My Music-My Life (Read Me First)
Welcome to My Music-My Life. In this section you can find a selection of my original songs written, recorded and performed from 1979-2006. Where possible I’ve tried to accompany each song with some anecdotal liner notes, lyrics and technical information. Once I get them transfered from VHS, I’ll post the only existing video footage of Café Society, filmed at The Music Machine in Los Angeles in 1985 and features Jon Grimson on bass, Sari Myers on keyboards, Lee Coltman on drums, Dan Levine on trombone, Ann Petereit on trumpet, Jeff Dellisanti on saxophone and myself on guitar and lead vocals. The footage was shot by Irwin Myers.
I hope you enjoy this trip down memory lane.
There’s A Voice in the World That’s (Still) Crying
Probably one of the most ambitious projects I’ve ever undertaken, “There’s a Voice..” came together in three days in 1985 during the height of the famine in Ethopia and was a project modeled after Band Aid and U.S.A. for Africa. I had decided to try producing a local project in L.A. and jump on the famine relief bandwagon, which I thought was a good cause and perhaps a way to get some much needed (and deserved) exposure for my band Café Society. I somehow managed to assemble thirty local musicans, free studio time and materials and ten hours of mastering at Amigo, the old Warner Brothers recording studios (where X had been wrapping up their latest album). In three days I had commitments from the musicians, the studios, a screenwriter who offered to write and direct the music video, and from a major record label who was interested in releasing the single. The song was recorded over two magical days that I will never forget. Everything came together so perfectly and the result was a really good single with a lot of passion and integrity. And while the project never received the attention I felt it should have—mainly due to record industry politics and broken promises—the hard work of so many talented people and their enthusiasm and their heart and soul was surely recognized by the big record company president in the sky. To this day I remain ever so proud and satisfied with the song and the recording and am grateful for having had the unforgettable experience, one of the most personally gratifying of my entire life.
Today, 26 years later, a human crisis is looming in the Horn of Africa brought on by drought, food shortages and armed conflicts. It is my hope that this song—whose message today is sadly as relevant as it was three decades ago—will serve to inspire others to raise their voices and spread a little sunshine by spreading the word. Everyone will be better off in the end.
For more information on how you can help, visit http://www.supportunicef.org/site/pp.asp?c=9fLEJSOALpE&b=7542627
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There’s A Voice in the World That’s Crying
Music and Lyrics by Richard Morris
Recorded at Sunswept Studios, North Hollywood, Ca. March 1985
Mastered at Amigo Studios, North Hollywood, Ca. May 1985
Richard Morris—keyboards, vocals
Dan Levine—bass guitar
Various Artists—vocals
Produced by Richard Morris
˜
Born into the world all he knows is hunger.
And a helpless child cries out in vain.
Nothing makes sense no rhyme no reason,
A mother soothes his soul but she can’t stop the pain.
There’s a voice in the world that’s crying
But it’s too weak to be heard.
You can spread a little sunshine if you could only spread the word.
For a mother and her children could really use a friend—
Everyone will be better off in the end.
There’s a light in the sky that’s shining.
It’s gonna shine upon a foreign land.
See how strong we’re gonna be when we join together,
‘Cause we’re going to reach out and help our fellow man.
There’s a voice in the world that’s crying
But it’s too weak to be heard.
You can spread a little sunshine if you could only spread the word.
For a mother and her children who could really use a friend—
Everyone will be better off in the end
Feel the pulse of an entire nation.
Let’s join our hearts together, feel them beat as one.
We’re all in this thing called life together
So let’s see the starving few become the starving none.
There’s a voice in the world that’s crying
But it’s too weak to be heard.
You can spread a little sunshine if you could only spread the word.
For a mother and her children could really use a friend—
Everyone will be better off in the end.
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Oh, Que Soledad (♫)
Oh,_Que_Soledad.mp3 (7287 KB)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend TWB (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session. This version of “Oh, Que Soledad” features TWB on guitar and bass while I provided guitars, vocals and the 3 a.m. drum program.
Oh, Que Soledad
R. Morris
Hay algo que debo encontrar
La casa esta llena de sol
Pero siento vacío mi corazón
Me miro al espejo soy yo
Pero voy perdiendo el valor
Veo que me hace falta brillo y calor
Oh, que soledad toda mía
Siguiéndome siempre noche y día
Viviendo la vida sin ilusión
Abro la ventana hay luz
Hay un horizonte en la distancia
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final
Cambiaré las rutinas de ayer
Moveré mi vestuario al revés
Abriré la puerta de mi corazón
Ya vi que la guerra es el fin
Si algo me toca podría morir
Vi el mundo lleno de equivocación
Oh, que soledad toda mía
Matándome más cada día
Brindándome muerte cuando quiero pasión
Abro la ventana hay luz
Hay un horizonte en la distancia
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final
Oh, que soledad toda mía
Siguiéndome siempre noche y día
Viviendo la vida sin ilusión
Abro la ventana hay luz
Hay un horizonte en la distancia
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final.
Yalena (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend TWB (guitar) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
Yalena
R. Morris
Voy tranquilo, lentamente, hacia ti mujer (Yalena).
Iluminas con tu cuerpo todo mi existir.
Vibro al tiempo que estoy rozando tu cuerpo…
Te respiro en mis sueños.
Es tanta el agua del mar que separa mi camino.
Como grande el amor que sentí por tí.
¿Cómo volver atrás y encontrar tu abrigo?
¿Cómo podrás saber del amante amigo?
Tu voz dulce canto, ha descubierto mi niño.
Quiero jugar con tu pelo…y tu vestido.
Mirar tu sonrisa que grita amante amigo…
Mirarte otra vez, Yalena.
Es tanta el agua del mar que separa mi camino.
Como grande el amor que sentí por tí.
¿Cómo volver atrás y encontrar tu abrigo?
¿Cómo podrás saber del amante amigo?
No Olvidar Mi Ayer (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend Todd Berns (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
No Olvidar Mi Ayer
R.Morris
Cuando vi que la vida empezaba a oscurecer
Comprendí que el camino lo tenía que recorrer
La mañana siguiente sabía como iba a ser
Un café y la corbata no dejes pasar el tren
Romperé las cadenas que me atan aquí
Dibujar mi camino con un gis
Dejaré algunas señas por allí
Voy a cantar, volar, soñar por alcanzar
Mi ayer no olvidar.
Pasiones del pasado iluminarán mi andar
Si me das tu mano el mundo descubriré
No esperes que la suerte decida que vas a ser
Me gritaba la vida y no podía entender.
Romperé las cadenas que me atan aquí
Dibujar mi camino con un gis
Dejaré algunas señas por allí
Voy a crecer, tener, y ser lo que deba ser
No olvidar mi ayer.
Desvaneceré (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend Todd Berns (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
Desvaneceré
R. Morris
Te conozco bien.
(Por lo menos eso pensaba).
Voy a descubrir, sigo tratando de saber quien soy.
No se a donde voy o donde estaré cuando caiga el sol.
Ya se fue por tu culpa.
Un prisionero de la isla del amor.
Esta vez es la última, ya no volveré.
Y me desperté.
Había rosas flotando encima.
Intenté volar.
Y encontré mis alas atadas.
Cogí una flor, pero era solo imagen.
Ya se fue por tu culpa.
Un prisionero de la isla del amor.
Esta vez es la última, ya no volveré.
Esto terminó.
Pero el principio somos tu y yo.
Cuando no haya más, de los recuerdos siempre viviré.
Y si se van con las rosas desvaneceré.
Ya se fue por tu culpa.
Un prisionero del la isla del amor.
Esta vez es la última vez, ya no volveré.
Tres Estrellas (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend Todd Berns (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
Tres Estrellas
R. Morris
Tres estrellas en tus ojos brillan así:
Una brilla para ti, otra para mi.
Y la última brillando para los dos.
Dejé mi amor en el mas allá.
Espero que vengas a América.
Espero ver tus zapatos afuera de mi puerta
y tenerte conmigo.
Tres deseos en mi alma para hacer:
Uno es mi vida, otro es tuyo, ya.
Y el último lo haremos entre los dos.
Tu estas en el mas allá.
Estoy aquí en América.
Juntaré piel, fe, alma,
y compartirlos contigo.
Tres estrellas en mis ojos brillan así:
Una brilla para ti otra para mi.
Y la última brillando para los dos.
Tu estas en el mas allá.
Estoy aquí en América.
Espero ver tus zapatos afuera de mi puerta
y tenerte conmigo.
Estamos aquí en América.
Siempre pensando en el mas allá.
Volveremos a plantar nuestras raíces
Y seguir al destino,
y compartirlo contigo,
y tenerte conmigo.
Más Cosas en la Vida (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend Todd Berns (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
Más Cosas en la Vida
R. Morris
Tengo que esperar hasta llegar en la vida.
Sin precipitar para lograr la salida.
No la podría ver si yo voy en huida.
Te amo lo se bien pero después que vendrá.
Que será, que vendrá mañana.
Si estaré, no lo se contigo.
Puede ser no puedo ver lo que pasa dentro de mi.
Voy a tener amigos y amigas solo los tengo que abrazar.
Conoceré más cosas en la vida solo tenía que despertar.
Tal vez te guardaré en un lugar del olvido.
Yo volveré lo se y mi dolor se habrá ido.
Y si ves lagrimas no pienses tu que son por ti.
Que será, que vendrá mañana.
Si estaré, no lo se, contigo.
Puede ser no puedo ver lo que pasa dentro de mí.
Me vestiré de traje y equipaje y lanzaré mi vela al mar.
Quiero hallar un viejo en el camino y que me cuente de su ayer.
Voy a tener amigos y amigas solo los tengo que abrazar.
Conoceré más cosas en la vida solo tenía que despertar.
Me Enseña la Verdad (♫)
This song was recorded during a night-long session back in June 1991 in Sherman Oaks, California. It was the closest thing to a real Café Society reunion and features Craig Nieves (bass), Lee Coltman (Percussion), myself (guitar and vocals) and boyhood friend Todd Berns (guitar, bass) who happened to be living out in L.A. at the time. It was a splendid evening that began at my favorite restaurant—Thai Cottage in Studio City—and wound down close to 4 a.m. following an eight-hour recording/mixing session.
Me Enseñá La Verdad
R. Morris
Bien otra vez…
Tomando la senda del ayer.
Llevando todo el mundo en mis pies,
Con dos rasgos grabados en mi piel.
Uno me dice “te amo,”
Y puedo amar su piel.
Otro me dice “te cuidas,”
Te quiero bien.
Yo te esperaré.
A veces soy…
Un niño que jugaba con balón.
Y de repente vuelvo a ser un gran señor,
Descubriendo nuevas formas al amor.
Uno me toma de la mano,
Y me cruza la ciudad.
Otro me espera en la cama
Me enseña la verdad.
Oh, Que Soledad “Accents” Version—2000 (♫)
This version of “Oh, Que Soledad” was recorded in Valencia, Spain, for an album of international music which was a companion to the broadcast of a local television documentary series “Accents,” produced by Malvaossa Media. Re-runs of the 11-part documentary—in which I am featured—can still be seen occassionally on Spanish television.
The live recording was done in the concert hall at the Spanish Society of Authors and Editors in a single take due to the fact they had to record about a dozen other musicians that morning. While rehearsing I was approached by Mathieu, a young French cellist, who was there to accompany another musician and said he liked the song and offered to add some simple cello bits behond the guitar and voals, which he did after only running through the song once or twice.
Oh, Que Soledad (“Accents” Version—2000)
R. Morris
Hay algo que debo encontrar.
La casa esta llena de sol.
Pero siento vacío mi corazón.
Me miro al espejo soy yo.
Pero voy perdiendo el valor.
Veo que me hace falta brillo y calor.
Oh, que soledad toda mía.
Siguiéndome siempre noche y día,
Viviendo la vida sin ilusión.
Abro la ventana hay luz,
Hay un horizonte en la distancia.
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final.
Cambiaré las rutinas de ayer.
Moveré mi vestuario al revés.
Abriré la puerta de mi corazón.
Ya vi que la guerra es el fin—
Si algo me toca podría morir.
Vi el mundo lleno de equivocación.
Oh, que soledad toda mía.
Matándome más cada día,
Brindándome muerte cuando quiero pasión.
Abro la ventana hay luz,
Hay un horizonte en la distancia.
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final.
Oh, que soledad toda mía.
Siguiéndome siempre noche y día,
Viviendo la vida sin ilusión.
Abro la ventana hay luz,
Hay un horizonte en la distancia.
Voy a ir a buscarte hasta el final.
Colors of Passion (♫)
COLORS OF PASSION (1986)
R. Morris
Recorded at MDF Studios, Hollywood, February 1987
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Craig Nieves—bass
Lee Coltman—drums
Ken Lee—keyboards
Engineered by Mark Frankovitch
NOTE: This song’s lyrics were re-written as my first Spanish song, Oh, Que Soledad,” in 1990.
The Story Behind the Song:
Race, ethnicity and religion have always been predominant overtones in my life. Growing up in a “melting pot,” Chicago, being cared for by a black woman as a child, having school friends with six-syllable surnames and having dated quite a few women of distinct colors and ethnic backgrounds, one could say that mine has been a life enriched by my ability to see beyond the color of one’s skin. Perhaps it has something to do with my being color blind…
Eleanora Wilson was the first black person I ever knew. She worked for my great-grandfather at the Dr. Dolnick Community Center on California Avenue in Chicago’s West Rogers Park. Eleanora was the cleaning woman, caretaker, errand-runner, short order cook and babysitter—exclusively my babysitter. What I remember most about Eleanora—who I believe may still be alive to this day—was when she made me my first Coke Float. One fine spring day after school I came to the Dolnick Center, as I did everyday after school, and headed straight for kitchen where I could usually catch the tail end of the Cubs game on Eleanora’s small black and white television with its coat hanger antenna. She sat me down on the tall black swivel stool at the large butcher block table in the center of the kitchen and set a small white desert bowl in front of me. She went to the freezer and took out a carton of vanilla ice cream, set it on the counter where she cut off a small square slice, carrying it on the knife and dropping it in my bowl. Strange, I thought, she’s never served me ice cream in a bowl before. And before Ron Santo could rip one into center field, there was Eleanora filling my bowl with Coca Cola, completing immersing the ice cream and producing the most unbelievable bubbles and foam I had ever seen outside of a bath tub. “Your granddad likes these,” she said as she handed me a spoon. My first Coke Float.
Over the years I got to know practically all of Eleanora’s family: her sons and daughters—even the ones who died, the boys shot or stabbed and her daughter whose young son couldn’t wake his mommy up one morning—and her other daughter Wilma Jean who was every bit as gorgeous as Diana Ross. And her son-in-law A.J. who was the Center’s janitor who, despite my great-grandfather’s wishes to the contrary, would let me into his secret lair in the bowels of the boiler room—where he had his own little black and white tv with a coat hanger antenna—to watch Cubs games or Garfield Goose.
My grammar school experience was also one of tolerance and broad-mindedness as my classmates came from literally all corners of the planet: Greece, Iraq, Cuba, India, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, China, Korea, The Philippines—even Alabama (that would be you Mike!). In my neighborhood we grew up eating tacos, falafel and gyros and watching curiously as Hasidic Jews in their long black coats and beards walked past Indian women in their long colorful saris and dotted foreheads along Devon Avenue.
As ethnically diverse as my neighborhood was in the 60s and 70s, surprisingly very few—hardly any really—African American families lived there. In fact, the only time I had heard of African Americans coming into our neighborhood was when my father was held up at gunpoint by “three people of color” in our front hall on Washtenaw one evening in about 1980.
So the song was born out of a number of personal experiences and relationships and the episode of my father being robbed.
There are a number of other deeply personal themes in the song including a parents’ reaction to their child’s relationship with someone from other than their own ethnic, racial or religious background and my own ignorance, prejudice and resentment drawn from the experience of being left by a woman who had entered into a relationship with a man whose ethnicity was different from my own.
In the end, the song was just a way of confronting my fears of the unknown. My girlfriend at the time went on to marry a Korean-American man and have a beautiful family and a privileged life. I married a Spanish woman with whom I had two wonderful children, and I currently live with an amazing woman from the Netherlands who, as fate would have it, I met more than a dozen years ago and with whom I’ve had two children, beautiful girls born in December 2009 and June 2011. So life takes its twists and turns…
After all these years, I have to wonder if Eleanora, way back when I was just a little boy, was trying to tell me something when she mixed that dark, caramel-colored soda pop with that creamy white vanilla ice cream. “Your granddad likes these,” she used to say. I still do.
Lyrics:
I never would love you the way
The way that I love today
Can you see the man behind slanted eyes?
And I never could hate you the way
The way that they hate you today
Can you see the men behind all their lies?
The colors of passion just fade
Is prejudice in fashion these days?
Can you see the man behind slanted eyes?
And when they come to harm you they’ll say
They’re here to charm you, just pray
That they have the fear of God in their hearts.
My father he asked me if I, slept with a black girl last night,
Daddy can you see darkness only at night?
The colors of passion just fade
Is prejudice in fashion these days?
Daddy can you see darkness only at night?
Sarah don’t hate your family
They just can’t see things plainly,
Have trust
That maybe someday they might understand.
The colors of passion just fade
Is prejudice in fashion these days?
Can you see the man behind colored skin?
Sarah don’t hate your family
They even hate me,
Have trust
That maybe someday they might understand.
I Have Returned Again (1985) (♫)
I HAVE RETURNED AGAIN (1985)
R. Morris
Recorded at MDF Studios, Hollywood, February 1987
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Craig Nieves—bass
Lee Coltman—drums
Ken Lee—keyboards
Engineered by Mark Frankovitch
The Story Behind the Song:
I wrote this song in November of 1985. I had been back in Chicago for nearly three months and was slowly trying to put my life back together after the break up of my six-year plus relationship with my “high school sweetheart.”
I was working downtown at Carson, Pirie, Scott and Company, a Chicago landmark department store on State Street, as an assistant to the towel and bed linen buyer. It was easy work, filing and placing orders with suppliers, and I was paid a decent wage and received a liberal discount that I used quite liberally (I still have a Tommy Hilfiger denim jacket from his first season that I bought there).
On a cold night in late November, I got into my mother’s car and drove to Sari’s parent’s house on Lunt. After driving around the block a half dozen times or more and stopping in the alley to peek in the family room window where we had spent hours watching TV on weekends, I parked the car in the middle of the intersection at the top of street where Lunt ends and Lerner Park begins. I got out of the car and stood in the freezing cold for nearly an hour, the car running and Sting’s “Fortress Around Your Heart” playing over and over on a continuous loop tape I had bought that morning at Radio Shack. In that hour I must have played and replayed the entire six years of my life over and over, from our first date at the movies at the Lincoln Village Theater, our kiss outside her parent’s house, the life we tried and tried to make for ourselves in three trying years in L.A., our days together in the band, the heartaches and the last time I ever saw her, in a crowded courtroom where before a judge I was ordered to pay what remained of our common debts.
The song was born out of the experience of having come home again and reflecting on people and places that I considered to be “home,” even people who were far away or had nothing to do with Chicago. It’s an overtly simple, two-chord song though it does possess within its modest composition quite a revealing text replete with many underlying and purposely concocted sleights and hidden names and meanings. I have deciphered the cryptic meanings in the song to all but a handful of people over the years and it challenges me somewhat to reveal them here, but I feel the song deserves it. Besides, time has healed old wounds and I can now, after all these years, look back with a sense of pride and accomplishment for all that I have managed to carry away from those experiences—mostly that somehow I was able to survive those years of awkward innocence and profound bewilderment.
The first two verses contain references to my early relationships and the joy I got from taking long drives down Sheridan Road to the winding roads; winding roads my mother drove me down as a colicky baby and as a young boy and roads I would travel along as a lonely young man.
“Ensuing,” at the beginning of verse three alludes to a friend from high school named Susan (Sue) with whom I shared viewing my first sunrise one chilly spring morning out on the island at Northwestern University. The “lost child” belongs to Judy J., an artist, who I knew in Scottsdale while she was single and pregnant. The “burden” refers to Burton, my friend and bass player during the seven months I lived in Scottsdale. The “young” composes part of a surname of a grade school girlfriend that I had seen for the first time in years just before moving to Scottsdale and invited to visit. Three months later I received a phone call from Jill telling me she had bought an airline ticket to Phoenix and was coming to see me. She wasn’t in great shape having just lost her boyfriend who was killed in a plane crash and spent nearly three months living in my apartment drowning her sorrows in alcohol. I returned home from work one day to find her and her things gone. She didn’t leave a note or phone and I never saw or heard from again.
The “operator” in the same verse alludes to a young Mexican woman who I had only known as a voice on the telephone. I had been working in Scottsdale as a skip tracer and made numerous daily calls to a credit bureau tracking down credit information. Misty was the operator I always asked for, partly because of her efficiency, and partly due to the fact that she had a terribly sexy voice. After a few months, our phone conversations took on a personal tone and we found ourselves becoming more and more interested in each other. We met only once at my apartment on Osborne Street where, to my surprise, I discovered her to be terribly obese, slovenly and married. Luckily, about a half an hour after Misty arrived at my apartment, Rob Simon, who had come in from Chicago, came knocking on my door to collect the rest of the money I owed him for an electric guitar he sold me shortly before I left Chicago. I turned out the lights and watched him through the peephole for about fifteen or twenty minutes while he smoked cigarettes and walked up and down the stairs, finally leaving after placing his ear to the door to make sure I wasn’t actually home avoiding him—which I wasn’t—I was merely avoiding the embarrassment of being seen with this woman.
The “warrants” in the same verse refers to a man called Warren P., a customer at the bank where Sari was a teller. She had been dating him during the time I had been living with my drummer-at-the-time’s sister Tema and her family, whose name can also be found in an acrostic in the line “time’s endless mornings alone.” The “burns” in the line “the song in our hearts burns to fade” alludes to Todd Berns, childhood friend, bandmate, and collaborator during our teenage years. The “ice cream we wanted” were the giant Scooper Malts that Todd and I frequently purchased at the drug store in the Belmont Hotel on Lake Shore Drive. The “chill” alludes to the two “Jill’s” I had known in my youth. Finally, Stacy Simon, who I had worked with at a shoe store in the San Fernando Valley during the early 80s is immortalized in the line “I’d stay—see, I’ve already gone.” During the two years we worked together, she—nor anyone else—ever had the slightest notion that I was secretly and madly in love with her.
The voices on the answering machine at the end of the song also have a very special meaning to me as well. I had come home from the studio one afternoon after just having recorded the the song and I was playing the demo back while listening to my messages and I thought it sounded kinda cool and that perhaps I could use that at the end of the song. The next day I brought the tape containing the messages to the mixing session and we tried it at the end of the song and that’s where it stayed.
The first voice is my high school friend Lance LeVine saying: “Hey Butchy Boy, how’s it going? It’s Lance calling, I just wanted to say “hi.” I wish I would have got you in person but if I get a tape as long as you get the message. Just wanted to know how you were doin’, how’s Sherlock (my dog) doin’? Wanna see you sometime when you come back to Chicago so we can hit Bendels (referring to the old Belden Deli) sometime—go out to eat. It’s not the same going there with just Janice. Remember the good old times when we were over there?
The next voice is Jennifer saying: “Hi, Rick, it’s Jennifer. I just wanted to, you know, see how you were doing—I haven’t talked to you in a while. What’s new and exciting with you? How’s old Sherlock doing? When are you coming home?”
The next voice is Homaun Azizi. We worked together at a savings and loan in Woodland Hills in 1986-87. Homaun says: “K’sukta gor (Arabic slang); what’s happening boy? Where the hell you are? Are you with that…? Gimme a buzz. Take my care (play on “ker,” Arabic slang); bye.”
The final voice is my mother’s, who called in anticipation of my pending visit to Chicago: “Hi Rick, it’s mom. Just calling to say hi, calling to see how you are. Everything is fine here at home. We’re, we’re getting ready for your visit, and looking forward to your coming.”
This was the second song we recorded at MDF, we did about ten or twelve takes of the rhythm tracks because Lee couldn’t get the tom-tom sound he was after. I really like Craig and Lee’s steady beat on this song because they took a fairly monotonous two-note song and transformed it into something special. Ken’s simple but eerie synth lines provided just the mood I was after without sounding too terribly Duran Duranish. I recorded the final vocal track one morning at three a.m. while Craig and Lee slept on a sofa in the studio.
Lyrics:
Here I stand froze on the street of your house
Where we played games discovered ourselves.
Where Lunt meets the shore, and I wanted more
Than you gave so I settled for love.
Then she came around and I discovered passion,
The songs would lure them all my way.
And I have returned again.
I have returned again.
I have returned…again.
Twice (maybe four times)
In the fields and by the “El” train
Winding roads were the streets in my brain.
This life’s been a lie and I keep wondering why
The past is gone but the tears they still fall.
And I have returned again.
I have returned again.
I have returned…again.
Ensuing the sunrise
The lost child in your eyes,
The burden laid first for the young.
The operator, and the no tree at Christmas
Warrants time’s endless mornings alone.
Hotel Belmont and the ice cream we wanted
The song in our hearts burns to fade.
The chill’s getting colder, and I’m feeling older
I’d stay, see, I’ve already gone.
And I have returned again.
I have returned again.
I have returned…again.
The Best Years of My Life
THE BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE (1985)
R. Morris
Recorded at MDF Studios, Hollywood, California, February 1987
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Craig Nieves—bass
Lee Coltman—drums
Ken Lee—keyboards
Engineered by Mark Frankovitch
The Story Behind the Song:
We met in the summer of 1978 when we both auditioned for a traveling theater troupe at the Henry Hart JCC in Chicago. All that I can remember about seeing her for the first time was that she had the biggest, whitest teeth I have ever seen which were made even whiter on the backdrop of her deeply tanned, Florida holiday skin and orangey terrycloth sundress. It was puppy love at first sight for me and we started dating shortly afterwards. When I graduated from high school in 1981 I moved to Scottsdale, Arizona, where I formed a punk band with a high school friend who had recently moved there from Chicago. I remained in Scottsdale until she graduated from high school the following June, at which time we met up in Los Angeles where we lived together until the summer of 1985.
I had always considered those having been the best years of my life. And while it’s true that perhaps I didn’t do much growing up during the time we were together, I often wonder what would have become of me and my life if perhaps those years were spent differently or with someone else. However, I look back now at those years not as having been necessarily the best years of my life, but as having been the stepping-stones toward reaching better years and certainly amazing experiences, relationships and destinations.
I wrote this song in Chicago in September 1995 after having left L.A. in a whirlwind of emotions, confusion and anguish that resulted in our break up during the summer of 1985. Following a breakdown of sorts I moved out of my house and checked into a hotel where I got some rest for a few days before packing up my car and driving back to Chicago. After more than a month of seclusion in my bedroom in my parent’s apartment in Chicago, I was finally coaxed out by a good friend at the time who treated me to French onion soup at Mel Markon’s on Lincoln Park West. During our dinner date of sorts, my friend was quiet and attentive, letting me do all the talking, not wanting to force me into what might have been painful conversation. It was only then when I had realized how isolated and unfulfilling my life had been those past seven years. It felt, I said, as if I had lost the only life I had ever known. And in many ways it was. Only it was me who was to blame for the loss and for so foolhardily leading the life I did.
This was the first of a number songs recorded by Mark Frankovich in Hollywood, California, in 1987. The sessions included the following musicians:
Ken Lee (keyboards) was a high school friend my cousin Ross introduced me to who today works as a dedicated special education teacher. Ken, a classically trained pianist, is today a multi-talented keyboardist, composer, producer and photographer;
Craig Nieves (bass) is a teacher and high school sports coach and fronts the Northern California band Stealing Third. Craig is married with two school-age children;
Lee Coltman (drums) is a professor of anthropology at a major California state university and has worked training young olympic gymnastics hopefuls for more than 25 years.
“The Best Years of My Life” is the most commercially oriented pop song I’ve ever written and recorded and is perhaps the only one of my compositions I can actually imagine hearing on the radio! I especially love Lee’s drumming here which I find magical, lifting the song to an even higher highs with his perfect Stewart Copeland backbeat and smart fills at the end of the song. The recording is a bit weather beaten having been transferred many times from old cassette tapes, but it has been preserved nonetheless.
Lyrics:
In all of my whole life
I’d never seen a reason to be all uptight
I’d never seen a season changing overnight
I’d never be that selfish
She took away the best years of my life
Took away the only love I’d known.
Took away the badness in my eyes
Took away the madness in my whole entire life…
I’d never been a stranger in her life
I’d never rearrange things for her and all one night
She up and left me
(that girl)
Took away the best years of my life
Took away the only love I’d known.
Took away the madness in my eyes
Took away the sadness in my whole entire life…
(I say again, she left me straightaway)
And took away the best years of my life
Took away the only love I’d known.
Took away the sadness in my eyes
Took away the gladness in my whole entire life…
(I say again, she left me straightaway)
And took away the darkness and the rain,
Took away the pleasure and the pain;
Took away the peace in peace of mind,
Took away the hope for all mankind;
Took away the rivers, lakes, and streams,
Took away our visions, hopes, and dreams;
Took away the farmer in the dell,
Took away the heaven and the hell;
Took away the left, the right, the wrong,
Took away it all except this song.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh…
Wendy (1979) (♫)
WENDY (1979)
R. Morris
Recorded at L.A. Music, Los Angeles, California, May 1983
Personnel:
Richard Morris—vocals
Craig Nieves—bass
Ron Weiss—drums
Matt Evidon—Piano, keyboards
Engineered by Clive Matsumoto
The Story Behind the Song:
“Wendy” started out as a simple little melody I came up with on the piano when I was about thirteen or fourteen. As I only knew a total of perhaps four or five piano chords, these were the foundations of all my early songs. The song is based loosely on my mother’s life, having dropped out of high school, marrying young, having a baby at twenty-one and divorcing soon after; having known young men that didn’t come home from Viet Nam, and often placing the blame for her tragic youth on the man that betrayed her and her young son. The reference to Viet Nam is most peculiar as I only remember once seeing a letter and being told it was from a friend of my mother’s—a boy from the neighborhood who she grew up with—who was in the army. This had to be prior to 1970 while my mother and I still lived with my grandparents before my mother’s re-marriage in May of that same year.
I suppose the song—as melancholy as it may seem—is really a song of hope. It follows its protagonist from cradle to grave, touching on some important milestones in her life. The lyrics also play heavily on blame, guilt, and responsibility as Wendy looks for someone with whom to share her heartbreaks and challenges as she asks: “why must I/he/they/we set the example?” It’s obvious that Wendy is desperately seeking an accomplice, or at least someone else to share her misfortunes with.
“Wendy” was by far the most challenging song we recorded during the sessions we had with Clive. The final piano track was added last over the drum track because we just couldn’t seem get the song down the right way. At the end, Ron refused to play the song yet another time and due to time and money restraints, Matt said that he would play over the drum tracks as many times as necessary until he got it right. Needless to say, after a half a dozen takes, we settled for a slightly off tempo piano track that makes Ron’s drumming look sloppier than Matt’s piano playing. Either way the song is technically flawed though I like Matt’s piano work and the string ensemble sound he came up with using a cheezy early 80s synthesizer which gave the song a sort of epic ballad—”Nights in White Satin” feel. And while “Wendy” was an attempt to create one of those legendary 70s operatic ballads that go on for six or seven hours with big strings and crashing drums, I don’t know what ever made me think it would fit into the repertoire of an 80s new wave band.
And the ultimate providence of the song is in its protagonist’s name, Wendy; as only fate would have it…
Lyrics:
Wendy grew up and she played with all of those older boys.
The sixties come and they all run to be soldier boys.
I remember the day they all died,
She got the letter and she broke down and cried;
She said: life’s so unfair for those who aren’t there,
Why must they set the example?
Wendy fooled around with all the boys in her college class.
She walked in space, she ran the race, she always came in last.
She left me then and she took what all was mine,
Now she walks the streets—she ain’t even got a dime;
And she says: life’s so unfair for those who are there,
Why must I set the example?
She fell in love and she married a man and they had a boy.
Working late nights, can’t stand all the fights, see you later Roy.
She packed her things and she took her young son,
Their life seemed over but it really had just begun;
She said: life’s so unfair when he’s not there to care,
Why must he set the example?
She grew old and she hadn’t a friend to give a care.
When she died nobody cried, no one was even there.
She said to God, “Lord, where have I gone wrong?”
He said “Wendy, nowhere, you see your life’s just begun,”
He said life seems unfair when you’re down there,
Why must we set the example.
Humanly Possible (Studio Version 1) (♫)
HUMANLY POSSIBLE (STUDIO VERSION 1)
R. Morris (1981)
Recorded at Camelback Studios, February 1982.
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Burton Korer—bass
Monique Bera—drums
The Story Behind the Song:
Please see notes on “Humanly Possible” (Live Version) post.
Lyrics:
You know me and I’m not what you see in him, I’m much different.
I’m not the child that you knew back in ‘69, I’m much older now…
I’m just that way.
Me and Tim when we came we was amazed at the goings on.
Our heads got lost and we were tossed around like Teds on a roundabout…
I thought my luck ran cold.
I sat at home was all alone and watched TV for an hour or so.
I went to bed to rest my head from the day’s expense—I was just passing through…
I thought your heart was real.
Humanly Possible (Live Version) (♫)
HUMANLY POSSIBLE (LIVE VERSION)
R. Morris (1981)
Recorded live at FM Station, North Hollywood, California, July 1984
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Jon Grimson—bass
Lee Coltman—drums
Sari Myers—keyboards
Jeff Dellisanti—Saxophone
Ann Peteriet—Trumpet
Dan Levine—Trombone
The Story Behind the Song:
This song was written in Chicago sometime between my high school graduation in June 1981 and my move to Arizona in November of that same year. I was now heavily into The Police, Tubes, The Clash, and a brilliant local band in Chicago called Special Affect, a group made up of guitarist Al Jourgenson, bassist Marty Sorensen, drummer Harry Rushakoff and vocalist Franke Nardiello. The band used to rehearse in the basement of an old building on the corner of Devon and Washtenaw, the street where my family lived from 1977 until the mid 1990s. It was an apartment building with a few small storefronts, including the shoe repair shop belonging to Hans, the German cobbler who used to repair my father’s shoes. The building was razed in the 1980s and the land used for a parking lot for what was previously Cook County Savings and Loan on the corner of Devon and Fairfield.
I first saw Special Affect live at the old Eleventh Street Theater, which coincidentally was located in the same building where my grandmother worked for over thirty years
in the Midwest Region offices of the United Synagogue of America. I spent a lot of time in that old dark and musty theater as it had been abandoned for many years. The only play I ever saw there was “Fiddler On The Roof,” I must have been about nine or ten. When I would go downtown to work with my grandmother, usually during winter and summer vacations, I would play in the theater, pretending to be an actor or inventing my own musicals and skits.
It was during my first year of high school when I met Rob Simon, a teenage virtuoso guitarist whose mother served him breakfast in bed and who obviously recognized her son’s talent enough to condone his chronic truancy and chain smoking. Rob invited me to join his band originally as its bass player, the only criteria I met was that I was the only person he could find who actually owned a bass guitar. After months of struggling with the bass, I was replaced by former bassist, Eugene Canning, and made lead vocalist and sometimes rhythm guitarist (Rob let me play the acoustic guitar on Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung”). That year, Rob got us all tickets to see Special Affect playing at the Eleventh Street Theater. I only remember three things: being very comfortable in the familiar surroundings of the theater have virtually grown up there, being impressed by the turnout of so many people to see a “garage” band, and finally, the cleanest, sweetest sound I had ever heard coming from a guitar which was played by Al Jourgensen.
And as things usually come full circle, the building and theater were eventually sold to Columbia College of Chicago, where I worked as an adjunct professor of English from 1984 to 1986. The Eleventh Street Theater is now known as the Goetz Theater of Columbia College. Al Jourgensen later went on to form the internationally renowned band Ministry and was also founder of Wax Trax Records. Franke Nardiello, the group’s vocalist later moved to London and went on to sing with My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult. Drummer Harry Rushakoff, who was a personal friend of Rob Simon and attended the same grammar school as I did, went on to play for the critically acclaimed band Concrete Blonde.
“Humanly Possible” doesn’t say much lyrically and was basically written as filler for live performances. It was one of those songs that just seemed to write itself and I was satisfied enough with the end result not to rewrite the meaningless lyrics as many people had suggested I should.
This live recording also has a bit of anecdote attached to it. The show it was recorded at was a special 4th of July show and my band, Café Society, was the closing act for the Red Hot Chili Peppers that night. But that’s not the anecdote. My getting arrested is. After the show I packed up my little red Mazda with my and Sari’s gear and leaving the parking lot I made an illegal left turn and was nailed by L.A.’s finest. I was able to convince the officer that the no left turn sign was obstructed but I wasn’t able to have him shake off the bench warrant that was issued for my not paying my annual license plate sticker fee so he informed me that he was placing me under arrest. To complicate matters, my car was packed with gear and Sari couldn’t drive a stick shift. She ended up staying with the car until my drummer came back to the club to drive her and the gear home. I was taken away in handcuffs and brought to the Van Nuys police station and shackled to a bench next to some pretty heavy criminal types for the better part of two hours. After making my one phone call, my cousin Tracey’s boyfriend came to the station where I gave him my ATM card and he withdrew the 300 or so dollars I needed to post bail and I was released about 20 minutes later—at about 5:30 in the morning.
Lyrics:
You know me and I’m not what you see in him, I’m much different.
I’m not the child that you knew back in ‘69, I’m much older now…
I’m just that way.
Me and Tim when we came we was amazed at the goings on.
Our heads got lost and we were tossed around like Teds on a roundabout…
I thought my luck ran cold.
I sat at home was all alone and watched TV for an hour or so.
I went to bed to rest my head from the day’s expense—I was just passing through…
I thought your heart was real.
Time Stands (Version 2) (♫)
TIME STANDS (VERSION 2)
While I had originally planned to present these songs in the chronological order in which they were recorded, popular demand has forced me to reconsider that plan. After posting the link to the first song, “Time Stands,” the version recorded in 1982, I received a note from Craig Nieves, bass player from my band Café Society. Craig insisted that the version we recorded—just over a year later in Los Angeles—was by far the better version. Whether or not it’s a “better” version should be left to popular opinion though it certainly is a more mature, improved-upon version with its 80s pop keyboard fills, full on drums and a more produced studio sound.
You be the judge. Let me know which version you like best. Enjoy the music!
Time Stands (1980)
R. Morris
Recorded at L.A. Music, Los Angeles, California, May 1983
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Craig Nieves—bass
Ron Weiss—drums
Matt Evidon—keyboards
Engineered by Clive Matsumoto
The Story Behind the Song:
I met Ron Weiss and Craig Nieves at a health club in Encino, California, in the autumn of 1982, about five months after moving to L.A. from Phoenix. Ron and Craig, both high school students at the time, were listening to a Walkman in the free weight room in the gym and Ron was air drumming to one of the tunes when I approached them and asked them if they were in a band (they looked as though they were in a band!). They told me that they wanted to start up a group but needed a guitarist and lead singer. I told them that I was both and offered to play them my Convertibles demo that I had recorded in Phoenix earlier that year to see if I fit the bill. We met at Ronnie’s house a few days later, where we were joined by a friend of Ron’s, Matt Evidon, a classically trained pianist, who was interested in coming on board as the band’s keyboard player. After listening to my demo we jammed for about an hour after which we all agreed that there was enough chemistry there to start a band. So we did.
We rehearsed about three or four times a week at first, focusing on the material I had on my demo, seven songs in all. Over the course of the next few months I had written enough new material for a full 50-minute club set and we decided to make a demo and shop it around.
In May 1983, a month shy of my 20th birthday, Craig, Ron, Matt and I recorded a seven-song demo with Clive Matsumoto at his L.A. Music Recording Studios. The initial tracks were laid down over two days and we spent another three days recording the vocals, backing tracks and mixing. It was great experience and we all learned a lot from Clive during the sessions.
“Time Stands” became one of our best live songs and we closed nearly all of our club shows with it as our “grand finale.”
The song was written as a tribute to my late great-grandfather, Sam Satin, who passed away in April 1980 at the age of 89. He died after a long illness while I was away on holiday in Acapulco, Mexico, celebrating the Jewish holiday of Passover at a kosher hotel. “The old man” I sing about in the song is my great-grandfather. The references to the beach, sand, and hourglass represent images of Mexico, where I was when he died when “fate was out of town.”
Lyrics:
Times stands before me like a million times before
Not knowing who I really am but what you mean to me.
They stand above me like a million mile high
Not saying words but singing songs of known reality.
Time stands before me like a million times before.
They stand above me as they’ve opened up the door.
Opened up the door, opened up the door…
To my life.
The old man lies there I can hear him in my dreams
Not calling names but reaching out through visions in his mind.
He lies there waiting while the sand runs all around
The beach and hourglass were one but fate was out of town.
Time stands before me like a million times before.
They stand above me as they’ve opened up the door.
Opened up the door, opened up the door…
To my life.
Time Stands (Version 1) (♫)
TIME STANDS (VERSION 1)
Greetings from Liverpool.
I’ve decided to upload the few recordings I’ve done of original songs over the years which, like my writing, is just collecting dust.
Over the coming weeks I will post new liner notes explaining each individual song, its recording history, lyrics, personnel and the link for downloading the song in MP3 format.
Here’s the first song I ever recorded in a professional recording studio in Phoenix, Arizona back in February 1982. Enjoy the music!
Time Stands (1980)
R. Morris
Recorded at Camelback Studios, Phoenix, Arizona, February 1982
Personnel:
Richard Morris—guitars, vocals
Burton Korer—bass
Monique Bera—drums
The Song:
The opening line of the song—“Time stands before me like a million times before/not knowing who I really am but what you mean to me”—was taken from a poem by Denise Diamond Berns, mother of my childhood friend Todd Berns, with whom I composed many of my early songs. Though I can’t recall if line two—“They stand above me like a million miles high/not calling names but singing songs of known reality”—was also “borrowed” from Denise, I must give credit where credit is due for her inspiration and beautifully moving poetry.
The song was written as a tribute to my late great-grandfather, Sam Satin, who passed away in April 1980 at the age of 89. He died after a long illness while I was away on holiday in Acapulco, Mexico with my girlfriend and her family celebrating the Jewish holiday of Passover. “The old man” I sing about in the song is my great-grandfather. The references to the beach, sand, and hourglass represent images of Mexico, where I was when he died when “fate was out of town.”
This recording represents the first time I had ever stepped foot into a professional recording studio. I was four months short of my 19th birthday. This, one of two studio versions of the song, was recorded in February of 1982 with my three-piece, almost-post-punk band, The Convertibles, featuring Burton Korer on bass and Monique Bera on drums. The original recording was simple and raw with two clean-cut overdubbed guitar tracks using an orangeburst Hamer electric guitar borrowed from Rob Simon. The bass and drums were as tight as could be expected from a novice bassist (Burton, a classically trained pianist, had only been playing for a few months) and drummer who were often challenged by my out of groove timings.
The second studio version of “Time Stands” (which will be posted here at a later date) was recorded with The NOTS, the forerunner to Café Society, in L.A., in 1983.
Lyrics:
Times stands before me like a million times before
Not knowing who I really am but what you mean to me.
They stand above me like a million mile high
Not saying words but singing songs of known reality.
Time stands before me like a million times before.
They stand above me as they’ve opened up the door.
Opened up the door, opened up the door…
To my life.
The old man lies there I can hear him in my dreams
Not calling names but reaching out through visions in his mind.
He lies there waiting while the sand runs all around
The beach and hourglass were one but fate was out of town.
Time stands before me like a million times before.
They stand above me as they’ve opened up the door.
Opened up the door, opened up the door…
To my life.
Candela
http://richardmorris.tumblr.com/post/3699859163/candela
This song was recorded live at Barrio Cinco in Valencia, Spain in June 2006. I was accompanied by English singer-songwriter Ian Brusby.
Lyrics
Candela sale a las nueve y cuarto
Coge el 80 con su estuche de colores
Sus lienzos enrollados en un tubo de cartón
Bajo su brazo una carpeta de dibujos y dolores.
˜
Candela sé que tu no eres para mi
Pero no puedo evitar lo que siento por ti
Aunque yo no te conozco
Me gustas igual.
˜
Candela no tengas miedo de mi
Soy un hombre razonable pero cuando vi
Tu imagen desde mi ventana
Perdí la razón.
˜
A las once menos veinte llega él
Con su Golf descapotable, Lacoste y gel
Pero de donde has estado y con quien
Con la esencia de otra manchando su chaqueta de piel.
˜
Candela, mereces un amor de verdad
Un corazón sincero y fidelidad
Yo nunca voy a engañarte
Como todos los de mas.
˜
Candela no escondas tu corazón
Lo buscaré hasta en el último rincón
Y te canto esta canción bajo
de tu balcón.
˜
Candela se que tu no eres para mi
Pero no puedo evitar lo que siento por ti
Aunque estas con alguien
Te quiero igual.
˜
Candela se que tu no eres para mi
Pero no puedo evitar lo que siento por ti
Aunque estas con el
Te quiero igual.
