The Ballad of Col. Deschain and The Viking

A great poet one said, "There's nothing funny about destiny, except when it involves two monkeys fighting over the last banana, and not knowing that the banana is poisoned." So true, funny how it seems.

I always pictured myself owning a Frank Lloyd Wright house in Riverside, or at least living next to one. So consider that reality because that's where I'm at right now. Holding a classical guitar and sipping café.

Listening to music on my turntable, Classical and Jazz mostly, this is my life. Although right now I'm liste... (+) expand

The Ballad of Col. Deschain and The Viking

A great poet one said, "There's nothing funny about destiny, except when it involves two monkeys fighting over the last banana, and not knowing that the banana is poisoned." So true, funny how it seems.

I always pictured myself owning a Frank Lloyd Wright house in Riverside, or at least living next to one. So consider that reality because that's where I'm at right now. Holding a classical guitar and sipping café.

Listening to music on my turntable, Classical and Jazz mostly, this is my life. Although right now I'm listening to Os Mutantes. Dabbling on my guitar is my release. Few of my songs and sketches have been heard by other people. At first I didn't want anyone to hear them, just my one little secret from the world. Then one night, January 19th of this year, strangely not the year of our lord (Lord Harmony), something happened.

I was drawn to my sliding glass door. I thought maybe it was an owl, attracted to my owl feeder on the porch. Nothing was there when I opened the door, so I went outside.

What I had was a realization that I could only describe in a song, so I went back inside and picked up the guitar. It came so quick that "The Dreams we'll have" was done before I could finish brewing my café. I thought, "This is too good to forget." So I searched for a tape recorder and documented a rough take.

The next day went by normally, and I thought little of the song or the realization I had, till I came to my favorite café shoppe near my house, Asheberry's. I got my usual order, some Bradberry snacks, (which taste like shit by themselves but taste great on top of satin crackers) and my double café. I was sipping away at my drink when this figure walked in. I did a double take before sipping again. A man about my height, but wearing a faded cowboy suit and hat stepped up to the counter and ordered. "I'll have a peppermint café, a hardboiled egg, and a napkin," he said. I found myself saying, "That was a very lavacious order." "Yes, vicious living" he responded calmly, and sat down at my table, right next to me, which felt strange. I would have felt more comfortable if he sat across from me but the feeling faded as we continued the conversation.

"I haven't seen you at Asheberry's before," I said. "Let's just say I'm not a regular," he said. "Ah…" I said, only partly interested. After a brief pause, I thought of the song. "So, what is your name?" I asked. "Steven Deschain," he replied. "Are you into music?" I asked. "Sure."

We talked for hours about music, it seemed like forever, which wasn't a bad thing, I just noticed the length of time looking back on it is all. At some point Stephen pulled out a cigar and after a few minuets I noticed it. "Hey, only a Colonel smokes a cigar like that," I said noticing him chewing on the end of the cigar as he smoked it. He said "You're right," and we left it at that.

We both still loved the music our parents listen to; his parents listened to Leo Kottke and mine listened to lots of James Taylor. We agreed that we both needed to listen to more Stephen Foster, not for the influence, but for the "coolness" factor. I told him that I would listen to more Cole Porter, but there wasn't a good compilation of his music available. The Colonel wasn't interested in Cole Porter.

I confessed to him that I always wanted to record an album of new material with Walter Scharf arranging the score, or perhaps Randy Newman as another option. "Have you recorded any of your music?" He asked. "Yeah," and I gave him a tape of "The Dreams We'll Have" and another unfinished "sketch." This is all weird in retrospect because I don't remember making this tape, or putting it in my pocket. I wrote down my email address on a piece of paper and gave it to him. thelifeofaviking@gmail.com "OK" he said, "If I like what I hear on this tape I'll e-mail you." He promptly got up, put out his cigar in the water glass on the table (the water glass was on the table before I got there, neither of us had touched it till then) and left. The store bells attached to the door jangled and rang, I concentrated on their vibrations. Soon the store was silent. (-) collapse