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?
     

Another Shuffle for Holt

Because that playlist just has too many great tunes not to go for another round.

1. "American Tune" / Paul Simon (1973)
"I don't know a soul who's not been battered / I don't have a friend who feels at ease / Don't know a dream that's not been shattered / Or driven to its knees" -- yep, that's life, and Paul Simon's never been afraid of facing that down. My brother the minister got that, too. Best part of this song -- where he dreams that he's dying, and he flies, freed from his mortal bonds, over the Statue of Liberty. The song breaks free of its gentle melodic patterns (stolen from Bach, I feel compelled to note) and soars into another realm of consciousness.

2. "The Weight" / The Band (1968)
Surely I'm not the only one who finds something Christlike about the singer of this song, wandering into town to "take a load off Fanny / And put the load right on me." And after meeting all the characters in town, he takes his wistful fare-thee-well -- "My bag is sinking low and I do believe it's time." Holt had this album, Music From Big Pink, though it took me years to figure out why these guys were worth listening to. They may have been a Canadian band, but they took their cue from Appalachian folk music, and from thence all the great Scots-Irish folk songs, in which the spectre of death is ever-present.

3. "Drive South" / John Hiatt (1988)
I've bragged here about how I knew Johnny Hiatt, growing up in Indianapolis, but my brother knew him better than I did, and was just as astonished as I was when we discovered he'd become not just a rock star but a genuine artist. I took Holt to see JH for his birthday a few years go, and he saw him a few more times after that. So you know there had to be at least one Hiatt tune on the playlist. I love this one for three reasons: 1) It's about driving, and Holt loved driving (Indy, natch); 2) It's a sexy seduction song ("Don't bother to pack your nylons / Just keep those pretty legs showing / It gets hot down where we're going")  and my brother, he loved the ladies; and 3) "drive south" may be a metaphor for going to hell. My brother worked a powerful lot of good in his life, but he was no saint, and who knows how tough the grading system is at the pearly gates?  But if he's headed to hell, then hell's a reasonable option for us all.

4. "The Cape" / Guy Clark (1995)
The first time I heard Guy Clark sing this song, all I could think of was my brother, and how much he loved to dress up in costumes as a kid. And yes, like the hero of this song, even when he was old and grey, people still thought he acted like a kid. But as Guy puts it, "he's one of those who knows / That life is just a leap of faith / Spread your arms and hold your breath / And always trust your cape." Brilliant song that never fails to bring a lump to my throat.

5. "Don't Forget Me" / Marshall Crenshaw (1995)
Here's a two-fer: Marshall Crenshaw AND Harry Nilsson, who wrote this tender wry song. I don't know if Holt shared my Nilsson obsession, but I know he loved Nilsson's oddball animated movie The Point when it first came out; in hospice, Holt smiled when I played him my Nilsson playlist. Although this is basically a song to an ex-wife, we can extrapolate the sentiments to any loves from the past. Even the spookily apposite verse three: "And when we're older / Full of cancer / It doesn't matter now / Come on, get happy / Cause nothing lasts forever / But I will always love you." Amen.

6. "Miles From Nowhere" / Cat Stevens (1970)
Tea for the Tillerman was an inescapable album that year, full of folky riffs and mordant black humor. Perfect soundtrack for Harold and Maude, a movie Holt loved for its warped fascination with death. Many songs on this album are about fathers and sons (I watched that battle from a front row seat) and taking journeys. But the line that really resonates here? "Lord my body has been a good friend / I won't need it when I reach the end." And so we told Holt in the hospice -- time to turn in the loaner car, it's reached the end of its usefulness.

7. "Losing My Religion" / R.E.M. (1991)
For a Methodist minister, having "Losing My Religion" as your ringtone was a pretty gutsy move, doncha think?

8. "Don't Forget About Me" / John Mellencamp (2010)
Our other homegrown Indiana talent, Johnny Cougar nee Mellencamp always held a special place in our hearts. From his stellar back-to-basics album No Better Than This, another ex-wife song that can, if you squinch your eyes just so, be re-interpreted to apply to an old beloved friend who's moved to another plane of being.  

9. "Over the Rainbow / Wonderful World" / Israel Kamakawiwo Ole (1993)
One song we all agreed had to be played at Holt's memorial. Because, no matter how often it's played, this lilting ukelele rendition of the old standards transforms them into something new and hopeful and uplifting.

10. "Warmth of the Sun" / The Beach Boys (1964)
It was Holt, not me, who owned all our Beach Boys albums. (Note that possessive "our," because I listened to them just as avidly as he did.) In the face of the British Invasion, he never gave up on their American counterparts. In 1966, our family took a cross-country train trip to California that gave us our one taste of golden SoCal surf summer, before the Monkees and the Summer of Love happened. In my mind, this glorious Beach Boys ballad sums it all up -- how we keep the warmth of the sun inside us, to survive grief and loss. Interesting to note that Brian Wilson and Mike Love began to write this song on November 22, 1963, but didn't finish it until the tragic events of that day -- the Kennedy assassination, for those of you too young to have been permanently scarred by this event -- had happened. So the elegiac tone of this song was no accident. Those exquisite chord changes, the vocal counterpoints, and above all Brian's heart-melting falsetto -- they make me weep, make me smile, make my heart swell in my chest. Magic.

Cleaning out my brother's apartment, I found his iPod and put it in the dock to play on shuffle while I folded clothes and emptied drawers. How lovely it was to hear his own curated inventory of music! It was as if he were in the room with me. Expect to hear more from that source....

WEDNESDAY SHUFFLE

I've got no excuse.  Well, I do -- but I hate making excuses.  So sorry, and at least I got around to it this week!

1. Love Train / Keb' Mo'
From Big Wide Grin (1998)
One thing I love about Keb' Mo': his creative covers, always total reinterpretations of the original. Take this old O'Jays classic, subtract the sexy soul groove (sacrilege, right?), and add a ticking bluegrass tempo and some banjo picking -- and voila, you've got a surprisingly persuasive peace-and-love anthem. Suddenly I hear afresh lines like, "All of your brothers over in Africa / Tell all the folks in Egypt and Israel too" -- it's totally topical.

2. Hello? Oh... /  The Cribs
From The New Fellas (2005)
I like everything I've heard from this trio of brothers from Yorkshire. Crunchy guitars, loping beat, a casually raucous upbeat vibe -- addictively fun. 

3. Monday Monday / The Mamas and the Papas
From 16 Greatest Hits (compilation)
Bah dah, bah da-dah dah... Those dense a capella harmonies are just heavenly. And when Denny and Cass start to weave and overlap in the bridge -- "Every other day (every other day) every other day (every other day of) the week is /  Fine, (Fine) yeah!!)"  How could you not sing along?

4. Poor Little Fool / Ricky Nelson
From A Ricky Nelson Anthology (compilation)
I can just picture him singing this on Ozzie and Harriet:  One blink of those sincere blue eyes, one pout from that lower lip, and Elvis Presley was wiped off the planet for me. This smooth-as-buttermilk rockabilly stroll is quintessential Ricky, absolutely divine.

5. Happy Jack / The Who
From Happy Jack (1966)
Though my feelings about the Who are conflicted, I do love a good Pete Townshend comic turn -- and there's none better than this ditty about a simpleton vagrant on the Isle of Man. (In 1966, when this was all over the radio, I had no idea that was a real place.)  I love those chanting childlike harmonies, that stellar bass line, and -- best of all -- Moonie's absolutely insane bursts of drumming.

6. To the River / John Mellencamp
From Human Wheels (1993)
Would you buy a Chevy from this man?  I would. 

7.  Rollin' Like a Pebble in the Sand  / Alan Price & the Electric Blues Orchestra
From A Gigster's Life for Me (1995)
So what was Alan Price doing all those years when I'd lost track of him?  Enjoying himself, getting back into the blues and R&B idiom that the Animals first bonded over. This whole album is full of great covers, like this old Rudy Toombs song, sung with just the right weary creak in Alan's voice -- and wait for the barrelhouse piano in the middle eight!  

8. Where's My Everything? / Nick Lowe
From The Impossible Bird (1994)
From Nick Lowe's "lovable loser" category, a gently comic rockabilly plaint. He's ticking off a laundry list of things society "owes" him -- home and family, fame and happiness -- cluelessly wondering why they haven't just magically appeared.  But as always with Nick, it's got just enough of an edge, filtering all the bafflement and pain of a disappointed life.  The man's craft still astounds me.
  
9. Switchboard Susan / Nick Lowe
From Labour of Lust (1979)
Yeah, I know Mickey Jupp wrote this one -- but it might as well have been Nick himself, in his punning lyric prime. "When I'm with you, girl, I get an extension / And I don't mean Alexander Bell's invention" -- who else could pull off something that juvenile?  But this gives me a perfect opportunity to inform you (if you don't already know) that YepRoc is finally reissuing this classic album, Nick's second solo effort, which has for years been inexplicably out of print (I know!).


10. Heat Dies Down / The Kaiser Chiefs
From Yours Truly, Angry Mob (2007)
It's loud, it's fast, it's angry -- and that rollercoaster tempo is pretty hard to resist.

Bonus track (couldn't resist):
11. Up to Our Nex / Robyn Hitchcock & the Venus 3
From Goodnight Oslo (2009)
Featured on the soundtrack to the Jonathan Demme film Rachel Getting Married. (Robyn's even in the film, reason enough to Netflix the thing.)  The loose-limbed groove of this track is so seductive, you're drawn into its hazy, unfocused spell. "We're up to our necks in love / So bad / We're up to our necks in love / Blame Dad."  (Except Dad was played by Bill Irwin, and who could blame him?)  "Forgive yourself / And maybe / You'll forgive me" -- well, there's the movie for you in a nutshell.  Now go watch it.

My Holiday Album Buying Guide

Nothing I like better Christmas morning than to find neat little 5-by-6-inch wrapped rectangles under the tree.  (Used to be 12-by-12-inch -- but there, I'm dating myself.)  And if you're like me, you don't want to leave the selection of your new holiday tunes up to chance and the questionable tastes of your friends and family -- you want a readymade list of excellent new CDs to request ahead of time. Why, you might even want a list of CDs to buy for other people, while we're at it! Normally I'm not much of a list-maker -- well, not like Uncle E, at least -- but as a public service, herewith is my end-of-year round-up . . . .

1. Imaginary Television
Graham Parker 

I  love this record for many reasons, but mostly because it's the album that got me back into Graham Parker, launching a months-long voyage of discovery.

I first blogged about the track "Always Greener"...


2.  Lonely Avenue

 Ben Folds and Nick Hornby

 Well, technically it's just Ben Folds -- British novelist Nick Hornby
 doesn't perform on the records, he just contributed the lyrics.  Just.

Check out my blog post on "Belinda."

3.  No Better Than This
John Mellencamp 

I won't defend every record John Mellencamp's ever made -- I'll just say that this stripped-down, acoustic, monoaural, back-to-the-roots effort may be the finest thing he's ever done.

Here's my take on "Love At First Sight."

4. The Grand Theater, Volume One
The Old 97s

This Austin-based outfit definitely keeps the alt in alt-country, and I have never yet heard a track by these guys that I didn't like.  This new album is just insanely smart and funny and fun to listen to.

Check out "A State of Texas"... 


5. My Dinosaur Life
Motion City Soundtrack

Neurotic emo-pop is so not my thing -- so why I'm such a fan of this band?  Witty little portraits of slacker angst, amped up with tons o' melody and a mosh-pit tempo.

Exhibit A: "Skin and Bones"

6.  A Word to the Wise
Bill Kirchen

Now for something completely different -- the rumpled musings of veteran musicmaker Bill Kirchen, accompanied by an amazing set of equally experienced guest stars. 

Take a spin with "Shelly's Winter Love" and you'll see what I mean...

7.  ContraVampire Weekend

Okay, so those duelling Subaru and Hilfiger commercials have pretty much ruined the perky world-pop charm of "Holiday." Nevertheless, the fresh sound and lively indie energy of this young band started 2010 out on a very high note for me, and I still grin when any of this album's song rotate up on my shuffle.

Here's where I started, with  . . . yes, I'm afraid it was "Holiday".  But maybe someday we'll be able to enjoy it again!

8. The 88
The 88

I'll admit that Ray Davies' seal of approval gave this L.A. band a huge boost in my estimation.  But there's nothing not to like about this tight, melodic album, which takes pop music back from the schlockmeisters and gives it a good name again. Sorry, I never got around to posting here about this album, but I did review it for Blogcritics.

9. Junky Star
Ryan Bingham and the Dead Horses

Bingham's work on the Crazy Heart soundtrack vaulted him onto my alt-country playlist; this album proved to me that was no fluke.  I've only started listening to this one -- haven' t done a blog post on it yet -- but trust me, there are plenty of dark, nuanced, twangy pleasures to be found here. Townes Van Zant would approve, I suspect.

10. Propellor TimeRobyn Hitchcock and the Venus 3

I want to resist -- but I can't.  If Robyn Hitchcock's peculiar psych-folk-punk music is a minority taste, then count me in that minority.  The odder his lyrics get, the more off-kilter the melodies become, the happier I am.Inexplicably, I never got around to reviewing any tracks from this album; in lieu of that, may I provide a link to the weird and wonderful video for "Ordinary Millionaire".


11. Brothers
The Black Keys

So who says we have to quit at 10? If we did, I wouldn't be able to mention this album -- another fairly new acquisition that I haven't yet written about -- a deeply, deeply funky artifact by a duo that look like standard-issue Williamsburg hipsters.  Go figure.  All I know is, these tracks put me in a souled-out trance, putting the hip in hypnotic.

12. Soulsville
Huey Lewis & the News

Let's make it an even dozen, then, and throw in my old boyfriend Huey Lewis, who delivers a heartfelt tribute to the vintage soul numbers that inspired his own career. A guilty pleasure, perhaps, but it is full of that patented Huey Lewis genial charm, and if it's not a groundbreaking, it is listenable as hell.

I did blog about this one, homing in on "Respect Yourself."


Still got room for a few more stocking stuffers?  Let's throw in Jon Lindsay's Escape From Plaza-Midwoodand Edward O'Connell's Our Little Secret, my two great slush-pile finds of the year.  Of course we're already looking forward to 2011 for the US release of Ray Davies' See My Friends and Greg Trooper's Upside-Down Town (no Amazon link yet but I'll keep you posted). The music never ends!

"Love At First Sight" / John Mellencamp

I had a Sirius Senior Moment today -- when this song came on, I was so riveted, so lost in the music, I had no idea where I was or what I was doing. (Lucky I didn't crash the car.) It's been a while since I've heard any new John Mellencamp material, and the rootsy simplicity of this one took me by surprise.

It reminded me of an argument I'd been having with a fellow music fan, who insisted that Bruce Springsteen deserved my attention because he sometimes performs folky acoustic numbers. No, I insisted, it's not the arena rock anthems I object to with Springsteen -- it's his lack of wit or irony. (And you can have wit in an arena rock anthem -- look at Queen.) And now comes John Mellencamp to show up the Boss, with a song that's both stripped-down AND funny.

It's time to forgive Mellencamp the Chevy ads, forgive him for Farm Aid (why shouldn't a small-town Hoosier support American farmers?), and yes, even forgive him for letting his early managers convince him to perform as Johnny Cougar. (The same managers did have the sense to book him as an opening act for the Kinks.) With a refreshing lack of pretension or hype, Mellencamp has gone on making solid mid-American rock for many years now, music that plays to the heart of the country. And I'm just enough of an expatriate Hoosier to dig it.

I've just ordered his new album, No Better Than This, and from the preview samples I suspect I'm going to love it. Sounds like it's pretty much all acoustic, and recorded (in mono, no less!) at iconic places like Sun Studios in Memphis -- how's that for going back to basics? If the songwriting is as good as this throughout, then I think Johnny M's got hisself a career-capping masterpiece.



How many rock songs have gushed about "love at first sight"? It's a universal teenage emotion, and therefore practically the founding conceit of all pop music. But now listen to how Johnny turns it on its head.

The songwriting structure couldn't be simpler -- the first three lines of every verse start with "let's suppose," working through a relationship from that very first besotted glance. In the course of it, they kiss, make love in the back of a car, get engaged, get married -- "like two turtledoves," he casually describes them. They're adorable, like Mellencamp's hometown Romeo and Juliet from his early classic, "Jack and Diane." But hold on, he's just getting started.

In the second section, his raspy voice and laidback strumming don't change, but nagging doubts begin to surface about that iffy "suppose." "Let's suppose our dreams came true, just like they're 'sposed to do" -- well, as we all know, there's no ironclad guarantee. (I think of Nick Lowe's woefully funny "Where's My Everything?" demanding the standard wife, house, and kids that society has promised him.)

And in the third section things fall apart, as things often do. They have kids, they fight, they get bored, they have money troubles, they cheat, they storm out of the house. "Let's suppose you found another man / And hit me in the head with a frying pan" -- I love that absurd cartoon image, like Olive Oyl beaning Popeye. (See him swaying on his feet, eyes crossed; hear the tweeting bird sound effects.) It's true comic relief, allowing us to laugh instead of crying at the everyday domestic tragedy.

I can just picture John's wicked grin, rocking back on his stool, as he wraps up the fourth section, deciding that they should just shake hands and be friends -- save themselves all those years of grief and turmoil. He's no teenager, that's for sure; he's a guy who's been around the block a time or two, and he knows whereof he speaks. The dogged repetition of phrases and melody hammers home life's weary lessons. It only takes less than five minutes to click through all the possible heartbreaks, like changing channels with his remote control. He plays them all out in his imagination, and then decides it's not worth the effort. For once, wisdom triumphs over hormones.

Like the worn denim of broken-in work jeans, the solo acoustic arrangement is just right for this song. It's no teenage pop confection, no angry young man's howl of protest -- this is music for grown-ups. So let's get real -- life sucks, and love dies. You can cry about it, or you can laugh. Me, I'm going with the laughter.

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.

"Jack and Diane" / John Mellencamp

I'm a sucker for countdown shows, and last night VH1 Classic showed The 100 Greatest Songs of the 80s (though it was really more like 100 80s Songs with Good Videos Whose Stars Were Available For Where-Are-They-Now Interviews). Like most of the 1980s themselves, it was a strange experience, mixing New Wave, punk, hard-core funk, and hair bands, not to mention all those campy British groups like Culture Club and Flock of Seagulls. I still blame MTV for sidetracking music in the 1980s, making it all about synthesizers and glossy visuals instead of musicianship and meaning and heart.

In the midst of all the high-concept videos, however, the one that really stood out was a grainy home-movie of a couple of teenagers messing around in Seymour, Indiana: the video for John Mellencamp's poignant "Jack and Diane." Sure, it came early in the decade -- 1982, back when he was still recording under the goofy stage name John Cougar -- but the artlessness of that video was remarkable even then. And it was absolutely perfect for that song, a wistful "little ditty" about small-town high-school sweethearts. I was riveted, all over again.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm from Indiana myself, and I'm only a couple years younger than Mellencamp. Those images in the video look like MY home movies. But I still think it's a wonderful iconic American song, as good as anything Bruce Springsteen's ever done. By the time you get to the wailing chorus -- "Oh yeah, life goes on / Long after the thrill / Of living is gone" -- your heart's already breaking for these two dumb kids. You don't have to be told what happened after they got married and grew up (in that order); you just know it wasn't what they dreamed of. And is there anything more American than disappointed dreams?

It starts off with these big clanging guitar strums, underlaid with a hard-rocking hand-clap percussion (those claps may be the song's most irresistible hook), but for the verses things tone down to a tender acoustic arrangement. Enter our hero and heroine: "Two American kids growin' up in the heartland / Jacky's gonna be a football star / Diane's a debutante backseat of Jacky's car." The next verse is a scene out of Splendor in the Grass, absolutely dizzy with hormonal teenage lust:" "Suckin' on chili dog outside the Tastee-Freeze / Diane sittin' on Jacky's lap / He's got his hands between her knees." An incredibly sexy moment -- it's no surprise Diane takes up Jack's offer to slip off behind a shade tree. (That line "Dribble off those Bobby Brooks" is a vivid detail -- I visualize all the Bobby Brooks blouses in my old closet, circa 1970.)

The next verse is the pivotal moment when Jack -- doing "his best James Dean" (that Rebel Without A Cause reference, such a grabber) -- suggest they run off to the city. This is their moment to break free, the moment every small-town dreamer wants to seize. But Diane, the homebody, talks him out of it -- "Baby, you ain't missin' a thing," she murmurs. Doing her best Natalie Wood, no doubt.

Do you think Jack stayed with Diane? Or did he eventually get out of town? Johnny Mellencamp got out of town, even though he eventually moved back (with a supermodel wife and enough money to build his own recording studio in Seymour). Personally, I think Jack left -- he had to -- but a part of him still regrets losing that sweet and innocent happiness. Which he would have lost even if he'd stayed. Man, if Wordsworth had been a roots rocker, this is the song he would have written.

But I love the fact that you can write whatever ending you want. Mellencamp only tells us, in that anthemic a cappella bridge, with its gospel-like backing vocals, "Gonna let it rock / Let it roll / Let the bible belt come and save my soul / Hold on to sixteen as long as you can / Changes come around real soon, make us women and men." Whatever else, he's in love with the innocence of those kids, their unreflective passion. He's not going to judge them. He'll just immortalize them.

Jack and Diane will live forever now, still sucking on those chili dogs behind the Tastee-Freeze. In Indianapolis it was the Dairy Queen, but same difference. God, this song makes me want to go home again. As if any of us can.

Jack and Diane sample