“My Bucket” - a song about tip jars
It’s the final musing of the year, so let’s keep it simple, none of this deep crap for once, ok?
Story Pairing
This is a song I wrote back in March of 2018. I have a bunch of old tunes that I am dusting off and plan on making musings for this year. I’m always going to be writing new ones, but as I get farther and farther away from the early songs, I start to feel a bit guilty.
Some of them are stinkers, those I will either let be or see if I can rework them. Some however aren’t bad, they just were written during a time when my “ability” was minimal. It doesn’t mean they aren’t worth something, just that I wasn’t in a place to express what they were trying to convey.
It’s a fun practice to go back to old creations and hold them with more seasoned hands. You can feel where some of the corners were too sharp and need sanded, or where a joint wasn’t strong enough to hold up the weight. My first thought when I look through old pages is normally critical. I look at old words and I wonder what I was thinking, or chords and think… man, that’s it (I still do that)… but part of the practice is showing my past self a little grace. Realizing that I was writing songs because I love to do it. I wanted to create something where just a moment ago there was nothing. That’s a pretty powerful ability, and I think it’s one we all have. The thing that holds us up is that critical piece. The moments where we self doubt and derail the excitement we just had a moment ago that we were doing the thing. In those moments I picture a kid on a bike, and we are helping them learn. To make it even more personal, think of it as the young version of you, and the you you are know is helping you ride (is that enough “you”?). I would probably yell at adult me, questioning why I can’t keep pedaling or keep the handlebars straight… with kid me, I would be gentle. I’d see that little guy trying his best and think “man, I’m a cool kid and deserve a little encouragement”. So when I look through these old songs I am going to try and picture the past me who was trying his best to get a thought out in a way that felt like something….
^ I think I may be tapping into inner child work or something, but I’m not overly familiar with that world, so I will talk a bit about the song instead of running a psychology lecture.
I can’t remember too much of why I wrote this song. I don’t have it in a notebook so I’m missing some memory sparking context. The thing I do remember is that it was related to the new tip jar that I had gotten at the time. It’s a brass spittoon with a pony express stamp on the front, and I got it from when Gypsy Grace and the Vintage Goat in Akron, OH was an antique shop. They always had treasures to be found. (I even did an early live video there you can see here, I miss that hat..)
I’ve had that spittoon for years, and I can’t beginning to guess at how many filthy dollars, coins, and phone numbers have been dropped into it (that last part is wishful thinking). The pieces parts of this job that you haul with you to show to show start be more than gear, they become a whisper of a friend that has your back and helps you do the work that you set out to do. That’s a unique bond, and a musicians tip jar is a partner that can change an average show into a great one. It’s also one that can dash your hopes just as easily. It’s a one of a kind relationship and at least deserves one song.
Welp. I guess I got a touch deep after all, but I appreciate being able to write these pairings (that I probably should change the name to “rambles”…)
Enjoy the song. Thanks for listening. Thanks for being here. We have another year under our belt and I’m glad I got to share so many songs with you and I can’t wait to look back at these when I’m even older and thank myself for not giving up, and surrounding myself with people that believed in me and the musical world that I love being a part of.
Song Structure
Verse: C / F / C / F / C / G / F / C / F / C / F / C / G / F / C
Chorus: F / C / F / C / F / C / G / F / C / F / C / Am / F / C / G / F / C / G / C
Voice Memos
Notebook Page
March 2018
Lyrics
I'm carrying around this bucket, picking up what I can
But I've never been a pickup sort of man
So set me straight, I'm crooked like before
I don't want to count the coins in this bucket anymore
Well a bucket made of Iron, will rust right through the bottom
A bucket made of steel, we sadly have none to sell
A bucket made of tin, will surely cave on it
From the sticks and stones people like to throw
Still I keep my tune in a bucket and I carry it where I go
I'm going to marry me a looker who's smarter than me still
No sure why she loves me when nobody else will
I don't have the money, and I sure don't have the time
To give her all these songs in my bucket that I rhymed
Well a bucket made of Iron, will rust right through the bottom
A bucket made of steel, we sadly have none to sell
A bucket made of tin, will surely cave on it
From the sticks and stones people like to throw
Still I keep my tune in a bucket and I carry it where I go
It's a strange thing to wander, A life lived on the street
Have a sign says just the tip and this guitar on my knee
Haven't found that looker, and I'm hard pressed for the like
So I sit here singing and nudge my bucket every night
Well a bucket made of Iron, will rust right through the bottom
A bucket made of steel, we sadly have none to sell
A bucket made of tin, will surely cave on it
From the sticks and stones people like to throw
Still I keep my tune in a bucket and I carry it where I go
Oh yes I keep my tune in a bucket and I carry it where I go
Oh yes I keep my tune in a bucket and I carry it where I go