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This music is for sale. "Submarine Homesick Blues" costs $12.00 US; "Naval Gazing" costs $9.00; "Cruise Control" costs $12.00; and shipping and handling for any order is $6.00. If you are serving US military personnel or a veteran, and you cannot afford this, contact me and we'll work a deal. I do not have an on-line store; if you want to buy something, send me an e-mail. I accept PayPal. Thank you for serving our country.
When a friend introduced me to the submarine songs of Tommy Cox, it struck a chord in me. I felt the urge to do something similar, although for different reasons and from a very different perspective. Ideas for songs sprang into my head as fast as I could write them down. The only problem was the sheer effrontery of writing submarine songs when I'm not a submariner, but a little encouragement from some real boomer vets got me over that hurdle.
I played electric and acoustic guitars and 8-string bass, sequenced the MIDI tracks for "Old Ships," and sang. I was also the recording engineer and producer. Guest vocals on "Eternal Father, Strong to Save:" on verse 2, Rick Meunier (an authentic submariner); on verse 3, Lora, Paul, and Richard Meunier (an authentic submariner's wife and boys). Thank you for contributing to this project!
I am not a submariner. I'm not pretending to be something I am not; I'm not trying to walk in the shoes of a certain Tango Charlie (although he definitely inspired this project). My message is to say "thank you" to the "silent service" vets who endured the danger, the tedium, the isolation and the secrecy, in order to help preserve the freedoms that civilians like me often take for granted. In this age when people who bash the military are somehow seen as heroes, I just want to say to the real heroes, "What you did was necessary, you did it well, and I'm glad you did it. And I'm glad there are men like you who are still doing it." This album is not a memoir, but a tribute.
I wish to thank Rick and David Meunier, brothers who served on the Simon Bolivar and the Lewis & Clark respectively, for encouraging me in this mad enterprise, sharing sea stories with me, and offering useful suggestions; Tommy Cox, for showing how it should be done; my wife, Eileen, for her patience and for the Christmas gifts of recording gear that I used to make this album; and Jesus Christ, for saving my soul and teaching me what real freedom means.
All songs are ©2008 by Mike Fischer, except for "Submarine Homesick Blues," which is a parody of "Subterranean Homesick Blues" by Bob Dylan, parody lyrics ©2008 by Mike Fischer; "Tango Charlie Revisited," which is a parody of "The Man Who Never Returned" by the Kingston Trio, parody lyrics ©2008 by Mike Fischer; and "Eternal Father, Strong to Save," by Whiting & Dykes, now in the public domain.
Johnny's on the bridge again, working on his dolphins,
Bridge clear, hatch shut, take her down somewhat.
Lie still, eat your fill — no, not another drill!
Ahh, watch on, watch off, commence defense,
The first line, about Birnam Wood and Dunsinane, is a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth; it was prophesied in the play that Macbeth would be king until a certain forest moved to a certain town. Our boomers take their own "forest" wherever they go, which would have really scared Macbeth.
MacBeth got scared when Birnam Wood had moved towards Dunsinane,
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
Now, "Forty-One for Freedom" is the name they gave us all.
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
We're tested and we're ready if our nation gives the word,
Out and back, blue and gold, that's the way we go.
They built us up as boomer boats to keep our nation free,
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
Ohio was the first one, then the Michigan came through.
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
So if you think that you can mess with Lady Liberty,
S-S-G-N, Tomahawks to go.
The line about Tango and Foxtrot refers both to two dance steps that our subs never tried, and to two older, diesel-powered Soviet submarine types that our boats probably didn't spend much time following.
They were the ones, four thousand tons of a ship they called a boat.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
It's never sweet when two ships meet, but it was a risk that's real.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
spoken: Tango. Foxtrot. Those weren't the steps.
When far below, no light can show, and your partner can't be seen.
Our subs, they closed our nation's foes in a game under the sea.
Tied up to a tender, on a break from the sea.
They checked out Conn and Sonar and the torpedo tubes,
When cats get loose in boomers, dodging admiral's wives,
Overdue, presumed lost. Fifty-two paid the cost.
Three thousand, five hundred five sailors didn't come back alive.
Depth bombs and torpedoes, mines and air attack,
Since that time, just a few. Thresher and Scorpion, Cochino too.
Let me tell you the story of a Tango Charlie who was serving the U.S.A.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
Well, he listened so hard finding Soviet secrets and he’d translate what they were sayin'.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
He would sing about the torpedo there in the water, or the trailing of a Yankee class,
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
Charlie's life's not so different from a hundred thousand sailors all through the U.S.N.
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned,
Oh, you veterans of subs, don't you know it's a wonder there's a troubador who knows your ways?
But can he tell what he learned? He can't tell what he learned —
Navy life's okay, baby. Yes, that's just what I said.
It's the same all over — 'phibs and frigates, fast attack.
Now my watch is over, man. I just wanna hit the hay.
Move it out, there, buddy. Haven't you got places to go?
Now a shipmate's shinin', shinin' a light right in my eyes.
Don't care, I'm goin' down. I got sleep that's overdue.
Nautilus, she was the first, and every test she passed.
One of a kind, one of a kind.
There's NR-1, the little one, Rickover's special craft,
One of a kind, one of a kind.
Now, most boats start identical, but that does not endure.
One of a kind, one of a kind.
Christmas Day, what a beauty.
I hear footsteps, voices too.
We all ate Christmas breakfast right there.
Don't know how Neptune got on board, but he's in charge.
Crossing the line! I can't think of any way out.
The Royal Barber hacked my hair, hope it grows back.
Crossing the line! I can't think of any way out.
But now the rites are over and I'm mostly intact.
Crossing the line! I couldn't find any way out.
I walked the well-worn deck plates of a faded man o'war.
A patch of rust has broken through the layers of gray paint.
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
An aged man in khakis, looking tired and rather frail.
They ask if he saw action, did he ever feel afraid?
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
A crew can bring their ship to life, but when they all have gone,
So if you walk those deck plates, take a moment to reflect,
Old ships, left behind. Time moves on so fast.
In mid-January, 1955,
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
She started breaking records everywhere she went.
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
For near a quarter-century, she sailed on and on,
Nautilus, ninety north! No other ship had gone there before.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Lord God, our power evermore,
Bless those who serve beneath the deep,
Lord, guard and guide the men who flySubmarine Homesick Blues
Songs for the Submarine Service by Mike Fischer
Liner notes on the CD:
The Songs:
This is a parody of the old Bob Dylan song, "Subterranean Homesick Blues," written in 1965. It purports to describe a typical submarine cruise, although there was probably no such thing as a "typical" cruise. If 1965 is too old for you, then think of it as a rap. I had a lot of fun writing this one; if I'd used every idea that came to me, the song would be about 7 minutes long.
Always standing watch when heading out and coming in.
I'm on the sound stack, listenin' to a playback,
Bunking in a hot rack on a sub, flat black.
Look out kid, they know what you did.
The Chief knows when, gonna bust you down again.
You better head for the galley, then feel the boat descend.
The man at the conn's been listenin' to the screw spin,
Calls a heading and depth, that's where it begins.
Listen to the scuttlebutt, gonna kick Commie butt.
Chief of the boat knows, keep 'er steady as she goes,
Now make a quick blow, orders from the C.O.
Look out kid, we're sailing through squid.
Workin' on a trim dive, looks good, high five,
Guess we all survived, can't wait 'til we arrive.
Some seem to thrive when we're sun-deprived.
You don't need a klaxon to tell you when we deep dive.
Alarm sounds shrill, scram test, what a thrill.
Try hard, qual card gets filled, work until
You prevail, Holy Grail; join an oiler if you fail.
Look out kid, all noise is forbid.
TLD looks clear, you can serve, no fear.
Spooks checkin' new gear, they weren't ever here;
Don't get entangled, be star-spangled.
We're checkin' angles, and watchin' out for dangles.
Sea's vast, learn fast, don't get captain's mast.
Carrier escort, secret job of some sort,
Eighty days of cruisin' and we're nowhere near a home port.
Look out kid, we gotta stay hid.
Never surrender, tie up at a tender,
Chance is slender you'll be a big spender.
Avoid misdemeanors, the grass isn't greener,
And keep the boat cleaner, 'cause you're a submariner!
This is my tribute to the "boomers," the slow-moving, silent strategic-missile boats that each carried more firepower than all the bombs dropped by both sides in WWII. There was (and is) no glamor or excitement in such duty, just endless repetition and drills, months spent far from home, and the fervent hope that those missiles will never have to be fired. "They also serve who only stand and wait."
But we take Sherwood Forest down beneath the bounding main.
With sixteen big death angels in a boat below the sea,
We're here to tell the other side, "Hey, don't you tread on me."
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
They named the boats for patriots who answered freedom's call.
We're not the silent hunters, there's no hot-shots at the conn.
We're laying low in parts unknown, until we've come and gone.
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
But hoping that our power means a war has been deterred.
Ninety days' slow cruising in the dark beneath the sea,
We'll do our part to keep the peace and guard our liberty.
Seldom seen, never heard, take it nice and slow.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
Hoping that we're never called to rise and show our stuff.
Here as a deterrent, and, God willing, that's enough.
With the end of the Cold War, four of our big Ohio-class Trident missile subs were no longer needed for national security. Rather than scrap them, they were converted into cruise-missile submarines, with an enhanced command & communications suite and extensive facilities for working with Special Forces. The song is a variation on "The Deterrent Force," just as the SSGN's are variations on the SSBN's. The words "back in black" have a triple meaning: they refer to the boats' color, to the "black ops" that they are probably involved in (but can neither confirm nor deny), and to an old song by AC/DC that spoke of someone coming back strong, seemingly from the dead, again just like the SSGN's.
With twenty-four big Tridents that could all M-I-R-V.
The years went by and times had changed, retirement was deserved.
But we are still both young and strong, still we proudly serve.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
Florida and Georgia made it four instead of two.
We got some special weapons and some Special Forces brave.
We pack a punch that can't be seen or heard beneath the waves.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
One-fifty-four precision strikes is what you'll get from me.
My Seals can steal your secrets, they can take you down with ease.
You'll never know how close I am; I'm master of the seas.
Navy Seals drop by to say hello.
Mission was accomplished but we've got more work to do.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
Four big boats are back in black beneath the briny blue.
This was the first submarine song I wrote. It speaks of the risky "game" of trailing hostile submarines at close range while submerged, both to gain information about them and, in the event of war, to destroy them quickly before they could launch an attack on the United States. There were more than a few collisions through the decades of the Cold War. While there is no more USSR, we can be pretty sure that our attack boats are still out there, tailing the subs of our nation's enemies.
And through the years, those volunteers played a risky game afloat.
They'd ride the tails of iron whales to see what they could learn,
And to stay alive, match dive for dive, and follow turn for turn.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
They got it done, but "bump and run" is not a game for me.
The Six-Three-Nine, she cut too fine with a bump that shattered steel.
For all they knew, that Echo II had gone down with all hands.
But for all they lost, they'd count the cost, and go on with the dance.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
They didn't quit, but "tag, you're it" is not a game for me.
You must rely on the sonar guy when you dance with submarines.
Through the deep expanse, they pursued the dance, and let the others lead.
Two months' patrol can take its toll, with nothing guaranteed.
They'd take a chance in a deep-sea dance to keep our country free.
With sudden divin' and Crazy Ivan, it's an unsafe place to be.
The sea is vast, but "gotcha last" is not a game,
They didn't quit, but "tag, you're it" is not a game,
They got it done, but "bump and run" is not a game, not a game for me.
The events in this song actually occurred, according to David Meunier, a former engineering officer on the Lewis & Clark. It is a tribute to Lt. Meunier and his men that they were able to resolve an unprecedented engineering casualty in the middle of an inspection, in such a way that the problem never recurred. They represent the US Navy's finest traditions of quick thinking and resourcefulness.
Keeping ship's routine, it wasn't meant to be.
Boarded by a man with several stars on his sleeve,
He thought he'd look around and inspect where he pleased.
He brought his wife, and on top of that,
His wife brought a curious cat.
But while they were inspecting, the cat made its move.
That feline made a beeline and vanished from view.
They launched a major search, and called out the crew,
Who asked each other, "Whose idea was that?
"A submarine's no place for a cat!"
In Engineering, they could get 18 half-lives.
They finally caught it; what to do? They were inspired
To load it in the signal-ejector tube and yell, "Fire!"
Flew throught the air and hit the tender, SPLAT!
The cat had curiosity,
Also high velocity,
We'll say curiosity killed the cat.
Man for man, the Submarine Service endured higher casualties than any other portion of the US Navy in the Second World War. This is my tribute to the boats and men who never came home. I found multiple figures for the number of men lost; I used the number from the "official" bronze plaque of WWII sub losses, in part because it made a better lyric.
Add their names to a slowly growing roll.
World War Two submarines. Death came due, sight unseen.
They are not coming back. Still on patrol.
Write them down on a clean and honored scroll.
They gave all, now they sleep in the darkness, in the deep.
They are not coming back. Still on patrol.
Torps we launched that circled, turned and came on back.
Ramming ships and gunfire, causes yet unknown,
Fifty-two long overdue, they are not coming home.
Sailing under the sea still takes its toll.
When time ends, the trumpet calls, those men will rise, one and all.
Until then, they are still. Still on patrol.
Still on patrol. Still on patrol.
It must be a heavy burden for an intelligence operator to discover the enemy's secrets, and then be compelled by oath and by ethics to never breathe a word of it for the rest of his life. But one "spook" has kept his oath and still told us some pretty good stories. This song is a parody of the old Kingston Trio song, "The Man Who Never Returned," and is a tribute to the man who inspired this whole album.
He got dolphins on his chest, and he wore them proudly and went diving to far away.
He's a spook who served his term (he was never here)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
When he got a break, he pulled out a well worn Gibson, and he tuned it and started his playin'.
Any tales are unconfirmed (very secret)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
How the Lapon, it followed that boat so closely, they could reach out and kick its… rudder.
He's a CPO well-earned (on the Seawolf)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
But we're glad he told us of his life's adventures with his guitar, his voice and pen.
But be grateful he returned (blind man’s bluff, he called it)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
Buy a disc or two, show appreciation for the songs that Tango Charlie plays!
It's a secret, stem to stern (he can't tell you)
May he sail forever on the seas of freedom, but he cannot tell what he learned.
No, he cannot tell what he learned.
He'll sing "Diesel boats forever," but he cannot tell what he learned.
No, he cannot tell what he learned.
Bravo Zulu, Tango Charlie?
An unending problem in any navy, including our own, is that sometimes there aren't enough places for everyone to sleep. When that happens, sailors have to "hot rack" it — take turns sharing a bunk, one sleeping while the other is on duty. This has never been popular and never will be. My blues-guitar playing will never be popular, either, but you get the idea.
I don't mind the duty, and they keep you pretty well fed.
I got just one problem, that's where I lay down my head.
They got extra crewmen, no extra space to hit the sack.
These ships cost mega-millions, they can't afford to give me my own rack.
Gimme just five minutes, I'll be snoring "Anchors Aweigh."
Oh, wait, there's my buddy, in my bed, he's right in the way.
Clear out on the double, man. Hey, here comes the C.P.O.
Sheets are warm, a little sweaty. Is this right? I just don't know.
Looks at me, says, "Sorry, I'm lookin' for that other guy."
Walks away and leaves me. I'm just so tired I could cry.
Next thing I know, it's time, to get up and put on my shoes,
While my buddy's waiting his turn — we got those hot-rackin' blues.
This song pays tribute to the submarines that had no sister ships. Most of them were experimental in nature; some of those experiments paid off and some weren't repeated. But the boats themselves were just as loved by their crews as the more "conventional" designs (for the most part), and every Navy ship becomes unique once her crew brings her to life.
Seawolf ran with sodium, but that trick didn't last.
Albacore, the shape she wore shaped all boats yet to be,
And Halibut launched Regulus and took the spooks to sea.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that were a class of one, one of a kind.
And Glenard Lipscomb, extra-long, with silencing back aft.
Tullibee was built to be a smaller fast attack,
And Triton was a radar boat with two nukes in the back.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that had no sister ships, one of a kind.
The Navy loves to tinker, and a class is never pure.
But every submariner knows, unless he's deaf and blind,
His boat is better than the rest, she is one of a kind.
Trial boats for this and that, see what they can find.
Some were better, some were not, some left the rest behind.
Boats that were an only child, one of a kind.
Boats that were a class of one, one of a kind.
These lyrics are loosely based on a true story that happened to my friend Rick Meunier while he was serving on the Simon Bolivar. I took some liberties with the details, but the overall events are true. Yes, it's sentimental, but sometimes that's the source of our most cherished memories.
Wet and cold. I've got the duty.
Galley has to be warm and fired up,
In case some hungry sailor shows up.
Christmas Day on a submarine base.
I'd rather be anywhere but this place.
That's how it goes when you wear navy blue.
Kind of depressing when I'm the whole crew.
Someone's here? Today? But who?
It's my shipmate, my buddy and friend,
With his wife and his kids. I just can't comprehend.
I said, "Man, you're off duty, how come you're not home?"
He said, "I knew you'd be here all alone.
"That ain't right, so I thought we'd drop by,
"And give you some company (sniff) — hey, what's cookin', guy?"
Sure wasn't fancy, we didn't care.
Stayed and talked for a few hours, and then
He left me a memory, when he went home again.
All my life, I will never forget
The friend who shared Christmas with me, cold and wet.
Being shipmates is good, but I find
Friendship's the one ship leaves the others behind.
This song could apply to nearly any ship, not just American submarines. It describes a typical sailor enduring the typical ceremony that happens when a ship crosses the Equator. These ceremonies are traditional and old; no one knows how they got started. They used to be a lot more abusive than they are today, but they still are nothing to look forward to. Fortunately, a sailor only has to be on the receiving end of them once.
He brought the Royal Baby, and his belly is large.
He says I'm just a polliwog, unworthy of grace.
And all his trusty shellbacks, they'll put me in my place. Look out!
This cruise was fine, but now I am having my doubts.
They're putting vile stuff down our throats while Davy Jones is taking notes.
It's not what I call a good time, crossing the line.
They made me run a gauntlet and my backside got whacked.
The Dentist put grease in my ears while Neptune just laughed.
I kissed the Baby's belly — now my lips need a bath. Bleah!
This cruise was fine, but now I am having my doubts.
They're putting vile stuff down our throats while Davy Jones is taking notes.
It's not what I call a good time, crossing the line.
I'm never more a polliwog, I'm a shellback.
There wasn't much to love but there's one part I like best —
A certain snide Lieutenant got it, just like the rest. Hah!
This cruise is fine, I put aside all of my doubts.
And next time we are down this way, the polliwogs will have to pay.
They'll get theirs just like I got mine, crossing the line.
This is one song where I know what I'm talking about. It describes my feelings when exploring the museum ships in Battleship Cove (Fall River, MA). I love the chance to get up close and personal with the ships that helped make history and protect our nation. But at the same time, there's something wrong about a ship that's silent, motionless, and nearly empty. I particularly appreciate the sub veterans who sit in the torpedo room and control room of the submarine Lionfish, and tell their stories to those who will stop to listen.
There was no sound — I might have been the only one on board.
There should be sailors' voices, and motors' muted hums.
But silently, she waits for duty's call that never comes.
I wonder why they let her go, with no preventive maint.
They wrote her off as obsolete, she couldn't keep the pace,
And now her anchor's deep in mud; she'll never leave this place.
Most are gone, some stay on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
This ship was home when he was young, and now he tells his tale
To tourists and their children, tries to help them understand
This old gray ship was once a proud defender of their land.
He tells of long-gone shipmates and the cruises that they made.
I see his eyes go misty with the memories, and then
His old arthritis pains him, and his thoughts come home again.
Most are gone, some live on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
Their echoes and their shadows stay behind to carry on.
Most ships find a cutter's torch, but a scant few are preserved,
Memorials to battles won and men who proudly served.
And thank the aged sailor, hear his stories with respect.
Consider what this ship has done, don't let the memory fall —
A simple, fair repayment, for we're debtors to them all.
Most are gone, some stay on, reminders of the past.
Listen, hear the echoes of her sailors long gone by.
Old ships may be empty, but their souls will never die.
SSN 571 did pretty well, considering that the full implications of her novel propulsion system were barely guessed at when she was laid down. She was the first nuclear-powered anything in the world, and among her many milestones, she was the first submarine to pass under the North Polar ice cap. She is now a memorial ship, open to the public in Groton, MA.
A ship called SSN-571.
They pulled the rods and her reactor came alive,
By order of her Captain Wilkinson.
She headed down the river, headed straight for the sea,
She signalled, "Under way on nuclear power."
A driven man named Rickover had brought it to be,
And one of submarining's finest hours.
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
A hundred thousand miles, just getting warm.
She threw off every anti-sub ship anyone sent.
The way of submarines had been transformed.
Then Operation Sunshine sent them under the blue.
They took a lengthy under-ice patrol.
In August '58, the captain spoke to the crew,
"For world, our country, Navy - the North Pole."
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
A half a million miles beneath her keel.
They spoke of decommissioning and her time was gone,
Until Frank Sheetz began his great appeal.
And now she rests in honor up in old Groton town,
She's open now for everyone to see.
A record-breaking submarine will no more go down;
She's done her part to serve our liberty.
Nautilus, ninety north! She did what was expected, and more.
The Navy Hymn needs no introduction. The two middle verses were written expressly about submariners, while the last verse is a fervent prayer for all our armed forces. Verse 2 is a duet with boomer vet Rick Meunier, and verse 3 is sung by Lora Meunier, an authentic submariner's wife, and her authentic submariner's sons, Paul and Richard.
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
Whose arm doth reach the ocean floor,
Dive with our men beneath the sea;
Traverse the depths protectively.
O hear us when we pray, and keep
Them safe from peril in the deep.
Through lonely hours their vigil keep.
May peace their mission ever be;
Protect each one, we ask of Thee.
Bless those at home who wait and pray,
For their return by night and day.
And those who on the ocean ply;
Be with our troops upon the land,
And all who for their country stand:
Be with these guardians day and night
And may their trust be in Thy might.