Look, son - there's only two reasons why one does anything. Either in response to something else, or because the wires have just crossed each other, and you're doing the best you can with the language you have and the madness in your heart.
In short, odes and nonsense.
This new song for the musical is super silly, but sweet.
In the hobo musical, Gilly is singing it to a puppet named Mortimer Montgomery (who's the stereotypical hobo, sooty-faced, bindle-wearing, etc) Mortimer just spent the prior scene showing off all of the misconceptions about hobo culture and giving out bad advice in general. Gilly uses this song to gently set him straight about what it means to be a hobo.
Here we go!
LYRICS
first verse
in the jungle evening descending
stirring up the embers intending
to brew
mul mulligan stew
get a can some water for boiling
bos will soon appear ripe for toiling
its true
mul mulligan stew
tween me and you
mul mulligan stew
chorus
meal of the moment
to stave off the torment
of life on the rails
its no other
sipping and smiling
with strangers beguiling
whove lived through the worst
sister brother
second verse
if youve got a carrot then share it
pinch of salt and bread go and tear it
to chew
with mulligan stew
pepper and potatoes for flavor
chicken in the mix breathe and savor
the hue
mul mulligan stew
chorus
third verse
staring at the moon washing dishes
only thing we own stock in wishes
we few
tasted mulligan stew
when a bo can give what theyre keeping
have it all combined see the reaping
ensue
thats mulligan stew
tween me and you
mul mulligan stew
Some people can parse and place aside an idea or emotion, get to enjoying the flittering now. Find lovers, cultivate caring and mutually healthy relationships. Eke out contentment and be satisfied.
But an artist, their knuckles torn, their breath ragged, they grab onto these small ideas. Revisit them again and again. Edit a poem sixty times. Sing seven seconds of a new song they're writing on a loop just to themselves for hours in a dank apartment, matted with mold from a broken ceiling and a burst pipe from the room upstairs. Switch up the tone, the lift of a word, auditioning a synonym.
The mold is scrubbed, the paint dries. It's acrid and it burns in the folds of the throat. Still singing, still alone. Coming to the moment where the song finally makes the musical concrete and active. Not a gimmick. But a honest elegy about losing not just a mentor and father figure, but a culture. A subset of society now bandied about in modern association as a joke.
This is a venerable sickness.
Here's the rough draft of the song.
lyrics
first verse
barefoot and twenty
not a nickel to my name
chicago winter out for blood
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
crying in a jungle
from the dark he called me close
asked me for my story
lent an ear
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
chorus
god he was clever
he was so damn clever
when i begged for change he shook his head
took off the boot he wore and gave them to me
with a smile and a piece of bread
second verse
at the hobo college
where i learned to read and write
james saw the hope i once forgot
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
saw us bos as people
this forgotten little tribe
travelled round the country
spreading joy
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
chorus
god he was simple
he was so damn simple
left a half a million to be free
the way he saw it
werent no point in having riches
coming by so easily
third verse
five days ago
in the middle of the night
he caught the westbound made his peace
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
lord you never made another man so loving kind
and now hes gone his body free
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
chorus
theyve got a service taking place this evening
volunteered to speak they want me mum
dont want your kind around
youre a blemish on his nature
just another filthy bum
fourth verse
and here im singing
bout a man who shaped the world
but you didnt know him
not one bit
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
all you are is hungry
no kinship in your eyes
getting by on getting yours alone
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
chorus
oh god im foolish
see im so damn foolish
trying to keep the culture still alive
if theres someone out there who will share our story
see the hobo spirit thrive
fifth verse
well ive got nothing
but this weathered old guitar
and a homely face to tell my tale
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
all of us have moments
we can ease each others pain
shoulder up the wounded
sing and grin
king of the hoboes
good ole james how
chorus
god he was clever
he was so damn clever
when i begged for change he shook his head
took off the boots he wore and gave them to me
with a smile and a piece of bread
That's my brother, his wife, and their two dogs: Sissy and Peter. From the day I moved to New York City until they they day they moved west, Peter was a delight. Full of warmth and joy. Did my heart a kindness when I needed it the most.
Peter has such spark and vitality, even with his disability. Ended up nicknaming him "The Mayor of Inwood", in honor of the neighborhood where my brother and I lived. And, through my brother's family, I really opened myself up for the first time to revel in and foster pride in a community.
Inwood's not an easy neighborhood to love. It's out of the way and a mix of economic diversity. Organic restaurants coupled with greasy spoon diners. A sprawling little forest, a Dutch farmhouse overlooking a busy city street. Gentrification's getting its hooks into the locale, but for now, it's got a quirky, earnest charm.
Here's a love letter to this stretch of land.
lyrics
first verse
first day that i came to town
i was a broken down mess
only dress a frown
didn't even have a guess to address the noun
holding up my worry
peter saw i was ill at ease
with a smile and a wag
he was fit to please
led me all around the city
with a happy little wheeze
what a public servant
prechorus
staying alive on this island
surely
isnt a spectator sport
keeping wise
creative ties will guide you
tether your fear to a port
chorus
i miss the mayor of inwood
three legged poodle
his heart could soothe my soul
i miss the mayor of inwood
city changes
love does a dreamer good
second verse
peter plays with the deputy
shes a pretty little mix
shes a jack a bee
see her sigh at peters tricks
shes a prissy little sissy
theyre a good team
took em down to homers run
in the middle of the forest
where the dogs have fun
peter picks a little fight
that he never would have won
with a great dane
prechorus II
peter and sissy
have the tools i covet
style bravado
done right
steady grace
the will to chase with a fast pace
whims of the world with delight
CHORUS
third verse
been a year since they moved away
california bound hounds
and im sad to say
that the neighborhoods heart fell apart
in a rough way
plain and simple
still at night when i close my eyes
i hear that old familiar whine and those eager cries
from a mayor whose term was a great surprise
thank you peter
prechorus
staying alive on this island
surely
isnt a spectator sport
keeping wise
creative ties will guide you
tether your fear to a port
