TomFlannery.com

Added a new section for videos. Will put new demos up mostly….but maybe the odd old favorite or two.

Here’s the place to be to see ’em all…

This is the newest song added. “Maybe It’s True“. You know it’s special ’cause I’m wearing my lucky hat.

Myself and songwriter Josh Pratt (with Lorne Clarke chipping in with the brilliant final touch) decided, back in 2008, to do our bit to shed light on the travesty of justice known as “The West Memphis Three”. Three innocent men will be freed today, after 18 years in prison. One of them, Damien Echols, was on death row. The state of Arkansas was ready, willing, and able to kill him for a crime they knew he did not commit.

While what we did didn’t amount to much….it did add to the chorus of voices shouting for justice. And for that, we are both immensely proud. We didn’t just sit back and take it, and we didn’t say “there’s nothing we can do about it”. There’s always something any of us can do.

You can listen to the songs below. Thanks Josh for taking my call….listening…..being skeptical…..doing the research…and then doing what I knew you’d do all along. I needed you on this.

 West Memphis Blues
an online song cycle
by Tom Flannery and Josh Pratt
copyright 2008

01. West Memphis Blues – Tom Flannery
02. Rock Star – Josh Pratt
03. This Town – Tom Flannery
04. Cup of Coffee – Josh Pratt and Tom Flannery
05. The Jump Before the Climb – Josh Pratt
06. Thinking of You – Tom Flannery
07. Glorious Day – Josh Pratt
08. Away – Tom Flannery
09. When it Rains – Josh Pratt
10. You Know I Believe – Lorne Clarke

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Get my acclaimed 2008 release Auctioneer for free. Twenty songs. You can download it here… I can’t thank you enough for all the support over the years….but I can sure try. Download includes the lyric booklet. Sláinte…

I don’t understand the “debt ceiling”.

I sorta tried to understand it but gave up after a few minutes because I have a hard time taking anything seriously that involves John Boehner.

I suspect it’s monumentally important in some way, but Stevens, whose latest missive deals with his gaggle of toy trucks, is obviously unconcerned. I bow to his age and wisdom.

I guess we keep borrowing money and then borrowing more to pay off the penalty for not paying the first batch back. Or something to that effect. Meanwhile the US defense budget is $687,105,000,000, roughly 6 times as much as China, who we borrow much of our money from.

Hmmmm….

People with large brains get paid a lot of money to delve into things like this. Maybe it’s not as complicated as it’s made out to be.

$687 billion seems more than sufficient, yet 10 years ago a few guys with box cutters were able to bring this country to its knees with alarming ease, goading our government into hacking away at our civil liberties in the name of “freedom”…..which made sense to Dick Cheney and others like him, but mainly scared the rest of us into meek compliance. Even today none of us can board an airplane without stripping down, being poked and prodded like farm animals, and generally given the massive stink-eye by someone making $7 an hour. It’s all fairly depressing.

Over the last few years we’ve been bombarded with warnings that our nation is on the verge of economic collapse. Our first attempt to deal with the situation was to hand over billions of free money to the very people who botched things up so royally in the first place. Huge banks were thus saved, via government welfare, to rape and pillage some more, all in the name of the free market. Meanwhile, my mortgage bill kept coming (banks are very reliable in some respects), and every time I called my congressman to ask him to pay for it, he hung up on me.

I’m one of the lucky ones who can still pay my mortgage bill. My job hasn’t been off-loaded to Sri-Lanka yet. I can’t pay much more than my mortgage bill mind you, but still, I’ve got what I need and my kids are safe.

I should feel good about this….and I do. But then I don’t, because so many others are suffering and I’ve never been very good at ignoring the guy stuck on the side of the road. But when I see that the guy on the side of the road has a “Tea Party” sticker on his car…..that’s when I need pills and beer.

Fear can do all kinds of things to all kinds of people. Fear makes us want to blame somebody for our being scared. So the guy on the side of the road blames me and I blame the guy on the side of the road. Meanwhile, John Boehner gets re-elected and we still can’t bring mouthwash in our carry-on bag.

And we’re still on the verge of economic collapse.

And so now, it’s the “debt-ceiling”, which is a term I’ve never heard until this year. I suspect it will fade away eventually, much like “balanced budgets” and our fear of a depleted ozone layer. It’s amazing how there’s always something new to give us the willies.

Stevens is a wise old buzzard. He had it right all along.

I should be writing about toy trucks too. I can remember the one I got from that gas station in North Scranton….

In a bit…

–tf

No time frame yet, but I’ve got some new songs. And I’ve got a title. “Love and Streets”. I was using the title for a play I half-wrote and then trashed. But the title stays. I like it. Love and Streets.

Maybe record in the fall. All depends where and how and what sub-set of poverty I remain in when I’ve got a complete batch of songs.

As usual, 10 tunes is the magic number. So far I’ve written a few on the piano, which is new for me. Not sure I’m ready to record them that way, but you never know. If I get drunk enough anything is possible.

Mix of stuff. Folkie folk and unabashed pop and some stuff somewhere in the middle just so nobody thinks I’m getting soft in the head.

More news to come.

In a bit…

tf

I was born with an addictive personality. It happens. It leads you down some interesting roads, not all of which are bad by the way. Some are of course, but then that’s half the fun.

Music was always there. It still is. I fall asleep to it and I wake up to it. If I’m not listening to somebody else’s, I’m trying to create my own. I bang away at guitars and pianos and blow into harmonicas. My right leg started bouncing up and down the first time I heard John Lennon shredding his vocal chords on “Twist and Shout” and it hasn’t stopped moving since. It’s not “restless leg syndrome”. It’s rock and roll.

I wanted to be a rock and roll star, but I play air-guitar left-handed and real guitar right-handed so I knew it was never gonna work. Way too self-conscious when it’s more than the mirror looking back at me. Still, I’ll grab my acoustic guitar and play shows in smallish places. Stripped-down affairs that need as much silence as Townshend needs screeching feedback. But I’m a prisoner to the beat still, banging on the stage with my Doc Martens as I end my nights, inevitably, with Buddy Holly’s stomp “Not Fade Away”. It makes me feel young even though I’m not. It lifts me up when I’m feeling down. I’ve tried other stimulants. Nothing else comes close.

It started with vinyl. My 3 sister’s shared a bedroom and when they were out I’d sneak in there and start going through the stacks in the corner. I’d sneak “Darkness on the Edge of Town” into my room and play it on my little turn-table that I stored under the bed. The needle was so worn and frayed I taped a penny on the arm to try to grind through the scratches and skips. For 10 years an entire line of “Racing in the Streets” passed me by because of a skip I could not negotiate no matter how hard I pressed the needle down. “Born to Run” was the record with Springteen leaning on some huge black guy with a saxophone. I think I was 12 when I first heard the record. Even then I thought it odd. A black guy and a white guy. Together on the cover. In the same band. Playing rock and roll. I heard “Jungleland” and got completely freaked out. It was like a 9 minute Scorcese movie. And that sax solo sounded like somebody small time deciding he wasn’t gonna be small time anymore…..somebody intent on obliterating every awkward stereotype drilled into small minds. Like mine.

Whatever this was, I liked it.

I’ve never listened to music the same way again.

I’d like to think my mind isn’t so small anymore. Music has expanded it….no music more so than the sounds made by Springsteen and the E Street Band. And this was the mid-70s. You hear “Born and Run” or “Badlands” on the radio today and they still sound volcanic.  Imagine what that sound could do to a pre-teen who owned Styx and Kansas records?

It took a few days for it to sink in when I heard that Clarence Clemons had died. That cover of “Born to Run” may be etched in our memories. Surely it’s iconic, and maybe it’s the main reason we don’t really think of Bruce without Clarence. And we certainly don’t think of Clarence without Bruce. Springsteen is the boss after all, but it’s pretty clear that Clemons more than any other helped get him the promotion. But for me it’s the music they made together. I listen to “The River” today and I hear a master’s class in American music. Without Clarence, it falls short.

Clarence Clemons is front and center on Springsteen’s greatest songs. “Spirit in the Night”. “Thundercrack”. “Rosalita”. “Kitty’s Back”. “Born to Run”. “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out”. “She’s the One”. “Thunder Road”. “Jungleland”. “Badlands”. “Promised Land”. “Prove it all Night”. “Independence Day”. “Ramrod”. “The Ties That Bind”. “Lonesome Day”. The resume is astounding. Rock and roll horn players should bow.

What about race? Well, what about it? Perhaps more strange than a large black man being out front with the biggest white rock and roll star of our generation is that nobody really noticed. I’m sure it mattered to Clarence….criss-crossing a nation in the 70s that in large part was still scarred by segregation. But somehow, to us in the seats, it’s didn’t matter worth a damn. For those 3 and 4 hours on-stage, the community was colorblind. Ultimately, this proved to be the exception rather than the rule. Rock and Roll to this day, despite being largely created by a black man (Chuck Berry) and a white man (Elvis Presley) everybody assumed was black…and derived almost entirely from black music (the blues, bits of gospel)….makes barely a ripple in the black community. A rock and roll concert audience is still as white as a Tea Party. I make no judgements….nor do I lose sleep over it. That’s for the sociologists. It’s simply a fact.

But it finally has sunk in the Clarence Clemons is gone. I wonder what’s next for Springsteen. He’s lost not only his good friend but his musical soul-mate, the one man “big” enough not to be dwarfed by Bruce’s talent and charisma. It’s gotta be lonely at the top. I imagine the room is even more empty now.

In a bit..

–tf

Someday we’ll look back on all this and it will all seem funny. Or at least I hope so…

Political Polls?

The Melody of Summer?

In a bit…

tf

I’m from NEPA. It doesn’t surprise me that our local politicians are corrupt. It seems a requirement for office in these parts. We almost revel in the slime of it all. It gives us something to talk about (and someday it may even get us a job). Seems like just last week a swath of Luzerne County judges got fitted for prison jumpers. Now, Lackwanna County gets her day in the sun.

And so 2 of our own are looking at about 500 years in a federal penitentiary. Still, actual accountability around here shocks me, if only because our “nudge-nudge wink-wink” form of local government has gone on for so long with so little of it. Faces change (well, sometimes at least), but the stench tends to remain….like the smell of that dead body in the trunk from “Godfellas”. But it always seemed in the past that these guys darted out of office like deer on a country road, as the law swerved to avoid the mess. A few headlines. A bit of public flogging. But not jail.

Not that these two don’t deserve what’s coming mind you. If Cordaro and Munchak are indeed guilty of only half the things they’ve been convicted of, they should serve at least half a millennium. Their grubby, tasteless greed is what gives places like Scranton its inferiority complex to begin with. Bribes, kickbacks, corruption….it’s all so unseemly and brutish. If you have the scruples of a pissing toad, at least set your sights a little higher than piles of 20 dollar bills passed along by a pack of low life bag-men who’ll roll over on you at first touch.

That’s what I think anyway. Have some panache. Be interesting.

But I guess if you had some panache you wouldn’t be a Lackawanna County Commissioner. Or at least wouldn’t want to be. It’s the first base coach of political hackery. A place to collect a $75k salary and get all your high-school drinking buddies on the country payroll while watching Scranton crumble from a 6th floor window. Pressing duties include cleaning up birdshit and holding a straight face when discussing the budget. I always got the feeling that Cordaro especially felt the job was beneath him…..that to not get what he could while he could get it was almost irrational (as for Munchak, I though him to be the only person polite enough to not turn purple and explode from playing second fiddle to Bob Cordaro. Plus Munchak wasn’t a coke fiend). And really….if when the county is dead broke and you’re still allowed to give Paul Sorvino a non-refundable check for a quarter of a million dollars so Sorvino’s daughter can make a movie that never actually gets made….can’t a guy be excused for thinking he’s entitled to some petty cash?

Ok, maybe not. But it is  interesting to ponder where hubris comes from…no?

Cordaro is a Dunmore guy. Like me. Like most folks from Dunmore I’m familiar with Bob Cordaro…at least enough to say hello and exchange some small talk. He went to school with my sister. And if you know him and never crossed him….he’s a really good guy. Gregarious, friendly, intelligent, witty, willing to buy a round. When he got into politics nobody was surprised. He already had the perfect excuse. He was wealthy. He didn’t need to work anymore….so why not? Show me a guy with money and time on his hands and I’ll show you a politician-in-waiting. And Cordaro had no ideology. He switched parties over and over again…..treating the political process like the captain of a debating team. Just give him an issue, and let him know what side the other guy was on. So what if Bob promised to cut taxes 25% in order to get in and ended up raising them 48% when he did get in. He could explain. And he could be as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

He also had the Nixonian ability to remember every little peasant who dared question his wisdom. And the willingness to tear them apart like a rabid Australian dingo on uppers. He never courted anybody. He expected to be courted. So when the press started to quibble with his performance, instead of turning on the charm, Cordaro called them jackals. Which may or may not be true, but that’s beside the point. The press don’t like to be called jackals. If you’re going to call them jackals you need to make sure the other newspaper in town thinks you’re swell and is willing to crank out the rebuttals. But Scranton doesn’t have “another newspaper in town”. If the Times doesn’t like you, you might as well start building outhouses in Peoiria.

But still, if you’re going to play the martyr, it’s probably a good idea to not be on the take. You know…the credibility gap and all that.

Credibility itself is something our political scene sorely lacks….but then it is us who keeps electing these people. So maybe we’re part of the problem?

Gee, there’s a thought.

In a bit..

–tf

The clock has turned over. It’s officially father’s day. Not many think on it at 1:30am but I can’t sleep so it seems the right thing to do.

I have two girls of my own now, both beautiful in so many ways that I lose count.  They are ages 9 and 13 and I see in them promise that I’ve never felt for myself. They’ve moved so far beyond me that all I want to do is watch and learn. They are not followers. They do not insist on being leaders either. They are willing to fill the gray area in-between, and will step up when the time comes and step down when the time goes away. They have no interest in grandstanding or any interest in mopping up somebody else’s mess. They act their respective ages and as a result have all the fun heaven will allow. But they can also discover me wavering over one of those life altering decisions….and lay the pros and cons out so coherently that I feel like the child…..and look to them as my (unpaid) advisors. I claim no special powers just because I’m an “adult”. It’s when I consciously try to act my age that bad things happen. Maybe not “bad things” per se. Perhaps unspeakable tedium would be a better way to put it. There is not much worse than a 44-year-old acting his age and still trying to have fun. He resembles nothing more than a man trying desperately not to vomit after 14 Budweiser’s in 90 minutes. Age and Fun beat on each other like gongs and before you know it both are bloodied and call a truce, and all that’s left is someone at the bar hoping he can navigate the 2 mile trip back home without getting his name in the paper for a DUI. Somebody who wants to show the audience what he could do back then and could still do now….but first needs to get some pills out of a baggie and visit the men’s room. Instant youth it’s been called….and it lasts until you wet the bed or win a karaoke contest. These days I take my fun in moderation. I read. I write. I wonder. And I watch my girls grow up.

I trust both my girls. They say what they mean and they mean what they say, at least at the moment they’re saying it. They realize their relative good fortune up till now, and they seem smart enough not to take anything for granted. They know if could all change in a matter of weeks or months. The Economy (with a capital “E”)  works that way. There is no such thing as security anymore. We go to work in the morning and hope the gates aren’t padlocked. The American Dream is a little different now than it used to be. Bush pegged it when he called it the “War on Terror”, although I’m not sure this is what he had in mind.

My girls. My wife. They are my life now. Everything else is just shadow puppets on the wall. I do my best and all too frequently I’m aware that my best us not very good. So I resolve to do better that next day. But I usually don’t. Love is strange to me, even though I’ve spent more than half my life chasing it. Part of me is still frightened by love, like a child scared of the dark. We’ve all got what Lincoln called “the tired spot” deep inside us, and love means letting others in to feel it too. Sometimes that’s when the wall comes up.

But to my girls, let me say that I love you more than words could possibly convey. All the poets of centuries past and present could try, but what they’d leave behind could only be comparative gibberish. A bit like the previous 600 words or so. But still, it’s always worth the effort.

Especially today. It’s Father’s Day. My day….but that’s not true of course. It belongs to you.

In a bit..

–tf

Trying to keep up with Stevens on our blog. A flurry of recent posts….all critical to our national security and all certain to go viral once we start spamming the email address lists that we stole….

Carnivals

Insomnia

Running (why I don’t do it but sorta wish I did)

Newspapers (why mine sucks)

Making fun of Stevens

Antiques

Hot nights in Georgia Motels

Just don’t want you to think I’m not….you know….working and stuff.

Oh yeah, I just finished a new play. It’s called “Maybe it’s True” and I’ll be talking more about it later.

In a bit…

tf