In Every Song, a Story: 'Naomi Sleeping'
Meeting the real person who inspired a track I played on 25 years ago made listening to it again that much sweeter.
An audio recording of the song referenced in this post can be heard at the end.
Even as a little kid, I always wanted to look behind the curtain. Not just to see who the Wizard really was. But to eavesdrop on him. Or even better, to hang out with him.
When I began listening to and loving music, which is just about as far back as I can remember — I had a robust alphabetized collection of 45s before I could properly tie my shoes — I didn’t want to just hear the Beatles sing “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” I wanted to hear them goofing around while they made it in the studio. Since then I have rejoiced in every expanded deluxe editions of their records, with outtakes and banter, and of course, the release of monumental documentary “Get Back” was and continues to be as profound for me as a waking dream, with the two minute clip of Paul bringing the song “Get Back” to life being one of the most astonishing musical moments this devotee has ever seen.
I suppose this impulse of mine is nothing more than the idea of documentary work, and true of other art forms, too, hence the genre of “The Making of …” such and such record or film (“Fitzcarraldo” has its “Burden of Dreams,” and “Apocalypse Now” has its “Hearts of Darkness” and so on, and I love these works pretty much equally, albeit in different ways). But what I realized after a while was that the song or film or whatever artwork didn’t have to be famous to have an interesting back story worth telling. And that realization opened up a world of storytelling possibilities for me — I’ve performed and composed and recorded hundreds of songs in my lifetime and each one has its own origin story.
I bring this up because this weekend I met the real life subject of a song I performed on 25 years ago with my once and future band, Fuller, consisting of me, the guitarist and writer Mac Randall of the Substack newsletter The Countoff and the bassist Micheal Gelfand. Michael wrote a song for a record we made in 2005 that has always been one of my favorites, “Naomi Sleeping,” a gorgeous, loping instrumental with a gently soaring melody and a 3/4 to 4/4 meter shift that comes and goes with impressive ease and a lyrical guest piano performance by Peter Primamore. Michael had told us back then that he wrote it for his mother, Naomi, but I never absorbed the details of the circumstances. I just liked the song along with many others we performed and recorded (not incidentally, our complete library of music was recently made available by Mac at Bandcamp and you can have a listen to it and purchase songs or records for a pittance, and I hope you do.)
This weekend at a graduation party for Michael’s sons, I ran into a charming woman somewhat older than me, who introduced herself as Naomi. This was Michael’s mother, and when I said, “Oh, Naomi of the song!” she smiled and proceeded to tell me how it came to be.
Those many years ago, Naomi told me, she was scheduled to have a medical procedure, a very serious one, that had put a fright into her and the night before could not sleep. As some point, to soothe her nerves, Michael brought his guitar over to her bed, sat down and began gently playing. That soon calmed her and before long she was sound asleep. Her memory of this was warm — a son playing a lullaby for his frightened mother, of course it was — and she quietly glowed as she told it. The song Michael later brought in for us to learn and play was redolent of that moment of love and care and the pure beauty and power of music to bring us a sense of peace.
I listened to the song again when I got home from the party and the few times since and my appreciation of it has deepened. I wrote Michael about it, too, and he said the time shift near the middle was “intended to demarcate her transition from her consciousness to unconsciousness, then acceptance, and my own unawareness of her inner turmoil to my own frightened awareness of it, and then awareness of my new despair and suddenly feeling helpless.”
I post it here for your listening pleasure and I’ll be curious to hear from you whether knowing how it came to be enriches or diminishes the experience for you. And now, '“Naomi Sleeping,” by Fuller.
Great story about 2 of my favorite people. I’ve known Naomi since she was borne 6 months after I was and Michael spice his birth. But, never knew of or heard this music until now.
I knew this back story at the time, but it was nice to be reminded of it. One of our finer moments as a band. Great to see Naomi again, along with so many others—including your excellent daughter—this past weekend.