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All song lyrics and commentary
Copyright 2008 by Hayes Walker.
Earlier dates noted when applicable.
I have written several poems that are intended to be sung and accompanied by music. Because I do not have much
skill or inclination for composing original melodies, I have sometimes borrowed melodies from various sources. (One
exception is the melody for "Maybe the World," which I created.) In some cases, the music I borrowed was crucial
to the inspiration for the lyric.
This page presents three songs that I consider "marketable," in descending order of their marketability--"Maybe the
World," "'My Gal Sal' in the Words of Joe the Bartender," and "Dinosaur School."
I have recently become determined to have my most "marketable" song, "Maybe the World," published and recorded.
In late April 2008 I sent an e-mail to Don Casale, a record producer with an impressive history of producing major albums
with major artists. One interesting fact about Casale is that he was the recording engineer for Iron Butterfly's big hit,
"In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida." Back in the mid-1990's, I sent him a tape and lyric sheets of a few songs including "Dinosaur
School" and my version of "My Gal Sal." His response to those songs was similar to what he told me about "Maybe the
World" in April: that they did not fit the "hit song for major recording artist" criteria that he was (always is) looking for.
Here is Mr. Casale's response to my e-mail about "Maybe the World":
Hayes, right now I'm only dealing with songs for major artists and not "message songs" or the like.
Your lyrics are quite clever and right in the pocket for the genre, but it's just not something I'm
prepared to take on at the moment.
I enjoyed reading the lyrics, and I wish you every success with this. It deserves to be heard.
best of luck ......
Don Casale
"Maybe the World"
"Maybe the World" sets my environmental concerns to a reggae beat and gives them a cynical, complacent shrug,
saying, "Maybe the world wasn't meant to be saved." While it deals with issues that I'm passionately concerned
about, it also expresses the cynicism and apathy I have often felt regarding mankind's failure to adequately come to
grips with such problems as overpopulation and deforestation.
The earnestness of the environmentalist can be oppressive if it is not occasionally leavened with a sense of humor--
even dark, cynical humor. So here's a "What if?" to take us singing into oblivion: What if the ruin of our planet,
tragic though it seems to us, is somehow supposed to happen?
The stanza regarding honeybees was inspired by a comment made by my sister Cathy in the mid-1990's. As that stanza
took shape, it determined the structure and the strategy of the song and provided the impetus for its continuation and
completion.
Cathy died of cancer in 1999 at age 49. "Maybe the World" is dedicated to her memory.
MAYBE THE WORLD
Copyright 1996, 2000 by Hayes Walker
(Dedicated to the memory of my sister,
Mary Catherine Walker, 1950 - 1999.)
(Jauntily, with reggae syncopation)
VERSE
Well, I've been worryin' 'bout overpopulation,
been worryin' 'bout pollution, too.
I've been agonizin' 'bout deforestation,
disappointed in me and you.
But lately I've been thinkin' that it's just no use,
and there's no reason why we still should care.
So let's just continue all our fine abuse
of the soil, the water, and the air.
Because…
(Chorus) Maybe the Earth wasn't meant to last,
that's why we use it up more each day.
Maybe the world wasn't meant to be saved,
that's why we're throwing it all away.
VERSE
Well, my sister tells me that she hasn't seen
a single honeybee in over a year.
Now that's kind of scary out there in the country,
yes, I'd say it is a cause for fear.
You see, the honeybees pollinate about three-fourths
of the plants we can hardly live without.
So if you insist upon worryin' 'bout somethin',
there is somethin' you can worry about.
But I say…
(Chorus)
VERSE
Well, I saw a movie called Rapa Nui,
'bout an island that lost its trees.
Now that didn't happen just all of a sudden,
no, it happened by small degrees.
The people got obsessed with carving the biggest statues
their technology would allow.
Those statues are big, it's true, but there's little else to view
on Easter Island, as we call it now.
It's sad, but…
(Chorus)
VERSE
Well, we share this Earth with many species;
they have rights as well as you and I.
But we keep destroying their habitat,
and without it they will surely die.
And as our numbers grow, and cities overflow,
there's a steady loss of natural lands.
As more and more gets paved, and less and less gets saved,
I can't believe the future's in good hands.
But like I said…
(Chorus)
VERSE
Well, I used to think we should reform education,
teach ecology to everyone,
pass responsible laws to cut the population,
and keep working 'til the job is done.
I used to think the Earth should be the main concern
of every man and woman, boy and girl.
But why should they care? Why should they learn?
What's at stake? Well, maybe the world.
But we've decided…
(Chorus--repeated as many times as desired)
"My Gal Sal" in the Words of Joe the Bartender
My version of "My Gal Sal" was inspired by--and incorporates--two song-fragments, totaling twenty-five words, that
were performed by Jackie Gleason on television in the 1960's. Gleason borrowed those fragments from a song, now in
public domain, written and published by Paul Dresser in 1905. I have added sixty lines totaling about 500 words. My
lyric bears no resemblance to Dresser's and was written without prior knowledge of it other than the fragments Gleason
sang to tens of millions of viewers over a period of several years. A few months after I wrote my version of "My Gal Sal,"
I performed about half of it in public. See my comments below for a discussion of that performance and the "mixed
reviews" it received.
I was driving to work one morning in March of 1992, singing to myself because my car radio was broken. I listen only
to classical music on the radio, but I can't do justice to any classical vocal music, so I was singing what I can sing. During
my private concert of old country, blues, and pop tunes, I somehow started thinking about Jackie Gleason. I recalled the
song fragments he always sang at the beginning and the end of the recurring skit "Joe the Bartender" on his TV variety
show "American Scene Magazine" in the 1960's. At the beginning he sang, "They called her Frivolous Sal,/A peculiar
sort of a gal." At the end he sang, "A wild sort of devil,/But dead on the level,/Was my gal Sal." It occurred to me, that
morning, that I had never heard any more of that song than the bits Gleason sang. I wondered what the rest of it was
like. How was Sal frivolous? Was there a double meaning in "dead on the level"? That old slang term meant "honest,
forthright, unpretentious," but I suspected that Sal was literally dead, presumably on a level surface, by the final verse.
Because Gleason was apparently fond of the song, and because he used it in connection with "Joe the Bartender" skits,
I figured it might be a drinking song. So, presumably, this Sal was known to take a drink. I also had a feeling that the
song originated in the late Nineteenth/early Twentieth Century New York Irish heyday that Gleason seemed to be
nostalgic about. Back then, presumably, most of the New York City policemen and politicians were of Irish descent, and
many of them drank a lot, even on duty and in public. I was also aware that drugs were a major problem in New York
City and other big American cities during that era. There was a song called "Cocaine Lil." Some liquors were less "pure,"
and more dangerous, than they are now. Gin was reputed to cause mental problems, and absinthe was known to do so.
(The U.S. outlawed the importation of absinthe in 1912, and France banned its production in 1915.) If our Sal was a drinker/
druggie of those times, she might well have behaved in ways that outwardly appeared "frivolous." She might have relied
on men, in various ways, to support her habits. An early death would be a predictable result of such a lifestyle.
Such were my speculations. And at some point I thought, hey, I'm a poet. I can write that song the way I think it should be,
regardless what the original is like. And after I write my version, I'll try to find the version Gleason knew, and I'll compare
it to mine. That should be fascinating.
I started working on it right then, and for about six weeks I worked on it while driving to and from work, never writing any
of it down, never telling anyone I was working on it. I developed a full melody from the tunes of the bits Gleason sang.
I finished the song in late April. (At that time, however, it did not have the four-line introduction referring to the garters,
nor did it have the three four-line passages I refer to in the last paragraph of this commentary.) In June, I sang it to a
friend who gave me a ride home from work one day when my car was in the repair shop. She was "bowled over" by it.
In August I sang it for my wife Pat on her birthday. She was "floored; incredibly impressed."
On September 9, the company Pat worked for at the time held a company picnic that included a talent show, and I
volunteered to sing my "My Gal Sal." While dressing for that occasion in a suitable "period costume"--black pants,
white shirt with overlong sleeves, garters keeping the sleeves pushed up at the tops--I could only find one of the two
black garters I thought I had in my underwear drawer (for costume purposes only, you understand). I found a green
one with a large cloth badge reading "Kiss me, I'm Irish," which might have been somewhat appropriate, but I decided
to look in one of Pat's drawers. There I found a red one. I put it on the other sleeve and went to show Pat, who didn't
think it looked appropriate. "Why a red one?" she asked. I went back to the bedroom with "Why a red one?" echoing
in my mind. I tried to think of a way to justify it, and inspiration struck. Within a minute I had created an introductory
verse to explain that "the red one belonged once to someone I knew..." I sang it for Pat, and she liked it.
The talent show was held in a large restaurant/bar, with a stage, at a country club. There were at least two hundred
people there. Pat put finishing touches on my appearance by parting my hair in the middle and painting a handlebar
moustache on me with an eyebrow pencil.
I was the fifth or sixth contestant, and four or five more were waiting to perform--a fact that I wish I had considered.
My performance went fairly well after a nervous start. The audience seemed attentive, but at the end of the second
twelve-line stanza they mistook the transitional cadence for a closing cadence, and they applauded. From the back
of the big room--from a guy I would soon meet--came three hearty BRAVOs!
If I had bowed then and left the stage, I might have placed in the top three. But I was thinking "WOW, they like it so
far; wait until they hear the rest of it!" So I motioned for silence and began the next stanza. A couple of kids on the
floor in front of the stage started booing. Some murmuring started in the audience. The master of ceremonies came
out on stage and explained to me that time was limited and that others wanted to perform. But he suggested to the
audience that it should determine whether or not I would be allowed to finish the song. The yeses and noes seemed
about equal in number and volume, and the guy at the back of the room was yelling, "YES" and "LET HIM FINISH!"
But the emcee said, "The noes have it!" So I left the stage and joined Pat at a table.
I told her, "I need a beer; how about you?" She answered affirmatively, and I went to the bar at the back of the room.
"Great job!" said the BRAVO-shouter back there. "You were robbed," he said. I thanked him and took the beers to
the table. A few minutes later I realized how appropriate it was that he, of all the people there, had appreciated the
song and the performance so much and had voiced his support so vigorously. He was the bartender! (I didn't wonder
at the time if his name was Joe, so I didn't ask.)
The contest was won by an eight-year-old boy who performed a Michael Jackson-style song and dance. The kid was
very good and deserved first prize. Second and third prizes went--not necessarily respectively--to a father/daughter
team who did a sort of soft-shoe dance, and a teen-aged girl with a trainable singing voice.
About four weeks after the talent show, I called the Brook Mays music store and asked the clerk if sheet music was
available for a song called "My Gal Sal." He found it in a collection titled The Greatest Songs of 1890-1920. I bought
the book that evening. I learned that the original "My Gal Sal" was written by Paul Dresser, about whom I knew nothing
at the time. I noticed that the line "They called her Frivolous Sal" begins the chorus, not the first verse as I had always
assumed. At first reading, I thought Dresser's lyric was hack-written and overly sentimental. I still see such elements in
it, but I've also come to regard it as touchingly sweet and heartfelt.
I found some information about Paul Dresser at a library a few weeks later. He was quite a guy. He was the brother of
the novelist Theodore Dreiser. His father sent him to a seminary to become a priest. He ran away from the seminary
and joined a minstrel show. After a few years in show business he changed his name to Dresser, claiming that it would be
more easily remembered by audiences than "Dreiser." (His growing obsession with dressing in high-toned style probably
influenced his choice of a new surname.) The success of a few of his songs prompted a career change from performing to
songwriting and, later, song publishing. He made a fortune as a songwriter/song publisher in New York City in the 1890's
and lost it all by 1905. One of his best-known songs, "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away," became the state song of
his home state, Indiana. He wrote "My Gal Sal" in 1905 as a belated tribute to his deceased former mistress, a brothel
owner named Sally Walker (no relation to me, I'm fairly sure). It was apparently the last song he published. (The last
one he wrote was "The Judgement Is At Hand.") Dresser's last business office was on New York's 28th Street, which
soon after acquired the nickname "Tin Pan Alley." Struggling to keep up appearances, he wore a high silk hat and a
frock coat to his office every day. He died broke in 1906, and "My Gal Sal" made a fortune for those who marketed it.
I have revised this song a few times over the years. In 2002 I inserted, into the last stanza, the four lines where Officer
Flynn takes Joe downstairs into the morgue. In late May 2008 I revised the introductory lines about the garters, and I
revised it again about three weeks later. During the fourth week of June 2008 I inserted the four-line passage beginning
"I hope you don't mind..." and the four-line passage beginning "But sometimes, when we'd share..." And on August 13, 2008,
I inserted the four lines beginning "And the days and the years..." Here is what I hope is the definitive version of the lyric:
"My Gal Sal" in the Words of Joe the Bartender
(Revised Version, June 2008)
Copyright 1992, 2008 by Hayes Walker.
Based on song fragments sung by
Jackie Gleason (fragments are
underlined at first appearance in text.)
On each shirtsleeve I'm sporting a garter
As I pour you a shot of Old Charter.
One garter is green, 'cause I'm Irish clean through,
and the red one I got from a girl I once knew…
They called her Frivolous Sal,
a peculiar sort of a gal.
The most lavish lush I have known in my time,
she would drink up a ten-spot as if 'twere a dime.
She would often go out on a spree,
especially if she was with me.
In a bar My Gal Sal was a certified wonder;
she'd stand on a table and drink ten men under.
She could hold more liquor, you see,
than the mayor, the police chief, and me!
A wild sort of devil, but dead on the level,
was My Gal Sal.
And after the drinkin' was done,
she and I would have even more fun.
Yes, I was in and out of her life, now and then,
though she was quite attracted to most other men.
I loved her and she enjoyed me,
but our future was not meant to be.
Fate parted her from me--by fate all are bound--
but there's still a part of me that wants her around.
Her affection for me was so dear
that I almost wish she were here.
A wild sort of devil, but dead on the level,
was My Gal Sal.
I hope you don't mind me a'ramblin' on.
With my old pals like Dunnaghy and Guggenheim gone,
I've been missing Sal so... Though she wasn't my wife,
she brought bright beams of joy to this bartender's life.
Yet there's a dark side to us all,
like a bruise that we get from a fall.
Sal had certain habits 'twere hell to abide;
I could not keep her from them howe'er hard I tried.
No, it wasn't the lovers she had,
for they didn't do her all bad.
The forces that rendered her nearly insane,
were absinthe and opium and gin and cocaine.
But sometimes, when we'd share time for two,
she was clear-headed, pleasing to view.
She'd breeze through my door, sayin' "Hi, Love, I'm here!"
I'd bring out some drinks, and she'd say, "Just one beer."
And the days and the years would go by,
and we'd laugh, and we'd wince, and we'd sigh,
with nothing to win and with nothing to lose,
and with love meaning less than the dope and the booze.
Then one evening, Officer Flynn
left my bar with a bottle of gin,
and on his way over to visit a pal,
in an alley he tripped over Frivolous Sal.
Flynn's the best cop that e'er walked a street,
and the best friend I have on the beat,
so next day he 'phoned me and said, "You old sot,
come down to (hic) headquarters, and see what WE'VE got!"
I was down at the station by three.
Flynn beckoned and said, "Follow me."
As he motioned me downstairs, he said, "Be my guest."
For a moment I feared I was under arrest.
In a long, chilly room lined with vaults in the wall,
he said, "Sorry, Joe. I didn't know who else to call."
And I felt like I'd tumble right off of my feet
when he pulled out a trundle and lifted a sheet.
And there lay a body as still as a stone,
and paler and colder than I'd ever known.
A…… wild sort of devil, but dead on the level,
Was My… Gal… Sal!
For the sake of comparison, here are the lyrics to the original "My Gal Sal" as Dresser published them in 1905:
Ev'rything is over and I'm feeling bad,
I lost the best pal that I ever had;
'Tis but a fortnight, since she was here,
Seems like she's gone though for twenty year.
Oh how I miss her, my old pal,
Oh how I'd kiss her, my gal Sal.
Face not so handsome, but eyes, don't you know,
That shone just as bright as they did years ago.
(Chorus) They called her Frivolous Sal,
A peculiar sort of a gal,
With a heart that was mellow,
An all 'round good fellow,
Was my old pal.
Your troubles, sorrows and care,
She was always willing to share.
A wild sort of devil,
But dead on the level,
Was My Gal Sal.
Brought her little dainties just afore she died,
Promised she would meet me, on the other side;
Told her how I loved her, she said: "I know, Jim,
Just do your best, leave the rest to Him."
Gently I pressed her to my breast,
Soon she would take her last long rest.
She looked at me and murmured "pal,"
And softly I whispered, "Goodbye, Sal."
(Chorus)
"Dinosaur School"
I wrote "Dinosaur School" in the summer of 1978, when Steve Martin's "King Tut" was still fairly current, and I
borrowed that song's rhythmic pattern. (Today's audiences might not make that connection--which is just fine, of
course. Some listeners might loosely compare it to rap.) I was working for a school supplies company then, and
one of our customers was Dinosaur School in Dinosaur, Colorado. I wrote most of the lyric the day I found out we
had a customer by that name. I revised it in 2002 and on June 15, 2008.
One of the characters mentioned in "Dinosaur School" is a saber-toothed tiger. I am aware that the saber-toothed
tiger did not exist in the Age of Dinosaurs, so I do not need to be lectured on this matter. "Dinosaur School" is an
amusing song, not a treatise on paleontology. Its prototype, "King Tut," does not stick to matters of fact, either.
DINOSAUR SCHOOL
(Revised version, 2008)
Copyright 2008 by Hayes Walker
(To be accompanied with music similar
to that of "King Tut" by Steve Martin.)
Now when I was a little kid
I was such a fool,
my mom and daddy sent me
to Dinosaur School.
(Dinosaur School) It didn't tax my brain,
(Dinosaur School) a'munchin' reeds and cane,
a'sloshin' through the swamp
where diplodo-cusses romp (in Dinosaur School).
My teacher's name was Dinah,
she weighed fifty tons or more.
She always used to warn us,
"Now, don't make Dinah sore!"
(Dinosaur School) She didn't give us grades.
(Dinosaur School) She ate the Everglades.
She really made a mess
on her competency test (in Dinosaur School).
That saber-toothed tiger,
he was makin' quite a fuss.
He's king of all the felines,
his name is Eddie-puss.
(Dinosaur School) You wouldn't want that kitty
(Dinosaur School) a'litterin' your city,
a'runnin' through your houses
a'munchin' giant mouses. (Dinosaur School.)
That flyin' pterodactyl,