In It for the Long Run: A Musical Odyssey

Herbal and Me

273 HerbalandMe Dad!Icaughtone!Dad!Dad! skipping like thin flat stones down the crickand him galloping through popples, splitshot ticking, to find me leaping for a fingerling, my first brookie twirling from a willow like a jewel. I felt the same way. Paul’s poetry, with all of this music surrounding it, was twirling, glittering like a jewel. HERBAL AND ME Back in January of ’98, I’d come over from Ireland on a visit. One morning Herb McCullough told me that he’d made a New Year’s resolution to write a song with everyone in the building—“and that includes you!” Right away I started backing up and making excuses. I hadn’t written anything in ages. I was going right back to Ireland and wouldn’t be back in the States until April. But Herb wouldn’t let go, so finally we got out ourcalendarsandpickedadate.Asitturnedout,Iwasgoingtobemixing Sean Keane’s album on the day Herb and I had agreed. He accused me of “blowing it off,” but there was a tornado brewing and I really needed to get cracking in case the power went off, so we said we’d do it the next week, and I promptly put it out of my mind. Next week rolled around. On the appointed morning I was down in my office. Once again Herb showed up. I tried the lame excuse that I’d forgotten to bring in my guitar , but he was having none of it. “I brought two.” The jig was up. I said, “Okay. Let’s see what we can do.” Wehadasmallroomdownstairsforwriterstouse.HalKetchumhad paintedasceneofanendlesshighwayononewallsoyoucouldforgetyou were in the cellar and gaze off into the distance as you tried to come up withsomething.HerbandIsettledin.Iwasn’tlyingtoHerbwhenIsaid that I hadn’t written anything in ages. Listening to songs day and night for years wasn’t conducive to writing more songs. I’m sure Herb understood all this, and he got us started by just talking like the two good old friendsthatwewere.HestartedaskingmeaboutIrelandand,likemany Americans, was curious about the violence in Northern Ireland. I had only been to Belfast once, so I was no expert, but I started talking about how all of these situations, like our own racial problem, were basically 274 THE LONG RUN thesame.Ifyouaskedpeoplewhattheywantedoutoflife—Catholicsor Protestants,blacksorwhites,SerbsorCroatians—theywouldalwayssay thesamething.Theywantedtomakealiving;theywantedtoprovidefor their families; they wanted their kids to grow up safe, get a good education , and have a better life. It was all the same basic stuff. The problem came when people, often encouraged by politicians, either could not or wouldnotputthemselvesinsomeoneelse’sshoesandtrytoseelifefrom their point of view. That last phrase rang some sort of a bell. I started to strum my guitar. An hour or so later we had a song, “Point of View”: If I were you and you were me Do you think we could agree To get along Could we get along Would left be right and right be wrong Could we sing a simple song In harmony Sweet harmony Chorus: We’re all trying to make a living Trying to find a way to be true It wouldn’t be so tough if we were willing To open up and change our point of view Just open up and change our point of view If your future’s in the past There’s no need for you to ask Which road you’re on Or where you’re going Is that the best that you can do When your child looks up at you With hopeful eyes Such hopeful eyes Chorus: We went to lunch and came back. We played it again. It was still there. Wemadealittlecassettetotakewithus.IsaidtoHerb,“Thatwasgood. Ienjoyedthat.Thanksfordraggingmeinthere.”Hepounced.“Doesthat mean you’ll do it again?” He had me. 275 HerbalandMe Afterputtinghimoffonceortwice,Ifinallygotbackinthelittleroom with Herb. We had it in our heads that maybe we should write some kind of positive love song. We both felt lucky to have good women in our lives, but after an hour or so of trying to be positive, we kept coming backtothattimewhenwemetattheKountryKornerandwerelivingthe honky-tonk life. I said, without thinking, “Well, you know, Herb, when you’re living on the devil’s level, you’re living on the devil’s time.” Only a tone-deaf fool would have let that line get away. It was a gift. We both jumped on it: If misery loves company, you’ll never be alone He’s always out there callin’ you, you’ll never stay at...