Things I didn't Really Say, But Wanted To

Does anyone else get annoyed by things that should, on paper, thrill their souls? I do. One of them is that Dave really seems to like Will Ferrell movies - but I'll save that silver screen tidbit for another day (really, dear. Like whomever you want...)

Ok. In 1999, some friends and I produced a CD of Christmas songs as a fundraiser. It wasn't a big deal. I was convinced that if you didn't know us, you wouldn't want to listen to the CD - but people seemed happy to have a copy of it. It was fine, really.

Ok. It wasn't that fine. The production of the CD was difficult. The four of us who paid for the production decided that each writer could produce their own songs sans influence from the others. As fate would happen, um... a lot of people - one in particular - produced, influenced, and cajolled production onto other people. A writer who didn't pay, but whose work appeared on the CD complained the whole time about everything, noting how unprofessional we were (she was right. None of us were music professionals, and with the exception of one, still aren't)

The duplication house we chose didn't get their work done in the time they said it would be done. I had to call a lawyer friend of mine to get the product delivered in time to sell for Christmas. I hate being heavy-handed - and hate those who make me heavy handed even more!

So no one really knew what went on behind the music - but it was tough. I was gratified that people liked the CD. The problem was, in order to make them really valuable to us financially, we had to press 1,000 of them. Do you know how difficult it is to sell one thousand CD's made by non-professional musicians? If you don't know - it's hard. Each year, I was depressed when I saw stacks of them for sale... Each year the price dropped.

Each year, despite my best efforts to like the CD that I felt was fine - but not great - someone said something to remind me of all the crap associated with its production...

Each year, I had to hear from "Sally," one of the writers, about how much she hated the production of this CD - and how badly it sounded - and how blabbidy blah blah blah (One year, someone asked if they could sing a song I wrote. I said, "sure." - After the performance, Sally said, "That song has never sounded so good..." etc...

It's not that I'm not grateful to have had the opportunity - Really. It's just that now, after the CD was published six years ago, It'll never really go away... I guess it's kind of a "duh" moment I had. Whatever you record will never go away. It's like what Murphy once described as a "Pearl Harbor File."

Anyway, last night, as I was sitting in the parking lot in front of my neice's school (I was waiting for my parents. We were going to see her Christmas Dinner Theater), the phone rang. It was Bob, one of the pastors at my church.

"Kelly, who wrote 'Joseph's Blues?'

"Russ and I. Why?"

"Well, I'm using it in Sunday's sermon, and I wanted to give credit where credit is due."

"Bob, this CD will never, ever go away, will it?"

"Nope. It's a Pearl Harbor File..."

Ok, Bob didn't really say that last line. What he said was "Nope. I guess not."

Then Bob asked, "Should I tell people the CD is available if they want one?"

"I thought they sold out last year."

"No. I think John (another writer) has piles of them in his basement."

"bastard!"

Ok, I didn't really say that to the pastor of my church... But on the inside, I yelled it at the top of my voluptuous lungs.

What I said was, "Oh. I guess it really is hard to unload one-thousand CD's."

"Seems so." said Bob.

"Ok - do what you have to!"

This morning in church, just as if I'd just produced the album yesterday, people kept approaching me, "Kelly, that was a great song."

"Thank you."

"Are you writing songs still?"

"No, now I'm only writing about diesel engines and serial killers..."

Ok. I didn't really say that, but I wanted to... What I really said was, "No, I've moved on to prose. Not really doing much songwriting these days."

"Why not? You're really good."

"Well, thank you."

I really said Thank you. I really meant it, too, but darn it... That music was really a pain to produce...

I wonder if Bobby Rydell feels like this whenever someone says, "Hey, I really love that 'Volare..." I wonder if the making of the thing - no matter how great that thing is - no matter how long it's endured - just gets kind of 'been there, done that...' - And then I wonder if I should just quit my bitching... because the reality is - who really gets to make a CD? sigh.