SeanPaulMurphyVille: "The Wash of Time" Music Video

Thursday, January 12, 2012

"The Wash of Time" Music Video

Since I have been highlighting some of music videos have done for other folks, I have decided to add one I did myself.

The Atomic Enema, aka The New Catholics, 1985

I was writing songs long before I wrote my first screenplay which was a somewhat difficult task since I am not and never have been a singer. Then again, since most of my songs, whether jokey or serious, were highly-personal, I appreciated the emotional distance that another singer afforded me. The singer in our dreadful garage rock band, The Atomic Enema (the name, at least, immortalized in "Hidden Secrets"), would sometimes bring girls to our rehearsals. More than once, a girl pulled me aside to ask if the singer had written one of the songs about her. I always said yes, and they always seemed strangely happy about it. I say strangely because none of those songs were symptomatic of a healthy romantic relationship. When we formed the band, three of the four members had just broken up with a long-time or significant girlfriends and the material definitely reflected that fact.

The Atomic Enema, 2009

This song came into being when my wife told me that they were taking her beloved uncle Sonny off life support two days before Christmas. Her father had died two days before Thanksgiving the previous year. We had also recently been to the funeral of my uncle Brian, who died way too young at fifty-nine. It seemed like we were attending a veritable flood of funerals and the thought of the unending wash of time came to me. The song came instantly. I wrote it in about five minutes. I recorded it on my mac using the voice over tool in Final Cut in about ten minutes, and, by the time my wife came home from work to record her harmony vocal, the video homage to our departed relatives was essentially done.

It's not necessarily a great song or a great recording or a great performance, but I wanted to do something to honor those who have gone on ahead of me. Here's who the people in the photos are:

Mary Jordan McLane. A paternal 2nd great-grandmother. An Irish immigrant, she was the long-lived matriarch of my Irish Scranton family.
John Rosenberger. A maternal 2nd great-grandfather. Born in Krombach, Bavaria, he was one of my diminutive German immigrants.
Douglas Wayne Sartor. The husband of my aunt Sharon. He was a Jesuit-trained Vietnam veteran who died too soon.
Wapee (Dhu) P'tu Kumphan Murphy. The wife of my uncle Paul. He had to go to Thailand to find the right woman. She was worth the trip.
Brian Robertson Murphy. My uncle. He fought a courageous battle against cancer. A real man to the end.
Patricia Elsie Protani. My 1st cousin, once removed. MS stole her mobility, but never her spirit. A true inspiration.
Jan Nepom Kostohryz. A maternal 2nd great-grandfather. He was born in Bernartice, Bohemia, but found a home in Baltimore, Maryland.
Juliana Fuchs Engel. A paternal 4th great-grandmother. I always find it fascinating to look into the face of an ancestor who was born in the 1700s. Talk about the wash of time. Will anyone be looking at a photo of me hundreds of years from now?
Donald Leroy Crum, Sr. My wife's father. An inventive, fun-loving guy with a great sense of humor. I was proud to be a member of his family.
Harold Kenneth Crum. My wife's uncle. A true Kentucky gentleman.
John Albert Yurcho, Jr. My wife's ex-husband. (Fortunately, for me, it didn't work out between those two.)
Nora Hyden Crum. My wife's paternal grandmother. She was a homespun, hard-working woman.
James Murphy. A paternal granduncle. I didn't even know he existed until I started the family tree. Now here he is on the internet. Gone but not forgotten.
Vincent Alvin Rosenberger. A maternal granduncle. Another sibling of a grandparent that I didn't know even know existed. His grave is unmarked, but his image will remain on the internet.
Mark Brendan Murphy. My brother. A tragic figure. There but for the grace of God go I.
Laura Murphy Valenti. My sister. Her death devastated the family. Damn. It was pretty hard for my siblings to make it through their 30s.
Margaret Robertson Murphy. My paternal grandmother. I really enjoyed doing the family tree with her.
Violet Harvey Evans. My wife's maternal grandmother. A sweet woman.
Anthony Ignatius Rosenberger. A maternal granduncle. Uncle Buzzy. A World War II vet who saw some real action. I wish I went fishing with him more.
Helen Rosenberger Ernst. A maternal grandaunt. A sweet lady.
John Norbert Rosenberger. A maternal granduncle. Uncle Butch. He helped put me through college. And, had the world blown up during the Cuban Missile Crisis, he would have survived in the Presidential bomb shelter.
Vincenzo Protani. A maternal great-grandfather. My Italian immigrant forbearer who came to Baltimore in 1903. A colorful character to say the least. I plan to be buried beside him in due time.
Paul James Murphy, Sr. My paternal grandfather. I always use my middle name professionally as a homage to him. A great guy. I wish I could be more like him.
Douglas Ernest Murphy, Sr. My father. A genius. Gone too soon. I don't think he gave himself much reason to live after losing two children.
Gino J. Protani. My maternal half-uncle. Never had the chance to meet him.
Candie Protani Garbarino. My maternal half-aunt. Never had the chance to meet her.
Kenneth Joseph Protani. My paternal grandfather. I never met him. Had I known he lived until 1983, I would have tracked him down.
Carole Hagan Protani. Ex-wife of my maternal uncle.
Merrill Leroy Crum. My wife's paternal grandfather. Probably a descendant of the old reformer Martin Luther. Still waiting for verification.
David Archibald Evans. My wife's maternal grandfather. A happy-go-lucky guy.
Carolina Stark Robertson. My paternal great-grandmother. She never approved of her daughter marrying a Catholic. She died of heart attack walking home from the cemetery after tending her husband's grave.
Francis John Murphy. A paternal granduncle. He was a great guy..
Robert Burns Pollock. My maternal step-grandfather. A great guy. He always took me to get my buzz hair cuts as a kid.
Frank John Murphy. A paternal great-grandfather. The fire chief of Dunmore Pennsylvania, and, by all reports, a really great guy.
Mary Kostohryz Rosenberger. My maternal great-grandmother. She died the year I was born.
John George Rosenberger. My maternal great-grandfather. He went to Broadway to be a buck and wing dancer before settling down in Baltimore as a carpenter. I do remember him, but I never saw him dance.
Assunta Mastracci Protani. My maternal great-grandmother. Born in Italy, I do have vague memories of meeting her as a child. I do, however, now have her home-made spaghetti sauce recipe.
Bruno Protani. A maternal 3rd cousin. A sweet guy. He was one of the first cousins I met in Italy. I will never forget the time I spent with his family.
Loretta McLane Murphy. My paternal great-grandmother. A school teacher in Scranton who married for love instead of money. I do have a melancholy poem she wrote.
Arch Robertson. My paternal grandfather. A nice guy. Died of black lung.
Marietta LeStrange Zeher. My 1st cousin, once removed. A free spirit.
Eileen Murphy LeStrange. My paternal grandaunt. A sweet woman.

There they are. Who would I be without them? I only wish the song was longer so I could include more relatives.

Here are the lyrics:

[G] The wash of time breaks rock into sand

[C] The wash of time does the same thing to a [G] man

[D] The Wash of time. [C] The wash of time. [G] The wash of time.

The wash of time turned my brown hair into gray.

The wash of time takes a little more every day.

The wash of time. The wash of time. The wash of time.

The wash of time turns babies into dust.

The wash of time it comes for all of us.

The wash of time,. The wash of time. The wash of time.

[D] You can’t run away. [C] cause each and every day is the wash of [G] time.

The wash of time took my granddad and his son.

The wash of time for me it now will come