Ed. Note: Today, I came across an old poem I wrote around the time my father passed. Part eulogy, part questioning my father’s relationship with my mother, “Chroma Cues” is based around a time where I actually asked my parents why they weren’t together, before I knew what “bastard” meant (or, at least, before I knew I was, apparently, one). It’s weird that, all these years later, the idea of a Baltimore Commercial Break project has come back up–this time, as an actual musical compilation that isn’t all gloom and doom, but more an homage to those days growing up. So, again, apologies if this doesn’t really flow. It’s mostly intentional, dealing with the issues presented in this selection.
“Chroma Cues” or “Baltimore Commercial Break”
Came into this thing, bout six years old…
"Chroma Cues" (or "Baltimore Commercial Break")
Who would’ve thought the story being told,
Now, through the eyes of Speed
Would’ve survived all the craziness in my soul?
Saw my folks split, fight, then go amend
Only to see dad with another woman
But I knew that he had another family
Talked about that previously
But still! That hurt the very pit of my soul
I’m supposed to be you when I grow old
How can I be a “man” when you nail anything that isn’t tied down?
And even if it is, you still drive through it?
But no, I changed my path to a new one!
Got my chroma cues from another son
Of the heavenly father, my stepdad was…
More of a dad than my biological one
More of a father than my biological one.
Yeah he left me property, gave me money
But all I really wanted was “l-o-v-e.”
I’m sure he did, but I never understood
Why he and mom could–even after Geraldine went R.I.P–never marry?
I guess, by then, mom and pop were too happy.
Being BFFs, I guess. Easier without the stress of…
Dealing with potentially not being happy.
Reeling me in with each passed night…
Mother and father said their good nights,
Cooing drunken sweet nothings as if she and he were the only souls alive.
One day, before I knew better, I asked my father as the midday news played…
“Father, why don’t you just marry mother?” “You love her, don’t you?”
Don Scott’s baritone echoed through the room announcing the latest tragedy
Marty Bass’s thick, Baltimore accent tried to assuage my confusion, speaking about the weather.
Then, the familiar “Chroma Cues” played, as Kelly Lynn signed off.
Simple days with complex hours, my norm.
…but, still no answer.
Waited ’til my mother ranted about missing her numbers. She blurted out, as she took another sip…
“Shit! If I only had played 769…”
Now, drawing on a stale Salem cigarette, she spoke to me.
As the Baltimore Commercial Break grew to a close, she spoke to me.
As we finally found out if Victor would die or live, she spoke to me
“For John and me, love never could be enough,” she told me.
All these years later, I finally get it.
Things sometimes, I guess, just can’t work the way you need.
Proving, ultimately, the need you once had was a misguided want.
So, I got my chroma cues from another son
Of the heavenly father. My stepdad was…
More of a dad than my biological one.
But, even then, I can’t help but give him love.
And now? The emptiness in my heart?
It isn’t for a father who wasn’t there…
It’s for a father who I just lost, who isn’t here.
The death of innocence happened long ago…
During that Baltimore Commercial Break
The chroma cues I now receive? The spectrum, not just a few.
speedonthebeat.com 