There’s a story behind every song.  Maybe a dream, a keen observation about the human condition, an epiphany, a funny situation, a news item, or a muse – someone that inspires your creativity and artistic expression.  As a songwriter, I’ve taken advantage of all these sources.  And the best short stories are often in the form of a three-minute song.  And here I try to pull back the curtain just a bit like a magician telling you how he pulls a rabbit out of his hat.   Jonestown ‘78   I was in Jonestown in ‘78 I never drank that Kool-Aid, I did escape Ran through the jungle, out that back gate I went straight, I left Jonestown in ‘78   I was just an acolyte Searching for the light But all I found was darkness Darker than the darkest night   I was in Waco in ‘93 That fiery furnace nearly incinerated me Crawled out on my hands and on my knees I did flee, I left Waco in ‘93   I was in San Diego in ‘97 Went looking for those Gates of Heaven They waited for that comet; I went to 7-11 Sure miss Kevin, I left San Diego in ‘97   Now I live a quiet, normal life Free of disillusionment, free of strife Even have a quiet normal wife, just my type Now I live a quiet, normal life   Imagine a young man who gets involved in a cult. But not just any cult – it’s the People’s Temple led by Jim Jones.  He is searching for spiritual direction.  He believes he’s found it at the Jonestown compound in Guyana.  But his spiritual odyssey has turned into a nightmare.  As it turns out, he was one of the lucky ones escaping the mass suicides that defined the madness of the sect.  However, he didn’t completely learn his lesson.  He moves on to the next “big thing” – David Koresh and the Branch Davidians near Waco, Texas.  Escaping death there, a few years later he ends up in the Heaven’s Gate cult in San Diego.  The comet that the group was looking for came and went as they consumed their lethal cocktails.  And as luck would have it, he slipped away to a nearby 7-11.  As they say, you can’t make this stuff up.  But you can, you really can.  Sometimes writers go to an extreme to make a point.  And the point here is that they are not so much looking for a deeper, more meaningful spirituality as they are seeking a thrill.  They’re just thrill-seekers.  I’ve known people who jump from one religion to another, one denomination to another, and one cult to another never satisfied.  At least the guy in the song ends up with a happy ending. I thought he deserved one.     List Of My Demands   Got a list of my demands Got them in my hand I’ll count them one to ten Enumerate them with my pen This time I’m gonna win This time you’ll give in to my demands   I won’t get down on my knees I won’t say pretty please I’ll stay steadfast and firm My demeanor will be stearn But the tide will turn my way When you say yes today to my demands   Well, I’m not a hostage taker I’m not a trouble maker Just trying to take a stand I’m a simple man, with a list of my demands I never asked for much Never needed any crutch But everything is going down Even the smile on that clown But you know I’ve had enough That’s why I’m hanging tough, with a list of my demands   There comes a time in most of our lives, when we’ve had enough.  We’ve reached the breaking point.  We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore.  We’ve submitted a list of our demands to a boss, lover, friend, the authorities…whoever.  The guy in this song is no different.  He has formulated such a list and because of the ambiguity concerning his ten demands and who he is addressing speaks to all of us.  As listeners, we can insert our own demands.  Sometimes a song works better that way.  Don’t make it too specific.  Make it universal – the everyman and everywoman.  He lets us know that he’s not holding a gun to someone’s head. He doesn’t want trouble.  The “weapon” he uses is his wit and reason. He’s standing up for himself…and this time he’s going to win.   Vampires At The Campfire   There were vampires at the campfire As we sang our cowboy songs There were vampires at the campfire They joined in to sing along Their pearly whites, they shined through the night And chilled me to the bone Vampires at the campfire, I wished they’d all gone home   And if I had a six gun, I’d shoot them all to hell But a bullet won’t kill them, It takes a stake to impale   Vampires at the campfire They told their tales of gore Vampires at the campfire Man, my neck was feeling sore Their blood red eyes and bloody mouths Was such a frightful sight Vampires at the campfire Glad I made it through the night   Before everyone streamed their movies, there used to be video stores like Blockbuster where one would go in and rent/purchase flics and be on their merry way.  And it was one such store that I got my idea for Vampires.  Searching for a movie to watch, I came across two DVD’s sitting side by side.  One was a western, and the other was a weird vampire film.  Sometimes songwriting ideas come easy.  I call it my Werewolves Of London, the sardonic tale by Warren Zevon about werewolves running amok in London.  For weird and eccentric, I’m always inspired by Zevon.  While there are several ways to kill vampires, I like to kill mine using the Eastern European tradition of driving a wooden stake through the heart.  But alas, the hapless cowpoke in the song doesn’t have access to one.