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A Goatsinger Show for the Holiday Season

 THE GOATSINGER SHOW, Mount Vernon's own modern vaudeville show, returns Saturday, Dec. 17, at 7:30 p.m., at the Uptown Theatre in the First Street Community Center, 221 1st Street NE, Mount Vernon. The event features music, sketches, theater, puppetry, and more.
  
Set in the mythical Iowa town of Mount Revere, the December Show is called “The Coming Home.” A stranger has wandered into town and finds himself at a coffeeshop surrounded by storytellers and musicians.  The show features music by Josh Woosley, Tony Immergluck, Sam Butz, Jessie Stewart, and Grace Moran; plus, performances by Nicci Miles, Brandon Rowray, and Mike Moran.  Also included will be a closing sing-a-long and an appearance by Frog. 


 “The Goatsinger Show has been developing both in form andcontent since it first began – becoming more theatrical without losing itsinitial quirkiness,” said producer, Mike Moran. “As always, we’re open to the strange or the curious – whatever playful or fascinating act we can book.”


 Admission to The Goatsinger Show is on a pay-what-you-can basis. 

from "The Coming Home" - this December's Goatsinger Show

3. Come On In My Kitchen – Robert Johnson (arranged by Moran)

LIGHTS UP on "Deisel" – a coffeeshop just off the corner of Highway and Main in Mount Revere, IA.

(ANNA MAE enters from House Left in scarf, hat, and mittens.   

She mimes unlocking and opening the door to Deisel on the ramp Stage Right.   

She starts a pot of coffee onstage.  Maybe turns a radio on.  

 After a moment, the STRANGER can be heard playing something on his guitar from House Left.  It's the opening riff to "Come On In My Kitchen" by Robert Johnson.  

 The Stranger, wearing wintry clothes, playing his guitar, enters House Left, follows the ramp down to Diesel.  ANNA MAE has come out to hang the OPEN sign up on the wall and sees him)

ANNA MAE

You better come on in my kitchen

It's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

(Stranger enters the space, still playing.  Anna Mae helps him off with his hat and cloak -- if he has one.   

He sits.  

 She brings him a cup of coffee.  He maybe stops playing.  Has a sip.  

 The two banter.  He's a stranger in town.  She works here on the weekends.)

STRANGER

You know where Bethelhem (PRONOUNCED: BETHEL-HEM – and I know that's wrong.  Shut up) is from here?

ANNA MAE

Are you fucking kidding?

(They continue to banter while she works.  He picks up his guitar.  She might dance a little with what he's playing.  

 THE PLAYERS – perhaps singing their lines as they enter – enter.  They fetch or take out their instruments and settle in with the song)

1^st PLAYER

The woman I love – I took from my best friend
The joker got lucky, stole her back again

CHORUS

You better come on in my kitchen, 

It's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

2^nd and 3^rd PLAYER
Oh, she's gone, I know she won't come back
I've taken the last nickel out of her gnashing sack

CHORUS

You better come on in my kitchen,

Babe, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

STRANGER

When a body gets in trouble – everybody puts you down

You looking for a good friend and none can be found

ALL BUT STRANGER

You better come on in my kitchen,

Babe, it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

(Free verses – any player or actor who wants to make something up, should do it at this point in the song – only rule is that the content needs to make sense with the chorus – and the chorus can't be re-written)

ANNA MAE
Winter time's comin', it's goin' to be slow
You can't make the winter, babe, that long dry, so

CHORUS

You better come on in my kitchen,

'Cause it's goin' to be rainin' outdoors

(All the players are settled into place)

A PLAYER

Or whatever it's doing out there.....

He's Twittering

The following are Facebook statuses and tweets -- if you're interested in getting these bits from the mythical town Mount Revere, Iowa then check out The Iowa Goatsinger on Facebook or The Iowa Goatsinger on Twitter.


THE IOWA GOATSINGER
10/29/11
-- this morning before the dawn --
he put on his white hoodie and his running shoes,
and he went outside to play the rabbit
down the streets of Mount Revere.

10/30/11
-- was that Hendrix whispering in my ear just now?  Tempting me down the hole with the promise to teach me a new song?

10/31/11
-- his hood this morning flapped against his skull as he ran, and he wondered: Is this what it's like to run with long ears?

And Rabbit? He twitched at the sound of the man running at him, still some fifty yards off; then heard it for what it was, held himself still until the man ran by, and relit his pipe.

11/1/11
-- he wonders, as he runs up and down the streets in the darkness this morning: Why is the rabbit not afraid? --and answers back: Because he's smarter than the cat.

11/2/11
He ran up and down Mount Revere this morning --
In the hours before the dawn --
Hopping nimbly between sidewalk and street --
Following the goat path.

11/3/11
Down by the quarry, running --
He heard Greg Brown mutter --
From behind shutters of oak and maple --
"I'm living in a prayer."

11/6/11
Who was that glimpsed through a window while running this morning?
Were those horns over his ears? -- or headphones?
Was he dancing like Fagin in his own kitchen?  Or am I mistaken?

11/7/11
Fathered by a trickster god -- weaned on Iowa corn. 

The Goatsinger Concept: Part II - "The Goatsinger's Creed"

THE GOATSINGER'S CREED

A goatsinger has a sense of the tragedy and so looks for the jokes.

A goatsinger will sing.

A goatsinger will tell stories, recite poems, perform any part required.

A goatsinger will play his/her instrument as best he/she can.

The "Goatsinger" Concept: Part I - How It Developed

The "goatsinger" concept grew out a desire to get the audience -- students at first -- to pay attention to a song I knew I was going to play for them. A small story, I had learned from Stuart Hoyle way back in the day, told prior to the song got the audience ready to pay attention to the song.

I love this idea, and I see it everywhere among my favorite performers: Laurie Andersen does it -- moving between telling a story, and playing some odd, lovely music while great blue shadows swim across the scrim behind her; Jack White does it, using only the sounds from his guitar as his voice, trying to guide it to the next song, Meg waiting patiently behind her drums, as do the tens of thousands who have gathered to hear him. In Big Time by Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan, Waits does it with some strong staging concepts and some killer monologues. And Greg Brown goatsings like a motherfather -- that old bastard in concert can be amazing.

I tried this story-before-the-song with a group of ten-year-olds for a performance workshop that I'd been hired to do in their classrooms back in Chicagoland -- telling this long story about about painting up a water pistol with shoe polish and robbing a drugstore -- and they loved it -- and the song it introduced: "Comic Books and Bubblegum."

So is goatsinging acting with some song-and-dance?

Not really: that's musical theater. A goatsinging piece, a "goatsong" if you will, needs to be created by a goatsinger.

What the hell is a goatsinger?

A goatsinger is someone who follows The Goatsinger Creed.


(next: The Goatsinger's Creed)

A Musical Theater Piece

"Buffalo Gals/Old Dan Tucker Piece" by Mike Moran

GOATSINGER – Guitarist

BETSY – Young Innocent-Looking Woman – Dancer/Singer

JOHNNY – Young Innocent-Looking Man – Dancer/Singer

SLICK – Young Not-So-Innocent Man – Dancer/Singer

CLAIRE – Young Not-So-Innocent Woman – Dancer/Singer

CHORUS – Four Dancers/Singers – Two Pairs

(Lights. SIGN up reading "Salvation Army – Cafeteria Open". Goatsinger enters, playing)

CHORUS

Well, Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man –

Washed his face in a frying pan –

Combed his hair with a wagon wheel

And died with a toothache in his heel…

(BETSY enters wearing a Salvation Army uniform. Goatsinger bird-dogs her as he sings)

GOATSINGER

As I was walking down the street

Down the street, down the street

A pretty little girl I chanced to meet

Oh, she was fair to see…

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Buffalo Gals won't you come out tonight

And dance by the light of the moon.

(BETSY plays it coquettishly for a moment, teasing him, and then suddenly turns the "Open" sign to "Closed" and sings:)

BETSY

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper

Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper

(SLICK and JOHNNY come out on the opposite side of BETSY and sing)

SLICK and JOHNNY

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

And dance by the light of the moon

(JOHNNY and BETSY cross and he stops and they mime a conversation. JOHNNY appears bashful, nervous, but all smiles. BETSY moves lightly around on her feet, almost nervous. SLICK crosses to the exit and stands with the downstage arm leaning against the edge of the exit. It looks like he might be talking to someone backstage that we just can't see)

JOHNNY

I stopped her and we had a talk

Had a talk, had a talk.

Her feet to up the whole sidewalk

(BETSY moves in suddenly close to him)

And left no room for me.

(she starts to leave, reluctantly, but she has to go, so…. And then JOHNNY asks her out with these lines)

JOHNNY

Buffalo Gal, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Buffalo Gal, won't you come out tonight

And dance by the light of the moon

(SLICK looks over his shoulder to the audience, and explains how he's been talking to this girl they can't see by singing:)

SLICK

I asked her if she'd have a dance

Have a dance, have a dance.

I thought that I might have a chance

To shake a foot with her.

(CLAIRE enters, sort of rolling past SLICK)

SLICK and JOHNNY

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

ALL

We'll dance by the light of the moon

(the cast repeats the chorus to "Buffalo Gals" while another two pair of dancers – someday maybe a couple audience members – will step up and fill out the remainder of the square. Once everyone is in place, then:)

GOATSINGER

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And her heels kept a knocking and her toes kept a rocking

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And we danced by the light of the moon

(All turn and regard him for a moment while he stands and plays, and then:)

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

CHORUS and LEADS

You're too late to get your supper!

GOATSINGER

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

ALL

You're too late to get your supper.

(There's a dance that goes with this – that'd be the transition during the chorus. Each male, following the transition will enact the lyrics being sung)

GOATSINGER

Old Dan Tucker, he'd come to town

Riding a billy goat, leading a hound

The hound dog barked, the billy goat jumped

Landed old Tucker on a stump.

ALL

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

You're too late to get your supper.

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper.

GOATSINGER

Now Old Dan Tucker got drunk and fell

In the fire and kicked up hell.

A red-hot coal fell in his shoes

And oh my Lord, the ashes flew!

ALL

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

You're too late to get your supper.

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper.

GOATSINGER

Now Old Dan Tucker stands about six four

And he spits in the pitcher before he pours

Now, little fella – now what you going to do

When he fills your glass, then bows to you?

ALL

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

You're too late to get your supper.

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper.

GOATSINGER

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And her heels kept a knocking and her toes kept a rocking

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking

And we danced by the light of the moon

(repeat it, but it goes simultaneously with this:)

ALL

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker!

You're too late to get your supper.

Get out the way! Old Dan Tucker

You're too late to get your supper.

(repeat this for as long as it's pleasurable, then CHORUS breaks off from the LEADs and adds…)

CHORUS

Buffalo Gals, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Buffalo Gals won't you come out tonight

And dance by the light of the moon

(the chorus partners separate, saying good-bye, thank you, so on and forth, and exit. SLICK and CLAIRE are making out, while JOHNNY says good-bye to BETSY. They take a moment to pry SLICK and CLAIRE apart. BETSY writes down her number and gives it to JOHNNY. BETSY and CLAIRE exit. The boys chide each other as they exit)

GOATSINGER

Mount Revere Gals, won't you come out tonight

Come out tonight, come out tonight

Mount Revere Gals won't you come out tonight

And dance by the light of the moon

(Exits. End)

Morning

This is a segment of "Uncle Jim and Little Roy" from the 2009 Goatsinger production of Chooka Choo. Here, the two hobos, Uncle Jim and Little Roy, have taken refuge for the night in a barn. Unbeknownst to Little Roy, Uncle Jim is very sick. Once the young man falls asleep, Uncle Jim goes outside to try and pray.




"Morning" by Emily Dickinson

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I’ve never heard?
Oh some scholar, oh some sailor,
Oh some wise man from the skies,
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies.

Curving Shadow

It was a late Saturday evening
Riding gravel with Willy-Todd
Humid Iowa evening
Flesh and Blood steaming
Yeah, the mood was odd

We saw a great big beautiful bonfire
Out in a shallow field
Curving shadows were dancing
We decided to chance it
Yeah, we made the devil a deal

A christian's eyes -- a sinner's smile
Stopped my heart -- no denial -- no, no, no, no

She was a bright-eyed shadow
Curving in the firelight like a knife's edge
Blurring -- a smoky look -- an open smile
Redemption there -- Lord, stop the trial

You think she holds the answer,
Willy-Todd, he said to me
But a woman's a hard road
Love makes for a heavy load
And you'll never be free

Then a gravel cloud kicked up high on the hill
And sirens cut through the night
The cops descended
The party was ended
Then some fool started a fight

Willy-Todd was at my shoulder
But the girl was pulling my hand
I told her it's okay
I'm not going away
I know what it means to finally be redeemed by a

Bright-eyed shadow
Curving in the firelight like a knife's edge
Blurring -- a smoky look -- an open smile
Redemption there -- Lord, stop the trial

~Mike Moran

Frog for School Board

Priestlike Guts

Today will be a day of many fruits and vegetables, I've decided, out of curiosity of what might happen to my priestlike guts if I give them the fresh offerings rather than the burnt offerings they've come to expect.

You realize I have the spleen of a cardinal and the gall bladder of an archbishop; I have the nuts of fundamentalist preacher and the cock of an angry-at-God saint. My lungs draw up the breath like a local chaplain draws up the collection plate, knowing that it'll all be distributed back out to the parts to keep the temple moving.

My heart belongs to jesus/buddha/raven/balder but my mind is very much my own.

That's why my prayers all sound whiny, an undercurrent of God-what-do-You-want-now? feel to them. Perhaps a diet one day of fruits and vegetables might turn my priestlike guts into the guts of a pornographer. Tonight I'll see if my wife will accept a different sacrament.

Lightning might come from my fingertips and burn down the church. Written words are lightning. I could burn you where you stand. So stand back.

the Intro for May's Goatsinger Show

Mount Revere is like a chalk drawing, like a Mary Poppins bit of magic -- the Iowa Goatsinger pulling through and out into the mirrored streets of Mount Vernon.

And bringing behind, like the Pied Piper: a pair of lovely spaniels equipped with their own lovely family; two quiet young men born with guitars in their hands; a pair of pretty blondes -- two tight friends; a bird who turned into a poet; a willowy lady with a side ponytail; a big-hearted bearded young man with a salty word already busting forth.

Out of the chalk drawings of Mount Revere and into the town of Mount Vernon and straight here, to this theater, the Goatsinger brings them to you.

to Mount Vernon on This Day

We are defined in this world by what we say and what we do.

Our first reaction to a crisis gives us a chance to recognize who we are. Everything that follows gives us an opportunity to see what we're capable of becoming.

The Iowa Goatsinger's Intro to April's Goatsinger Show

Before the Dawn

Up in the morning before the dawn – splashing off the porch and on to a wet sidewalk, running under stars dancing like children.

Up in the morning before the dawn: there are folks asleep – a tall, intense father with a gentle voice, his long-limbed daughter asleep behind another door, or the bearded songwriter with the wild voice and his anger at the world he loves so much. Or the out-of-town poet with the quick tongue and remembered song – she sits awake in the darkness somewhere, wondering about cigarettes and street signs, remembering moments and music.

Up in the morning before the dawn, past the pond and the frog blinking and thinking his cold amphibious thoughts and remembering a lean and mean blonde who knew all the wrong things to say at the right moment.

The goatsinger runs the darkness in the morning before the dawn, up and around the streets of his home, past library and chapel, past theater and high garden, before turning back and running, returning at last to his porch, even as the first birds wake and begin crying out their morning song.

He's brought them all here for you tonight, the goatsinger has: stars that dance like children; intense father and long-limbed daughter; angry-voiced songwriter, remembering poet, frog and lean-mean blonde.

Comic Books and Bubblegum

The story goes like this:

Both my parents worked at the John Deere tractor factory in Waterloo, Iowa when I was growing up. What this meant was that during the summer, I was left completely alone and un-attended.

Which is great when you're a kid in the summertime.

We lived outside a small Iowa town -- almost an even mile -- and when I was fifteen it was an awkward place to be. There wasn't much to do and I found myself wasting lots of summer days. My older brother worked as a cashier in town at the drugstore and I used to hassle him that someday I was going to come riding into a town and rob him blind, just to embarrass him.

One morning found me outside hunting squirrels with a water pistol. Now, this was back when you could get a water pistol that was actually shaped like a real gun rather than a bubbly-looking spacegun like you get nowadays -- although, they were still clear and primary-colored. Squirrels are quick and react generally the same way each time you squirt them, and all though it was really really hilarious at first, I did finally get bored with it.

You ever hear how John Dillinger once faked his way out of jail by carving a gun-shape out of a piece of wood and then blacking it with shoe-polish? Plastic will actually hold shoe polish as well. It actually makes a bright-yellow Browning look pretty good. So I painted up my water pistol, wrapped the handle in black electrical tape, put it in a bag so I wouldn't be seen carrying it down the road, and headed into town, whistling.

I waited until I knew the store was empty of customers and I could see my brother through the side-glass window, at the register. Then I burst in, brandishing my pistol.

"Don't move!" I shouted. "This is a stick up!"

My brother just shook his head, until I squirted him a good one. Then he got a bit angry.

I grabbed a Fantastic Four comic book and a pack of Bubble Yum bubblegum and told my brother to just go ahead and count to a hundred "real slow like." Then I backed out of the door, waving my scary-looking squirt gun.

Then I went to the city park, jammed all five pieces of gum into my mouth, and read my comic book.

Twenty minutes later one of our town's Finest pulled into the park. I knew him. I actually sat next to his son during choir. He got out, hiked up his britches around his big middle and strode over to me.

"Mike," he said.

I spit out my bubblegum. "Officer Woodyard," I said back.

"Understand there was some excitement over at the drugstore," Woodyard said.

"Yep," I said. "I robbed the place blind."

He almost grinned but didn't.

"Well," he said, "your brother paid for your loot and the pharmacist, Mr. Schmitz, he didn't seem too worried about it."

"That's good," I said.

"But," he said, then sighed. "Mr. Schmitz says you was waving around a gun. Is that right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"That's a problem," Woodyard said. "Do you still have it?"

I pulled it out of the bag.

"Sure," I said. "Here it is."

Officer Woodyard stepped forward and took it, then looked at me.

"This is plastic," he said.

"Right," I said back. "I've never held a real gun in my life."

Woodyard sighed again.

"Well," he said, "I'm going to have to take you home. We contacted your dad and he's on his way."

This was a surprise. Contacting my father at Deere was something I didn't know was possible. I thought it was a phone call that routed through three offices, down to the assembly floor, through a foreman, and then down the line. For all I knew, they stopped the assembly line if someone walked away from his position. And now he was coming home? This didn't bode well.

My old man had a list of chores made up in his head on the way home that kept me working around the house and acreage for three weeks, then he walked around and made me write up another list of things that occurred to him as he saw them that added another week of work on top of it.

Then he said, "Next year, you get a job."

When I turned nineteen I bought my first guitar. The first song I learned was a Beatles song, the next three songs I learned I wrote myself. This was one of those.

The Nekky Bird Song

Fourteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

- Wallace Stevens



I

Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.