This morning feels like the right time to share this song: the opening cut from my pandemic-era album, THE ANTIDOTE TO FEAR. It was written at the height of the George Floyd protests, from which I abstained because I was an unvaccinated 63-year-old man who was just realizing that maybe I did give a shit whether or not I lived or died.
Being the proud owner of a brand-new MacBook Pro with Garageband built in – purchased on the day that Governor Kate shut down the state of Oregon – I had cracked my musical soul back open in the first several months of lockdown. I’d never owned a recording studio before; and as such, the music was just pouring out of me. I was sometimes writing and recording three pieces of music a day. (Some of which were actually pretty good!)
On this particular day, I was sitting on my smoking porch (I still had a couple years of smoking left in me), drinking beer and thinking about what a candy-ass I was for not manning the streets with my less-cautious friends. And I thought, What can I possibly do that might be any help at all, under these circumstances?
And suddenly, this song came to me. The words to which read as follows:
Well, the streets are
On fire with passion
And the streets are
On fire with need
And the streets are
On fire like a funeral pyre
Till the whole damn
World takes heed
I don’t know
Your situation
But I’ll tell you
What I feel
Don’t run
When the devil comes
Cuz this is
How we heal
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
Sometimes it comes
In armor
Sometimes it comes
With shields
But all of those shields
When they get set down
Are the heart
Of what will be
We all got
Two sets of eyes
Eyes of love
And ones of fear
There ain’t no love
In the devil’s eyes
On that let’s
Just be clear
But if we
Love one another
You will see it
In our eyes
That’s how we save
Each other, bae
Won’t the devil
Be surprised
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
Don’t run when the devil comes
The devil hates
When we don’t run
The devil hates
When we have fun
The devil hates it
That we won
FUCK that devil!
FUCK that devil!
Then I ran upstairs and recorded it, with my drunken devil voice cracking. This was, I think, the last time I allowed myself to get drunk in the studio. But I had to get it down fast, lest it be gone. Just simple guitar, bass, organ, and those nice Garageband drums holding down the fort.
Then I asked my dear friend, the jazz genius Gavin Templeton, if he would airlift me a sax solo from his own L.A. console. I was expecting alto – he’s probably the most astounding alto sax player I’ve ever heard or seen – but instead, he laid down some blistering baritone that totally matched my gravelly feel.
So did this song do any good? Well, it probably would’ve helped if anybody’d ever heard it. But I was just a scared little man on a porch in Portland, with no record label or active music industry connections at the time. So arguably, the answer is no.
That said, I’m a firm believer in protest music. And I’m also a firm believer in music as magick. At the very least, the air around me changed as I wrote it. I became more alive in the process. A little clearer. A little better. So arguably, the answer is also yes.
It was, at the very least, the only thing this elderly white boy could think of to do in that moment, to send his heart out to all those differently-colored brothers and sisters who were tired of getting murdered in the streets by the people who were supposed to protect them.
I really love this song, drunk as it was and still remains. It’s a record of and testament to my love and longing for a better world.
HAPPY JUNETEENTH, EVERYONE!
And also: FUCK that devil!