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“Happy To Be Your Whore” Playlist


“Happy to Be Your Whore” is one of my “old Detroit airport terminal” songs. I wrote this song (along with “Sad Sack” and “Three Rings”) while stuck in the old terminal at the Detroit airport in October 2008 (the next day I wrote “Anchors Aweigh,” followed by “For Delilah, Forgiveness” another five days later). These songs served as the crux of what would become the MEMOIRS OF A MANWHORE: THE REELING WALTZ OF A DRUNKEN LOTHARIO album. Five additional songs were culled from my back catalogue, and three more new songs were written for the album (and another four that didn’t make the album — either due to time constraints or the fact that they didn’t fit the sonic palette — but were comprised in the Anchors Aweigh EP).


I was listening to a good deal of Tom Waits at the time, particularly his early catalogue, and the subject matter of this song was somewhat inspired by his “Grapefruit Moon” and “Midnight Prostitute.” However, I also felt in my gut that the song should have something of a Memphis blues feel along the lines of Otis Redding or Al Green, which Adam did a fantastic job of arranging via those awesome horns. Thus, you’ll hear a lot of those three artists on this playlist. Of course, you’ll also encounter a lot of the musicians with whom a good number of parallels are drawn when discussing my music: Ben Folds, Tori Amos, Billy Joel, Harry Nilsson, and Rufus Wainwright. And there are a few Ray LaMontagne tracks thrown in for good measure, because sometimes he delves into that Memphis blues sound.


The playlist is free to hear on Spotify, and what a great two hours it’ll make of your morning! You can LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST AT THIS LINK. And you should. You should listen to it again and again. You should share it with all of your friends and insist that they listen to it. Send the link to your family. Your aunt in Boca Raton will love it! It will make her moister than living in Boca Raton during hurricane season makes her.


HAPPY TO BE YOUR WHORE LYRICS:


It’s maybe quarter to three and I’m stumbling home. I called from the bar. All I got was a busy dial tone. And I won’t know if you’re waiting up for me until I check for the key you sometimes leave over the windowsill. But I know what to expect when I walk through the door, and I’m happy to be your whore.


I’m just a month-to-month man and you don’t need me every day. An á la carte on-the-side man and I’ve become accustomed to the way you only call when you need, and you never commit. I’m not obliged to you and don’t expect you to deal with my shit. We only play one hand at a time and don’t keep no score, and I’m happy to be your whore.


I’m a sad thing past my prime, been put out to stud on too long a leash to leave me room for bad blood. We’ve no obligations and no need to deceive. I don’t take it personal if you ask me to leave.


It’s half past four and I stumble out alone, check the lock on the door, leave you spent and continue home. An arrangement as orderly as the lawns on your block, it all runs as smoothly as the gears in my clock. I know what I am to you, and though I could be so much more, I’m still happy to be your whore.


I know what I am to you, and though I could be more, I’ll always be your whore.

 

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