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So last night I went ahead and impulsively watched (almost all of) my new Jonathan Richman DVD, Take Me To The Plaza:



It was most enjoyable, and a nice way to pass a tense evening. (Looks like I'll have another tense evening tonight; perhaps again I should enjoy the nutritional value of Swiss chard to bolster my system.) Jonathan isn't much of a studio musician---I'm a huge fan and usually feel lukewarm about his lp's, with some exceptions. They don't capture the joy of the guy, for the most part. But live, as long as it's a good night (he's very sensitive to the crowd feel), he's quite something.

This performance, filmed in December 2002 at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, is a good one. In recent years he's toured with Tommy Larkins, the drummer (who, along with JoJo, forms the Greek chorus in There's Something About Mary), and both are in good form this night. I do miss when J. would tour by himself, though, stomping on the stage in his clunky boots, almost always wearing a horizontally stripe-y shirt, dancing about and charming the whole bar. He tried to encourage people to clap a beat for him, but Americans, he says, are too self-conscious about it; that's why he needs Tommy.

There are two interviews on the disc (one of which I watched last night) and a coupla bonus tracks I saved, too. Maybe I just love the man so much because he can't sing particularly well (some would say well at all) but he's so bloody passionate, in his small-scale ordinary person kind of way. And he does have guitar skills and a great sense of rhythms and a fondness for syncopation and --- I'll stop here.

But I could go on. Really.

Sure can't seem to lose the knot in my stomach. I'm a walking laboratory of psychosomatics.

Yeah, yeah---the physiog. isn't actually ignominious; it's just that the words (both of which I learned from The Scarlet Letter) go together so well. Like in that Paul McCartney song (sing to the tune---can you pick the proper Beatles number?):


Ignominious
Physiognomy
These are words that go together in perverse harmony
My Physiognomy

Ignominious
Physiognomy
Sont les mots qui sont comme le noeud dans mon estomac
Mon estomac

Pomme de terre, pomme de terre, pomme de terre---
My favorite words in French
They're so much happier
Than mon 'stomac, gonflant le coeur, et les pensées torturées

Torturées.

Well, I'm a-gonna tell you if you don't know
bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum
About a great ballplayer from a long time ago
bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba-ba bum
Who's a hero to me---I ain't puttin' ya on, son---
Cuz I'm not gonna tell the story of baseball's great Walter John-son.

CHORUS:
And all through baseball he was loved and respected
Bitterness in Walter Johnson? Well, it was never detected.

Well, now---
When pitchers throw their pitch to scare
boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum
They actually try to almost hit that opposin' player
doom-da-doo-da doo-da-doo-da doo-da-doo-da doo
Walter Johnson wouldn't do dat, not even just a little
He always made sure he threw the baseball right down the middle

And all through baseball he was loved and respected.
Was there bitterness in Walter Johnson? Well it was never detected.

Now
(He pitched for the Washington Senators back in about 1924) Now (1906)
Now look:
When the Washington nine was a-gwain to win
boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba boom
This Walter Johnson would actually ease up a little on the opposition. (That's right.)
bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum-buh-bum-ba bum
Now the other teammates, they simply didn't get it;
They said "Walter, how come you let 'em hit it?"
Now Walter just told him with his gentle smile,
"Boys, this game isn't any fun if you don't get a hit once in a while."

Now, all through baseball he was loved and respected.
Was there bitterness in Walter Johnson? Well it was never detected.

Now
A record's just a record and a book is just a book
boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba boom
This Walter Johnson I speak of never so much as gave the opposing team a dirty look
boom-ba-boom-ba boom-ba-boom-ba bum-ba-bum-ba bum
And a season's just a season in a game that was supposed to be just a game
Walter Johnson cared about people more than he cared about fame.

So all through baseball he was loved and respected.
Ah, bitterness in Walter Johnson? Well it was never detected.

Oooo...

--Jonathan Richman