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Il N'y A Pas De Quoi -- The New Single!

      IL N'Y A PAS DE QUOI
   CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER

Il N'y A Pas De Quoi*

snippet     full-length!
*(pronounced "Ill Knee Uh Pa Duh Kwa")

The primary season has barely begun
The field of candidates has been narrowed to one
All of the hopefuls have ended up broke
Which makes the election kind of a joke

Il n’y a pas de quoi
Don’t make no never mind
Il est tout sans souci
It’s no concern of mine
C’est toute la même chose
Nothing new under the sun
When all is said and done
A lot more gets said than done


Like a good citizen, I went to the polls.
I made sure to register so I’d be on the rolls.
They had a machine, but the instructions were bad.
They threw out my ballot ‘cause of somebody named Chad.

Il n’y a pas de quoi

“I never had sex with her,” did the President swear,
But later he admitted that he had the affair.
When asked why he lied, he said, “The thing of it is,
“It all depends on your definition of ‘is’.”

Il n’y a pas de quoi

Now, language is funny, and English is worse.
The things people say when they mean the reverse!
Like “I’ll be right with you,” and “I could care less,”
And what women say when they really mean “yes.”
[female voice-over: “WHAT?!!”]

Il n’y a pas de quoi

A very wise man once put this question to me:
“What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I replied.
I stopped caring the day Bobby Kennedy died.

Now Alfred E. Neumann’s publication is MAD.
“Mutually Assured Destruction” is MAD.
Mothers Against Drunk Driving are MADD.
Hatters and wet hens, even money is “mad.”

I know there’s a theme here, but I’m never too sure
Which one is sicker, the disease or the cure.
So don’t try to tell me how the world’s gonna end.
I’m too busy watching the finale of Friends.

Il n’y a pas de quoi

Lyrics and sound recordings © 2003 Douglas J. Westberg. All Rights Reserved. Any reproduction, retransmission, or performance without permission is a violation of copyright law.  Permission is granted for downloading and personal listening on the original user's personal computer or listening device.

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"Il N'y A Pas De Quoi" was originally inspired by the title expression which my flamboyent wife Carol tosses off from time to time.  It is virtually untranslatable literally, but colloquially it means "it's nothing," or as we might say, "no problem!"  I thought it would make a good song.

The next problem is what to write about.  This was back in March of 2004 and I was frustrated by the fact that John Kerry had all but locked up the Democratic nomination months before the Oregon primary.  (I actually live across the Columbia River in Vancouver, Washington, but spent most of my life in Portland.)  I began to think about other meaningless or inane exercises which because of human or technical foibles strain our faith in the democratic process.

The choice of Zydeco for the musical style was a natural one because many Cajun songs are partly or entirely in French.   This of course is no accident since the Cajuns were French Canadians who migrated to Louisiana.  I had great fun listening to Buckwheat Zydeco, Beausoleil, Wayne Toups and others to get the feel of the music.

("Cajun" is a compression of "Acadian," and Acadia is the original name of Nova Scotia.  When the French Acadians were evicted by the English in 1755 and migrated south, the area some of them settled in Louisiana became known as the Acadian Coast.)

This is my first bilingual song.  Each of the French phrases in the chorus is immediately translated, abeit loosely.  Il est tout sans souci literally means "It is all without concern," and C’est toute la même chose is "It's all the same thing".  My actual French training is limited to 3 weeks of summer camp, so if I've gotten the idiom wrong, I'd be interested in hearing about it.

My songwriting has recently taken a turn towards the topical.  The songwriting process for many of these often becomes an amazing learning exercise and intellectual journey.  The next song on the single, "Clear And Present Danger," is perhaps the most remarkable example of this.  After some soul-searching, I've decided that I have something to say, and I ought to say it.   I want to say something with my songs, not just write something catchy.

Clear and Present Danger

snippet        radio edit!        extended version!

He told me that his family name was Walker.
He said he used to be a Texas Ranger.
Now he runs a bed-and-breakfast north of Santa Cruz.
He cooks a wicked Hangtown Fry with just a touch of booze.
And if more booze goes into Walker than goes in the food,
It's just there’s still some part of him that hasn’t figured out he’s out of danger.

I met him in a cell in Kabul prison,
Glad to find an English-speaking stranger.
We’d recite the Prisoner of Zenda word for word.
I would be Prince Rudolf and he’d play Richard the Third.
And just when I thought nothing could be any more absurd,
He says Ronald Coleman’s version doesn’t stand up next to Stewart Granger’s.

He told me that his middle name was Walker.
He said he used to own the Texas Rangers.
Now he runs the greatest country God has ever made.
Conquers ancient Babylon like he’s Alexander the Great,
Guaranteeing cheap gasoline to fuel his motorcade,
While Basra girls walk miles to fill their jugs, with Claymore mines a constant danger.

I told him we should bust out of this rat hole,
And maybe meet up with an Army Ranger:
“Take a look, these steel bars are rusted through and through.”
He said, “I’d rather stay here if it’s all the same to you.
I’ve come to see my country from an Arab’s point of view:
Squatting in the Cradle of Civilization like a mongrel in a manger.”

He told me that his middle name was Walker.
I turned him in when we were out of danger.
I told them of his treason on the wrong side of the war.
I would have done it even if there had been no reward.
We are trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored,
And loyalty’s a paltry price to pay when there’s a clear and present danger.

 

Lyrics and sound recordings © 2003 Douglas J. Westberg. All Rights Reserved. Any reproduction, retransmission, or performance without permission is a violation of copyright law.  Permission is granted for downloading and personal listening on the original user's personal computer or listening device.

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This song began with the lines, "He told me that his family name was Walker/He said he used to be a Texas Ranger...He told me that his middle name was Walker/He said he used to own the Texas Rangers," referring of course to fictional Cordell Walker and President George Walker Bush.   I thought it was a cool coincidence and a great idea for a song.  That the middle name of the unfortunate soul alluded to in the fourth and fifth verses* also happened to be Walker was an astonishing piece of serendipity and gives the song a marvelous symmetry.

*[John Walker Lindh]   BBC America 1/24/02   

As I said above, many of my songs have become wonderful learning exercises.  The research for this song involved, for one thing, a survey of notorious prisons around the world as I strove to complete the line, "I met him in a cell in _____ prison."  (The song could have ended up being set in Cambodia!)

The line came to me, "We'd recite The Prisoner Of Zenda word for word."  A cute and apt reference, I hoped.  As I researched the book and the movie (there are at least 3 versions) I was astonished to find that, fortuitously, the star of one of the versions gave me another rhyme with "ranger," a rhyme which I ended up carrying through the entire song.

There is a certain ambiguity, which I am loathe to resolve, about the political stance of the lyric as well as who the "he" of the song is.   Is "he" one person or several?  This was the subject of hot debate among my school-age daughters as I wrote this song.  Is the writer being literal or ironic?  Remember that the narrator of the lyric is not necessarily the same person as the writer and does not necessarily share the same world-view.  Steely Dan's Donald Fagen loves to pose as a beautiful loser ("What A Shame About Me," "Bad Sneakers," "Deacon Blues") but the guy himself is undoubtedly a millionaire.

In my research, I learned that ancient Babylon stood just a few miles from present-day Baghdad, and that Alexander the Great conquered it in 331 B.C.  I tentatively had "While Basra girls walk miles to fill their gourds..." and had a bit of a challenge checking the accuracy of that.  I was remembering the story of the water plant at Basra being knocked out in the early stages of the invasion of Iraq and the women having to walk to a well 3 miles out of town to fetch water.  I finally found a story that reported the women and children were fetching water in old plastic milk jugs and gasoline cans.

I remembered the next-to-last line of the song, a reference of course to the "Battle Hymn of the Republic", after I had the song almost completely written, and the way the line scanned and fit seamlessly into the structure of the lyric, to say nothing of the wondrous irony with which it resonates with the rest of the song, was another remarkable piece of serendipity.

 

Phrenology

YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO IT ALONE
IF I EVER FELL IN LOVE
YOU'RE ALL THE WOMAN I NEED
BEHIND BY A MOVE
CYBER-PAL
HE WANTS TO BE A ROCK 'N ROLL STAR
I MAKE THE LIVIN' (AND SHE MAKES THE LIVIN' FINE)
I BELIEVE IN YOU
ONLY ONE GOD
STAY WITH ME


You Don't Have To Go It Alone      listen

Once I was a shell
Locked in my own hell.
You saw the promise 'neath the pain.
Took it on yourself
To love me back to health,
And taught me how to live again.

Now's the time for you to lean on me.
You don't have to be the strong one.
Now we'll find if love's a two-way street,
If we're in it for the long run.
Let me show how grateful I can be.
Let me make your cares my own.
Don't you know you can come to me.
Baby, you don't have to go it alone.

I can only guess
The depth of your distress
And what you're feeling deep inside.
But if you keep it in
I know you'll never win.
My shoulder's here so you can cry.

Now's the time...

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If I Ever Fell In Love      listen

If I ever fell in love,
fell in love with you,
I was trying to fall out of
love before you knew.
If I fell in love I'm sure
I was loving me,
The me the girl I thought you were
made me want to be.

A sketch never drawn,
A seed never sown,
A shadow I longed to own.

Everything I heard you say
sparkled brilliantly
'Til you said there was no place
in your life for me.
I was just about to write,
write those words to you.
I was waiting for the right
time to break the news.

You can't break apart
A love never born
So don't think my heart is torn.

You can't break up with me
I'm breaking up with you instead.
Isn't it plain to see
I've already given it up for dead.
It never meant anything
I take back everything I said.
The love you thought I thought we had musta been all inside your head.

When I told you I love you,
you misunderstood.
I meant this could turn into,
into something good.
When I smiled and took your hand,
gazed into your eyes,
You were s'posed to understand
it was all a lie.

A dance you should know,
A game people play.
Now why don't you go away?

You can't break up with me...

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You're All The Woman I Need      snippet       full-length!

I want a woman I can wrap my arms around
I want a girl who bites off more than she can chew
I don't need some waify type
whose taste for love and life
consists of Perrier and rabbit food

I like my ladyfriends the way I like my cars
Big and beautiful and hot beneath the hood
I don't need no pencil-neck
my taste is reubenesque
and boy I think I'm onto something good

You're all the woman I need
Nothing but the finest will do
I want all the living that this world has got to give
And I need all the woman in you

I want a broad who's not afraid to go for broke
I want a dame that Humphrey Bogart would admire
Don't be playing hard to get
I don't need no coquette
I want someone to set my heart on fire
I need a chick who wants to raise a little Cain
Who doesn't have to be in bed by nine or ten
Humor my addictiveness
and love me to excess
and after that we'll do it all again

You're all the woman I need...

My love for you goes on forever like your skin
I want to kiss it 'til my lips touch every pore
I just want a hedonist
to show me what I missed
before I learned to be a carnivore
It's such a drag to lose your lover in the sheets
The more there is of you the more I can adore
I don't need no bony hips
or mousy little lips
What do you think God made love handles for?

You're all the woman I need...

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Behind By A Move      listen

You ask of me who I might be,
As if there were only one me.
Now that's quite the question
When I'm still digesting
The fact that you're talking to me.

My past is a bad memory.
I'm so glad you weren't there to see
That I've just come from hell
And I know it too well
And you sure look like heaven to me.

Well, I'm losing my cool
And I'm trying not to drool,
As I stand on this stage all alone
And I pray through my mask
Is it too much too ask
That this world throw this poor dog a bone?

You're the first girl I've met since my fall
Who could possibly matter at all.
And it's hell trying to make you
While struggling to shake off
This impulse to get down and crawl.

But this pain, don't I know it,
Has made me a poet
And I'm sure I could get next to you.
But I'm feeling so lame
Playing this strange waiting game
Like a chess player behind by a move.

So I'm forced to let you talk away
While I try to make suave repartée.
And when hit with a query
I say something cheery
Implying that there's far more to say.
And so I will wait
'Til I've insinuated
Myself into your life one day.

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Cyber Pal      listen

You're my cyber-pal.
You're so virtu-al.
I can't feel you near,
Whisper in your ear,
But I can surf your site
Oh so late at night.
And if I'm polite,
You'll Instant Message what I want to hear.

You're my typeface girl.
Yeah we're livin' in a screen-font world.
Everything's computer enhanced.
Faces melt and babies dance.
Who knows what is real?
All I know is what I feel.
I'm in love with my E-mail female.

I can pleasure you
with my CPU.
Electronic Mail--
that's my Holy Grail.
Chat rooms are the place
to cruise in cyber-space.
Typing's no disgrace.
Oh yes I'm surfin' for some cyber-tail.

You're my typeface girl...

Love on-line:
You don't have to be deficient.
You're so fine--
If you say so, that's sufficient.
In real time
Love is just so inefficient.
Virtual reality is good enough for me.

I can't see your face,
or feel your fond embrace.
You're my cyber-pet,
somewhere on the Internet.
It's the place to be.
Act out your fantasy.
But if you think it's real,
Remember, What You See Is What You Get.

You're my typeface girl..

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He Wants To Be A Rock 'N Roll Star      snippet      full-length!

Well, will you look at the kid singing at the piano,
Like he thinks it's the Met, and he's the soprano.
A drunk in the back is yelling "Change the channel!"
And he's the only other one in the bar.

Now he says he just came here direct from Las Vegas,
Then he belts out a B-side off of Dylan's "Back Pages."
I think he'd rather do Elton, but he can't handle the changes,
And he wants to be a rock 'n roll star.

Yes, he wants to make it big, don't you know,
And he thinks he's putting on quite a show.
Well, I've got my doubts, but what do I know?
But he sure as hell has got himself a long way to go from here.

Now he's telling a joke from Parade magazine,
And the drunk in the back is yelling "Shut up and sing!"
So he uses a comeback borrowed from Alan King,
And the drunk just cusses through his cigar.

Now here's an original, and he says that he wrote it
On top of a mountain, as if that makes him a poet,
And he's stolen the tune, but I don't think he knows it,
And he wants to be a rock 'n roll star.

Now he says he's gonna take a break,
As if I would've stood in his way.
All I wanted was a beer and a steak,
And now my poor head is beginning to ache like hell.

Now he tells me I look like Carlos Santana
And he asks for a tip so he can go to Atlanta.
So I give him a sawbuck, and he acts like I'm Santa
'Cause he hasn't got any gas in his car.

Now I ask him how he can live just on tips,
And he says he does dishes at a joint on the Strip,
But he reassures me it's just a temporary trip,
'Cause he wants to be a rock 'n roll star.

Well, I guess we're all entitled to dream.
Everybody wants to grab the brass ring.
Myself, I work in a factory,
And I hope to be the foreman when I'm fifty-three or so.

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I Make The Livin' (And She Makes The Livin' Fine)       listen

My little woman never done a lick of work in her life.
My friends wonder how I put up with such a no-'count wife.
Well, I've got an answer that stops 'em in their tracks every time.
I say "I make the livin' but she makes the livin' fine."

Yes, I make the livin' and she makes the livin' fine.
Yes, I make the bread but she is the fruit of the vine.
When I get weary and I need some help,
I stop for a minute and I say to myself,
"I make the livin' but she makes the livin' fine."

My little woman, all she ever wanna do is dance.
If I let her in the kitchen I'd be takin' my life in my hands.
But if I go hungry, I sure go hungry in style,
'Cause I make the livin' but she makes the livin' worthwhile.

I make the livin’…

My little woman thinks the bathroom is her personal space.
It takes her an hour and a half just to put on her face.
But if I have to go use the gas station I don't mind,
'Cause I make the livin' but she makes the livin' fine.

I make the livin’…

My little woman never saw a store that she didn't like.
She spends my money like the world's gonna end tonight.
But if I have to go to the poorhouse, I'll go with a smile.
'Cause I make the livin' but she makes the livin' worthwhile.

I make the livin’…

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I Believe In You      listen

This guy comes up to me with a pamphlet in his hand,
And he asks me with a grin if I believe in the Man.
And I tell him I'm afraid we don't talk much anymore
Since the ex took my money, the house and the kids and kicked me
out the door.

But I believe in you. You're there when I need you.
I can put my arms around you, I don't have to be righteous.
I don't have to be holy to tell you I love you.
Your flesh is my religion and this love song is my creed.

These days it's hard to know what to believe
When even the president has tricks up his sleeve
Like having a fling with a young employee,
Then distracting his critics by bombing some little country
to smithereens.

But I believe in you. You're there when I need you.
I can put my arms around you, I don't have to be cynical.
I don't have to be jaded to tell you I love you.
Your skin is my country--God shed his grace on thee.

The church I grew up in is buying off children,
And shuffling its black sheep to backwater churches,
And pastors with AIDS they contracted from strangers
Preach on commitment and marriage and family values
on my TV.

But I believe in you. You're there when I need you.
You do what you say and you say what you do.
And God knows I'm not lying when I tell you I love you.
Your lips are my altar and baby, I'm your sheep.

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Only One God      listen

He didn't intend to,
It was one of those things
He picked up from the way he was raised.
He's mellower now,
There's no point, pointing fingers,
But where do you go with the pain?

Who do you go to when you're feeling so odd,
Like the only one this happened to?
Who do you go to when there's only one God,
And that God let this happen to you?

You carry the scars.
They're your own Vietnam.
The hurt never will go away.
You cover yourself
Like the Elephant Man,
But it doesn't diminish the shame.

Who do you go to…

You don't ever smile,
You barely know how.
Your childhood was stolen from you.
The worst part is feeling
that you're guilty somehow
for making him do that to you.

Who do you go to…

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Stay With Me      listen

You're like gold
After forty-five years in the hills.
When I'm cold
Your smile drives away winter's chill.
Finding you
Was like spotting an uncharted star.
Angels laugh, willows weep, deserts bloom
Wherever you are.

Stay with me 'til the earth tumbles into the sun.
Stay with me 'til the last river ceases to run.
Stay with me 'til we've visited all of the stars.
Stay with me, be my love 'til we make the universe ours.

When you hold me,
It's like sunlight on a field of snow.
You enfold me
Like I'm wrapped up in swaddling clothes.
When we kiss,
No ambrosia was ever so sweet.
Willows laugh, angels weep, flowers sing,
Whenever we meet.

Stay with me...

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Lyrics and sound recordings © 1998-2002 Douglas J. Westberg. All Rights Reserved. Any reproduction, retransmission, or performance without permission is a violation of copyright law.  Permission is granted for downloading and personal listening on the original user's personal computer or listening device.