A laggard tropical storm knocked some once-mighty trees clean over.
The first fell on his car. Crunch.
The second scalped the shingles and insulation right off the roof above the bedroom.
The power lines snapped. And that was just DAY ONE.
A few days later his truck engine wouldn’t turn over.
His washer machine broke in the middle of a load.
(Christian is my brother-in-law, by the way.)
“Please write a song called Trees, Trucks, and Appliances," he wrote to me. "I won't mind if it's heavy metal-ish and you just scream the whole time. No words needed, just scream."
I actually accepted the challenge. Sorta.
Trees, Trucks, and Appliances has the ring of a lonesome Country ballad, right?
I wrote a song called “Margarette" instead.
I think it’s my only song featuring steel drums, kalimba, and prepared-guitar (which just means I stuck crumpled paper between the strings to make them clack and buzz in funny ways).
And of course it’s not really about Christian. I just poached the details from his hellish week.
WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED?
I like to write story songs. That usually means there’s a middle and there's an end. Or at least a middle and… a little further down the road.
But part of what I like in other people’s songwriting are the gaps in the story.
So for “Margarette” I left spaces for you.
What do you think is wrong with these people? What are his motivations? Are they cautiously rekindling a marriage? Did they lose someone? Did his ambition build a wall between them?
I have a vague idea, but it’s really only that.
The one thing I tried to make clear is that there can be a bit of heroism in giving up on dreams that no longer serve you. That, and if a tree knocks your roof off, you’ll at least have a year’s worth of firewood.
lyrics
Margarette comes by
every Friday and I
cook up here favorite meal
Pour some 80-proof
shots of Grey Goose
to loosen the things we feel
And I suppose
that dreams are like those
storms that could uproot a tree
Leaves ya staring
up in the air
at cloud where your roof used to be
Or maybe a storm
breaks what it should
Maybe those limbs
were bound to give in
Some winds, they just won't be withstood
When you're livin'
to be forgiven
Margarette, I wish that you would
Margarette and I
we try and we try
like a tired old washing machine
that won't give in
though it's full to the brim
with shirts that will never get clean
And I suppose
some dreams are like clothes
you wear for a while, then discard
But I refuse
to trade in or lose
love just 'cause love gets hard
Or maybe a fire
just needs wood
Maybe we know
it's burning so low
Even the bad wood looks good
When you're livin'
to be forgiven
Margarette, I wish that you would
(Repeat Choruses)
Margarette comes by
every Friday and I
swear we ain't spinning our wheels
I put some wood in the stove
and we talk till it's cold
'cause it feels like it helps us dea
"Chris Robley is at the top of his game with his new work." - KCRW
Maine-based
singer/songwriter and award-winning poet Chris Robley (formerly from Portland, Oregon) performs orchestral indie-pop and fractured folk reminiscent of John Lennon, John Vanderslice, Harry Nilsson, and Joe Henry.
His poetry has appeared in POETRY Magazine, Prairie Schooner, and many other journals....more
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