felt, when trying to get my Mrs. Potter’s attention, that that moment in time was flexible. I could change that. Whereas when I stopped playing guitar, time called me back.

Like last week my buddy from Atlanta scheduled time so we could play. And my finger strength is coming back around – like it was sleeping, resting, waiting. And now that Tat informed Slewis that I’m “really good” or something, the tingle that runs up and down my spine every time I see a guitar is back.

It helps keep me going.

As I write this, Slews chatted me and said she’s listening to the song. And I’m sure Tat is too as he addresses the painful leak in his newly-remodeled kitchen. The pains of domestication.

I’m listening to Mrs. Potters’ Lullaby right now, too.

Slewis – I’ll be ready when you are. I still have Gag’s Washburn sitting over there you can use to start. We’ll put nylon strings on it to start til you’re ready for some 80-20 strings (I’ll tell you what those are later). And…we’ll get a capo for it. Unless Tat still is offering you his. BUT NO PICKS! You can have finger picks (those little metal tips banjo players wear), but you’re not learning with a pick! Picks are for pu**ies.

It’s about time to pull Mrs. Potter down of that movie screen and get the Book of Blues prequel written.

The music video for Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby

Lyrics to Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby by Counting Crows – written by Adam Duritz

Well I woke in mid-afternoon cause that’s when it all hurts the most

I dream I never know anyone at the party and I’m always the host

If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts

You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast

well, I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame

I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame

If you’ve never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame

and though I’ll never forget your face,

sometimes i can’t remember my name

Hey Mrs. Potter don’t cry

Hey Mrs. Potter I know why but

Hey Mrs. Potter won’t you talk to me

Well, there’s a piece of Maria in every song that I sing

And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings

And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring

And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything

Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said

And the ghosts of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside your head

And the ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead

When I see you a blanket of stars covers me in my bed

Hey Mrs. Potter don’t go

Hey Mrs. Potter I don’t know but

Hey Mrs. Potter won’t you talk to me

All the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep

And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep

All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep

Hey I can bleed as well as anyone, but I need someone to help me sleep

So I throw my hand into the air and it swims in the beams

It’s just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream

Well, I know I don’t know you and you’re probably not what you seem

But I’d sure like to find out

So why don’t you climb down off that movie screen

Hey Mrs. Potter don’t turn

Hey Mrs. Potter I burn for you

Hey Mrs. Potter won’t you talk to me

When the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor

and orders another

Well, I wonder what he did that for

That’s when I know that I have to get out cause I have been there before

So I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door

We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars

We stand up in the palace like it’s the last of the great pioneer town bars

We shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars

You can see a million miles tonight

But you can’t get very far

Oh, you can see a million miles tonight

But you can’t get very far

Hey Mrs. Potter I won’t touch

Hey Mrs. Potter it’s not much but

Hey Mrs. Potter won’t you talk to me

(photo credits: 1&2 Eparist via Flickr. 3 – NM Jeep Tours via Flickr. Great shots, guys! And note: sci-fi is cool. Dr. Who is awesome. Jimi loved Sci-Fi. Need I justify more?)

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