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Book. 4. Shake A Bum!

January 10, 2011 Leave a comment

Book. 4. Shake A Bum!

Dear good people,

We are hard at work on the “Shake A Bum” video, it will be great fun for all when we are done. If you have a short (10-15 seconds)  of you and or your friends “Shaking yu Bum Bum” that you would like to send along for possible inclusion, send it along double ASAP to information@lilfishrecords.com and we will try to get it in.

In the meantime here is the album cover (Front and back) along with the full 8 minutes and 36 second “Shake A Bum” single AND the whole deliriouso lyric. Enjoy as you remember what it was/is to go “trampin’ doun de road”

Happy New Year To You! Love, Scott

Front Cover, Scott Fagan And The MAAC Island Band "Shake A Bum!"

"Ah sae tu Come Come Come!...Everybody Shake A Bum"

Back Cover, "Shake A Bum"

Back Cover, Scott Fagan And The MAAC Island Band "Shake A Bum"

SHAKE A BUM       Scott Fagan

  BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME COME \

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE

TIL YU BOTTY BREAK

HAVE YOUR FUN,

DO DE SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM

 

SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE

TIL YU BOTTY BREAK

COME COME COME

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

DON’T CARE WHAT KIND OF DANCE YOU DO THIS ONE’S FOR YOU YOU COULD DANCE HOW YOU WANT TO..WHEN YOU

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

WINE YU BOTTY FROM EAST TU WEST DO DE SHAKE A BUM YOU COULD JUS TRY TO DO YOUR BEST WHEN YOU

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

OHHH BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM, AH SAY TO COME COME COME EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM BUM

BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM AH SAY TO COME COME COME EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

RECITATION

NOW WE GON SLO IT DOWN JES A LIL BIT LIKE JERRY LEE AN DEM BOY DO DOWN IN MEMPHIS, DOWN IN MISISIPPI, GOT A LOTTA GOOD FOLKS DOIN A LOTTA GOOD BUM SHAKIN DOWN THERE DOWN IN HA’SBURG, DOWN IN PICYUNE, DOWN IN NAW’LINS

GOT A WHOLE LOTTA BUM SHAKING GOIN ON DOWN IS LOUIEVILLE DOWN IN THE SWEET CAROLINAS THEY KNOW HOW TA SHAKE THAT THING

\AN ALL THEM FARMERS DAUGHTWERS OUT IN THE MIDWEST THEY JES STAY RIGHT HOME RIGHT WHERE THEY IS AN SHAKE THAT BUM BUM

 

THEY SURE CAN SOCK IM IN THE ROCKIES, IN COLORADO THEY, THEY KNOW HOW DA GO GO GO

AND OH DON’T TALK ABOUT THEM PEOPLE OUT IN CALIFORNIA WHEN THE WHOLE PLACE GOES SHAKE

SHAKE SHAKE AN EVEY BUM BUM IN IT

 

WHAT ABOUT THEM GIRLS DOWN IN TEXAS AN ALL OVER THE WILD WILD WEST (YEEHAW)

\THEM COW GIRLS AN THEM COW BOYS THEY KNOW HOW TO SHAKE A BUM

HEY AND WAY UP NORTH HOW DO YA THINK THEY KEEP EACH OTHER WARM ALL THROUGH THE LONG COLD NIGHT

 

AND WHAT ABOUT THE BOSTON BEAUTIES AND THE NEW YORK CHICANITAS AND THE CITY OF BROTHERLY AND SISTERLY LOVE

 

OH TALK ABOUT WARM AND LOVE, WHAT ABOUT MIAMI AND HAVANAH, Y LA CHICAS DE HISPANIOLA Y PUERTO RICO, AN AY AY AY OH MY, THE GIRLS OF THE VIRGIN ISLANDS? THAT’S WHERE I LEARNED THIS WHOLE SHAKE A BUM THING TO BEGIN WITH, AND ON DOWN THE CARIBEE TO RIO IF YOU PLEASE

OH OH SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE AH AH…WAIT WAITT

 

WHAT ABOUT THE GIRLS IN JOBURG, AND DOWN IN  ZANZIBAR AND TOKYO AND CHA CHA CHINA!

NO MPLACE IS TOO FAR,

WE’RE COMIN TO SEE YA

WE’RE COMIN TA SEE YA

LONDON DUBLIN BERLIN AND PAREE, WE’RE COMIN TO SEE WHAT WE CAN SEE

MOSCOW AND BERUIT WE’RE COMIN LOOKIN FOR THE TRUT

ALL AROUND, ALL AROUND, ALL AROUND THE WORLD, NORTH AND SOUTH AND EAST AND WEST, TO SEE WHO COULD SHAKE DEY BUM DE BEST!

 

AN DON’T THINK WE DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT THING IS FOR IT’S NOT FOR SITTING ON, IT’S FOR HUGGIN AND HOLDING AND TALKING TO AND SQUEEZIN AND LOVIN AND KISSIN AND SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE

TIL YOU BOTTY BREAK OHH HAVE YOUR FUN

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

INSTRUMENTAL FIGURE X 2

FIG 1 DO DE SHAKE A BUM FIG 2 EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME COME DO DE SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

DON’T CARE WHAT KIND OF DANCE YOU DO

THIS ONE’S FOR YOU,

YOU JUST DANCE HOW YOU WANT TO, 

DO THE SHAKE A BUM

WINE YOU BOTTY FROM EAST TO WEST

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

YOU GONNA JUS TRY TO DO YOUR BEST

 DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

OOHHH, BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME

EVERYBODY  SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM BUM

BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME EVERYBODY  SHAKE A BUM

 

FORGET ABOUT LIFES MISERY

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

YOU JUST DANCE AND BE HAPPY

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

FORGET ABOUT LIFES SORROWS,

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

I SAY THAT WE’LL CRY TOMORROW,

DO DE SHAKE A BUM

 

OHHH BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM BUM

BUM BUM BUM BUM BUM

SHAKE A SHAKE A BUM

AH SAY TO COME COME COME

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM

 

SHAKE A BUM,  SHAKE A BUM

SHAKE A BIDDY BIDDY BEE-UM BUM,

A BIDDY BIDDY BIDDY BIDDY BUM BUM

A BIDDY BUM BIDDY BUM  A BIDDY BIDDY  BUM BUM

EVERYBODY SHAKE A BUM BUM BUM!…

(To Purchase The CD Please Visit The Link Below)

 http://thecollectedworksofscottfagan.com/

Thank you!

Book 3. Merry Christmas All Over The World.

December 20, 2010 Leave a comment

Book 3. Merry Christmas All Over The World.

Christmas is a comin’ and this will be the last of  the “Sandy The Bluenosed Reindeer” Postings for this year. We will be releasing the Brand New “LIVE” CD Scott Fagan And The MAAC Island Band “Shake A Bum” on New Years Eve. It’s a good one and it’s kept me very very busy these past number of weeks. I’ll be posting  some mp3’s from the new album very soon.

I’d like to wish every one a most wonderful Christmas and the best New Year ever!

Here’s “Merry Christmas All Over The World” which expresses that sentiment in as many languages as I could find, including (among many others) Esperanto, Chinese, Hawaiian, Danish,  Arabic and Hebrew.

God Bless us each and every one!

Book 4. Encore, Granfaddah Buckra An De Bo’ Hog!

November 24, 2010 Leave a comment

Book 4. Encore, Granfaddah Buckra An De Bo’ Hog!

Next week, the Barnd new LIVE CD “Scott Fagan and The MAAC Island Band” Shake A Bum! will be coming out…in the meantime I’ve been asked to reprise the POSTING of Granfaddah Buckra An De Bo’ Hog. so.. Here it tis! The Buckra CD is available right now at www.thecollectedworksofscottfagan.com  imagine finding Granfaddah Buckra an De Bo’ Hog laying under your tree on Christmas Morning. Good Lord! Double Good Lord!

Book 4. Encore, Granfaddah Buckra An De Bo’ Hog!

Well… now it happen so dat Granhaddah Buckra had de biggest, de schupides, de ugliest, de stinkis, de noisiest and de nastyiest Bo Hog  anybody had evah seen..

de Buckra liked to call him King George, and he loved dat Bo Hog like a Bruddah.

One day de neighbor dem come sae…,

“Buckra, you know Black people is good people, an de don mine if yu wan tu live wid dem an roun dem an side a dem oh undah neet a dem oh on top a dem or all in de middle an in between a dem  excepin’ when dat big  stinkin ugly’ bo’ hog of yours own “dat yu likes tu call King George”, du knock doun he pig pen “dat yu likes tu call he Castle of King George” an wha yu set up right in de middle a de yad, dat yu likes tu call “de Kingdom of King George” when dat Bo’ hog come  rootin up in every body business all ovah de yad, an throwin’ doun de cloths line wid all de chirren dem clean clothes on it, an rootin’ up an rollin up in all de woman dem clean panty, rootin up and rollng ovah doung  in de dutty mud an stinkin’ up de place an oinkin up de place an squealin up de place like de las pig outta hell an  wakin’ up all de people dem in de yad which of late has  happen almos every  single  night a de week an twice on Sunday,

 An Buckra, like we say, yu  kno black people is good people an we don mine, but Buckra,  Oh GOD Buckra,.we tink is time you should go live among yu own kine”..

 “Me own kine?” sae de Buckra, “me own kine? Wha kina kine yu tink is me own kine?”

 De boldest of de Neighbah dem sae “we have contemplated and conclude you should go live doun in Cha Cha tuun”,

 “Cha Cha toun?: Say de Buckra, “Cha Cha Toun?”

“Yes sah Buckra we have decided that you should go live  wid de res a dem Cha Cha doun in  Cha Cha toun”

 “Yu tink oy is a Cha cha? Yu tink oy is a Cha Cha?  Yu loy, yu loy! Yu don kno I is a white man? I ain no Cha Cha, yu Muddah is a Cha Cha!”

 No no! de uddah Neighbah say, no no not a Cha Cha, St. Thomas ain ga no Cha Cha no more, We doesn use that expression no more, she mean tu sae you should go live wid de res a dem doun Carenage..ers doun in Carenage..

 “Carenage? Carenage? Who yu callin a Carenage?  yu Muddah is aa Carenage!”

“No No Mistah Buckra, das de Frenchie dem way tu say  French Toun,”

 “French Toun? French Toun? Yu tink I should go live in French Toun?”

“Yes sah Mistah Buckra, Everybody in de yad say yu is  a Balahoo.. Das why yu should go livewid de res a de balahoo dem  doun in Cha Cha, ah mean French ah mean Carenage Toun!”

 Anuddah neibah pipe in

“Yes man yu keeian see how it is? Guana should live wid Guana, Mongoose should live wid Mongoose, Guava don grow onna Cenep Tree and yu should be wid de res a de Frenchie, Doun in Frenchie Toun”

 De Buckra hot now, he say “Guana? Guana? Who yu callin a Guana? Yu muddah is a Guana!”

“Not a Guana}, de neighbah sae, “not a Guana, yu is a Frenchie”.

 “Oy? Oy? You schupid oh sumting? Yu damn forward  AN schupiddy Oy ain no Frenchie,  Oy Is a white man yu talking to… Any body cou see I is a white man,.. wha wrang wid yu, anybody cou see Buckra De Paehae is a white man!”

 “Buckra”, (say de very darkest a de neighbah dem)  “Buckra, If you is a white man I is a Frenchie, if yu is a white man, why we don hear yu Yankin, Buckra, why we don hear yu yankin?”

 “Yankin? Yankin?” Sae de Buckra,  “yu want tu hear me Yankin?”

 “Ok den.

“AYHMM  COME FRUM ALABAMA,  WID A BANJO ON MAH KNEE, BUT NOW AH MMM JES A SAILOR IN THE U.S NAYVEE”

 “Yu see wha ah tell yu? Yu see wha ah tell yu?” De neighbah sae, “he ain no white man, he ain no white man. He keeian yank! Bou he is a white man, a white man wha keeian Yank? Yu evah see a white man wha keeian yank? De Buckra ain no white man, he is nuttin’ but a mushay! Ah say Sen im doun French Town!”

 “Oh yeah” say de Buckra, “Oh Yeah? Ok, den.. AH KIN SEE AHMM A GONNA HALF TA TALK REAL SERIOUS TU YAALLS SO YALL’S GONNA KNOW DAT YU IS TALKIN’ WID A BIG TIME AN  IMPORTANT WHITE MAN WHEN YU IS DEALING WID DE BUCKRA…

 NAH AHM A GONNA TELL YA SUNPIN, AH DON’T LIKE DE WAY SOMEFOLKS IS BEEN HARASSIN’ AN HOG TIEIN’ MY GOOD  KING GEORGE THE PO’K SWINE WID YER CLOTHLINES EVERY NIGHT AN AHMM A GITTIN’ TIURD AH TELLIN YA SO,

BUT JUS SOS,  DERES NO HARD FEELINS,AN DIS DON’T BECOME SOME KINA  FUGE, AH RECKON AHMM A GONNA PACK UP MAH SADDLEBAGS AN TAKE MA HERD, AH MEAN MA BO’HOAWAWG,  AN MOSEY ON DOUN WEST”.

 “Yes Yes, Buckra” de neighbah dem say, “yes yes das de bes ting Buckra,  mosey on doun west to Cha Cha toun”…

 An Me Boy, das when de REAL trouble start!

 Buckra and  de Bo’ Hog went straight doun to French Town an walk right in to de famous Normandy Bah, it wa round 11 a clock in de mawnin so naturally de place wa almos full. Half a de man dem wa teachin’   high school and mos a de legislatue was doun dare tu get a good head start on de day. Plus a few Sailah Man…

 Now de Buckra had done make up he mine dat  he ain talking no mo Island talk, because he ain wan nobody to make no mo mistake bou de fac dat he  is a white man through an through, from den on he Yankin straight,

Well… maybe a white man wid a lil someting else throw in in dare but all de same de Buckra say he  Yankin’ straight.

“WAL MA GOOD FRENCHIE FELLOW” he say to de lil bahman “ LEMME HAVE DE BES RED SODA DAT YOU GOT IN DE PLACE AN PLUS AH WANTS TU RENT A LIL HOUSE FROM Y’ALL DOUN IN DIS HEAH FRENCH TOWN”

Dat time a man name Magras, sae  “Hey, hey wait meson wait, Wha yu tink yu goin wid dat Bo hog?” Dis is de Narmandy Bah, only de bes a people cu come in in side a heah an we don deal wid no Bo Hag doun French Toun , We is fishah man doug here, RIDERS ON THE SEA!  You in de wrang place me boy, yu bettah go Nart side whea yu cou join up wid de res a dem RIDERS ON A DONKEY, an fuddah mo you ain no Frenchie!  You mubbee som kina doublebreed Daneman ana Putto Rician from Sain Croix!”

 All dis time three or fo drunken Sailah done feed King George de Bo Hog  mo dan a quart ana half a rum and coke, chase down wid bou five or six cold schafah beer me boy, and de Bo Hog  feelin’ it now.

 “OINK! OINK!  SQUEEE! SQUEEE! OINK! OINK!  SQUEEE! SQUEEE!”  Say de Bo Hog.

 Den he take off running roung and roung in de Normandy Bah, tunnin up and knockin doun table a chair, lef and right, all ovah de place, dis time he change he tune he  bawling out “ SQUEEYAW!  SQUEEYAW! OINK OINK! SQUEEYAW! SQUEEYAW!”   De nex ting yu know de Bo Hog stop, an start tu swing and sway. He open he eye dem wide wide and den… he vomit up a Green an Yellow tidal wave of de wus stinkin frat full a ole drawers and panty yu evah see.

De sailah dem killing dey self wid de laugh, but de Frenchie dem don tink it’s so funny ah tall…

 Well me boy, Buckra an de Bo Hog had tu haul dey “humpf” outta French Town, man dey two a dem run straight an all de way up Demarara Gut through mo jackspania and catchankee… dem boy ain stop til de reach de very top a Crown  an some ways doun de uddah side. An dats how Buckra and de Bo Hag fus arrive in Nelteburg.

But befo yu know it dat Bo’ Hog King George wa makin trouble an terrorizing de poor people dem out dare, rooting up in de peppah patch and knockin doun de cloths line.. well until he disappeared one day.

  Some people say King George de Bo’ Hog decided tu go St. John an is de Faddah and de Granfaddah of mos a de wus a de wile pig an even some a de wile donkey dem   harassin de people dem up dare in St. John,

 Som uddah people say dem Nart side French man finally get tu hol de Bo’ hog,, an had de biggis roas pig  of all time, evah dat Bastille Day doun Hull bay,

 But mos of all a taxi man say he know fo a fac dat dem boy from  de Agricultural Station out Doriteea catch King George an dress him up like a touris an put him onna touris boat, an nobody didn’t  notice de difference between he an de res a dem til’ dey reach back Florida me boy.

I don kno about dat, but de part I tell yu, is wha happen an das de trut, de whole trut, an nuttin but de trut… So help me Miss Gearty!

 

Book 4. The CD is Shipping. And Book 4. “Granfaddah Buckra An De Ol’ Geeal”

November 1, 2010 Leave a comment

 Book 4. CD is Shipping and Book 4. “Granfaddah Buckra An De Ol’ Geeal”

The cover is done, the dedications are made, the printer is partially paid, and copies are on their way to lil’fish in St. Thomas. Our outlet there is “The Virgin Islands Cooperative store” on the corner of the waterfront directly across from “tent city” aka the Venders Mall. For the moment, email orders are,,, orders@lilfishrecords.com

We continue work on Scott Fagan and The MAAC Island Band “Live” album “Shake A Bum” we are anxious to get that finished so we can set up some concert appearances back home. We are happy to do benefits and fund raisers here there and anywhere as long as they are legit. Talk to us. I am thrilled that The Buckra tickles so many people, I love that kind of schupidness I always have and always will.  I guess that is why

the CD is dedicatrd to Mango Jones, Brownie (and Walter) Ms. Arona Peterson and her wonderful “Undah De Market”  Daily Niws column and all Virgin Island artists yet to come. Perhaps I ought to have said all Virgin Islands Artists  devoted to and specializing in “schupidness” but one needs to be supportive across the board, and, more seriously, we must encourage and support Virgin Islands Artists in every way that we can. It’s just so.

They have just released a new film “Strange Powers” about my son (also a writer, singer and recording artist) Stephin Merritt and his band “The Magnetic Fields”  I think that two of my recordings from my CD “Dreams Should Never Die” (The Virgin Islands Songs Vol. 2.) “Where My Lover Has Gone” and “La Biega Carosuel/Tutsie are in the film. Incedently, I have been credited as writer of La Biega Carosuel but La Biega is an old Virgin Islands Folk song, that predates us all, What I did write is “Tutsie” and created  the medley and arrangement of the two together. When a writer arranges a PD (public domain) folksong the performing rights organizations (ASCAP, BMI,  SESAC) credit him or her as writer)

I learned La Biega Carosuel directly from and at the knee of, the notorious “Ruppee” aka “The Vampire” aka “De Obeah Man” aka The Emporor Of The North” aka “Captian Creole” aka “Calwin Martin Moolenar´ himself,  of Estate Nelteburg and all points beyond. In any case, it is a very busy time, and that is good.

Here is another Buckra piece, I hope that you will enjoy it as much as I did and do writing and performing it. 

Book 4. “Granfaddah Buckra An De Ol’ Geeal”

A time when I wa small ah went to see me ol’ granfaddah de ol’ Buckra de Paehae de fus fus fus. Ah sae “Granfaddah! Ah come tu see yu!” He sae “Ok den, look me hare, but yu gon got tu bettah stay ou de way, a Ol’ Geeal coming to see me fo something an ah don wan yu get mashup when de action start!” Ah sae “Ah Ol’ Geeal? Ah Ol’ Geeal? Who it tis, granfaddah, who it tis? He sae “Ah me bouy, don worry bout dat, yu gon see, don worry bout dat.”

 I sae “but Granfaddah, wha kina action yu gon do wid a ol’ Geeal, yu gon teach ha how tu fall asleep in de chair? Yu gon teach ha how tu take out an put in ha teet dem? How to play domino?  Granfaddah, Yu tink de ol’ Geeal gon wan tu hear bou when yu poisen yu self an almos whole a dounde road,  when yu cook up dat Barracota in de olden days? Oh how yu used tu tief Mango?  An Granfaddah wha yu gon gee she tu eat? De Ol’ Geeal ain gon wan no  sardine and French bread to wash doun wid kool aid, Wha wrang wid yu, Granfaddah, you don know you too ol to have a ol’ Geeal?”

 “Ahh meboy” he sae “ahh meboy” das wae yu wrang, you mubbe tink yu Granfaddah ban ol’? Yu dunno yu Granfaddah is a sharp boy? Yu dunno yu talking tu de man de used to call “Buckre de Pale-Male, de champagne ah Gingerale?” Ahh mebouy, in dose days Yu Gran Papeeto had woman like mosquito, woman like whelks, like genip, woman wha couden done me boy. Yu tink ah spen me whole life scratchin me baney? No Sah, Yu tink all I cou do is siddown onna salfishbox outside de kitchen do? No Sah, Not me me bouy, De ol Buckra still know a ting or two, yu gon see, don worry bou dat!”

 De minute Granfaddah see de Ol’ Geeall by de do, he suck in he belly an he  stann up straight straight, den he sweep off he hat an he bow doun low like Erroll Flynn, he sae “Come right in my darling, come right in my dear,”

 

Bouy, ah couldn believe me oy dem, de Ol’ Geeal wa de famous Carnival Queen from Nineteen Fifty odd and we da see ha pitchure in de newspapah almos every week for doin something good, Dis Ol’ Geeal is like de fus lady of de lan. Wha sh doin hare wid me Granfaddah?

 

 Before ah could ask ha dat question, she watch me straight in me face and she sae “Good afternoon young man, I’m hear to take de measure of your Grandfaddah’s curtin rods” and wid dat de two a dem went straight in side de bedroom.

 

De nex ting yu know, ah hearin’ “tee hee hee” and “tae hae hae” den something fall doun on de bed an de spring start to squeak and squeal , an Man, ah embarrass to tell yu wha come nex, ah hear de ol Geeal  sae “OY!, OY!” Den she sae “Oh me dahlin’  Paehae yu know das how ah like it, yu know das how ah like it,” den she start tu bawl out “Oh Godee, Oh Godee!” (Ah sae to me self “what does dat have tu do wid curtin rods?”)

She SINGIN’ now, “Yes Sah, Buckra, OOWEE!” She SINGIN”now! “Yes Sah! Buckra, OOWEE! Yu got me goin, yu got me goin OY OY,” ah hear dem bouncing up an bouncing up! “Oh Godee Oh Godee!” She bawl out “Don stop now don stop now!” Den a “KA_POW!” ah hear de bed broke doun! An den all ah hear is notin atall, noting atall  den de Ol’ Geeal say .. “Hello? HELLO?”

 

De nex tin I know de Ol’ Geeal bus out tru de do bawlin’ out “Oh God! Oh God! Sonny boy come quick, yu Granfaddah Dead, Yu Granfaddah dead!, Ah done kill yu po Granfaddah, Oh God Sonny boy, ah sae yu po ol Granfaddah dead”

 

Ah went in tu see fo meself, Man de ol’ boy wa white like a ghos, he oy dem wa roll back in he head, he toung hangin out de side a he mout,. De woman bawl out “Oh God I’s a murderah, I’s a murderah! Ah done kill de sweet ol Buckra!”

Den she sae “Ah got to get outta hare befor me chrren dem fine out, ah gato go, I ain wan me chrren dem know I ain wan nobody kno”…an wid dat she pick up ha wig an she run ou de back and clime doun in de gut an clim up de uddah side a de gut, den she broke thru de chicken coop an she wa gan..

 

Ah sae “OH Godee!, OH Godee!  De ol Geeial done gan an le me here alone wid me po dead Granfaddah”… Ah sae “Oh Godee, how ah gone tell me Mammie, who it tis kill me Granfaddah? How ah gone tell me Mamee wha dey wa doin in de bedroom? Wha ah gon tell de Police?

Ah dunno what u tell de whorl?”

 

Jus den ah hear what soun like me dear ol Granfaddah voice sae “boy wha wrang wid yu, yu bettah stop yu bawlin befo ah hit yu some clout”..when ah tun around, it…it… look like ah see me Granfaddah dae sittin down good as gol an winkin he oy

 

Ah sae “but Granfaddah yu done dead like a ol keeat, de ol Geieal done kill yu, yu ain know yu done dead awreaddy Granfaddah? Yu don tink yu bettah lay doun?”

 

He sae “Ahh me bouy, don be schupiddy, yu keean see das me good way tu get rid a dem guirl? Das me lil trick tu mek dem go home when ah done had me way wid dem.” He sae “Ahh me Bouy…don worry bout a ting, an jus wait til yu see de two Ol’ Geeal wha commin’ tomorrow”!!!

Book 1.MORE The Blessed Virgins. and Book 4. LIVE Continued

September 28, 2010 Leave a comment

Book 1.MORE The Blessed Virgins. and Book 4. LIVE Continued

The time between 1958 (when we returned to the Islands) and 1964 when I sailed away to “fame and fortune” in the music business was very eventful or full of “stuff” some of which I have already touched on in earlier entrys,(see 11 through 16) but much of which remains to be seen or said, writ and read.

We were young teenagers straddling multiple (many multiple) worlds, and because pool is undeniably the perfect allegory for life (in some quarkatronic parallel dimension), you will comprende when I say, it seems like one day everything is racked up tight n’ right and the next your worlds are rocketing  away in the slam crack!  echo-math of a resoundingly  good breaksplosion.

Further with the poolagory,after rocketing apart, by God they hit the bumpers and come ricocheting back towards one another (or not) often colliding to make even more mayhem, and so and so on until finally all is calm and quiet again except that everything is where it wasn’t before and what wasn’t before now is, and on top of that there is a fair possibility that one or more balls (worlds) are  gone and of course, no sooner do you adjust to that, when slam bang crackola mam,  everything changes again.On second thought,  Maybe war is a better allegory, but what would we call it? Warality, or perhaps reality?

Anyway, I am very relieved to have finally discovered or received, resisted, and finally accepted that change is the only real constant (now don’t think that I think that I’m making a statement of ultimate wisdom,e fact or universal truth ‘cause I know as well as the next psychedelic casuality that things ain’t always what they seem, and even ultimate truths are subject to their context or the shifting physics of sub atomic worlds and quantum dimensionality,( man it’s like one has to be a Zen master Psycho  Scientist to step out of the door  and hold your ever-changing own with the question of “what the heck’s goin’ on?’) anyway, I didn’t know this stuff then and so I often hoped, hoped with all my heart that nothing would ever change, that every thing would stay just the way it is this minute this hour this day forever…

Those were the times of course in which the world was as sweet and slow as golden honey (ah yes…against the blue blue of the countless shades of blue sea)

Rather than the times of violent chaotic change, or the happy/tragic occasion of a friends family (like the family of the The Girl With the Golden Skin) moving away from our “low cost housing community” to their own beautiful new home on a hill  with the Million dollar views and the cool Island breeze…)

There were many golden days of the greatest camaraderie Cont…

PS Here’s a whimsical little piece on perhaps a Quantumized here after..

             “Dead As Dust”.                                .                                  

 (Dust To Dust I’ve heard them say but..)   

I’ve been told someday wemust 

 all wake up dead as dust                                                                                     

dead as dust.. what could that mean?                                                 

organic stuff with rocks between?                                                                

Have you ever looked at dust?                                                                          

 It’s alive!!! (except for rust)

 A universe of universes there,                                                             

 (between the bread crumbs and the doggie-hair)                              

 and the mites (lil bugs big as elephants                                                  

 with faces like mosquitos eating peppermints)                                   

but if the dusts a little wet,                                                                                

that doubles the universes that you’ll get

Great googamooga could it be                                                                         

 that that is what becomes of me?                                                                  

We (I’ll) turn into the space between                                                           

the color blue and the color green                                                                 

 and fly in thirty different directions                                                                 

 all at once in thirty sections?

 Oh I hope and pray there’ll be                                                                       

some of me left of me                                                                                                 

so I can dig this dance electric                                                                          

from my dusty new prospectric

 I wouldn’t miss the streets of gold                                                    

 patrolled by strict prophets of old                                                

 declaiming ‘bout the days of Heaven                                                            

  like  nutty buckets outside a  seven eleven.

 I’d rather be singing with my dead dust band,                                

 with my new name “dead as dust dude man”                  

 everything that is, I’ll be..                                                                                  

  part of it… all part of me

 

Great googa mooga I mean, really?                                                                

part of it… all part of me?                                                                                      

going up while going down                                                                                      

 left and right and round and round                                                                    

 out in the country, while in town?                                                                   

In silence AND rip-roaring sound?

Dead as dust might be exciting                                                                 

 (though the dyings not so inviting)                                                         

 Although some folks go from here to there                                          

 rocking in their rocking chair,

Other  people wake up dead

Intheir jammies  in theirbed                                                                                                                           

I guess dead as dusts a kind of blender                                                          

 that takes our mollycules and sends..er                                               

friends them every wich-a-way                                                                                     

from Sapphire beach to Botney bay.

Me in the sea me in the air                                                                                  

me in all things everywhere                                                                        

instead of like a dull vacation,                                                                           

 life’s (er..deaths) an exclamation!

Wow! wow! did you see that?                                                                            

 I’m a doggie AND a cat                                                                                          

 I’m seeing through my ears AND eyes,                                                      

Hey!, Wot th heck? time really flies!

Dead as dust don’t sound so bad,                                                                       

 not the worst trip I’ve ever had                                                                        

 but for now if you don’t mind,                                                                              

 I think I’d rather stay behind…….

I think I’d rather live some more                                                                 

and dance around the ballroom floor                                                      

 but with every little mote alive                                                                            

 I give my word that I will strive                                                                         

 to live much more considerately                                                                       

  of every little dust ball that I see

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Book 4. “LIVE” Continues

I have decided that I would like to  have some Background singers on the “Shake A Bum” album, so I have found two good candidates ladyfairs, and we will do our first recording session this Thursday at 10 AM.

It happens that female background singers are just about my favorite musical instrument of all time, I simply love them, and everything about them..and perhaps most of all, their attitude. Yes yes I know, sounds mighty fishy but, they are an instrument with attitude, attitude that can, that must be able to shift and change at the drop of a hat or chord and change with absolute confidence. They are an instrument that is aware of it’s own iridescent beauty. A thing transformed, from the very first breath, the reality in and all around them changes to something extraordinary and  grand.

Something extraordinary  grande and wonderful like a full concert grand.

They are sublime..so, I may have let slip that I am fond of back ground chicks, having said all that I do hope the chicks can sing.

I’ve listened carefully, I think they can, but we shall see. You just never know until we are all singing together. Then it becomes like a game of give and take of musical tag  a vocal dance of mutual inspiration and communication. I wish everyone could know the joy of creating a joyful groove and singing your heart out. When you are through you are often depleted in quite a physically and psychologically healthy way. If they can sing we will finish this album as quickly as  possible and get out on the road to promote the heck out of it. It’s goint to be a great release  literally and figuratively and I will be hoping to see folks I’ve been missing all over the world. For example, did you know that I have a serious coterie of fans in Prague Czechoslovakia? From as far back as South Atlantic Blues,along with a following in Asia? And Scandinavia? I can’t wait and the band is raring to go.. we shall see.

 

BOOK 1 The Blessed Virgins, and “LIVE” Continued…

September 22, 2010 2 comments

BOOK 1 The Blessed Virgins, and “LIVE” Continued…

So it is a gray and raining morning in 1958 and I (known for convenience and contrivance in this piece as I, Me, He, The Boy, The White Boy, the Artist and other convenient phrases (mebbe even) Scott Fagan) am standing on the edge of a road with no name other than “De RoadDoun De Road” (which was and is) he main road from town (Charlotte Amalia or Charlotte Amalie, for odd linguistic reason (mostly charitable I suspect) both are (like CariBEEan and CaRIBBYan) considered to be correct) to all points west.  Brewers Bay, Bordeaux, Flamingo Pond, Fortuna, Botney Bay, Santa Maria Bay, Pull Or Be Damned, and other romantic piratical places. I am wearing my New York City black leather Jacket  while breathing deeply of and thus absorbing at a molecular level the reality of rainy season in the beautiful, but don’t doubt it, strange, Mambo Bongo Isles.

The observant observer might notice and remark that “this white boy wearing a leather jacket by the side of the road”appears to be neither here nor there” in truth of fact or fact of matter, the  observant observer need not have been any more perceptive and insightful than a lizard, even the most casual, disinterested passerby,  in fact, any living thing (including mule, cow, goat and braying jackass) seeing him would likely register immediately that “this boy is somewhere and something else” thereby triggering an automatic and immediate “note to self” the universal trans-species translation of which would be something like “I’d better keep an eye on this guy”

What they were less likely to notice was that the odd duck out in the rain was awash with intense impressions, which were self organizing into the foundation of an interesting combination or integration of cultural (and musical) rhythms and realities.

For example, the sights and smells of that grey and rainy morning in 1958 would be lifted whole cloth to become the song “Hidaway” in 1967, which he would be screeching and yowling (singing) in a big time music publishers office in Rockefeller Center one morning in 1968 and seized on immediately by his writing partner Joe (AKA Jose Silvio Martinez) Kookoolis to convince the professional staff that the song was an integral and representative part of an “Opera” ah..a “Rock Opera” that he and the neither here nor there boy, were just about finished writing and that “of course” this entire brand new and mighty fine score would be thrown in as part of our song catalog, for the publishing agreement that we were at that very moment, there to discuss and negotiate.

 The smell of my leather jacket was always a thing of wonder to me and no less so that morning. It filled my head with a secret satisfaction, a confident security likely well-known to the well armored since time began.

In my head is music, specifically or essentially the  liberation theology of rock and roll but shot through, tinted and tinged with related  genre upon genre and sub genre upon sub genre and reshaped by the crisscrossing  cultural realities that it would be tasked to represent.  

In my eyes, the most fantastic green and blues filtered through and bordered or framed by low hanging silver clouds that make the sky no more than 300 feet high.

In my sniffer, a soggy sweet perfumed mix of rain, cow dung, salty sea and the fruit salad scent of wild tropical flora, and  ah…in my heart the first deep stirrings of love for “The Girl with The Golden Skin” It’s a fine case of time and place all over the place. And a good example of how it is/was to be me then and now, or perhaps more accurately now and then, meaning sometimes…

In that moment however, the white boy is acutely  aware that he is the “poorest” white boy that he has ever known or even ever seen, his sense of self is unfortunately now somewhat negatively impacted by shame related to this, and the knowledge  that his pitifully alcoholic  step father (yes the Mother dear  has for reasons best know to God and those few of his angels who fully comprehend the effects of paternal suicide on a  nine-year old daughter, rape at 16 as a first sexual experience, in an alley in Washington DC, the befogglement of early mid-stage alcoholism and the mind-boggling conflicting mis-information (coming from in side and outside the mind) related to so-called co-dependency, hooked up with Howard again) who as mentioned before, is an extremely public and universally disrespected  drunkard and laughing-stock of the community.

 What’s the community? Well as we all know (both here and there) they are many and varied.

he community of most  immediate concern to the boy at that time, would have been the 8 to 10 older “native” boys (known as “Dem Boy) in his immediate section of the Island” The Dem Boy community in number and position is  mirrored and repeated all across the land (the I land) “Dem Boy” are the seemingly magically omnipresent absolutely judgemental shapers of values, morality and behaviors for any younger boy subject to their pressures. “Dem Boy” are the gatekeepers of conditional acceptance (it would be interesting to know which society where in the world this “Dem Boy” social structure developed) or eternal dis-approval and damnation  in young man land. Rather, “local young tough guy man landl” meaning the young man land of the economically disadvantaged, as opposed to young men of privilege land (color or cash) who are contemptuously dismissed by “Dem Boy” (in the short form) as “Auntie-men” or in the long form as “schupid auntie-man muddah skunts”

 All of that to suggest and illustrate that the young “neither here nor there white boy” felt very strongly that he had much to prove and consequently was (by circumstance, environment and temperament) on his way to becoming “something else” or more specifically, an “other than ordinary recording  artist”, whose interesting integration of cultures and music, would someday prove uniquely unusual and confusing to major labels, record bin organizers, and music writers, (most recently one self-aggrandizing and insulting “know it all know nothing” from  Toronto, Canada). 

So,  the boy by the side of the road with no name, turned out to be a white artist from the predominately black West Indies whose integration of his own cultural and musical influences, continues to present it’s self in most interesting  and amusing ways. entertaining even as in the “LIVE “currently in production”  “Shake A Bum” album by Scott Fagan and The MAAC Island Band,

Yes indeed, It is interesting, to say the least, to see and understand so clearly how things express and work themselves out.

As further illustration of the potential for joy inherent in the great cultural combo platter of life described, here is a rough mix (pre back ground vocals) of the “neither here nor there boy by the side of the road’s” composition and current recording of his somewhat tantric and liberating mantra “Shake A Bum”

BOOK 4. LIVE Continued…

September 14, 2010 Leave a comment

BOOK 4. LIVE Continued…

We have scheduled two nights for the recordings Wed Sept. 1 st and Sat. Sept. the 4th  Wed is done and we are heading for Saturday.

Ok now,  Sat is done, and we are heading for a second Wed. ((Sept the 8th) ok, that Wed is done and we are heading for a second Saturday (Sept 11th) and a six hour performance gig on Sunday and so forth and so on and so on…

When one is recording on one track (actually, one would be fine, but when one is more than one, the possibility for error is magnified greatly) as I was saying when one is more than one and they are all  recording on one track, actually,  five people playing  quick-o ka- split-o at full speed ahead on one track, you probably all together generate a “note bloom” cascade or “up fall” of an easy hundred thousand clangs and bangs (or musical notes if you prefer)

If the Bass or Conga or Drum hit a “wrong clang bang or note” it may not be a problem, however if the lead guitar, or primo screechist hits a clango bango  anywhere in the performance, you have to redo the whole blasted cacophonic all over again.

Not that I mind, I love to sing and as I never sing a thing the same way twice, it’s always new and fun for me. However, the boys in the band jave expressed  a strong desire for me to do  things the way we had rehersed them but …wella wella wella…you might as well try to squeeze a saltfish sandwich out of a turnip.

Not that I don’t want to make things easier for the MAAC men, it’s just that… wella wella wella, you might as well try to squeeze a chinchilla out of a mango seed

We have certainly gotten spoiled by “individual  tracking”(in which each instrument is channeled and recorded separately on it’s own individual track, to be  tweaked, vitamin fortified, polished and recombined with the others later, sorta like Grand Ma’s powdered taters or the KLIM milk that we endured as little ones in public school down in the Mambo Isles…

Friends, I could do a forty year rant on KLIM milk and the odd combination, the mis-measure of powder and water, Lord help us “Boiling hot water” that de chirums dem were led to believe was milk, and were forced to press our lips against every single time the blasted bell rang-a-lang LUNCHTIME!

The truth is, some of us, many of us, were every bit as big headed and bony as the kids used in fund raising appeals for the starving of the world, in fact more than a few of us were candidates for Feed The Children or UNICEF our selves and should have been first in line  for a can of spam and some powdered eggs,  but there are some things you would rather die than do, and high on that list would be taking a second slurp or sip of that toxic torture serum KLIM.

I think I can state as a most likely fact that not a single adult of free-will ever willingly drank a whole glass, cup or calabash of that stuff to “test the mix” before giving it to the “sweet little innocent, once open, once bright eyed, once trusting, children that we “once upon a time” were, down at Nisky School.

I know for a fact that some of the boys vowed to make it their life’s work to track down and wreak revenge on   whoever was responsible for not only making  this stuff, but further, convincing flubble headed grown-ups to make children (did I mention theretofore bright eyed, innocent and trusting?) drink it.

It’s a fact that the same flubble headed grown ups could have used just the threat of having to drink it, to uncover all the secrets of the children under their command, (which were secrets a plenty) and as an entirely effective non violent tool for  behavior modification, rather than the in-effective combo of KLIM torture, head banging, and “stand ‘im out to out swelter sweat in the hot sun” technique invented by  anonymous torture misters of the Battan death march, and perfected by first second and third grade teachers at Nisky. 

 Any way, as I may have noted earlier a certain Maryann was the sweet cool breeze in the popping swelter sweat of KLIM provoked childhood angst, and after four (or is it forty?) swacks (*attempts) at it, her remembrance song is EQ’d and done.

This means there are now only thirteen others to go. (lemme see forty times thirteen times a hundred thousand notes…)

You have probably thought all these years thought that the life of a singer like me was one unending sequence of passionate and perfumed smooches and the like, but now you see that in addition, we are obliged to be fluent in higher mathematics as well and well, Yo no habla mathematics high or low, perhaps because like most of the children at the old Nisky alma mater, I spent arithmetic time hiding in the bushes hoping to avoid KLIM time. Do I regret it? Not a chance in eleventeen!

More to the present, the record is going to be great fun for folks, full of upbeat live performances AND some pretty good crooney tunes as well.

Recording is supposed to be fun, not the grim, clock watching, knuckle gnawing exercise in anxiety that it too often is, or the stultifying mind warping technical spaghetti morass that “jargon junkies gone wild” would have us poor non-verbal (but occasionally verbose) bongo bangers believe it has to be.

There is great fun in playing music; there is great fun in listening to music, in other words, in sending, in receiving, music. That’s the joy, that’s the deal.

It seems like most if not all of the business around it, is one or another kind of strange parasitic attachment that diminishes the joy at either and both ends.

Which idea presents an Interesting opportunity for a biometric model to measure the potency of the juices siphoned away and to explore the alternatives available or inviting invention) That’s the kind of thinking that one  notices reverberating in the noggin, when one has spent one’s school years hiding in the  bushes among the land crabs, wild tamarind, acacia and catch and keep at KLIM time.

In any case, the new record is continuing apace, we have tweakage too do (additional percussion and EQ) and then mastering before sending it off for “pressing”.

This means that we have two new albums to release and promote, “The Virgin Islands Songs” along with it’s single “Surrender To The Sun” and Scott Fagan And The MAAC Island Band and it’s single “Shake A Bum” We are as busy as can be and with the new MAAC Variety Show now scheduled for every Friday evening, we will soon be even more so. I have to find a way to make more time for working on the Memwa? As I think it is important and perhaps more importantly, I thoroughly enjoy the writing of it.

 Here are two recent poeticals: 

“The Limpin Proletariat”

                                                                                                             Scott Fagan

 Ah the Limpin Proletariat, All lumped up and limping along

from mash up to knock down

to and fro

from pillaged to whippin’(whupped) post

from pooped to popped

and back again.

Pity the poor lucked out lumped up and limpin’ pope frazzled’ roll your own Mama’s a maniac cross eyed confused battered and bruised  proletariat with no protecting angel. nor avenging, nope..not allowed., wild eyed cactus relish pie perhaps or rattle snake salad in good gritty sand… sans suds.

Nothing real and good for the likes of youse or ye, ya dadgum grumpy weepin, wailing, cussed and concussed, (at and out) poor confounded contused and abused, lied to bribed and poisoned double disadvantaged, toothache struck depressed, and diarriac limpin’ proletariat, yearning to be freed.

 

“I Dance Therefore I Am”  (Vicstory)                                                                                    Scott Fagan

 I Dance Therefore I Am, (Hey, whad I ever do to you?)

I suffer and sleep I dream and I remember, I hope and I awake, I Dance, Therefore I Am

I sweep my arms up to Heaven and sing Glory Halleluiah Jubilation without end!

I dance to be, to express me in unity with the oh so how many Millions or more that have danced before, that have wiggled and waltzed, romped and wagged their tails at one another making eyes making love, making… what you see.

This solitary is.

these sunken eyes

these shrunken hollows

this wayfared stranger

that has become of me.

like all things that die and have died,

all things that live and have lived

that love and have loved

that have breathed and wept that have called out in the cold uncaring night, crying SEE ME! SEE ME! SEE ME!

I dance therefore I am, I dance therefore I am,

I dance therefore I am!