Thinking about the musical question “Did you ever wake up with bullfrogs on your mind?,” the response for me is a “yes.” With deference to David Bromberg’s fine rendition of “Bullfrog Blues” (the one I first heard), I Rana come clean. As a novice biology instructor, bullfrogs played an important role in laboratory instruction. I had become a biologist because I liked critters, but that seemed at odds with standing in front of a room filled with students, scalpels and trays of gigantic pickled bullfrogs. Hence, bullfrogs haunt my dreams. Bullfrogs also, as you’ll see, figure in a critique of my very first live performance.

Once upon a time, it was enough for me to listen to songs … although, as a kid, I didn’t always hear song lyrics correctly. Near-homophones often misled me, though they do seem to have fueled my pun aptitude. My favorite wrongly heard lyric is “There’s a bathroom on the right” rather than “There’s a bad moon on the rise” in Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising” refrain. Every now and then, John Fogerty deliberately sings the wrong lyrics, just for fun. Then there’s the 1963 fraternity party favorite “Louie Louie” by the Kingsmen. Read the FBI files of J. Edgar Hoover’s multi-year attempt to find obscenity in those incomprehensible lyrics. Two years of taxpayer dollars well spent, I say. But, I listened anyway, to so many subversive and inspiring songs.

Eventually, I decided I had to learn songs, so I could sing them. I purchased songbooks with lyrics to Peter, Paul & Mary albums and the like. I was a slow learner, memorizing the words to songs such as, “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” or “I’m In Love with a Big Blue Frog.” Those mastered, I purchased an inexpensive wooden baritone ukulele. Probably due to biology, and inherent poor taste, I painted the ukulele light green with dark green frog spots. It looked like a grotesque, bloated leopard frog with a stick up its butt. I acquired a guitar and a banjo, which I did not paint. Next, I had to figure out how to finger the chords listed above the lyrics. Then came into play a host of other complications, such as tuning, changing strings, learning playing styles and determining how to get two shades of green frog paint out of my orange bedroom carpet. That last one was easy … I just moved my bed to cover them. My folks were not green with envy. Explaining why I created a frog-ulele was difficult enough.

illustration by Meghan Merker

More and more to learn: playing and singing at the same time. Next I thought, “Why not perform these songs?” This first occurred while standing in front of my lab class, frog-ulele in hand. My bio class was a captive, if not captivated, audience, awash in the aroma of formaldehyde. During my performance, one of the male students wickedly tossed a bullfrog at an unsuspecting coed. The young lady was so horrified, she screamed, smacking the frog ten feet in the air, in the general direction of my face. I stopped, now dripping of triply injected bullfrog juice. With this inauspicious introduction to show business fresh in my mind, a newspaper guy I knew got me a gig on television. Wet (with formaldehyde) behind the ears, and barely strumming the banjo, I found myself, just a week later, on the Joe Franklin television show (a New York institution) playing Pete Seeger’s version of “Putting On The Style” plus another song … half my repertoire. Two huge television cameras were pointed at me, as I tried not to forget a lyric, or get hit by flying frogs. The best part was being interviewed, sitting along side guitarist/music exec Tony Mottola, bandleader Enoch Light, comedian George Kirby and some guy who owned a restaurant, (see photos on my web site). Tom Sullivan, who got me on the show, made me wear a goofy hat. I kept taking it off, but he slipped it on my head just before the camera light went on. It was a better look than wearing the bullfrog.

Undaunted, I took to writing songs, like – and unlike – the ones I was hearing and playing. More recently, I thought, it sure would be nice to hear others sing my songs as well. It had been satisfaction enough to sing at folks. Hence I made a CD as, well, one can string together a tour of only so many biology labs. Hoping to hear my songs sung by others, before I croak. And to augment my retirement plan – which, by the way, includes searching for used cat food cans in dumpsters. Bad taste again? Why not? To me, show business smells like formaldehyde and green spay paint and cat food cans. That’s why I still wake up with bullfrogs on my mind, a song in my heart, and a frog in my throat. Now, that’s the “Bullfrog Blues.”

from Sing Out! v.55#3 (Autumn 2013)
© 2013 The Sing Out Corporation / Roger Deitz