Track 1: Muses Nine
For this song, the concept came first. I wanted to write a long-overdue “Thank You” to the Muses, in which, for the record, I believe in. The song was not forthcoming, but I was in no hurry. I knew the song would show up. It’s kinda funny how it did. I had a delightful solo gig at Never Ending Books in New Haven, Connecticut, for which I was nicely smashed on weed. With today’s weed, it doesn’t take much. Mid-set, I blurted out, “The Muses Nine are mighty fine,” and promptly forgot I had done so. I only remembered because Eleanor Polak mentioned it in her most kind review of the show. So, I dedicate this song to her. Upon remembering that line, the song just about wrote itself.
I also want to acknowledge that I wrote this song, and all the others herein, except the vintage jingles, high on weed. A few decades ago, I was talking to Robin Remaily, a friend for over sixty years, and he referred to weed as an ally. I thought, “Me, too.” It sure makes playing music way more fun, and has inspired many songs, although for the record, a number of my best songs were written during my drug and alcohol-free period, from 1988 to 2000, and my daughter, Lily, says although I have more fun, weed does not enhance my performances. Anyway, I feel that not openly expressing thanks and gratitude to ganja, which is my personal favorite name for weed, is hypocritical, dishonest, and unkind, even churlish.
The Muses Nine are mighty fine
I wish they were my Valentines
So fine, so fine, Muses Nine
I’m sending each a Valentine
Track 2: Maximum Love
For this one I must thank, besides ganja, one of my Facebook “friends”. On several occasions I’ve been unable to find information on Google or Wiki, and I’ve turned to said “friends”, always getting a great answer almost immediately. In this case, I was, during early Covid in 2020, making another attempt in my decades-long effort to get a handle on meditation. Someone suggested a short book, offered free by a group that lives in a monastery. They said this was the best meditation instructions they had come across. The book is called With Each & Every Breath: A Guide to Meditation. For a copy, write to The Abbot Metta Forest Monastery, PO Box 1409, Valley Center, CA, 92082, USA. I read only the beginning, and did not follow through in my effort (somewhat typical for me), but those instructions were clearly the most lucid, detailed and sensible that I’ve come across. Which, finally, brings me to this song. The instructions said the best prep for meditation was to start by expressing heartfelt love to the universe. Hmmm, I thought, I really like that. How can I frame that as hard as I can? Hell, as hard as is humanly possible while I’m at it? Any job worth doing is worth doing well, and this was a particularly noble endeavor. In all deepest humility, I think I nailed the fuck out of it:
Love to every single atom, and sentient being that exists
Love to every single atom, and sentient being that exists
Love to every single atom, and sentient being that exists, and ever did, or will
Love to every single atom, and sentient being that exists
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