Sunday Papers

Listen while you read: Again, just the album cover

Mother doesn't go out anymore
Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes
But every weekend through the door
Comes words of wisdom from the world outside

If you want to know 'bout the bishop and the actress
If you want to know how to be a star
If you want to know 'bout the stains on the mattress
You can read it in the Sunday papers
Sunday papers
. . . 

Sunday papers, don't ask no questions
Sunday papers, don't get no lies
Sunday papers, don't raise objections
Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
. . . 

~ Joe Jackson

Another old one, almost thirty years old! My, my! This hit for Joe Jackson appeared on 1979's Look Sharp! And Joe Jackson was sharp! And yes, I did get to see him in concert at the Capital Theater in Passaic NJ.

There's a reason I chose this song today. (Actually, I first chose Carbon / Silicon's "The News" and had all the lyrics down before I realized that I already did that song back in April. Yep, I'm at that point where I have to check all my past posts so that I don't repeat any songs.)

Change is hard. I have been reading New Jersey's standard newspaper, The Star Ledger, since I was a kid. Back then, it was called The Newark Evening News. Sitting on my front porch every afternoon, I waited for Carol, our paper girl, to deliver the paper to us. Back then, I only read the comics and Ann Landers and my horoscope, but it was an important part of my day. As an adult, I've subscribed to The Star Ledger for what, four decades? I switched from print to digital a few years ago, and that was hard! I also read The Palm Beach Post online.

Recently, The Star Ledger, while raising its subscription price, tried to upgrade its interface, an attempt that met with more bugs and interruptions in service than was tolerable. I called to complain more than once, but tried to be patient. Meanwhile, my credit card had been "compromised" (again!) and I was issued a new card with, of course, a new number. I tried to access my Star Ledger account to upgrade my credit card info, but I got an error message telling me I didn't have an account! Well, screw it. I'll read The Palm Beach Post.

I have a hard time letting go. And while I want to support legitimate press, The Ledger has become skimpier and skimpier and has eliminated op/ed columns by journalists I love to read, like Eugene Robinson and E.J. Dionne. And since the coverage is mostly on New Jersey's urban areas, I found myself skipping over most of the stories. (Remember, I live in "the vast wilderness of rednecks and retired hippies.") I'd been thinking of canceling my subscription for awhile now, but, as I said, I have a hard time letting go.

Yesterday, I got an automated call from The Star Ledger, advising me that they tried to bill my account, but my credit card was null and void. Please call, they said. No, I replied.

I'll get used to this. There are many sources for news. The trick is in finding the ones that are true to journalistic standards of honesty and integrity. I have a pretty good handle on which ones are "fake news." I just figure that if DT says they're fake, they're not.

Well, I got nothing against the press 
They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true

You Never Know

Listen while you read: Nothing to see except the album cover

Come on, children
You're acting like children
Every generation thinks
It's the end of the world

And all ya fat followers
Get fit fast
Every generation thinks it's the last
Thinks it's the end of the world

It's a dream down a well
There's a lone, heavy hell
I don't care anymore
I don't care anymore
It's a fear to transcend
If we're here at the end
I don't care anymore
I don't care anymore
You never know

Come on, kids
You're acting like children
Act your age
Get back to black metal and pearls
All ya sword swallowers, pull yourselves together
Every generation thinks it's the worst
Thinks it's the end of the world

It's a secret I can't tell
There's a wish down a well
I don't care anymore
I don't care anymore
It's a long, heavy hell
Synthesizer Patel
I don't care anymore
I don't care anymore
But you never know
You never know

It's a fear to transcend
If we're here at the end
I don't care anymore . . . 

~  Jeff Tweedy (Wilco)

For many of us, the news gets worse and worse every day. It seems that any one of the news items in reference to this current administration is enough to set one's teeth on edge, but more and more, we are being bombarded with crazy stuff, to the point where it's a wonder we have any teeth left. What shall we be upset about today? Healthcare? The environment? Travel bans? The Wall? Hate crimes? Racism? The proliferation of guns? Or how about "that Rusher Thing"? Well, I'm not sure I can say that I don't care anymore, but it's tempting.

Wilco is one of my favorite bands. (I only have a couple, you know.) Long on my bucket list, I got to see them at the Champlain Valley Exposition Fairgrounds in Vermont a couple of years ago when my son was at UVM. It's a good thing it was an outdoor venue, because the heavy, pounding bass that the band emitted was wreaking havoc with my heart to the point where I was getting a little frightened. I pondered whether my obituary would state that my heart gave out at a Wilco concert. Maybe I was just too close to the stage? Anyway, "You Never Know" is on Wilco's seventh studio album called Wilco (The Album), released in 2009. It has been compared to George Harrison's solo work in the 70s, and if you listen to this song with that in mind, you'll probably hear the resemblance.

Synthesizer Patel? Had to look that one up! Apparently it's a character in a British TV comedy? (I don't get it.)

I do sometimes think it's the end of the world. I try to remind myself that this world has always known unrest and violence and poverty, but I'd naively thought that we were making progress to a more peaceful and sustainable planet. But now it seems that all the good is being erased by executive order and an agenda ruled by the almighty dollar.

For at least the next couple of weeks, I've decided not to care. If it is the end of the world, let me go out having seen as much of it as I can, while I can. Interesting, half of my road trip will be in Canada. Hmmmm. Maybe I'll check out some real estate?

You never know.

Hey, Jack Kerouac

Listen while you read:  No video, just a pic of Natalie.

Hey, Jack Kerouac, I think of your mother
And the tears she cried, they were cried for none other
Than her little boy lost in our little world that hated
And that dared to drag him down, her little boy courageous
Who chose his words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood
Hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts
They all spoke through you

Hey, Jack, now for the tricky part
When you were the brightest star, who were the shadows?
Of the San Francisco Beat Boys, you were the favorite
Now they sit and rattle their bones and think of their blood stoned days
You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood
The hip flask slinging madman, steaming cafe flirts
In Chinatown howling at night

Allen, baby, why so jaded?
Have your boys all grown up and their beauty faded?
Billy, what a saint they've made you
Just like Mary down in Mexico on All Souls' Day
You chose your words from mouths of babes got lost in the wood
Cool junk booting madmen, street-minded girls
In Harlem, howling at night

What a tear-stained shock of the world
You've gone away without saying goodbye

~  Natalie Merchant and Robert Buck (for 10,000 Maniacs)

I spent more time than I'd intended this afternoon, searching the many bookshelves in this house for a couple to take on the road trip. As much as I do not like to be read to (I'd rather do it myself, thank you), my traveling partner enjoys my reading to him, so on days when he is driving, we can take a break from the music and the scenery and experience a story. Of course, with the scenery we are about to view, I might not want to have my eyes on the page. We'll see.

Anyway, I came upon Jack Kerouac's On the Road, so needless to say, this song came into my head, and there it stays. Might as well write about it.

Natalie Merchant (whom, I was told in my younger days, I resembled, but only in appearance, not in voice, damn it) wrote this when she was 24, I think. It appears on 10,000 Maniac's 1987 release, In My Tribe. And she's kind of dissing the Beats, isn't she? Well, fair enough; they weren't really icons of clean living. But she had to have read them to be able to write about them. In case you're among my much younger readers, the Beat Poets were the hipsters of the 50s and 60s. The three that Natalie references are Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs. They were edgy and irreverent and so of course, we devoured their work. I still have my copy of HOWL with the price of 75 cents imprinted on it. But my favorite Beat Poet was Lawrence Ferlinghetti; A Coney Island of the Mind ($1.00) blew me away.

Ferlinghetti opened the first paperback book store in the country back in 1953, and it's still there. If you're in San Francisco, head to Chinatown and make your way uphill. On the right, you'll find "Jack Kerouac Alley." You'll walk past sidewalk insets bearing quotes of these great writers before you reach Columbus Avenue. To your left is City Lights, and to your right is The Vesuvio Cafe, a Beat hangout and the coolest bar I've ever been in. The photo is of the wall of the bar that faces Jack Kerouac Alley.

Well, despite all this, On the Road is not coming to the Northwest with me. I've whittled my choices down to seven, two of which will make the journey with me. Stay tuned.

Let It Ride

Listen while you read: Nothing to see here.

Moving like the fog on the Cumberland River
I was leaving on the Delta Queen
And I wasn't ready to go
I'm never ready to go

Twenty-seven years of nothing but failures
And promises that I couldn't keep
Oh, Lord, I wasn't ready to go
I'm never ready to go

Let it ride, let it ride easy down the road
Let it ride, let it take away all of the darkness
Let it ride, let it rock me in the arms of strangers' angels
Until it brings me home
Let it ride, let it ride, let it go

Loaded like a sailor tumbling off a ferry boat
I was at the bar till three
Oh, Lord, I wasn't ready to go
I'm never ready to go

Let it ride . . . 

I wanna see you tonight dancing in the endless moonlight
In the parking lot in the headlights of cars
Someplace on the moon where they moved the drive-in theater
Where I left the car that I can't find but I still got the keys to

Let it ride . . . 

~  Ryan Adams et al

I know that Ryan Adams can be an arrogant SOB, but as far as his music goes, he can do no wrong. I think he is a brilliant songwriter and a smooth crooner. I have yet to see him live, but it's on my bucket list. "Let It Ride" appears on 2005's Cold Roses. Perhaps you've heard songs from his recent release, Prisoner. Those songs were penned after his separation from Mandy Moore. Clearly, Adams wears more than denim on his sleeve. Talk about heartache.

The video linked above has nothing to offer visually, but I chose it because it's the more upbeat version of the song. You can Google the song to find some live versions, in which he performs the song at a much slower pace. Like it's an entirely different song. But since I have no heartache going on in my little world right now, I chose the less emotional version.

What I do have going on is trying to get ready for this upcoming road trip. It's true that I have a week before I go, but the to-do list just keeps growing, with very little crossed off. I'm never ready to go. Part of the problem, dear readers, is this blog. I am trying to not only keep up with the daily posts, but also, to draft every day's post for the 15-day road trip! I don't want to be restricted in my fun by having to sit down and compose a post every day. Each post takes me an hour or two, depending on how much research I do. Do I want to say to my guy, "Hey, you go check out Mount St. Helens without me while I sit at my computer in the hotel room and write my blog?" Um, no.

And of course, you're thinking, "Jeez, Terry, just take a vaca from the damn blog! We'll survive without it for two weeks!" Of course you would. But this is me . . . when I make a commitment to something, I do everything possible to stick to it. I can't let it ride.

BUT! I will be able to let it ride easy once I am out in the great Northwest! Time enough to post a picture on each post, and then I'll let it ride easy down the road . . . until it brings me home. Here's hoping I don't tumble off one of the three ferries I'll be on or, heaven help us, not be able to find our rental car. With driving to a new destination each day, I don't think I'll be hanging out in the bars until 3:00.

One week to go, and then let it ride! I'll be ready to go. (I will, right?)

There She Goes

Listen while you read:  Again

There she goes, there she goes again
Racing through my brain
And I just can't contain
The feeling that remains

There she goes, there she goes again
Pulsing through my veins
And I just can't contain
This feeling that remains

There she goes, there she goes again
She calls my name
She pulls my train
No one else could heal my pain
And I just can't contain
This feeling that remains

There she goes (ad infinitum)

Lee Mavers  (for The Boo Radleys)

Well. Where to begin? First of all, this song is not to be confused with The Velvet Underground's "There She Goes Again," despite their similar theme. And although I chose The Boo Radley's version (because I like their name for obvious reasons), the song may be known more widely in versions by The La's (a single that was released four times) and Sixpence None the Richer. To complicate matters further, Bob Marley has a song called "There She Goes," but it's a different song.

And yes, the song is about heroin addiction. That's not why I chose it.

I chose it because my wandering daughter (Jenna) is off again. To sum up: I picked her up at Fort Lauderdale on June 14th, and then she and I drove north to New Jersey with three stops on the way. She was home for one day, and then I drove her to Newark International Airport for a flight to Detroit, where she was participating in a conference on environmental literature. I picked her up at Newark late Saturday night, and after doing the fastest packing in the history of packing, she drove off to Vermont at 1:00 yesterday for training for a summer job. Tomorrow, she flies off to Amman, Jordan, for that job. There she goes again.

So I am fortunate to have kids with a good work ethic, a sense of adventure, and confidence in their choices. I do not take that for granted. But I also have friends and relatives whose children were raised in loving and supportive homes, but who have succumbed to the destructive power of heroin. I struggle to understand the rising popularity, affordability, and access to this horrendous drug.

I'm a child of the Sixties. In my later teenage years, there was pot, there was LSD, there were mushrooms, and later, cocaine. But the one drug we knew to not go near was heroin. What happened to that ethic? Opioid addiction is rampant in this country, with certain geographical pockets taking a major hit from its infiltration into our culture. From what I hear, it's cheaper than pot and easier to come by. (And yet we still treat marijuana as if it were the devil.)

We all self-medicate, so it is somewhat understandable that there is a market for opioids. Whether your drug of choice is alcohol or nicotine or pot or acid or prescription painkillers or food or candy or caffeine, nearly all of us turn to something to help us navigate the difficulty of living. I'm not judging anybody's choices. But why choose heroin, the one that may very likely kill you? And why would a health care plan refuse to offer treatment for addiction to this scourge? America is screaming out for help in this area. There is human pain that government can seek to lessen, and perhaps if/when it does, the need for life-threatening addictions may ease.

I don't think I ever heard this song until a couple of years ago, when it was used as the soundtrack to a TV commercial for Ortho Trip-Cyclen Lo birth control pills. I cannot explain this. Can you?

Whiteout Conditions

Listen while you read:  Is it snowing?

Flying and feeling the ceiling
And barely dealing
And the faintest, the faintest of praises
Are too revealing
Such a waste of a beautiful day
Someone should say it
Such a waste of the only impossible, logical way in
A fly-in at LA was open
I wasn't hoping for a win
I was hoping for freedom
You couldn't beat 'em
So you crumbled, you doubled your dosage
You wanna go, said the inhibitor blocking the passage
That thing is massive

And the sky will come for you once
Just sit tight until it's done
The sky will come for you once
Just sit tight until it's done

Got so hooked on a feeling
I started dealing
In a stage of grief so demanding
I got a stand-in
Every radio buzzing, it wasn't the dream of the moment
Wasn't the current that carried me, keeping me going

Only want to get to work
But every morning, I'm too sick to drive
Suffering whiteout conditions
Forget the mission, just get out alive
. . . 

~  A.C. Newman (The New Pornographers)

In case you haven't figured this out yet, I am a big fan of coincidence (even though I believe that there's no such thing as coincidence). Lately, as I look for songs for the blog, I keep finding ones by bands that hail from Seattle or Vancouver BC. And, of course, that's where I'm headed in another week. Coincidence? If nothing else, I'm getting into a Northwest state of mind!

The New Pornoraphers are a Vancouver band. Their seventh album, Whiteout Conditions, was released a couple of months ago, and the song of the same title is getting a lot of airplay. It's a bouncy one with really cool rhyme, and I get happy when it comes on. Plus I just love Neko Case's voice and have for a long time. So who knew that the fast-paced lyrics were about being depressed? In a review of the entire album, Diffuser said the collection of songs create "a balance between the dark and the light." Well, isn't that the way everything is supposed to be?

A Pitchfork review offers this: "Newman's high, handy vocals nudge out ahead of the busy synths and chipper drums to recall a repressive episode; he recounts days spent falling into a resentful hermitude, turning from windowpanes, before clawing his way back toward the light (a sunny day literally helps kick him out of his inertia)." Well, sometimes that's all it takes, right? A beautiful day. The sky will come for you once / Just sit tight until it's done. Neko makes the line "peal like a tourism brochure tagline," according to Pitchfork. She's got me sold. I'm there.

The term "whiteout conditions," well-known to those of us who live in the North country, refers to a weather condition in which visibility and contrast are severely reduced by snow. The horizon disappears and there are no reference points, making one experience a distorted perception of one's place in the landscape. Kind of sounds like depression, doesn't it? But eventually, the storm ends, the sun comes out, and one is reassured of his/her path.

Such a waste of a beautiful day
Wish you could be here

Call It Dreaming

Listen while you read:  Seriously, listen! It's beautiful!

Say it's here where our pieces fall in place
Any rain softly kisses us on the face
Anywhere means we're running
We can sleep and see 'em coming
Where we drift and call it dreaming
We can weep and call it singing

Where we pray when our hearts are strong enough
We can bow 'cause our music's warmer than blood
Where we see enough to follow
We can hear when we are hollow
Where we keep the light we're given
We can lose and call it living

(Chorus)
Where the sun isn't only sinking fast
Every night knows how long it's supposed to last
Where the time of our lives is all we have
And we get a chance to say
Before we ease away
For all the love you're left behind
You can have mine

Say it's here when our pieces fall in place
We can fear 'cause the feeling's fine to betray
Where our water isn't hidden
We can burn and be forgiven
Where our hands hurt from healing
We can laugh without a reason

(Chorus)

~  Sam Beam (Iron & Wine)

Oh, this song is so beautiful! And it's brand spankin' new! Iron & Wine's new one, Beast Epic, will be released on August 25. (Just in case you are not familiar with Iron & Wine, the ampersand is a little confusing. Iron & Wine is primarily Sam Beam, although he does engage many other fine musicians when he records.) The title of his new release refers to "a story where animals talk and act like people" which, according to Beam, "sounds like the perfect description for the life of any of us." Amen!

These are the kind of lyrics that I think I need to read several times before I am settled on their power. To be honest, I think Beam walks that fine line between exhaling psychobabble and saying something really profound. I do know which line grabs me the most. Every night knows how long it's supposed to last. There is so much to draw from that line. The Universe knows what it's doing? Darkness deserves as much attention as light? We are not in control? Or, as another fine lyricist tried to tell us years ago, "Let it be."

"I have been and always will be fascinated by the way time asserts itself on our bodies and our hearts. The ferris wheel keeps spinning, and we're constantly approaching, leaving, or returning to something totally unexpected or startlingly familiar," opines Beam. And speaking of time, today I will be marking it in a happy/sad way. My best friend JoAnn died 17 years ago today. Her daughter, Francesca, was 17 at the time. Francesca is well aware that, from today forward, she will have lived longer without her mother than with her. She has asked me to spend the afternoon with her to honor her mother, and I am touched beyond words that she has chosen me. I will finally get to meet her two little boys! There will be no way to escape the reality that JoAnn has missed out on that love, and it will be hard to balance the joy and sorrow that Francesca and I will feel.

But as Sam Beam has said about his new effort, "This collection speaks to the beauty and pain of growing up after you've already grown up. For me, that experience has been more generous in its gifts and darker in its tragedies." I suspect Francesca knows exactly what he means.

For all the love you've left behind
You can have mine

Only the Wild Ones

Listen while you read: Only the Wild Ones

Long hair and longer stride and your cut-off painter pants
Chargin' down the craggy mountains with our thrift store friends
Who you find so . . . so in love with the falling earth

Oh, you wake in the middle of the falling night
With summer playing coy in the attics of the city night
We talked Corso and the MC5
You could dance like we were all all right

Only the wild ones give you something and never want it back
Oh, the riot and the rush of the warm night air
Only the wild ones are the ones you can never catch
Stars are up now, no place to go
But everywhere
. . . 

~  Chad (Urmston) Stokes (for Dispatch)

Although Dispatch was around from 1996 until 2002 and then appeared sporadically after that, I do not recall knowing about them. "Only the Wild Ones" is the new single from their recent release America, Location 12. I'm sorry I was not following them back in the day, if for no other reason than they have a track record as humanitarians, offering benefit concerts and service projects around the world.

As for "Only the Wild Ones," I'll let Chad tell you the background story:
"There was this guy named Trevor Tall Fox that I met during my short stint in Vermont. We bonded over our love for primitive cultures, flinging ourselves down the mountainside, naked skateboarding, running from the cops and train-hopping. I left Middlebury after a year, and unfortunately, lost touch, but I heard that he changed his name after moving to Costa Rica.

After Vermont, I settled in New York City for a few years. I met a tall fellow from Chicago named Charlie, and he was on a mission to soak up everything New York had to offer. I was glad to tag along. He was hell bent on reading the New York Times from start to finish every day and eventually having an interview show like Charlie Rose. He was also an incredible dancer, not an easy feat for someone 6'6". He was all limbs, but he could move like the best of 'em. We'd run up walls and climb street lamps -- he had no trouble causing a scene. This was right around the time Giuliani outlawed dancing in pubs and bars. So we made it our business to go out and start dance parties (and no one could start a party like Charlie) in all the nearby bars.

This song is about those guys, it's about wild best friends that made anything possible."

After reading that, I thought about my life so far, and how "wild" it has been. Not very. Of late, I've thought a lot about how conditioned we can be, how brainwashed as children to behave a certain way. I was a Girl Scout and a good Catholic kid. I rarely sinned, and if I did, it was off to Confession I went. Guilt ruled.

Thinking about this today makes me sad. I'm not saying that we shouldn't be encouraged to favor good over evil, but the way we were hit over the head with rules and punishment was not the best way to achieve that. I always had a secret desire to hop a train. Where might it have taken me?

Everywhere.

Slave to Love

Listen while you read: Warning: hot video!

Tell her I'll be waiting in the usual place
With the tired and weary, and there's no escape
To need a woman, you've got to know
How the strong get weak, and the rich get poor

Slave to love, oh, oh, slave to love

You're running with me but don't touch the ground
We're the restless-hearted, not the chained and bound
The sky is burning, a sea of flame
Though your world is changing, I will be the same

Slave to love . . . 

Can you help me? Oh, can you help me?

The storm is breaking, or so it seems
We're too young to reason, but too grown up to dream
Now spring is turning your face to mine
I can hear your laughter, I can see your smile

~  Bryan Ferry

I have been a Roxy Music fan since forever. It's one of those bands whose songs I never, ever get tired of hearing. (How many of those bands can you name?) And even though he has done solo work, Bryan Ferry has the same effect on me. I usually cannot discern between Bryan Ferry solo and Bryan Ferry as part of Roxy Music. "Slave to Love" appears on Ferry's sixth solo effort, Boys and Girls, released in 1985. It's one of his most popular songs.

The video to the song is crazy-sexy-steamy-sultry, so consider yourself warned. But it's got a great twist at the end . . . wait for it. I'm not sure I entirely understand the story the video is trying to tell, but it doesn't matter. I just want to hear the song. Apple Music claims that the song is "a blend of the ethereal and the licentious that exemplifies Ferry's aesthetic philosophy." Sure, okay. I just like the song.

Why? Because it's graceful and moody. Because the orchestral backup is gorgeous. Because it makes me want to dance, a little rhumba-samba-bossanova-type escape. Because it's Bryan Ferry. About the album, Apple Music says,"Melancholy pervades the songs like a deep mist, as Ferry's wobbly croon ties the melodies together like a voice in the night." Well, I'm not sure about "wobbly croon," but I'll go with the "deep mist." (And I think maybe I'll apply for a writing position at Apple Music.)

But here's the thing. We're all slaves to love, aren't we? I mean, AREN'T WE? Damn, I hope so.

I can't escape
I'm a slave to love

And I love this song.

A Summer Song

Listen while you read: with intro by Dick Clark!

Trees swayin' in the summer breeze
Showin' off their silver leaves
As we walked by

Soft kisses on a summer's day
Laughing all our cares away
Just you and I

Sweet, sleepy warmth of summer nights
Gazing at the distant lights
In the starry sky

They say that all good things must end some day
Autumn leaves must fall
But don't you know that it hurts me so
To say goodbye to you
Wish you didn't have to go
No, no, no, no

~  Chad Stuart with Clive Metcalf and Keith Noble (for Chad & Jeremy)

Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. That's the good news. The bad news is that from today on, the days will be getting shorter. Oh, no! No, no, no, no!

Chad & Jeremy (often confused with Peter & Gordon) were part of the British Invasion, a heady time for music and fashion and just about everything else that the staid 50s had delivered to the post-WWII generation. "A Summer Song" appeared on their 1964 release, Yesterday's Gone. The video linked above is from Dick Clark's American Bandstand. It's pretty obvious that Chad and Jeremy are lip-syncing the song, as there are no strings or brass accompanying their guitars to be seen. But they do "harmonize like angels," as Rolling Stone asserted when listing "A Summer Song" as #47 of the Best Summer Songs of All Time. (If you watch the video, see it through to the end where you can witness Dick Clark marvel over the little machine that runs the program credits while puzzling over who ate a bite out of his sandwich.)

I was fourteen when this song came out, and my fantasies were full of British boys with names like Nigel and Julian who crossed the Atlantic Ocean just to come to America to find me, their one true love. I perfected a British accent just to be cool, and it sounded particularly cool after inhaling some helium from a carnival balloon. I ironed my hair to straighten it, placed the appropriate color hair bow to match my homemade Mary Quant-style mod dress, and hooked my textured stockings to my garter belt. Goodbye to the Stroll, the Twist, and the Mashed Potato (which I could never master); I was ready for the Freddie and the Monkey and that everlasting standby, the Slop. Never mind that Rudi Gernreich had just designed the topless bathing suit . . . I was fully clothed and ready to dance!

Ah, teenage summers! Good times stretched out before us with no homework, no alarm clocks, and no having to sit still for endless algebra instruction. We were still too young for summer jobs, except for weekend babysitting stints paying $1.00 an hour. (An hour's work could buy us ten afternoon snacks of a cherry Coke and a Devil Dog.) Romance was in the evening air if one was lucky enough to have a boy hold her hand while walking her home.

And when the rain
Beats against my windowpane
I'll think of summer days again
And dream of you

Summer solstice . . . worth a celebration! Raise your glass of cherry Coke (or whatever)!

Taking It to Detroit

Listen while you read: The Motor City!

There's a thing that every band should be knowing
It's a basic law of rockin' and rollin' 
Hear what I am telling you
In a land that's been known for its 'mobiles
Now it's KISS and Seger who are its big wheels
I wanna be one, too

We're taking it to Detroit
Coming in from New York
We're breaking it in Detroit

This is what I do to make myself famous
Make this band a household name on Uranus
Headline in Cobo Hall
. . . 

We're making it, breaking it, shaking it
Taking it to the great lake with it
We're taking it to Detroit

~  Peppi Marchello (The Good Rats)

Rolling Stone once called The Good Rats "the world's most famous unknown band." If you lived on Long Island or in most parts of the tri-state area, you knew who The Good Rats were. During their heyday, they were the warm-up band for those popular 70s bands like Rush, Journey, Styx, et al. (I never really liked any of those one-word-name bands of that era.) My late husband, who was eight years my junior and from a large NYC suburb, absolutely loved The Good Rats! Tasty, their 1974 effort, was definitely his favorite. I think I still have the vinyl album somewhere.

Today, my adventuring daughter Jenna (who just returned from a year in the Bahamas) is heading for Detroit to take part in a panel discussion on environmental literature. So I looked for songs about Detroit. (There's a boatload!) When I saw The Good Rats, I knew I'd found my song. It appears on the 1978 release From Rats to Riches.

Peppi Marchello, lead vocalist (with a very distinct voice) and songwriter for The Good Rats, died in 2013. I think two of the original members still perform as The Good Rats, but they probably stick to their Long Island neighborhoods. Maybe a half-dozen years ago, my friend Kathy and I went to a local roadside bar where The Good Rats were playing. It was really sadly pathetic. The turn-out was small, as there was a cover charge and most locals had no idea who The Good Rats were. It may very well be that I was the only person in the room who did, as I requested "Injun Joe" and watched Peppi's face light up. Somebody knew who they were!

If you are one of my two readers who also know who The Good Rats are, you might be interested in this vimeo, The Tail of the Good Rats. The rest of you can just move along.

So Jenna is taking it to Detroit. I'll pick her up at the airport on Saturday, and on Sunday, she's off on another adventure. Stay tuned.

Only Happy When It Rains

Listen while you read: Raining . . . again.

I'm only happy when it rains
I'm only happy when it's complicated
And though I know you can't appreciate it
I'm only happy when it rains

You know I love it when the news is bad
Why it feels so good to feel so sad?
I'm only happy when it rains

Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me
Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me

I'm only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are goin' wrong
I only listen to sad, sad songs
I'm only happy when it rains

I only smile in the dark
My only comfort is the night gone black
I didn't accidentally tell you that
I'm only happy when it rains
You'll get the message by the time I'm through
When I complain about me and you
I'm only happy when it rains

You can keep me company
As long as you don't care

~  Garbage

I spent the second half of May trying to plant a garden in the New Jersey rain. I returned to Florida in early June, and the rain followed me. Every. Single. Day. Except, of course, the day I left. And now here I am, back in New Jersey, and guess what? It's raining. Might as well embrace it.

This old Garbage song from the 1995 album, also called Garbage, has been getting increased airplay lately, perhaps because Garbage and Blondie are touring this summer. (Hey, local peeps . . . did you know that Blondie's Debbie Harry went to Centenary College in Hackettstown?) Although I will be in Idaho the same night as one of their performances, we will be on opposite sides of the state, so I'll have to pass on that opportunity. But there's something nice about knowing that I will be in the same state as Garbage, right?

Garbage said the song was written in jest, a kind of parody of the angst-filled themes of the alternative rock movement of the mid-90s. Despite that, I think there's a kind of truth to be found in the song. No, I'm not saying that I'm only happy when it rains. Far from it. But lately, I've been trying to acknowledge and accept the idea that sadness is not a bad thing. Indeed, sadness is necessary in order to appreciate happiness. And I've long been fond of the quote, "Happiness isn't something you experience; it's something you remember." (Oscar Levant?) So, as I've questioned before in this blog, why the cultural expectation that we should always be happy? Our Declaration of Independence suggests that we are all entitled to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." No guarantees that we'll find it. But as long as we're here, we might as well keep pursuing it.

Shirley Manson, lead vocalist of Garbage, said that the song is "about wanting love, but knowing life will always get in the way . . . yet not being obliterated by that. It's a song for people that know what it is like to live on the dark side of life. It's about devotion but a different kind. A devotion to the truth and to freedom . . . and to hell with the consequences."

There are consequences to loving a garden, namely groundhogs. I came home to some decimated crops. There are consequences to raising brave and adventurous children. No sooner did I get my daughter back from a year in the Bahamas, then she is off to live in Amman, Jordan for most of the summer. There are consequences to too much rain, as noted in today's flood watch. But there are also consequences to a lack of rain, as there are to raising dependent and frightened children or having no access to fresh produce.

And who says you can't garden in the rain? Pulling weeds is much easier in wet soil than in hard, dry dirt. Perhaps once I get out there and get to work, I will indeed be happy in the rain. It's worth a shot.

You wanna hear about my new obsession?
I'm riding high upon a deep depression

(I'm fine, really. Moderately content, which is about as good as it gets.)

Small Town

Listen while you read: Small Town

Well, I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probably die in a small town
Oh, those small communities

All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity

Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of Jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic, that's me

But I've seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an L.A. doll and brought her to this same small town
Now she's small town just like me
. . . 

~ John Mellencamp

As you are reading this, I am likely back in my small town in New Jersey. No apologies. While there are some things I dislike about my town, it is home to me, and there is much to love. Whenever I leave the palm trees and flat terrain and too-much-traffic of south Florida to return home, I am overcome by the beauty of the landscape, especially in late spring. It is so freaking green!

If I recall the story correctly, it was his record company that convinced John Mellencamp to change his name to "Johnny Cougar" in order to capture more attention (and record sales). He obliged, but came to regret that decision in later years. So he went through a short period being known as "John Cougar Mellencamp" until he dropped the Cougar altogether. Yep, he's small town. With an honesty and courage from which Hollywood and the like could learn a thing or two. Scarecrow was released in 1985 when he was still sporting all three names. I wonder how many of us remember when he was Johnny Cougar?

But back to my small town. I wake up to bird song, not traffic. To sunlight, not headlights. I fall asleep to katydids and coyote song, not sirens and car horns. I share my days with black bears, dragonflies, and whitetail deer. My nights are full of rabbits and bats and owls. There is not a building taller than two stories except on Main Street, where the storefronts might soar to three or even four stories. Neighborhoods have names like "Walnut Street" or "Maple Avenue" and there really are those trees on the streets. My evenings are spent on a porch swing watching the sun set. I can breathe in a small town.

So I'm home, for a couple of weeks anyway. There's still a big world out there of which I want to see as much as I can. But I always return to my small town.

No, I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be

Welcome home to me!

It's the End of the World as We Know It

Listen while you read: (and I Feel Fine)

. . . 

Team by team, reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped
Look at that low plane, fine, then
Uh oh, overflow, population, common group
But it'll do, save yourself, serve yourself
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed
Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right, right
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light
Feeling pretty psyched

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Six o'clock, TV hour, don't get caught in foreign tower
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn
Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting
Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate
Light a candle, light a motive, step down, step down
Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh
This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear
A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

~  Michael Stipe (R.E.M.)

It still amazes me how I can find a song from decades ago that sounds like it was written last week. This one, from Document, dates back to 1987, three decades ago! But look at some of those lines! Not to mention the use of the verb "trumped" in the first line! (I did not include lyrics to the first verse; I wanted to cut to the chase!) Reporters baffled? Don't get caught in a foreign tower? Vitriolic, patriotic? A tournament of lies?

But I feel fine. I am making a concerted effort to put the political chaos in an appropriate box and proceed with my life. Because, here's the thing. We keep talking about happenings that are "unprecedented," and there is truth to that. But if you look back at history, it appears that there has always been chaos and discontent and division. Do we just disremember how crazy it was?

Of course, I've known this song for years. But I don't think I ever studied Stipe's stream-of-consciousness lyrics. It amazes me how anyone can sing a song like this! I would stumble just getting from the first to the second line! But singing is not my forte, so I will let Stipe and others astound me with their talent, while I just try my best to respond to it.

Hopefully, by the time you are reading this, I have arrived in Maryland to visit my dear friends Jim and Lois. We'll listen to music, drink wine, eat a delicious homemade vegetarian dinner, and talk the night away. Feeling pretty psyched.

Switchin' to Glide

Listen while you read: This Beat Goes On

Hey, Judy, get Trudy
You said to call you up if I was feelin' moody
Hey, little Donna, ah, still wanna?
You said to ring you up when I was in Toronto

I have lots of friends that I can ding at any time
Can mobilize some laughs with just one call
Like a bunch of lunatics, we'll act till way past dawn
Sure, we'll be rockin' till our strength is gone
Yeah, this beat goes on

And on and on and on

Hey ladies, you crazies
Me and Zero request you in the Mercedes
And then we'll ride
So zoomy inside
The sky's the limit, this time I'm switchin' to glide

I don't give a hoot about what people have to say
I'm laughing while I'm analyzed
Lunatics Anonymous, that's where I belong
Sure, 'cause I am one, till my strength is gone
Yeah, this beat goes on

Nothing matters but the weekend
From a Tuesday point of view
Like a kettle in the kitchen
I feel the steam begin to brew

Switchin' to glide, switchin' to glide
Switchin' to glide, switchin' to glide

~  The Kings

I can't believe it's taken me almost half a year to get to this song! It's my favorite Friday song! It was somewhat of a one-hit wonder for the Canadian band, The Kings, featured on their 1980 release, The Kings Are Here. And honestly, I could not name another Kings' song. But if you can watch and/or listen to this song and not jump out of your seat, you are doing something wrong.

I recall having this song on a cassette tape another lifetime ago, but then I dropped out of music for awhile in exchange for Sesame Street and Barney and reruns of Lassie and Gumby. Several years ago, my favorite deejay, Dennis Elsas (WFUV, but formerly of WNEW) played the song on a Friday afternoon. I immediately sent him an email, thanking him for allowing me to remember that song. We've since met a couple of times and exchange emails occasionally, usually on a Friday afternoon when he plays "Switchin' to Glide." We have a shared love for the song. It was Dennis who pointed me to the video linked above. (Just watch that crazy keyboard player in the yellow jumpsuit!)

Nothing matters but the weekend / From a Tuesday point of view. One of the best lines ever! I'm writing this post on a Tuesday, since I will be on the road for a few days. By the time you read this, I will be in North Carolina, and by Saturday, in Maryland. Home on Sunday. Needless to say, I am switchin' to glide!

Yeah, this beat goes on!

Two of Us

Listen while you read:  Not the Beatles' version

Two of us riding nowhere
Spending someone's hard earned pay
Two of us Sunday driving
Not arriving

On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home

Two of us sending postcards
Writing letters on my wall
You and me burning matches
Lifting latches

On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home

You and I have memories
Longer than the road that stretches out ahead

Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing so low in the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere

On our way back home
We're on our way home
We're on our way home
We're going home

~  Lennon - McCartney (The Beatles)

If you listened/watched the linked video, it was a version of the song performed by Aimee Mann and Michael Penn for the movie I Am Sam. Why? Because I like Aimee Mann. And I recall liking that movie, although I could probably watch it again, and it would all be new to me. The Beatles' version of the song appears on 1970's Let It Be.

While you are reading this, my daughter Jenna and I are probably still driving north on I-95, the first leg of our trip back to New Jersey. Jenna has been living and teaching on Eleuthera in the Bahamas for the last year, but she is moving on to her next adventure (whatever that may be . . . stay tuned). Our drive today is not long, maybe about five hours, but we have a place to stay tonight, so we'll take it. Jenna has a literary magazine and some GRE cards to study on the drive, and I will be listening to music. Interspersed between songs and chapters will be conversation. But mostly, I expect it to be laid back, "Sunday driving," if you will.

Jenna and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead. My little girl was ten when her father was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. She was at that awkward, in-between age, unable to fully grasp or respond to what was going on around her. She'd just turned 14 when the inevitable dying began, and her Christmas that year became a side note to sadness and grieving and making her contribution to a memorial service for her daddy.

One month later, now in high school, she learned to swim the butterfly to secure a place on the school's swim team. And it's been one accomplishment after another ever since. At 29, she has a resume that inspires awe, but she hasn't slowed down a bit. I'm not sure where her next adventure will be but I expect it to be in some distant land, doing something that benefits humanity.

But for now, she and I are going home, a place that we both love dearly. Together, we'll tend the garden, spend our evenings on the front porch swings, identify bird calls, and listen to the coyotes howl at night. We'll reminisce about the life we used to have in that home, but know that there's a large world out there, just waiting for us to explore.

And with any luck at all, our adventures will lead us home again, at least in our hearts.

The Two of Us

The Star-Spangled Banner

Listen while you read: Jimi Hendrix, of course!

O say can you see, by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

~  Francis Scott Key

Today is Flag Day! It's not an official federal holiday, just a day designated to memorialize the adoption of our flag on June 14, 1777. I thought it would be appropriate to post a song about the flag, and what more appropriate song would there be besides this one? Originally written as a poem titled "Defence of Fort M'Henry," written on September 14, 1814, Francis Scott Key's effort was four verses long. Obviously, most of us only know the first verse.

And most of us know the Jimi Hendrix performance of the song, I would assume. It's iconic. It can be found on 1969's Live at Woodstock. Although Hendrix was supposed to perform on Sunday night of the Woodstock Festival, weather and other things got in the way, and he performed "The Star-Spangled Banner" on Monday morning, not to a crowd of half a million, but to a seriously dwindled audience. He seemed unfazed by the small crowd.

Was his version of our national anthem well-received by the population at large? Not so much. But keep in mind, we were divided by much more than our taste in music at that time. To say that his performance was controversial would be an understatement. I was 19 at the time, and I certainly know on which side of the issue I aligned myself. After Woodstock, Dick Cavett interviewed Hendrix, and of course, the song was part of the conversation. "I don't know, man. All I did was play it. I'm American, so I played it. I used to sing it in school. They made me sing it in school, so it was a flashback," Hendrix told Cavett. At one point, Cavett interrupted the interview to speak to his TV audience. "This man was in the 101st Airborne, so when you send your nasty letters in . . . " He then explained to Hendrix that he would probably get some hate mail in response to the interview.

Yep, that's right. Hendrix trained to be a paratrooper in the 101st Airborne. He didn't like the military too much, though, and only enlisted when he'd been caught riding around in too many stolen cars and the law gave him a choice. After receiving his Screaming Eagles patch, Hendrix was given an honorable discharge "on the basis of unsuitability." He appeared to his superiors to be somewhat unmotivated. Safe to say, he found his motivation elsewhere.

As to Hendrix' memorable Woodstock performance of The Star-Spangled Banner, rock critic Greil Marcus had this to say: "It's so complex, with so many different layers of disgust and celebration and alienation and engagement. There's really no way to just characterize it as a protest against the war. It's certainly that. But he's also saying, 'I'm a citizen of this country, too . . . '"

It's Flag Day! Wave that flag! Wave it wide and high! (Grateful Dead) And while you're waving that flag, remember the freedoms it represents. Like playing the national anthem on an electric guitar.

Mix Up, Mix Up

Listen while you read: Some reggae, mon!

Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, oh, Lord, yeah

Well, it's not easy, it's not easy

Speak the truth, come on, speak. Eh, now
It ever cause it what it will
He who hide the wrong he did
Surely did the wrong thing still

Get in the studio of . . .
Studio of time and experience
Here we experience the good and bad
What we have, and what we had

This session (session)
Not just another version (version)
Oh, Lord, give me a session (session)
Not another version (version)

They're so much stumbling blocks right inna our way
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
There's so much wanting, so much gaining, so much have done

Too little mix-up in the mix-up, yes
Too much little mix-up
Too much of this mix-up, mix-up

~  Bob Marley (& the Wailers)

Pure coincidence that my song choice today has that word (in bold) in it. Because I would never have googled "songs with the word 'session'" when looking for a song on this made-for-political-junkies day. Mere coincidence. I just thought everyone could use a little reggae rhythm for a change. Some people waiting for the message that you bring / They listening to every word that you'll sing. Again, just coincidence.

Confrontation was released in 1983, two years after Marley's death. I never got to see Bob Marley & The Wailers, which makes me sad. But I think his music will live on forever. Jamaicans idolize him, a fact that became quite obvious to me the couple of times I have visited their island.

Perhaps I've had Jamaica on my mind after yesterday's visit to Publix. I was in the ethnic foods session section, looking for Pad Thai ingredients, when my eyes fell on a can of ackee. OMG! I have been drooling for ackee and saltfish ever since my last trip to Jamaica eight years ago! Ackee is the national fruit of Jamaica, but because its black seeds contain a poison (hypoglcin), only canned, pre-prepared ackee can be sold in the United States.

My kids and I spent Christmas in Jamaica in 2009, and because it was a holiday, none of the roadside stands had any ackee left. Our host drove us out to his friend Milton's farm where he grew scallions and pumpkins and thyme. Milton also had an ackee tree. He climbed it and picked a couple of ripe ackee for us. The next morning, we were treated to ackee and saltfish, and I have never gotten over it.

Because of a robust Jamaican population in south Florida, ackee is now available in my local Publix! Did I put a can in my cart? You bet! It wasn't until I returned home and checked my receipt that I saw what I paid for this luxury. $7.89!! It's okay. I will take it back to New Jersey with me, and some rainy day when I need a cheering up, I will open that can and cook it up. Hold the saltfish.

It's almost time to turn on the TV. There's a hearing session that I want to watch.

Hey, you been talkin' all your mouth full of lies
Sitting there toppling, and Lord, they criticize
So through the eyes of the fool, the deaf is wise
And through the eyes of the wise, the fool is size

Milton picking ackee for us!

The High Road

Listen while you read: The High Road

We're bound to wait all night
She's bound to run amok
Invested enough in it anyhow
To each his own

The Garden needs sorting out
She curls her lips on the bow
And I don't know if I'm dead or not
To anyone

Come on and get the minimum
Before you open your eyes
This army has so many heads
To analyze

Come on and get your overdose
Collect it at the borderline
And they want to get up in your head

'Cause they know and so do I
The high road is hard to find
A detour to your new life
Tell all of your friends goodbye

The dawn to end all nights
That's all we hoped it was
A break from the warfare in your home
To each his own

A soldier is bailing out
He curled his lip on the barrel
And I don't know if the dead can talk
To anyone

Come on and get the minimum
Before you open your eyes
This army has so many hands
Are you one of us?

Come on and get your overdose
Collect it at the borderline
And they want to get up in your head

'Cause they know and so do I
The high road is hard to find
Tell all of your friends goodbye

It's too late to change your mind
You let loss be your guide

~  Brian Burton & James Mercer (Broken Bells)

"You are traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind . . . " Either that, or I'm just going to depress the hell out of you with this post.

Oh! You're still here? Okay, then. First question: why did I pick such a weird, depressing song? Basically, because I love James Mercer's voice. Broken Bells is actually James Mercer (of The Shins) and Brian Burton (aka Danger Mouse). They joined forces to produce 2009's album of the same name, Broken Bells. I usually love anything Mercer does . . . until I read the lyrics and get confused. Maybe he's just an incomprehensible genius with a gorgeous voice.

I suspect he is an existentialist. A believer in the tenet that we, as individuals, are responsible for the choices we make in life, thereby creating our own destiny. Free will. Freedom of choice. All that philosophical stuff. Those of us who haven't already been too damaged try to make rational decisions despite existing in an irrational universe.

Did you watch the video? Surreal, isn't it? Mercer and Burton walk through a deserted landscape in the darkness of night, armed only with flashlights. Among other oddities, they come upon a burlesque dancer, a scary car accident, and a kid with a remote control toy car, which they proceed to steal from him. Are they on "the high road" or on the road to hell? Keeping in mind the (intended) double meaning of "high," it would not be a stretch to interpret the entire song through the lens of drug addiction, a "choice" that we all have. Mercer says, "'The High Road' is a lament. Is this person happy? I'm in hell now. Sometimes you just repeat it over in your head. 'I'm screwed. I'm screwed. I'm screwed.'"

And maybe we all are. That seems to be the collective wisdom these days. To survive, we all self-medicate in one way or another. Anything to make ourselves feel better. Whether your "high" is from drugs or alcohol or adventure or physical exertion or comfort food or consumerism or binge-watching TV, we're all in search of something to mask the pain of living.

I don't know if there is any redemption in the song. It ends with the repeated lines, It's too late to change your mind / You let loss be your guide. I don't even know if letting loss be our guide is a good thing or a bad thing. Do we learn from our mistakes? Or do they just send us deeper into the same hell? Freedom of choice?

I am willing to let this analysis go and just enjoy the uplifting melodic chorus of this song. After all, isn't that what we're supposed to do? Become distracted from the chaos around us by focusing on some shiny distraction? Broken Bells still shine, no matter how discordant their sound.

Walk of Life

Listen while you read: (British version)

Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-Bop-a-Lula, Baby What'd I Say
Here comes Johnny singing I Got a Woman
Down in the tunnels, trying to make it pay

He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah, the boy can play
Dedication, devotion
Turning all the night time into the day

He do the song about the sweet loving woman
He do the song about the Knife
He do the walk, he do the walk of life
. . . 

~  Mark Knopfler (Dire Straits)

The video linked above is the "British version." When Dire Straits put out "Walk of Life" on Brothers in Arms in 1985, they followed up with two videos. The British version shows a guy in "the tunnels" (subway), playing music for tips, which is what the song is about. But Knopfler thought that Americans would much prefer a sports-themed video, so there is a second "official" video with sports as the visuals. For me, there was no question as to which one I wanted to attach to this post. Duh.

Yesterday, my guy and I were having a discussion about music (as we pretty much do, um, every time we're together), and somehow, we traveled back to the "hits" when we were children, back in the 50s and 60s, before the music revolution. I'd made a comment about how Louis Armstrong's "Hello, Dolly" hogged the charts in 1964 for like 40 weeks, and how pissed I was about that. And then we reached farther back to all those silly songs that captured our imagination back then, like "Monster Mash," "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini," "Purple People Eater," and the like. And yeah, we sang all the verses our memories called up. (Sorry for the earworms.)

And then I mentioned a couple of songs from that childhood that were not silly, but actually, rather ageless. Peggy Lee's "Fever" and Bobby Darin's "Mack the Knife." On my drive home later, what do I hear on my radio? "Walk of Life," which makes a reference to "Mack the Knife." (Did you notice it?) Again, I love the serendipity of this blog! The Universe just keeps plopping songs in my lap!

So we're all walking the walk of life. There's been some rough terrain to navigate lately, but as long as we keep moving forward (and not backward as some would have us do), we'll be okay. As an obvious example of which direction we should be headed, putting our energy into fossil fuels would be like walking backward. Solar and wind moves us forward. I'm not sure why something so obvious fuels such argument. But again, no matter how divided we seem to be, there's always music to comfort us.

And after all the violence and the double talk
There's just a song in the trouble and the strife
You do the walk, you do the walk of life

Moon in the Water

Listen while you read: Moon in the Water

When the wind is with me
But somehow out of sight
Not knowing where it comes from
Or where it goes

That's the way your memory
Shapes the middle of my night
Since the last time I saw you
And the words you chose

When I said, "This must be what love is like
I saw it in a dream"
You looked into my eyes and said
"You don't know what you mean
'Cause love is for the fisherman
Who cast his nets too far upstream
Fishing for the moon in the water"

~  Taylor Goldsmith (Dawes)

Yesterday was the full moon, the "strawberry moon," but it was also my daughter's birthday (obviously more important), so here's my tribute to the full moon, a day late. If I wasn't such a perfectionist, I would not have had to explain/apologize for this. The moon made me do it.

I love Dawes. I love Taylor Goldsmith's talent for song-writing. (Except maybe for that "when the tequila runs out we'll be drinking champagne" song, which was a big disappointment.) This song, other than just being so damn pretty, plays with language in a way that appeals to me. Yes, I love metaphor. He follows it through the rest of the song, so by all means, google the lyrics (or just listen) to get the full beauty of the song. It appears on 2011's Nothing Is Wrong. I read an insightful interview in Songwriters on Process with Taylor on his songwriting habits, which you can read here if you want.

So what does it mean to fish for the moon in the water? Seems pretty obvious: reaching for the unattainable. I think in most cases, it's happiness that we are trying to "catch." Many of us do this by acquiring possessions. While many of our possessions are necessary, I would argue that we certainly don't need all the shit we own. So why do we keep buying it? Because maybe it will make us happy? Fishing for the moon in the water.

But Taylor suggests that perhaps the metaphor is our search for love. Love is for the fighter born to lose but never quit / Swinging for the moon in the water. Our hearts get broken, more often than we'd like, it seems. We try to allow the requisite amount of time for them to heal, and then we go looking for love again. And sometimes we find it.

"Everyone should believe in something. I believe I'll go fishing." ~ Henry David Thoreau

Catch the moon!

Snowpeas in Her Pocket

Listen while you read: (Audio only . . . for now!)

Well, that Jenna was a Jersey girl from the Kittatinny range
Eyes big and brown, hair hanging down
That girl caused my heart to change

She could swim the mighty Delaware like a hawk across the sky
She was short and sweet, made my knees weak
That girl was my, oh my, oh my

She had snowpeas in her pocket
She had sunlight up her sleeve
She had whiskey in a silver flask
And I knew I couldn't leave

Jenna fed the earth with compost and her dirt was rich and black
And by her side till the day he died
Was her golden dog named Mack

She planted seeds in early spring while the coyotes howled at night
Beneath the moon to a bluegrass tune
She worked her bones until daylight

She had seedlings in her pocket
She had sunlight up her sleeve
She had a river in a silver flask
And I knew I could not leave

That Jenna had a man one time, a troubadour, so they said
He came to town, turned her upside down
And it seemed like they would wed

But eventually it came to be that he done poor Jenna wrong
She found him out, and there was no doubt
He'd have to sing a different song

She had nothing in her pockets
She had her heart on her sleeve
She drank whiskey from a silver flask
And I knew I couldn't leave

Was about that time I came to town, and that Jenna stole my heart
We pulled the weeds, and we planted seeds
And I swore we'd never part

But now and then, when she looks at me, I wonder what I am
A farmer boy? Or a gardener's toy?
I wish I knew, goddamn, goddamn!

She had snowpeas in her pocket
She had sunlight up her sleeve
She had whiskey in a  silver flask
And I knew I could not leave

I wrote this song ten years ago; I was young and full of doubt
Hellbent on love and the stars above
I didn't know what life was all about

And now the beans are on the vine and tomatoes bursting red
And Jen and me, we're a family
And our destiny's well fed

And she had me in her pocket
She had nothing up her sleeve
We grew a garden from an empty flask
And I knew I couldn't leave

Yes, I knew I'd never leave

~  Therese Mattil (lyrics) and Kevin Connolly (music)

Happy Birthday to my adorable daughter Jenna! She may still be in the Bahamas now, but she will fly to me next week, and then she and I will road trip our way back north to New Jersey! I can't wait!

Jenna is my adventurer, my free spirit, my wanderer. She is also pragmatic and efficient and extremely smart. From environmentalism to writing/editing to social justice, Jenna walks the walk. She amazes me all the time.

I raised three kids. For reasons I cannot explain, two of them periodically inspired poems from me. And, also for reasons I cannot explain, no poems about Jenna ever rose to the surface. And of course, Jenna being Jenna, she pointed that out to me. Consequently, I set about to write something about her, and the lyrics above are the result of that effort. Now, Jenna would tell you that the song isn't really about her; it's a fictional poem. True, it is. But I tried to capture her spirit, her passion, her vulnerability in the face of her strength. I think I succeeded in that. If nothing else, the song is full of love, and love is what I will forever have for my little girl.

Last year, I offered these lyrics to my son's best friend, Kevin. Sam and Kevin navigated their high school years (in different schools) somewhat as outsiders, not fitting in with the conservative (leaning toward redneck) mood of the area. Not only did they survive, but once leaving the area, they flourished as young adults. Kevin has a degree in music education and is part of a bluegrass band, The Whuppin' Good String Band. Although guitar was Kevin's first love, he has become quite skilled at banjo, which you can hear in the song.

Anyway, Kevin took my lyrics, tweaked them a bit, and came up with this song. To say that I am thrilled with the result would be an understatement. Kevin rocked it! (Or did he bluegrass it?) Recently, Kevin and his band spent some time in the studio, and I am eagerly awaiting the result of that effort. "Snowpeas in Her Pocket" is a featured song on the upcoming CD. Kevin assures me I will receive a portion of the royalties when the song becomes famous!

Thank you, Kevin! And thank you, Jenna, for being an inspiration to me, in so many ways. Happy Birthday! I love you!

Photo credit: Lyndsay Cayetana Bouchal

H2Ogate Blues

Listen while you read: (It's 8 minutes long!)

How long will the citizens sit still and wait?
It's looking like Europe in '38
Did they move to stop Hitler before it was too late? (No . . . )
How long, America, before the consequences
Of keeping the school systems segregated
Allowing the press to be intimidated
Watching the price of everything soar
And hearing complaints 'cause the rich want more?
It seems that MacBeth, and not his lady, went mad
We've let him eliminate the whole middle class
The dollar's the only thing we can't inflate
While the poor go on without a new minimum wage
But what really happened to J. Edgar Hoover?
The king is proud of Patrick Gray
And there are those who say America's faith is drowning
Beneath that cesspool -- Watergate

How much more evidence do the citizens need
That the election was sabotaged by trickery and greed?
And if this is so, and who we got didn't win
Let's do the whole goddamn election over again!

~ Gil Scott-Heron and Brian Jackson

I know, I know, I said I was going to take a break from politics. But I watched the Comey hearing this morning, and it was compelling, to say the least. I tried to find a song that would relate by googling things like "FBI" and "Senate Hearings" and "This is all batshit crazy and we're all going to die!" And then I came upon "H2Ogate Blues" and checked out the lyrics. History repeats itself? On steroids?

"H2Ogate Blues" appears on Gil Scott-Heron's Winter in America which was released in . . . (pay attention, this is important . . .) NINETEEN SEVENTY-FOUR! So if you thought the lyrics that appear above are about our current situation, that is understandable, but you would be wrong. Obviously, the song is about Watergate. If the references to Watergate and Hoover and Gray were removed from the lyrics, the song would stand as a commentary on today's news. And I find this troubling. "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it." True words.

Gil Scott-Heron is known for his spoken word recordings. If that's not your thing, you might have skipped listening to the song/poem. But he does a cool thing about "the blues" in the beginning that might be worth a listen. And, of course, the rest is about Watergate. Some of you lived through that era. I did. Not having been a good student of history and government, I found much of it confusing at the time, but I understood the gist of it. And many members of our current administration lived through that time, too. Did they fall asleep in front of the TV? I often use the phrase "Lessons learned." It seems that there are some that refuse to learn the lessons that are placed right smack in front of them. We can now have front row seats to their unraveling, just as we did in the early 70s, as the Nixon administration crashed and burned. Get your popcorn ready.

"H2Ogate Blues" ends with the following refrain:

Four more years,
Four more years,
Four more years,
Four more years of THAT?

Deja vu.