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I was alerted to the subject matter of this song, when an old classmate posted about it, who recently passed away. I was drawn in, shocked, and I knew at once that I had to write a song about it. Somehow, toward the end, this grizzly song becomes about the absurdity of the media, and how even the most bumbling of buffoons can rise in the ranks. Everything in the song is true, pretty much.

"The Exploding Whale Song"
©2016 Dan Tanz
Played on the banjo, tuned to drop C
Lyrics:

Mr. Georgie Thornton received a call one early morn
They found a rotting sperm whale beached on the seaside town of Florence

It was long as a bus, and 8 short tons of blubber in decay
And Georgie Thornton scratched his head, boy, how do we haul it away?

He called the district engineer, a feller named Dale Allen
But Dale had gone out hunting buck, so Georgie took the helm

The protocol was simple enough--just bury the carcass in sand
But what do you tell the tourists when they come to the hump in the land?

And as the seagulls circled high and the crowd gathered in wait
Georgie cried, of course! Why not? The whale, we’ll detonate

“We’ll use the quarry’s dynamite!” and so it arrived post haste
In spite of the warnings that it was too much, he strapped on twenty a-case/We’ll blow her to heaven’s gate!

We counted down, and covered our ears, and then we turned to George
He hit the switch with a flick of his wrist in the stillness of the morn

The explosion threw the whale flesh well over 800 feet away
The blubber rained down, upon the town, in chunks of white and gray

It covered the crowd, and the old schoolhouse, with bits of skin and gristle
It covered the church where we go to pray, with blubber all over the steeple

It covered the diner and laundromat, with bits of blood and bone
It covered the old Ben Franklin with a wash of rancid foam

It covered the sun, as sand and dust then settled down over the town
It crushed a brand-new Oldsmobile that was painted silver and brown

Soon the town was buzzing with the Portland Evening News
Georgie Thornton backed away with blubber on his shoes

He stood his ground with the register guard, he stood his ground so well
He blamed the TV and news-men, for blowing it all to hell

He said, “it went just exactly right,” and he seemed so sure of himself
They promoted Georgie to the Medford office and we bid him fare thee well

A reeking memory lingers on our little town of Florence
As we reflect upon the whale and good, old Georgie Thornton

When, in our shock, we stood amidst the rubble and debris
Now, at least we know what not to do when a whale washes up from the sea
____

This song was written and performed in memory of Jonathan Kaminsky. I'll always remember your power-serve, and us kids, sweating in the sun.

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Thanks.

Dan T.