The Musical Diary of Greg Scheer

This summer, Simon and Theo would regularly drag chairs and a lemonade-style stand to the end of our driveway to hold a sale. It was never primarily about making money as much as holding an event. For example, one day their sign read “For sale: free paper airplanes.” Another day they sold chocolate filled marshmallows using the company name “The Diabetic Kid Candy Company.” They are destined to be rich like their father…

I try to help out the best I can by standing beside them juggling or playing my guitar. On the day they were selling origami I wrote a little song to draw in the crowds: It’s a Good Day for Origami, MP3

Heredity or environment? Nature versus nurture? Who cares when you end up with beat boxing as dope as this! Theo gets the party started and Greg Dad breaks it down.

Listen to MC G and Little T
and their feats of rhythmic dexterity.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
As you can clearly hear in this MP3

Is art mostly inspiration or perspiration? In this case it was the latter. I had just gone jogging and commented “Man, I’m super sweaty.” It struck me what an unpleasant phrase this was, and how funny it would be as a hard rock ode to love. Indeed.

Listen toward the end when Theo says very matter of factly: “that doesn’t rhyme.” Everyone’s a critic.

Super Sweaty

Theo had just been reading a book of world records and strange facts, which he would quote randomly throughout his bath. This turned into a trippy blues song of random facts, though for the life of me I can’t figure out what the first verse says.

Bathtime Blues

This Christmastide I am unveiling a series of songs done in collaboration with my son Theo. Hence the title “Theophiles.” (Kind of like Theophilus,” but could also sound like “Theo files.” Get it?) These recordings feature tunes that come primarily from bath time goofiness. I don’t remember how we started the tradition of bathtub creativity, but now it’s pretty much required that when Theo takes a bath I need to have my guitar at the ready. In fact, he was so excited to hear that his songs were going public, he wrote two more last night. He’s so prolific–and clean!

Let the juvenile jamboree begin: Freaky Boy

My friend Kim over at Wazoo Farm has inspired me to complete a song that has been on the back burner for a long time. She recently issued a call for poems about high heels, and I immediately thought of my sketch “Baby, You’re Not Wearing Pants, Again.” Because, after all, what’s more ridiculous than a song about a woman who keeps forgetting to put on her pants before leaving the house? A song about a woman who goes to the trouble of dressing in high heels, but still forgets to wear pants.

So Eric Clapton, eat your heart out. Your woman may look wonderful tonight, but she’s wearing pants. And that’s just predictable and passé. Sammy Kershaw, maybe she don’t know she’s beautiful because she’s not. Or because she doesn’t have a good pair of high heels that will give her a little confidence.

Let the bottomless festival of ridiculousness begin!: MP3