The River Runs North

The Music Cycle

2012-02-17T21:02:00.003-06:00

I distinctly remember, around 1980 or so, desperately searching for some good music. Anything!

1980 was kind of a seminal year for me, because it was shortly after this time that I just finally GAVE UP on country music. I mean, gave up. I think Charley Pride did it. (Thanks, Charley!)

I remember house-sitting for my parents when they took their trip to Vegas. I had my four-year-old, and my two-year-old, and me just hanging around, kind of faux-housecleaning, and tuning the stupid console stereo to the country station, and longing...yes, LONGING for one, just ONE, decent country song.

I had gotten the Thorn Birds from the library, so that was a nice distraction, but something was still missing. And that missing piece was some decent country music.

You see, there was no such thing as DECENT country music in 1980.

You can look back now, and pinpoint some classic songs, but truthfully, if one is honest, it was all Crystal Gayle and Sylvia, and others. And this chart will point the way.

It was a sad, demoralizing time for country music.

I just scrolled through the chart, and I don't even recognize most of these songs. That's how bad it was.

Sure, I can pick out some good ones. But that really doesn't give you the flavor of 1980.

I would hate to be someone who charted in that year, because, well, if you were still doing concerts, you'd have approximately three people show up for your show, and two of them would have been dragged by their wives, just to keep peace in the family.

Country music in 1980 deserved what it got.

I wonder sometimes about cycles in popular music, and what causes them. Is it societal? Does the culture dictate what kind of music is created?

If we're feeling complacent, and not challenged, is the music complacent and unchallenging? The answer must be yes.

But what about music now?

One would think that the times we're living in would create angst and disharmony. Instead, it's blase. Maybe everyone has just given up.

In the sixties, everyone was ticked off. They were all mad about the war and about this and that, or at least they pretended to be mad, when they weren't prancing around with flowers in their hair. And look at the music of the sixties. It was great!

1980? I don't know. I'm thinking, we were at the tail end of that "long malaise" that the guy in the White House told us we were in. Way to buck everybody up, there, Jimmy! Such inspiring words!

And thus, the music on the radio was still malaise-ackal, as well. The music said, "Really, we just don't care. Don't listen to us ~ we're hideous! Just like the economy."

Amazingly, after 1980, the music started looking up! Coincidence? I think not.

The nineteen eighties were really some of the best times country music has ever seen. If you don't believe me, check out these songs and artists.

So, maybe if things get better, the music will get better? There's always hope.

Like I said earlier, you can pick out the good songs from any year, even a crummy one. And that's what I'm going to do.

I don't feel like depressing myself, or you, and as you know, my motto is, music should be fun.

So, no Sylvia; no Crystal; no Charley Pride (sorry, Charley).

EDDIE RABBITT

THE OAK RIDGE BOYS

MERLE HAGGARD Sorry about the re-route. I don't know what's up with that, but at least this video works!

One of the best country voices EVER ~ GENE WATSON

EMMYLOU HARRIS

Sorry, no performance video available of this song, but I still feel it needs to be included:

JOHN ANDERSON

RONNIE MILSAP

It's becoming an unfortunate pattern that I am not finding performance videos of some of the best songs of 1980, but to leave them out would be unthinkable:

ROY ORBISON & EMMYLOU HARRIS

I honestly didn't even remember that this song charted on the country charts in 1980, because this isn't a country song. Is it? Yes, to me, it's an homage to Roy Orbison, so I guess, since Roy charted on the country charts, why not JD SOUTHER? Plus, I love this song! So, fine by me!

My son probably wouldn't admit it, but he was obsessed with this TV show in 1980. Remember, he was four.

So, we had to rush home on Friday nights (from Happy Joe's Pizza Parlor) to tune in to CBS to watch Bo and Luke. This was one of the worst shows I was ever forced to watch (ha!), but I did it for my kid.

By the way, my son, Chris, thought the sheriff's name was Roscoe PEE-Co-Train, when, in fact, it was Roscoe P. Coltraine. I'm sure he knows the difference now.

Here is WAYLON JENNINGS (at least here are his hands):

(Note to YouTube posters ~ you can "disable embedding by request" all you want. One can find ANYTHING on the internet. It wasn't hard, really. And by the way, who is requesting that you disable embedding? CBS? This show was 32 years ago, for God's sake! Do you (CBS) think someone is going to steal your "intellectual property"? C'mon).

So, here we are. The best songs from a bad, bad year in country music.

Yes, you think, well, these are pretty good! Sure! I cherry-picked them! Just check out my Wikipedia link to see all the bad ones! You know, ten songs, out of all the records released in a year, is a woefully bad percentage.

WOEFULLY bad.

Just trust me on this ~ it was a bad year. I was there.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. Aren't you forgetting one, oh Sage?

No, I didn't forget it.

Here's the deal. When anybody says, "This is the best song EVER. The best song that mankind ever created", well, I kind of bristle at that. The truth is, there is no such thing as the best song ever. There could be a best song today. A best song that you like a whole lot, because you heard it on the radio when you were driving to work, and you forgot how much you liked it, but now you think you should get home and download it, because it's the best song EVER. At least, that's how you feel today. Tomorrow, there will be a new best song.

So, I like Bobby Braddock's and Curly Putman's writing a lot. They wrote a ton of classic country songs.

And this is a good song. No doubt. But is it the best country song ever? No.

Because there is no such thing.

But no, I'm not going to leave out GEORGE JONES.

So, eleven. Eleven good songs from 1980. And you could quibble about whether a couple of them are even country songs. That's a bad average.

I guess, though, you could take any year and dissect it, and find that there weren't a whole lot of good songs. But music is meant to be taken in its entirety. Our brains don't sort songs by year (leave that job to me ~ ha).

I do find it interesting, however, that when you take even a bad year like 1980, the usual suspects pop up ~ the classic artists ~ Merle, Gene, Emmylou, Ronnie, George, Roy (of course), Waylon. There aren't any one-hit wonders (and JD Souther, by the say, wrote some classic songs for the Eagles, so no, he's not a one-hit wonder, either).

The cream rises to the top. Even in 1980.

What Fame Does

2012-02-16T20:05:00.008-06:00

I'm obviously not a famous person, nor will I ever be. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.

I've been thinking about it a lot this past week, and kind of getting angry.

It seems that what fame does is destroy fragile souls.

Face it, artists are fragile to begin with. At least most of them. It's that sensitivity that allows them to tap into the feelings, wants, fears of the world at large.

It's a double-edged sword, to quote an over-used cliche.

But even not-so-sensitive people fall prey to the dishonesty that comes with fame.

You know, the hangers-on; the ones who really don't give a damn about you, but they'll say, "Yes, Ma'am", "You bet, Sir", just to keep getting their palms greased. They're no fools.

I read some stories in the past week, where people who interacted with Whitney in her last days said, "Oh, she was FINE! No, there was no strange behavior! Are you kidding? She was great ~ in high spirits; fully in control."

Bullshit.

I saw the pictures. If those people think she was "fine", they must live in a nether world that the rest of us simpletons can't seem to view through our naive haze of reality.

Fine. Protect her reputation. It's a little late now, though.

How about one of those morons taking her aside and asking, "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help you? I'm worried about you".

But it's not just Whitney. It was Michael. It was Amy. It was Elvis.

They were all "just fine". Okay.

"Are you sure you should be mixing those pills with alcohol, Whitney?" Did anyone ask that?

Elvis had his own "mafia" around him. Hand-picked. "Hey, Big E! TCB! Got another Cadillac you'd like me to take of your hands?" I wonder if they feel really good about themselves.

"Oh, Michael? Well, he's just 'shy'."

"So, Mr. Jackson, you want me to smuggle some Propofol out of the hospital and shoot it through your veins? I see absolutely no problem with that!", says Dr. Murray. "By the way, when can I expect my next paycheck?"

"Amy, you are looking GOOD! Have you put on a few pounds? You look so healthy!"

Did any, just ONE, person around these artists ever deign to tell them the truth? I doubt it.

They surrounded themselves with sycophants.

Of course, it's ultimately the responsibility of the person themselves to get it together.

They become...I don't know, spoiled? Big spoiled brats?

So used to everyone bowing and scraping that they take advantage of it? Expect it?

It seems like Elvis was that way. Seems to me that he banished anyone who would dare speak some truth. How dare they? Don't they know who I am? THEY don't think. I do the thinking around here. And it's all about me. Nobody else. ME. I am the star. I am, in fact, the king of the world! Everyone tells me I am. So, I am.

"All my fans really love me."

Well, here's the thing: unless you're some kind of shallow, celebrity-obsessed cyborg, you do not actually LOVE an artist.

What you love is, the memories they have created for you.

It's really NOT about them; it's about you.

Honestly. Think about the songs that flash in your mind. The ones that, to you, are classics. Why are they classics to you? Because they were the soundtrack of YOUR life. A special time. These songs were the BACKGROUND for your movie.

You flash back on these songs, you're not picturing the artist. You're picturing where YOU were; what YOU were doing; what YOU were feeling, at that exact time.

They flatter themselves too much. If it wasn't them, in particular, it would have been someone else. That's just the way it is.

I don't LOVE Whitney Houston. I never met Whitney Houston. How could I love her? Even among the people I actually know, I wouldn't say I love the majority of them. I love my husband. I love my kids. I love my siblings. I like a lot of people, but again, these are people I have actually met and interacted with.

I do love some of Whitney's songs. They take me back to a time in my life. I remember turning the radio on, waltzing around, cleaning house, singing along off-key. It was a happy time for me. My kids were young; life seemed so open and bright.

I love some of Michael Jackson's songs, and mostly, his performances of them. It was the time of MTV videos. My kids were of an age when they were starting to get into music. I loved watching their interest in music begin to take root.

I admired Amy Winehouse's artistry. I liked that she was kind of a throwback to an earlier time. I remember my husband and I listening to her CD together. I remember the closeness we felt as we shared that time.

I admit, I am a bit lost about Elvis. You see, he was before my time, really. I was always sort of critical of his recordings, because I found them to be over-produced and his voice too bombastic.

Yet, I do remember as a kid, playing the 45 of "Return To Sender" and singing along. Honestly, at that age, I thought he was singing, "Return to Cinda" ~ a variation of Cindy? So, hearing that song takes me back to the upstairs of the farmhouse, and me dropping the needle on the turntable, and pretending I was the one on stage singing. Again, a time in my life.

It was only years later, when I heard some of his Sun recordings, that I began to appreciate Elvis more. In the time that he was around, in my memory bank, in the seventies, I remember seeing footage of middle-aged women throwing their underwear at him, and me wondering, what the hell? He was doing a parody of himself, I thought. "Hunka hunka burnin' love"? You could hear the background singers way more than you could actually hear Elvis.

To me, he was completely delusional. Doing those karate stances. Wearing the big chains and the big sunglasses. Those vacant, drug-addled eyes. I thought he was a joke, but he was the only one who wasn't in on it.

But then, I would hear, "Can't Help Falling In Love", where he actually practiced some modulation, that I thought, well, he really CAN sing.

So, much as these artists chose to believe that people really loved them, people really didn't.

I guess the price of fame was that they became more and more isolated, and they chose to surround themselves with people who would give them what they wanted them to give, and would say things that they wanted them to say.

It's a self-centeredness that, I suppose, is human nature. Maybe I'd like to have a servant, too. But would I? I think it would begin to feel like a sort of prison. Always being hovered over. No time to myself. Losing myself.

I think these guys were lost.

And while I'm on the subject, I'm going to say this: These entertainment magazines, and these tabloids, just love, LOVE, this kind of story. It's one last way to exploit these people. One last way to extract a buck from them. Sure we read this stuff, so maybe we're exploiting them, too. Maybe the whole world just feeds off the sad stories of their lives. It completes the circle. In one flash of time, we dance joyously to their music, and in the next flash, we gossip in hushed tones about their downfall.

It just seems to me that the price of fame is too high.

I thought about this, and I decided that I would end this post with the way they were. The way WE remember them. The soundtrack of OUR lives. Thank you for the memories. Regardless of how it turned out in the end, we won't, can't, forget your music.

Whitney

2012-02-11T21:37:00.000-06:00

A friend just emailed me the news (I didn't have the TV on tonight).

I just hate stuff like this.

When you're only 48 years old, you're supposed to keep hangin' around.

Immediately, I was transported back to the nineteen eighties, and pop radio. I was a disciple of Top 40 radio in the eighties.

The news makes me want to cry. I am thinking, too much hard living, and her heart gave out. I don't know; nobody knows at this point.

I DO know that, in the 1980's, the one lone female voice that broke through was hers. Yes, I know there was Madonna. But if you think back with a clear head, you realize that Madonna had nothin' on Whitney.

Whitney was huge.

So, nothing profound tonight. Just some music videos from Whitney Houston.

One of my favorites:

Dolly....she probably never imagined it like this:

Rest in peace, Whitney. Just too soon.

Just too damn soon.

1967 ~ The Finish Line!

2012-02-10T21:30:00.001-06:00

Four posts! Four posts I have devoted to the simple little subject of the summer of love!

Who knew?

When you think about it, though, how many years have a name for their summer? Everybody knows that when you say "1967", you automatically tack on, "the summer of love".

What do you call 1975? "The summer of high interest rates"? Doesn't have quite the cache.

So, thus we have four posts for 1967. I think it deserves it.

I don't really know what happened to music after the sixties, and I was there. I mean, I know what happened; I just don't know why.

And it was a gradual thing. It snuck up on us. Sure, the early 1970's had some great, memorable hits. But, among those great songs, they wedged in some really (really) bad ones. And then it kind of snowballed. Until, finally, all we were left with was the Captain & Tenille.

It seems like, as the seventies fell upon us, we all got really tired and sleepy. And we just said, the hell with it. Just do whatever you want. Throw us some of those NBC "in living color" variety shows, with Tony Orlando and Dawn; or the Sonny & Cher Show; she with the Bob Mackie evening gowns; not the fur vests of the "I Got You, Babe" days. Sonny, hoisting up his cute little ~~daughter~~ son, as they all (three) performed their little comedy "skits". Donny & Marie on ABC (not to leave out the other big network of the day). She's a little bit country; he's a little bit rock and roll ("little bit" being the key word).

We were inexplicably easy to please. Because we were just so tired. We laughed at the comedy "routines", all the while hating ourselves for becoming so complacent that we had lost all sense of dignity.

Because none of this stuff was in the slightest regard "funny". Thank God for Saturday Night Live, or we could have just pronounced ourselves DOA. But who could stay up that late? We didn't have such a thing as DVR's, or even VCR's, so we pretty much saw the first half hour of SNL, and then we passed out from exhaustion.

I remember the big happening in TV during the seventies was, "Who shot JR?". This was for morons like me who had absolutely no life, so we watched nighttime soap operas on a Friday night, for God's sake. My parents and siblings would discuss the whole JR thing, as we gathered together to play cards and eat. And I had to try to keep up, even though I never even watched the stupid show. Truly, it was a major event in people's lives. We'd play cards in the kitchen and every once in awhile take a quick detour into the living room to see what was happenin' on the big TV (Donny & Marie on ice?), although Mom would have the little portable TV turned on in the dining area, so we wouldn't miss any shocking (shocking!) developments on Dallas.

And I thought at the time, this reeks. All of it. This is entertainment? Kill me now. Thank God I have kids to take care of. Come to think of it, maybe that's why I was so tired.....

So, la de da, that's perhaps why the sixties hold a fond place in my heart. It was carefree! I had no responsibilities! I was a kid. My biggest concern was whether the cute boy at my junior high would notice me, or at the very least, not make fun of me.

Music was a HUGE part of our lives in the sixties. You want your top 50? Well, you'd better, because that's all you're getting. Genres? What? Is that some exotic French word? We didn't know about "genres". It was all "music". All fifty songs. Cuz that's all you got. You had a choice. Listen to KFYR AM radio, or don't listen to the radio. Music on TV? Better tune in to the Ed Sullivan Show, or you'd miss it. Or, for the truly anarchic, the Smothers Brothers Show. And, of course, there was The Monkees TV show.

Why were the Monkees so huge? What was their competition on TV? We were the TV generation. The Beatles didn't have their own TV show. They wouldn't have been able to agree on the camera angles anyway. "Hey, why is Paul getting all the close-ups?" "I hate Paul." Yea? Well, I hate you, too!" "You wanna piece of me, mate?" That TV show would have been the ultimate reality series. Pathetic, sad, and embarrassing for everyone, especially the viewers.

So, yes, we loved the Monkees. They were so upbeat! So idealistic! Just like us!

This leads me to the final, and I do mean final, installment of the top hits from the summer of love.

I'm a little perturbed about the fact that I cannot find a performance video of #45. You know, and I know, that Dionne Warwick performed the heck out of this song on TV, but is there any record of it? Apparently not.

But, because I don't want to include some lame duet, with some other singer that nobody has ever heard of, or cares about, I'm giving you this one. It's the best I could find. Sorry. And did I mention that I'm tired?

I am shocked (yes, shocked) that this next song was only number 46 on the charts for 1967. Hindsight can ultimately change one's perspective, can it not? Because this is a classic song. And so beautiful. The voice and the melody. I don't really care about wearing flowers in my hair (Who could find fresh flowers anyway, to stick in your head? I guess it was metaphorical. Even though it really wasn't).

But Scott MacKenzie, even though he never had another hit song that I know of, really captured the summer of love with this song, and you know that this is probably one of the two that you remember:

#47. Paul Revere & the Raiders. I guess you had to be there. None of my younger friends even know or recognize the name. Yes, it was a "niche" band; if by "niche", I mean, "novelty act that lasted about two years". But I liked them. Not so much their music, but just "them". I had their posters on my wall. Mark Lindsay. A completely embarrassed Freddy Weller, who was just trying to make a buck, you know? That's not to say they didn't have good songs, because they did have a couple. But it was a different time, and a different blah blah blah. Anyway, take it for what it is. Here is number forty-seven, "Good Thing":

Number 48 just happens to have been, at one time, one of my very favorite songs. I'll admit; I never was a big Herman's Hermits fan. Their music was rather "twee", as Paul might say.

But not this one. This one was something else. This song, well, watch and listen.

As an extra-added bonus, Peter Noone was only sixteen when this song was recorded, so he's still alive and kickin', unlike many from that period. That always makes me feel good, because, well, I'm still alive and kickin', and I don't wanna be the last man standing, if you get my drift.

#49. Bill Cosby. I remember Bill Cosby, of course, from the sitcom of the eighties, and also from I Spy, with Robert Vaughan (yes, I go back a ways).

I mostly remember Bill Cosby from the standup video that he did in the eighties. "But Dad, I thought my name was Jesus Christ!" Ahhh, I watched that concert video about four thousand times on HBO, so yes, I kind of have it memorized.

But did you know that Bill Cosby also made hit records? No, you didn't. Don't lie to me.

Sure, maybe he appropriated Stevie Wonder, but Stevie doesn't care, so why should we? Steal from the best, they say.

Alas, there is no performance video of this song, which would be so cool, but here is, nevertheless, "Little Ole Man":

And now, here we are. Number fifty. FOUR posts. FOUR.

I never recapped a year like I have here. And I never will again.

But there's just something about 1967. Something that won't ever happen again.

So, number fifty asks the ultimate question:

How can I be sure?
In a world that's constantly changing

Well, you can't. I can't. The further we get, the more confused we are.

The Rascals are woefully under-appreciated.

Because, if one was to rank the influential artists of 1967, one would be a fool to not include the Rascals right up towards the top.

It's probably fitting that there is no performance video of this song. Why? I don't know. I'm just trying to make excuses. There really should be a performance video, but there isn't, so let's try to end this on a high note, and not quibble.

A walk through time. If you weren't there, well, maybe you can at least appreciate the artistry. I have no comment on the culture. That's not my purpose here.

Okay, my comment is: It was all rather silly. But they all thought it was serious, so who am I to judge?

I'm just here for the music.

It's The Summer Of Love! Again!

2012-02-08T06:38:00.001-06:00

Have you been following along? Are you sick of this topic yet? Are you wondering if I will ever stop?

Well, of course I will stop! There is an ending to the charts, naturally. Well, maybe there isn't. Maybe there's a chart somewhere of every record that sold at least one copy in 1967, but trust me, that won't be happening here. By the time I get to the record of some guy humming through a comb, I know it's time to stop.

But, in all seriousness, this does end. At number 50.

And believe me, there are some really good songs yet to relive.

Unfortunately, this isn't one of them. Oh sure. "I've Got Rhythm" ~ who doesn't know that song, right? Written by George Gershwin. A nice song that perhaps Fred and Ginger would dance to. This version? Hmmm....The group calls themselves "The Happenings", because apparently, the name "The Crew Cuts" was already taken. I'm as conservative as the next guy, but the Happenings just don't seem to fit with 1967. Kudos on the lemon yellow blazers, though.

Number 37 is by Petula Clark, and just let me say, I have absolutely no recollection of this song whatsoever. That doesn't mean it's bad, because I'm a sucker for French, even though I don't understand it. But I don't remember this song....at all. And it was #37? Well, here is This Is My Song:

Now, this is more my style. And one of my all-time favorite singers. As you know, this song was also recorded by the Four Tops. I love the Four Tops, but I love this version more.

As a side note, don't you find these "dancers" distracting? I bet Johnny wanted to do a couple of moves of his own, and reach out and just smack them. And trust me, we didn't dance like that in 1967. But I guess that's what you get when you try to do the Jerk to a slow song....morons.

Here is Johnny Rivers:

I'm really excited about number thirty-nine. This is one of my all-time favorite pop songs. Yes, everybody thinks "Happy Together" is the Turtles' best song. Maybe it is; maybe it isn't. I just happen to like this one better:

That was fun! People forget sometimes that music is supposed to be fun! And I love seeing a performer really enjoying himself. This was a really nice find!

Number forty is another one of my favorite songs from the era. Oh sure, you can have your Last Train To Clarksville and your Daydream Believer, but this was the Monkees getting all ironic and cynical (and that in itself is ironic, considering it was the Monkees).

I do also appreciate that, though Micky Dolenz is upfront about the guys not playing on their own records, he almost looks like a drummer in this video.

Here is Pleasant Valley Sunday:

No time-appropriate video of number forty-one, but Tommy James still sounds the same, doesn't he?

Oh yea, this song had a couple of lives. But we who were there will never forget our AM radios blaring this song...over and over and over...

I didn't even know that Smokey Robinson and the Miracles were still making hit records in 1967. Well, I was wrong, wasn't I?

Because here is "I Second That Emotion":

I had absolutely no idea what "Expressway To Your Heart" was; until I heard it.

So, yes, of course, I know this song. Kind of reminds me of the Rascals, and yet it is by the Soul Survivors. I don't know how or why the song rang no bells with me, but obviously I've heard this a million times, and here is one more time:

Number forty-four is by my favorite, and I'm sure yours (okay, that is irony, of course), Engelbert Humperdinck, doing that old country favorite, "Please Release Me".

There are so many things to say about this video, I'm not sure where to start.

First of all, why are there strobe lights flashing on his nether regions? Is this a natural phenomenon? Because I've never personally experienced that.

Number two ~ she's just trying to sleep, and here's Engelbert belting out a number in the bed, on his zebra-patterned sheets, and that's just insensitive. Let her sleep, Engelbert! Geez, I would take my zebra-striped pillow and smack him over the head a few times! Bastard.

And notice he wants her to release him "after the lovin'". Typical.

Yes, he's found a new love, dear. That's because she's got a steady supply of booze.

And he's singing this whole thing while admiring himself in the mirror.

Engelbert, you are just a pig! Seriously. You have no redeeming virtues.

And you sing it with such angst. There's no angst, Engelbert! You are a narcissistic creep. You and your new floozy deserve each other.

I hope you and Fabio are deliriously happy comparing hairdos.

I'm thinking the women of 1967 maybe outwardly put up with this crap, but inwardly, they cleaned out the guy's bank account and moved on to the Italian Rivera. And never again listened to another Engelbert Humperdinck song.

And thus we end tonight with number forty-four. Sorry to end this on a sour note. But seriously, Engelbert? That's just sorry and shallow and sad.

But more, better songs to come!

Stay tuned, as we round out the top fifty from the summer of love!

I Miss FAWM

2012-02-05T07:54:00.051-06:00

I'm a big booster of FAWM, which is why I'm posting tonight.

FAWM stands for February Album Writing Month.

The goal is to write 14 songs in 28 days; or seeing that this happens to be a leap year, 14 and a half songs in 29 days.

A lot of people don't get the concept of FAWM. I participated in FAWM for the last three years, and I've heard comments such as, "The songs come when they come"; "I don't believe in forcing yourself to write a bunch of songs in a month".

Well, the songwriting skill is the same as any other. Practice it, and you get better. Wait for "inspiration" and it may never come.

What FAWM forces one to do is to stop self-editing. By its nature, it prohibits that kind of thought. Because you have to get them written...all fourteen of them...in a finite period of time.

Self-editing is the death knell for artistic people. We're an insecure lot as it is. Left to our own devices, we could chew on a song for a year, and it still wouldn't be good enough.

Hey, it's just a song. We writers need to get over ourselves.

The reason I am not participating in FAWM this year is; (a) I don't really write anymore; and (b) I sort of forgot about it.

And here it is (as I write this), February 4. That's four lost days, and I'm not of a mind to try to make those up.

As a writer (or as any artistic person), although we're a solitary bunch, most of us find that having a supportive community of like-minded dreamers is really helpful. And one of the best things about FAWM is their discussion board. One finds people who speak the same language, which is an epiphany in itself.

Ever try explaining, or even mentioning, songwriting to someone who thinks you're some kind of crude alien being? I have. I've actually seen the glazed look in their eyes; their minds beginning to drift off, to things that make sense....like a bagel or an online shopping site.

They think we're weirdos.

Which is why I don't talk about writing.

Well, except here.

I miss writing (music).

But I think I miss FAWM more.

FAWM'ers don't look at the results so much as they look at the journey.

I would say that in the three years that I completed the challenge, I probably wrote two good songs. Seriously. And fourteen times three equals 42 songs. That's less than five hundredths of a per cent success rate. Sad.

But I'm not sad about it. I learned stuff; stuff about myself, and stuff about songwriting. Too bad I don't put it into practice now, but never say never.

I can go back and listen to those songs, and remember exactly what I was feeling, and what I was thinking, when I wrote every single one of them. Those are memories that have meaning to me. Just me. But did I say songwriting is a solitary existence? If I didn't, well, it is.

Why did I stop? I was repeating myself too much. And I can't play, and I'm frustrated that I can't play, and that I don't know enough chords to change things up. I reached the limits of my abilities. And my desire.

Some time away from songwriting is probably what I need. I pass my guitar in the hall twenty times a day, and I never once have the urge to pick it up. I'm a pseudo-songwriter.

I love music. That's why I write this blog.

I once thought that I wanted to be part of the music. I don't know now. Maybe I am just supposed to be an historian of the music.

You're maybe wondering about those two songs. The two good ones.

The story behind the songs is probably only interesting to the person who wrote them. But I'll tell you my story anyway.

Well, it was a cold February day (duh!), and we'd had a coating of ice. Ice is the worst! Give me snow; give me cold. Just don't give me ice. Ever try driving on that? Well, don't! Just stay home!

I was sitting on my loveseat with my guitar, and I was looking out the window (at the lovely ice coating on all the trees and on the sidewalk). And I thought, hmmm, ice storm. That could be a good metaphor for a relationship.

And I wanted to write something reminiscent of the Eagles, because I love the Eagles. And I think Don Henley is a very clever writer.

So, all that stuff was going through my mind, and I sat there on the loveseat with my spiral notebook and my guitar, and I worked the whole day getting that song the way I wanted it.

And the finished product was Ice Storms. Sorry; no video. I had a video, but I took it down for some reason. I'm very insecure about my singing. I'm thinking that's why.

Wastin' My Time Away was written on an evening when I was feeling serene and happy.

What was I thinking? Well, I was thinking about seeing Paul McCartney in concert, and him doing a tribute to George Harrison, on the ukelele. This is sort of my Paul McC song.

I wrote the song in the key of D, which is a happy chord. The song came really fast. I wrote the lyrics in probably less than half an hour. But that's the kind of song it is, isn't it? Nothing too profound.

I like this song, because it's the me that I like being. We never did a proper recording of it, because sometimes things just get lost in the shuffle, you know? There are three of us in this band, and we have to take our turns.

Looking back, I'm pretty happy with these two songs. These two five hundredths of a per cent.

You know, Paul Simon wrote a lot of songs that no one has heard, too. We only march out the good ones. We're not stupid.

But I've got all my FAWM songs online, just for me. Just to have them in one place, so if I want to go back and relive the FAWM days, I can do it. Nobody else listens to them; nor would I expect anyone to.

To me, even the bad ones are cool. But I guess you'd have to know the story behind them.

Anyway, it's still not too late, songwriters! Head on over to FAWM and join up! I'm still reading the discussion boards, so I'm with you all in spirit! And who knows? Maybe next year...

Saturday Night Special - Remember, Kids, Music Is Supposed To Be Fun!

2012-02-04T19:54:00.000-06:00

Why do we like music? Well, there are a lot of reasons. Music can make us cry, if we feel like crying. Music can make us feel romantic. Music can distract us when we're bored.

Music can make our hearts race.

The one thing about music that everyone has seemed to forgotten these days (really) is that music is supposed to be fun.

How many "fun" songs do you hear on the radio?

Most of the songs today are so depressing, they make you want to run your car off the road.

Why does every artist want to wallow in their misery? You know, life has enough challenges.

And why, when the occasional "fun song" is recorded, does everyone scoff and deride it? "That's not serious music. That's just fluff." Oh, get over yourselves.

Think about the songs from the past that you really love. Are they all downers? If so, seek help.

I was watching a video from Flo and Eddie tonight (The Turtles, in case you didn't know), and they were having such fun performing. It made my heart skip.

And that reminded me of this song. Watch this and tell me that Zal Yanovsky didn't think that music was fun. He was absolutely joyous performing this song with John Sebastian and the guys.

I think he knew what music is all about.

Everybody else seems to have forgotten. Shame.

The Summer of Love Redux

2012-02-03T20:34:00.001-06:00

It's rare that one particular year in music can produce so many classic songs. 1967 did that.

I never really gave 1967 a whole lotta thought, in the annals of popular music, but you know, one year tended to waft into another, especially in the sixties, if you get my drift. And by "get my drift", I mean, "trying to sound way hipper than I obviously was, since I was only twelve years old".

That said, I DO remember popular music from those years, especially given that the AM radio was playing all manner of popular music then; not just one tiny isolated genre. How else does one explain the intermingling of Bobby Gentry, the Rolling Stones, and, say, Frank and Nancy Sinatra? We heard it all, and we liked most of it.

I sat in the back seat of our Ford Galaxie, and the it didn't really matter which station the radio was tuned to. All of the stations played everything. And my dad didn't even make one derogatory comment about any of the songs. He actually didn't make any comment, and neither did my mom, so I was left, there in the back seat with my toddler siblings, to make up my own mind about the music.

So, here we are. At #26 on the charts. And here are the Seekers:

I vaguely remember walking along, alone, singing that song out loud. Why? Well, it's got everything a mere adolescent would enjoy...the melody was sing-songy. The words were easy to remember, because they tended to repeat a lot. Folk music was meant to be that way. It was perfect for folks to gather at the hootenanny, and, I guess, commune. Hootenanny. You never hear that word anymore. We should bring it back, just because it's fun to say.

#27 - I Was Made To Love Her - Stevie Wonder

A note: I try really hard to find actual performances of the songs from the period in which they were hits. This was the best quality video I could find, but you will note that Stevie is not actually singing in this video. A concept video, perhaps? Or just lazy editing? Don't know.

I also would be ignoring the obvious if I didn't mention that this video completely reminds me of Eddie Murphy doing Stevie Wonder.

Anyway, it's a better song that Georgy Girl, but taste is all relative, I guess.

Fine; so much for original performances. I have failed with this next song, and it really makes me mad, because this is one of my very favorite songs, and I don't even like the Association. To be honest, most of their songs grate on my nerves (especially "Windy" - see #5. And who names their kid "Windy"? I think that's just asking for trouble.)

But I love this song, and the only decent video I could find is from, I think, 1983, but still:

Number twenty-nine is, again, by the Supremes, who, if you ask me, were kind of chart hogs in 1967. And for the most part, their 1967 songs weren't even very good. But that's what happens once you make a name for yourself. Anybody will buy anything.

This is another song that makes me clench my teeth, but that's just me. I mean no disrespect. I like a lot of Supremes songs; just (especially) not this one.

Here they are (in silver lame this time - I appreciate that they at least change up their wardrobe colors) with Reflections:

1967 was the year that Frankie Valli ditched those damn Four Seasons for once and for all. The hell with those guys! I was getting tired of singing falsetto all the time anyway, said imaginary Frankie. That stuff is hard when you're my age!

This is one of those songs that one will always remember. I'm not sure why, but my guess is because of the Bacharach/David-type arrangement. Unfortunately, that also dates it. Takes one back to the days of Dionne Warwick asking how to get to San Jose. But that doesn't make it a bad song. It's actually a "not bad" song.

#31 is by Arthur Conley. Who? Yea, I know. I wonder if Arthur ever did anything besides this one. If not, fine by me. This is a good song. I could look him up, but I've got more songs to get to, and so little time.

Here is Sweet Soul Music:

Number thirty-two's video is obviously not a 1967 performance. I mean, you know Aaron Neville. You probably thought that all he did was country duets with Linda Ronstadt. Obviously not.

Another voice I love; Aaron Neville. Tell It Like It Is (obviously with help from that guy who was married to Cher, and from Bonnie and her guitar):

If you know the Monkees (and who doesn't?), you know that they never did actual performances. That's because they never actually played on their own songs (well, sure, maybe the maracas). Micky Dolenz will be the first to tell you that.

So, their songs are all "performance pieces", which is another term for "cheesy situation comedy skits" that all the cool kids (and the nerdy kids - raise your hands!) watched on Tuesday nights (was it Tuesdays?) on NBC.

So, here is A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You (#33 on the charts for 1967):

You probably don't know Bobby Vee, unless you're my age. Bobby Vee (nee Bobby Velline) was born in Fargo, North Dakota (my home state!), and he has a storied musical history. (See anything about the Day The Music Died, except of course the actual songs about that, which I hate, hate, hate).

I'm not going to recount Bobby Vee's career here, but I will say, it's nice nowadays that artists are allowed to use their real names, because "Vee" is stupid.

But Robert Velline had some really nice songs. No, not Rubber Ball, but others. I saw him once in person; some kind of bar gig; and he was a really good, professional entertainer. Which I'm sure he still is, by the way.

Number thirty-four on the 1967 charts is Come Back When You Grow Up (and no, there is no video ~ fine. Whatever.)

I hate to end this post on a down note, but I must be true to the charts.

Let me preface this video by saying I really hate those "acting" songs. You know, the overly dramatic renditions; the bad Laurence Olivier auditions. They remind me of smoking jackets and cigarette holders and those Laura Petrie flip hairdo's.

I like "retro" as much as the next person, but this is just a little too strange for even me.

This song has no redeeming virtues, but somebody must have liked it. A lot of people, apparently. Even more than Johnny Rivers and the Turtles? It must have been the geezer vote.

So, rock on (ha), I say, Vikki Carr. I bet Ed Sullivan just loved you. He didn't "get" the Beatles, but he got this.

Amazingly, we are through number thirty-five, and we still haven't gotten to some of my favorite songs from 1967. And the ones that are left are way more memorable than some of these others.

It was quite a year, and you'll be surprised at what rounds out the top fifty from the summer of love.

More Hits From the Summer of Lo-oo-ve!

2012-01-31T21:10:00.002-06:00

Hey, kids! (Well, I guess you're not really kids anymore, are you?)

If you have any cognitive memory of the hits of 1967, sorry, but you are old. I hate to break it to you (and to myself), but it's unfortunately true.

If you remember two posts ago, I began enumerating the top hits of that seminal year in music. And I got through number fifteen.

Well, FYI, there were more hits than just fifteen! That is why I'm here to discuss.....

So, let's continue on, shall we?

Number sixteen. The Beatles said, all you need is love. Well, the Beatles were lying. They absolutely abhorred each other by 1967. Even Ringo, and that's saying a lot.

Nevertheless, they apparently loved somebody; just not each other.

#17 is a sparkly song, and I don't mean that in a good way. I just watched an episode of Modern Family, in which Lily was forced to wear a light-up dress as a flower girl in a wedding, and I thought, how preposterous. Apparently not. Shield your eyes as you watch the Supremes:

What do you know? Number eighteen is also from the Supremes. This time in pale yellow nauseating chiffon. I remember this song, but I think it was because there was some kind of commercial tie-in; I could be wrong. I wanna say some car company appropriated this song, but you know, that was a long time ago, but heavens, there must be some reason I remember it. It can't be for its artistic merit.

Seriously? This next song was only number nineteen? And "The Happening" beat it out? Hmmm, let's see, which song do we remember? Well, I guess if I'm in the mood to shop for a new Chevy, and I have a time machine, maybe "The Happening" springs to mind.

Otherwise, I'll just go with Penny Lane.

Never mind that a pretty nurse is selling puppies from a tray. And how does she keep the puppies from jumping off that tray? It's a mystery. Just like the "four of fish and finger pie", which sounds scrumptious!

Remember the Royal Guardsmen? Of course not! I hate to even bring this up, since 1967 was kind of my era, but yes, we had putrid songs back then that became big hits, and here's one of them!

Again, like I sometimes do, I wonder if any of the Guardsmen went on to bigger and better things. I could do a Google search, but I'm thinking that would be rather pointless.

So, okay, here you go:

I really like Gladys Knight, but I don't get why she didn't just pick her own new songs, rather than trying to outdo Marvin Gaye (which no one could), but this was number twenty-one in 1967, and just for the record, I still like Marvin's version a LOT better:

Okay, here's a revelation: I really only knew this song because of John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd. I don't know how or why I missed it; I mean I had "some" recollection of it, but it was never seared into my brain.

But watching this performance by Sam & Dave, I'm thinking, wow, this is WAY cooler than the Blues Brothers.

I always had this nagging suspicion that the Mamas & The Papas turned off Michelle's microphone before every performance. But I guess I was wrong.

I will say, though, that they probably should have. But, of course, she wasn't in the group because of her singing abilities. At least she had her looks to fall back on, since the group was totally dominated by two of the best pop singers ever ~ Cass Elliot and Denny Doherty. As this song will attest:

I completely forgot about this next song. And, (naturally)I also forgot about a group called "Music Explosion". That name is rather presumptuous, isn't it? I mean, I don't think the music is actually "exploding" here. It kind of just moves on in its own meandering way.

Someone commented on this video that they didn't know that Kevin Bacon was in the band. Kudos! You (YouTube poster) win an honored place in the Shelly/Lissa trademarked game called, "The Face Is Familiar".

Number twenty-five is a song that holds fond memories for me. Sure, it was twenty-five, which doesn't seem like a high number, but I liked the Cowsills, especially because my older brother did a mean imitation of the many hand gestures the group used in performing this song.

Sure, most people don't remember the Cowsills. If they remember them at all, it's because of the weird makeup of the band. MOM was part of it! I think the deal was, the kids just wanted to form a band, and Mom said, oh, no you don't! I've heard about that show biz culture! None of MY kids will fall into that den of iniquity.

So, of course, the kids, industrious as kids can be, said, "Hey Mom! Why don't you be in the band with us?" And Mom, unable to resist the many temptations of the celebrity life, said, "Oh, me?? Why, I never.....Okay!"

And Dad, of course, never got another home-cooked meal for the rest of his life. And Shirley Jones sent a nice thank-you letter to Mama Cowsill, for the idea for a new TV sitcom titled, "The Partridge Family". So, full circle, as they say.

So, there we go. We've reached number twenty-five for the year 1967.

And believe it or not, there are many big hits to come!

And many that you will remember even more than the ones featured here.

Yes, 1967 was kind of a seminal year in rock (pop) music.

So, stay tuned for Part 3 of the "Summer of Love" revisited.

Wow ~ I Love These Guys!

2012-01-27T20:51:00.000-06:00

I am such a HUGE Oak Ridge Boys fan! I haven't seen them for awhile, so luckily, I turned on my TV the other night, and there they were!

Obviously, William Lee has shaved off his beard in this picture, but he still has that "Golden" hair, so he's truly unmistakable.

And just like in North Carolina, he completely dominates this song.

Joe Bonsall, however, (on the left) is not to be undeterred. Sure, he might be considered some people's "third" choice, but without that steady, high harmony, where, realistically, would the Boys be?

Duane Allen is his usual suave self. Maybe a bit too middle-of-the-road, but don't discount him!

And who can forget Richard Sterban? Admittedly, in this picture, he's not wearing his signature shades, but one can always count on Richard to deliver those bass notes; maybe not what you'd necessarily expect, and something just a bit off-kilter, but the group just wouldn't be entirely cohesive without Richard and his quirky personality.

Together, you might say, they form one perfect voice.

A big dash of dashing Duane, some William Lee for much-needed color; Richard for that unexpected flavor, and, of course, Joe Bonsall, to hold everything together.

And here they are, all together, doing one of their biggest hits:

Needless to say, the Oak Ridge Boys get my vote!

Yea, Yea, The Summer of Love

2012-01-21T22:17:00.002-06:00

I wonder who named 1967 "The Summer of Love". Obviously not a marketing person. Because if you're going to declare something the "Summer of....", you want to have that commercial tie-in.

For example, how about "The Summer of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese"?

You could give away wedge-shaped key chains; bumper stickers featuring globs of macaroni clinging together on a fork. You know. Marketing-type stuff.

From what I can tell, the Summer of Love really had no commercial potential, except for Bill Graham of the Fillmore West, who could tout his acts, the Jefferson Airplane and well, I guess that's just about it, on handbills, of which nobody could read, because all the kids were too stoned, and were just wandering aimlessly on the streets of San Fran, and playbills weren't really anything they could hawk to buy more drugs, so what good were they?

I sometimes wonder what happened to those kids from 1967? I guess they'd be retiring about now, but oh, the stories they can tell their grandchildren. Oh wait, maybe not.

"What did you do when you were a kid, Grandpa?"

"Oh, Thad, that's not important now. What's really important is that we get out there and vote for Obama! Wanna toke?"

If you watch newsreels from 1967, you would get the impression that everything was groovy, and kind of wavy, but the hit songs from that year don't necessarily reflect that.

But, you know, memory is selective.

1967, actually, was a pretty good year for rock music. Not to disappoint the old hippies, but most of it was pure pop.

While the kids on Haight Ashbury were zoning out, chillin' to seven and a half minute psych-o-delic jams, the rest of the population was buying 45-rpm records of songs such as this (yes, this was the number one hit of 1967):

(Kudos, Neil Diamond. Jan Wenner can ignore you all he wants, but this was the perfect pop song.)

I'm just going to go down the line here, and recount the top hits from that seminal year, in order, so let's see who wins ~ the hippie kids or possibly not.

(I always loved this song. Lulu; she never had another hit, but she was in a movie with Sidney Poitier, so she can be an American Idol mentor if she wants. Yea, yea, Petula Clark, sure. She had some hits. But was she in a movie with Sidney Poitier? Tough luck, Petunia ~ sorry, Petula.)

(Isn't Alex Chilton the epitome of every sixteen-year-old from time immemorial? Get that hair out of your eyes! And stop sulking, Alex! Stop being so moody! Ahh, the joys of raising a teenaged male. At least Alex was bringing home some moolah for the family, so they tended to overlook the bad posture and pouty look.)

(I know that this song is "mysterious"; or, in my opinion, "missing something". I used to sit in the back seat of the Ford Galaxy and hear this song blaring over the AM radio, and wonder, what the hell? But the main point I want to make about Bobbie Gentry is that she wore her hair in that long, dark "fall". Mesmerizing.)

(Let me just say how much I hated, and still hate, this song. I'll grant you, the Association had one good song ~ Never My Love ~ but this? It just grates on my nerves. No wonder kids took drugs. If I was on a desert island, and this was the only song I had to listen to, I would prefer to just drown myself and get it over with.)

(Ahhh, Felix. This song will still be played in the year 2112, and kids will say, yes! This song is cool! Really, was it from two centuries ago? I guess those neanderthals invented fire, after all.)

And speaking of fire, okay, I skipped the line a couple of songs, but well, c'mon:

(THIS was the song that I will always remember 1967 for. I was but twelve years old, and I don't know what it was about this song, and about Jim Morrison, but this was IT.)

Believe it or not, and the charts don't lie, THIS song superseded Light My Fire, by, in fact, a couple of spaces. So, though Grandpa Hipster may want entertain selective memory (or is it just dementia?), here ya go, Grandpa. Explain THIS to the grandkids:

Oh, look! The Monkees are back! Yes, the Monkees. Sure, pretend they weren't the biggest thing that happened in 1967. Pretend all you want. I was there. I remember.

I have nothing against Ferris Bueller (or John Hughes, for that matter), but you know, you didn't invent that song.

I happened to be there when it was happening.

Remember the Beatles? (ha)

Yes, they charted in 1967, too. Not with their choicest song, mind you. But, yes, they were still around.

The interesting thing (to me) about this song, by the Buckinghams, is that I have no idea what the backing singers are singing. But it's catchy, whatever it is.

You'd never know it, but this song was number thirteen in the year 1967. Yes, thirteen. Not that there's anything wrong with thirteen, but if you were to listen to the revisionists, you'd think this was the number one song of all time. It wasn't.

Okay, this video is horrendous, but it's the only one I could find of the Strawberry Alarm Clock performing this song.

And I'm officially nominating the Strawberry Alarm Clock for the worst band name ever.

I wonder whatever happened to the SAC. And who was in the band? And did any of them go on to bigger and better things? I wish I cared enough to look that up, but it's late, and all I know is, I heard this song a lot on my transistor radio as I was riding the stupid school bus, and listening to all the geeky boys talk about Star Trek, and I was bored out of my mind, and this song didn't help things, believe me. I do sort of remember 1967 as the year of perpetual boredom. But maybe that was just me.

I'll end this post with number fifteen.

And who could forget the Rolling Stones? Nobody. Because they're still out there, touring. Even at their age. Those kids from the year 2167 will be saying, "The Stones are still touring? Who do they think they are? Cher? Or Elton John?"

Nevertheless, you can't deny that this song, the number fifteen hit of 1967, is a great one.

In all candor, 1967 was a damn good year for music. I'll give it that.

But it's not due to some headband-wearing, greasy-haired, Nehru-jacketed seventeen-year-old who was tripping out on the California coast.

No, it was solely due to some awesome talent, and to some record producers who knew how to create mega-hits (Frank and Nancy notwithstanding).

I got through number fifteen, but I really only scratched the surface.

This calls for another blog post! Let's keep keepin' on with hits from the summer of love!

But I still say, let's rename it something that we, as consumers, can get behind. I'm thinking the Summer of Trix Cereal.

Because, Silly Rabbit. Trix are for kids. Moron.

More Bad Hits of the Seventies

2012-01-14T22:27:00.001-06:00

Ahhh, the nineteen seventies. A time of Richard Nixon and Jimmy "The Peanut" Carter.

The time of Ford Pintos that exploded, and, on the somewhat safer side, Chevy Vegas. Not "Vegas", as in "Las Vegas". No, I mean "Chevy Vega". Yes, I had one. I didn't even remember what it looked like, until I found this picture. All I remembered was the orange.

Orange was a HUGE color in the seventies. Orange shag carpets, orange fiberglass draperies. Oh, we had it all. Orange, and GREEN. Those two colors just screamed alchemy.

I think the reason for the orange and green color combo was that the sixties were so BEIGE. Sure, you think of the sixties, and you think "flower power", and paisley mini-skirts and ties (for the really "hip" corporate executive), and Peter Max's psychedelic posters. But in the decorating world, one was not allowed to stray beyond beige.

So, of course, the seventies did a 180, and went with the most outlandish color palette imaginable. And we thought it was chic!

"Did you get a dress for the Christmas party?"

"Oh, yes! It's divine!"

"What color is it?"

"It's a really saturated orange, with touches of green."

"Far out!"

And then, for the guys, not to be outdone, we had the leisure suits. When one wanted to straddle the divide between suits and sleepwear. That crisp polyester.

In order to complete the leisure suit look, a guy, even a "guy's guy" had to venture into Woolworth's and find himself a gold chain. Nothing too ostentatious. No charms or lockets attached, or anything "girly". The girly part was accomplished by his heavily-sprayed and blow-dried coiffe.

Visible chest hair, of course, was mandatory. In fact, guys would get out on that disco floor and compare chest hair coverage. Even those who were bare-chested would glue some faux hair on their torsos, just so they wouldn't be ridiculed by the other boogaloo-ers.

Note Tony Orlando and Dawn.

I'm not going to quibble about the fact that Tony just grabbed some random audience members out of the pack and called them "Dawn". Where's Telma Hopkins? I bet she's pissed.

And I don't know exactly what this is, but it's either the worst Christian high school prom ever, or all the guys in attendance are stoned. It's really hard to judge.

But here's Tony (and "Dawn") in his leisure suit, singing "Tie A Yellow Ribbon". And frankly, this song is so monotonous that I'd like to tie a yellow ribbon around his neck, and squeeze hard.

And what better sums up what the seventies were than this song by something called the "Unlimited Orchestra"?

I was trying to figure out where Barry White came in, and then I realized that he's conducting this thing.

Don't tell me that doesn't remind you of this:

Remember this from the seventies? Those organ/muted guitar riffs that start the song?

Sure, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Swiffer Wet Jet. Well, that's what happens to obscure semi-hit songs. They become the soundtrack for cleaning product commercials in the next century. I'm guessing Player, or whoever wrote that song for Player, isn't crying too many tears.

You know, the Native Americans suffered many atrocities. If you know anything about American history, you are well aware of this.

I don't presume to speak for the Native Americans, but I'm thinking that in the lore of their oral history, they reserve a special place for Paul Revere & The Raiders.

From the Swatch-watch wearing "Paul Revere", to Mark Lindsay's hair, there are so many things wrong with this video. But on the plus side, the drummer seems to be heavily featured, so he's down with that.

I will mention that Freddy Weller is ashamedly part of this group. But he did go on to bigger and better things, thankfully.

I don't know about you, but I really miss the three-cornered hats and the revolutionary war tab-coats. But I suppose progress can't be denied.

I'm sort of a fan of falsetto singing. From Roy Orbison, when he went into his high register, to even the Eagles sometimes.

However, much like I hate Lou Christie, I hate this performance by Leo Sayer. And what, by the way, ever happened to Leo Sayer?

And, I know it's stating the obvious, but I'm thinking all those sexy backup dancers probably didn't even ring a bell with Leo. But at least he felt like dancing. That's the main thing.

In conclusion, there are so many avenues to explore in this world we call "the seventies". It's an alien world. But as much as we try to pretend it never happened, the evidence is here ("YouTube") for all of us to see.

I really, truly, blocked most of it out. I think that's a human defense mechanism.

But I say, embrace it! It can't be denied.

And, musical historian that I am, it is incumbent on me to remind everyone of a time that we would much sooner forget.

Oh, that we could.

Making Life Simpler

2012-01-13T21:26:00.003-06:00

Well, that's rather a misnomer, isn't it? Life is never simple.

I am of a mind, though, that life would be simpler without so much "stuff" to clutter it up.

I'm not certain, but the evidence tells me that, when I was in my twenties, I pretty much saved everything. That was brought home to me recently when my oldest son delivered about six or seven boxes of junk, once belonging to me, that he had been storing in his garage. Yes, junk.

I've been on a remodeling kick of late, so in conjunction with that, I needed to go through those boxes, to see if per chance there might be something I'd actually want.

Well, here's what was in those boxes of "treasures". About 50 picture frames of various sizes (I've always been a sucker for picture frames; don't ask me why); some random photos of people I couldn't pick out of a lineup if my life depended on it; a copy of Life Magazine, "The Year In Pictures, 1986"; three sizes of embroidery hoops, along with a couple packages of unfinished cross-stitch projects; a few of those cheesy CD's ~ you know, "The Best Of...", which were actually re-recordings of songs that you really loved in their original form, but you don't so much love the re-doing of them, twenty years after the fact. A copy of National Geographic from March, 1987; the cover story titled, "North Dakota ~ Tough Times on the Prairie". Guess we can't say that now, can we??

A microphone that I think was part of my reel-to-reel tape recorder, which I haven't a clue where that is, but I would kind of like to have that. A super-8 movie camera and projector. That's cool and all, but what I am really searching for are the actual super-8 films that I shot of my kids when they were little. A movie projector without movies is sort of worthless. I will find those movies; I think they're in the back of our closet somewhere. I'll be transferring those to DVD, just as soon as I can pinpoint their location; I'm thinking in two to three years, at the most.

An instamatic camera inside its very own faux-leather carrying case with the initials CJL pasted on the back of it. AND with a film still inside it! I'm giving that back to my son, and I hope he gets the film developed. That sort of mystery is just the kind of thing that I find ultimately cool.

Some sleeves of baseball cards, all from the Minnesota Twins, circa 1987 (their championship year). I'm sincerely hoping that these belong to my son, because I don't remember being dorky enough to collect baseball cards back then, even though I was sort of a Twins fanatic in those years.

Record albums. A whole lot of record albums. I thought my son had given me all of them awhile back. Apparently not.

That's the one thing that brought a lump to my throat. Why? Well, the thing is, when I was about 16 or 17 years old, I couldn't just buy a record album on my Visa card (cuz, you know, I didn't have one, and frankly, in 1971 - 1972, Visa cards didn't actually exist).

No, I had to save up my pennies to buy an album, and I was only making seventy-five cents an hour, so you do the math.

So, I pretty much wore out those albums. I'd study the covers. In fact, I drew facsimiles of some of them (I was into drawing back then; a hobby I abandoned shortly thereafter).

So, those albums, when I saw them again, brought back a ton of memories for me. They took me back to that room, that component stereo system that I saved and saved to buy. The fact that I couldn't really sing along with the songs on those albums without disturbing whoever might be lodging in the room next door. But I really, really wanted to sing along, so it was a conundrum.

It wasn't even so much the songs on those albums. It was the albums themselves.

So, I thought I would post some pictures of those albums. Just because. The flash sort of obscures some of the pictures, but I still like them. And these, by the way, are Part II. I got the first box of albums awhile back, and I think I will post pictures of those later.

These are some that hold a whole bunch of memories for me..

It seems from these photos that I was a huge Dolly Parton fan. Not necessarily. But it was the late sixties/early seventies, and you couldn't turn around without bumping into Porter and Dolly. Seriously. Porter by himself. Dolly on her own. Porter and Dolly, singing some of Dolly's scribbles. We were all sort of relieved, frankly, in 1973, when Conway and Loretta decided to get together, just for the variety, if nothing else.

It was basically Porter & Dolly, or the Statler Brothers. That was 1970 through 1972, in a nutshell.

I can't explain it, but seeing those album covers kind of stabs at my heart. I guess you had to be there.

So, simplifying my life involves purging superfluous stuff, and stuff that at one time meant something to me, but just doesn't anymore.

The things I have on display in my computer room now are, pictures of family, my dad's AA book and his watch, a letter from my mom, pictures of people and things that hold a special place in my heart, and some funny stuff ~ cartoons ~ because we need to remember that life, and we, are sort of ridiculous.

And what do we need, other than the people we love, and the music we love?

I think that's about it.

Someone Should Invent...

2012-01-07T21:42:00.000-06:00

...a software program that analyzes one's musical collection, and tells them which era contained the best music.

I'm guessing, for most people, it's not the seventies.

I uploaded all my music onto Google Music, once, on a whim, because I thought it would be cool to be able to listen to my music anytime, anywhere.

Well, I never used it until yesterday, at work. I was tired of all the talk radio blah, blah, blah, so I thought, in order to get through that last day of the week, I'd queue up my Google Music and listen to that for a change.

I set it for "shuffle".

The very first song that queued up was "Play That Funky Music", from the seventies, as you know.

But the funny thing is, I never once, in the course of approximately six hours, heard another song from the seventies.

The seventies was not the epitome of good music.

Oh sure, you can quibble about it; point out the big hits from that decade. Anyone can do that with any decade; just pick out the best songs.

But, let's be honest. It was a lost decade of music, overall. Not just in rock, but in country as well.

I don't know...what I remember about country music during that time period is Charley Pride rehashing songs that were semi-hits in the rock genre. Dave & Sugar ~ remember them? Eddie Rabbitt ~ okay, I like Eddie Rabbitt.

Yes, you had your "After The Fire Is Gone", by Conway and Loretta. And you had your "Behind Closed Doors".

But you also had a whole lot of John Denver. And while I appreciate John Denver more today, that stuff was pure poison when it was happening.

And rock?

Well, sure, we had the Eagles.

And we had "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" and "Let's Get It On".

But let's be real.

THAT'S not what we remember from the seventies.

THIS is what we remember:

Along with any number of songs by Billy Joel, this goes down in history as most likely my LEAST favorite song of all time.

Sure, feel free to listen to all seven and whatever number of minutes of this song. I got the gist basically from the first verse and chorus. Talk about self-indulgent. You know, the Beatles rarely did songs that were even THREE minutes long. And look where that got them.

And, while we're on the subject of annoying songs, how about this one? Don't even tell me that you LIKE this. How could that be? It's repetitive and boring. And mundane. Additionally, it is non-sensical. Although I suppose that never stopped anyone before. I won't listen to it, but here it is, for the 1% of persons alive who have never heard this song before:

You probably won't believe this, but this song was HUGE in the seventies. Yes, really:

But thinking about it, it kind of fits with this song:

Still lovin' those seventies?

How about this?

Remember the Starland Vocal Band? Of course not! But lead singer, Alan Colmes, had a huge, and I mean HUGE, hit with this song:

And speaking of John Denver, apparently he was easy to please. Just give him some sunshine on his "shoulders". Not on his hands. Not on his face. No, on his shoulders:

And who can forget Kenny Nolan? Apparently me, because who the heck? Yet, this was a big hit in that seventies pantheon. And who doesn't love harp music?

And don't even tell me that when you hear this song:

You don't think of Eddie Murphy. Because I do. And I never hesitate to sing along:

Unce, tice
Fee tines a may-dee

Sure, reunited and it feels so good. To them, maybe:

I sincerely love how Terry Jacks performs this song with so much emotion. As if it really means something (which it doesn't):

And, of course, there are times when a woman has to say what's on her mind, but I'm thinking this is NOT the time:

I really love Glen Campbell, but that doesn't blind me to his missteps. And here's one, albeit another big hit:

So, don't go all nostalgic on me, pining for those lost days of the seventies. The seventies were crap.

I'll grant you, there were some good songs (none of them featured here, obviously). But those good songs were few and far between.

As much as you may want to re-write history, well, here it is.

I may be magnanimous and feature the GOOD songs of the seventies at some point, but really, the good songs aren't what we remember. We remember the crap.

I'm thinking that's why my Google Music selections have so few offerings from that decade. Google (and I) would prefer to just pretend it never happened.

What's New In The New Year?

2012-01-01T08:51:00.006-06:00

I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions. But, you know, everybody's doing it, so I don't want to feel like an outcast; a loser.

"I resolve to..."

I don't actually "resolve" to do anything. That's too much of a commitment. I prefer to hedge my bets.

"I hope to..." would be a better option. Or, "Right now, I think I might like to..."

And, even though it doesn't seem like it (at least to me at this given point in my life), a year is quite actually a long time.

Who knows? I might change my mind in, say, mid-June, and have a whole host of new things that I want to do. Life is not absolute.

Oh sure, there are some hard and fast resolutions that carry over from year to year, such as MAKE MORE MONEY. That never seems to materialize, though, unfortunately. It's not from lack of trying. It's just that things will be what they be.

But, in an effort to be part of the crowd; I'll venture some so-called resolutions. And then I'll go back and re-read my resolutions for 2011, and have a good laugh, at my expense.

1. MAKE MORE MONEY

It's not a matter of greediness. Far from it. I just want to get by. And so far, at least in these waning days of 2011, we're barely doing that. A loss of employment will do that to a family. So, make more money, enough to satisfy those pesky creditors, would be my number one resolution.

2. WRITE AT LEAST ONE MORE DECENT SONG

Just to prove to myself that I can do it.

My songwriter's yearnings have sorely dissipated as time has marched on. Unfortunately.

It's really a lack of confidence, and a lack of any tangible evidence that I am capable of doing it. 2011 disabused me of any thoughts that I could still write. But I'm willing to give it another go. I mean, I used to be able to do it. What happened?

3. LOSE THOSE POUNDS THAT I LOVINGLY GAINED OVER THE HOLIDAYS

Sure, it's all fun and games when you're eating whatever you want, or don't want. Just eating because it's there. I KNOW there's a price to pay, and I pay it every single spring. And then I go through the torture of eating next to nothing, because I have to suffer for my sins.

This year, however, I do have more of an impetus, because I've got a big wedding coming up, and I don't want people to point and jeer. Really.

Which leads me to...

4. EXERCISE?

What is that? And why do people think it's "fun"? It's not fun. I've done it before. It's a giant pain in the ass. Which is why I stopped doing it.

It's like doing laundry, or hand-washing dishes. Yea, it needs to be done, but I'm damned glad when it's over. Stop fetishizing it, people! And by "people", I mean YOU, early-morning joggers. You can't actually enjoy this! Do you??

I'll do it, but I'll do it begrudgingly. And I'll be sure to let you know how much I detest it.

5. PROMOTE OUR BAND'S MUSIC IN ANY SIMPLE WAY I CAN

And by simple, I mean my little YouTube "slideshows" that I am wont to create. Oh sure, I call them "videos", but one can call something whatever one wants to call something, I say.

Nevertheless, I find that YouTube is the most efficient way to disseminate music, so thus, I will keep doing it.

That, and the fact that I just like doing it. That's probably a determining factor.

6. ASK PEOPLE TO HELP MORE

I hate asking for help. I feel like I'm either imposing on someone, or making them crabby with me. Well, both, really.

But I can't continue to take on all the burdens. Maybe that's wisdom (and exhaustion) that comes with aging, but also, I find that with most people, if you ask them for help, they will gladly give it. I don't know why it's taken so long for that to sink in with me.

Do I have to come up with ten? I'm already running out of ideas.

7. GET A DECENT NIGHT'S SLEEP

Well, that's just a fantasy; nothing I can "resolve" to do, or will to happen.

But, who knows? One of these nights, I just could do it!

I'm a chronic insomniac, and I have learned to live with it. But that doesn't mean I like it! I can't even seem to nap properly anymore.

Either it's too hot, or it's too noisy, or the bed is uncomfortable, or my dog is hogging my pillow (which she does).

I've cut out caffeine, except for a couple of cups in the morning. I take prescription medication for insomnia. I turn the fan on high speed, for both the coolness and the noise. I bought a new, overpriced bed, which it turns out, was not worth the cost. I wear ear plugs. Seriously. I do all that stuff. I'm sort of out of ideas here. But I'm slapping it on my list, just because.

8. READ MORE; WATCH TV LESS

This is an ongoing project of mine. I really don't watch TV very much anymore. I watch the network news (the good network). I have two sitcoms I actually like, and I'm wavering on one of those.

I do tend to DVR some of the older sitcoms though; you know, the ones on TBS and other cable channels. Like Seinfeld or 30 Rock or Everybody Loves Raymond. I'll watch a couple of those in the evening, when in fact, I should just be reading. I have good books on my Kindle. I enjoy them. But it seems like, after a long day, I no longer have the concentration, so I just press "play" on my remote instead. I really want to just turn the TV off.

9. STOP READING PUBLICATIONS THAT TICK ME OFF

I've been a loyal subscriber to a popular entertainment magazine since the early nineties. I always enjoyed reading it every week, because it featured well-written reviews of movies and music and TV, and books.

Now, though, it's become unnecessarily political. I can be merrily reading a review of a movie, when BAM! They hit me with it. A snarky political comment. Or, it could be an album review. BAM! The critic doesn't like the artist's political leanings, so there it is......it becomes part of the review.

Why? And why does the magazine want to offend a certain portion of their reader base? I feel like I'm not one of their "preferred customers", so I think I should just ditch my next renewal notice. Do us both a favor.

10. PRACTICE PATIENCE

Admittedly, this gets easier as I get older. I call it being too tired to care. I'm just kidding. I've always had these nervous tics, like foot-tapping and lip-chewing - stuff like that (hmmm, does that help explain the insomnia?) AND, if I'm in a really boring situation that I can't extricate myself from, it's torturous. If it's a work meeting, I just doodle on my legal pad. But I do get anxious - anxious to get the hell out of there.

But it's not good for my health to be on high alert all the time. Therefore, I am going to strive to just run a movie in my head, or a favorite TV episode. Something distracting enough to calm the fight or flight mode.

OR, I could just try to "be in the moment". This solely depends upon the boredom quotient. Or just yell at myself to "Calm down!" - silently, of course, or that could be really embarrassing.

Well, there it is. I came up with 10. I could probably come up with more, but then the quality would just go down (insert smiley face).

As I review, I realize that I am on a quest for improvement, in many, many aspects of my life. Well, that's better than standing still, I guess.

How many of these will I actually accomplish? I'm going to say five. The five easiest ones (ha).

Again, while I'm not a believer in resolutions, everyone should strive to become a better person, whatever that means on a personal level.

And now I'm going to look for my post from January of 2011 (if there even is one). Because I could use a good laugh.

Before 2011 Slips Away

2011-12-31T21:37:00.000-06:00

I didn't want 2011 to slip away without mentioning this; what was, to me, the best album of the year.

Maybe it's because it's a sad, wistful story. Maybe not. I think not. I just think that the music is great. The sad, wistful part probably only has meaning to those of us who have watched our loved ones go away, no thanks to Alzheimer's Disease.

I took a nap today, and had a dream....a dream about my dad. I started walking into a room that had some type of reception going on. A wedding reception maybe. People were milling about. There was a lot of back-slapping, good to see ya, interaction. I wasn't part of the gathering; I just needed to make my way through that room to get to where I needed to go.

As I walked past the multitude of people, I saw a guy with jet black hair, starched white short-sleeved dress shirt, having a jovial conversation with another man. I stopped and thought, that looks like my dad!

I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned, with a look of pure love, and I threw my arms around him, and kept repeating, "My daddy's back; my daddy's back!" And he hugged me so hard. And I hugged him just as hard back.

And then I woke up.

This album didn't make anybody's list of the top albums of the year. Well, except mine. And really, I don't care about anyone else's list.

It's a snowy night in Minnesota. And I hugged my dad today.

I think that's a pretty good way to end the year.

The Pop Culture Trends of 2011

2011-12-30T19:12:00.005-06:00

I'm not qualified to comment on very many subjects (although that's never stopped me before!) However, I do know a thing or two about pop culture, as an observer more than a participant, sadly (or not).

So, as we bid adieu to 2011 (and none too soon, in my opinion), here are some things I've noticed.....

THE ASHES OF COUNTRY MUSIC HAVE FINALLY SCATTERED TO THE WINDS

Now, this may have occurred before 2011, and most likely did, but I am now ready to pronounce country music dead and buried (or scattered, as the case may be).

It's no loss for me, because I stopped listening to it a long, long time ago, as it became apparent that the steels and the fiddles were being ritually cast off, one by one, and all that was left was a....banjo? Why in the world did the "country" tween stars choose a banjo? Whatever. It's all fake anyway.

Country music now is like someone who's never heard country music imagines it to sound.

Merle Haggard is now "Americana". As is Dwight Yoakam. It's okay with me. I don't care what they call 'em, as long as I can still buy their records.

I'm not gonna fight it anymore. Y'all enjoy your so-called music. Who am I to steal your Southern-fried-chicken-tires-on-a-gravel-road-Ol'-Hank-I'm-from-the-country-and-I'm-a-proud-redneck-insert-cliche-here joy?

THE ONLY SAFE GROUPS TO RIDICULE ARE CONSERVATIVES AND CHRISTIANS

It's not only funny to denigrate these groups, it's COOL. Just ask the writers and editors of any of your favorite magazines and newspapers.

If you want to be part of the "in" crowd, sharpen those nails, folks! Post your best, most poisonous comments on the websites of the afore-mentioned publications, and dudes like Ken Tucker from Entertainment Weekly will personally show up at your door and give you a BIG KISS! Not to single him out. There are tons....and tons.

Just the mere mention of someone like Tim Tebow or any of the Republican presidential candidates will throw 80% of the population into an absolute tizzy of vile hatred. And kudos to them!...say most of the journalistic powers-that-be! You go, girls and...um....boys. Show them YOU'RE the bully in this group, and don't they dare forget it!

FACEBOOK IS TEETERING ON THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF

Excuse me if you are a heavy utilizer of Facebook. I certainly mean no disrespect. But strictly as an observer, I have noticed the interest begin to wane. People post much less often, and those few who are constantly posting are just attention whores (Oh, my God, did I say that? I probably could have come up with a more acceptable term). The best are those who like to post the scores of their various games, like Crazy Farm, or whatever the heck it's called. Who cares?? To me, that's just nutty, and I'm trying hard not to be as judgmental as those people I mentioned in my last category. But seriously. Do you think anyone cares?? I play FB games, too. That's really all I use it for, frankly, other than to scan to see if anything interesting has been posted (it hasn't). But I wouldn't post my game scores!

Anyway, I wandered off into a tangent again. My point is, Facebook is on the down-turn. I don't care what those TV news hosts, who try to look "hip", are saying. I can see it. People are already hungering for the next big thing. And the next big thing will last about five years, too, if fortune shines upon it.

NOBODY PAYS ATTENTION TO TWITTER EXCEPT FOR ENTERTAINMENT WRITERS AND "JOURNALISTS"

Again, I'm on Twitter, too. Why? I don't know! Somebody said you should promote yourself (music-wise, I mean, not promote myself) on Twitter.

Do I ever go to Twitter? No. Not unless I want to post a link to a blog post that I think might be semi-relevant or interesting to somebody.

Why? It's wholly unworkable. First of all, and this, I admit, was a rookie mistake. I reciprocated to every "follow" email I received, and thus, I don't know how many people I follow, but too damn many! This makes the Twitter presentation just a jumble of unintelligible junk, which is mostly just posts of links to other pages (just like I do), and I don't have the time or patience to click on every link somebody deems worthy to share.

And that whole "@" thing. Okay, somebody is responding to something that "somebody" said, and I don't know what it was or who it was, and therefore, it's utter nonsense to me. But fun for those involved, I imagine!

Also, I don't like Ashton Kutcher enough to read what he has to say. It's not so much that I don't like Ashton Kutcher. It's just that he never even enters my consciousness. I, unlike I guess, 93% of the population, do NOT worship celebrities. There. I've said it. Kill me now. In fact, I have mostly disdain for the large majority of them, because they act like idiots, and their "writings" tend to prove that.

(Ha ~ I believe I will link this post on Twitter ~ just because I love nothing more than contradicting myself. And I haven't "contributed" in awhile. Gotta keep those irons in the fire! If somebody actually reads it, I'll give them a free download of whatever the heck they might want. I hope that doesn't discourage people! Give me a shout, people, if you actually read this. You can have your pick from the extensive Red River catalog.)

HIP-HOP MUSIC IN EVERYTHING FROM TV COMMERCIALS TO ONLINE TUTORIAL VIDEOS JUST MAKES MOST PEOPLE ANGRY

Nobody will admit that they don't like hip-hop, because that will just make them an outcast in popular society. Sign me up as an outcast!

I'm not even going to argue that it's not music. Everybody knows it isn't. Spoken word is spoken word. So, the beat is infectious, I guess. Maybe that's what it is. But the lyrics (or "poems")? Mind-numbing. And yes, I have heard and/or read that Kanye West is a "genius". My sole experience with Kanye West is seeing him rudely interrupt someone who was accepting a televised award, so don't give me that "genius" stuff. Egotist, sure.

87% OF TELEVISION IS CHEAPLY-MADE, BRAIN-CELL KILLING REALITY TV, AND THE OTHER 13% IS COMMERCIALS

Networks, don't give us this line that "we're just giving people what they want". No, you're not. You're giving people whatever costs you the least to produce.

I will not watch reality TV. It is contrived, lowest common denominator anesthesia, for people who are really just too lazy to push the "up" or "down" button on their remote control.

And we bemoan the fact that Johnny or Jenny can't read or pass a simple mathematics exam. Maybe their brains have been rendered useless by absorbing an overdose of reality TV...not to mention modeling their lives after all the dumb-ass people who become famous by "starring" on these shows.

Modern Family is a jewel. A rare gem. Watch it. This show has real writers and real actors! I know that's unbelievable, but true!

What the heck ever happened to writers? Are they all out on the camp-out with the 99%'ers now, because TV isn't hiring? I feel bad for writers; at least for the good ones. And, consequently, bad for us.

NO ONE CAN EVER AGAIN SAY, "DARN! I MISSED IT!", THANKS TO YOUTUBE

From the latest crazy happening in the world, to the Presidential debates, to a live performance by an obscure 60's rock group, to cute animal videos; it's all there. Or it will be. Just give it a minute.

We can skip the boring awards shows, and just watch the parts we want to see. We can learn how to carve a turkey (yes, I watched). We can even watch that Geico commercial with the little piggy (that's right; not ALL commercials suck).

YouTube is THE portal to the online world. Well, really, to the world. NOT Facebook. YouTube will be around forever. I just hope they don't decide to start charging for it (yes, I know they are offering TV subscriptions, but I can frankly watch what I want for free on Hulu).

PEOPLE LIKE TO READ AGAIN. OR IS THAT JUST ME?

Thanks in large part to Amazon, and thanks also to our local libraries, reading books is more affordable than ever. And thanks to my Kindle that I got for Christmas in 2010, I can take advantage of both free books from my library (although limited in selection) and relatively inexpensive books from Amazon itself, and I no longer have that pesky problem of a tower of hard-cover books ominously cornering me into the one remaining air-filled space of my little home.

It isn't just that, of course. There's nothing like a popular series to get people interested in reading again. My husband is currently reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and he hasn't read a book all the way through in ages. (Don't get me wrong. It's not that he has ADHD or anything; well, maybe a touch. It's just that he's really picky.)

And, not to belabor the point, but television is so boring, can you blame someone for choosing to read instead? And reading is SO much better for us. Contrary to recent pop culture beliefs, being an idiot isn't actually cool. Oh sure, maybe it's cool to other idiots, but are you really all that interested in impressing them? A dangling piece of string would impress them.

So, what to make of pop culture in the year 2011? Not a lot that's good. Some, but not much.

A large majority of the population is applauded for being intolerant. And for being morons. A once-revered genre of music has died ~ committed suicide, actually, after listening to a Taylor Swift song one too many times. Facebook puts people to sleep. Twitter is popular only in some people's imaginations. If there is one good program on television, we should rejoice. And there is. One.

But people like to read. And we can get our fill of the day's events, be they large or tiny, from YouTube.

I choose to look at the glass as 1/8 full. But that's just today, of course.

And just to prove that I'm not a fossil, I actually know who the two people in this video are.

I saw Inception. And I used to watch "3rd Rock From the Sun".

And I understand this gal has a good new sitcom on Fox (is it?) I haven't watched it, but I'm kind of a creature of habit. It takes me awhile to latch onto to new things.

So, here are Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

Happy New Year (and this is cool, because it's an old song, and they aren't doing it ironically. Nice change of pace. Thank you.)

Seriously.

Goodbye To The Old

2011-12-25T20:45:00.001-06:00

As we say goodbye to 2011 (where did the time go?), it has become an annual tradition for Red River to do a bit of reflection, with a video titled, Ring In The Old.

Here is the 2011 edition:

The Reason I Don't Listen To Christmas Songs

2011-12-24T20:33:00.005-06:00

And so I'm offering this simple phrase
To kids from one to ninety-two
Although it's been said
Many times, many ways
Merry Christmas to you

Christmas songs make me weepy.

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays
And no matter how far away you roam
For the holidays
You can't beat home sweet home

I won't be home for Christmas. There is no home.

I'm dreaming tonight
Of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know
It's a long road back
I promise you
I'll be home for Christmas

I always find myself clearing my throat when listening to these songs. That's because I want to hide the fact that I'm choking up.

My best friend, who died, was a singer in a band. And she recorded a song called, "An Old Christmas Card". If I really want to feel like crap, I'll slap that one on.

Yup, just did, and I do.

See, this is why I don't think about these things.

Who wants to become all maudlin, and start ripping Kleenex out of the box, as punishment for listening to some stupid songs?

Not me.

I don't need the drama.

That's why I like Christmas songs like these. They're not all sentimental and sappy. Meaning, they don't make me cry.

Or one like this. It's kitschy and stupid. It's supposed to be fun; not make me sob uncontrollably.

And I always love how the Beach Boys can turn any song into a "Beach Boys" song; even one about Christmas. This could be Little Deuce Coupe, except for the lyrics (I actually think it is).

And, of course, for the country crowd (me), how about this:

So, why do I do it? Put myself through this kind of punishment; albeit one day out of the year?

I think maybe it's because I really want to remember those times, and thus, I'm willing to take the horrible with the good.

I miss my mom and dad. And I miss Alice, or at least what Alice was to me back then.

I miss being with my brothers and sisters at Christmas time.

I miss the time when Christmas had meaning.

Maybe that's why I've become more spiritual these last couple of years. The Christmas songs I like best now are the spiritual ones. The tried and the true. I guess there's a reason they've been hanging around for a few centuries.

I frankly always do this to myself on Christmas Eve. I have to purge it out of my system. Allow myself ONE DAY to feel the feelings that I brush aside the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.

And then I can move on. At least for another year.

And I know everyone has their favorite Christmas song. But I'm going to share mine:

Merry Christmas from Red River

2011-12-24T07:51:00.000-06:00

Music of the Season

2011-12-18T13:07:00.000-06:00

Sunday Aloha

2011-12-14T08:49:00.001-06:00

Here is Red River's latest video ~ Sunday Aloha.

We hope you like it.

Dobie Gray

2011-12-10T17:38:00.001-06:00

1973 was our senior year of high school, Alice's and mine. Ahhhh. What could be better?

Getting that hint of freedom at last. We'd drive around in Alice's car; I think it might have been a Chrysler or something. I never knew much about cars. I do remember, however, that it was sort of an ugly shade of brown, but it got us around! Dragging Main was the thing to do in our town. Pretty much the ONLY thing to do.

I had already picked up my nasty smoking habit, because I apparently thought it was cool. IT IS NOT COOL. Good luck trying to kill that demon after years of abusing one's body. But I don't want this post to be a downer....

However, Alice tolerated the constant smoking and the ashtray filled with cigarette butts. I think she must have been a saint.

So, we'd drive up and down main, and up and down again. And again. We'd meet up with people we knew, and people we didn't know. That's just what everybody did. We'd pull into the Big Boy parking lot; maybe buy a pizza burger, flying style. Sit in the lot for awhile; see who might be around.

We were both country music geeks. And I do mean geeks, because country music was something one did NOT admit to liking, as a teenager.

However, on those Friday nights, we'd tune the AM radio to the rock station.

There was a lot of good music in 1973. Wonder whatever happened to good music.

The songs I remember best are The Joker by the Steve Miller Band, Stuck In The Middle With You (Stealer's Wheel), but mostly this song:

Man, we'd roll those windows down and sing it at the top of our lungs. (Alice was a real singer; I was a singer wannabe).

And we'd get to that chorus at the end and clap along.

"Gimme the beat, boys, and free my soul. I wanna get lost in your rock and roll, and drift away...."

I can't hear that song today without being whisked back to those days of 1973.

It's kind of a bummer when those things that meant so much are just gone. And it's just you left with your memories, and nobody to share them with.

And now Dobie Gray is gone, too.

Dobie had a few hits during his career, and he was a songwriter, too.

But this one, this song; well, if you have one song like this; one that can make a young girl, or two young girls, I guess, happy, peaceful, and serene, then I would say you made one hell of a mark.

Rest in peace, Dobie Gray. I think I'll queue that song up tonight and pretend that I'm eighteen again.

Thankfulness

2011-11-24T14:47:00.000-06:00

Here it is, the morn of Thanksgiving, and I feel like I should write something about thankfulness.

I'll admit, I've not been in a very thankful mood lately, so it's a bit difficult to wrap my mind around the concept, but I'll give it a whirl.

I think, when the big things go wrong, one has to remember the little things.

Here are some little things, in no particular order:

A hot cup of coffee in the morning.

Slapping on a CD of old, familiar tunes (today, I like this one):

Watching a Modern Family episode, and always welling up at the end.

Waking up to see my dog stretched out on her back in the middle of the night, paws up in the air, serene. (I don't actually have a photo of this!)

Surfing over to Pixdaus, and looking at beautiful nature photography. (I just clicked on "random"):

Expressing creativity with $0.00.

My cat curled up next to me on the bed.

Talking to God.

Finding a book that's so good, you think about it even when you're not reading it. I recommend this one:

A good friend. (That comes before all that other stuff; just so you know!)

Last, but MOST, my husband.

(He doesn't like the publicity.)

I don't really know what to write about my husband that wouldn't sound cliche and superficial.

I guess what I would say is, he's my best friend (really), and he takes care of me. And I take care of him. And he's really smart and really creative. And life hasn't exactly been fair to him, but I was just going to go with the "thankful" stuff today, so disregard that last part. (Besides, who said life was fair?)

So, thankfulness isn't really that difficult after all.

There is a definite dearth of good Thanksgiving songs. I'm not really interested in hearing about a turkey, if you know what I mean. So, every year, I come back to this one.

Songwriter Liz Anderson

2011-11-09T08:21:00.016-06:00

Songwriter Liz Anderson passed away on October 31.

You may not know her, but you do know her songs.

After all, what would've Merle Haggard named his band, if not for this song:

And you probably thought that Merle wrote this one, but he didn't:

Apparently, embedding the video for this song has been "disabled by request" (of someone ~ I always wonder about that), but Liz wrote this for Merle and Bonnie (when there still was a Merle and Bonnie):

Sure, Liz wrote a lot of songs for her daughter, Lynn Anderson. What mother wouldn't? And what daughter wouldn't say, "Hey, Mom. I need some hit songs. Can you write some for me?" Lynn had a built-in hit machine, right at home.

Like this one:

No performance video for this, but this is another big Lynn Anderson hit (and what a sweet voice!):

There were a lot of songs written for Lynn by Liz. Unfortunately, these are all apparently relegated to the dark ages, because you can't find any videos. Nor can you even find the CD's. I seriously don't get it. Good music is good music.

When Lynn was signed to Chart Records, those albums were some of the best country albums ever. Now they're not even worth a re-release?

I looked, and I looked, but I couldn't find the album titled, "Songs My Mother Wrote", except for this link.

But if you are even slightly interested in the history of good country music, you could do way worse than buying this:

The other thing, besides great music, that endears me to Liz Anderson (and to Lynn Anderson, for that matter) is that she is from Grand Forks, North Dakota, just like me.

And, for what it's worth, I am apparently related to Liz and Lynn (at least that's what my mom and my aunt told me, and they wouldn't lie).

So, ignoring the obvious lack of palpable evidence, trust me. Liz Anderson was a great country songwriter.

And she even recorded some songs, occasionally.

Here's one that I found:

And Merle says, thank you for giving me a name for my band.

Life Is a Dream

2011-11-05T20:19:00.000-05:00

The latest Red River video.

Dear Music Promotion Site Folks

2011-11-03T07:08:00.003-05:00

DEAR MUSIC PROMOTION SITE FOLKS:

Thanks!

Your emails really make my day!

I'm using exclamation points to emphasize that this really isn't true!

That's because the "opportunities" you provide really are kinda irrelevant and useless!

No offense!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Music Xray uses "computer-driven music analysis technology" to locate possible matches for our songs. Doesn't that sound technical and precise?

Well, alas, it's not. Not at all. I have no quibble with computers. I use them approximately 18 hours a day (okay, maybe 16 hours, because I do sleep more than six hours, ideally).

But computers are far from taking over the world. Computers are only as smart (or as stupid) as the operators. Okay, maybe a bit smarter, but that's not really saying a lot, is it?

Don't get me wrong. Music Xray is one of the better sites I've found over the years. What it does right is, it advertises opportunities and allows the artist to submit or not submit to them, albeit for a fee (but they do have to make a living, now, don't they?) And there is no middle man (other than your PayPal account). The person who has listed the opportunity is going to listen to your crummy song. That's more than 99.9% of the other sites provide. So, I like that.

And you do get a response. Not detailed, mind you, but these folks are busy! I've generally gotten, "not my cup of tea", which is short and to-the-point. But at least they haven't replied with, "What the hell?? Why are you wasting my time??", although I'm sure that's what they're thinking.

So, I don't quibble with the opportunities. But the "computer-driven music analysis technology"?

"Ghost Town", which is sort of an Old West kinda movie theme song (you can listen for yourself, if you click on the Red River Store, over there in the sidebar; or just click on the title; duh. Apparently, I'm not as smart as a computer), was matched to the following:

1. New age, ethnic, world, free jazz
2. Instrumental music (the song does have vocals!)

"Goodbye", which is a cool, sort of symphonic pop song, seems to match:

"Songs about Route 66. Songs....include references to; the open road, driving, freedom, working hard, life experiences and so on."

It has none of these things. It would not be that banal.

"Prayed For It To Rain" is, in essence, a classic country song, written in a classic country style. I'm singing it, which is relevant, given the computer's "matches":

1. "rap/hip-hop and r&b/soul/funk genres"
2. "Electronic Music with Female Vocals or No Vocals"

(Well, it does have vocals, like them or not, but electronic? Nah, I'm going to have to say no.)

3. "New Age, Ethnic, World, Free Jazz" (This again?)
4. "Instrumental Music, Piano, Guitar, Drums or other instruments"

Again, this song does have vocals. You can't deny it. As much as you might wish that it didn't, it does.

"Heartview" is either a downer or an upper, depending upon your perspective. It's a song I wrote about my dad's battle with alcoholism, which seems like a downer, but there is hope embedded within the song.

Therefore, this:

"Searching for good artists and writers to help them getting deals in Videogames Projects"

...hardly seems appropriate. Know what I mean?

"Pua" is an island song about a woman who died before her time, and the legacy she left. It's a soft, soothing song, with an emphasis on acoustic guitar.

So, probably not:

"Gothic, ebm, doom metal, industrial or alternative music"

And what the hell is "ebm"?

It's also not "country, alternative country, bluegrass, or western". And, in fact, the songwriter would actually be insulted to know that it somehow got classified as such.

Now, "Ghost Town" or "Prayed For It To Rain", sure! But apparently, those songs didn't seem to fit in that category.

It also is not appropriate for VIDEO GAMES, unless the games are somnambulistic, and, if so, why would anyone want to play them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I could go on and on, but it just starts to become redundant.

So, truth be told, I don't even read those emails anymore. I only opened the latest one because I was sort of annoyed about the frequency of the exact same "opportunity matches" that I get every frickin' week!

Don't you, Music Xray, think that if I felt any of our songs actually matched any of these "opportunities", that I would have submitted them by now? Give it up. Or at least ask your computer to come up with new ones.

I guess I probably shouldn't quibble about a free service doing us a "favor" by emailing us with chances to further our music, but I get SO many useless emails, and it's just daunting some days.

My mindset is, "Well, I guess I'd better check my email today. Yes, I'm tired after a long day's work, but you never know; there might be something important".

"Oh, first let me weed out the obvious spam; get rid of those. Then I'll mark some other things as spam, in the hope that I may never hear from these companies again (fat chance!). Then I'll unsubscribe to some places that I never knew I subscribed to in the first place. And I know they'll try to make me feel bad about it: 'Are you sure you want to unsubscribe??'

"Then maybe, just maybe, there'll actually be an email or two from people I actually know. Keeping my fingers crossed! Because, otherwise, why am I wasting my precious off-hours clicking through stupid emails?"

That's my mindset. Yours?

I'm finding more and more that email is pernicious. It's like those unwelcome phone calls one gets when they're just trying to settle in and watch a sitcom, after a crappy day at work. Just relax for an hour or two. But no. They call you, and you have to run to the phone, just in case. And they're diabolical. They never leave a message. And even if you get to the phone before the answering machine kicks in, nobody is ever on the other end of the line! They just leave you to wonder, what the hell are you calling me for?

Did you ever try calling the number back, to ask them to leave you alone? Nobody answers! Or you get into the endless circle of "Press __ for ___", and you press it, and it gives you a bunch of other numerals to choose from to press. Until finally, you just give up. And then you go back to your TV screen and try to relax and unwind. All the while, thinking of possible ways to wreak revenge upon them. But there never really is a way.

And with emails, you don't even know that you've been added to somebody's email list. Nor did you ask to be put there.

I submitted a song once to a new artist who as "seeking songs". I love that; they always use that phrase: seeking songs.

Well, she did respond to my email, with a sort of cryptic, "Hey, I really like it. Let's talk". But when I tried to talk, she never did talk back.

No prob. It was a lark, really. I wasn't expecting anything.

But, lo and behold, I'm now on her email list! I'm being informed of her latest appearances and new tracks. Not to be cruel, but I really don't care! If she'd recorded one of my songs, then sure! I would care! But otherwise, no, I just don't care. Take me off the list.

So, they just grab you. Without your permission.

I think, frankly, that for every unknown entity that decides to put me on their email distribution list, I should reciprocate.

I should start sending out a daily email message to all of my valuable contacts.

I could tell them all about my day. Sure, it would be boring, but no more boring than the stuff I get from them!

Let's see how they like it.

Oh, but, then I'd be constantly sending that plaintive message, "Are you sure you want to unsubscribe??"

Okay, since this is a video blog, I wanted to include something relevant, so my first thought was, "Rikki, Don't Lose That Number", but alas, foiled again!

There is no decent video of this to be found.

But, in searching for Steely Dan, I did find this. And it's pretty fun, especially since it is introduced by a relatively young Bill Cosby. And it's from the Midnight Special, in 1973. Ahhh, 1973 was a very good year!

So, although this has absolutely nothing to do with my post, I couldn't resist including, "Reelin' In The Years":

Okay, thanks tons, anonymous YouTube user. Thanks for deleting this video. Why in the world did you bother to post it in the first place? Idiot.

In lieu of Steely Dan, we're going with (on the spur of the moment) the Beach Boys instead.

Let's try this one, for as long as it remains on line:

How To Write a Hit Song

2011-11-01T03:42:00.000-05:00

I don't know.

Dear Songwriting Contest People:

2011-10-28T05:20:00.019-05:00

DEAR SONGWRITING CONTEST PEOPLE:

Stop emailing me.

I get enough annoying email as it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let me be succinct (fat chance!):

Songwriting contests are scams.

Well, of course, it's not right to paint them all with a broad brush. Is it?

I will modify that statement with the caveat that, as far as I know, the NSAI songwriting contest is not a scam.

I believe I actually even entered the NSAI songwriting contest one time; you know, when I had money for frivolities.

My past history with songwriting contests is like most people's. I was a young (not in years, but in intelligence), naive songwriter. I posted songs somewhere; anywhere, really; online. That's how they hunt you down. They especially like the naive, stupid people.

That's how I ended up entering something called the Song of the Year songwriting contest. And guess what! I got an honorable mention! And guess what again! I bet everybody got an honorable mention!

You know, the Song of the Year songwriting contest also has a "lyrics only" category. Really? You know, lyrics are not a song. I think they should call that the "Song Words of the Year" contest. But you know, the thing about lyrics are, they don't necessarily even make a good song, even if some dunderhead would decide to try to put a melody to them.

Have you ever read the winning entries in American Songwriter magazine? Ha! First of all, they're all about seven miles long (judge for yourself!) I seriously think they should call it the American Songwriter Short Story Contest. Does anyone ever put these so-called "lyrics" to music? Would they then be considered concertos? Or whatever you call a piece of music that's extremely long and exhausting?

And I mean no offense to the winners, because they entered this contest in good faith. It's not their fault that the magazine is basically pandering.

And hopefully, the prize is something more than a free subscription to American Songwriter Magazine, because let me tell you...I had some issues with that magazine.

First of all, I paid for a year's subscription, and I ended up getting two...count 'em, two issues in the mail. When I emailed them about it, the person (if it was a person) was all concerned and sympathetic, and couldn't understand how that could possibly happen! Maybe my address was wrong, this person suggested. Hmmm....maybe....but then, how did I manage to get the first two issues?

Good point, said Concerned Customer Service Person. Well, let me just put the latest issue inside an envelope and mail it to you! How'd you like that? Fine. Whatever. I just want something in exchange for my money.

So, the very, very nice person did send me a copy of the issue I had already gotten (issue #2), albeit inside an envelope! Then, again, all deliveries stopped.

So, I once again emailed my friend at ASM, and again, he/she was completely perplexed. Maybe my address was wrong? Sorry, but I think we've been down this path before, I patiently replied.

I apparently offended my new friend at ASM, because he/she just refused to talk to me anymore. This, of course, aggravated me, so I emailed again and asked if someone, anyone (it didn't need to necessarily be my former friend) could either make sure I received the rest of what I'd paid for, or else would kindly refund my money.

Well, apparently, my former friend told all his/her colleagues about how he/she was not speaking to me anymore, and urged them to not speak to me, either. (You know how cliques are). So, alas, my relationship with the ASM people evaporated abruptly, as did the money I'd scrounged up to pay for their lousy subscription.

So, okay, I hope the songwriting winners don't just get a free subscription, because the contest entry alone costs $12.00, and a subscription costs $18.00. And if you only get two issues in the mail, well, you do the math. You're losing money on this deal.

It's not that I hold a grudge against this magazine for their abysmal customer service (well, kinda I do), but I think the facts need to be disseminated, so that a conscientious consumer can make up his or her own mind. I don't knock companies just for some kind of sadistic fun.

Back to songwriting contests in general. I wonder about the judges of these things, don't you? Most of these contests will be forthcoming about who their judges are, and in fact, are happy to tout the big names who've signed on.

Again, this is just odd. If you're a big-name musical artist, why are you wasting your time judging a songwriting contest? Are you so mercenary that you will take every little dollar bill that happens to float your way? That just seems greedy.

And you know (you do know, right?) that the bulk of the so-called judging is done by nameless, faceless people who could be the building janitor, for all we know. Although, in fairness, I would trust the janitor's judgment more than I would a whole bunch of people's. At least he is probably a music lover, and listens to music on his ipod while he is emptying trash and vacuuming. I know I certainly did that when I was scrubbing toilets as a motel maid (although, of course, there were no such things as ipods, since this was the seventies, but I did have a radio, and my dad's eight-track tapes).

So, once the faceless people whittle the entries down to about five or ten (just picking them randomly, really, because it's a boring job, and who cares?), they slap them on a CD and send 'em on over to a BIG-NAME judge, who, while driving somewhere important, will slide the CD into their player and do the whole skip-skip-skip thing, after listening to about 5 seconds of each song, and then they'll most likely pick the last song they happened to hear five seconds of, because, well, really it's a boring job, to be honest, but they want to follow the letter of the law and actually pick something, because they're getting paid big bucks to have their 8x10 plastered on a website as a "celebrity judge".

So, there you go. That's how songwriting ~~scams~~ contests work.

And, if you think about it, whether the contest charges ten bucks (fat chance) or $45.00 for each entry, well, WINDFALL FOR THEM! Multiply that entry fee times a whole lot of naive, stupid people, and what do you have? FREEEE MONEEEEY!!

If I was an unscrupulous person, in fact, I'd start my own songwriting contest. It'd be really simple. I could be rich! But, of course, I am not an unscrupulous person, and if I did start a songwriting contest, I'd be an honest judge. And I'd listen to all the songs in their entirety; not just five seconds. But I wouldn't steal from my fellow songwriters, so I'm not starting my own contest. I'm just saying, beware. Anybody can do it, and pretty much anybody has.

So, save your money, please. Take the money you save by not entering songwriting contests, and start a little demo fund for yourself. Every time you get one of those emails telling you it's your "last chance to enter", calculate the money you're saving by being smart, and stick that in your fund. It won't take long before you will have enough saved to get a professional demo made of one of your songs.

THAT is how you advance your career as a songwriter.

Now that my job here is done, I will return to my email account and continue moving those messages into my spam folder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Postscript: OMG, I just got another email from those Song of the Year people! Stop! Just stop!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame 2011 Inductees

2011-10-26T11:29:00.005-05:00

(Somehow, it seems like there should be an apostrophe in there someplace, but I guess it's technically correct).

Still, maybe "Songwriter's" (although that would only be ONE songwriter). How about "Songwriters'"? It's the Songwriters' Hall of Fame. It belongs to them.

Sorry, I'm off on a tangent before I even start.

Well, the latest inductees into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame were honored on October 16. (I bet it was in Nashville, right? It would be sort of counter-productive if it was held someplace else: "The latest inductees into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame were honored today in Wichita, Kansas."

I guess it was quite the gala, although from the paucity of information posted on YouTube, one would never know it. Maybe it was one of those "secret" inductions.

Well, their secret is unsafe with me! Because I somehow found out about it.

The 2011 inductees make up quite a lofty group. In researching the songs written by these guys, I find that they've written a whole bunch! Granted, most of them I haven't heard of, but that's my problem; not theirs.

And really, is it quantity or quality that matters? I say, quality. Because you could write one monster hit song, and there you go! Retire! And then, while you're lolling about in your mansion, and someone stops by and asks, "Hey, let me hear some of your other songs!", you could slap a CD on the player (or hand them a set of little tiny earbuds and make them listen through your iphone, but that's sort of awkward). And they'd listen for awhile, and then mutter, "Geez, you were really lucky to get that ONE big hit, weren't you?" But you wouldn't really be that offended, because after all, you have lots of MONEY! So, what do you care?

So, in trying to single out ONE big hit song from each of the non-performing songwriters, I shot for ones that I was at least familiar with. If you care to do the research to find out what other 4999 songs each of them wrote, well, it's pretty easy. Google is your friend.

John Bettis

I'm not going to quibble that the majority of songs John Bettis wrote are pop songs. Because he is obviously quite capable of writing a country song (as evidenced below). And you know, maybe he lives in Nashville. It's not the "Country Songwriters Hall of Fame" anyway.

Thom Schuyler

Let me just say that I really hate this performance by Kenny Rogers, especially because I love this song. I don't know what's up, but it seems like Kenny just wants to hurry up and get it over with. Why bother? Yes, Kenny, I know you've sung this song thirteen million times, and you're sick of it, but we're not.

Nevertheless, here it is:

Here's how it's supposed to go:

Allen Shamblin

Okay, okay. I just included this video in a recent blog post, but my goodness! If I'm going to pick an Allen Shamblin song, it's going to be this one! And Allen wrote a lot of good ones!

Still....

Okay, Allen gets two, because I also really like this song, and I haven't heard it in ages. This was co-written with Mike Reid:

Allen, of course (as if I knew this), wrote "The House That Built Me", which they tell me was a pretty big hit. DORK CONFESSION: Today, when I found it on YouTube, was the first time I'd ever heard that song. Seriously. But you know I don't listen to country radio. I'm more of a music historian than a hipster.

Anyway, my point in bringing this up is that, when you listen to all three of these songs, you see that Allen Shamblin has a soul. Unlike the majority of hit songwriters these days. Unless by "soul", you mean "wallet".

I like them, and I don't apologizing for liking them. Perhaps these songs are a perfect counterpoint to today's songs written by the likes of pseudo-songwriters such as Taylor Swift (And yes, I've heard them. I had to do research for a previous post, so I had to listen to them). You know, songs about, why do you have to be so mean to me? So touching. Really. I hear my church is adding that one to the hymnal.

Don't get me wrong. The Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame likes "wallet soul", too. That's why they named Taylor Swift their songwriter of the year.

But on we go, to other more important people.

The two performing songwriters who were honored are somewhat familiar names in the music industry. I heard that they each had a couple of hit songs, and have been able to make a comfortable living for themselves.

Okay, the thing about this guy, which is irritating for a music video blogger, is that, yes, he's a nice guy and all, but he's really stingy about allowing his music videos to be shared. I don't know why; that's his business. But this does narrow my options.

I have found a couple, though:

Garth Brooks

Garth Brooks - If Tomorrow Never Comes by romans34

Okay, that's it. Sorry. And that last one wasn't even a performance video. It was just a compilation of clips. Look Garth, if you want to get ahead in this business, you're going to have to let bloggers like me help to promote your music. I'm giving you this advice for your own good. I'm sure you'd like to have a little house out in Oklahoma one day, and not have to work anymore. Maybe grow a little garden. All that can be done! But you have to let me help you.

Unlike Garth Brooks, this next guy, you can find all the music videos you want! Nice! Thanks! This, however, creates a different problem. I don't want this post to be three miles long, so I have to pick two, or at the most, three.

By the way, I thought I would insert a plug here for a great music resource: All Music. This is a comprehensive site, and one does not have to wonder about the accuracy of the information here, unlike my old standby, which starts with the letter "W". Sometimes, with W, I have to surf over to another site to verify whether W is lying to me or not.

Alan Jackson

No video for "There Goes", which happens to be my favorite Alan Jackson song, but I also like this one a lot:

Quite a stellar group indeed. All five of these gentlemen are deserving of this honor. And it was fun to stroll down memory lane and revisit some of these songs. I find that there are so many great, great songs that have been almost forgotten, that when I get a chance to hear them again, they sound almost new. That's one of the joys of music.

So, out of these five songwriters, two are my favorites. You already know who one of them is, and I'm not revealing my other. I wouldn't want the other guys to feel like "runners-up". (And yea, I'm positive it would really, really hurt, considering that they just got inducted into a hall of fame and they're rich and they get to accost visitors to their mansions with an ipod filled with songs they've written). But still, I don't want to be uncouth.

I will note, however, that points have been deducted for the sparseness of available music videos. Just sayin'.

Honor

2011-10-21T20:23:00.000-05:00

I wonder about honor sometimes.

What happened to it?

Is it now considered passe?

Is it just a word that we throw around when we want to compliment someone? "Well, he's quite honorable, isn't he?"

Honor can mean a lot of things. In simple terms, honor = the truth.

And truth is difficult.

You see, the truth has a lot of perilous cliffs to avoid. "Will being honest get me in trouble? And if so, no thanks! I've got enough difficulties in my life, without creating any new ones!"

I wonder, when the chips are down, how many of us are actually honorable. I wonder if I would be. I hope so.

Being raised as a Catholic, as fallen as I am, I still retain what they call "Catholic guilt", but I don't know if it's guilt, really. Maybe so. Maybe I think, I can't get right with God if I'm dishonest. Maybe God will be ashamed of me. I'm sure he would be, actually.

I struggle with honor.

It could be something as simple as a workplace issue; in which someone is annoying the hell out of me (sorry, God!), and yet, I don't say anything, because I want to be "nice".

Wouldn't it be better if I just laid it on the line? Well, that's the question, isn't it? Everybody wants to be liked. So, nobody creates any waves, because, I guess, it's better to suffer in silence than to be perceived as a bitch (sorry again, God!). What we are all striving for, in this world of fluff, is to be popular; or at least not "unpopular".

But, when push comes to shove, would I stand up for someone, even though it might make me look like a loser? Even if I had to reveal myself to be less than perfect?

I hope I would.

But to be perfectly honest (here, at least), I know I would stand up for my friends, but would I stand up for someone I truly don't even like? That's the test, isn't it?

You can't just pick and choose your moments. Unless you're a complete mercenary. Which, unfortunately, the citizens of the world have become.

Which leads me to the topic of lying.

Bald-faced lying.

It galls me. Doesn't it gall you?

I don't watch much TV, but I do watch the national news. I won't say which channel I watch, because that just becomes a hotbed for negative comments, but let me just say that I watch the channel that actually TELLS THE TRUTH; both sides.

And I do have a side. Doesn't everybody?

Lately, though, I've been kind of ashamed of my side. Yes, I feel that my side offers cogent points. But they've kind of taken it to the extreme. Believe it or not, most of us aren't morons. As partisan as we are, most of us recognize truth (i.e.; honor).

So, please just stop it.

Make your (valid) points and be done with it. You don't have to muddy the waters by criticizing every little thing that the helplessly incompetent President does. We can see that for ourselves. And occasionally (if you squint hard enough), he does do something right.

But closer to home, you know, things are tough.

Sometimes, I think the news is just a distraction. Something to divert my attention from the huge pile of "refuse" (let's say) that's happening in my life right now.

For example, the unemployment appeal that my husband just suffered through. The one in which his former boss lied and created wild tales, all in an effort to avoid paying the really negligible premiums that every company has to pay for unemployment insurance; so really, what is the point of lying? "Honor"? Well, honor does not really apply in this circumstance, does it?

It all goes back to that fear of being perceived as "uncool"; "unpopular". Because if we admit that we screwed up; that we handled things really poorly, then all hell will descend upon us.

It's really better to just let it lie. And by "lie", I don't mean to actually lie. I mean, let it go.

But, here we sit. With one income. The same thing that a whole bunch of people are dealing with right now.

We might eventually lose our home. Who knows?

All because someone couldn't bring themselves to do the "honorable" thing.

I was listening to Bill Bennett's show the other morning, and I heard a bumper (is that what they call them?) of this song, and it made me feel all calm, somehow. So familiar; so soothing.

You know, Merle Haggard did stuff that a lot of people at the time thought, "What the hell is that? And does he realize that he's totally sabotaging his career??"

But he still did it.

Just one more reason why I love Merle Haggard.

Somehow, somewhere, there are still honorable people in this world. For example, Merle Haggard.

It's Rather Hard to Describe

2011-10-15T20:34:00.002-05:00

As my husband does more and more original stuff, it challenges me, as the designated videographer, to broaden my horizons.

I find that I'm bored with the mundane. Aren't you?

Maybe that's why I hate new country music so much. It's so boring, so predictable. Everybody is afraid to do anything against the grain. "Ooh, if it doesn't sound like what Kenny Chesney/Keith Urban/whoever the heck is popular now, is putting out there, then I'm doomed. DOOMED!"

But enough about what they call "country music". This is a rock song, and a concept, if you will.

I find it interesting, and challenging, to get inside someone else's head and come up with something suitable.

As someone who relies upon pre-presented photos and little animated GIFs that I find here and there, my resources are limited. I work with what I have, and that's sort of the fun of it.

So, herewith, is "A Black Horse":

The Singer-Songwriter Series ~ Episode 4

2011-10-06T20:45:00.000-05:00

Just because a guy had his first hit song in 1958 doesn't mean that he's over the hill. Just because he happens to be 74 years old, that doesn't mean that there's still not great songs rattling around up there. Because apparently there are.

Again, I am....well, I was going to say "aghast", but that doesn't really fit, does it? I am...awed...by the prolificacy of the great songwriters.

Bill Anderson has been around for my whole life (obviously), and when I first became aware of him, it was through his syndicated TV show, which my channel always broadcast on Saturday afternoons, which they apparently considered the "dead" time slot, but not for me! I think it was Porter Wagoner's show and then Bill Anderson's show, and probably the Wilburn Brothers' show, or somebody's. I only actually remember Porter's and Bill's.

The show looked something like this:

Let's just say at the outset that Bill (whom I'm sure would be the first to tell you) is not the world's greatest singer.

As a matter of fact, he's really kind of a bad singer. Which is probably why he always did those sappy recitations. Which were awful! In fact, many performers through the years have parodied those recitations, and who can blame them? It's almost too easy.

Here's an example of what I'm talking about:

Be that as it may, I don't think Bill really set out to be a singer anyway. I'm not sure how or why it happened, but somebody somewhere said, "Hey Bill ~ LOVE your voice! Did you ever think about recording?"

And Bill said, "Huh? Is this a joke? That's kind of cruel."

But none of us can sing, really. Unless you're LeAnn Rimes, and you've made yet another crappy cover album (even if it was produced by Vince Gill), in which you've slowed down all the songs that were meant to be up-tempo, just so you could put your "stamp" on them. And you've ruined them; just ruined them.

I digress (Don't I? But I still managed to make my point.)

But back to Bill Anderson.

The year was 1958. That year of Bill's first hit song. And it was a good one. I remember listening to this song (not in 1958!) and thinking, that's a really well-written song. And it didn't hurt that Ray Price was singing it:

Bill, as you know, or maybe don't know, was in essence responsible for Connie Smith's career. I bought Connie's first album, and I think every song on it was written by Bill Anderson (There might have been one or two that weren't, but I'm not going to dig through my closet to find the album to prove myself right or wrong).

Here's Connie's first big, big hit:

Here's another one, introduced by Bill himself. "Cute and Country" Connie Smith (aww, isn't that sweet?)

One more, a bit more recently performed:

But Bill wasn't just about Connie Smith and Ray Price, and well, himself. No. Do you remember this one? I wanna say 1963, but I'm really just guessing, to be honest. The only hit song that Roy Clark ever really had, and he managed to parlay that into a pretty lengthy career (Thanks again, Bill! Says Roy.)

Yet, Bill moved into the almost-twenty-first century, with songs like this one, recorded by Steve Wariner (I think Steve deserves a post all his own, really.)

And, you know, this one, of course:

And yes, here we go again, with this video that I really dislike, but I really, really like the song:

That's a damn long good career! Bill Anderson is someone who can get up in the morning and honestly say, "I'm going to write a hit song today. Or at least I know I can write a hit song today."

To be honest,and not satirical, Bill Anderson is a songwriter who has been able to adapt to the times.

If you listen to the songs he wrote in the late fifties, early sixties, they were different from the songs he writes now. Not lyrically, so much, although perhaps his lyrics are a bit more frank now than they were back then. That's a sign of the times, no doubt.

There was a formula in those days. It was basically, verse chorus, verse chorus. Simple? Well, not so simple that you or I could write a great one. Deceptively simple, maybe.

Times and tastes change, though. And Bill's writing has changed, too. He co-writes a lot now. Maybe that's what keeps him current. I'm not a fan of co-writing, but if it works, and it makes Bill big bucks, then, hey! I think a lot of those young co-writers can thank their lucky stars that someone of the caliber of Bill Anderson has agreed to write a song with them.

As the saying goes (MY saying, because I have repeated it so much that I've now laid claim to it), either you've got it or you don't.

And I guess, if you had it in 1958, and you still have it more than 50 years later, then you've GOT IT.

You don't have to wonder. Fifty years is the cutoff point for wondering.

I only started writing in 2002, so it would not be until the year 2052 that I would know for sure. I would then be 97-freakin' years old. I ain't living that long. So I guess I'll never know. But I'm pretty sure; I don't got it.

But that's okay. I can still admire those who do.

~~~

The Sad Ones

2011-10-01T20:53:00.001-05:00

Since I'm in a pretty decent mood tonight, I thought, why not make good on my earlier promise, and feature some sad songs?

See, one doesn't want to listen to sad songs when they're actually sad, because that might just push one over the edge, you know? I'm not saying I haven't had those moments in my life, when I cried in my beer, listening to the saddest songs I could find in my playlist. Because I have. Hasn't everyone?

And, just for the record, I don't think crying is a bad thing. Of course, I'm a female, and females understand that. Crying is actually cathartic. Men need to learn that.

Anyway, the weird thing to me about so-called "sad" songs is, they don't make me feel sad. They make me feel, which is completely different.

Trying to post sad songs is like trying to find three songs to download for free from your local library (And thanks, by the way. Nice feature). The choices are daunting.

Every songwriter or would-be songwriter (like me!) writes sad songs. They're easy! Who's happy all the time? Only the insane.

And sad is relative, I'll say.

Some of the songs I post here may be considered more "inspirational" than sad. I don't know. You be the judge. They seem sad, or at least wistful, to me.

So, relying on my tiny memory cells and what I can find on YouTube, let's all get sad.

Naturally, the first song that comes to mind for me, when I think of sad songs, doesn't actually have a real video associated with it. But I'm still starting with this one, by Earl Thomas Conley:

Brooks & Dunn:

Neon Moon (From Invitation Only) - Brooks & Dunn - Brooks & Dunn Videos

By way of disclosure, I don't like Rascal Flatts, generally. HOWEVER, I like this one, and this one is sad.

I don't really like the video for this song. That's just my personal preference. Personally, I think they should have left it up to each listener's imagination. Nevertheless, what is sadder than Alison Krauss singing, well, anything?

Nobody features Gary Allen enough. I'm glad I have the opportunity to do it here:

No video for this song, of course, but it's one of my favorite George Strait recordings:

And speaking of George, I didn't really want to double up on singers here, but I think this is a mightily sad song:

Everybody tends to cite the same ones, when they're talking about the saddest country songs. I'm not really aiming for the saddest songs "ever", but more, the songs that make me cry. Yup, everybody has "Whiskey Lullaby" and "When I Call Your Name", but let's face it, they're sad. So, there's no getting around it. I'm not going with "He Stopped Loving Her Today", because everyone lists that as the number one saddest country song. I don't know. Not to me, I guess. But music is a personal thing.

In conclusion, I don't know if this song is supposed to be sad or inspirational, but let me just say that this song makes me cry. Every time. So, I'm including it. And it gets the cherished "top spot" in my list of sad songs, because it's just that good.

If I made you cry with at least one of the videos here, then my job is done.

I'm betting it's the last one. But that's entirely up to you. But you'd be crazy if it wasn't that last one.

The Singer-Songwriter Series ~ Episode 3

2011-10-01T05:57:00.000-05:00

I won't say that "Crazy Over You" is the all-time best two-stepping song. Okay, I will.

This is how I first got to know Radney Foster:

Is that a kick or what? I love this song.

So, my introduction to Radney Foster was through his partnership with Bill Lloyd. Foster & Lloyd weren't around for a long time (although they're now back together), but they had some fine recordings.

Here are two (and regretfully, the guys only seem to have a couple of actual music videos from their halcyon days):

True music aficionados, I believe, pull out that little booklet from a new CD and check out who the writers are. As well as the lyrics, of course.

I always read my little booklet.

So, I found that Radney didn't just write for Radney. He wrote hit songs for other artists, too.

Like this one, by Tanya Tucker and T. Graham Brown (what the heck ever happened to T. Graham? He's a great singer!)

And this one, by Diamond Rio (Wasn't this DR's first hit song?):

How about Nitty Gritty?

Ha ~ and just to prove that I'm hip; I'm "with it" (although I have never in my life heard this song before), this is one that Radney wrote for Keith Urban:

Back in my sordid musical past, when I finally decided to give country music another go, I bought a couple of cassette tapes. One was by the Sweethearts of the Rodeo (and I don't remember the other one). I'd heard the SOTR a couple of times, and I liked their sound. It was, you know, country-sounding, as strange as that may seem today. I didn't know that Radney had written this song; I just knew that I liked it (and sorry for all the chatter in this video, but hey, it was the best I could find):

Lest we forget that Radney Foster is also a performer, here are some songs from his solo album, "Del Rio, Texas, 1959" (My, he looked much younger then!):

I'm kinda partial to this one:

And then there is this one, recorded by Sara Evans.

This song reminds me a lot of Texas in 1880. I think it was released around the time that I started to wean myself off of country music (not because of this song!), but it's kind of the last good one that I remember hearing on the radio.

The thing that I find about Radney Foster's songs is, melodically, they're superior. I, in fact, at one point, looked up the chord progression for this song, and tried to incorporate it into one of my own. Well, that didn't work.

What makes a good songwriter? Magic fairy dust? I don't know. I still say, either you've got it or you don't. You can't force things like that. Unfortunately.

I watched a video interview with Radney, in which he said that he has written between 25 and 50 songs a year for at least thirty years. I can't even comprehend that. Does he eat or sleep? Does he get any of that good exercise? I think he should get out and walk around a bit; stretch his legs; soak up a few rays. Man does not live by song scribbles and guitar chords alone. Does he?

Maybe writing 25-50 songs a year for thirty years makes one a master songwriter. But I truly think that if I wrote 25-50 songs in 30 years, I'd just have 750-1500 crappy songs. And what would be the point of that? How many crappy songs need to exist in this world? I'll say one. One crappy song. Just to have something to contrast with the good ones.

And to prove that good songwriters beget good songwriters, here's Radney's version of you-know-who's song:

Thoughts On My Singer-Songwriter Series

2011-09-30T20:46:00.000-05:00

I wonder how many people in this world consider themselves to be songwriters.

I'm thinking there's a lot.

I've so far featured three singer-songwriters. Three damn good ones. (Not to confuse you. You've only read about two, but trust me, I've written about three. It's just all out of order, because, well, that's how I roll, apparently).

How many damn good ones are there? I'll say you can count them on the fingers of two hands. Okay, maybe three. But how many people actually have three hands?

I don't think songwriting is like a puzzle. It's not as if you can work on it long enough and hard enough to crack it.

You either have it or you don't.

Yes, I've used that phrase every time I've posted one of my "episodes". That's because it's true.

I've called myself a songwriter for about nine years or so. And I'm thinking, nuts to that. I'm not going to crack the code.

Unlike Radney Foster, I haven't written 25-50 songs per year. I frankly don't have the subject matter. Some years, in fact, I probably wrote two. If it wasn't for FAWM, I would be sitting at about number 13 at this point.

Oh, it's not for lack of desire.

It's for lack of ability.

I'm not trying to discourage anyone. But I will say, write for yourself.

If you like it, that's really the only point there is. I still really like some of mine; not most of them, but some. I guess you had to be there (ha); you know, in my subconscious, to really "get them'. That's, I guess, the problem.

I don't even know what it is about us that makes us want to do this. It's not for commerce. Because that would be the most doomed business enterprise ever created.

Can you imagine a storefront advertising songs for sale? Nobody would stop in. Or, if they did stop in, they'd say, oh, that's okay; I'm just browsing. And then they'd surreptitiously make their way over to the door, and slither out.

There you'd be, following them around, wearing your nice white apron, asking, "Is there something I can help you with?" And they'd murmur, "I was just looking for something bright and shiny; you know, something I can dance to".

"Well, I've got this song about love and loss", you'd say. "Oh, that's okay. I was kind of looking for something different. A little variety. I'm not really in the mood for love and loss today. I've already got a bunch of that at home."

"Well, let me just play you this one. You'll like it, I think."

Then strum, strum, strum. Your three-minute intro.

And you look up, and they're gone. Out the door.

You mutter to yourself, I don't know what people want. Maybe I should have stayed in customer service. Maybe starting my own songwriting business wasn't such a great idea. I guess people just don't understand greatness.

At this point in my songwriting career (okay, I can call it a career if I want), I look at the songs I've written sort of like a diary. I think maybe only one or two of them are completely fictional.

I read something that another songwriter wrote on one of those songwriter sites, and I'm paraphrasing, because I'm really too lazy to go back and re-read it, but he said that every song he wrote had some personal truth in it, even if he had to go back afterwards and cover up all the tell-tale signs. I kind of like that.

Songwriters (at least the un-schlocky ones) are really telling their life stories.

The problem with that, commercially, is that most people don't care about other people's life stories. Not really. Even if you know somebody really well, you are sort of interested, but not as interested as you are in your own life.

So, it's the rare (again, count 'em on three hands, if you have them) songwriter who can transcend that complete and utter disinterest, and invoke some kind of recognition in the listener's mind.

Either that, or the songs need to have a catchy beat.

I can go either way on that.

I'm being semi-facetious, but not really. For what is music, really, if not entertainment? What's wrong with a nonsense song that's infectious? I've got some of those guilty pleasures in my music collection, and I really like them.

That same songwriter that I referenced earlier (I think I'll call him "Jed") likes to talk about hearing music that touches his soul, or something like that. And I like that sometimes.

But sometimes, I've had a really crappy day, or a crappy week. My husband has lost his job (like a quarter of the population, apparently), and I'm worried about stuff like paying our bills, and insurance, and how we will survive when we're old; that kind of fun stuff. And I don't really want to hear some singer crying about...well, anything. I don't need to listen to some sad song to make me feel sad. I'm already sad. I just want to forget my troubles for one measly hour of my life and hear something fun and mindless.

And, come to think of it, the few songs of mine that people say they actually like are those kinds of songs. Entertainment. No offense to Jed, but I don't think the majority of people want to wallow.

So, what is the point of this post?

Well, it's two-fold. Listening to great songwriters (and so far, there have been three, but there are many more to come), I realize that this just isn't the gig for me.

I'm at a crossroads, and the road I'm traveling on right now is leading me toward just writing, but not songwriting.

Maybe I'll change my mind later (probably), when I'm in a better frame of mind. But I'm thinking, why keep beating my head against the wall? It's giving me a real headache, and I've got enough headaches already.

The other point is, let's have fun!

I'm going to search my music collection for "fun" songs, and post a few here and now. The week has been long and difficult (for you, too?), so it's time to kick back.

(Thank you, Dwight. I can always count on Dwight).

(Thank you, George. I used to always be able to count on George).

(Thanks, Marty. You're a rock.)

I know I posted this one before, but I don't care! If you don't like this one, well, I guess you just don't like country, and you just don't care, and you just don't really know what real country music is. Pity.

(My four go-to guys: Dwight, George, Marty, and Mark. George, you're moving further down my list, but you still have time to rise to the challenge. I haven't given up on you yet; at least not completely).

We're not done.

And while we're having fun, and throwing caution to the wind, let's not forget this one:

Tomorrow (or sometime) I will post the sad songs. But not tonight.

Don't forget, songwriters, that music is entertainment. We all just want to feel better; forget our troubles. So, while you're pouring out your guts, and lamenting your life circumstance, everybody else doesn't want to think about that.

I think that's the best advice I can give.

The Singer-Songwriter Series ~ Episode 2

2011-09-28T08:34:00.004-05:00

Do you know Rodney Crowell? Well, you damn sure should.

This guy is like some kind of savant. Which just proves my point; it's nature; not nurture.

I read Chinaberry Sidewalks, and I unequivocally recommend it! But how this guy, with this kind of childhood, became Rodney Crowell (okay, he always was Rodney Crowell, but you know what I mean) is utterly fascinating.

The first time I even became aware of Rodney was through Emmylou Harris's album, Elite Hotel. To wit:

And then this guy's name kept coming up.

Like here:

And again, here:

Here, too:

And here, he popped up again!

But it really wasn't until 1988 that it began to sink in for me who Rodney Crowell really was. That's because my radio started playing songs such as these:

And these:

And, Lord, this one:

Do you remember when you got your first CD player? After all those years of messing around with LP's? And all the cursing and hair-pulling that went along with them?

Well, I do.

I guess that dates me, but so be it. I vaguely recall buying a CD player, but I distinctly recall getting a gift certificate from my sister for a free CD, and this is the one I bought (my very first CD):

Ah, Rodney. You hold an honored place in my memory of all things consequential, from buying the album, Elite Hotel, to buying my first ever CD.

That CD also had this one:

And now I don't even play CD's. Well, that shows you how time marches on. But that doesn't negate the fact that you have garnered an honored place in the history of my life.

But, CD players aside, Rodney kept keeping on.

I don't know how Rodney manages to break hearts, but he does.

THIS is what sets country apart. I don't really care if you like or don't like country music. Maybe it's too real for most people to handle. I don't know. But you know, life happens, whether one wants to deny it or not.

And it takes nothing less than a genius to deliver that to us.

Much like this:

And, finally, say what you will about Tim McGraw, but he knows how to pick good songs. This song is ultimately heartrending, as are the comments on the YouTube page. THIS is what makes a great songwriter. The comments on this page.

You really need to get to know Rodney Crowell.

Things That Are Gone

2011-09-22T21:29:00.001-05:00

There are large pieces of my childhood that exist now only in song, or don't exist at all.

I don't think we like things to go away. Oh sure, we take them for granted. Often, we drive by them every day and rarely even manage to turn our heads and give them a glance. But somehow we notice when they're gone.

I haven't driven past the MF Motel for about 12 years, since I live out of state now. But I will admit, I used to drive by it a lot, and sometimes I'd look at it in disdain, and sometimes I wouldn't look at all.

See, I grew up there.

When I was eleven years old and happily living on the farm, my dad decided it was time to pack it in; give up farming. (I think my mom gave him that extra push he needed, to be honest). Together, they decided to enter the business world.

They didn't consult me, obviously, because I was quite content there on the farm, and I liked my friends, and I liked being a solitary geek out there in the country, roaming the dirt roads and wandering through the woods, making up songs and stupid stuff like that. (Man, I'm sure glad I don't do that anymore!)

But they made me go. They didn't think I was quite mature enough at age 11 to be living on my own.

And to top things off, we were moving to North Dakota! How embarrassing! To a Minnesota person, North Dakota was like.....well, any neighboring state that everybody likes to denigrate....just because that's what we do. (North Dakota people denigrate Montana, and on and on it goes.)

In a way, I was kind of excited, though. I had this picture in my mind of actually living in town, and being able to ride my bike places, without having to slog seven miles on a gravel road to get to where the streets were paved.

Well, that wasn't exactly the reality.

We weren't living in a town; we were somewhere just off the interstate exit ~ between two towns, actually, which didn't help my logistics at all. It was still "country", really, except that there were a lot more cars.

But move we did, to the MF Motel. The name itself has a history, twisted and nonsensical. The motel had been built by a guy named Marcus Fleck, and thus he named it after himself. When Elsie Torrance bought it, she didn't like "MF Motel", so she tried to come up with something that matched the initials, and she went with "Modern Frontier". Ick. That doesn't even make sense. What is a modern frontier? But Elsie had her stupid talking mynah bird in the lobby, and her other weird eccentricities (I could have killed that mynah bird. It's like a two-year-old child that keeps shouting out the same two phrases 24 hours a day.) I don't know why that mynah bird was still around when we moved there. I guess it was a transitional phase.

We also inherited Velma Grenz, the Jackie Kennedy-ish motel clerk, with the black bouffant hairstyle and the shiny nylons. She stayed around awhile, because she was good for business, I guess. She flirted with all the traveling salesmen, and helped us to retain our repeat business travelers.

The living quarters there left a lot to be desired. Attached to the back of the motel lobby, in essence, was an apartment, which afforded little privacy, when I think back on it.

There was the normal living room, right behind the sliding door to the lobby (a door which was never slidden shut, for fear of missing a sudden lost tourist, who somehow took the wrong exit and decided, hey, I'll just stay here for the night).

There was a kitchen and a master bedroom, and another tiny, tiny little bedroom, in which we managed to fit a set of bunk beds that accommodated my little brother and sister and me. The only other thing that room had was a sliding closet and a "cupboard", I guess, inside which I placed by cherished record player and the few albums I actually owned.

It was cramped.

And, you know, I had to go to a new school, and I didn't know anyone, and I just hated it. And I still had to take the bus (and it was a city bus; not a school bus), because we were kind of in the middle of nowhere. Oh, there was another motel across the highway from us; the Colonial Motel. It had a white exterior, while ours was brick. But it had what all three of us kids wanted more than anything ~ a swimming pool. We didn't understand why we couldn't have a swimming pool. I guess our motel attracted the staid, sedate travelers, while the Colonial got all the fun people.

There were a few other things around. Across a little walking bridge was the Gourmet House. Oh, that was THE place to be, if one was looking for a refined dining experience....there in Mandan, North Dakota. It was all linen napkins, and menus with fancy fonts, and dark lighting. I understand it's now a funeral parlor (seriously).

On the other side of the MF Motel, a short walking distance through the pines (or "250 feet to the west", as my dad told each registrant, so much so that I memorized it) was Lee's Steakhouse. Much more our style. A cafe, really; simple everyday fare. You (okay, I) could go there and buy a Coke and play the jukebox and have a great old time. The Merkels owned Lee's Steakhouse, and they had a house (an actual house!) behind the cafe. None of the Merkel kids were my age, so it didn't really matter to me, but my brother and sister became great friends with the Merkel kids. And the Merkels had a little snorting pug dog, with obvious breathing problems. We didn't have a dog, but my dad had a great Lincoln town car. (Not really the same, I'll admit).

There were a few other businesses around. There was a Volkswagen dealership on the other side of the highway, and not too far down the road was the cattle auction barn and Royse's Watermelon Stand. Oh, and Midway Lanes. I spent many a languid Saturday afternoon at Midway Lanes, in my rented shoes, searching out that 8-pound bowling ball that worked just right for me. And one must not forget the Starlite (outdoor) Theater, although I never went there until I was in high school.

The MF Motel consisted of two parts, actually. The "main part", to which the office and living quarters were attached, encompassed rooms number one through nineteen. Nice small, compact little motel, right?

But there was a whole other part of the MF Motel.

Back behind the main section was a whole other strand of rooms, from number twenty through number 52. And, at the front of the strand was a nice little cocktail bar, called the Gaiety (In those years, you could name something the Gaiety). The Gaiety always offered live music, generally by the JMJ Trio, a local favorite. They played soft, subdued music...the drummer used brushes. And played songs such as "The Girl From Impanema". Patrons would order highballs and some kind of orange vodka drinks, with little skewers of cherries in the glasses. All so refined...which apparently was the term they used for alcoholics back then.

My older brother eventually moved to Mandan to join us. Obviously, the little apartment had no room for him, so he took over Room #21. Lucky dude. He had his privacy. He could play his music as loud as he wanted (the bar noise drowned out any intrusion that his music would have created). Oh, I'm not saying I never took a passkey from the office and helped myself to his room and his music while he was away. Cuz I actually did that a lot. But then again, I helped myself to his music when we were still living on the farm, so I felt no need to stop, just because we were living in a new place.

There, frankly, wasn't a lot for an eleven-year-old to do, living there. Isolated, really. Nobody was my age, so I either hung out with the little kids or just stayed in my room (or my brother's room) and played records. Russell Clifford, whose family owned the Gourmet House was the closest to my age, and that was still about three years younger than me. But I liked his dog, Booda, a friendly, slobbering great dane, so sometimes Russell and me and his sister Kathy, and my siblings, Jay and Lissa, all hung out and tried to find stuff to do, which was not easy.

After a few years, I somehow talked my mom into letting me take over one of the motel rooms as my own. I really had to get out of that stifling apartment. I probably pulled the old trick of, well, if Rick can have his own room, why can't I? And she went for it.

So, there I moved.....to Motel Room #1. It was across the garage from the apartment (the garage was used as the motel's laundry headquarters, with its giant washers and dryers, for all those white towels and sheets). I guess my brother(?) installed a door leading into that room from the garage, so I didn't actually have to go outside to get in. I just had to walk out the back door of the apartment, though the laundry room/garage and fit my key into the lock and go in (oh yea, I had a locking door, believe me).

Heaven. I had a little black and white TV, and I had my own bathroom. And I had a (non-bunk) bed. I won't mention that I eventually took up smoking, and hid my ashtray under the bed, as if that was fooling anyone, but you know, when you get a taste of freedom....)

I couldn't play my music very loud, unless I had ascertained (by checking the slot holder in the motel's office) that no one had checked into room #2. If no one had, then all bets were off. I loved those times.

At some point, it was determined that my little sister, Lissa, should move in with me. I was not in favor of that decision. I think I treated her like the little interloper that she was; she with her Dr. Hook records and whatever other little pop bands that a pre-teen enjoyed. I tried to ignore those sounds, as I righteously played my Tanya Tucker singles.

It's a funny thing, though. For all those years, you feel like this person is just a bother; someone whose only mission is to annoy you and cramp your style. Then one day, you wake up and find that she is your favorite person in the world. Not really sure how or when that happens, but it didn't happen then. We did achieve a level of detente, however.

Around the time I realized that I really needed to make my own money, so I could buy things (like record albums and clothes), I decided to ask my parents for a job. They agreed, and agreed to pay me 75 cents an hour to clean motel rooms in the summer (and during the state basketball tournament).

I'm convinced they had no faith in my abilities, and they would have been correct. The first time I tried to make a bed, the grizzled maid, Martha, impatiently showed me how to create hospital corners. And to this day, I can make a bed like nobody's business.

Lord knows, I have made plenty.

I cleaned all those rooms, from room #2, to room #52, many, many, many times. The worst were rooms #3 and #10, which were "triples"; adjoining rooms with three beds in each. Hated cleaning those rooms.

I liked working by myself, with my own little self-stocked maid's cart; and later, with my friend, Alice, who also eventually got a summer job working at the motel. We'd stock our cart with rolls of toilet paper and three sizes of towels and soap and Comet, and our Kirby vacuum, and off we went.

It's not all fun and games, cleaning motel rooms (and you thought it was; didn't you?) No, it's not actually fun.

On the plus side, we could turn on the TV and watch Paul Lynde on Hollywood Squares, and Bob Barker playing Plinko, and some stupid little game show, in which the contestants kept yelling, "Big Bucks! No Whammies!". And we could watch our soaps, but that was only during the really busy times, because we tried to be done cleaning all the rooms before Days of Our Lives came on.

And sometimes we'd find little mementos that guests had left behind, like a pile of waterlogged albums, that we took back to my room and tried to play, but we found out they were all jazz albums, by artists like Chick Corea, who I had never heard of, and it really wasn't my style, back then.

Or bottles of whiskey that had approximately one shot left in them, so we divided that by two, and thought we had a buzz, but we didn't. We were just fools.

Or, we'd be busily cleaning a room (room #3, as I recall; the adjoining one) and talking and laughing away, when suddenly one of us would realize that someone was still sleeping in one of the beds. Poor guy. He was probably mortified, and wondering how he was going to get out of that mess, when mercifully, we crept out of the room and left him to pull his pride back together and check out.

We were cleaning room #52 (the very last one; on the end) when that stupid song, "Happiest Girl in the Whole USA" came on the radio again. (Yes, we carried a portable radio with us, for the times when our favorite game shows were not on the air). I distinctly remember railing against that song vociferously, there in room #52; complaining about how stupid the lyrics were, and how I never wanted to hear that song again. And yet, the radio just kept playing it, when all I wanted to hear was Merle Haggard.

And speaking of Merle, yes, he stayed at the MF Motel. Room #27. He and Bonnie. That was a high point of my existence. And Alice and I made fools of ourselves enough to last two lifetimes; knowing that Merle was there, in that room.

So, a bunch of memories that needed (at least needed by me) to be told.

What leads me to this long-winded rumination?

Well, my sister-in-law told me this week that the ground water took rooms 21 - 52. Gone. Condemned.

North Dakota is a dry state. But not this year. The Missouri flooded, and the Heart flooded, and every patch of water basically flooded.

So, now those rooms are gone. History. Those rooms that I cleaned about two thousand times. That roundabout, where we drove mini-bikes up and around, and down through the recesses, and up on the inclines.

Maybe it had its day, and its day is done.

My mom and dad are gone now. Most of the rest of us have moved away. But you know, we always thought that we'd have the MF Motel to come back to, and now we don't.

So, it lives in our memories. And, you know, it will really never go away.

The MF Motel will always be there. But only certain, special people, can see it.

And those are the people who matter. Because nobody else lived it. But we did.

The Singer-Songwriter Series

2011-09-21T05:17:00.010-05:00

I am fascinated by good songwriters, although, alas, I am not one. I'm not even sure I want to be one, at this point. A songwriter, I mean. I didn't mean that I wouldn't want to be a good songwriter. That would just be dumb.

I have thought about what makes a good songwriter.

And I believe the answer is.....nothing.

I know this will fly in the face of all those people who want you to part with your money; you know, to become a good songwriter. I have probably single-handedly just killed off a bunch of new start-ups, but c'mon; really. You know, Hank Williams didn't go to "songwriting school".

I think either you have it or you don't.

Oh, I'm not saying you can't get better. My theory is, one can get better at pretty much anything, except math.

But "better" is a far cry from "good".

So, my criteria for what makes a good songwriter are these:

1. Intelligence (both lyrical and melodic)
2. Having something to say (surprise!)

Okay, that about sums it up.

Therefore, I tonight begin my series, "The Singer-Songwriter". This is not to snub the non-singing songwriters, but let's face it.....Unless you're a celebrity, you really don't matter (ha).

No, I may at some point feature some non-singing songwriters. In fact, I'm sure I will. And I'm not really sure which category Kris Kristofferson belongs in (I'm just teasing Kris).

And I'm going with my favorites, because this is my blog, and thus, my prerogative.

So, Singer-Songwriter #1 is Don Henley.

It's quite an honor, I know, Don, to be the debuting star of this series, and I'm sure you'll just be all crabby about it, and think it's part of some conspiracy, and wonder where your share of the earnings are, but really it's an honor just to be nominated. Isn't it?

(Okay, let's get this out of way right now: Don is not making it easy for me to feature him, because the Eagles notoriously do not make their videso available online. Therefore, we're going with the bootlegs and other assorted things that I can find. Thanks, Don.)

But let's start where we should start, shall we?

The Eagles - Tequila Sunrise (Live 2008) by goldrausch

Hotel California- The Eagles by dream_ks

The Eagles - Desperado (Live) by cavapanon

The Eagles - I Can't Tell You Why Live by rvdgu2006

My favorite, and I apologize for the poor video quality:

The Eagles - New Kid In Town (Live) HQ by goldrausch

Eagles-Take It to the Limit-Houston 1976 by hansonataint

My new theme song!....

Eagles - Busy Being Fabulous Vidéo deburgue sélectionnée dans Jeux Vidéo

No performance video of this, but let's talk about cutting right to the heart of the matter (yea, I get the irony of what I just said):

We got the bubbleheaded bleach-blonde
Comes on at 5
She can tell you about the plane crash
With a gleam in her eye
It's interesting when people die
Give us dirty laundry

(c) Don Henley

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn’t have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standing by
When happily ever after fails
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers dwell on small details
Since daddy had to fly
But I know a place where we can go
That’s still untouched by man
We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
You can lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
O’ beautiful, for spacious skies
But now those skies are threatening
They’re beating plowshares into swords
For this tired old man that we elected king
Armchair warriors often fail
And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales
The lawyers clean up all details
Since daddy had to lie
But I know a place where we can go
And was away this sin
We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair spill all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence
Who knows how long this will last
Now we’ve come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us
I need to remember this
So baby give me just one kiss
And let me take a long last look
Before we say good bye
Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

(c) Don Henley

Listen and learn, wannabe songwriters. This is your competition.

Regardless of what the Dude says, I love the Eagles. And Don Henley. A good choice, if I do say so myself, for the first featured singer-songwriter in my series.

George Strait ~ Here For a Good Time

2011-09-16T21:08:00.006-05:00

I thought I would do something a bit different tonight. That is, review an album while listening to it for the first time.

I imagine this is what "real" music reviewers do ~ write their review while listening for the first time. Because, face it, it's the first and ONLY time they will listen, since they've got a lot of irons in the fire, and they have to MOVE ON!

Music reviewing must be a really tedious job. Oh sure, we all listen to music, and we think, it would be so COOL to review albums for a living. It wouldn't be! We're only thinking about the GOOD albums, and how many of those are there, really?

No, they have to slog through a pile of smoldering garbage every day, and write something coherent. And that's just the COUNTRY albums! Can you imagine having to listen to that POP stuff? At least country songs have a story one can comment on, when all else fails. The pop songs simply repeat the same line over and over and over. No wonder all the reviewers are half-insane, and are thus, Democrats.

So, here I am; Friday night. I bought Here For a Good Time a week ago, and have just now clawed off the cellophane wrapper.

As you know, I do not listen to country radio, and therefore, I didn't even know what the lead-off single was, until I looked it up. Pathetic? Maybe? (I mean me; not the single.) But it gives me that innocent perspective, so I have no hidden agenda, other than the fact that I have been a rabid fan of George Strait since sometime back in the dark ages.

One would think that this fact would make me LOVE every little thing that George does. Au contraire. It, in fact, makes me even TOUGHER on George, since I expect a damn lot out of him. And to be frank, George has been letting me down for a few years now.

But let's see, shall we? I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

1. Love's Gonna Make It Alright (sic)

Aside from the misspelling of "all right", this song seems tired. Even though he's taking his gal out dancing, and even though he tells her she can throw her cares on the floor, poor George seems bored with this track. And no wonder. The writing is uninspired; a few well-worn themes tossed together to create a salad of lethargy. Probably not the best choice of tracks to start the album, if one is looking for a bit of peppy excitement, but then again, George hasn't been peppy for awhile now. C-

2. Drinkin' Man

The song was co-written by Bubba Strait and go-to guy Dean Dillon. The story flows nicely; it's a stream of thought narrative about the life and hard times of a man lost to alcohol, but the song would have benefited from more melodic variation. However, it accomplishes its goal of setting a melancholy mood. (Side note: the singer doesn't remember when or where he met his one true love. Really? Most people do. Maybe the booze killed off some brain cells.) B-

3. Shame On Me

The shortest track on the album is also one of the best. It's a two-step shuffle; nothing profound, but it clearly is the style in which George is most comfortable, and that is evident in his performance. Perhaps that is also because George co-wrote the song with good ole Bubba again. At least Bubba got George to start writing. And perhaps George should begin to depend upon himself more when choosing songs for his albums. Or at least be a bit more picky. B+

4. Poison

George seems to be on a drinking kick (sonically) on this album. "Poison" is actually a bit better than track #2. Melodically, it outshines the afore-mentioned track; and it's more philosophical than self-pitying. One has to admire the craft in the lines: "You can learn to love anything; even a bird in a cage will sing...a song". But maybe that's just the writer in me.... B

5. Here For a Good Time

I could probably do without the Casio keyboard that opens this song; nevertheless, THIS should have been the opening track on the album. "I'm not here for a long time; I'm here for a good time". THAT would set the tone. Another song written by the Strait boys, with Dean Dillon. It's apparent why this song was chosen to be the first single. It fits the George Strait groove; you know that one; the one we've known since nineteen eighty-mumble-something. I've told George for YEARS ~ skip the ballads; stick with the up-tempo numbers. But does George listen to me? No! A-

6. House Across the Bay

What is this? And does Dean Dillon just hang out with George and Bubba every day? Does he live next door? I guess this is about some lady that George lost (fictionally). But why is he not living in the house across the bay? Did he rent it out? I suppose, in this economy, it's difficult to unload real estate. This song confuses me. And for that, along with the fact, that it's sort of like one of those songs I write and crumple up and toss in the garbage, I give it a..... D+

7. Lone Star Blues

Delbert McClinton is a good writer, so I'm thinking this is one he had in one of those pocket portfolios, and when he heard that George Strait was recording a new album, he thought, hey, this one is about Texas! And you know how egotistical those Texas people are! Maybe I can unload this one on George! And, sure enough, he did! I got bored listening to all the verses of this song. Who can't write a song like this? I've got a Texas song, too, and it's actually a bit more clever than this one. If only I lived next door to George. C-

8. A Showman's Life

The showman's life is a hard life. And all that money just creates even more misery. HINT: Don't sing about how hard your life is, when you are set for life. Most people aren't. They won't show you any sympathy. Even with minor chords. Kudos on the harmonies by Faith Hill, though. She needs the work, so thanks for helping to alleviate the unemployment problem. C-

9. Three Nails and a Cross

How many writers does it take to write a song? Well, four, I have learned tonight. How many writers does it take to write a good song? I'll say, two more. The title can't help but remind one of the song, "Three Wooden Crosses", which is far superior. But that's what happens when one tries to jump on the bandwagon; albeit a bandwagon that pulled out of the station many years earlier. D- (for the obvious pandering)

10. Blue Marlin Blues

Dean Dillon stopped by for coffee one day, and said, "Hey! How about this? Wanna try to come up with something to fit this title?" Sure, said Bubba and George. "We're up for basically anything!" Thus, this song was borned. Maybe if you live in Florida, and go fishing a lot, this song will resonate with you. If you DON'T live in Florida, then I say, hey, how about "Walleye Blues"? That would make a hell of a lot more sense to me than this. And I still wouldn't really care for it. And don't try that organ stuff. Just leave that to Dwight. At least he incorporates the organ sound into some really GOOD songs. D

11. I'll Always Remember You

"It all started back in 1981." It did, didn't it? George, this isn't your swan song, is it? We all get older, and things change. But we have to keep trying to stay interested. The worst thing is to give in and give up. And, George, if there are still things that you want to say and do, is this really how you want to leave things? Of course not. C-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it was really a slog to listen to this whole CD and write about it. I don't think I would try this exercise again.

I haven't averaged it out, but I'm guessing it would come out to be about a C. And, you know, I won't ever listen to this CD again. Just like the last one, which was called.......something that I can't remember.

I've bought every one of George's CD's. Every one. And I didn't want to break the chain, so I bought this one, too. But, to be frank, the last CD's of George's that I actually enjoyed were Pure Country and especially, Easy Come, Easy Go. Buy those.

George was apparently too tired to create a music video for his latest release, so I guess, watch the pretty picture, and enjoy "Here For a Good Time":

September 11

2011-09-11T05:25:00.000-05:00

The World Did Not Stop Turning

2011-09-09T20:37:00.002-05:00

It never really does, does it?

If I was asked what my most powerful memory of September 11, 2001 is, I would say, it's not a memory. It's that the world changed, while I was just living in it.

I was born long after Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941. My parents knew it, though.

I was in the third grade when President Kennedy was assassinated. They used to always ask, where were you when the President was killed? They don't really ask that anymore. Maybe it's because most of the population wasn't even alive back then, so the question would be moot. They'd probably look at you quizzically and ask, "President Kennedy? Was he the one after Lincoln?" (They don't quite teach US history as comprehensively as they used to).

But maybe it's because something much more horrific has overtaken that moment.

You see, when President Kennedy was shot, everybody was horrified, but they didn't think, my life is in danger! I could be next! That would be silly. He was the President; we were just "people".

On September 11, 2001, our blase attitude toward random violence was shattered. "Oh yea, those things happen overseas. Too bad for them, I guess", were things we couldn't utter anymore.

Tom Burnett was just trying to get home to his family. It was an average day; an average business trip.

The traders at Cantor Fitzgerald were just trying to get through their eight hours. Another long slog; just like every one of us endures every day.

Average, everyday stuff. We're preoccupied; thinking about what we have to do when our shift is over; looking forward to spending a few hours with our families. Writing out a shopping list. Sharing a laugh with our co-workers.

Then, in an instant; less than an instant, really, everything changes.

No, the world didn't stop turning that day. It would have been better if it had.

I think about the people who found themselves in unspeakable circumstances. Tom Burnett and his fellow passengers knew that they were going to die. Yet, they fought it to the end. We, as humans, have to do something. We're not going to sit and cry and accept that this is our fate. This thing, that was thrust upon us, as if we didn't have any say in the matter.

Those firemen knew; yes, they knew, that they were trudging up the stairs to face an inevitable conclusion. Yet, they still did it. They were going to fight this thing until the end.

The thing about September 11, 2001 is, we are stronger than you (al qaeda) can even comprehend. We don't go down without a fight.

And the world did not stop turning.

You may, or may not, remember the songs from that year, 2001. Some of them are prescient, in retrospect. Some of them are sad, even if we're not sure why they're sad. Maybe it's just that 2001 was a sad year.

Maybe they speak to us now in a way that they never did before that day. I don't know, but here are some of the top songs of the year 2001. You can make your own judgment. Or you can just relive the year in song. Whatever you choose.

(I apologize for the ads attached to some of these videos, but I have no control over that. I wish I did.)

And let's talk about country. We're more straight-forward in the country world. You don't have to wonder what the song means. It means what it means.

I find that these songs are very fitting:

Tags: One More Day, Diamond Rio, Diamond Rio Videos

Thanks, Alan. Somebody had to say it:

As much as I can get on board with Alan's song, THIS ONE is the song that sums up September 11, 2001 for me:

When you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

Cuz the world never does stop turning.

Song #3 For My Concept Album ~ "The Gray & The Blue"

2011-09-04T20:37:00.000-05:00

A cardinal rule of songwriting is that one must be disciplined.

You will find none of that here.

With a long weekend, I sort of wanted to write a song, and I sort of didn't want to write a song.

I was putting laundry away, when the phrase "Hell on Wheels" popped into my brain out of nowhere.

So, I sat down and started noodling around on the guitar, and came up with a few lines. Then I just got silly. I chalk it up to lack of sleep. I, after all, worked long and hard last night to write what turns out to be, in the cruel light of day, a really mediocre song.

Well, that's how it goes, doesn't it? You toss a handful of spaghetti against the wall, and see what sticks.

SOURCE: When cooking spaghetti, if you toss a noddle at the wall and it's not fully cooked yet, it will fall off.

My song #2 was not quite fully cooked.

(And I just realize that I wrote, "noodling" around on the guitar. What a lame-ass I am.)

So, herewith, the lack of discipline part. I was being silly, and just kept coming up with scenarios that made me laugh, and then I had to put them into some kind of rhyming form.

And then the song kept getting longer and longer. It could have become a tome, if I hadn't stopped it at some point. (So, I guess there was a tiny amount of discipline involved, at least in the stopping).

Sadly, and ironically, when I was trying to record the song, I had to shrink the view a bit, in order to fit the lyrics on one page, and then I had to back away from the mic, so my guitar wouldn't be too loud, and then I realized that I couldn't read the lyrics from that far away.

So, I fully understand and appreciate the challenges of getting older. But, I guess, that's what this whole concept thing is all about.

To make a long story short (too late!), here is Hell On Wheels:

They say I’m hell on wheels
I don’t know how I feel
When they say that

Drivin’ in my car
Everything’s too far
And I can’t stand that

But Hell is someplace
I don’t wanna go
And why would I
Want to get there faster

I don’t understand
That analogy
But I wish they’d stop pointin’
And laughin’

Pickin’ up prescriptions
I just have conniptions
It takes so long

Then I gotta get the mail
It seems it never fails
That postman’s so wrong

I beat him to the mailbox
Every day
It’s just at the corner
Of my street

I gotta take the Olds
And fire it up
Four on the floor
And heavy feet

But I just still don’t get it
I know I’d be acquitted
By the jury

They’d look at my license
Say, you’re seventy-five
You’re in a hurry

My motto is go faster
Than your age
You don’t get outta this world alive

The church ladies called for some more
Casseroles
So that explains the way I drive

They say I’m hell on wheels
But they’ll know how it feels
One day
Trust me
Yes, they will

© MICHELLE ANDERSON 09-04-11

Song #2 For My Concept Album

2011-09-03T22:37:00.039-05:00

Oh, you thought I was going to wait six months, didn't you?

Ha HA! Not so fast! Just because I said I was only going to write a song every six months doesn't mean that I was going to stick by that.

Silly you and me!

I wrote song #2 tonight for my concept album, which I have tentatively decided to call, "The Gray and the Blue". Although I am going to be dying my hair soon, so the "gray" stuff will be moot.

I was thinking; the whole "old" topic can't necessarily be a downer. There must be something good about getting older, right?

So, I searched and searched my brain, trying to come up with something upbeat. And I think I did it; at least tonight. Tomorrow, it might look pathetic. But, in my view, tomorrows are things one needs to deal with tomorrow.

So, I wrote song #2 tonight. It's called, "My Front Porch".

The lyrics are thus:

Did you ever see
Clouds alabaster white
Sit down with me
In my front porch sunlight

Pretty new wildflowers
Catchin’ the morning breeze
Well, did you see
Just come here sit with me

So many years
I rushed on by them
Restless thoughts and tears
High-heeled shoes and sleepless nights
And silly useless fears

Sit right here, I’ll fix you a cool
Summer drink
Maybe a pillow
Rest your head, don’t think

Feel the sun warm your face
And fill your eyes
Life is funny
If you miss it, it’ll pass by

So worried ‘bout things
That seemed to matter
My eyes were mostly closed
Every day, I kept getting sadder
And I didn’t know

It’s so much nicer
Here in the amber moonlight
It’s such a good world
On my front porch tonight

© Michelle Anderson 09-02-11

Hey, they all can't be Simon & Garfunkel-like material. I work with the tools that I have. Which consists of my brain and my not-so-nimble fingers, which really are aching right now, because I don't really strum my guitar that often; only when absolutely necessary.

And frankly, it's late, and I need to go to bed. I don't even know what I'm typing right now. So, if you like it, cool! If you think it's lame, well, you're most likely right.

I guess I will find out tomorrow.

And now I go sleepy time. Thank you for your continuing support of the elderly.

Glen Campbell ~ Ghost on the Canvas

2011-09-02T19:48:00.001-05:00

If one remembers back to the late nineteen sixties, the emergence of Glen Campbell as a superstar was not the most welcome news to hard-core country fans.

Most people were listening to Merle and Waylon, and maybe Charley Pride; when along came this syrupy heavily-string-laden stuff, that bore really no resemblance to country music at all. Sort of like today (without the strings).

One can look back now, with rose-colored glasses, and bemoan the loss of this so-called golden age of country music; this year of 1967. Poppycock. There were some great releases, no doubt. But the tide was beginning turn. Ray Price popped up with "Danny Boy". Eddy Arnold was in string heaven, with releases such as, "Misty Blue". Sonny James, who I admit, I never quite got, was still hitting the charts. That creepy song, "Ode to Billy Joe" was huge. I like a song with an obscure meaning as much as the next guy, but was there actually a point to this song? He could have been throwing anything off that bridge. For all I know, it was an Eddy Arnold album. Which would explain a lot (no offense, Eddy, rest your soul).

So, amidst Branded Man, I Don't Wanna Play House, and Pop a Top, along came By The Time I Get To Phoenix. That song sounded dated even when it was current. I know that Jimmy Webb wrote the bible for songwriters, but I absolutely hated that song. And I still do. Maybe the song was okay, but the production.....Maybe if the producer had stuck a beat on the thing, it wouldn't have induced me into a coma.

Glen has always been a consummate musician. He was part of the Wrecking Crew, for God's sake. I don't think it was his fault. I just think that whoever was producing him (and I'm not looking it up) carried too much clout, and Glen carried little to none. I'm guessing the producer cut his teeth on Mantovani albums.

Glen did better with Gentle on My Mind, the song with two thousand verses and no chorus. But I liked it. A John Hartford song. And a John Hartford banjo.

And he had perhaps the best track of his career with Wichita Lineman (yes, Jimmy Webb did better this time around).

And then Glen had some lost years, which is neither here nor there. In 1975 (what is it about years that have "7" in them?), he had a huge hit with Rhinestone Cowboy. You like that one? Really? I realize Larry Weiss (and yea, I did have to look that up) has had a bunch of cuts, and I have had zero, but life isn't really fair, now, is it?

So, I've had a like/hate relationship with Glen Campbell's music for about what......44 years?? What?? No way am I that old!

But when I read that he'd been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, it made me very sad. My dad had Alzheimer's. It's a cruel, heartless disease.

Then, later, I read that he was embarking on one last tour. Good idea? I don't know ~ time will tell, I guess.

Finally, I found that he had recorded an album. His last. "Ghost on the Canvas". I was naturally curious. I clicked on some samples on Amazon, and I really liked what I heard. Really liked.

So, I downloaded the CD today. I actually went out to purchase the CD, but alas. I wasn't about to drive all over town today, so I went to my neighborhood Target store, in the futile hope that they would be carrying it. Ha! I did see some offerings by people named Dierks and Billy (oh, probably a bunch of Billys), and Trace and Chance and Community Chest. However, I didn't pass "GO", since there were no Glen Campbell CD's in the "C" section. (And I'm sure that Trace and Billy(s) have all made stellar CD's, ones that will stand the test of time, if the test of time is approximately three minutes long).

Call me old (fashioned), but when there is a CD I really want, I like to own it in physical form. I'm thinking, believe it or not, that if I can find the CD anywhere, I still might buy it!

Because this is: THE BEST ALBUM OF THE YEAR.

It might be just me, but I always viewed Glen Campbell as sort of flip. When he was strutting onstage, doing Rhinestone Cowboy, I thought, he doesn't really believe in this song. It's a joke to him. (And to us.)

When he was weighted down with heavy strings on those early songs, I thought, well, he's finally got a career going, so he's going to pretend like the songs actually mean something to him.

This album, I will just say it now, made me cry.

There are no pauses between tracks. It's as if Glen had important things to say, and he had to say them in a hurry.

And he wrote or co-wrote the majority of the tracks.

Be forewarned. This is not a CD to play when you're looking for some light, fluffy entertainment.

Glen is not flip.

Glen is serious, philosophical, loving, warm, and reflective.

My favorite track was written by Robert Pollard, called, "Hold On Hope" (and I do know ~ now ~ that this was previously recorded by another artist, but it is so appropriate here):

Every street is dark
And folding out mysteriously
Where lies the chance we take to be
Always working
Reaching out for a hand that we
can't see
Everybody's got a hold on hope
It's the last thing that's holding me

Invitation to the last dance
Then it's time to leave
But that's the price we pay
when we deceive
One another/animal mother
She opens up for free
Everybody's got a hold on hope
It's the last thing that's
holding me

Look at the talk box in mute
frustration
At the station
There hides the cowboy
His campfire flickering
on the landscape

That nothing grows on
But time still goes on
And through each life of misery
Everybody's got a hold on hope
It's the last thing that's holding me

And I've gotta hand it to him: Jimmy Webb wrote a great one. It's called, "Wish You Were Here". And "I Wish You Were Here" is so heartbreaking, in light of the circumstances.

Dear friend of mine, the weather's fine
Today I saw some ruins of the Roman world's decline
And I climbed all those Spanish steps, you've heard of them no doubt
But Rome has lost its glory, I don't know what it's about

I wish you were here
(when the shadows fall and all the rushing traffic stills)
I wish you were here
(and the bells are ringing on the seven hills)
I make my way to a small cafe
I wonder what you did today
Wish you were here

Dear one at home, i just flew in from Rome
And Paris is a postcard all decked in color chrome
And so I climbed the Eiffel Tower and prayed at Notre Dame
But I just can't find the romance and I wonder why I came

I wish you were here
(on the Champs Elysees, lovers walking hand in hand)
I wish you were here
(they take one look at me and seem to understand)
This city of light is a lovely sight
The first bright star I see tonight
Wish you were here

Now I write this from the plane
Drinking cheap champagne
Wonderin' why two people got so far apart

I wish you were here
(here in London where the rain is pouring down)
I wish you were here
(on this airplane headed back to New York town)
I'll never leave you alone again
I'm coming home, but until then
Wish you were here
Wish you were here
Wish you were here

I don't know what to say, other than, buy this CD.

I don't know if I will want to cheer....or cry......when this is named album of the year. A little of both, I guess. Deliriously happy, but sad.

Here are some clips of Glen singing, and then talking about Ghost on the Canvas

My. Oh my.

Song #1 For My Concept Album

2011-08-27T21:53:00.001-05:00

After my snarky post last night (and I have no regrets!), I thought it might be a refreshing change to get back to what it is that I do.

What I do, exactly, is somewhat indeterminable. However, sometimes I write songs.

I've decided to take the "go slow" approach to songwriting. That is, write a new song every six months or so. In that way, I will have my concept album completed in approximately the year 2017. I will, therefore, be age 62, and will have LOTS of fodder for songs that fit my concept of growing older! It's a win-win!

You know us old people ~ we have lots of irons in the fire! We're busy. Busy counting out our daily pills, and trying to get down the stairs.

My one concern with taking six years to complete these songs is that I may become befuddled, and thus unable to form coherent thoughts. You know, sort of like Taylor Swift.

That is the chance one takes, however, when one decides that one is unable to write one measly song in the span of half a year, for God's sake.

You would think, after all that time, that the song would be absolutely FANTABULOUS. Well, I've set my sights a bit lower than that. When you're elderly, you learn to adjust your expectations. I'll settle for "eh, it's okay."

Bear in mind, however, that with the full studio treatment, any piece of festering, rotting garbage can sound exquisite! Again, much like Taylor Swift's songs.

So, without further a-dooo, here is song number one for my concept album, and if you care, or even if you don't (it really doesn't matter, since, as I've learned, mostly imaginary people are "reading" this blog), here are the lyrics:

Things never change
In this rundown town
Except it gets more
Run down

People disappear
And they never come back
And the store windows
Are black

They say why you don’t you go
I say hell if I know
Is it any better someplace else

The devil that you know
Might not give a real good show
But I’ve determined life
Is just like that

I walk down the streets
Of this rundown town
I can close my eyes
And know the way

From time to time somebody goes
Leaves little curios behind
I pick them up
And haul them away

They say why don’t you go
I say hell if I know
It don’t feel like this is my day

The cracks are getting deeper
And my bones startin’ to moan
But I’ve determined life
Is just that way

© Michelle Anderson 08-19-11

I suddenly realized that I'm supposed to include a video here, aren't I? Stupid video blog.

Well, I can't really find anything (or think of anything) that pertains to the subject at hand, so, when all else fails, I like to just fall back on something that I like, so here you go....

I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Restless Heart. I realize that Larry Stewart is still out there performing, of course. But really, it's not the same, and it just can't be.

This video is from a time when country music was COOL, and not LAME. And it was still COUNTRY. Us senior citizens still remember that time. That's the advantage to being old, like me. One still remembers when music was GOOD, and not LAME (Oh, I already said that, didn't I? That's what happens....)

Silly Me

2011-08-26T21:53:00.025-05:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LAST-MINUTE ADDENDUM: I wrote this last night, apparently a bit tipsy, and just a little bit ticked off, as you will note. I often go back and reread things I've written, and determine in hindsight that perhaps the thought would have been better left unsaid. And so I hit the delete button.

However, in scanning this post in the light of day, I've decided that I stand by what I wrote.

So, bear in mind the spirit(s) in which this was written. I'm normally quite an amiable person, really.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I decided to do a bit of research tonight, and I came to the realization that the majority of my blog followers aren't even real people.

Ha ~ the joke's on me! I guess.

Am I offended by that? Well, sort of. But it's kind of freeing, in a way.

It allows me to just post any old thing, especially for my own enjoyment and entertainment, without the burden of having to actually be "interesting" to other people.

I don't know how many blogs are actually in existence. Maybe ten million? Just a rough estimate.

So, if the "people" following me are just bots, well, that's probably 44 more followers than most blogs have.

Let me tell you (and by "you", I'm apparently just talking to myself), I wrote stuff on a stupid manual typewriter, back when I was 15 years old, and who the heck ever read that? Nobody. Just me.

Did that stop me? Apparently not.

I do know that somebody reads this stuff from time to time, because I get (mostly) rude comments, occasionally.

So, do you (and by "you", I mean "me") think the fact that the only followers I have are imaginary people is going to let that stop me from writing?

The answer is, no.

The last laugh is mine. This blog will become a book one day, and who will be laughing then? (Okay, apparently just me, but I will not hesitate to purchase a copy).

Everybody starts somewhere. Diablo Cody wrote "Juno" in a Target snack bar. And that's probably where she also came up with the name "Diablo Cody". It most likely was a result of her retinas being burned by the interminable REDNESS of the Target store's flag colors.

So, in conclusion, hey, all you bots! Thanks for pseudo-following me! I may be slow, but eventually, the obvious begins to sink in.

And if you think I'm offended, well, yea, I am a little.

However, I will continue to write my drivel. It entertains me, and really, as I've said approximately seven thousand times, I'm all about my personal entertainment.

Thanks, though, bots, for making me feel, at least for a little while, like I was communicating with someone other than myself.

Not that I have any objections to that.

P.S. If you are a real person, leave me a comment. It would be nice for me to know that a real living, breathing human being is reading this. If you choose not to, well, I'm still not stopping.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. Not to be rude or anything (heaven forbid!), but if I've stuck my neck out to follow someone else's blog (and, just for the record, I am a real person), a little reciprocation would be nice. It's really just common courtesy.

But hey, knock yourself out. Once bitten, twice shy (as Great White apparently said at one time; that time being the 1980's).

You (and you know who you are), don't seem to give a damn that I've left you comments, so don't expect anything further from me.

Life is just like that. Isn't it?

Improvement

2011-08-26T21:02:00.002-05:00

Yes, I am on a roll with the Beatles references lately, aren't I? I don't know why. It just happened to work out that way.

Nevertheless, the subject of improvement has been on my mind a bit.

Have you ever thought, I will never get better at this? (The "this" being anything, really). I know I have. In fact, I think that all the time.

I don't know why I think that, because past experience tells me that if I keep doing something, I will inevitably get better at it.

Unfortunately, that isn't true of everything. Some things, one actually needs to have a natural aptitude for. For example, I could keep doing math problems over and over (until I had to kill myself from utter boredom), and I am skeptical that I would ever get better at math. But maybe I would.

So, maybe it's a combination of natural aptitude and interest. Perhaps one can get better at anything, as long as it is interesting to them.

I think that's it.

I think maybe the brain shuts off when subjects or tasks are dull. In that case, I am a hopelessly lost cause at:

1. Math
2. Science/natural science/astronomy (including black holes)/physics/chemistry, et al
3. Reality TV shows
4. All sports

And, I'm sure, many more. But the rest are too boring to think about.

Then, of course, there is the secondary list. That is the one that contains items in which I am not interested, but for which disinterest is not an option.

These would include:

1. My job

(ha ha - that's not true. Is it?)

The actual list would consist of:

1. Folding laundry
2. Housecleaning
3. Cooking
4. Balancing my checkbook

And many more. (Yes, I am the quintessential homemaker.)

This secondary list is one that cuts me no slack. I have to do those things, so I might as well get better at them. Although how one gets better at folding laundry, I am unsure. Perhaps there are some "folding" videos I could watch on the internet.

If not "better", at least maybe "faster", so I could get them out of the way, and move on to something that is not as dull as dirt.

Maybe because I'm currently in a training mode, I have thought about this topic. I watch people who come to me knowing absolutely nothing, and I see a light bulb begin to illuminate rather quickly. That is gratifying to me because, they probably are not really that interested, and yet, something still starts to brighten for them. (My motto is, just talk and talk incessantly, and something is bound to catch hold, inevitably. If for no other reason than to just be rid of me once and for all).

But in the creative world in which I choose to live, I find that I have improved mightily in a couple or three areas:

1. Music videos (alias, "slideshows", since I have no video camera, and am thus limited).
2. Songwriting (Yes! I still do that from time to time).
3. Singing, to a degree.
4. Photography (although that is kind of a "feel" thing, so I just let that go wherever it wants to take me).

P.S. The thing about photography, I have found, is that you just need to snap away. You're going to end up with a lot of losers (photos, that is; not people), but you might find one or two gems. Take photos from unusual angles, experiment with lighting, don't be afraid to get in close; that kind of thing. Be creative.

Film is cheap (And yes, I do use film. I am the sole person keeping the film manufacturers in business. However, I don't really need or expect any kudos for that. One day, people will thank me. Just like people are now gravitating toward vinyl music. That same crappy format that we endured for decades, when you'd buy an LP or a single,and find that it was hopelessly warped, and you'd get queasy watching it spinning around on the turntable, but yet you endured it, because really, there were no other options. Or the record would skip, just as it was getting to your most favorite part of the song, and you'd have to put a little pressure on the needle, just enough to get past the "bad part", so the song could continue on its merry way. Of course, this disrupted your so-called "relaxing" evening, because you were constantly getting up and down to nurse the stupid stereo needle along its path. And yet...ahhhh, vinyl. They say.)

So, where was I exactly?

Ah yes, improvement.

So, take heart. If you think you're never going to get better at something, the fact is, you actually will. Unless it's math.

I just finished reading the book, The Three of Us, by Georgette Jones (daughter of Tammy Wynette and George Jones).

The book was interesting (and a fast read), and, as I am wont to do, I today decided to look up YouTube videos relating to the subject.

As a preface, Georgette has, in the final chapter of the book, decided to embark on her own musical career. So, naturally, I was curious as to how Georgette sounds. Does she sound like Tammy? Does she phrase like George?

Well, the deal is this. EVERYBODY can improve.

Here's an early clip of Georgette singing. Quite unremarkable, to be charitable::

Nevertheless, one can improve. Compare that first video to this one:

And this, with her dad:

Notice the difference? I sure do.

So, you see, she improved.

I won't even get into the whole studio enhancement stuff. Sometimes, it's best not to even know about the "magic" that's done in the studio. The fact still remains that Georgette needs to be able to pull this stuff off live, and I'm assuming she does.

It's a funny thing about genes, though. But I really know nothing about science, and don't even care to know.
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As a postscript, and I'm not trying to make any specific point here, so don't leave me any nasty comments, please, but here's how (in a mash-up) it was originally done:

(I like Tammy.)

If I'm Going to Continue With this Songwriting Thing....

2011-08-23T07:03:00.002-05:00

Actually, I just wanted to look at the pretty picture.

Sgt. Pepper is credited with being one of the very first concept albums.

It's also often cited in various polls as the best Beatles album. I disagree. In fact, it wouldn't rank very highly in my own personal poll. For the record, my personal favorites are Help!, Rubber Soul, and Revolver, in that order. Yes, I may be one of the few dorks who thinks that Help! is their best album, but well, that's just me, and that's how I roll.

But I digress from the title of this post, don't I?

After writing a song, finally, after six long months of a dry spell (actually, it was six long months of not really giving a damn about songwriting, to be honest), I got to thinking...

If I'm going to continue with this songwriting thing ("thing" being a technical term), I would like to do a concept album (albeit, an album only in my mind, since I do not have the wherewithal to actually record an album by myself).

But let's just pretend that I was capable of recording an album.

If that were true, I'd like to write songs fitting a specific concept.

That, above all, would actually make songwriting interesting to me. Which, in the here and now, it is not.

It would be a challenge. It would be a goal for which I could strive. Goals are good. Without goals, everyone would just be mediocre, wouldn't they? Sort of like the real world (oops).

But since songwriting is not the real world; it's a fantasy world, this whole concept goal would be a good thing. It would keep me entertained. And lord knows, I would be nothing without my personal entertainment.

Help!, by the way, is a concept album. I don't care what anybody says. Maybe they didn't intend for it to be so, but that's how it sounded, at least to me.

So, that is the thought (the concept thing ~ I know I have veered off topic once again) that is currently rolling around in my mind.

Who knows? Not me! Something could come of it. I would be willing to give it a go. I already have the concept formulated; now all I have to do is execute it. That's the easy part (ha!)

If you've managed to read this far into my post, kudos! It's been kind of a personal rumination, but I thank you for following along.

In appreciation for your continued indulgence, I thought I would post some videos of the songs from my favorite concept album, Help!

A few sync problems here...Ringo's tambourine jingles before he even hits it...

Really appreciate this live version:

And I'll end with my VERY FAVORITE. Yes, this is my VERY FAVORITE. There are two Beatles songs that are my VERY FAVORITES. One was from Rubber Soul, and the other is this one:

You can have your Lady Madonnas and your Hey Judes and your Penny Lanes (although that's a pretty good one). I'll take the one above. 1965. It was a very good year. Apparently. I don't remember much of it, because I was only 10, but I do, absolutely, remember this album. This concept album.

P.S. "Help!" as a movie, was actually pretty silly. But I'm not here to judge movies. At least, not today.

Writing Again (At Least One More Time)

2011-08-19T21:25:00.018-05:00

Yes, this is an example of how I write. I'm not proud of it, exactly, but it is what it is. I look at it as a way to entertain people, since so many feel compelled to comment on my handwriting style.

And, I have the added bonus of writing exactly like President Obama writes. No offense, President Obama, but you really look like a dork writing that way. Take it from one who knows.

Be that as it may, I have written (not "handwritten") a song, after yes, six months of non-writing.

To be frank, I wanted to know if I could still do it.

I'm not one of those "songwriting is my passion" sort of people. My passion is writing, period. But not necessarily songwriting. And not preferably songwriting.

Songwriting sometimes seems like it's more complicated than it's worth. You have to come up with chords, for one thing. And a melody. My natural mind doesn't actually work that way.

The words are pretty easy. It's all the other stuff that's hard.

But people tend to like things bundled into a neat little package, so songs, I guess, are the way to go.

So, I wrote one tonight.

It's not going anywhere, but nevertheless. I, at least, proved to myself that I could still do it. That, in itself, is worth the approximately two hours I spent on the exercise.

I'm finding myself getting away from songwriting. Face it, unless you're Paul Simon or someone (and even if you are Paul Simon), nobody cares. It's all just expendable. Music has been devalued, much like my 401K plan.

So, really, it's just an exercise. But one has to keep those creative juices flowing, right?

So, I did it. I wrote me a song, after six long months. I think I'll post it to my ReverbNation site. Sometime. Or maybe not.

It's really just the "doing" that counts.

That Rascal, Felix Cavaliere

2011-08-13T21:46:00.000-05:00

Yes, I've been thinking about Felix Cavaliere lately.

First of all, let's just get this out of the way: Who names their kid "Felix"?

I mean, "Felix"? Really? Is that some kind of Italian curse?

Apparently, not, since Felix has one of the best soul voices of all time (at least of recorded time ~ I can't speak for unrecorded time ~ but no one knows, so that doesn't really count, does it?)

I was listening to a sampling of Rascals tonight, and I thought, whoa, this is some voice! Did he actually know he had the voice, or was it just something he took for granted? I wonder.

So, you know me, I wanted to do some research on Felix.

I found out that he was a backup player for Joey Dee & the Starlighters. Yea, of course, you don't know who Joey Dee was. If you were 109 years old, like me, you would.

Joey Dee & the Starlighters had a song that went a little bit like this:

But Felix went on to bigger and better things. That being, The Rascals; or the Young Rascals. They got younger as the years went by, I'm speculating.

Well, it was nineteen sixty-five, and a guy had to be hip; he had to be "with it". He couldn't let on that he was already 23 years old, after all. In the sixties, life ended after age 18.

So, what was a guy to do? Especially a guy named Felix, who already had one strike against him, what with that name and all.

You know, "Groovin'" was the number one song in 1967, when Felix was at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Gasp!

Could anyone actually still sing at that age? Wasn't he ready for the nursing home? Didn't he need a night nurse, to propel his wheelchair into the commons room, where the rest of the old folks were singing their hymns?

Young Rascals - I've Been Lonely To Long by DwightFrye

Even before that, when Felix was but a lad of 22, he, in his Blue Boy outfit...

...sang a song like this:

Of course, by July of 1968, Felix had assumed his Dennis Wilson persona, as evidenced here, no doubt in an effort to appear to be a "mid"-Rascal, as opposed to a "young" Rascal. Because the "mid" carried much more gravitas.

All these hits notwithstanding, be they young, mid-young, or post-LBJ-young, the song that will always represent the Rascals, and Felix, to me, will be "A Beautiful Morning" (AHHHH-ahhh).

Naturally, there is no real video of the Rascals performing this, their most famous song.

But if you want to see Felix on a boat, with a bunch of anonymous rich people milling about, well, here you go:

Or, if you prefer the clean version of the song, albeit with the static image of a smiley face, grinning ominously, you can hear it (if not watch it) here:

I don't mean to diminish Eddie Brigati at all. Heaven forbid. Eddie, you know, did the lead on all the ballads, including, nay, featuring, "How Can I Be Sure". Oh what the hell, watch this (even though this is Felix's post):

One thing about Ed Sullivan. He knew how to completely ruin a stellar musical performance. He, with his intrusive clips of faux models twirling around inanely. As if he just couldn't quite trust the music to stand on its own. Ed was in over his head, let us just say. But, you know, he relied on his advisers. They probably said, "Hey, Ed, this stuff is what the 'young people' (Ed was big on referring to the boomers as 'young people') are listening to nowadays. It'll never stand the test of time ~ you know, like Enrico Caruso."

And Ed said, what the hell. Anything to get the 'young people' tuning in. "And I heard there's this British group, with an insect name. Let's book them. They'll never be another Freddy and the Dreamers, but, hey, this stuff is fluid."

I realize I have completely gone off-topic here.

So, in conclusion, let me just say, don't forget Felix. And don't forget Eddie.

You're not gonna find two better singers. These guys should be revered. Especially today, in hindsight. When we've all had a chance to sample the so-called "artists" of today. Those who cannot sing. Those who get by on hype.

I'm here to remind you that, yes, there was a time when the music prevailed.

Oh, if that were true today.

The Thing About Dogs....

2011-08-12T21:16:00.000-05:00

Well, they're cute.

That's their protection.

Because dogs will do things that try your patience.

Dogs have an agenda. And that agenda is FOOD. Seriously, I believe that's all they think about. You'd think they were little street urchins; starving and waif-like. You would never know that they eat a five-course meal every evening, and they won't even let you finish your bedtime snack, because those sad eyes are pleading with you. "PLEASE! I'M DYING HERE!"

Every day, as I take Josie for an innocent walk around the neighborhood, I have to be hyper-vigilant, because one never knows what kind of tasty (to her) morsel she might come across, and decide to eat....no questions asked.

I've caught her chomping on lord-knows-what, too late, unfortunately, to pry it out of her mouth. And honestly, I don't even want to know what. My theory has become, if it doesn't kill her within 10 seconds, it must not be that bad.

This whole OCD thing about eating has really gotten out of hand. I can't get out of bed on my day off and flip on the computer to read the latest news, without those beseeching eyes telling me that she's just going to DIE! if she doesn't get food...and NOW!

Is her stomach a bottomless pit? I mean, yes, I have my own issues with food, but I can at least go FIVE MINUTES without eating.

I want to say, hey, fix yourself a cup of coffee and light up a smoke. That'll ease your cravings, at least for a little while.

The other thing about dogs is, their incessant insistence on "guarding".

I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but it just goes to extremes.

You know, I give Josie credit for thinking that she can ward off any dangers; little sixteen-pound doggie that she is. That's real bravado! But I don't necessarily need protection, what with the security system and all.

She's free to relax; take it easy for a bit. Have a nap.

Yes, I am aware that she considers those Big Brown Trucks to be a threat to the neighborhood. But they've actually never done any harm, other than ringing the doorbell, which is akin to Original Sin, in a dog's eyes.

Speaking of which, are you ever innocently watching a sitcom, and someone on the show rings the doorbell? DON'T DO IT, I say! Because this sets off a frenzy in most dogs, culminating in a mad dash down the stairs, frantic barking, which goes on and on; then silence, as she surreptitiously awaits the fool (I pity the fool!) who tries to enter the house uninvited.

Thus, dogs have two main preoccupations: Eating and guarding.

But given the option, they will always choose EATING.

If a burglar ever did find his way into our home, all he'd need is a little doggie treat morsel, and the coast would be clear! She'd be his friend for life, and would most likely help him gather up all the booty and pack it neatly into his trunk for him.

UNLESS, of course, there would be some undetectable SMELL somewhere in the vicinity. This will completely throw her off the task of loading ill-gotten contraband into the burglar's car, while the burglar impatiently taps his foot, waiting for the damn dog to STOP SNIFFING!

Sniffing, you see, is serious business for a dog. While you may think that your dog is just being overly fastidious, there is a higher purpose, one which a mere human cannot fathom.

Sniffing gives a dog the lay of the land, if you will. It tells her who's been around, what they were doing there, and what their business is.

Is this someone I want to get to know better? Well, let me smell them and see.

And I need to smell them for a GOOD LONG TIME. This is all scientific stuff. You don't need to bother yourself with it. I know what I'm doing. This is my job. It's technical.

Dogs have an inner life that you will never understand. Sure, you can group it into categories: Eating, Sniffing, and Guarding. But the minutia of their job is really unfathomable.

Just feel safe that your dog is on the job, ever ready.

Ever ready to sniff something, and, if you're really unlucky, to roll in it as well.

Nashville Co-Writing

2011-08-12T19:20:00.003-05:00

The best way to NOT gain friends and influence people is to criticize the fad of Nashville co-writing, but here I go.

To me, it's the bane of music's existence.

Inevitably, like any fad, at some point, co-writing is going to be considered passe, naive, and uncool.

Every woman is wearing those fancy flip-flops, with the jewels and flowers, too. In five years, they'll be cleaning out their closets, unceremoniously dumping those "stupid-a$$" shoes in the trash.

Lennon and McCartney didn't actually co-write songs, you know. Merle didn't need a co-writer.

To me, if you are incapable of writing a whole song by yourself, maybe you should reconsider your hobby or your vocation or whatever you consider it to be.

Here's the deal: I thought songs were supposed to be meaningful. An expression of emotion. How does that work with co-writing?

Writer: Here's how I've been feeling lately, and I think it would make a
good song.

Co-writer: Oh, I know exactly how you feel. And it goes like this: ("strum
strum strum.....crying")

Writer: That's not exactly how I feel.

Co-writer: Sure it is.

Here's how it REALLY works:

Writer: I want to write something commercial.

Co-writer: Oh, I know exactly how you feel, and it goes like this: ("strum strum strum....tractor")

Writer: That's it!

Bob Dylan to his (imaginary) co-writer: You know what I mean, right?

Imaginary co-writer: No.

Harlan Howard used to hang out at his favorite watering hole and listen to people's stories. He didn't "invent" emotions. I'm not claiming that Harlan never co-wrote a song. I'm saying he didn't need to.

If co-writing is such a wonderful revelation, why are the songs on the radio so crappy? Why do they all say the same thing?

Here's why they all say the same thing: The Nashville writer goes from appointment to appointment, carefully monitoring his day planner, so he doesn't miss his next "session".

Since when do great songs get written on a schedule? I've had songs come to me in the middle of the night. Do I get up, get dressed, and go padding down the street in my bunny slippers, to ring another writer's doorbell, demanding to be admitted into his "writing room", so we can scribble out a hit? And is a writing room really necessary? Does one need a formal "room" in which to write songs? My my, what in the world did writers do in the olden days?

Merle Haggard to his (imaginary) co-writer: I want to write a song about the working man.

Imaginary co-writer: I know exactly what you mean, and it goes like this: ("strum strum strum.....boots and wranglers")

Merle Haggard: No.

I've been reading ad nauseam about "the only way to make it in the biz is to co-write" for far too long. Face it, there is no way to make it in the music biz anyway. So, why go to all this trouble?

The thing that kicked this topic into gear for me was reading an article in WSJ this week about singer Ashton Shepherd.

I'd never heard the gal before, so when I read the word, "traditionalist", my interest was piqued.

To clarify, she is not a traditionalist at all....unless you consider traditional country's peak to be approximately the year 2009.

Ashton Shepherd

It's pleasing to picture Ms. Shepherd at home on the porch with a guitar, writing her songs, solo, and many of her slow, personal ballads were born right there. But she's recently found Music Row style co-writing, working with such proven hit-making veterans as Dean Dillon and Bobby Pinson—an energizing alternative, especially for the faster songs on her record.

"I was a little leery of it, but it really ended up being pretty cool, and I've learned some things off of it....I knew this was going to work out. And we sat there and wrote '(blah blah blah)' in about 45 minutes. I like things spontaneous, and first-time kinds of things, and that was the first song we ever wrote together, which makes it a little more sparkly."

Perhaps she should move back to the front porch. Don't get me wrong, I like Dean Dillon. And he's an apparent legendary co-writer, it seems. I'm just saying, I listened to snippets of Ashton's songs online, and I didn't like even one of them. Unfortunately. Not one of them was "sparkly". No offense.

If you can write a good song, just write it. Don't set up an appointment.

If you can't write a good song, a co-write isn't going to help. It will, in fact, make things worse.

How many songwriters does it take to write a hit song?

Four (apparently).

I have no punchline for this; sorry. I'm open to a co-write on the joke, though.

Here's a little secret I have never shared: When I was a kid (or tweenager, as they call them nowadays), way back in the 1800's, my parents owned a motel on the outskirts of the wild and woolly town of Bismarck, North Dakota.

One day, my best friend, Alice, and I came home from school on the bus, excitedly anticipating the Merle Haggard concert that evening.

Turns out, that wasn't the pinnacle of our excitement. You see, my mom was anxiously awaiting our arrival on the bus....to let us know that, YIPPEE!! Guess who'd checked into the motel?? Merle and Bonnie!

I won't share the embarrassing details regarding Alice's and my actions that day. Okay, well, let's just say we walked and walked and walked and walked in circles around that motel, surreptitiously (we wished) conducting surveillance on that room, Number Twenty-Seven. We were there, hiding in the bushes (okay, there weren't any actual bushes) when Merle stepped out to walk his dog. I think (okay, I know) we hauled out my little portable battery-operated record player, and played the "Mama Tried" single over and over, approximately 200 yards from good old number 27. What must Merle have thought? Get me away from these lunatics?

Naturally, then, I like to think that Merle wrote this song while whiling away the hours until he had to board the bus for his concert, strumming his acoustic, to drown out the noise of two giggly girls encamped outside his room.

Yes, Bonnie Owens is credited as a co-writer. But I read the words straight from Bonnie's mouth: What she told Merle to do was to lose the third verse. So, don't jump on me, saying that Bonnie co-wrote the song, because she didn't.

Look! Merle wrote a song....all by himself! Isn't that precious? Little Merle. I suppose he thinks he'll get a hit with it, too. Oh, if only he'd had someone help him.

Let's set him up with some appointments.

One Thing About Cats....

2011-08-06T21:34:00.000-05:00

One big difference between dogs and cats is:

Did you ever notice that a cat won't get out of the way for you?

How many times have you heard of someone tripping over their dog? It's rare.

Luckily, my cat, Bob, is both black and white, so I can faintly see him in the dark; if I'm wide awake, that is.

Because a cat won't move out of the way. Tonight, as I was making my way downstairs to the kitchen, with the hall light off, I luckily noticed Bob lying at the top of the stairs. Or else I would have taken a nasty tumble.

Cats see no reason to move.

A dog is all, "Yes, Sir! Yes, Ma'am! No problem! Oh, was I in your way? Excuse me! What a faux paw! Got anything to eat??"

A cat is more, "What the hell? I was laying here! Excuse you! Can't a guy get any rest at the top of the stairs? Damn, I worked hard all day; coughing up those hairballs. And then I had to take a nap! And then another nap!"

I just don't think cats have ever been fully domesticated. Or else, they've been domesticated against their will. "Oh, yea? Domesticate me?? We'll see, won't we?"

"Let's get this straight: We do things my way around here. I'm not going to come crawling to you, just because you say, 'kitty kitty kitty'. F the 'kitty kitty' stuff. If I want to come see you, I will. And normally, it will be while you're sleeping. Hey, I keep my own hours. That dog of yours has no self-respect. You say, time for bed, and she's all, 'Okay! Whatever you say! I'll go to sleep now! I guess am tired after all!'"

"Little butt-kisser. While she's snoring away on your pillow, I've got stuff to do. I may curl up in the bathroom sink for awhile. Just because I can. I may investigate whatever you've got hidden away in that kitchen of yours. You know, knock some things off the counter; check them out. Get the snoring dog to jump down from the bed, to see what kind of goodies I've made available for her. Basically, get her in trouble. Ahhh, the good life."

"And is it my fault that you didn't get me de-clawed? So, stop bitching about, Ow! That hurts! When I'm showing you a little love, while you're trying to watch the TV news. I'm rather insulted by that!"

"I do what I do. I'm Bob. B-O-B. 'King Bob', if you will. King of the jungle. The suburban jungle."

"And stop making fun of me, just because I run away whenever that damn doorbell rings. If you can't spot danger, that's your problem! I, at least, have common sense!" That's the kind of thing one learns in the jungle. Or, the kitty farm. Whatever you choose to call it."

"Another thing that really irks me is, if I want to talk to birds, I will! You make out like it's some kind of criminal offense, because I'm sitting on the window ledge, talking to birds. Let's just leave this between the birds and me, shall we? They get it; you don't. Don't concern yourself with things you don't understand."

"In conclusion, my main points of concern are these:

1. The dog.
2. You bitching about me throwing up.
3. Why the dog gets special favors.
4. Why you go to bed so early.
5. Why the dog gets to go outside, and I don't.
6. All the stupid nicknames you have for me, such as 'Al-Shabaab'.
7. Why the dog gets to sleep in your bed.
8. Why the dog gets served first in the morning, while I have to wait.
9. You talking to me when I'm obviously trying to sleep."

A cat is like a grouchy old man. He wants what he wants, when he wants it. Just give him a bowl of food, and leave him be.

Oh sure, I'm not saying cats aren't talented, when they want to be. Take a look at this:

Just don't ever ask them to play piano for you. They'll do it if and when they're damn good and ready.

I think I want to come back as a cat.

Music and Memory

2011-08-05T20:51:00.014-05:00

I've begun to wonder...

Why don't I listen to music anymore?

I mean, I could listen to music. After all, it's just a click away. And when I do listen to music, it's an enjoyable experience.

For me, as a so-called musical person, something just seems off-kilter.

I could click on some tracks right now, and I would be transformed. But I hardly ever do it.

Is it because the choices are so plentiful that I wouldn't know where to begin?

When I was a kid, I didn't have much physical music. In fact, I would wait impatiently for my big brother to go somewhere, anywhere, so I could sneak into his room and play his records. That was a thrill for me. "Rubber Soul" - absolute heaven.

It was exciting. Maybe it was all the cloak and dagger stuff, but I don't really think so.

I could click on some of those tracks right now (yes, I have them all), and I would still feel that little stab in my heart; the same one that I felt all those years ago, when I would carefully place the needle on the turntable.

Which leads me to wonder....is it the music, or is it the memory?

I really believe that they're tied together, inevitably. I think that's why music doesn't mean as much to me anymore.

There are certain songs that, when I hear them, I'm immediately transported back to a certain place; the feelings I was feeling; the actual physical place where that song became lodged inside my heart, or at least my subconscious. What I was doing when that happened.

Those things don't happen to me anymore. And here's why....

Life is sort of a "get by, day-to-day thing", in all honesty. I get up; I put my makeup on; I go downstairs and make breakfast for my "kids" (Josie and Bob); I ride with my husband to work. I work. I go home. I make supper for the kids and for us. I check out the net; I watch a little TV news; I go to bed.

Where is the memory-making opportunity? It's not there.

I'm not out, riding around in a '70 blue Malibu, at midnight, with the AM station turned up as high as those knobs will turn; heady with the smell of the sweet grass; there, along the banks of the Missouri. Itching and ready to find out what will happen next. And if nothing happens, well, we still laugh a lot, and we still have those songs.

And, really, that's what music is about, I've come to believe. It's not for "us" (the "us" that we are now). It's for the us that used to be.

When you hear some old person harping on the songs of yore, cut them a little slack. They're just like you, really. Except that Katy Perry is Karen Carpenter.

Us oldies have to find a new reality in music. It's hard-fought, though. Maybe we're jaded. Maybe the musical past was so much better, filtered through our young ears.

Maybe the music is really beside the point.

Maybe, after all, it's not really the music. It's the memory.

The Grass Roots

2011-08-05T19:07:00.000-05:00

The lead singer of the Grass Roots, Rob Grill, passed away on July 11. We're losing a lot of people, and I'm pretty ticked about it.

The Grass Roots was the first concert I ever attended. I believe it was nineteen seventy somethingorother.

Before I ever saw the Grass Roots in concert, I was hooked on this song:

I wore out this single (Dunhill Records - released in 1967 - black label) on my little portable record player with the one really high quality built-in speaker. And to think I'd only heard it on the radio. I hadn't even gotten the full formal presentation, with the guys wearing their jaunty neckerchiefs.

You will notice, also, that a very young Creed Bratton is in this clip. Yes, that Creed.

But getting back to Rob Grill. He was sexy, with or without the neckerchief, and he was a really good singer.

One thing I'd never noticed (or I guess, hadn't even known, until watching these videos) was that the lead vocals on the group's songs were traded off. I'd always thought it was just Rob. Interesting and really unusual.

The Grass Roots had so many great songs; songs that you've probably forgotten, but you shouldn't.

Let's remember them, shall we?

Sorry for the terrible quality of this next video, but on the plus side, you get to be frightened by the sight of Kenny Rogers, with his tinted aviator glasses:

To me, it's sort of hard to reconcile the Rob Grill of 1967 - 1972 with someone who has now passed away. When you watch him in these clips, you can tell he was a nice person. And I guess that's what really matters.

But, oh, the music.

America

2011-08-05T18:20:00.006-05:00

I just learned that Dan Peek passed away on July 24. Dan was the lead singer of America. Though to be correct, all three guys were lead singers in the group, which included Gerry Beckley and Dewey Bunnell.

In reading about the band, I learned that the three guys were all sons of American fathers and British mothers, and grew up in England. Thus, naturally, they called themselves "America". They were a CSNY-influenced group, and their early recordings really reflected that.

However, this one is my favorite, and I don't think it sounds like CSNY at all. In fact, this is one of my very favorite pop/rock songs. And wow, really? It was from 1974? Here are the guys on Midnight Special:

Luckily, Dan did not write this next song. However, it is arguably America's best-known track, so it seemed appropriate to include it here. (The song was written by Dewey Bunnell).

Many, many people enjoyed this song. They enjoyed it so much that it was a number one hit for America. These same people also enjoy plants and birds and rocks and things.

I'm not trying to be disrespectful. Dan would probably laugh about that, too.

We've lost a lot of good people in 2011, and Dan Peek left a legacy. This is one he did write:

Thanks, Dan, for Sister Golden Hair, and for all the music.

Can You Do Me a Favor?

2011-08-03T22:02:00.000-05:00

I never ask for favors. You know me.

But here's the deal: I'm trying to win a free vacation at our favorite resort, Bluefin Bay. It's a rustic place, nestled on the shores of Lake Superior in northern Minnesota.

We've been going there for about seven years now. Josie loves it there, as you can see from the picture.

Bluefin has an annual contest. In the past, it's been sort of open-ended. One could write an essay. One could submit pictures. This year, it's a video contest.

This caught my eye because it just so happens that one year, after we returned from our stay at Bluefin, I was inspired to write a song. I think it was the picture of the pink sky that started it all. (All the pictures are mine, by the way.)

The song came easily because there's magic there. It's not just the loneliness of the endless blue, but it's the smell of the air, the crashing of the waves. The certainty that God has blessed this place, and He is smiling upon it.

So, what I'm asking is this: If you could simply leave a comment on my video, I would be grateful.

I don't know what others will submit. That's really neither here nor there. What I do know is, my submission is a true reflection of my feelings about this secluded place on the lake. So, if I win, I win. If I don't, I have no regrets.

But I think it's pretty good.

Here is the link.

And here is On A Night Like This:

And thank you.