tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-365962032024-03-16T21:13:44.197-07:00The Song In My Head TodayRandom musings and more about rock songs and artistsHolly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.comBlogger1051125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-12745962160118764442024-03-16T20:53:00.000-07:002024-03-16T21:13:12.682-07:00Happy St. Paddy's from Dexys Midnight Runners<p>Yes, those Dexys Midnight Runners, and don't pretend you didn't love their big 1982 hit "Come On Eileen." Just in case you were on another planet when this single hit the airwaves, here's my <a href="https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/36596203/8053105202454146055">previous post</a> on that beloved hit. </p><p>Dexys Midnight Runners generally get clocked as a one-hit band. But just listen to this track, the first single released from Dexys 1982 album <i>Too-Rye-Ay </i>(and the album's first track). What's sad is that I've never heard it before, and it's actually every bit as catchy and delightful as "Come On Eileen."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8LNy52B1V-4" width="320" youtube-src-id="8LNy52B1V-4"></iframe></div><p>Everyone's having fun here, the scrappy vibe propels it forward (those spiky fiddles playing like a soul band's horn section), and there's a riff I can't get out of my head. </p><p>We could be listening to the Dubliners and the Chieftans singing the auld tunes on St. Patrick's Day or we could be having a rare bit o' fun with Kevin Rowland (aka Dexy). I know which side of the soda bread I'm slathering my Kerrygold butter on. <br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-49579023444010484242024-03-04T20:20:00.000-08:002024-03-04T20:20:18.803-08:00"The Guy Who Doesn't Get It" / Jill Sobule<p>Okay, this song has been obsessively occupying my cerebral cortex for at least a week now. Maybe writing a blog post is the only way to exorcise it. Trouble is -- and this, dear readers, is at least two-thirds of why I so rarely post these days -- I've already written about this song. Back in 2007, in fact. Because the songs I love keep coming back to me, and this is one I really love.<br /></p><p>Way early in my blogging days, back when iTunes still was a Wild West of user-posted playlists (like Spotify was just a few years ago), you could actually discover new artists from other music fans. Somehow I landed on someone's playlist of great girl singers, or something like that, which is where I first found this song. I instantly fell in love with Jill Sobule's music. I'm way down that road now; I've bought all her albums, seen her several times in concert, subscribed to her Patreon account. So writing about this song is more than deja vu all over again. It's a tribute to how satisfying it is when you see how right your first impressions were. <br /></p><p>Jill Sobule is like this great girlfriend you can sit up late with,
drinking margaritas and eating Doritos and getting
slaphappy. Her songs are so perky, her voice so kittenish, you don't
realize at first how snarky her lyrics are; then suddenly you're in on the joke and you love it -- like in this brilliant song from her <i>Pink Pearl </i>album (2000).<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Meyt-BFZIxs" width="320" youtube-src-id="Meyt-BFZIxs"></iframe></div><br />The
joke here is not that the girl singing the song is suicidally depressed
-- although she is -- it's that her obtuse boyfriend <b>hasn't got a clue</b>.
"Can't you see that I am dying inside?", she starts singing, in that
sweet-and-innocent voice, even before the listless acoustic guitar and
bored-sounding drums lurch in -- "Can't you hear my muffled cry?" On the
second verse, a lazy slide guitar joins in as she wearily elaborates:
"Don't you know my life's a quiet hell? / I'm a black hole, I'm an empty
shell / Does it occur to you that I might need help?/ You're the guy
who doesn't get it."<br /><br />Okay, that's the premise; we've all
known/dated/married men like this. But then, Jill being Jill, she pushes the
scenario into Luis Bunuel territory: "Say I'm in the tub with a razor blade / You'd walk in
and ask me "How was your day?" / Then you'd lather up and start to
shave / As I bleed on the new tile floor..." The NEW tile floor; that's
the detail that grabs me -- trust a woman to notice, even as she's
slitting her wrists, that the blood's going to ruin her nice new floor.<br /><br />She could say <i>anything</i> and he'd never notice. In the next verse, she compares him to Nazi collaborators; in the second bridge she hauls out one
more melodramatic scenario: "Say the
car exhaust engulfs my brain/ The Nembutol is racing through my veins /
You come in and ask "Are you okay?"/ As I close my eyes forever." Pause and -- wait for it! But, erm...<br /><br />A plunking piano ambles in, as if it's not even worth the
effort to get the notes right. Jill tries the chorus one last time, asking
wryly, "What's going on inside those vacant eyes?" And of course she has
no answer -- none of us do. None of us ever do. But sometimes, the only
thing that keeps you sane is knowing that at least your girlfriends
know just what you're talking about.<p></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-26814334795243118022023-04-12T19:56:00.001-07:002023-04-13T20:29:24.346-07:00"I Say a Little Prayer for You" -- A Bacharach Smackdown<p>When Burt Bacharach died in February, I started making a playlist -- as one does -- and found myself having to make a lot of choices. I mean, I couldn't have the Dionne Warwick version of <i>every</i> song. In some cases, it was a coin flip -- go with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf1d65OHYXo">Dusty Springfield</a> here, opt for <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c2g9RYriZ4">Jackie DeShannon</a> there, a little <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xx5otxLS3qc">Sandie Shaw</a> here, a little <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88UgwiJXEw0">Karen Carpenter</a> there. Throw in some <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=---eDafFBhg">Isaac Hayes</a> and a touch of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tF8_FWyov0Q">Herb Alpert, </a>and you start to realize just what genius songwriting Burt Bacharach and Hal David were guilty of.</p><p>Now don't get me wrong: In the world of Bacharach, Dionne Warwick more than earned her stripes. She not only had the voice he needed -- the range, the clarity, the pitch, the emotional texture -- she also had the musical intelligence for a composer who liked changing keys and time signature so much, damn all the pop music conventions. A child of a gospel choir family, she'd also gone to a music conservatory; she knew her stuff. Bacharach himself called her his muse, and I'll fight you to the death for her versions of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dDblF-J6qvY">"Don't Make Me Over,</a>" <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnzTgUc5ycc">"Do You Know the Way to San Jose,"</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzQBOBoPg04">"I'll Never Fall in Love Again."</a> </p><p>But then I ran smack into this conundrum. </p><p>I grew upon Dionne's million-selling 1966 single <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBEBgM39hY0">"I Say a Little Prayer for You."</a> It's a masterpiece, no doubt about it. It's got that brisk scat-like rhythm, the crisp muted horns, and an indefinable undertow of something I can only call Santa Monica surf. And there's Dionne's vocal, delicate and yet razor sharp, recounting all the ways in which she thinks of her man throughout her day. Hal David's lyrics deftly walk us through her day -- waking up, applying her make-up, riding the bus to work, taking a coffee break -- she's a career girl, she has it together, and she's happily in love. David apparently intended the song to be about a woman whose lover/husband is serving in Vietnam (1966, mind you), but there's nothing anxious about this track. She shouts her love to the rooftops (the chorus exults, "Forever, forever, we never will part, oh how I love you") and she's down on her knees thanking God for blessing her with such a love. It's sunny and delicious. As a pre-teen, this told me everything I wanted to believe about how wonderful it would be as a grown-up -- a competent modern female -- to love and be loved. <br /></p><p>But now that I am a grown-up, why does <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8y0onSG3kg">Aretha Franklin's version</a> pack such a punch? The edgy growl in Aretha's voice clues us in from the get-go: She's worried about this guy, and for good reason. With that gritty soul arrangement and the gospel choir of girlfriends doing the call and response, she's testifying to her anxieties. Whereas Dionne I imagine springing out of bed, Aretha seems to be hauling herself groggily out from under the covers; Dionne is patting her coiffure into place while Aretha yanks a comb through her hair, attacking those overnight tangles. She doesn't have a lot of down time, and when she does -- the bus ride, the coffee break -- it just opens the door for worrying. Whether he's in Nam and just a no-good lowlife, she's praying for him, asking for protection. Gratitude? Forget about it. She doesn't trust him, she's waiting for bad news. And all those details about her daily life read as the strength of a woman who keeps putting one foot in front of the other, getting up, going to her job, because she's learned she can't depend on anyone else -- and surely not on that man. Even the chorus reads differently: I zero in instead on the feisty lines "Together, forever, that's how it must be / To live without you / Would only mean heartbreak for me..." She can already taste the heartbreak, because she's tasted it before. This is a <i>whole 'nother song</i>.<br /></p><p>Well, I put both in my playlist. How could I not? But I'd love to hear which one speaks most to you...<br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-55288368657023778232022-10-13T20:49:00.164-07:002022-10-15T13:54:41.193-07:00"Summer of My Wasted Youth" / Amy Rigby<p>October 3rd, the Loft at City Winery, and I'm finally committing myself to an indoor show in a small space where no one is masked. Do I freak out? Well, for a few minutes, but once I'm there, it's easy to forget what year this is. I'm with my longtime crew of Kinky/Jiggy friends, I'm at my old City Winery stomping grounds (well, um, they moved during the pandemic so it's actually a new place, but they've still got the City Cab on tap and great flatbread pizzas).</p><p>My friends are here for the opening act, Rogers & Butler, and they do a bang-up job. Really good band, and great songwriting, although since we are sitting at the edge of the stage we can only hear bass and drums and no lyrics. Erp. Because I am actually here for the headliner, one of my top Girl Songwriters of all time, <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2009/08/ohare-amy-rigby-inexplicable.html">Amy Rigby</a>. I put her right up there with <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2007/01/guy-who-doesnt-get-it-jill-sobule-jill.html">Jill Sobule</a>, <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2012/02/stupid-thing-aimee-mann-hell-hath-no.html">Aimee Mann</a>, and <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2007/01/you-are-what-you-love-jenny-lewis.html">Jenny Lewis</a> in my pantheon of chicks who do the feminist thing with wit and irony and a whole lotta snark. And, being a Lyrics Girl, I <i>really want to hear</i> Amy Rigby's lyrics. <br /></p><p>But then she pulls out this old acoustic number, from her 1998 album <i>Middlescence </i>(you can also find it on the excellent <i>18 Again: An Anthology</i>)<i>, </i>and I am a puddle of emotion. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sOJi6JqNn5A" width="320" youtube-src-id="sOJi6JqNn5A"></iframe> <br /></div><p></p><p>Most of us have had a time like this, where even if you did have a job (or, as Amy puts it, a "j-o-b," as if it were something dirty and unmentionable), it was a dead-end job you didn't care about. When everything seemed possible and nothing seemed urgent; when your pleasure-to-obligation ratio was WAY skewed to the pleasure end of the equation. </p><p>It's a brilliant title, playing off on that old-fart trope ("ah, my wasted youth" or "youth is wasted on the young") with the truth of the matter, which is that they were also wasted most of the time, dropping acid, smoking pot all day, drinking cheap beers at the Polish bar. Still, was it wasted time? I beg to differ. She buys a guitar, though she hasn't yet learned to play it; she floods her brain with country music. Whatever music she'll eventually make is in there, gestating. </p><p>A sense of loss haunts every line, the realization that the freedom and fun of the summer of '83 has since vanished. Listening the other night, I was especially hit by that one line, almost a throwaway line: "the summer I believed in us" -- you know from the past tense that she's no longer with that guy, and only now can she see how much disillusion and heartbreak was lying in wait for her in the fall of '83. <br /></p><p>Still, though you can't go back again (and would you really want to?), sometimes you can reconnect with who you used to be. Maybe it's because over the pandemic I went to my high school reunion and stirred up all
those old memories; maybe it's because I'm zeroing in on the Medicare
years and have a heightened sense of time passing. But this song flushes
up so many feelings about one summer in Indianapolis -- not '83, but not much earlier -- and I realize I kinda miss the girl I was then.</p><p>Thank you, Amy Rigby, for giving her back to me.</p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-80010062501891926162021-11-12T19:01:00.000-08:002021-11-12T19:01:03.235-08:00"Well I Done Got Over It" / Bobby Mitchell<p>Lord know where I chanced upon this beauty -- some show we were watching this summer. (I suspect it was the riveting Chris Rock season of <i>Fargo</i>.) But the minute I heard it, I knew it was going onto my permanent playlist. Have a listen:<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7HEmBmxAgLI" width="320" youtube-src-id="7HEmBmxAgLI"></iframe></div><p></p><p>Here's what little I know about Bobby Mitchell: Born in Algiers, Louisiana, he had a few local hits with high school friends the Toppers in 1953 when he was just 17; a year later the band broke up when several members got drafted. Bobby kept at the music thing, though,and while he never broke through to national fame, he was a fixture on the New Orleans R&B scene until he died in his 50s.</p><p>This particular song was originally recorded by<a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1ADc4I9nlzy4rJOrLxzTzl?si=7dc6f4fe35be43fe"> Guitar Slim</a> in 1953 as a slouchy blues number. It's since been covered by Buddy Guy, Muddy Waters, and I'm sure a host of others. But listen to how Bobby Mitchell transforms it. He leads off with a howl of frustration, a la the Isley Brothers' "Shout" (Mitchell recorded this in 1960, a year after "Shout"), then goes into a finger-snapping cha-cha beat, with a taunting sax and jittery splashes of roadhouse piano. His woman has done him wrong, and no matter how often he claims he's gotten over it, we know he's still riled up. </p><p>Almost as if to punish himself, he keeps rehearsing the facts of the case ("I didn't want you to be no angel"; "Every time I turned my back / You was out with some other man"; "I remember the day I first met you / You seemed to be this sweet little thing..."). He still can't believe he let her fool him like that. And of course, this being a blues song, he has to repeat the title phrase over and over, but with Bobby, it's as if he's still trying to convince himself. Fact is, he is <i>anything</i> but over it.</p><p>This song just crackles with energy, with hurt, with drama. We're in the thick of it with him, and there's no telling how things will end up. Mitchell's vocal is supple, emotive, and oh so relatable. It's just a crazy wonderful song, and I can't believe it's as obscure as it seems to be. Which just tells you, there's so much good music out there we have yet to find... <br /></p><p></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-38889594447103945072021-11-02T19:25:00.002-07:002021-11-02T19:25:46.654-07:00"Ooh La La" / Faces<p>I'm pretty sure I didn't hear this song on US radio when it was released in May 1973. Yet I'm guessing it has played on enough movie and TV soundtracks since then that it seems totally familiar to me now. And when it came up on Spotify a couple weeks ago, my immediate response was -- "Oh, this song -- I love this song!" And it hasn't left my head since. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1_xwnb3cymc" width="320" youtube-src-id="1_xwnb3cymc"></iframe></div><p>In 1973, if I knew anything about the band Faces, it was that Rod Stewart was their lead singer. At first I'd loved his 1971 solo hit <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2010/02/maggie-may-reason-to-believe-rod.html">"Maggie May,"</a> but I quickly got tired of him as a solo artist. So why would I be interested in Faces?</p><p>But here's the thing: Rod Stewart has nothing to do with this track. It was written by the two Ronnies -- Lane and Wood (yes, that Ron Wood, now of the Rolling Stones) -- and although Ronnie Lane usually did lead vocals when His Rodness couldn't be bothered, in this case good ol' Woody took the mike, a rare occasion. </p><p>This may be the album's title track, but it lands as the last track of Side B, and it's anything but a statement song: It's as loose-limbed and carefree as could be. To me, it could just as easily be The Band; it's all acoustic twang, clogging shuffle, and drawl, and Ron Wood's vocals have an unaffected Rick Danko quality that's totally endearing. It's got an offbeat jerky tempo and a rambling melodic line and, well, you just have to collapse into it.<br /></p><p>The song's premise is simple -- a grandfather telling a youngster "I wish that I knew what I know now / When I was younger." Lane and Wood were still in their twenties when they wrote this, so hardly grizzled oldsters dispensing advice. But it's not portentous (not like Bob Dylan's "My Back Pages" or Cat Steven's "Father and Son"); the old guy's basically giving the kid tips on how to avoid floozies, and the kid doesn't listen, and now he's woefully sorry. And life goes on...</p><p>Aha! My research now tells me where I first learned to love this song: It's played over the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELQOnEgzt-I">end credits of Wes Anderson's <i>Rushmore.</i></a> (Which honestly is one of the best soundtrack albums ever. I <i>adore</i> Wes Anderson.*) It all makes sense now.</p><p>Well, hell, take a listen. Put your feet up. Enjoy. </p><p>*Go see his new film <i>The French Dispatch</i> -- it's a wondrous delight!!</p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-15520171275716963012021-10-27T17:40:00.001-07:002021-10-27T17:41:39.989-07:00"Let's Go Surfing" / The Drums<p>For years I resisted Spotify and now I'm a convert. Because Spotify gives me what iTunes used to and no longer does: User-created playlists. Some of my favorite artists today I only know because of iTunes user playlists. So how happy am I that I can now discover totally new-to-me songs like this 2009 indie pop gem?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pcHI_lTmog4" width="320" youtube-src-id="pcHI_lTmog4"></iframe></div><p>Who are the Drums? I'd never heard of them before this song swam onto my radar. They're an NYC band founded in 2008, and this is the first track from their debut EP <i>Summertime! </i>(They've since released five albums; band members come and go, but the one constant is front man Jonny Pierce.) I haven't yet got around to exploring the rest of their music, I'm still just grooving on this track. Apparently it made more of a splash in the UK than here; go figure. </p><p>I dig that peppy backbeat rhythm track, with its retro New Wave energy, and how it plays against the legato melodic line of the verses. Pierce's vocal coaxes us, "Wake up, / It's a beautiful morning" and I'm ready to go. The chorus swerves into plaintive punk-y mode ("Oh mama / I wanna go surfing / Oh mama / I don't care about nothing"), then turns a little dazed and confused in the chanted monotonic bridge ("Down down baby / down by the rollercoaster"). It's all hooks all the time, and I love it. <br /></p><p>And the best thing about this damn song? That earworm whistling riff.</p><p>It's just fun, just pure fun. Enjoy. <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> <br /></p><p></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-42939347704018199732021-10-20T19:01:00.002-07:002021-10-20T19:01:53.986-07:00"Sway" / Dean Martin<p>How did I get here? I have no idea. We've been working our way through the classic TV series <i>The Sopranos</i>, which sneaks in a ton of iconic Frankie and Deano music, and a recent episode of the adorably quirky <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhfYwP5VTYk">What We Do in the Shadows</a> </i>features a faux Rat Pack. But this particular Dean Martin track was already on my iTunes, and every time I listen to it I fall more in love with it. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DXq-XdyGehk" width="320" youtube-src-id="DXq-XdyGehk"></iframe></div><p>Now, I greatly admire the work of Francis Albert Sinatra, and I feel a fond buzz for Sammy Davis Jr. But Dean Martin is my Rat Pack fave. I
mean, listen to the warmth of that voice, those emotive swoops and
shivers. That mambo rhythm is so freaking seductive, and Dean's delivery adds
an extra shiver of excitement. ("When we sway I go weak..."). Is it
overproduced? Yeah, maybe, but I wouldn't give up those strings for
anything.<br /></p>"You know how, sway me smooth, sway-hay me now..."<p>"Sway" is Dean before he became enshrined as Deano, when he was
still known mostly as Jerry Lewis' straight man. (Yet another
mind-blowing layer of Dean Martin's career.) While Martin was
one of many 50s Italian crooners, this song isn't Italian at all; it was
written as "Quien Sera?" in 1953 by Mexican bandleader Pablo Beltran
Ruiz, rewritten with English lyrics by Norman Gimbel (who a decade
later would translate for us "The Girl from Ipanema"). Martin recorded it
soon after the original, in 1954. It wasn't his biggest hit ever -- for that, you'd have
to go to his schmaltzy 1963 "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime" -- but
it did hit a respectable #15 in the US. And for my money, this sexy supple number blows that hit out of the water.<br /></p><p>Because the wink-wink was always Dean Martin's ace in the hole. Sinatra was ineffably cool, Davis was earnest, Martin was ironic. He had to be ironic to stand up against Jerry Lewis' full-frontal low-brow comedy; in the Matt Helm movies, he was the ironic anti-Bond. His weird and wonderful late 60s-early 70s TV show <i>The Dean Martin Show</i> was, I firmly believe, a groundbreaking post-<i>Laugh In </i>send-up
of the variety show genre. He cultivated a drunk persona to give himself room to be loose, to improvise, to be in real time.</p><p>The irony here is all flirtation, of course, the engaging to-and-fro of the mambo. Yet it feels remarkably sincere, doesn't it? I love it. I hope you do too. <br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-41595414506858132552021-09-22T21:45:00.000-07:002021-09-22T21:45:30.944-07:00"Autumn Almanac" / The Kinks<p>Fall is hands-down my favorite season. I mentioned that to my husband the other day and he huffed and said, "I guess." But it isn't up to him; it's MY favorite season. </p><p>First, because it's the time of year when you go back to school, and I was always that annoying girl who couldn't wait for school to start again. (Cue up the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD1PffNbZls">Staples commercial</a>.)</p><p>Second, I have a fall birthday (October 8 if you have your calendar handy), and third, I grew up in Indiana where the fall colors are every bit as awesome as they are in New England. Though, lucky me, I now live in New England where I can enjoy them there too. </p><p>Plus I wrote my college thesis on John Keats, whose ode <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44484/to-autumn">"To Autumn" </a>is on my short list of the greatest poems of all time. <br /></p><p>So naturally this Kinks song should tick all my boxes. But oh my brothers and sisters, it is a Kinks song, written by the Kinks' presiding genius Ray Davies, and therefore . . . well, sit back and strap in. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/i3AMWc6t3cc" width="320" youtube-src-id="i3AMWc6t3cc"></iframe></div><br /><p>It opens with timeless pastoral charm: “From the dew-soaked hedge
creeps a crawly caterpillar"; "Breeze blows leaves of a musty-colored
yellow"; his friends gather for “tea and toasted
buttered currant buns.” The sound is an old-timey music hall softshoe, with corny
horns, plinky piano, and sugary backing ooh’s; good times, good times.<br />
<br />
But once Ray Davies has hooked us, he begins to sneak in class details, the satire layering in plumping rhythms: “I like my football on a Saturday, /
Roast beef on Sundays, all right. / I go to Blackpool for my holidays, /
Sit in the open sunlight.” (Any <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK5G8fPmWeA">Ted Lasso</a> fans here?)<br /></p><p>In the last verse, Ray
lets his narrator hang himself: “This is my street / And I’m never
gonna leave it,” he stoutly declares, “And I’m always gonna stay here /
If I live to be 99 / ‘Cos all the people I meet / Seem to come from my
street”). Well, yeah, if you never go anywhere else, that’s who you’re
bound to meet, innit?</p><p></p><p>This single was released October 13, 1967. I see it as an answer to the Beatles' single <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK5G8fPmWeA">"Rain," </a>which came out in May 1966: The Beatles dreamily sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun, while the Kinks -- blocked by a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK5G8fPmWeA">US ban</a> from touring internationally -- focused on the guy who swept the garden's leaves into his sack. Yin and yang. <br /></p><p>But what strikes me most in 2021 is how eerily well Ray Davies captured the owner of that garden, that little tract of English earth. Far from being a nature lover, a friend of the planet, he closes himself off from everything outside his garden gate. He votes for Brexit; and if he's American, he votes for white supremacy, for anti-vaxxing, for Trump. </p><p>Deep breath. </p><p>On the other hand, it's just a brilliant pop song, where moon-and-June love lyrics have been thrown out the window in favor of sneaky satire and a damn good pub singalong. </p><p>God save the Kinks.<br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-14686034405327759452021-08-29T20:38:00.004-07:002021-08-29T20:38:54.893-07:00"Der Kommissar" -- After the Fire <p>Sometimes the song finds you. </p><p>Okay, so everybody else is writing about the Rolling Stones and how sad they are about Charlie Watts dying. Yet here I am, fulfilling the brief of this blog, writing about this strange piece of 80s flotsam <i>just because I can't get it out of my head.</i><br /></p><p>Spotify cast this song my way, on some random exercise playlist. Of course I knew it -- well, sorta -- but did I? As the kids used to say on American Bandstand, it had a great beat and I could dance to it. But that simply doesn't account for how it has lodged in my brain for the past couple of weeks. And so, apologies in advance if I am now passing that earworm on to you.</p><p> <iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vBfFDTPPlaM" width="320" youtube-src-id="vBfFDTPPlaM"></iframe></p><p></p><p>For years I've maintained that the 80s was a decade that nearly killed music. But Spotify algorithms betray me again and again, and now I have to face how much 80s music I actually do love. Not that I know much about this band, After the Fire. Wikipedia tells me they were a British prog-rock band with Christian overtones, who went New Wave around 1979. This 1982 track -- an English-language cover of an 1981 song by Austrian artist Falco -- was their one and only US hit, and they split soon after. Which is a shame, because this catchy number ticks off all the boxes on the New Wave checklist: whipsaw rhythms, synths, offbeat subject matter -- and you can't deny the hooks. <br /></p><p>Yes, it's more than a little paranoid -- all those repeated "Don't turn arounds" and that ominous "The more you live, the faster you will die." But those of us who grew up fearing both the Nazis and the Commies easily feed into this. Downward driving melodic lines smash up against propulsive "uh-ohs." In 1982, the Cold War was still engaged, the Berlin wall was still in place. This song earns its edgy vibe.<br /></p><p>Maybe this wouldn't have climbed the charts if the video hadn't been so stylish and cool. After all, this was the MTV era, when a snazzy video could leapfrog a song to chart success. But I don't even remember the video, and I respond like a lab rat to this song's strangulated vocals, jerky syncopations, and sexy undertone.</p><p>It makes me laugh out loud and it makes me want to dance. And in this crazy world, what more could you want?</p><p><br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-91633277519427547492021-07-09T01:40:00.004-07:002021-08-17T07:25:02.951-07:00Still Crazy After All These Years<p> Well, it's been a while, and I've got no excuse. Except maybe the pandemic, and who isn't tired of hearing about that? So let's just strike a line through that and pick up where we left off. And my shuffle tells me this is a good track to land on. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nnb0nrICb4k" width="320" youtube-src-id="nnb0nrICb4k"></iframe></div><br /> </div><p>This single came out in 1976, just after I'd left the USA to live in England for a while. (Just as Paul Simon had, before the <i>Sounds of Silence</i>'s <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sound_of_Silence">strange revival</a> re-launched his career.) </p><p>But honestly, even though Simon and Garfunkel had been so significant in my musical upbringing, at this moment in time I had lost interest. As one does. </p><p>At the time, I probably wouldn't have appreciated Simon's world-weary folk-rock shrug about meeting an old lover. Maybe I was too young to relate to the song's duality: Between nostalgia for the past and energy for new horizons. </p><p>But I'm older now, and wiser. And -- yes -- this song now makes total sense to me. </p><p>And here's hoping that, whatever goes down, I remain crazy, as needs be. <br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-47794473601652835452020-09-22T22:06:00.003-07:002020-10-10T07:57:22.908-07:00Shadow Sgt. Pepper's<p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6aO6I1ee54Eijz0XzCf0QK">https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6aO6I1ee54Eijz0XzCf0QK</a>My quest:
to put together an entire <i>Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band </i>track list, using only cover versions. Let's call it my <b>Shadow Sgt. Pepper's</b>.<br />
<br />Now,<i> Sgt. Pepper's</i> isn't just a landmark
in pop history, it's a landmark in my personal pop biography. Back when
it was released, in the summer of 1967 -- a.k.a. the Summer of Love -- I was a geeky pre-teen in
Indianapolis, far from the capitals of cool. I had to depend on my
16-year-old brother to clue me into the secret messages on this baffling
new LP. He owned the record, so I had to wait until he
wasn't home to steal it, decoding this treasure box of music in my own pink bedroom with the canopy
bed.<br />
<br />
For those of us who grew up spinning <i>Sgt. Pepper's</i> on a
vinyl turntable, the order of the songs is fixed and immutable. My challenge was not only to
find brilliant and creative covers -- NOT mere slavish imitations of
the originals -- but also to get a sequence that would flow as well
as the original album did. <br />
<br />
Here's
what I came up with, loaded into one <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6aO6I1ee54Eijz0XzCf0QK" target="_blank">Spotify playlist</a>. Face it, I'm still that geeky
pre-teen, obsessed with <i>Sgt. Pepper's.</i> <br />
<br />
<b>"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band"</b><br />
Cover by <span style="color: black;">Jimi Hendrix</span><br />
At first I resisted -- I am no Jimi Hendrix fan. I just don't get it. Great guitarist, okay,
but he rarely delivers what I want out of a rock song. Nevertheless, his
whacked-out version of this opening track -- which I've read he was
performing already in Stockholm 2 days after the LP was released -- puts
a loose and goofy and utterly delicious spin on the original. He opens
the throttle and lets its rock soul really soar, adding a little loungy
soul-man stuff of his own.<br /><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B00307WCNS" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
"<b>With a Little Help From My Friends"</b><br />
Cover by <span style="color: black;">Johnny Chauvin and the Mojo Band</span> <br />
I love the old-timey music-hall shuffle of the original,
supremely perfect for Ringo Starr's limited voice. So what's an American
equivalent of the British music hall sound? How about a little uptempo
Cajun zydeco from this bar band out of Lafayette, Louisiana? Chauvin's
voice is infinitely better than Ringo's; he doesn't sound quite so
hapless, but he sure does seem to enjoy the help of his band
buddies. Lots of squeezebox going on, but some lively electric guitar,
too. This song just makes me feel happy. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B001BVPHRS" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds"</b><br />
Cover by <span style="color: black;">Beth Hart and the Ocean of Soul</span> </p><p>Everyone knows this track as a psychedelic milestone -- but what if you made it a wild soul-blues anthem? As my West Coast girl Beth Hart does, with flagrant abandon. I've been a fan of hers since a random Sirius radio showcase seven years ago -- dive deep into this track, sister!<br />
<br />
<b>"Getting Better"</b><br />
Cover by<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;"> Gomez</span></span><br />
From their 2000 compilation <i>Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline, </i>this cover from
the English indie band Gomez finds a mellow vibe within this anxious track. Rhythms swing; the rumpled texture of the singer's voice
-- think of it as bed-head vocals -- convey a sort of let's-do-brunch
weekend zen. (Gomez fans, please help me out -- which guy is this
singing? I looooove his voice.) As Paul sang it, his new love was just <i>beginning</i> to make his life better; Gomez is practically dizzy with uxorious contentment. Funny how little it takes to change a song. <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002O214NE" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"Fixing a Hole"</b> <br />
Cover by the Wood Brothers<br />
As I was <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2013/09/between-beatles-covers-fixing-hole-wood.html">just saying</a> the other day....<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002BOADMI" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"She's Leaving Home"</b><br />
Cover by Harry Nilsson<br />
Lord, I loves me some Harry Nilsson. How delighted was I to find this song, on his 1967 album <i>Pandemonium Shadow Show, </i>released the same year as <i>Sgt. Pepper. </i>Like
Hendrix, Nilsson was covering this song while it was still new, before
it had been ossified by years of familiarity. He delves deep,
discovering bittersweet depths within it that to my mind outdo Paul's
earnest rendition. I think of Harry Nilsson as one of our greatest
interpreters of abandonment -- forever missing the father who walked out
on him -- yet his sweetly yearning vocals always adding consoling heart
to a song. He throws in an orchestra, he adds some weird percussion
sound effects, he goes movie-music with this generation-gap melodrama --
and somehow it works. The haunting social commentary becomes a tender
universal statement of loss and change. John's snide line "Fun is the
one thing that money can't buy"? It's downright plangent when Harry
sings it. I imagine John and Paul listening to this album in 1967 and
thinking, "Wow -- we wrote that song?" That's my measure of their genius
-- that their songs contain more than they ever consciously realized.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B004GP56RC" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite"</b><br />
Cover by Will Taylor and Strings Attached</p><p>"Mr. Kite" is such a freak-show of a song, it's really hard to top what
Lennon did with it without going overboard. Yet I like how this Austin
ensemble pushes the envelope even further. Tons of strings, banjos, blues guitar, the whole works. They switch
around tempos, they go deep into the psychedelic effects, and the
vocalist (someone named Will Walden?) takes liberties with the melody. Sure, it runs
on, but so did the original -- a good song to fall asleep to if you
wanted some strange dreams. And dig the little surprise at the end.<br />
</p><p><b>"Within You, Without You"</b><br />
Cover by Big Head Todd & the Monsters</p><p>This 90s band out of Colorado dives to the trippy
heart of this song. Recorded for a George Harrison tribute album, it
adds layers of shimmer and distortion that George Martin would never
have imagined, then serves it all up with a blues jam twist. About time
somebody put a little <i>unh-hunh</i> to raga rock. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002CK98JK" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"When I'm Sixty-Four"</b><br />
Cover by Cowboys on Dope<br />
Now this is a hoot. A German country-rock band tackles this Paul McCartney music-hall chestnut and<i> totally transforms it.</i>
Minor key, for one thing -- how brilliant! The "cowboy" part of their
name adds some down-and-dirty twang, but it's the "dope" part -- the
gritty woozy undertone -- that makes this so delectable. And why
shouldn't boozy losers also be able to imagine knitting by the fireside
and renting a cottage by the Isle of Wight?<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B000WB2IBG" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"Lovely Rita"</b><br />
Cover by Fats Domino<br />
Okay, so maybe he loses the campy irony of the original. Still, the
King of New Orleans soul is out to score with this lady Rita, and he
lays out some considerable charm to do so. Most telling variation from
the original: "When are you free to have a drink [NOT TEA] with me?" The
loungy tempo, the playful vocals -- it's all good, sugar.<br />
<br />
<b>"Good Morning Good Morning"</b><br />
Cover by Micky Dolenz<br /> All right, yeah, I was obsessed with the Monkees in the
fall of 1966; for a while there, Davy Jones even toppled Paul McCartney
from my fangirl list of must-haves. But it was Micky who really made the
Monkees work as a rock/pop band, and now I can admit that. This gem from his 2012 solo album <i>Remember</i> kicks Lennon's tortured bio-tune into easy samba mode, and it comes out surprisingly well. I
would have thought that this angry, conflicted song could never be
dialed back to yoga mode. I was wrong. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B00943QC7O" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
<b>"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)"</b><br />
Cover by the Persuasions<br />
The original reprise offered a distinct contrast to the opening track --
let's go for contrast again. Whereas we had Jimi Hendrix jamming it up
for Track 1, let's dial things back to 60s doo-wop with the Persuasions,
jacking up the tempo and adding an insouciant wink of fun. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B0092MH0AU" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
<br />
"<b>A Day in the Life"</b><br />
Cover by John Mark Nelson<br />
Coda or climax? It's never been clear which "A Day in the Life" was
meant to be, and let's leave it in glorious ambiguity. This version is
from the Minnesota Beatle Project, an intriguing 4-CD series (2009-2012)
that celebrates a panoply of Minnesotans tackling Beatles material. A
wunderkind from Minnetonka, MN, young John Mark Nelson somehow <b>gets</b>
this complex and ambiguous song. He changes up the tempos and alters
the textures of the song even more radically than John and Paul, intent
on blending their disparate material, ever did. More importantly, Nelson
restores to this song the youthful earnestness that we forgot it
deserved. (Because really, how old were John and Paul when they wrote
this sweeping indictment of mass media?) His voice trembles with the
sorrow that lives down deep in things - what more could this song
deserve?</p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-48698030257672243082020-09-18T15:44:00.003-07:002020-10-10T07:58:54.610-07:00Shadow Rubber Soul<p>I can't help myself -- <i>Revolver</i> was so much fun, I just had to do another one, and what better than the magnificent <i>Rubber Soul?</i> Think of it as a birthday present to myself, my birthday being October 8th (the day before John Lennon's birthday, as I have been acutely aware since 1964). <br />
<br />
Only one hitch: The LP I bought with my babysitting money in 1966 was significantly different from the LP that was released in the UK in 1965, with various songs siphoned off for <i>Beatles VI </i>. Which tracklist should I follow? I've opted for the British version, because it's longer and just too juicy to resist. But the song sequence of the platter I spun <i>ad nauseum</i> in my pink bedroom still has a hold on me....</p><p>To listen to these alternative tracks, listen to my Spotify playlist <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/23NT0kjezeTyoR6CVLoquh" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
<br />
<b>Drive My Car</b><br />
<i>Cover by Bobby McFerrin</i><br />
How delicious is this? The amazing Mr. McFerrin, creating an entire orchestra with just his own voice, which is perfect for this sprightly jazzy number, a classic escapist Paul track. Don't it just make you want to head out of town? <i>Beep-beep unh beep-beep yah!</i><br />
<br />
<b>Norwegian Wood</b><br />
<i>Cover by Tim O'Brien</i><br />
That plangent pennywhistle opening tells you we're going Appalachian with this eternally mystifying tale of the Girl Who Wouldn't Play By the Rules. What a groundbreaker it was back in the day: A chick who was even more elusive than the guys who wanted to make time with her. "She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh" -- a feminist statement if ever there was one. The ever-wonderful Tim O'Brien -- whom first I heard on a "Muswell Hillbillies" cover -- pushes this folk-rock classic into bluegrass territory, stripping away the Swinging London 1960s subtext. Here we are in 2013, and the mating dance is just as confused as ever.<br />
<br />
<b>You Won't See Me</b><br />
<i>Cover by Dennis Brown</i><br />
Why not go reggae with this number? The late great Jamaican star Dennis Brown infuses this edgy track with a mellow shrug of "whatever, mon." When John Lennon sings it, you have the sense that he's lashing out at a girlfriend who doesn't measure up; Brown is just happily checking out. "Time after time / You refuse to even listen" -- that's your trip, sister, but he's already moved on. <br />
<br />
<b>Nowhere Man</b><br />
<i>Cover by Paul Westerberg</i><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002B292M2" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />As <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2013/09/between-covers-nowhere-man-paul.html">already stated</a>, I love this track to death -- a heartbreaking cover of an already heartbreaking song. <br />
<br />
<b>Think For Yourself</b><br />
<i>Cover by Molly Maher and Her Disbelievers</i> </p><p>From the wonderful Minnesota Beatles Project, this spiky feminist reading throws a little paprika in the face of this "don't fence me in" tune. Having a woman sing it instead of a man makes all the difference. When we heard George sing this in 1965, he was pushing back against all sorts of things -- smothering females, government interference -- but in Molly Maher's hands it's a groovy kick in the head against all the forces that be. Love how she plays with the melody, kicking it up a notch, flicking a corrective note, letting us all know that this girl is here and<i> must be reckoned with.</i> Got that, fellas? <br />
<br />
<b>The Word</b><br />
<i>Cover by Bettye Lavette</i><br />
The magnificent Bettye Lavette, reinterpreting Beatles classics as only a chick with some serious cred could do. Did the Beatles even know how funky this song could go? "Word" in 1965 meant some underground code, but let's bust that loose today, y'all. Check out 2:34 in this track -- you think this song is over? Take a deep breath, and oh yes, let's get <i>down</i> to where the word <i>really </i>happens....<br />
<br />
<b>Michelle</b><br />
<i>Cover by Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals</i><br />
I've been a Ben Harper fan for a while now, having been turned on at the Tibet House benefit to #2 in my House of Bens. (Sorry, but Ben Folds grabbed the top spot years ago, but seriously, Ben H you rock the soulful dimension here.) When I was a kid, the sappy <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2010/02/61.html">David and Jonathan single</a> edged the Beatles original, but I'm open to interpretations, and the reggae-tinged Harper version offers some intriguing alternatives. Who <i>is</i> this Michelle, anyway?<br />
<br />
<b>What Goes On</b><br />
<i>Cover by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band</i><br />
Remember these original roots rockers, of "Mr. Bojangles" fame? I love how they take this proto-country number and twang it up. The Beatles always hedged their bets with some country-esque tracks, and the NGDB rises to meet the challenge with an unapologetic twangy rendition of this secondary track. <br />
<br />
<b>Girl</b><br />
<i>Cover by Rhett Miller</i><br />
Now you know I love Rhett Miller, lead singer for the Old 97s, alt.country faves who zoomed straight onto the list of My Guys. I dig the earnestness of his rendition, a perfect counterpoint to John Lennon's ambivalent approach to this girl. Where John sounds on the verge of dumping her, Rhett sounds entranced and intrigued by her mystifying ways. What we lose in the raw pain of Lennon's original, we gain in Miller's willingness to let the girl be her own person. A toss-up, in my book. <br />
<br />
<b>I'm Looking Through You</b><br />
<i>Cover by Ted Leo</i> </p><p>Paul's matching song to John's "Girl," the original of "I'm Looking Through"-- said to be written about his then-girlfriend Jane Asher, whom naturally I hated with a passion -- had a fair bit of snarl to it. But nothing like what Ted Leo brings to it, in this speeded-up, garage-y post-punk cover from 2005. Dial up some cheese-grater rhythm guitar, <img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002B2GCW0" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />crashing cymbals, reverb, and hallucinatory feedback -- Paul's song was a gentle slap on the wrist compared to this. This guy is so outta there... <br />
<br />
<b>In My Life</b><br />
<i>Cover by Johnny Cash</i><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B00713UHHK" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />John Lennon was 25 when he wrote this song (at least the verses -- McCartney did the middle eight), looking back at his Liverpool childhood. Johnny Cash was in his late sixties when he recorded this stripped-down acoustic cover, and the world-weary tenderness his gruff baritone brings to it proves what a great song it is. And his genius phrasing -- "Some forever . . . not for better" -- that fraught pause after "some are dead" -- this is how the song is sung by someone reflecting at the end of a rich, full, perplexing life. Sad that Lennon never lived long enough to give us a version like this.</p><p>
<b>Wait</b><br />
<i>Cover by Ben Kweller & Albert Hammond Jr.</i><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B002N7IA1E" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
My number 3 Ben, after Folds and Harper, but oh, I do love this guy too. The tentative herky-jerky tempos of this track make you wait for it -- trembling on the interface -- "I know that you will wait for me." It's all about quivering on that junction, poised to go one way or another. Wait, in other words -- the essence of this track. <br />
<br />
<b>If I Needed Someone</b><br />
<i>Cover by Randy Bachman</i><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=the045-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B000QOVRM0" style="border: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />
<br />
Canada is in the house! Randy Bachman -- yes, Winnipeg's own Randy Bachman, of Guess Who and Bachman Turner Overdrive -- gives a slouchy jazz spin to this track on his 2018 tribute album to George Harrison. If the original was inspired by the Byrds and Indian classical music, this one has drunk the Steely Dan kool-aid. Whether or not this was written about Pattie Boyd, George wrapped up ambivalence and wistfulness in one fragile package. Randy Bachman, though? He's just enjoying his groove too much to commit to <i>anything.</i><br />
<br />
<b>Run For Your Life</b><br />
<i>Cover by the Razorbacks</i><br />Let's go down-and-dirty rockabilly for this zinger of a song, which John Lennon years later designated the song he most regretted writing. If I hadn't already been a Paul Girl for Life, "Run For Your Life" would probably have been the final stroke that ruled out John for me. (Because in 1964, all Beatlemanic girls had to pick.) But the Razorbacks (more Canadians!) throw on an ironic redneck twang that somehow redeems this song. He's screeching up in his Pontiac Firebird, layin' down the law -- and there she is in her Daisy Dukes, all wide eyes and innocence -- aw, shucks, girl, you know I didn't mean it!</p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-47778402426231854152020-09-02T18:45:00.000-07:002020-09-02T18:45:58.958-07:00Revolver, Redux<p>A couple of years ago, obsessed by Beatles covers, I put together two playlists:
One was the tracklist for the Beatles' album <i>Rubber Soul</i>, except it
consists of cover versions of each song; the second was an all-covers version of
the Beatles' iconic album <i>Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.</i> </p><p>Now I've done another one, this time for the Beatles' stunning 1966 album
<i>Revolver.</i> As much of a Beatlemaniac as I was in 1966, I was a little young to figure out what was going on here, although the boys (well, really,
Paul) obligingly offered up a few can't-miss hits like "Eleanor Rigby" and "Got
to Get You Into My Life" to keep us baby boppers in the fold. But it was all a
matter of time before this became one of my favorite LPs of all time. </p><p>As Blogger has recently changed its interface, I'm trying something new: instead
of inserting separate videos for each cover song, I've collected them all in a
Spotify playlist. (Apologies to those of you who may not use Spotify, but when I look back at those earlier cover track lists, I see that many of
the links are now expired or invalid -- we can only deliver the technology we
can deliver.) Here's the Spotify link:
<a href="http://open.spotify.com/playlist/5FpwM9BaZQdUjJjAQA0r0e">open.spotify.com/playlist/5FpwM9BaZQdUjJjAQA0r0e.</a> Please do let me know in the comments section if this works for you.<br /></p><p>My criteria for including a certain cover is that it has to offer something different from the
original without completely losing what made it a great song in the first place. Let's see how these covers deliver.<br /></p><p>1. <b>Taxman </b>-- <u>Junior Parker:</u> "Taxman" is about sleaze, and Memphis bluesman Junior Parker accepts the inevitability of sleaze with a laidback funky groove, which strikes me as way more cynical than the insistent pulse of the Beatles' original. Parker died, sadly, of a brain tumor in 1971; this was on one of his last albums, <i>The Outside Man </i>(1970). It's a gem.</p><p>2. <b>Eleanor Rigby -- </b><u>Aretha Franklin:</u> On her 1970 album <i>This Girl's in Love With You, </i>the Queen of Soul took this classic and made it real. As she sings it, Eleanor and Father MacKenzie are just trying to get by -- no string quartets, just funky keyboards and a horn section. Ditch Dickens and bring in James Baldwin. Amen, sister.</p><p>3. <b>I'm Only Sleeping </b>-- <u>Roseanne Cash: </u>I love Roseanne Cash; I think her musical taste is extraordinary. From her 1995 <i>Retrospective</i> album, this track adds a plangent note of despair to the original track's druggy checkout. </p><p>4.<b> Love You To</b> -- <u>Jim James</u>: There are very few covers of this track out there, maybe because its hazy psychedelia is too iconic to cover. Nevertheless my dear boy Yim of My Morning Jacket tackles it, and by adding an echo-chambered banjo makes it his own yearning cry for connection. <br /></p><p>5. <b>Here, There, and Everywhere</b> -- <u>John Denver:</u> No one did sweet and earnest like the young Paul McCartney, unless maybe it was John Denver, Mr. Rocky Mountain High. On his 1966 debut <i>John Denver Sings, </i>this simple acoustic track never tries to be an anthem, and that's its strength -- it proves that this is just a great song, whomever's singing it. <br /></p><p>6. <b>Yellow Submarine</b> -- <u>Willy Chirino: </u>The Beatles' original based its goofy appeal on British music hall sounds; Cuban-born Willy Chirino takes it full-on rumba and it's even more intoxicating.</p><p>7. <b>She Said She Said </b>-- <u>The Black Keys:</u> On their 2002 debut album <i>The Big Come Up, </i>Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney layered a dirty blues buzz over Lennon's LSD reverie. It's a little less trippy, a lot less paranoid, and a good deal more determined to take down that artsy girl and her faux insights. Which, on some days, is exactly what you want.</p><p>8. <b>Good Day Sunshine</b> -- <u>Roy Redmond</u>: I know just about nothing about Roy Redmond, beyond that his style was Northern Soul, and he released this track in 1967 as a single on Loma Records. But man, listen to this beauty. He takes McCartney's bouncy horn-inflected pop song, slows it waaaaaay down, throws in girl-group backing singers, and adds all sorts of testifying. ("What you say?" "Oh, can't you feel it?"). McCartney's sun shines on village fetes and garden parties; Redmond's invites you to open the fire hydrant and boogie on the fire escapes. </p><p>9. <b>And Your Bird Can Sing</b> -- <u>The Jam</u>: Paul Weller claims <i>Revolver </i>was the primary influence on their 1980 LP <i>Sound Affects, </i>and while this Beatles cover didn't make it onto the final tracklist, it was definitely part of the creative process. They punched up the tempo and added a little more aggro, as befit the punk era. Lennon's original sly ribbing of Mick Jagger becomes more of an FU -- and who's to say that John wouldn't have wanted it that way?</p><p>10. <b>For No One </b>-- <u>Emmylou Harris</u>: One of my all-time favorite Beatles tracks. Emmylou's version (from her 1974 album <i>Pieces of the Sky) </i>wins because it effectively flips the script: Suddenly I'm thinking only about how the girl feels. And amazingly, it <i>works just as well</i> this way -- that's the mark of a great song. </p><p>11. <b>Doctor Robert</b> -- <u>Dr. Sin</u>: A 2005 recording from a Brazilian hard rock band -- and man, this one sizzles. Lots of insistent drums, doubled vocals, and background grunge, cutting away to an almost baroque refrain. If the original was all about satirizing one pill-peddling MD, this track slings a lot more mud.</p><p>12. <b>I Want to Tell You</b> -- <u>Ted Nugent</u>: I disagree with just about everything Ted Nugent says, thinks, believes, and stands for. I looked so hard to find another cover of this song that was anywhere as good as this. But what the hell -- let me be the open-minded, tolerant person I wish we all could be. This track from Nugent's 1978 album <i>State of Shock </i>pumps some very vital oxygen into this track, and let us give props where props are due. </p><p>13. <b>Got to Get You Into My Life</b> -- <u>Earth Wind and Fire:</u> Released in 1978, this horn-inflected funk version takes the Beatles track out of British music hall and into a greater reality. Which only proves what a durable standard Macca's track could be.</p><p>14. <b>Tomorrow Never Knows</b>: <u>Nação Zumbi: </u>Another dynamite Brazilian band laid down this track in 2017, adding many layers of aural fuzz to the trippy original. Can you dig it? </p><p>Please let me know if the Spotify model works for you -- and if these covers ring your chimes. The Beatles were not only great performers, they were extraordinary songwriters, and IMO their legacy is only enhanced when other artists turn out dynamite versions of their best tracks. Let's discuss...<i> </i> <br /></p>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-64122434604026022972020-07-10T19:12:00.002-07:002020-07-10T19:26:04.157-07:00"Hurry Down Doomsday (The Bugs Are Taking Over)" / Elvis Costello<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In these pandemic days, I find it easy to fall into an apocalyptic frame of mind. What if all those dystopian sci-fi movies about alien invasions are simply coming true, and the coronavirus is just a very special sort of alien? What if this was the plan all along: That we'd populate the world with suitable hosts, only to make ready for the Second Coming of the Microscopic Invaders?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In 1991, Elvis Costello proved eerily prescient </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">in this track from the album <i>Mighty Like a Rose,</i></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>with a machine-gun patter of half-explained references and darkly insinuating imagery<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> It's paranoid as hell -- "The man in the corner of this picture has a sinister purpose" -- with an insistent drum beat, minor key, and cacophonous background instrumentation. The focus is squarely on the observer: "Wake up zombie, write
yourself another book," exhorting him/her/you/me "You want to scream and shout my little flaxen
lout" ("waxen lout"/ "Saxon lout" in successive verses). And always that urgent refrain: "Hurry down Doomsday, the bugs are taking over."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">You want End of Times? We'll give you End of Times in the middle eight:</span><br />
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<pre class="lyric-body wselect-cnt" dir="ltr" id="lyric-body-text"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Forget <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/about" style="color: #222222;">about</a> Beethoven, <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Rembrandt" style="color: #222222;">Rembrandt</a> and rock and roll
Forget <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/about" style="color: #222222;">about</a> Mickey Mouse, <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Marlboro" style="color: #222222;">Marlboro</a> and Coca Cola
Forget <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/about" style="color: #222222;">about</a> Cadillac, <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Mercedes" style="color: #222222;">Mercedes</a> and <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Toyota" style="color: #222222;">Toyota</a>
Forget <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/about" style="color: #222222;">about</a> Buddha, Allah, <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Jesus" style="color: #222222;">Jesus</a> and <a href="https://www.definitions.net/definition/Jehovah" style="color: #222222;">Jehovah</a></span></i></span></pre>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In other words, WIPE THAT SLATE CLEAN.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Years
ago -- 1977 -- I had a dream that Doomsday was coming. I was living in
England at the time, doing grad school, but the dream was a full-on
reenactment of the civil defense drills of my Indianapolis grade school.
(Duck and cover, run for the fallout shelter, because the Soviet Union
is going to bomb us out of existence.) In my dream, the BBC issued a </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">"kiss your asses goodbye" </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">alert. Why on earth
the USSR would be bombing the UK in 1977, I didn't stop to question.
Dream Me felt 100% certain that this was The End. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So what did I do in my dream? </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
went for a walk among the Victorian streets of North Oxford, enjoying
the spring blossoms on the trees, the birds twittering in the trees, the
whole English at-last-winter-is-over gratitude. And I felt the weight
lifting off my shoulders. That essay on Samuel Richardson that my tutor
was waiting for? No need to write it at all. The do-or-die exams looming
three months away? No need to study for them. The terrifying question
of finding a job once I had my degree? Oh, honey, neither you nor the
jobs will be here in a few hours. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And
as I walked around in my dream, I felt so free, so relaxed, so
relieved. So what if I never got my dream job? So what if I never
married and had kids? So what if I never wrote the book that would be
read for generations? None of it mattered. I was going to die in an hour
or so -- so PFFFT! </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've never forgotten that extraordinary sense of peace. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And if the coronavirus comes for me now -- if the bugs truly are taking over -- let's just hope I can meet the Doomsday bugs with that same grace.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stay safe, wear that face mask, be well.</span></span></div>
Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-84933095393670437532020-07-07T18:16:00.000-07:002020-07-07T18:16:26.579-07:00It's About Time<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"Time Has Come Today" / The Chambers Brothers</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Quick -- what day is today? (Day of the week, date of the month, whatever.) And how many days has it been since you last talked in person to anyone who isn't in your quarantine home pod? </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">When did you last go to the grocery store? How long since you did laundry? </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">How long since your last haircut (or coloring)?</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Was the meal you're currently digesting lunch or dinner, or a post-lunch/pre-dinner snack? Has it been 14 days (our coronavirus benchmark) since that last risky foray into unprotected society? Exactly how many weeks/months have you been in lockdown?</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">In this weird new reality, we operate in an elastic</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">limbo of time -- days blend together, weeks disappear. Yet at the same time we hover over a relentless 24-hour news cycle. How have the Covid-19 numbers changed overnight? </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Which state is now the hotspot? </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">What new outrageous thing has our Kleptocrat in Chief said or done? What has the Supreme Court weighed in on? What new hero has raised his/her voice? What new victim has been shot in cold blood?</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Which of our cultural icons has died today? (Me, I'm still grieving Adam Schlesinger of <a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2015/09/ten-from-fountains-of-wayne-all-kinds.html">Fountains of Wayne</a>, but you could as easily be verklempt about John Prine, Ellis Marsalis, Bucky Pizzarelli, or any of many others.) </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pandemic Time. We joke about it on Facebook, but it's a real phenomenon. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">To comfort myself, I'm re-reading Thomas Mann's <i>The Magic Mountain</i> -- hardly escapist reading, but perfect for right now. It's about tuberculosis patients quarantined in a clinic in the Alps on the eve of World War I. Day after day passes monotonously and yet swiftly; holidays succeed each other in surprising speed. And yet the patients are always marking time, with daily temperature charts (check our 14-day quarantine record-keeping) and the doctors' diagnoses/sentences of six months or ten months until they are cured.</span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">With time on my mind, I offer you this 1968 track from the Chambers Brothers, Mississippi gospel singer brothers who, in the spirit of the 60s, ventured into
folk and then psychedelia (perfect for these mind-altering times.) It's particularly fine late-night listening.</span></span></div>
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Hark ye to that timekeeper drummer (live, human, no drum machines here), the way he drives the track, alternately slowing down, speeding up, tick-tocking, vibrating, smashing down. Pick up, too, on the ominous special effects -- the cuckoo clock, the satellite-like guitar twiddles, the screams of the tormented, the cruel laughs of the tormentors. We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto.</div>
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From the
echo-chambered background vocals, to the Hendrix-like half-sung
testifying of the verses, there's an edge of spookiness, a sense of history trembling in the balance. Social commentary creeps in ("The rules have changed today / I have no place to stay / I'm thinking about the subway"), but in the spirit of the 60s, it was all cool. "I've been crushed by a tumbling tide / And my soul's been psychedelicized." Open your mind to the possibilities, man. </div>
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It's mesmerizing without being
boring; instrumental solos cascade and build, always heading somewhere. I'm on the edge of my seat, riding the drummer's tempo changes, waiting for the singer to step back in and take charge. And when he does, it's with a chuckle and a smile. He's navigating the changes, finding some kind of grace in the midst of apocalypse. Setting an example of how to surf time. </div>
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And in these days, when I'm feeling lost in time, sinking into this music track somehow lifts my soul. I hope it does the same for you.</div>
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Stay safe and be well.... </div>
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Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-19809441450027595412020-04-10T16:34:00.001-07:002020-04-10T16:34:14.291-07:00<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Everything Will Be Just Fine" / Greg Trooper</span></b></span><br />
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I don't know about you, but my coronavirus playlist started out angry and apocalyptic. Yet now, in Week Umptyleven of Lockdown, I'd much rather hear something calming, tender, and upbeat. Like this little gem that dialed up today on my shuffle, by the late great Greg Trooper:<br />
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It's from his 2010 album <i>Upside-Down Town, </i>one of his richest collections of songs about how to live the sort of life most of us do live. Greg -- who tragically died of pancreatic cancer in January 2017 -- was never the star he deserved to be; his songs had been covered by everywhere from Steve Earle to Vince Gill to Billy Bragg, but he was still a gigging musician, working house parties and small venues. I like this video because it gives you a flavor of Greg's stage act -- intimate and endearing.<br />
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I got to know Greg a little in the last years of his life, when he'd moved back to New York City (he was born in New Jersey), and he was just like his songs -- funny, smart as hell, self-deprecating, and deeply empathetic. Like the wonderful John Prine, whose recent death I'm still mourning, Troop was puzzled by the human condition, and working song by song to figure it out. Greg Trooper was a storyteller, and every one of his songs is a poignant little novel, often with an anti-hero we can totally relate to.<br />
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Like this one. The narrator of this song has had a few knocks (dig that verse about driving past the brick house he built where "somebody else is raising my kids inside") -- but he's not bitter, just lonely. We don't get a lot of the details, but then, this kind of guy doesn't dwell on details, just on his gut reaction. He's living day to day, head down, slogging through.<br />
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I can relate to that.<br />
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Things are tough, but he <i>knows </i>that what would make it better would be some human connection. "I'd settle for coffee and a hand to shake / Conversation 'bout the coffee cake" -- is that too much to ask? <br />
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And in these times of self-isolation, isn't the human connection what we most crave? "But I'd settle for a smile from one lonely frown / And oh my goodness, everything would be just fine." And Greg's warm, comforting vocals are benediction enough.<br />
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May you all get that comfort wherever you can find it. We're in this together, and the more we can reach out -- whatever form that takes -- the better we'll be on the other side.<br />
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Stay well and take care <br />
<br />Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-57741020293056431782020-03-24T20:33:00.001-07:002020-03-25T18:57:50.887-07:00
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Life During Wartime" / The Talking Heads</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The other day in a grocery store, frantically trying to assemble a pantry of shelf-stable food for riding out whatever self-quarantine might be in the offing, I scooped three jars of peanut butter into my cart -- and I heard in the back of my mind, "I got some groceries / Some peanut butter / To last a couple of days." In these troubling times, I'm in no mood for either dirges or upbeat diversions -- but a little apocalyptic swamp funk is just the ticket. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">In </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">1979, I'd been a Talking Heads fan for a couple of years already, entranced by the spare art-school weirdness of their first two albums.</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The sound of <i>Fear of Music, </i>however, was a shock: a funky poly-rhythmic base overlaid with chanting call-and-response vocals, horns and percussion layering on levels of cacophony. On first listen, I was baffled. By the third or fourth listen, though, I was enraptured by it, and now it just might be my favorite Talking Heads album. (Note to kids streaming music: <i>You can't always "get it" on the first listen</i>.)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="ujudUb">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">And from the first, this track stood out. David Byrne, the Talking Head's front man, said it was "inspired by living in Alphabet City" (the then-grubby, shell-shocked Lower East Side), and as a newly arrived New Yorker, I knew those scruffy clubs he name-checked ("This ain't no Mudd Club / Or CBGBs"). But beyond that, the song's undertow of domestic terrorism had to resonate with any of us who'd grown up in the turmoil of the late 60s and 70s: civil rights protests, antiwar riots, ugly waves of urban violence. The bleak dystopia of this song made perfect sense, as we howled that indelible refrain: "This ain't no party / This ain't no disco / This ain't no fooling around!"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Indeed, indeed.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Listening to it now, in these haunted pandemic days, it seems weirdly prophetic. It's a survivalist's bible ("Heard of a van / That's loaded with weapons / Packed up and ready to go") for a time where communications are breaking down ("Transmit the message / to the receiver / Hope for an answer") and paranoia runs rampant ("I got three passports / a couple of visas, / You don't even know my real name"). And for those of us who can't wean ourselves from the nightly news or Facebook, the drumbeat of crisis keeps us all too well informed of the disease's spread ("</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Heard about Houston? / Heard about Detroit? / </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Heard about Pittsburgh, P. A.?").</span></span></div>
<div class="ujudUb">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">With all this disaster looming, what's the point in making any effort, in laying any plans? "Why stay in college? Why go to night school?" he asks, and even though I have those degrees already in hand, I'm pretty sure they mean nothing now. (A year later, the American Dream would be further eviscerated in the Talking Heads' song "<a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2016/10/t-is-for.html">Once in a Lifetime</a>".) No, the enemy is among us and we are it. "We dress like students, / we dress like housewives, / Or in a suit and a tie / I changed my hairstyle, so many times now, / I don't know what I look like!" (That last line does make me laugh now, thinking of all the women in lockdown who will finally discover how gray their hair really is under all those years of salon color.)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Burned all my notebooks, / what good are notebooks? / They won't help me survive," Byrne sings, riding the crest of that relentless yet hypnotic rhythm track. "My chest is aching, / Burns like a furnace, / The burning keeps me alive..."</span></span></div>
<div class="ujudUb WRZytc">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Yes, yes, and yes. Stay well, friends. </span></span><br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-49217871139131040932020-02-06T18:57:00.002-08:002020-02-06T18:57:58.306-08:00<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"Let's Face the Music and Dance" / Nat King Cole</b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
<br />
This track is haunting me everywhere -- in Amazon Prime grocery commercials, in an episode of <i>The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, </i>as the theme song for the UK mockumentary series<i> Twenty Twelve</i> (starring Hugh Bonneville, about a hapless team staging the 2012 London Olympics). And it resonates deep with me; when I was a kid, my mom was a huge Nat King Cole fan, and I'm betting we had this album (<i>Let's Face the Music,</i> released in 1964 but recorded in 1961).<br />
<br />
It's originally an Irving Berlin song, featured in the 1936 Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers film<i> Follow the Fleet.</i> Here's that version:<br />
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Schmaltzy, eh? But here's how Nat King Cole tweaked it:<br />
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The tempo's brisk, just this side of breathless, dancing in and out of minor and major keys, as if the singer is tap dancing to save his life. He knows all too well that he's on a knife edge ("There may be trouble ahead") but he's determined to steal what pleasure he can before things go down: "But while there's music and moonlight and love and romance / Let's face the music and dance." In Astaire's hands, that's a gallant romantic invitation, but from Cole, it feels like he's looking over his shoulder, snatching love before the cops close in (or the thug you owe money to, or the white-hooded racists, or the ICBMs with their lethal payloads). The warm snaggy intimacy of Cole's vocals pulls us in, makes us complicit in his quest to escape. The clock is ticking, and he's a man on fire.<br />
<br />
Loss and retribution hang over this song like a sword of Damocles. The fiddlers may soon ask us to pay the bill, the moon may abscond and leave us with teardrops to shed. It puts the notion of <i>carpe diem </i>-- live for the moment -- in an entirely new and darker light. The verses are in minor key, yet the melodic lines climb upward, fighting for a chance. And though that bridge shifts into major key, its message is if anything more desperate -- "soon, we'll be without the moon / Singing a different tune / And then..."<br />
<br />
Berlin's song must have resonated differently in 1936, in the depths of the Depression, with escapism and denial the order of the day. Armed with a top hat and tails, Fred Astaire could valiantly ignore the Crash and savor a few more champagne cocktails. In 1961, however, when Cole reprised it, McCarthyism was only just in the rearview mirror, with the Cold War icing up and the great civil rights battle gathering steam. The "trouble ahead" haunts Cole's version way more than it did Astaire's, and dancing in the face of it is a brave, beautiful, but ultimately futile act. <br />
<br />
The great songwriters always put more layers into their songs than they realized, and Nat King Cole's reinvention of Irving Berlin's 1930s dance number just may reveal Berlin's genius all the more. Maybe, the black artist who'd fought the music business's rigged system was the only person who could really dig into the darkness felt by an immigrant whose family had escaped Russian pogroms to find freedom in America.<br />
<br />
And in a political moment where all our decisions seem freighted with fear -- this may not be the worst anthem for facing the future, whatever it may entail.Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-66365059342254404302020-01-13T20:33:00.001-08:002020-01-17T20:25:43.212-08:00<h3>
"(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace Love and Understanding" / Brinsley Schwarz</h3>
Shopping in Trader Joe's yesterday, I wasn't paying much attention to the muzak. Why should I? And when this song came on, I immediately assumed it was Elvis Costello's cover of this Nick-Lowe-penned tune on Elvis' 1979 album<i> Armed Forces. </i>After all, that's the version most people know.<br />
<i><br /></i>
But no, as I pushed my cart around, listening intently, it was clearly not Elvis singing. The tempo was a tick slower, the guitars a tad twangier. And listening to the phrasing and intonations, I was more and more certain: This was the Brinsleys' 1974 version.<br />
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I'm willing to bet that I was the only person in that crowded Trader Joe's who could tell the difference, or who cared. And, PS, I completely forget to get the avocados I meant to buy, I was so transported.<br />
<br />
Quite possibly the muzak provider opted for the Brinsleys' version because it was cheaper. By the time Elvis covered this song, the Brinsleys were on their last legs, and anyway the band had never thought much of this number. (To be honest, Nick Lowe himself thought of it as a throwaway satire on hippie culture.) But EC's resurrection of the song proved prescient, and in the decades since then, the song has shown surprising legs as an anti-war anthem.<br />
<br />
And -- in the who-laughs-last category -- Curtis Stigers' 1992 cover of this song for the movie <i>The Bodyguard </i>earned so many $$$ in royalties, Nick Lowe could go ahead and make any number of gorgeous albums he might not otherwise have made.<br />
<br />
For this alone I am grateful.<br />
<br />
So where are the strong? And who are the trusted? And where is the harmony (sweet harmony)?<br />
<br />
Right here, my brothers and sisters...<br />
<br />
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Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-35249604578144895722019-11-27T17:49:00.001-08:002019-11-29T20:43:31.466-08:00<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Thanksgiving Day"/ Ray Davies</span></h2>
I'd like to think that Ray Davies did this on purpose -- sat down and thought, "What holiday doesn't yet have too many songs written about it?" And when he realized how few Thanksgiving songs there are, he decided to write one, hoping for that late November airplay.<br />
<br />
I'm not much of a radio listener, so I don't know whether his stratagem worked. But I do know that this has become my go-to song for the Thursday before Black Friday.<br />
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<br />
But trust Ray Davies not to slack off, to keep at it until that song had some meat on its bones. And of course, as he homed in on the holiday, he just couldn't help himself: Instead of going all sentimental, which would have been the obvious easy choice, instead he made it about loners and misfits -- the universe Ray understands best -- struggling to find their home against all odds. The feast they find isn't Hallmark-perfect -- no Martha Stewart perfection, no Instagram fantasy -- but it's what they need. <br />
<br />
If you want to know more, here's<a href="https://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2006/11/thanksgiving-day-ray-davies-christmas.html"> what I wrote</a> about this song a few years ago.<br />
<br />
But maybe it's enough just to listen. Having just come back from a four-day Kinks trip to London (of which more soon), for now I'm happy to let his songs simply melt into my consciousness. <br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-20562050869009952482019-10-20T17:43:00.000-07:002019-10-20T19:08:00.309-07:00<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Keep It To Yourself"</span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Amy Rigby/Marti Jones </span></h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, here's a tale. I was in the gym the other day, dialing up my Latin Groove playlist to accompany my stationary bike ride, when this song cycled up (no pun intended). I thought to myself, "Oh, hello, I never noticed before how sly this song is, pairing that langorous bossa nova beat with such deliciously nasty female snark. This just <i>has </i>to be Amy Rigby, right?" So I fumbled with the damn iPod holster, dropped it, accidentally fast-forwarded, yadda yadda yadda, only to finally read on the playlist that this was a track by the lovely Marti Jones, from her delectable 2014 album <i>You're Not the Bossa Me. </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Which, by the way, I highly recommend.*<i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I digress. As it happens, I downloaded my version of <i>You're Not the Bossa Me, </i>and my music library therefore doesn't show composer info. (GRRRrrr....). No biggie, I guess, to the kids. But it kept nagging me. I knew that Marti's album came to my attention in the first place because the wonderful songwriter Bill DeMain had co-written some tracks on it, and I began to suspect he'd had a hand in this track, too. I just had to know.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">And when I reached out to Bill, he confirmed that, yes, he'd co-written "Keep It to Yourself" . . . with none other than Amy Rigby. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Go figure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Amy's version, a demo track, only appeared on her 2002 anthology album <i>18 Again -- </i>and I'll confess, I have that album, I've got that track in my library, I should have recognized it immediately. Mea culpa. But the good news is that this made me appreciate this wicked little song all over again.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The premise is dead simple, laid down in verse one. She's got a new boyfriend -- a good one this time -- and, to prove his fealty, he's tilting at her windmills. "You say you'd like to kill the man who broke my heart," she starts out, sounding oh so modest, dismissing the idea. ("Me I'm trying so hard to forgive...")</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">But then comes the about face, the pivot point: Almost shyly (there's the gift of the bossa nova), she just kinda sorta mentions, "But here's his address / Here's his picture / Here's the make and model of his car." Nothing like fingering a perp. And she off-handedly supplies additional info, "He works until four-thirty / Then he hangs out at the topless bar." And with a rueful duck of the head, she adds, "With a girl on each arm / If he should come to harm -- " The bossa beat kicks in for a pregnant pause pause, before she exhales, "Just keep it to yourself...."</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">I won't give away any more of the plot -- it unspools like <i>Double Indemnity.</i> It's a perfect storm of wit, snark, and musical style, and it makes me laugh every single time I hear it. No matter who sings it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">* As
you might be able to guess from that title, everything on this album has a
bossa nova beat. Latin music 101: Bossa nova was a late
1950s-early1960s reinvention of samba, making things smoother, more
chic, more palatable to PanAm sophisticates. It made samba ripe for
crossover, and in the early 60s lots of UK and US artists tested the
bossa nova waters -- see the Kinks "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPR5NR3KggM">No Return</a>" or the Beatles' version of "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHAqAO7w8M8">Till There Was You</a>").</span></span>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-60549366548150664432019-06-01T21:16:00.000-07:002019-06-15T18:22:43.967-07:00Drive, She Said<h2>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Undun" / Guess Who</span></b></h2>
Sometimes, you know, you're just in a car, styling down a highway, long trip, looking for an audio groove that'll match your driving groove. And then this thing dials up and it's such a trifecta of sounds: jazzy, mellow, yet anguished. And you tune in and think -- damn, that's one fine track.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLMF5GM0Kt8">She's Come Undun </a><br />
<br />
I realize that I
have no sense of who Guess Who "is" --
Wikipedia confuses me with all the iterations of this band, with its
constantly changing personnel. Some names I recognize -- Randy Bachman,
who wrote this song (later to be part of Bachman-Turner Overdrive, not
that I know their songs any better), and Burton Cummings, who was Guess
Who's front man on this 1969 track. But after them it was a rotating cast that never seemed to add up to much.<br />
<br />
And maybe because the talent was always changing, their sound was all over the place, at least from the few singles I knew. "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcLdbsrSngA&list=PLYO0tcD5DbUXds5uTyps3lsTrZPSGxdNZ">These Eyes</a>" sounds a bit like "Undun," but "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3r_qd2yxIsM">American Woman</a>"? "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZyB1Jy7GQo8">No Sugar Tonight</a>"? Or how about their later semi-hit "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_eIZ7tWhak">Clap for the Wolfman</a>"?<br />
<br />
Not sure why this should matter -- shouldn't we admire bands with variety and range? But for this band, it feels as if the center doesn't hold.<br />
<br />
Yet on this one track, all the stars must have been aligned. I love the flowing samba line of the verses, then how it pivots into something darker (almost a jazz tango) in the abrupt syncopations of the chorus: "It's too late/ She's gone too far/ She's lost the sun" -- hold it, hold it, that wicked pause . . . . and then, diving back into the verse, "She's come undun." Shout out, by the way, to the percussion, which underscores all this, tripping lightly in the verses, then laying down whiplashes in the chorus. And dig that flute solo in the break -- Cummings, apparently, who knew?<br />
<br />
I like, too, how the verses deepen. At first, the girl seems reckless, shooting too high, going off course. But in verse three, we learn it's not her fault: "She wanted truth and all she got was lies." It's quite possible the songwriters just ran out of convenient tropes, but for me, that verse rescues the song. The girl's no longer at fault, the world is.<br />
<br />
This song is full of questions, which is one of the things I love about it. Yeah, I know, that could just be sloppy songwriting, but as a listener I'm hooked. Who's singing this song, and what's his relation to the girl? (If he's a boyfriend, he's an ex, I imagine, regretting that he couldn't save her. It's just as likely a brother or a friend.) What is this "sun" she's lost? (Her sanity? Her faith? [Bachman was a Mormon].)<br />
<br />
And most important, what does "undun" mean? As a spelling person, for years I was bugged by this song title (HOW HARD WOULD IT HAVE BEEN TO SPELL IT "UNDONE"?!) and I still can't quite buy into the deliberate misspelling. But that obscures the question: Is this about a runaway, a bad acid trip, a nervous breakdown, a suicide? The darkness of the choruses, plus Cummings' heartfelt wail on the last "She's come undun" makes me fear the worst.<br />
<br />
I've been listening to this song for (on and off) 50 years and I still haven't solved it. Which is a <i>good</i> thing.Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-9880433307316910962018-11-02T22:33:00.001-07:002018-12-25T21:46:46.593-08:00<h2>
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Juliet, Naked</span></i></h2>
Okay, I finally saw it. (Pay per view alert!) I can't even explain why it took me so long, considering how absolutely this film dovetails with everything I'm about. But a few thoughts:<br />
<br />
1.<b> Nick Hornsby is my favorite living writer. </b>I'm not claiming he's the greatest literary talent or anything like that, but everything this man writes makes utter and perfect sense to me. This blog owes its existence to his book <i>Song Book; </i>I've read everything he's published. And of all his novels, <i>Juliet, Naked </i>is quite possibly my favorite. (Notice how I hedge my bets, because, jeez, I love everything he's done.) Nick, if by any chance this blog post surfaces on your feed -- please do let me know. I promise I won't get weird.<br />
<br />
2. <b>Kinks world lives.</b> Casually, walking through Waterloo Station, a snippet of dialogue -- a throwaway, really, if you didn't know better -- mentions that the station is a big deal if you're a Kinks fan (KAPOW). Later, Ethan Hawke performs "Waterloo Sunset" at a local gig, and it's almost unbearably beautiful. <br />
<br />
3. <b>Chris O'Dowd is so underated. </b>So many of us have connected via fan websites; O'Dowd plays a superfan we can all identify with. I love how his passion for the music, versus his cluelessness in life, is so delicately delineated. His face registers all the nuances of a response to music that is heartfelt and yet, hell, totally beside the point. Except okay, but whoa . . . <br />
<br />
4.<b> And the songs? </b>If you're gonna do a movie about an elusive rock talent, you gotta line up some quirky folks to write his songs. Monsters of Folk's Conor Oberst and M. Ward, Robyn Hitchcock, Wilco's Jeff Tweedy-- I've written about them all over the years. Click on their links in the column to the right. This film totally gets the music right, which buys it major cred.<br />
<br />
5.<b> Okay, now I get Ethan Hawke.</b> He started out so young, and so beautiful (really, those cheekbones are <i>so </i>unfair), I never thought much of him. It wasn't until I saw <i>Boyhood </i>a couple years back that I realized he is actually an actor of a very high degree. Here he's playing a grizzled, washed-up musician who dropped out of the biz and disappeared 30 years ago, inadvertently gaining a cult following. He's a mess of a human being, and Hawke plays it to the core, never making excuses for him. All right, Ethan, now I officially forgive you for<i> Great Expectations</i>. <br />
<br />
6. <b>Gotta stand and face it -- life is so complicated</b>. One of the things I most love about Nick Hornsby's novels is that there are no pat solutions -- lost loves lead to new opportunities, and we all pick up our sorrows and move on. I love how this film doesn't settle for a cheesy plot resolution, but still leaves us encouraged for the next chapter. Viva life!Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36596203.post-4091338847096367692018-10-08T21:39:00.000-07:002018-12-31T11:10:09.229-08:00My Birthday #1s<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Happy Birthday to Me Part 3</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Alas my brothers and sisters, it is all downhill from here. I've gone through the weekly charts from 1973 to the present, and there is precious little that I even recognize, let alone care about. Granted, I was living in the U.K. in 1975 and 1976; it's entirely likely that I never even heard the hit US songs of those years. "(I did hear 1974's entry, Olivia Newton-John's breathy "I Honestly Love You," but the less said about that, the better.) And I know the music I was listening to in the later 70s and 80s just wasn't mainstream enough to produce chart-toppers. </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, from the late 80s on, the charts increasingly were dominated by a narrow band of music, mostly rap and R&B. In the mid-90s, my birthday singles were almost entirely either Boyz II Men or Mariah Carey, and while I have nothing particularly against either of those artists, that doesn't suggest a range of music being listened to. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The lists from the 90s on also are remarkably short -- while earlier lists swapped in a new #1 every couple of weeks or so, signs of lively competition, these later ones are dominated by a few juggernaut hits (from mid-August 1992 to mid-March 1993, only 2 songs held the top spot -- Boyz II Men's "The End of the Road" and then Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You.") I'm guessing this reflects changes in the music biz more than changes in musical tastes; record companies poured all their resources into promoting a few mega-hits, in much the same way that publishers stopped buying quirky first novels and gambled big bucks on a few "name" authors. Radio stations stopped playing to the mainstream, and then all hell broke loose in the 2000s as streaming overtook record sales.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, here are a few October 8th #1s that I was delighted to see -- hope you're happy to see them too! </span></span></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">1976: Wild Cherry, "Play That Funky Music"</span></span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Seems to me that the title leaves out the most important words -- "Play that funky music, <i>white boy</i>!" Because Wild Cherry was a band of white guys from Ohio, who nevertheless were able to lay that funk sound down for one of the funnest (is that even a word?) dance tracks of the 1970s. Like their Scottish colleagues <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2010/10/cut-cake-average-white-band-tomorrow-is.html">Average White Band,</a></span></span></span></span><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">they paid honest tribute to the funk sound, refusing to accept that it had to be ghetto-ized. In these days of the ongoing cultural appropriation debate, I'm not sure where I stand on these. But I gotta admit, when this song comes on the jukebox? I am NOT sitting still . . . </span></span></span></span><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;">1980: Queen </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Another One Bites the Dust"</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Oh, I do loves me some Queen. Shout-out to my Oxford pal Cynthia, who first got me listening to the marvelous Mr. Mercury. And while I'd probably nominate "Killer Queen" as my fave Queen track, with "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" as a close second (no, wait -- how could I forget "Don't Stop Me Now"...?), well, this one's a great track. Deliciously funky, dialing back on the arena bombast of "We Are the Champions" and "We Will Rock You." Fun facts to know and tell: Queen bassist John Deacon wrote this song, inspired by the funk band Chic, and none other than Michael Jackson (a Queen fan) convinced them to release it as a single. It became the longest-running US #1 single of 1980 and Queen's top-selling single ever (and their first big US hit, which, having lived in the UK, baffled me.) What is it about? Gay cruising, trying to score weed, boxing, knife fights -- well, like a lot of Queen songs, it's about what you want it to be about. </span><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1982: John Cougar, <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2007/03/jack-and-diane-john-mellencamp-im.html">"Jack and Diane"</a></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So here I am by now, living in New York City, and damn if MTV doesn't unleash my inner Hoosier with this grainy video that just about perfectly encapsulates my conflicts about leaving the Midwest to realize my dreams elsewhere. Because to be honest, some version of me is still back at the Tastee-Freeze, sucking down chili dogs in my Bobbie Brooks....<b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1983: Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Years ago I posted this song in an <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2009/10/eighties-cheese-week-total-eclipse-of.html">Eighties Cheese Week thread</a>, and now I have to admit I've grown so fond of it, I'm delighted to find it popping up here. That big hair, that big rasp-edged voice, the amped-up Jim Steinman production, and even -- who knew? -- Rick Derringer, late of the McCoys, on guitar. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1985: Dire Straits, "Money for Nothing" </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ahh, the glory days of MTV. Loved this cynical track<b>,</b> a reality check on the craziness of the music industry, with Mark Knopfler's nimble, virile guitar work, slicing through the surreal mishmash with killer riffs, and Sting (another MTV-enabled star) adding his back-up vocals. How perfectly Knopfler nails the point of view of his working slobs, scoffing at privileged musicians ("that ain't working"), griping about their own daily grind ("We got to install microwave ovens / Custom kitchen deliveries"), yet envious despite themselves: "Lemme tell you, these guys ain't dumb / Maybe get a blister on your little finger / Maybe get a blister on your thumb." And there's the American dream, just out of reach: "Money for nothing and chicks for free." It's to Knopler's credit that he never seems to put these guys down; they have every right to resent the "yo-yos" they see on TV getting all the glory. They give themselves away only in the last verse: "That little faggot got his own jet airplane . . . " Even so, would they trade places with him? I'm betting yes, in a heartbeat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1986: Huey Lewis & the News, "Stuck With You"</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bestill my heart. Yeah, I know I've said over and over that the 80s were the decade that killed pop music, and I still say I'm right, but . . . Huey. <i>Huey. </i>It's <a href="http://thesonginmyheadtoday.blogspot.com/2008/10/we-should-be-making-love-huey-lewis-and.html">a matter of public record</a><b>,</b> my fangirl crush on Huey Lewis, even though I was by then a married lady soon to give birth to our first child. It's like the last gasp of great, upbeat, swinging pop music, with a little retro doo-wop flair; besides which, who wouldn't love this video?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>1996: Los Del Rio "Macarena"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bit of a time jump here, for reasons I've explained above. And yes, I suppose this was a novelty song, a throwback to the dance-craze songs of the mid-60s ("The Twist") and late 70s ("Do the Hustle"). But along with all those gyrating fembots, here come two Latino gents in suits to deliver the refrain -- "Hey, macarena!". You couldn't get away from this song for weeks that fall. It had already been a hit in Spain and Latin America a couple of years earlier, but when Miami clubgoers repeatedly requested it, a savvy producer churned out a disco-inflected version with added English-language lyrics -- and they hit the US big-time. (It took years for this to be unseated as the longest-running #1 on the Hot 100 charts. You can't help but like this song, which claims to be nothing more than a party track. Party tracks, in case you hadn't realized, are a <b>good</b> thing. <b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2010: Bruno Mars, "Just the Way You Are" </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Quadruple-threat Bruno Mars -- singer, songwriter, producer, dancer -- restores my faith in pop music. He's brought back tempo, style, nuance, and suavity. Forget the 1977 Billy Joel song of the same title: Bruno's is so much more playful and adoring; love how it soars in the chorus. This was Bruno's first really big hit, though he's proven himself with several follow-ups. He's the real deal. Fun fact: Megan Trainor's delightful 2014 debut hit "All About That Bass" was inspired by this track. <b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>2011: Adele, "Someone Like You"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yes, please. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I suppose I shouldn't define my Adele fanship totally in terms of other singers. But let me put this out there: I've always loved her big emotional voice more than her contemporary Amy Winehouse's; and while I've gradually come to appreciate Lady Gaga, I admire Adele for not needing theatricality to sell her songs. Just stand on the stage and sing, girl. So here's my gold standard: can you deliver the same power and passion as my girl Dusty Springfield? The good news is that Adele can.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And
give the girl props for writing her own songs, out of her own emotional
landscape. (I guess I dropped this thread, but from the mid-60s on, artists who wrote their own material had so much more credibility with me.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As a song to an ex, who seems to have moved on better than
she has, it's full of passion landmines, every one of which she
explodes. To me, a diva is a selfish spotlight-seeking egomaniac, and I
want nothing to do with divas. For Adele, as for Dusty, the heartbreak
is all too real, and close to the skin, and she's only sharing it
because she suspects maybe you too have had your heart broken in just
this same way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm on Dusty's team, and I'm on Adele's. Dusty, sadly, is no longer with us. But so long as Adeles and Brunos still pop up from time to time, I'll continue to care about pop music. Why not?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></span></b>Holly A Hugheshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17828633442418722187noreply@blogger.com0