I've been thinking about death lately; a reasonably sensible thing for any living person to do.
More specifically, I've been thinking about it in the context of my most recent gig. You see, last Friday night I performed at The Parlour - a beautiful disused funeral parlour complete with mortuary signs and toe tags left over from previous occupants. It's been revived as a unique community arts space, featuring a monthly public 'exhibit' with crafts, music, winter food and wine.
Image credit: The Parlour
Heading to The Parlour on the night, guitar at my feet on the north-bound tram, I thought about the venue I was about to sing at. I wondered about others who might have sung at funeral parlours and how they might have felt. And I found myself with a peculiar sense of deja vu - as if in the shoes of a man many years ago, heading to a place like The Parlour for a very different purpose. So I did what you do in such circumstances: I wrote a short, simple song about it and performed it on the night.
The Parlour by Huckleberry Mockingbird
Notes: I sung this on the night with the just audience's handclaps as support. This version adds piano instead and was recorded in one take using a mobile telephone mic. All words are as written on the tram that night. Warning: recording quality is positively lo-fi (sound engineer David Johnson may kill me for not consulting him).
