After my mom died in 2006, my father said, “Write me a song before I’m dead.” This degree of bluntness might be startling to those who don’t know him, but it’s not even remotely out of character – when it comes to family, diplomacy is just not part of the equation. What’s even odder is that it doesn’t bother me in the least – but, of course, I’m not the most tactful of people myself, so I doubt any of you are surprised.
In any case, I was determined to fulfill this morbid little request of my dad’s, but it took me a while. The problem I have, as some of you may have figured out, is that I just don’t write songs about people I’m close to. I mean, there’s the obligatory raft of songs about broken hearts, unrequited love, and relationships that don’t work, but those are about me, really, when you get down to it. I’m looking over my lyric page, and I can count the other songs I’ve written about people in my life pretty much on the fingers of one hand. Well, two (unless you’re a mutant). And only half of them are straight-up serious songs; the rest, like Putting Sophy to Bed, are built around a small observational conceit, or more notoriously, like I Can’t Write Love Songs, they’re cop-outs altogether.
Now, I’m biasing the argument a little bit here. I did write a song for my mom, right when she got sick, but no one’s heard it, and no one will, because I can no longer remember the music; I have the lyrics, but didn’t have the guts to record it, and now it’s gone. But my dad is very much alive, and doesn’t really lend himself to sentimentality, and I can only do sentimentality in moments of great personal weakness, so I was left with either the cop-out, or the small observational conceit.
I’m pleased to say, though, that I’ve risen above these limitations, sort of. My father, fortunately, is something of a character, and his most distinctive trait is his absolute contempt for tradespeople – if he can reach it, lift it, or unplug it, he’s gonna fix it himself, dammit. So it was clear to me that if I was going to fulfill my dad’s request, this was what the song was going to be about. And although it took a year, and a crucial suggestion from She Who Must Be Taunted, it’s finally done.
I’m actually really proud of the lyrics, because I’ve actually managed to channel my dad in a couple important ways. The opening couplet –
The sink was backing up
I didn’t wanna call the plumber
– that’s my dad. The particular blend of peevish adventurism and wildly inappropriate tool deployment that my father has mastered is absolutely legendary in our household. And it deserved to be immortalized in song.
My father insists that it won’t matter to him what the song’s about, he’ll love it no matter what. I’m not entirely sure of this – my dad has a sense of humor, but being on the receiving end of my particular brand of needling snarkiness is something of a new experience for him. I’ll let you know what he says.