This song is a minor miracle.
We used to routinely play something we creatively titled “The Poetry Game”. Everyone should play it.
Whoever is there at the time writes a title on a scrap of paper. A short phrase, an image, a single word…chef’s choice.
Substances were always involved, either of the liquid or flammable variety. The scraps of paper would be put in a bowl or hat and then one by one you would pull a scrap out.
Whatever was on that paper was the title of a poem that you had to write. After an unspecified amount of time, each scrap of paper would be pulled and each person present would have a pile of poems. All unique but sharing titles. Then you take turns reading your poems aloud.
This particular session was out at Justin’s family home. Nestled between a turf farm and the Queen’s River, this homestead is impossibly bucolic and inspirational. Magic oozes from the place.
A good friend Jim came along for a day hang. We altered our perspectives and then started “The Poetry Game”. All but one of those poems are lost to history. One survived.
Justin had written the phrase “Plaid Mumbo Tango” on his scrap of paper. I don’t often believe in telepathy but the proof is in the pudding.
We each read our respective “Plaid Mumbo Tango” stanzas. Normally I would leave to fate whether you listened or not, but since this is such a wonderful example of groupthink I am going to lay out the lyrics…then you can listen to the finished product if you are still on board.
Stanza One (Justin’s poem-Justin on vocals, Justin on electric guitar, drum programming, 4-track mastery)
Plaid mumbo tango/plaid mumbo tango/plaid mumbo tango/And I’m shakin’ my baby
She say “Plaid Mumbo Tango”/She say “Plaid Mumbo Tango”
I had a sip and now I’m feelin’ fine/plaid mumbo tango/she say “Plaid Mumbo Tango”
“When you get up why don’t you drop me a line?”/Plaid mumbo tango/She say “Plaid Mumbo Tango”
I asked “Do you speak-a my lingo?/plaid mumbo tango/She say “Plaid Mumbo Tango”
Stanza Two (Brendan’s poem Pt. 1-me on vocals)
Hoo cha cha ya hoo/Hoo cha cha ya hoo
Here comes that famous man/Here come that only son/Here come that roller coaster/Here come Dress Shoe Gumshoe Private Eye/Hoo cha cha ya hoo
Don’t cross that famous dick/No double-crossin’ slick/If Dress Shoe Gumshoe is on the track/You better watch your back
Stance Three or Chorus (Jim’s Poem-Brace yourself, this is genius-still me on vocals)
The girl from Ipanema met me in the cabana/She slipped me the film/It was straight from Havana
She slithered out of the leather and ordered a Pina Colada/Her girlfriend joined the table and performed on the Lady Madonna
Smoke I inhaled was racing my heart/A spy code relayed: Iguana/The night heat overwhelmed me/I awoke to Lola Falana
Stanza Four (Brendan’s poem Part Two-me on vocals some more)
Hoo cha cha ya hoo/Hoo cha cha ya hoo
Oh, he could find your short and curly in the comb of that barstool girlie/He’s not just a dick/He’s a walking, talking magic trick/That Dress Shoe Gumshoe really know his trade/Hoo cha cha ya hoo
Here come that dashing man/Here come that prodigal one/Here come that Sherlock Brain/Here come Dress Shoe Gumshoe/Hoo cha cha hoo cha cha ya hoo
If you mess with Dress Shoe Gumshoe/you will wind up in the can/‘coz Dress Shoe Gumshoe always gets his man
In some alternate universe where even my side projects got attention, this song would have had a goofy video and gone into late-night rotation on MTV.
Turf Farm Kings was extra secret, though, and forever lived on, singing against the backdrop of a little patch of green tucked behind a Colonial home and an ancient river.
Only three of us knew about it until today. Welcome to the club.
Here is “Plaid Mumbo Tango” by Turf Farm Kings.
No comments:
Post a Comment