A fangirl kind of moment

So why a special Friday post? Two reasons: one, I didn’t really feel like leaving a throwaway gossip item at the top of the blog till Sunday. And two, it’s really Jennifer Jordan’s fault.

By pointing me to the link to the Dr. Demento Show Archives, I tracked down a never-before-available interview of Shel Silverstein from 1978, ostensibly to promote his then-current album, Songs and Stories.

To say I’ve been a longtime fan of Shel is, well, a gross understatement. Especially for those unfortunate enough to hear me go on and on like a crazed loon about what a genius he was. I suppose one of these years I might actually get my act together and put together a book proposal, but there’s something nice about doing research just for the sake of it, for the thrill of uncovering something the vast majority of people aren’t aware of yet.

Which was why this particular interview was like getting slapped upside the head and having the wind knocked out of me. Not because it was any different from a typical author interview — Dr. D doesn’t ask the most scintillating questions, after all — but it was different from almost any of the ones Shel did, because here, he talks about writing, about craft.

Maybe it’s just my bias at work, but it was incredibly neat to hear how he didn’t believe in having set hours, in working in a kind of office setting. That he worked best in motel rooms, on the road, with only snatches of time available to him. And that he never planned ahead, never wanted to be tied down to a particular project at any given time. “Oh, if I know I’m going to finish it, then I’ll do it,” he said, but that’s about the only structure he gave himself.

Of course, the answer makes perfect sense. Considering how many different types of projects he had on the go at any given point, Shel had to have been someone who bored easily, who couldn’t sit and concentrate for months or years on one single thing. Which was why, when Dr. Demento asked if it was difficult to shift gears between children’s books and songwriting (among other things) Shel said no. That he worked on WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS to distract him from other projects. (But by doing so, delayed publication of the book by at least five years, and drove his editor, Ursula Nordstrom, absolutely batty. In a letter she wrote to him in 1968, she wondered if he would take his mind off lounging around the Playboy Mansion pool with assorted bunnies to finish the book….)

Also amusing were Silverstein’s thoughts on Johnny Cash’s now-legendary recording of “A Boy Named Sue.” At first, Shel didn’t like the recording because “it was obvious John hadn’t learned it well enough yet.” But then, as the recording got more attention, he liked it more. Then it became really famous and Shel couldn’t bear to listen to it anymore. But on Songs and Stories, he offered up a rebuttal of sorts. One that has quite the sting in the tail at the end.

And then, to cap the interview off, Demento played the longest track from the album, “The Smoke-Off.” I like the version a lot, but it’s not really a song. It’s better recited, shouted even. Which brought back fond memories of a poetry reading at the local bookstore during my college days. Some folks read their own poems. Others chose previously published works.

Me, I went for the story of a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, who could smoke ’em faster than anyone could roll. When I was done, the audience seemed to teeter on the edge of stunned silence for a bit. Then the applause began.

When it was all over, I asked myself the question I’m sure some of you are asking after reading through this entire post — why such a reaction? Because what’s always drawn me to Shel, both as a person and his body of work, is how he almost never sacrificed anything. If he wanted to write a short story or a play or a children’s book or a hit rock song or country song, then no one was going to tell him he couldn’t or stop him from doing so. He did what he wanted, pretty much when he wanted to do it. All under his own name, too. That the same guy could write a book for little kids and then turn around and write a song later covered by Marilyn Manson is unusual — then, and certainly now.

I’m almost positive, especially the more I learn, that my admiration of him would be severely diminished if I’d ever met him, or even if he was still alive. The former because hey, this was a man who went through women like they were yesterday’s news, who could never commit to a relationship (what do you think THE GIVING TREE is really about?) and possessed an artistic temperament. And the latter because I just can’t picture him growing old gracefully, considering he wasn’t in great shape right before he died. Also because, well, by being dead, more previously unpublished works can potentially be made available.

But even if enigmas aren’t great people to know personally or be around, they are incredibly fascinating to read about, hear about from 3rd party sources, or to be inspired by. And Shel Silverstein does all of that for me.

As for Songs and Stories, it’s available on CD for anyone willing to give it a listen. Although personally, I’m much more inclined to have this in my player.