MORPHINE/MORPHING

Ray Davies'"Morphine Song" has been twirling around in my head since I heard it played in concert last week. It is from his second solo album, "Working Man's Cafe," released earlier this year. It was written, as Ray tells the story, in the gritty New Orleans hospital where he landed after being shot by a robber in 2004. For those of you who do not know the backstory to this, Ray was living there at the time, had just finished a meal with his girlfriend, and was walking down a quiet street in the French Quarter. Two muggers appeared, demanded the girlfriend's purse, got it, Ray chased after them, and was shot in the leg. I know, I know...everyone knows, GIVE THE SHITBAGS THE PURSE AND LEAVE IT BE, don't argue, and for christ's sake, don't run after people who have guns and have threatened already to shoot you. No one knows this better than Ray, who ended up having a long, complicated recovery, and likely feels the injury still I would assume as he jumps and dances onstage now. You want to slap the guy upside the head for such a foolish error in judgment, yes?

Ah, but I have a great deal of compassion for him, him and his Rayness, that fierce anger bursting out. You never can predict how you are going to react in such a situation, you really can't. You may know all the right things to do, but some other part of your brain and adrenal system takes over and before you know it, you are running down the street. Briefly. My own experience with this sort of thing was when I was still living in my teeny rural craphole of a town in Wisconsin, and I was probably around 18 or 19 years old. My cat Otis had just had kittens (yes, Otis) and I had put them all in a nice cardboard box out in the garage. It was late, around 2AM or so, and I decided to check on them one more time before I went to bed. As I flicked on the lights, I saw A STRANGE MAN standing in the middle of the garage, hoisting a beer can to his lips. Instantly, I was just ENRAGED. WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS GUY DOING IN MY GARAGE??? THE NERVE!!! He whipped his head around to see me and I yelled WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? He dropped the beer and ran out the back door of the garage and down the street towards the Lutheran church, and I took off running after him as fast as I could. In the dark I lost sight of him, stopped and screamed at the very top of my lungs (which is damn loud let me tell you), MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!! My own voice echoed off the bricks of the church. It was just then that I realized I was dressed only in a Harvey Wallbanger t-shirt which barely covered my ass, and NOTHING else. No underwear, no shoes, nothing. Oops. I jogged back home, fairly mortified, and trying to hold my shirt down with my hands, still pissed as hell at that guy for invading my garage.

I told my folks what had happened, and they called the local cop, who was probably also the postman and the gas station attendant and the mayor. He caught the guy a couple of hours later as it was getting close to dawn. The dumbass burglar was passed out in a field drunk next to a big red toolbox. He confessed all: he had been going around into all the neighbors' garages looking for tools to steal and sell, and ended up drinking everyone's garage beer stash.

The cop also said the guy had a loaded pistol shoved down the waist of his pants. Well.

So maybe I dodged a bullet, Ray didn't, and there's really no particular reason why that is. Same kind of reaction, very different outcomes.

I like very much that Ray has said that "Morphine Song" was written there from his bed and left virtually the same as he put it on paper, unchanged, a moment simply captured. I think he likes that too, pleased with what he was able to do and get across in his lyrics even in what was surely one of the most frightening and painful times in his life. I am glad he left it alone, didn't mess with it, didn't pick at it or embellish. As he performs it now, it is a quieter song than on the album,as that version has a jauntier feel, with a musical nod to New Orleans brass and bounce. Now it feels softer, more reflective, more hazy-sweet, like the morphine itself, where the vocals hover over the song, distant yet comforting, the melody at times like a children's song. It is fitting, for surely Ray felt as helpless as a child, trying to understand what had happened to him, disoriented, in pain, needing others to survive.

I had just finished parking my car in front of a Great Cuts in Denver when I got the call on my cell phone that Ray had been shot. My heart sunk to the floor, my mind spun with the horror and disbelief of what I was hearing. My middle son, a kindergartener at the time and a sensitive little soul, sat buckled in his car seat in the back, silent, watching me, eyes wide, worry crossing his face. All I could think was, oh no, oh no, not again, not Ray, please please please no, tell me he is not dead. Please please please tell me he is not dead.

Ray did not die. He could've. He didn't. How damn great is that.

"Morphine Song" reminded me of the way things can change in a flash, for anyone, and that you make a choice to give in to life's bodyslams or make something from them, even from the charity ward of an inner city hospital, four days into a new year, a long way from home.

Listen to my heartbeat
Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground
Listen to my heartbeat
Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground

Nelson and Starr
He's got ten grandkids, she's the third missus
He grooves around intensive care, strutting his stuff
He's got a perfect mullet hanging down his back
And Starr walks in, gives a little wiggle
Makes old Nelson grin
He tucks me in, touches my feet
"Hey buddy, you know~you got a slow heartbeat"

Listen to my heartbeat
Yeah, listen to my heartbeat
And the marching band plays along
Plays the morphine song on the charity ward
Yeah the marching band plays its song

Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground
Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground

And opposite me Debra the alkie coughs so deep
It's the drugs and the drink
It could happen to anyone
Sure makes me think
And the bed beside her is full of cables and leads
Nobody visits, nobody grieves

Listen to my heartbeat
Yeah, listen to my heartbeat

Nelson and Starr
He's got ten grandkids, she's the third missus
Starr takes some blood out of my arm
Rolls me over just like that
Listen to my heartbeat, slow but clean
While Debra the alkie looks so mean
They wheel her out, she starts to cry
"If I don't get better, I'm gonna die
I'll go cold turkey till I'm clean
I'll go to jail but you get the morphine"

Listen to my heartbeat lalalala lalalala
Yeah, listen to my heartbeat lalalala lalalala
And the marching band song
Plays in the morgue at the charity ward
Yeah, the marching band plays its song

Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground
Listen to my heartbeat
Yeah, all fall down someone help me off of the ground

-- Ray Davies, "Morphine Song"