R.I.P. Phil Everly

As a coda to yesterday's post . . . yet another cover of "Last Thing On My Mind," this one sung by the late, great Phil Everly.

Again, the Everly Brothers were just before my time -- that's me, always playing catch-up. I do own a copy of Dave Edmunds' and Nick Lowe's EP of Everlys covers, but even that I only bought in 2008 when I discovered Rockpile years too late.  So I won't claim to have been an Everly Brothers fan. That doesn't stop me from being genuinely sad at the news that Phil Everly, the younger of the duo, has just passed away at age 74.  (Only 74? So they were really still kids when they starting making hit records in 1957...)  

I'm sure I saw them perform on TV variety shows -- from the old school programs like Ed Sullivan and Perry Como's and Andy Williams', down to network attempts at hipness like Shindig! and Hullabaloo.  (Or was it Shindig and Hullabaloo!?). I certainly knew who they were, even if I vaguely confused them with the Righteous Brothers. I know, I know, totally different sound and those guys weren't even brothers, but all that flew right over my grade-school head.

I had no idea which one sang the high part and which one the low part, or rather the not-as-high part, in their close brotherly harmonies. (For the record, research tells me Phil was the higher voice). But I definitely recognized their songs when I heard them on the radio. "Wake Up Little Susie" was probably my favorite -- what was yours?

"Merry Christmas, Baby" / Charles Brown & Bonnie Raitt

I'm all juiced for Christmas songs. I love it all, carols and schmaltzy Tin Pan Alley standards and endless rounds of The Nutcracker, the whole shebang. 'Tis the season to hear Elvis croon "Blue Christmas," Dion rock around the Christmas tree, and Nat King Cole yearn for chestnuts roasting on an open fire. It's worth wading through all the sticky-sweet "Silent Nights" and "White Christmases" to find gems like Johnny Mathis's "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" and -- yes, I'll confess -- James Taylor's ultra-sappy "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas." I even get a thrill from hearing Dean Martin slosh his merry way through "Baby It's Cold Outside," or -- a true test of the Christmas spirit -- the infamous duet of Bing Crosby and David Bowie on "The Little Drummer Boy." Bring it on.

Of course, a little rock 'n' roll sass can do wonders for even the silliest holiday standards. My three favorite Christmas albums of all time have to be the Phil Spector Christmas album (long live the Ronettes' "Frosty the Snowman" and Darlene Love's "Marshmallow World"!), a seriously rockin' compilation of vintage R&R called Hot Rod Holiday, and Christmas With the Beach Boys (dig that magic moment when "Little Saint Nick" almost morphs into "Run Run Rudolph"!). Granted, a lot of dreck has been served up over the years as well. Apparently you couldn't be signed to the Motown label without turning out at least one LP of holiday cheese, and over the years every Nashville star had to ladle out a serving of Christmas treacle at some point. Don't even mention that Bob Dylan Christmas album to me, either. But what really leaves me cold are those self-righteous Very Special Christmas all-star charity things. Do we really need to hear Madonna sing "Santa Baby" or Sting twiddle his lute on "I Saw Three Ships"? Okay, I take it back about Sting; that boy does English folk like nobody's business. But all those Bon Jovi and Eric Clapton and Sheryl Crow over-achieving renditions of the same old carols and standards -- let's kick it up to eleven! -- are just too tedious.



Here's the exception, though. The old R&B standard "Merry Christmas, Baby" (not the same song as the Beach Boy's "Merry Christmas Baby") is performed on the second Very Special Christmas album by singer/pianist Charles Brown, the same guy who did the original back in 1947 with Johnny Moore's Three Blazers (Johnny Moore wrote the song with Lou Baxter). A top ten hit in 1947, this song has been covered by everybody from Chuck Berry and B. B. King to Hanson and Bruce Springsteen (also on one of these Very Special Christmas discs). But the song really belongs to Charles Brown, and it's a joy to hear him update his recording. He's paired up with Bonnie Raitt, who spearheaded a revival of his career in the late 1980s; they recorded this track in 1992, a few years before his death in 1999. I'm betting this wouldn't have qualified for this all-star project without Bonnie's presence, but she brings enough blues cred with her that nobody dared mess with the old-school groove of this track.

Like a lot of modern Christmas songs, this one hasn't got a thing to do with Jesus; even Santa only makes a brief off-screen appearance. Mostly it's a love song, a contented jazzy stroll by a man who wakes up Christmas morning happy with his baby. (Translation: He got some holiday nookie.) It's so laidback, I don't even feel my usual impatience with the long solos in the instrumental break -- it's Christmas morning, we've got the day off, who's rushing anywhere? Bonnie and Charles turn it into a duet, which works great -- I love the bit where he sings, "I would love to kiss you baby" and she replies, invitingly, "Well, I'm standing right here underneath the mistletoe."

Christmas trappings? Who needs 'em? All this couple has is "good music on my radio" and each other. Yeah, there are presents there, but they're almost irrelevant; they're simply proof of affection. It almost doesn't matter what's inside the tinsel and paper. There's no decorations, no big fancy dinner, no floods of friends and relatives to raise the stress levels. It's just the two of them, and it's bliss.

In the last verse, he lazily sings, "I haven’t had a drink this mornin’ baby / But I’m all lit up like a Christmas tree." I love that image. So here's my Christmas wish for all of you -- whatever it takes, may you be lit up like a Christmas tree on Friday. Joy to the world indeed.

"Nervous Breakdown" / Eddie Cochran

This came blasting out of the car radio yesterday, knocking me completely ass over teakettle. What a hoot this song is! Up to now, the only song of Eddie Cochran's I could identify was "Summertime Blues," and even that I only know from a K-Tel compilation disc called Summer Blast or something dumb like that. Eddie Cochran's one of those guys that 60s British rockers were always citing as one of their heroes, but I regret to say he was before my time. He's just wasn't around that long, either -- tragically, he died at age 21 in a taxi crash in England (Gene Vincent was in the taxi with him but survived). It's amazing that so much of Cochran's music survives. The guy must have been a music-writing machine. A seminal guitar god, too, Wikipedia tells me (what would we do without Wikipedia?), but it's all about how he tuned down his third string and that means absolutely nothing to me -- I'll just take Wikipedia as gospel and run with it.

The minute I heard this song, though, I knew I'd heard it before, in that glorious audial soup of my childhood. I just had no idea it was Eddie Cochran. It's incredibly primitive -- just a chugging guitar line, simple drums, and handclaps, behind Cochran's exitable rockabilly vocals. You've got to love how he camps it up, emitting little squeals and gasps on words like "shiver" and "quiver" and "jitter." (Whoo-wee! Going all Jerry Lee Lewis on us.) "I'm a-havin' a nervous breakdown / A mental shakedown," he moans, vibrating his voice on "nervous." It reminds me of that novelty song from the 60s, "They're Coming To Take Me Away" -- totally tongue in cheek. I can so hear the echoes of this in Roger Daltrey's stutter in the Who's "My Generation."

In the verse, he goes to see his doctor -- still to the same jiving rhythm -- and old doc gives him the word: "Hey, boy, you just gotta slow down / You can't keep a-traipsin' all over town / After givin' you a physical check /I've come to the conclusion you're a total wreck." He plays this like it's woeful news, but the subtext is, Hey, it's medically confirmed -- I'm a total wild man! And that lugubrious tone is all a pose -- he likes being a wild man, that onanistic guitar riff and the knee-jerk handclaps tell you he's still at it. He's pure adolescent id, convinced of his own immortality and self-absorbed to the max.

Oh, yeah, in the third verse, he declares he's going to reform: "I've made up my mind I'd better change my ways / My shattered nerves have seen better days." But how long can it last? "No more girls for a week or two," he promises, getting high on renunciation; "No more runnin' 'round with the usual crew / No more movies or stayin' out late." Yeah, like going to the movies is what's ruining his health. "My baby 'll have to find herself another date," he adds, shaking his head -- the sacrifices I have to make! What a drama queen.

Wikipedia tells me that this record only became a hit after his death, when I guess they were dredging up everything he'd ever recorded (he only had released one album when he died). This all happened only a year after Buddy Holly and Richie Valens and the Big Bopper died. Early rock 'n' roll sure lived up to its live-fast-die-young image, didn't it? But even now, the irrepressible energy of this song practically burns its way through the speakers. God, rock 'n' roll used to be fun. When did it start taking itself too seriously?

Nervous Breakdown sample

“I Wanna Be Loved” / Ricky Nelson

28 DAYS OF LOVE SONGS

At least the Troggs had someone specific in mind to seduce – in this 1959 rockabilly number, Ricky Nelson’s on the prowl for anybody, just another restless teenager hot with desire. It’s hard to imagine that Ricky Nelson would ever need to hunt for a girl; thousands of dewy teens in poodle skirts would have been eager to help him out. But while Ricky most often fluttered their hearts with syrupy ballads like “Lonesome Town” and “Fools Rush In” (that’s what his butterscotch-sweet voice did best), this slouchy rockbilly stuff is what he really wanted to sing. Just listen to him rock out on this number (is that James Burton on the twangy guitar?). Elvis may have been King at the time, but Prince Ricky could easily have taken over the throne.

With his TV-star status, Ricky Nelson couldn’t go for Chuck Berry raunchiness – only a wholesome girl would do. The first verse is bare echo-chambered vocals, with just finger snaps and jangly high hats punctuating his heartfelt declaration: “Well I know somewhere there's bound to be / A girl who'd really care for me / Somebody that-a really loves me” -- though he does get to specify “somebody that'll kiss and hug me.” (Even after the guitar comes in in verse two, there’s more upright stuff about her loving him faithfully and understanding him.) And Ricky, being the perfect clean-cut Boy Next Door, offers upright affection in return in the bridge: “I'm gonna treat her just as good as I can / I’m gonna give her anything her heart desires.”

But I’m sorry, if you ever watched The Adventures of Ozzie & Harriet like I did, you know that a girl could sink into Ricky’s langorous blue eyes and soft lips -- there was sex all around, just not explicit sex. The lyrics may have sounded innocent, but Ricky knew how to curl his voice sensually around a phrase, or give a sly thrust to a certain word. “The girl I am dreamin' of,” he sings lazily, then throws a surprise punch: “Is gonna love me” – beat – “like I wanna be loved.” And then the guitar swoops in, telling us wordlessly what kind of lovin’ Ricky’s really got in mind.

After all, even a squeaky-clean teen idol has needs. “Say now, don't you understand,” he pleads, earnestly, “That I need somebody to call my own / I'm so tired of being alone,” with just a shadow of a groan. (Dig that urgent female back-up, whoo-hooing high and lonely like a train whistle.) By the next time he sings, “I'm gonna treat her just as good as I can,” you may be inspired to plug in a different verb for “treat.” “I wanna give her anything her heart desires,” he insists – and of course, if she’s the kind of girl he hopes she is, her heart might very well desire….

“The girl I'd like to find, “he concludes, “Is gonna let me know that she's really mine.” And how is she going to let him know that? The same way that the girl in the Troggs’ song was going to let her love show, I’ll bet. Oh, this doesn’t mean that Ricky wouldn’t marry her and love her forever. Such a nice young man, after all. But if you’re thinking that that soda-shoppe romance would be entirely chaste, you haven’t really been listening to Ricky Nelson.

I Wanna Be Loved sample

“My True Love” / Bobby Fuller

28 DAYS OF LOVE SONGS

Buddy Holly yesterday, today Bobby Fuller--another rock-and-rolling Texan who died tragically young (age 23, found mysteriously dead in his car in 1964). Thanks to my friend Rob Keith of the Baskervilles for first turning me on to the Bobby Fuller Four, who clung to their Holly-inspired classic sound, even while America was being invaded by the Beatles and their compatriots. Like Holly, Fuller didn’t deal in irony or oblique storytelling—which makes his love songs (and most of his songs are about love) perfect for this month’s project.

Hallmarks of Fuller’s style include clangy surf guitars, splashes of Mexicali percussion, and echo chambers whenever he could get ‘em. Whereas yesterday’s song, “Words of Love,” goes for a lover’s intimacy, “My True Love” is a Statement Song: He isn’t talking to his girl, trying to seduce her, but formally declaring to the world how wonderful she is. How refreshing is that?

The song announces itself with a trumpet-like flourish of guitar, followed by a rat-tat-tat shimmer of triangle – a call to attention. Then it shifts into a legato melodic line as she spiels off her virtues. “Dearer she than you would dream to find / Is my own true love / Sweeter she than the sweetest wine / Is my true love” – the word order’s stilted and self-conscious, but why not? He’s not describing kisses or her sexy way of walking, he’s praising her character: “Gentle and shy with a sunny smile / Like the sky above.” Fuller’s earnest vocals make you believe it, too, as he finishes off that verse with “Never will I roam another mile [I love that vocal twiddle on “mile”]/ For my true love.” Irony would have killed this song.

He does develop his ideas a bit in the middle eight, shifting the focus from her to his own feelings. He sounds grateful and relieved -- “No more other loves to taunt me / No more winding trails to haunt me / I have found my place in the sun / With my true one.” (That line about finding his place in the sun sounds to me like it’s straight out of some John Ford Western.) What a nice change from the usual rockabilly image of the Ramblin’ Man. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who wrote (his one big hit) “I Fought the Law.”

Bobby Fuller could also do the Complaint Song (“Love’s Made a Fool of You”), the Warning Song (“Baby My Heart”), and even the Under Your Spell Song (“The Magic Touch,” which has some surprisingly psychedelic touches for 1964). It’s all pretty darn good stuff. But right now, while the Valentine’s spirit is on me – I’ll take “My True Love.”

My True Love sample

"Words of Love" / Buddy Holly

28 DAYS OF LOVE SONGS

I don't agree with Don McLean -- 50 years ago today was not the day the music died. The plane crash that killed Buddy Holly and Richie Valens was tragic indeed, but music this exuberant just doesn't die.

The kid was only 20 years when he wrote this song -- don't expect tons of emotional complexity. Besides, this was the dawn of rock & roll; emotional complexity belonged to Frank Sinatra, not to a scrawny rockabilly contender from West Texas. All the same, this blissfully simple three-chord song packs a nice bit of romantic punch. Even within this primitive song structure, he finds a way to build a surge of desire into each verse. I love how the verses keep curling inward, opening with a long run-together line of invitation ("Hold me close and tell me how you feel"), followed by a shortened, more urgent plea ("Tell me love is real") and then a husky, intimate hum, like the cuddle at the end of this musical hug.

In each line he hops by intervals down the scale ("Words of love you whisper soft and true / Oh darlin' I love you"), pushing to the lower limits of his boyish voice, then he soars upward on that yearning hum -- whatever she's whispering to him, it really sends him into ecstasy. He starts out with calm confident quarter notes ("Let me hear you say"), then gets carried away with a burst of eighth notes ("the words I want to hear"); he steadies himself with a half-measure of rest, then eagerly adds, "Darling when you're near" before releasing it all in that hum/groan of desire.

That hum is just pure genius, isn't it? That's the best part of this song -- that and the guitar riff. Listen to how he echoes the melody's broken chord on plucked quarter notes (just like he doubles his own voice in the harmonies), then trips into an joyous eighth-note arpeggio, as if he just can't contain the happiness of being with her.

I first got to know this song through the Beatles' cover of it on Beatles VI; of course I love their version, but the home-demo quality of this 1957 single has a raw, earnest appeal that even Paul and John couldn't quite catch. Maybe it's the guttural earthiness of Lennon's vocals, maybe it's the echo effect or the busyness of Ringo's drumming (those handclaps are awfully distracting), but somehow I'm aware of there being a crowd in the room. Buddy Holly's version? It really feels intimate, like it's just him and his girl alone in a room. And who knows where those words of love could lead next?

Words of Love sample

"Travelin' Man" / Ricky Nelson

I've been intending to get hold of some Ricky Nelson tunes for months now. I don't know what triggered this . . . maybe listening to Paul McCartney's cover of "Lonesome Town" on Run Devil Run; maybe an article discussing legendary guitarist James Burton, who did some of his finest work with Ricky; maybe it was the unexpectedly large trove of Ricky Nelson artifacts at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last summer? But there I was this afternoon in an FYE record store, sifting through bins and bins of post-holiday discounted CDs, and this Ricky Nelson greatest hits compilation just jumped out at me. For two bucks, I figured, I couldn't lose. I've been playing it all afternoon, and I'm truly digging it.

I was too young for the Elvis Presley thing (in my household, Elvis definitely means Costello), but I do have fuzzy early memories of Ricky Nelson on the old black-and-white Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. I swear, even as a little kid, I cynically assumed that Ricky only got to sing on TV because his folks owned the show. Sure, his records sold, but teenage girls were bound to buy them -- Ricky Nelson at 16 was just about the most gorgeous thing that television had ever offered. Even I could tell that.

It took me years to realize that Ricky Nelson was a credible rockabilly artist; if anything, being a TV personality probably worked against him getting the respect he deserved. (Well, that and the fact that he still had to release a certain number of soppy ballads for the teenage idol market. )

I remember watching his performance of "Travelin' Man" from 1961 -- a segment that's been called the first music video, a montage dropped into the end of the show to promote Ricky's new single. It worked, evidently, because this single shot to #1. (The fact that the flip side was "Hello Mary Lou" couldn't have hurt, either. ) Apparently the songwriter, Jerry Fuller, first wrote this song for Sam Cooke, and oh man, he'd have done a lovely job with it, I can just imagine. But Ricky snapped it right up, and his version is pure gold.

The Beach Boys' "California Girls," and by extension the Beatles' "Back in the USSR," lead straight back to this song, a rockin' atlas of love in three verses plus chorus. Yes, it's a Tin Pan Alley conceit, about all the girls that this footloose guy has stringing along; even Ricky's ultra-sincere delivery can't entirely subdue the caddish subtext, as he lists these adoring women from Mexico to Alaska to Germany to Hong Kong to Polynesia to Hawaii (what a 50s list of hotspots that is!). It isn't exactly autobiography, but after all Ricky did have a world-wide legion of adoring fans by then -- that had to add a little spark of authenticity to the single.

Know what? This song still works. That liquid melody, laid over a light cha-cha-cha beat, with the doo-wop backup chorus -- it glides along with such a light, suave touch. I love how the key shifts upward, longingly, for that chorus: "Oh my sweet Fraulein down in Berlin town / Makes my heart start to yearn / And my China doll down in old Hong Kong / Waits for my return." Sexist? Yeah, probably, and racist too. Come to think of it, Sam Cooke might have detected those darker undertones; maybe that's why he passed on this song. But smooth-faced Ricky Nelson, with those innocent blue bedroom eyes -- he totally got away with it.

Okay, so youthful rebellion wasn't his thing; he wasn't selling himself as a dangerous wildcat. Ricky Nelson was the safe alternative to Elvis, the one the nice girls preferred; his honey-like voice didn't have the jolt, or the guttural snarl, that Presley had. (Think of him as Paul to Elvis' John.) On the other hand, Ricky Nelson didn't need to have the camera fixed rigidly above the waist -- hell, the guy barely even moved his lips when he sang, let alone swivel his pelvis. He made rock and roll palatable to anxious middle-class parents across the nation; if Ozzie and Harriet could let their beloved youngest son dabble in this new music, maybe it wasn't so dangerous after all.

Little did they know where all that would lead...

Travelin' Man sample

“Before the Night Is Over” / Jerry Lee Lewis and B. B. King

Duet albums? I’m sick of ‘em. The record companies have jumped on this gimmick to revive an aging artist’s career at the end of his/her days – Frank Sinatra and Ray Charles, two cases in point. So I was skeptical about buying last year’s Jerry Lee Lewis duet album – but I shouldn’t have been.

I should have been able to tell from its title, Last Man Standing (not to mention the cover shot of Jerry Lee hammering away at a grand piano that’s burst into flames), that this wouldn’t be a mere exercise in coasting. No collaborators made the cut unless they were willing to let Jerry Lee, the original wild man of rock ‘n’ roll, tear loose and take the lead. And it works because his playing AND singing are in prime form. The liner notes claim that this project breathed new life into Jerry Lee, who'd been sick and basically out of commission until rock 'n' roll came to the rescue. You sure can't tell it, though, by listening to this album. Respect must be paid.

My favorite track, from the very first listen, has been track #2, “Before the Night Is Over,” which teams Jerry Lee up with B.B. King, two old masters trading off sizzling solos between the verses. Jerry Lee so completely rocks the joint with his honky-tonk piano, B.B.is hard put to take the spotlight when it comes his turn -- and to give him credit, he seems happy just to let Jerry Lee shine. God bless both of them.

It’s a cunning old blues song by Ben Peters, sung by Jerry Lee with just the right amount of sexy swagger. Just get a load of the chorus: “And before the night is over you're gonna be in love / I bet you by the mornin', I'll be the only one that you'll be thinkin' of.” The way he hits that word “love” -- now there is CONFIDENCE. Jerry Lee may be 80 years old but he still knows what it means to have mojo. Those insouciant glissandos, the twiddling grace notes, the pounding chords – here is a man in charge. Listening to this for the first time in my car, I couldn’t help but shift in my seat and think, “All right, Jerry Lee, show me what you’re made of.”

Of course it’s also wheedling, and more than a little opportunistic: “I can tell by the way you're a little bit lonesome baby [“just like Jerry Lee," he can’t resist tossing in, winsomely] / It's just like someone that you're needing to forget / Honey, that's the same thing with me / I've been wonderin' baby, why don't we / Just make believe it ain't the first time we have met.” Nothing like taking advantage of a woman when she’s on the rebound. All the same, that chuckling drawl lets her know that he won’t feel hurt if she turns him down. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But if she’s up for a little fun, fun’s what this tomcat can deliver. Grrr-owll.

Confession time: I still prefer to picture Jerry Lee as Dennis Quaid in the movie Great Balls of Fire, and, okay, I have a thing for Dennis Quaid. Until I saw that movie I didn’t get the point of Jerry Lee. But listening to this new CD, with this wild man raging against the dying of the light, I have to say…whoo-ah.

http://music.download.com/jerryleelewis/3600-8735_32-100031155.html

"Only Love Can Break A Heart" / Gene Pitney
"Only Love Can Break Your Heart" / Neil Young

Listed among all the American musicians who inspired the young Beatles -- Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers -- it always surprises me to hear Gene Pitney's name. Somewhere in the aural slagheap of songs I heard on the family radio before I gained musical consciousness (i.e., before the Beatles' first U.S. tour), I remember those torchy Gene Pitney ballads, but they seemed quintessentially 1950s music to me. I lump all those guys together: Frankie Laine, Roy Orbison, Dion, Ricky Nelson, and all the Bobbies (Vee, Vinton, Darrin, Rydell, etc). That's not to say I don't like them . . . but hey, I like Dean Martin and Vic Damone too. I always thought rock 'n' roll was something different.

On the radio the other day, however, this Gene Pitney song came on, and -- you know what? It is a GREAT song. What makes it great is that flat-out yearning in Pitney's voice, the emotional catch in the throat, all its little wobbles and swoops, the way his vocal cracks on the occasional line. ("You know I'm sorry / I'll prove it / With just one kiss..."). I can see how this intensity inspired the Beatles, not to mention how John Lennon stole that crafty cracking-voice trick.

Of course the arrangement is horribly dated, with its melodramatic string section, echo chamber backup choir, those two interludes of cornball whistling. All this schmaltz for a teenage love song? But teenagers were his core audience, and having a blow-out fight with your girlfriend can be a Huge Event for a teenager -- and Pitney gave it the passion it deserves. Let's also remember that he wasn't speaking for his male listeners so much as casting himself as the sort of tender lover his female fans wanted. I can imagine plenty of tear-stained pillows were clutched to angora-sweatered bosoms while this 45 spun on the turntable.

Burt Bacharach and Hal David wrote this tune (those guys pop up EVERYWHERE), which may account for its sophisticated angle. We launch abruptly into the middle of the story -- it starts out "Last night I hurt you / But darling / Remember this" -- and we never actually find out what he did (I have to admit, I'm curious). But that's beside the point, at least from his perspective. Now he's backpedaling like crazy, offering a convoluted argument to win her back: if you're so heartbroken, you must love me a lot -- therefore you must love me enough to take me back. It's flawed logic, but there's a good chance that her hormones are raging so hard, she'll fall for it. Pitney goes at it with full-bore regret, though I suppose in a modern cover the singer could be a sleazeball seducer. "Please let me hold you / And love you / For always, and always" -- that's one horny line, even the way Pitney sings it. He wants back in, and he'll do anything to get there.

Eight years later, Neil Young recorded a winsome acoustic waltz with practically the same title, "Only Love Can Break Your Heart," but it's about as different as a song can be. By 1970 "love" had a new meaning, a post-Summer of Love hippie meaning. In classic wistful folk-rock mode, Neil muses on the value of making honest emotional connections, even if it means risking heartbreak. Addressing the whole world, not just one specific lover, he's armed with just a acoustic guitar and that earnest, slightly strangled vocal, with a few friends harmonizing in the background. No echo chambers. No strings. It's a grander statement about life, but delivered with affecting simplicity.

"But only love can break your heart / Try to be sure right from the start / Yes, only love can break your heart / What if your world should fall apart . . . " The mellow, slightly stoned tempo floats you along, thinking lovely abstract thoughts about how love is all you need. The heartbreak reality gets lost in the shaky shuffle.

I love this Neil Young track -- and yet whenever I read that title, it's Gene Pitney's voice that flashes first into my mind; that's how deeply that Pitney track lies embedded in my subconscious. Lovely abstract thoughts just don't pack the wallop of a real guy and a real girl going through teenage angst. I guess I've sold Gene Pitney short all these years.
Well, for the record, I think she should take him back, no matter what he did. After all, he's really sorry. Just listen to that shiver in his voice...

Give Pitney a listen: http://www.amazon.com/Many-Sides-Pitney-Break-Heart/dp/B000000PTS or check out Neil: http://www.amazon.com/After-Gold-Rush-Neil-Young/dp/B000002KD9/sr=1-13/qid=1172724009/ref=sr_1_13/002-8741997-4930451?ie=UTF8&s=music