The Stonewall Builder

Wide Open Mind

I started on an 8 week trial in a West Cork community hospital to experiment and see if I could actually write songs with older people, some living with dementia. I knew nothing then of old Irish songs. I knew nothing of the townlands and their Irish names, the milk separator , threshing day, dance halls and spring wells. I was new to their world. This would end up being my work for the last next 10 years.

Say what you wanna say, I’m not judging in any way, here it is completely safe.

Share with me your memories, this can be your legacy, I’ll turn it into memory.

Most of the time, I sell it like this- I’M the one who wants to write this song. I need their help. Tell me again about how you’d watch your father come in in his hobnail boots and mark up the concrete floors…. That would be great for my song.

For these two hours, I’m right here, I’m listening, I’m interested, take me there

Wide open, Wide open mind

Wide Open, Wide Open mind

A time Before electricity, before the TV. An Ireland that has changed so much...

Wide open, Wide open mind

Wide Open, Wide Open mind

But the one and only person responsible for bringing me to Ireland, never gets a mention.

Everyone knows all about my kids. Their names, their ages, how they’re getting on in school. I bring them into the hospitals sometimes. The residents in the hospitals never forget. They remember my 5 year old’s interpretive dance to Silent Night as we were all performing for our friends and family at the Christmas Party. And I have in-laws that have a garden. And My mother-in-law had goats that had 7 kids between them one day!

But there is a Wife-sized hole in my story.

Wide open, Wide open mind

Wide Open, Wide Open mind

Say what you wanna say, I’m not judging in any way, here it is completely safe

Share with me your memories, this will be your legacy, I’ll turn it to melody

In order for this exchange to work, I’m asking people to share with me, to let me in- I have to do the same. It has to be two ways.

I’m here now

You haven’t met my wife yet. Let me tell you about how we met…

I remember the days living under the BQE, next to the federal prison in Brooklyn

Climbing up to the 4th floor on 29th street

Gigging at Layla Lounge, that’s where I met you, you played the open mic,

We called it Whiskeybreath

That was the songwriter’s scene back in 2003

I guess that I miss it, the buzz and the trying

I wanted to be someone, I wanted to make it

But I don’t miss the grind, competing in sweepstakes

Life is a gamble, and I don’t miss the aching

But I’m here now

I’m here now

And I’m not going down

I was full of spontaneity then, hilarious, full of trouble. But also full of lack, fear. My life now has this stability and grace because of her. I admire how she so naturally and seamlessly glides through life. She’s slow and steady, where I’m full of impulse.

I met some of my heroes, I toured the world, sleeping in fancy hotels and sleeping on couches

Eventually I just stopped sleeping at all

My head was spinning didn’t know where I’d been, a disconnect kept creeping under my skin

That’s when the sound of your voice grinded me to a halt

I guess I was shaken, but I didn’t know it, I guess I was bruised and

My flame had expired

Still wanna make good work, still have it in me, still wanna animate and

I want to inspire

So I’m here now

I’m here now

And I’m not done now

A Tap Dance

When I first meet the residents who live in the hospitals, I hear the same question all the time- Is you husband Irish?

Is your husband Irish?

It’s the one I dread in this environment

Is your husband Irish?

Genuinely what they’re trying to do is place me in their community. Everyone is related down here it seems, maybe I have a connection to them? They just want to know my story- why am I here?

Is your husband Irish?

Just like how I’m aking for their stories.

My husband…

My…

My… My in-laws are actually english

Is your husband Irish?

My in-laws are english

Is your husband Irish?

Actually, my in laws are english

They came here in the 80’s and reared their family here

Where did you meet your husband

I met my

I met my spouse…

We met in New York

Where did you meet your husband

We met in New York

Where did you meet your husband

New York

Where did you meet your husband

New york City, ever been?

Who’s watching your kids now? Are they with their father?

They’re with grandma

Are the kids tall like their father?

They’re tall like me.

I really wanna say…

I have to say…

Actually…

They’re tall like me

Stone Wall Builder

Some people think songwriting is this mystical thing. That it comes from divine inspiration, the lightening bolt strikes us at strange times, even in the middle of night, in a dream. Well sometimes it is that way, but mostly it feels a lot more like work or labour than that to me.

I collect little ideas, I stack them up against each other, I balance words and syllables, I take things out that don’t work. To me, writing a song feels a lot like the dry stone walls I see speckled across the landscape around the west of ireland.

Who are the people doing these? I asked if there’s a special word for these makers of stone walls, as far as I know, there’s not. They’re more than just simple Stone Wall Builders. You have to learn the craft, You have to be patient and committed. I connect with this. This is what songwriting is.

I am a stone wall builder

When I build a Song

Selecting careful stones, working one by one

Til the job is done

I am a stone wall builder

The verses of the song are the stones. The tiny details. Down to which rhyme fits perfectly. Even imperfect rhymes actually fit perfectly sometimes. Yes, you can rhyme “again” with “”sense”. And the rhythm sounds of the words

I am a stone wall builder

When I write a Song

Looking for tiny holes, Balancing syllables

Til the job is done

I am a stone wall builder

When the verse is the stones, you can’t see the wall for the stones. The chorus is the when you step back and see the wall. How does this look from a few feet away? The whole tone changes. It opens up.

Step back and see the wall, Reflect on it overall

The beauty, the purpose, the job well done

Step back and see the wall, Reflect on it overall

Am I enough? Am I enough?

Then there’s the middle 8. In America, we usually call it The bridge of the song. It’s when the whole song gets essentialised down to a “why”.You hear something different in the song for the first time, a different chord, a different perspective. I wonder, could this bridge connect my work in the hospitals to my personal life?

Remember the purpose. Get out of your head

Why did you come here? Is it to keep something in?

Remember why you come here. What keeps you coming back

Is it worth the trouble, Did I go off track

I am a stonewall builder

Just one stone in the wall

Not quite fitting but always giving

Despite Fracture or fault

I am a stonewall builder

Building a song

Placing careful stones, one by one

Till the job is done

I am a stone wall

Bitch Please

There was this lovely straight dude

Who tried to tell me it was Pride month

And I’m like “yeah I know”

And he tells me Pride isn’t a parade, it actually started out as a protest

And I’m like “Yeah, it all started with Stonewall”

And he’s like “yeah it’s this thing called Stonewall and this black trans lady or something started it”

And I’m like “yeah I know. I told you that…”

Then he proceeds to pull out his phone and show we a social media post and I’m like

“Bitch… Please”

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

“Come one, come all! For the Pride month of June, we’re offering weekly drop-in crisis sessions for all all LGBTQ+ people in need”

“Umm that’s great. I’m having a crisis, but it’s November”

“Nope, no no. Please have your crisis only in the month of June, thank you”

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

“I’m, like, really good with the gays. Because, like, my 2nd cousin is gay…. Do you know her?”

I can only keep my shit together so long

…. Possibly dialogue with cast members…

(i.e. Do you guys ever get this?

“Oh yeah. I get sometimes “which one of you is the guy?”

“Ugh, i hate that!”

etc)

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

Whoa Bitch, Please!

I know you’re trying to help me

I Feel Like Quitting

“Your mom and I are really happy that you found someone, sweetie. But this life will be harder for you and I don’t want that for you”

“I’m just saying, honey, you have to take off your CV that you made an album with your wife. Especially if you’re working with kids. People won’t want to work with you”

All these tiny cuts, adding up all the time. I’m tired.

I actually feel like quitting. This is something I’m so good at, so how is it that I can’t even stand to go to work anymore. What’s lost if I come out, what’s gained?

I’m back to the same old story with the hills I climb

I’ve been working my ass off to make up a story that isn’t mine

Standing in the shade of the role I play

I’m not pleasing nobody or pleasing myself in this bed I’ve made

I feel like quitting

I’m not fitting in, in this country I’m in, I’m just a blow-in, where do I begin

I’m a Queer American, big city dwelling, I’m brash, annoying and don’t get me going

I’m not religious, does that make you suspicious

I feel like quitting

I’ve got my heart on my sleeve, I’ve got the shame on me

I feel like quitting

I’ve got my heart on my sleeve, I’ve got the shame on me

I feel like quitting

(My father used to sing this song to my mother while he was courting her.

If she doesn’t remember who I am, tell her I’m the chap who was sniggering at her

I have a good mind not to ask you to the box social. Oh you, two! If you asked me I wouldn’t go with you. Besides, what would you take me in)

What they want , What I want, What I want

I feel like quitting

What they want, what she wants, what I want

I feel like quitting

What they want , What I want, What I want

I feel like quitting

(I’ve got my heart on my sleeve, I’ve got the shame on me

I’ve got my heart on my sleeve)

I feel like quitting

What they want, what she wants, what I want

(I’ve got my heart on my sleeve, I’ve got the shame on me

I’ve got my heart on my sleeve)

(I’m back to the same old story with the hills I climb

I’ve been working my ass off to make up a story that isn’t mine

Standing in the shade of the role I play

I’m not pleasing nobody or pleasing myself in this bed I’ve made)

I feel like quitting

Hold Steady Chant

Let me just be clear. It’s not you, Mary, sitting right in front of me in the nursing home that I’m afraid of. You are not the problem.

It’s these messages I hear, loud and clear all the time

News cycles, stories I hear about people who legitimately want me dead. People who might not want me dead, but they wish I didn’t exist. People like me.

Places, whole countries where I’m not welcome.

And the spiritual messages. Oh that’s the hardest one. I’m afraid already about being liked down here on earth. But now, god doesn’t like me? God doesn’t approve? Well then.

So see, Mary. It’s not you! You may not care. It’s the loud and consistent message that I’m not ok. And then I forget and dare to just go along with my life and then…

Is your husband Irish.

So simple. A question everyone can answer easily. But I hear these voices you don’t. And it’s like that all the time.

It’s exhausting.

It starts with I just don’t talk about my wife…

Then, I don’t talk about how we met

I don’t talk about my past

I don’t talk about the whole reason I came to Ireland

What am I left with?

Hold Steady chant/ news reels

the Church of England’s position on same-sex marriage is “untenable” after a meeting with the archbishop of Canterbury.

Some 67 countries or jurisdictions worldwide criminalise consensual same-sex sexual activity, 11 of which can or do impose the death penalty, according to The Human Dignity Trust

“Don’t say gay” law in Florida, which forbids instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity from kindergarten up to third grade, as evidence of continued efforts to marginalise LGBTQ+ people.

Francis said there needed to be a distinction between a crime and a sin with regard to homosexuality. Church teaching holds that homosexual acts are sinful, or “intrinsically disordered”

The World Cup in Qatar is the most controversial yet - being held in a nation which forbids same-sex relations under Islamic Sharia law

A man who said he wanted to shoot gay people and asked the way to the nearest gay bar later opened fire there,killing one person and wounding six others, police said.

The shooting in Colorado Springs is the latest in a long line – until pundits and politicians stop demonising LGBT+ people, it won't be the last

“Liz, I just don’t want you to be gay because it’s a harder life. And i don’t want that for you”

If you don’t get to speak

And you don’t get to love

You’re a balloon full of helium

Floating away above the sun

There’s nothing to tether you down

Nothing to hold on to

You’re just left out of view

Up above in the royal blue

You’re drowned in a sea of doubt

You can’t get out

You’re drowned in a sea of doubt

You can't get out

You can’t get out

If you don’t get to be whole

And you don’t get to have truth

You’re just a person-like statue

Static. Unable to move…

You’re drowned in a sea of doubt

You can’t get out

You’re drowned in a sea of doubt

You can't get out

You can’t get out

The Garden Waltz

Over Covid Lockdowns, I got a lot of new work doing remote sessions online. I met people only over the internet, not just in West Cork where I live, but Kerry, Clare, Dublin. Groups of people in hospitals, setting up little screens in Day rooms where people could sing along and healthcare assistants rushing in and out to push unmute buttons or speak again for a person I couldn’t hear in the background.

One group I worked with for almost a year online. They were about an hour and a half away and I met them in their homes over computers and iPads. We wrote a song together about their town, their lives, their experiences. I adored each and every one of them.

Finally our time has come to an end and now we’ve got a brilliant plan

Come to my house, come to my garden and share a space with me

I can’t be more excited to see you in the flesh, see your faces, how tall you are

and all of the rest

That I miss when I only can see you on the screen

When you’re on a screen, they can’t see all of you. You make bigger gestures, framed in this little box, so people can read your body language… This past 10 years has sorta all been like that. I’ve been in this safe little box. Miles away…

Now let me introduce you to (ahem) the chef, who’s been making these quiches for you all morning

Who’s just as excited to meet you as me…

Say what you wanna say

I’m not judging in any way

Say what you wanna say

I’m not judging in any way

Here they come- got a lot of voices in my head

Here they come- going over the words I haven’t said

Here in garden she is next to me

Here in the garden with my family

Say what you wanna say

“I’d like to introduce you to … my wife”

(possible ending extension)

[Some people looked down to the ground, not knowing how to react

Some people just went…yeah…and?...ok, fine

One woman took both of her hands in mine and very empathetically said

Liz, we didn’t know… All this time we’ve known you, we never knew… Is it because you were… afraid you’d be judged?

Yes, Mary. Thank you. I suppose I was…

And then, in true West Cork fashion, she says without hesitation, the tiniest of glints in her eye

Well nevermind the gay, dear. It’s the English thing we’re more concerned about

And that was that.

After the session, they all piled into the bus, waving like school children as they left. And Tessa and I and the kids went to the end of the driveway to see them off, waving back.]

This last song is called “Advice To A Younger Generation”. I asked almost 100 participants in Day Care Centres and hospitals the same question “What advice would you give the younger generation?” The answers I got were vast, funny, encouraging and so particular to West Cork.

We hope you enjoy it.

The Stonewall Builder

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