Mama, He's Crazy

I first encountered "Mama, He's Crazy" while tooling around in a Prius with Emily Steinfeld looking for a parking space on a Saturday afternoon. In the cosmic color palette, that parking predicament congealed with that forgettable song into a kind of magical beige I'll always remember.

It's slow for a pop song, with an indeterminate melody, and it's arranged such a difficult key that I have a hard time singing along with the record, and reproducing the tune by memory is impossible, despite the simple chorus,

Mama he's crazy,
He's crazy over me.

The lack of enthusiasm in the vocals is outstanding. Whichever Judd is singing comes through on record with all the passion and fire of a dial tone. Driving 'em crazy!

"Child, who is is this 'crazy' man? Better not be that old CPA that kept sniffin' round our house that summer after your daddy and me got the audit. Up his bastard ass with Turbo Tax!"

Maybe Winomi knows somewhere deep within herself that he isn't really all that crazy. She hasn't gotten a read on him in the past few days because he hasn't been home, but she's sure if she can convince Mama of it, it's true. And hell, they already leased that Prius together, which gets 48 miles a fucking gallon on the highway. Either that, or he really is crazy, as in bat-shit insane, and he has her locked her in the bathroom with a cordless phone may or may not be listening on the other side of the door with an axe in hand. Mama, he's crazy, crazy like the siren on top of a police car. Crazy like he went off his meds two weeks ago, crazy like a Mama dialing 911, for the love of god...