Lovesick Blues
(Mills, Irving / Friend, Cliff) Recorded by Hank Williams Sr.
I got a feelin' called the blues, oh, Lord
Since my baby said goodbye
Lord, I don't know what I'll do
All I do is sit and sigh, oh, Lord
That last long day she said goodbye
Well Lord I thought I would cry
She'll do me, she'll do you, she's got that kind of lovin'
Lord, I love to hear her when she calls me sweet daddy
Such a beautiful dream
I hate to think it all over, I've lost my heart it seems
I've grown so used to you somehow
Well, I'm nobody's sugar daddy now
And I'm lonesome, I got the lovesick blues
Well, I'm in love, I'm in love, with a beautiful gal
That's what's the matter with me
Well, I'm in love, I'm in love, with a beautiful gal
But she don't care about me
Lord, I tried and I tried, to keep her satisfied
But she just wouldn't stay
So now that she is leavin'
This is all I can say
I got a feelin' called the blues, oh, Lord
Since my baby said goodbye
Lord, I don't know what I'll do
All I do is sit and sigh, oh, Lord
That last long day she said goodbye
Well Lord I thought I would cry
She'll do me, she'll do you, she's got that kind of lovin'
Lord, I love to hear her when she calls me sweet daddy
Such a beautiful dream
I hate to think it all over, I've lost my heart it seems
I've grown so used to you somehow
Lord I'm nobody's sugar daddy now
And I'm lonesome, I got the lovesick blues
Continuing with the theme that my parents' songs were my favourite songs when I was little, Lovesick Blues was something that my Dad taught me to sing. He would play the guitar, and he and I had a few songs that we would sing together for fun. Now, you better believe that I adored any opportunity to do something with my Dad, but what was fun in our rec room was also a source of incredible stress whenever my Dad would try to get me to sing with him in front of other people. I remember outright refusing to sing in front of some of his friends, and one time, we were at his parents' house in Nova Scotia and I gave it my best shot, but afterwards, all my Grammie said was, "Maybe you could get her a little microphone or something." I've always had terrible stage fright, and at maybe five-years-old, my grandmother couldn't hear what I was squeaking out when I was standing right in front of her. Of course, Dad found my "obstinacy" embarrassing, and if I wasn't going to be a trained monkey, he wasn't going to play with me anymore. So, that didn't last long, maybe a year of singing together?
As for the song choice, Dad had some strange tastes (our other big number was Lying Eyes by the Eagles). I don't know if he really considered the words of these songs and whether or not they were appropriate for me, but I do know that he must have changed some of them: Looking up the lyrics just now, every site has the line "She'll do me, she'll do you, she's got that kind of lovin' ", but I remember that as "She'll want me, she'll want you...". Dad must have changed that, or maybe he remembered it wrong when he taught it to me, but he was quixotic enough to teach me cheating songs on the one hand and try to clean up the lyrics on the other.
Maybe he thought that was the right song for us because of the repeated use of "daddy" in the lyrics as I was the only one of his kids to call him that (mostly because I only have brothers). He asked me once to never stop calling him daddy, but of course, I eventually did; it's hard to use affectionate terms -- without feeling like a hypocrite -- for someone who basically frightens you. I stopped using "daddy" when I realised he hadn't earned it.
A loosely related illustrative example: One time, Dad was building himself a custom amplifier (he wasn't serious about music, but he could play guitar, and he had a couple of friends who came over sometimes to jam). Me and my brothers (maybe my Mom, too?) were in the rec room watching TV and Dad was in his workshop next door. I could see and hear him and knew he was getting frustrated as he attempted to staple black vinyl onto the plywood box he had made. As he cursed under his breath, pulling and stretching the vinyl flat and failing to get the staples in just the right spots, the atmosphere became incredibly tense. And then -- you know, I remember feeling something was coming but was still shocked when it did -- he came bursting through the doorway with the box over his head, yelled something like, "God damn cursed thing", and smashed it down on the floor between all of us before stomping up the stairs. I couldn't believe that he had destroyed something that he had put so much work into -- and as kids who never had enough of anything, the waste of materials was shocking to us, too -- but I just remember the feeling of stillness, the fear and wondering will he be coming back and who will have to pay the price for that outburst?
Yeah, so that's why he ain't nobody's sweet daddy now...And also funny, I always refer to Dave as our girls' daddy: Go ask daddy, where's daddy, maybe daddy knows. As they are teenagers (actually, Kennedy is nearly 20, yipes) they don't usually refer to him as their "daddy" anymore, and that's normal and fine, of course. But if there's anything I'd want them to understand, it's this: their own daddy earned as much affection as they can spare for him.
But let's remember happier times: when me and my daddy were singing together in the rec room -- no other people, no pressure of performing in public -- it was a rare and special time; such a beautiful dream.
Maybe he thought that was the right song for us because of the repeated use of "daddy" in the lyrics as I was the only one of his kids to call him that (mostly because I only have brothers). He asked me once to never stop calling him daddy, but of course, I eventually did; it's hard to use affectionate terms -- without feeling like a hypocrite -- for someone who basically frightens you. I stopped using "daddy" when I realised he hadn't earned it.
A loosely related illustrative example: One time, Dad was building himself a custom amplifier (he wasn't serious about music, but he could play guitar, and he had a couple of friends who came over sometimes to jam). Me and my brothers (maybe my Mom, too?) were in the rec room watching TV and Dad was in his workshop next door. I could see and hear him and knew he was getting frustrated as he attempted to staple black vinyl onto the plywood box he had made. As he cursed under his breath, pulling and stretching the vinyl flat and failing to get the staples in just the right spots, the atmosphere became incredibly tense. And then -- you know, I remember feeling something was coming but was still shocked when it did -- he came bursting through the doorway with the box over his head, yelled something like, "God damn cursed thing", and smashed it down on the floor between all of us before stomping up the stairs. I couldn't believe that he had destroyed something that he had put so much work into -- and as kids who never had enough of anything, the waste of materials was shocking to us, too -- but I just remember the feeling of stillness, the fear and wondering will he be coming back and who will have to pay the price for that outburst?
Yeah, so that's why he ain't nobody's sweet daddy now...And also funny, I always refer to Dave as our girls' daddy: Go ask daddy, where's daddy, maybe daddy knows. As they are teenagers (actually, Kennedy is nearly 20, yipes) they don't usually refer to him as their "daddy" anymore, and that's normal and fine, of course. But if there's anything I'd want them to understand, it's this: their own daddy earned as much affection as they can spare for him.
But let's remember happier times: when me and my daddy were singing together in the rec room -- no other people, no pressure of performing in public -- it was a rare and special time; such a beautiful dream.
