My Birthday #1s

Happy Birthday to Me Part 3

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. 

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. 

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.

Still, here are a few October 8th #1s that I was delighted to see -- hope you're happy to see them too! 

1976: Wild Cherry, "Play That Funky Music"
Seems to me that the title leaves out the most important words -- "Play that funky music, white boy!" 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 Average White Band, 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 . . . 

1980: Queen "Another One Bites the Dust"
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. 

1982: John Cougar, "Jack and Diane"
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....

1983: Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
Years ago I posted this song in an Eighties Cheese Week thread, 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. 

1985: Dire Straits, "Money for Nothing" 

Ahh, the glory days of MTV. Loved this cynical track, 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. 

1986: Huey Lewis & the News, "Stuck With You"

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. Huey. It's a matter of public record,  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?

 

1996: Los Del Rio "Macarena"
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 good thing.    

2010: Bruno Mars, "Just the Way You Are" 
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.  

2011: Adele, "Someone Like You"
Yes, please. 


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.

 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.)

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.

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?
     

The 100 Best Singles In My Head
Nos. 46-50

For some bizarre reason, today's five songs -- all from the late 70s and early 80s, on the threshold of rock music's downward 80s spiral -- are mostly songs I haven't written about before. I can't figure out why. I mean, jeez, look at them! Oh, sure, I've written about the Kinks, Marshall Crenshaw, and Van Morrison before; it's just that these particular songs somehow escaped blogging heretofore. Time to remedy that directly.

[Click on the highlighted links to read my earlier posts on those songs]

46. "Moondance" / Van Morrison (1977)
Going off to college nowadays, kids can expect to share a common set of cultural references with their new classmates -- they all grew up with the same Happy Meal toys, the same Playstation games, the same Nickelodeon cartoons, the same websites. But when I went off to college, American culture was still regional; a Midwestern girl like me often had no clue what the New England kids were talking about. In Indianapolis, we'd just barely heard "Brown-Eyed Girl" by a British band called Them; the name of their Irish lead singer, Van Morrison, wasn't on my radar. But in the early 70s Van, now a solo act, was huge in the Boston area, particularly his 1970s album Moondance and 1971's Tupelo Honey. Everybody from the Northeast seemed to know the title cut from Moondance, and played it endlessly in the dorms; in that album-oriented age, it didn't matter that it had never been released as a single. Fast-forward now to November 1977, when the record company, stymied by Van's three-year writer's block, finally packaged "Moondance" as a single. I had just moved back to the States after two years in England, and hearing this song on the radio reassured me that I hadn't missed much while I was away. Which was of course not true -- the radio was otherwise infested with Fleetwood Mac and Billy Joel, not to mention the Bee Gees, Barry Manilow, and (shudder!) the Eagles. In that context, no wonder Van's eight-year-old record sounded timelessly great, its Celtic soul sound distilled with laidback cool jazz. The saxophone part on this was like honey (Van, a saxophonist himself, composed the melody first, working it out on a sax); even better is that nimble Jeff Labes piano solo in the middle eight. And best of all is the sinuous prowl of Van's singing -- leaping for the high notes, snuggling with the lows, flirting outrageously with the syncopated beat. Towards the end, Van just gives up and becomes a saxophone. "A fantabulous night to make romance," indeed. "And every tiiime I touch you, you just tremble inside / And I know how much you want me, that you can't hide" -- jeeeeSUS.

47. "Jack and Diane" / John Mellencamp (1982)
By 1982, I was living in New York, having abandoning my Midwestern roots -- except when I heard John Cougar Mellencamp's song on the radio, transporting me in an instant back to my Indiana home.

48. "Someday, Someway" / Marshall Crenshaw (1982)
Amid all the New Wavers, punks, and hair bands of 1982, the crisp retro power-pop of Marshall Crenshaw was like an effervescent jolt of sanity. I'll credit my work buddy Amy McKinley with first bringing Marshall's debut LP into the Scholastic magazine offices, but it was an easy sell -- we all went nuts over it. "Someday, Someway" was the official single off of Marshall Crenshaw, but honestly, every track on that record could have hit radio gold. ("Cynical Girl," anybody? "The Usual Thing"? "Rocking Around in NYC"?) It's perfect car music, perfect drive-in music, perfect dance music, perfect sing-along-at-the-bar music. The jangly guitar, the rockabilly beat, the handclaps, the background ooohs, and Marshall's reverbed sweet tenor -- divine. There's a glorious adolescent urgency to it, as he puzzles over how to please his girlfriend -- in the first chorus, he sighs, "Someday, someway, / Maybe I'll understand you," but by the second chorus, he's shaking his head, lamenting, "Someday, someway, / Maybe you'll understand me". But, god bless him, he's in it to win it, as he declares in the bridge and third verse:

You've taken everything from me,
I've taken everything from you
I'll love you for my whole life throo-ough, oooh --
Now after all you've done for me
All I really want to do
Is take the love you brought my way
And give it all right back to you.

It may seem simple, but it's really genius songcraft-- has anybody ever done more with interchangeable pronouns? Years later, I'm still nuts over Marshall Crenshaw's music, as he's grown and deepened as an artist -- he's one of my lifetime top ten. (Click here for a recent vid of MC singing this classic.) Unfortunately, this was the peak of his singles success, but hey, I had to get him on this list someday, someway.

49. "Sultans of Swing" / Dire Straits (1978)
I'd like to say I was an early Dire Straits fan, but to be honest, the only album of theirs I ever bought was -- like everybody else in America -- 1985's Brothers in Arms, with its MTV-primed hits "Money For Nothing" and "Walk Of Life." But those songs now seem dated to me, while the tender nostalgia of "Sultans Of Swing" is fresh as yesterday. Dire Straits' debut hit -- in fact, the demo track that won them their first record contract -- "Sultans of Swing" is a lovely little observational song, set in a pub in south London (probably around Greenwich) where the resident jazz band is performing to a crowd of maybe half a dozen unappreciative drunks. And there's Knopfler, in the back of the room, mesmerized by their musicianship -- "the band is blowing Dixie / double four time" -- focusing in turn on each band member (Guitar George, Harry) and their pure devotion to the music, whether anybody's listening or not. Now, admit it -- when you're in a cocktail lounge, don't you feel sad for the pianist when nobody applauds his songs? I know I do. Yet the band soldiers on, proudly announcing at the end of the night -- as the barkeeps wipe the last pint glasses and the drunks reel for the door -- "We are the Sultans of Swing!" (Apparently this was the name of Alan Freed's band in the 1950s, before he became a famous payola DJ.) The song itself isn't done in jazz style -- after all, Knopfler had to craft a track that would show off his own guitar-playing chops, that long continuous line and those diving swift-fingered riffs -- but already he'd figured out his trademark storytelling style, with husky half-spoken vocals. It works so well here, drawing us into the intimate circle of the pub, spotlighting the musicians, getting into their heads. Here Knopfler was, at the start of his music career, and already wistful about it. I loved hearing this song on the radio, especially late at night. But I never bought the record -- like those drunks in the pub, I didn't appreciate the band enough. Maybe that's why I bought Brothers in Arms, as payback for the song I really loved.

50. "Come Dancing" / The Kinks (1983)
And speaking of tender nostalgia -- here's Ray Davies' brilliant evocation of post-war Britain, through the eyes of young Raymond watching his older sister head out on a date to the local dance palais. Don't worry, there'll be other Kinks songs on this list -- much as I love "Come Dancing," in the universe of Kinks songs it's not my peak. But it deserves a spot on this singles roster because, as their first major radio hit since "Lola," it sparked a mini-Kinks renaissance in my heart. I'd felt estranged from My Kinks during those arena rock years, as if they had betrayed me -- but the themes and sound of "Come Dancing" proved to me that Ray hadn't really abandoned his North London roots. The wistful longing for the past, distress at urban redevelopment, those were vintage Kinks elements. Ray's delivery is pure music-hall patter, and the arrangement feels vintage too, though it's a pastiche of sounds -- the steel-band riff for the neighborhood's newer immigrants, echoed by the big band horns of the 40s, with rock-and-roll guitars sneaking in the occasional 60s power chords. It's like time-lapse phonography, the musical equivalent of the changing real estate: "They put a parking lot on a piece of land / When the supermarket used to stand. / Before that they put up a bowling alley / On the site that used to be the local palais." Of course, since this is Ray Davies, there are a plethora of wonderful lines like "He'd end up blowing all his wages for the week / All for a cuddle and a peck on the cheek" or "My sister's married and she lives on an estate. / Her daughters go out, now it's her turn to wait." But c'mon, the best part of all is that spoken-word interval, where Ray recalls crouching at the top of the stairs, spying on his sister's goodnight kiss. Ah, Ray, always the voyeur.