John Coltrane :: A Love Supreme, Part One — Acknowledgement
The muggy dog days of summer are officially here. I’m closing in on the tail end of my 20s, fondly looking back at the retrospective of songs that have been an important part of my life. Specifically, A Love Supreme is a record that I return to again and again. I can’t say if I heard it or Blue Train first, which is also one of my Sunday morning/afternoon favorites. Undoubtedly, I bought A Love Supreme because I’ll snatch up anything on Impulse! and at least give it the once-over twice.
The liner notes of the album reveal a touching religious reawakening for Coltrane himself, as he alludes to overcoming his heroin addiction in 1957. Coltrane was veering towards more of an avant-garde sound by the time A Love Supreme was released in 1965, and hints of it pop up in his uninhibited solos. This was one of the last records with the Quartet, as Coltrane soon began to alienate the other members with his new interests, additional drummers, etc.
Acknowledgment reminds me of what it must be like to wake up before the sun rises completely in Manhattan. You watch it come up slowly with bleary eyes, glancing at its reflection on the buildings and the people stirring below. By the time the musicians begin to meditatively chant “a love supreme,” it’s almost like they’re in the room with you, taking in the whole scene. Everything tapers off to just Jimmy Garrison’s bass, and soon you’re alone again: peaceful in your solitude, and ready to start the day.
A Love Supreme, Part One — Acknowledgement (10.6MB MP3)
John Coltrane (homepage)
Sparks :: The Number One Song in Heaven
My best friend Matt Minter was recently laid up in the hospital after having part of his small intestine removed. He would most certainly tell you that this song is part of the disco-era Sparks catalogue. He’d make fun of me for even mentioning it and point you in the direction of This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us or Amateur Hour, which can be found on 1974’s Kimono My House. It’s a classic in its own right and no dance party would be complete without an appearance from this album: I’ve even seen my own father dance to those songs at the record store where I used to work. However, The Number One Song in Heaven was more of a triumphant return to form for Sparks, who found relative success in the early 70s after moving across the pond to England. Truthfully, it’s amazing that these two brothers and former teenage models from Los Angeles spawned any hits at all. Ron Mael’s droll Hitler mustache should’ve turned everyone off right away, but his sulking keyboards antics fit well with lead singer Russell’s ridiculously over-the-top falsetto. Add in some clever lyrics, and it all comes together in fist-pumping perfection.
I highly recommend a viewing of really any kind of sports on television (muted) with a Sparks record—I watched a documentary about the New York Cosmos, and I’ll be damned if a really bitchin’ Pelé highlight wasn’t accompanied by a Sparks track. Yes!
The Number One Song in Heaven
Sparks (wikipedia)
Harry Nilsson :: Me and My Arrow
How completely impossible it is to choose a favorite song by one of my most beloved artists of all time, Harry Nilsson. Believe me, it’s at least a three-way tie, but I can only mention one at a time here. My mother introduced me to his unbelievable voice a few years ago, and there was no turning back. Forget about the seven children he left behind; ignore the depressing circumstances leading up to his untimely death at the age of 52. It’s springtime again, and I only have eyes for Nilsson.
Me and My Arrow was the hit single off the 1971 soundtrack to the animated movie the Point. Having watched the Point within the past year, I can honestly attest that the only misstep is Alan Thicke’s cheesy narration. Otherwise, it’s a good moral lesson for the kids, funny enough for adults, and it wouldn’t be complete without the story of a boy and his best friend: a faithful dog named Arrow.
Nilsson’s excellent pop sensibilities and timing add up to a wonderful film score that I have no trouble losing myself in (much like most of his material), but this song has always been the one for me: two minutes and eight seconds of bouncy perfection. He has a way of weaving little nuances of misfortune into even the most upbeat of tunes and making it sound natural — I mean, what does a breakup have to do with man’s best friend? No matter, he’ll carry on.
For years, my sister has referred to her romantic interests as her “Arrow.” I always wonder if she knows this song is about a dog?
Me and My Arrow
Harry Nilsson (fan site)
Todd Rundgren :: Hello It’s Me
Sometimes, if I’m fortunate, I will have the monotony of my typical office afternoon broken up by catching the faint strains of this classic rock hit wafting out of a nearby cubicle radio. The 70s are my favorite decade, not only for their glitter and over-the-top debauchery, but also because of songs like Hello It’s Me. I can imagine slow dancing with a tall boy dressed in a blue leisure tux at the prom to this song, and it would surely be the happiest moment of my life.
Originally recorded with his former band Nazz in 1968, this re-worked version appeared on his double-disc 1972 masterpiece Something/Anything? It was Todd Rundgren’s only top ten hit (though I have read that he expected the Carole King-esque I Saw the Light to be bigger). Both songs are incredible bookends in the spectrum of the male psyche; Hello It’s Me details the end of a serious relationship via a telephone call. The denial that comes with bad breakups is well represented here, and even though he is crystal-clear (“it’s important to me that you know you are free”), there’s the uncertainty of the whole mess being over. He then wants to know if he can come around once in a while and perhaps have one last night together, if it’s okay by her. Well, there’s always breakup sex, and the indecisiveness of the song is my favorite part.
Hello It’s Me (6.5mb mp3)
Todd Rundgren (homepage)