Bit of String
You can download a PDF of the guitar tab or musical score.You can download a recent version of the song in mp3 here.
Bit
of String
was a long time in the writing. It first appeared under the
working title "Bogart" in three 4-track "sketch" tapes I made sometime between 1986 and 1988 (take
1, take
2, take
3). I never had words for the song, but a few
figures
within it suggested a melody in the nightclub style
popular between the 30s and 50s.
Bogart was one of my favorite undeveloped song ideas. After 19 or 20 years on a shelf, I dusted it off with a particular muse named Moe (pronounced as Moway) in mind to try to make this ditty say something to her.
A rough demo from January 8, 2007 and a completed demo from 3 days later plucked most of their musical ideas from the old sketches, combining them with some Cole Porter-esque lyrics that miraculously wound up saying exactly what I wanted them to say. Early lyric versions started out "When I wander, I'm inclined to ponder what I ought to do," and it took some discipline to resist the temptation to rhyme "foreign" with "warren" (she really likes bunnies). The first was just mealy-mouthed and the latter mere limerick fare. It's an unusual song in that it has no chorus, its three verses have strong imagery but are totally distinct from each other, and each ends in a different little musical curlicue that become progressively elaborate. Nonetheless, the message is consistent.
It took me a considerable time to write the 3 verses
just as I wanted
them, and none of my recordings so far have
them in their final form. At some point, I will have a nice
recording made, but for now I hope I can rely on the unvarnished
qualities of the common sparrow who appears in the third verse;
a
small bird who is plain, busy, and incapable of
intrigue. A crouton basically makes his entire day, and if
one
offers you a bit of string and a song, you have to know he's not
holding anything back.
On January 20th, 2007, I placed a piece of string into a wooden box, packed up my guitar and went over to sing for Moe, warbling out the following words as I squinted into a golden beam which may have been the afternoon sun or the aura from her astonished face. I only wish I could see her face if ever someone asks why she has a piece of string in a giftbox.
there are 9 or 10 ways to elicit boos
that I counted,
as I took the mound to try to pitch some woo.
And the loudest seem to rise from the bullpen.
My heart's roaring,
pacing out the floor inside his tiny cage.
She's a keeper,
casually ignoring his impassioned rage.
Sits upon his taming stool at the bars,
running through his repertoire for his guard.
Like a sparrow,
cloven by an arrow shot from Cupid's bow,
I am bleeding,
perched here loudly tweeting so that she will know:
I have found a bit of string fit for nesting,
would she like to see?
It's three inches long,
and comes with a song
from me.
