They were asked to write a wedding song for someone. It was for a house concert for a woman (fan) who had gotten married at age 53.
They put it off until the last minute.
"I hope you keep loving me after you stop liking me.
"I hope you still like me after all the love is gone.
"The best part is that every morning, everything resets
She had been listening to Sondheim, which was always enough to throw him for a loop. He wanted chorus and refrain, direct. She wanted conversation, dialect, recessativo, and everything she wrote was a bridge. Or worse, an art song.
"Marry Me a Little"
"How about a country house?"
"Don't go to bed angry, like the Bradys
"The first look in the morning you give me, should be a sleepy one
"We'll meet in dreams and
"Nah . . .
"Give it a rest. Stop fighting when we are asleep.
"Keep loving me when I stop loving MYSELF!"
"Oooh-good one!!!"
And so they wrote their song. Cobbled together. He was writing the music, and she held back everytime she forgot how it was going.
There was no commitment to record it, beyond the living room recording made of the entire house concert. The house fit about 30 people, it was tight, but cosy and sweet.
Years later, the bootleg tape became more famous than the recording they made for their 2nd album. It was silly and funny and serious and you could tell, cobbled together. Fans thought it was such a delight to discover this, them true and enjoying each other in front of an audience.
It was exactly the kind of sound that would make their bootleg live albums so famous. After they had died, it was great to hear them more alive than they had ever intended to be heard. The fan base was much bigger at the concerts. Their albums were well-crafted sounds of nothing.
Except . . .
They put it off until the last minute.
"I hope you keep loving me after you stop liking me.
"I hope you still like me after all the love is gone.
"The best part is that every morning, everything resets
She had been listening to Sondheim, which was always enough to throw him for a loop. He wanted chorus and refrain, direct. She wanted conversation, dialect, recessativo, and everything she wrote was a bridge. Or worse, an art song.
"Marry Me a Little"
"How about a country house?"
"Don't go to bed angry, like the Bradys
"The first look in the morning you give me, should be a sleepy one
"We'll meet in dreams and
"Nah . . .
"Give it a rest. Stop fighting when we are asleep.
"Keep loving me when I stop loving MYSELF!"
"Oooh-good one!!!"
And so they wrote their song. Cobbled together. He was writing the music, and she held back everytime she forgot how it was going.
There was no commitment to record it, beyond the living room recording made of the entire house concert. The house fit about 30 people, it was tight, but cosy and sweet.
Years later, the bootleg tape became more famous than the recording they made for their 2nd album. It was silly and funny and serious and you could tell, cobbled together. Fans thought it was such a delight to discover this, them true and enjoying each other in front of an audience.
It was exactly the kind of sound that would make their bootleg live albums so famous. After they had died, it was great to hear them more alive than they had ever intended to be heard. The fan base was much bigger at the concerts. Their albums were well-crafted sounds of nothing.
Except . . .
