Later, in bed, Jennifer was glad to have spent another of her life's evenings with her sister, in merry ritual. But that longing to go out, to do something, did not leave her.
I don't have the guts to get dressed again and go out...
So as a substitute for action, she took her walkman, inserted the little earphones into her ears, and turned on radio.
Hectic music, very loud, pierced her eardrums. She turned the dial. Somebody talking about a painting. She turned it again. An old record playing, sounding like music from the thirties or forties. A woman singing:
Swinging at the séance,
black coats.
Swinging at the séance,
blue notes.
A jazzy, merry, tune. She smiled and listened on. She heard people cheering, which meant it was a live recording. Very moody, it was, and so Jennifer was hooked. Too quickly, with a big chaboom, the tune ended. Almost right away, something very fast started playing. Another jazzy tune, frenzied, with a gypsy kind of sound. She forced herself to listen to it, to grasp its angry meaning. It was a short piece, so she got through it all. Then another one started, this one with lots of drums, sounding very contemporary, despite the saxophone. She didn't like that one, but she wanted to know the name of that first tune, the "séance" one, so she didn't turn the dial, hoping the DJ was going to talk soon.
She almost fell asleep, but right then another swinging song started. Sounding a little like the first one, probably dating from the same period, this time it was a man singing.
Got the jitters, got the jitters...
The kind of lyrics that you would expect to be gloomy, but the way he sang it, it was fun. She was tapping her fingers on her belly. Her eyes closed, she got flashes of these women, with the weird hats, dancing the Charleston.
The song ended, and yet another one started, this time with a cartoony, spooky laugh, and a woman's scream. Then a whistle, some sirens, a bassoon. You could just see the cartoon evolving in your mind.
There's a man of mystery that's roaming through the land.
Far and near you hear of him, he's found on every hand.
Every city, town, and village knows of him by now,
There's a way to recognize him, let me tell you how.
Now if your path at midnight dark by a graveyard goes,
and someone whistles [big whistling sound]
that's Mysterious Mose!
Or on some dark and stormy night while the tempest blows,
if someone whistles [big whistling sound]
that's Mysterious Mose!
He sees all, knows all, he's just been everywhere;
Some night, he might wait for you upon the stairs!
So when you're going down the cellar, walk upon your toes,
and if someone whistles [again]
that's Mysterious Mose!
Now a funny-sound solo. Almost like a Bugs Bunny episode. She liked that, being told a story.
Wakes from the sleep by the peep-peep-peep
of a flute from down below.
If someone whistles
that's Mysterious Mose!
Now if at dawn of an early morn
a trumpet softly blows,
if someone whistles,
that's Mysterious Mose!
He sees all, knows all,
perhaps a clarinet.
Or a bass horn, or anything that he can get.
He plays on every instrument,
but there's just one tune he knows.
When someone whistles
that's Mysterious Mose!
A catchy tune, one that she would even dance to.
Then it ended, and finally the DJ spoke.
"That'll do, that's enough fright for the night. Except more coming. Oh some grand old big band and swinging Halloween material. 'Mysterious Mose', done by a generically named 'Radio All-Star Novelty Orchestra', from the later thirties."
Wow, what a great time the thirties must have been. It must have been a fun time to listen to the radio.
The DJ went on explaining the other titles that he had played. One had been called "Square dance for eight Egyptians Mommies". Then he named the ones that he would be playing next. About the first one, he said: "This is a version of a song, and this is true, a song that was so effective in the earlier part of the century, say the thirties and forties, that it caused people to actually take their own lives. This is the truth. This is a version of it, and I suggest that you just ignore the scary aspect of it, and appreciate the tonal quality".
It started. A somber piano melody, with a woman's voice, but so low, so broken, beautiful somehow.
Sadly one Sunday
I waited and waited.
With flowers in my arms
all the [something Jennifer didn't get] has created
I waited 'til dreams,
like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead
And the words were unspoken
The grief that I knew
Was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart
Was a bell that was tolling.
Saddest of Sundays.
Then came a Sunday
When you came to find me.
They bore me to church
and I left you behind me
My eyes could not see
What I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers
Are forever above me
The bell tolled for me
And the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved
And I'll bless you forever
Last of all Sundays.
And again that piano, sounding somewhat like Chopin's drenched rain-music.
And then, contrast of all contrasts, a funny drum-beating, some banjo-playing, a dirty blues. A dry voice singing, she imagined an old black man, smiling. A nice man telling a frightening tale.
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
The trees are bending over
the cows are lying down
the autumn's taking over
you can hear the Buckshot hounds
the watchman said to Reba the loon
Was it pale at Manzanita
Or Blind Bob the 'coon?
Pin it on a drifter
they sleep beneath the bridge
one plays the violin,
and sleeps inside a fridge
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Someone's crying in the woods
someone's burying all his clothes
Now Slam the Crank from Wheezer
slept outside last night and froze
Road kill has its seasons
just like anything.
it’s possums in the autumn
and it’s farm cats in the spring
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Now Thou Shalt Not Coveth Thy Neighbour's house
Or Coveth Thy Neighbour's wife
but for some murder is the only door thru which they enter life
Now they surrounded the house
they smoked him out
took him off in chains
the sky turned black and bruised
and we had months of heavy rains
Now the ravens nest in the rotted roof
of Chenoweth's old place
and no one's asking Cal
about that scar upon his face
'cause there's nothing strange
about an axe with blood-stains in the barn
there's always some killing
you got to do around the farm
A murder in the red barn,
murder in the red barn
Now the woods will never tell
what sleeps beneath the trees
or what's buried 'neath a rock
or hiding in the leaves
'cause road kill has it's season just like anything
it's possums in the autumn
and it's farm-cats in the spring
A murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Now a lady can't do nothing
without folks tongues waggin'
is that blood on the tree
or is it autumn's red blaze
When the ground's soft for diggin'
and the rain will bring all this gloom
there's nothing wrong with a lady
drinking alone in her room
But there was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn.
Now that had been scary, but she had liked it, better than all the rest. A story, what she liked best. She hadn't heard everything correctly because of the accent, but she had heard enough to understand the feelings, and she wanted to hear more.
But the DJ came back on, and again named the tune he had just played. Jennifer learned that the Murder in the Red Barn piece was by Tom Waits; she had never heard of him, but she promised herself to remember it and to try to find that song and others by him.
The DJ then announced that he would end the show with a reading of "The Cask of Amontillado", by Edgar Allan Poe, a story about a man taking vengeance upon another.
She was happy, she listened intently, but sleep overcame her, just as the narrator (and murderer) was trapping the other one in the catacombs.
I don't have the guts to get dressed again and go out...
So as a substitute for action, she took her walkman, inserted the little earphones into her ears, and turned on radio.
Hectic music, very loud, pierced her eardrums. She turned the dial. Somebody talking about a painting. She turned it again. An old record playing, sounding like music from the thirties or forties. A woman singing:
Swinging at the séance,
black coats.
Swinging at the séance,
blue notes.
A jazzy, merry, tune. She smiled and listened on. She heard people cheering, which meant it was a live recording. Very moody, it was, and so Jennifer was hooked. Too quickly, with a big chaboom, the tune ended. Almost right away, something very fast started playing. Another jazzy tune, frenzied, with a gypsy kind of sound. She forced herself to listen to it, to grasp its angry meaning. It was a short piece, so she got through it all. Then another one started, this one with lots of drums, sounding very contemporary, despite the saxophone. She didn't like that one, but she wanted to know the name of that first tune, the "séance" one, so she didn't turn the dial, hoping the DJ was going to talk soon.
She almost fell asleep, but right then another swinging song started. Sounding a little like the first one, probably dating from the same period, this time it was a man singing.
Got the jitters, got the jitters...
The kind of lyrics that you would expect to be gloomy, but the way he sang it, it was fun. She was tapping her fingers on her belly. Her eyes closed, she got flashes of these women, with the weird hats, dancing the Charleston.
The song ended, and yet another one started, this time with a cartoony, spooky laugh, and a woman's scream. Then a whistle, some sirens, a bassoon. You could just see the cartoon evolving in your mind.
There's a man of mystery that's roaming through the land.
Far and near you hear of him, he's found on every hand.
Every city, town, and village knows of him by now,
There's a way to recognize him, let me tell you how.
Now if your path at midnight dark by a graveyard goes,
and someone whistles [big whistling sound]
that's Mysterious Mose!
Or on some dark and stormy night while the tempest blows,
if someone whistles [big whistling sound]
that's Mysterious Mose!
He sees all, knows all, he's just been everywhere;
Some night, he might wait for you upon the stairs!
So when you're going down the cellar, walk upon your toes,
and if someone whistles [again]
that's Mysterious Mose!
Now a funny-sound solo. Almost like a Bugs Bunny episode. She liked that, being told a story.
Wakes from the sleep by the peep-peep-peep
of a flute from down below.
If someone whistles
that's Mysterious Mose!
Now if at dawn of an early morn
a trumpet softly blows,
if someone whistles,
that's Mysterious Mose!
He sees all, knows all,
perhaps a clarinet.
Or a bass horn, or anything that he can get.
He plays on every instrument,
but there's just one tune he knows.
When someone whistles
that's Mysterious Mose!
A catchy tune, one that she would even dance to.
Then it ended, and finally the DJ spoke.
"That'll do, that's enough fright for the night. Except more coming. Oh some grand old big band and swinging Halloween material. 'Mysterious Mose', done by a generically named 'Radio All-Star Novelty Orchestra', from the later thirties."
Wow, what a great time the thirties must have been. It must have been a fun time to listen to the radio.
The DJ went on explaining the other titles that he had played. One had been called "Square dance for eight Egyptians Mommies". Then he named the ones that he would be playing next. About the first one, he said: "This is a version of a song, and this is true, a song that was so effective in the earlier part of the century, say the thirties and forties, that it caused people to actually take their own lives. This is the truth. This is a version of it, and I suggest that you just ignore the scary aspect of it, and appreciate the tonal quality".
It started. A somber piano melody, with a woman's voice, but so low, so broken, beautiful somehow.
Sadly one Sunday
I waited and waited.
With flowers in my arms
all the [something Jennifer didn't get] has created
I waited 'til dreams,
like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead
And the words were unspoken
The grief that I knew
Was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart
Was a bell that was tolling.
Saddest of Sundays.
Then came a Sunday
When you came to find me.
They bore me to church
and I left you behind me
My eyes could not see
What I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers
Are forever above me
The bell tolled for me
And the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved
And I'll bless you forever
Last of all Sundays.
And again that piano, sounding somewhat like Chopin's drenched rain-music.
And then, contrast of all contrasts, a funny drum-beating, some banjo-playing, a dirty blues. A dry voice singing, she imagined an old black man, smiling. A nice man telling a frightening tale.
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
The trees are bending over
the cows are lying down
the autumn's taking over
you can hear the Buckshot hounds
the watchman said to Reba the loon
Was it pale at Manzanita
Or Blind Bob the 'coon?
Pin it on a drifter
they sleep beneath the bridge
one plays the violin,
and sleeps inside a fridge
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Someone's crying in the woods
someone's burying all his clothes
Now Slam the Crank from Wheezer
slept outside last night and froze
Road kill has its seasons
just like anything.
it’s possums in the autumn
and it’s farm cats in the spring
There was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Now Thou Shalt Not Coveth Thy Neighbour's house
Or Coveth Thy Neighbour's wife
but for some murder is the only door thru which they enter life
Now they surrounded the house
they smoked him out
took him off in chains
the sky turned black and bruised
and we had months of heavy rains
Now the ravens nest in the rotted roof
of Chenoweth's old place
and no one's asking Cal
about that scar upon his face
'cause there's nothing strange
about an axe with blood-stains in the barn
there's always some killing
you got to do around the farm
A murder in the red barn,
murder in the red barn
Now the woods will never tell
what sleeps beneath the trees
or what's buried 'neath a rock
or hiding in the leaves
'cause road kill has it's season just like anything
it's possums in the autumn
and it's farm-cats in the spring
A murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn
Now a lady can't do nothing
without folks tongues waggin'
is that blood on the tree
or is it autumn's red blaze
When the ground's soft for diggin'
and the rain will bring all this gloom
there's nothing wrong with a lady
drinking alone in her room
But there was a murder in the red barn
a murder in the red barn.
Now that had been scary, but she had liked it, better than all the rest. A story, what she liked best. She hadn't heard everything correctly because of the accent, but she had heard enough to understand the feelings, and she wanted to hear more.
But the DJ came back on, and again named the tune he had just played. Jennifer learned that the Murder in the Red Barn piece was by Tom Waits; she had never heard of him, but she promised herself to remember it and to try to find that song and others by him.
The DJ then announced that he would end the show with a reading of "The Cask of Amontillado", by Edgar Allan Poe, a story about a man taking vengeance upon another.
She was happy, she listened intently, but sleep overcame her, just as the narrator (and murderer) was trapping the other one in the catacombs.
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