His Name Is Stan And He's A Bad Motherf**ker
I started working for Stan when I was about 17. We did remodel/construction type work of all sorts but always of a fine quality. I usually hated it. Loathed it even. Sometimes I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Stan was what I called at the time a workaholic. He was driven and obsessive. Serious about things like quality and deadlines. He was the type that must work to survive. Just to keep from drowning. In himself…
I, on the other hand, was not interested in such mundane notions as hard work, responsibilities or accomplishments of these sort at all. I was anxious and odd. A man-child hyper-aware and uncomfortable. Especially under the watching eye of a perfectionist such as Stan. Just always ready for this excruciating workday to be finally over.
I did this work with Stan (off and on) for about 15 years. It’s been another 15 since then. We haven’t spoke in that time. He doesn’t know I’ve written an album about him yet. You see, Stan and I weren’t really close. Which I guess makes this all a comedy.
1. (pre) Dawn Of Stan – Introduces Stan, focused and preparing in his well lit shop in the predawn hours.
2. I Was A Worker – Introduces the storyteller: the worker and all his frustrations.
3. Sawhorse – An instrumental showcasing fine craftsmanship. Like Stan and I used to do.
4. Stan – His name is Stan and he’s a bad motherfucker…
5. Lunchtime – an introspective interlude.
6. Stir The Stain (fuck The Door) – Onced I dropped, from atop a 4 foot step ladder, an open gallon of dark brown stain in the living room of a beautiful, A-framed house. It was the only time I heard Stan curse. “fuck the door!”
7. I Am Stan – Our dramatic conclusion. Now, 25 years later, I am Stan…
Update: Stan loved it!