Valley Winter Song

Listen while you read:  Fountains of Wayne

Hey, sweet Annie, don't take it so bad
You know the summer's coming soon
Though the Interstate is choking under salt and dirty sand
And it seems the sun is hiding from the moon

Your daddy told you when you were a girl
The kind of things that come to those who wait
So give it a rest, girl, take a deep breath, girl
And meet me at the Baystate tonight

And the snow is coming down on our New England town
And it's been falling all night long
What else is new? What could I do?
I wrote a valley winter song to play for you

And late December can drag a man down
You feel it deep in your gut
Short days and afternoons spent puttering around
In a dark house with the windows painted shut

Remember New York, staring outside
As reckless winter made its way
From Staten Island to the Upper West Side
Whiting out our streets along the way

And the snow is coming down on our New England town
And it's been falling all night long
What else is new? What could I do?
But sing this valley winter song I wrote for you

~  Chris Collingwood & Adam Schlesinger (for Fountains of Wayne)

I woke up to 50 degrees here in sunny South Florida, but there is no snow. Took the chill off by running the heat a little bit. My Northern friends have been posting pictures of the beautiful snowfall in my home state, so it seemed appropriate to post a song about that meteorological event that provokes so much love and hate. "Valley Winter Song" appears on Fountains of Wayne's third album, 2003's Welcome Interstate Managers.

It's as pretty a song as that first snowfall, isn't it? December snow is almost always welcome, as it provides the perfect landscape for the secular part of Christmas. I remember as a kid taking seriously that 1949 Gene Autry classic, "If It Doesn't Snow on Christmas," wondering if Santa's sleigh would indeed be able to navigate a snowless world. (Never mind that we knew his sleigh had flying capabilities, thanks to magical reindeer.)

Post Christmas, any snow event is met with a somewhat negative response, unless, of course, you are a skier or a kid (or teacher) hoping for a snow day. That silent and pristine beauty is quickly overtaken by the salt and dirty sand. By February, traditionally the snowiest month of the winter, one is marking off the days (thankfully, only 28 or 29) until March arrives with the promise of no more snow.

Ha! I can recall some of the craziest blizzards happening in the month of March! It can test one's mettle.

It is true that I have opted to live in a snowless environment during the winter, but the pictures my daughter sent of my Northern home in a snowy landscape have poked my heart. My memories of sitting fireside on a snowy evening, a mug of homemade soup cupped in my hands, have emerged in a  wave of nostalgia.

I'll get over it.

Back Door Man

Listen while you read:  The Doors

Wha, yeah! C'mon, yeah
Yeah, c'mon, yeah
Yeah, c'mon
Oh, yeah, ma

Yeah, I'm a back door man
I'm a back door man
The men don't know
But the little girl understand

Hey, all you people that tryin' to sleep
I'm out to make it with my midnight dream, yeah
'Cause I'm a back door man
The men don't know
But the little girls understand
All right, yeah

You men eat your dinner
Eat your pork and beans
I eat more chicken
Than any man ever seen, yeah, yeah
I'm a back door man, wha
The men don't know
But the little girls understand

Well, I'm a back door man
I'm a back door man
Whoa, baby, I'm a back door man
The men don't know
But the little girls understand

~ Willie Dixon (The Doors version)

Fifty years ago today, The Doors were scheduled for a concert in New Haven, Connecticut. There was a contingency of police hired to protect them. Prior to the show, a cop, not recognizing lead singer Jim Morrison, found him "making out" with a female fan in a shower backstage and told them to leave. Morrison's reply? "Eat it!" Still unaware that this was Morrison, the cop pulled out a can of Mace and said, "Last chance." Morrison retorted, "Last chance to eat it!" and was summarily maced. The concert was delayed to give Morrison time to recuperate. Meanwhile, the cop was informed that he had just maced the man he was hired to protect, and he apologized.

But Morrison, ever the antagonist, could not let it go. During a performance of "Back Door Man," he delivered a profanity-laced tirade against the cops, tormenting them from the stage, and referring to the mace-wielding cop as "a little blue pig." It didn't take the cops long to retaliate with an arrest, charging Morrison with inciting a riot, indecency, and public obscenity. It may have been the first time that a performer was ever dragged off the stage in the middle of a show. Indeed, there was some rioting in the streets, resulting in another 13 arrests. The charges against Morrison were later dropped.

Note: this event is not to be confused with the March 1, 1969 concert in Miami when Morrison was arrested for exposing himself on stage, a charge whose truth is still under dispute. In 2010, Charlie Crist, governor of Florida, granted a posthumous pardon to Morrison, the result of a fan request. Morrison, as you know, was found dead in his bathtub in Paris on July 3, 1971. He was 27 years old.

The song was an old blues standard written by Willie Dixon, but the Doors' version added to Morrison's reputation as a licentious performer. Although a "back door man" is commonly interpreted as a roue who frequents the bedroom of a married woman while her husband is at work, there are other definitions which may apply to Morrison's sexual preferences.

In regard to Morrison's dalliance in the shower with a presumably young female fan, there is much in the news today about men acting inappropriately with girls and women, and Morrison's behavior would certainly gain him admittance to the Wall of Shame. It is fair to note, however, that Morrison was not running for or serving in the United States Senate at the time. Nor was he occupying the Oval Office. Nonetheless, the day is here when the little girls understand more than they used to, or at least more than they were once willing to accept.

And it only took fifty years.

Give Peace a Chance

Listen while you read:  Plastic Ono Band

Everybody's talking 'bout
Bagism, Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism
This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Everybody's talking 'bout
Ministers, sinisters, banisters, and canisters 
Bishops and Fishops and Rabbis and Popeyes and bye-bye, bye-byes

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Let me tell you now
Everybody's talking 'bout
Revolution, evolution, masturbation, flagellation, regulation, integrations
Meditations, United Nations, congratulations

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Everybody's talking 'bout 
John and Yoko, Timothy Leary, Rosemary, Tommy Smothers, Bobby Dylan, Tommy Cooper
Derek Taylor, Norman Mailer, Allen Ginsberg, Hare Krishna, Hare Hare Krishna

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

~  John Lennon

On May 31, 1969, John Lennon and Yoko One staged a "Bed-In" in Room 1472 of the Queen Elizabeth's Hotel in Montreal to draw attention to the need for peace in the world. They stayed in bed for eight days. "Give Peace a Chance" was recorded live in that room, with vocal help from, among others, Tommy Smothers, Timothy Leary, Allen Ginsberg, and . . . wait for it . . . Petula Clark. Despite the efforts of the Plastic Ono Band, we are still waiting to give peace a chance. (And from what I can gather, making Jerusalem the capital of Israel is not going to get us any closer to peace.)

Thirty-seven years ago today, John Lennon was murdered outside his NYC residence, the Dakota, by Mark David Chapman. Aside from the assassinations of the Kennedys and Martin Luther King, Jr., I generally do not let celebrity deaths get to me. But Lennon's death did. I still remember, a day or two after his death, WNEW (in NYC) held a moment of silence at noon. I was in my home in northwestern New Jersey on that day. The weather was mild. But at that moment of silence, all of a sudden, a snow squall reared up out of nowhere, and as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared. I will never forget that moment.

I can't help but wonder what John would say to us these days. Could he impart some wisdom to help us deal with our dysfunctional political situation? In a moment of silence, I channeled him and before I knew it, a revision of the song appeared in my handwriting! I offer it to you here:

Everybody's talking 'bout
Steve Bannon, loose cannons, V. Putin, darn-tootin', KellyAnn, Erdogan, 
Robert Mueller, Ferris Bueller, (who's cooler?)

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Everybody's talking 'bout
Al Franken, offshore banking, James Comey, Moore homies, 
Wall pushers, Jared Kushner and Ivanka, Willy Wonka

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Everybody's talking 'bout
McConnell, O'Donnell, Melania, melancholia, 
Papadopoulos, Stephanopoulos, and who will topple us?

All we are saying is give peace a chance
All we are saying is give peace a chance

Peace all.

The Pearl

Listen while you read:  Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day

Oh, the dragons are gonna fly tonight
They're circling low and inside tonight
It's another round in the losing fight
Out along the Great Divide tonight

We are aging soldiers in an ancient war
Seeking out some half-remembered shore
We drink our fill and still we thirst for more
Asking if there's no heaven, what is this hunger for?

Our path is worn, our feet are poorly shod
We lift up our prayer against all odds
And fear the silence is the voice of God

And we cry Allelujah, Allelujah
We cry Allelujah

Sorrow is constant and the joys are brief
The seasons come and bring no sweet relief
Time is a brutal but careless thief
Who takes our lot but leaves behind the grief

It is the heart that kills in the end
Just one more old broken bone that cannot mend
As it was now and ever shall be, amen

And we cry Allelujah, Allelujah
We cry Allelujah

So there'll be no guiding light for you and me
We are not sailors lost out on the sea
We were always headed toward eternity
Hoping for a glimpse of Galilee

Like falling stars from the universe we are headed
Down through the long loneliness of the world
Until we behold the pain become the pearl

Crying Allelujah, Allelujah
We cry Allelujah

And we cry Allelujah

~  Emmylou Harris

"A day that will live in infamy." So declared President Franklin Delano Roosevelt the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, 76 years ago today. Although I do not know the inspiration behind Emmylou's "The Pearl," it seems to be a lament over the circumstance of war, so I thought it a fitting choice for today. Although Emmylou is known for her covers of songs by other artists, this is one that she wrote herself. It appears on her 2000 release, Red Dirt Girl.

In a surprise military strike by the Japanese Navy Air Service, the attack on the Naval base in Hawaii claimed 2,403 American lives and marked the American entry into World War II. Our military fought in two arenas: Europe and Asia. My dad was stationed in the Philippines with the United States Army, a deployment responsible for the malaria that left his bed pillow yellow with sweat whenever he suffered an episode. I remember being told not to go into his room during these attacks, the mystery leading to sadness, confusion, and helplessness for me. The seasons come and bring no sweet relief.

Although I was born after WWII, and the Korean War took up the early years of my existence, there was a period of nothing but a Cold War until the Viet Nam conflict changed everything. My point is that I lived during a brief time of relative peace. (I say "relative" because of the Cold War.) But check this out: America has been at war 93% of the time (since 1776)! For 224 out of 241 years of our existence, we have been living with war! (In my lifetime, there was no war involvement from 1976 until 1978, 1997, and 2000.) We are aging soldiers in an ancient war / Seeking out some half-remembered shore.

What to make of this? War is the norm? So many of us are not okay with this. All we are saying is give peace a chance. (Tune in tomorrow.)

Creature Comfort

Listen while you read:  It's not painless.

Some boys hate themselves
Spend their lives resenting their fathers
Some girls hate their bodies
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

Saying God, make me famous
If you can't, just make it painless
Just make it painless

Assisted suicide
She dreams about dying all the time
She told me she came so close
Filled up the bathtub and put on our first record

God, make me famous
If you can't, just make it painless
Just make it painless 

It goes on and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it
On and on . . . 

Some girls hate themselves
Hide under the covers with sleeping pills
And some girls cut themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback
Some boys get too much, too much love, too much touch
Some boys starve themselves
Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback

Creature comfort makes it painless
Bury me penniless and nameless
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you, but you can't see it
Born in a diamond mine
It's all around you, but you can't touch it

Saying God, make me famous
If you can't, just make it painless
Just make it painless

It's not painless
She was a friend of mine, a friend of mine
And we're not nameless, oh

It goes on and on, I don't know what I want
On and on, I don't know if I want it . . . 
Well, if you're not sure, better safe than sorry

Creature comfort, make it painless
Creature comfort, make it painless

We're the bones under your feet
The white lie of American prosperity
We wanna dance, but we can't feel the beat
I'm a liar, don't doubt my sincerity

Just make it painless
Creature comfort, make it painless

Na na na na na na na . . . 

~  Win Butler et al (for Arcade Fire)

Mine! Mine! Mine! Last week, I wrote a post ("Timothy") about a coal mine. Yesterday, "The Gold" was about a gold mine. And look at today's song . . . wouldn't you know it, there's a diamond mine in there. Would you believe me if I told you that this is all coincidence? I will resist the urge to find a song about a silver mine. "Creature Comfort" is part of Arcade Fire's summer release, Everything Now.

I find this song haunting, yet compelling. Sad, yet necessary. As Christopher Hooten said in his review for Independent, "It's the kind of song where you don't know whether to cry or dance, and that's probably the best kind." I have been troubled for some time now over what I perceive as a sense of ennui, of melancholy, that seems pervasive in our culture. Maybe The Avett Brothers labeled it best: "True Sadness." Sure, we face each day with our best effort, navigating the new normal with determination and faith that it all means something. But look at us. We're a hot mess! Drug-addicted, obese, alcoholic, chain-smoking, religiously fanatical, argumentative, politically divided, guarded, and sometimes, hopeless.

While some of this can be attributed to the current political climate and the ever-widening chasm between the haves and the have-nots, perhaps this sadness has always been a part of the human condition. "Life is suffering," the Buddhists tell us in the first of The Four Noble Truths. In the Second Truth, which addresses the cause of suffering, we are told that desire and ignorance are the villains. On and on, I don't know what I want / On and on, I don't know if I want it. And now we find ourselves in the grip of the holiday craziness, which basically tells us to "Buy! Buy! Buy!" Feed the desire and see what happiness can be obtained! And after the gifts are opened, the remnants of disposable paper and ribbons piled up on the floor, we might feel as empty as before we began the ritual. Do I sound like a Grinch? Well, Dr. Seuss tried to warn us of something! Did we listen?

But the song is much darker than that, isn't it? I am particularly disturbed by the references to our obsession with body image. Some girls hate their bodies / Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback. I can still remember thinking that I was not lovable as a teenager, given that I wore glasses, had knobby knees and big feet. The benefit of aging is that one can look back on these things and realize how foolish that thinking was. But nothing seems to be able to convince our youth that there is no one manifestation of beauty. We've been fed so many lies, the truth got lost.

It's not painless. Life, that is. Sometimes it seems that there is more pain than joy, and that may be true. But the Duality of Opposites tells us that we cannot know joy unless we have known pain. May I humbly suggest that we all look for joy in the small places, not the department stores. Be mindful, be present, tell the stories, laugh at the memories, hold hands, say "I love you," walk in the woods, gaze at the stars, make up a poem, leave a note, practice winking, clap your hands, offer the peace sign, open your arms. None of that will cost you a dime.

Na na na na na na na . . . 

The Gold

Listen while you read:  Manchester Orchestra

Couldn't really love you any more
You've become my ceiling
I don't think I love you anymore
Our cave's collapsing
I don't wanna be here anymore
My old man told me

"You don't open your eyes for awhile
You just breathe that moment down"
Forty miles out of East Illinois
From my old man's heart attack

I believed you were crazy
You believed you loved me

I don't wanna bark here anymore
Black Hills, the colly
Wasn't really dangerous for us
We just catch you coughing
What the hell are we gonna do?
A black mile to the surface
I don't wanna be here anymore
It all tastes like poison

Can't open your eyes for awhile
You just breathe that moment down
Forty hours out of Homestake
And I'm trying to translate you again

I believed you were crazy
You believed you loved me
You and me, we're a day drink
So lose your faith in me

~  Andy Hull (for Manchester Orchestra)

In his State of the Union Address on this day in 1848, President James K. Polk confirmed that large quantities of gold had been discovered in California, thus triggering the California Gold Rush of 1849 which, according to PBS, "unleashed the largest migration in United States history and drew people from a dozen countries to form a multi-ethnic society on America's fringe." Twenty-five years later, George Armstrong Custer led a force of 1000 men into Sioux territory in the Black Hills of South Dakota, beginning the Black Hills Gold Rush. And two years after that, in 1876, the discovery of a gold outcropping in Lead, South Dakota, resulted in the creation of the Homestake Mine, which became the backdrop for the HBO series, Deadwood, and the inspiration for this song by Manchester Orchestra, included on their June release of A Black Mile to the Surface. What to take from all of this information? One thing leads to another? Or the things you can learn while writing a blog?

And here's something I learned. "Colly" refers to the soot and grime that accumulates where there is coal dust. Ew. Can't open your eyes for awhile / You just breathe that moment down. If the gold mine is metaphor for a relationship gone bad, it's not too difficult to draw the parallels. Love is the gold, but there's no guarantee you'll find it. And once a relationship's gone bad, it all tastes like poison.

Despite the despair of the song, I like it, especially the slow-motion break for I believed you were crazy / You believed you loved me. We believe what we want to believe; truth be damned. If you believe there's gold in them thar hills, go for it. You won't be the first fool.

Policy of Truth

Listen while you read:  Depeche Mode

You had something to hide
Should have hidden it, shouldn't you?
Now you're not satisfied
With what you're being put through

It's just time to pay the price
For not listening to advice
And deciding in your youth
On the policy of truth

Things could be so different now
It used to be so civilized
You will always wonder how
It could've been if you'd only lied

It's too late to change events
It's time to face the consequences
For delivering the proof
In the policy of truth

Never again is what you swore
The time before
Never again is what you swore
The time before

Now you're standing there tongue-tied
You'd better learn your lesson well
Hide what you have to hide
And tell what you have to tell

You'll see your problems multiplied
If you continually decide
To faithfully pursue
The policy of truth

Never again is what you swore
The time before . . . 

~  Martin L. Gore (for Depeche Mode)

"The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those that speak it." ~ George Orwell

I've been thinking a lot lately about how casually we, as a people, lie. And no, I am not calling you a liar. I don't think I am a liar. But the happenstance of lying seems to become more and more the norm these days, and it is more than disturbing. So I googled "songs about lying," and you might be surprised to know how many there are! Now most of these songs involve the lies told between lovers; no surprise there. "Policy of Truth" can be found on Depeche Mode's seventh studio album, 1990's Violator.

One would think that a "policy of truth" is a good thing, but in the song, the suggestion is that telling the truth can put one in a worse situation than if one lied. I can't help but contrast this idea with the reality of Michael Flynn's recent admission that he lied to the FBI. And by the way, who in his right mind would think he could lie to the friggin' FBI and get away with it? Does Flynn wish that he hadn't lied? Good question.

But the Liar-in-Chief makes Flynn look like an honest man. I tried to find the current number of lies Trump has told since his inauguration, but I wasn't able to find an updated count. (Who can keep up?) Back in August, the number of lies topped 1,000, so that means about 145 lies per month, suggesting that the count might be up to about 1,500 lies by now. And this is normal?

Pathological lying, or pseudologia fantastica is a thing. And DT has it. Did he listen to Depeche Mode back in the 90s? (I doubt it.) Certainly, he did not decide in his youth on the policy of truth.

But it's bigger than that. "The fish rots from the head down." If the President lies, I can, too. I grew up with The Ten Commandments (the Catholic version), and the 8th Commandment warned me not to bear false witness. In other words, don't lie. It's pretty simple. And you don't have to be a Christian to know that.

And while you contemplate our collective fall from grace, give Depeche Mode a listen. It's a compelling tune.