Wire :: Strange
If a song could be a dirty hooker, I think I found her.
I was mulling over a couple songs to pick for today. One was bouncy, cynical and full of summer. The other was a dirty hooker. I went with her.
Strange by Wire is easily one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums. I feel like I need to have a pocket knife in hand when I listen to it. It’s full of attitude, disgust and menace. I can picture her parading down a West side alley. She’s trying to intimidate me as I walk past but doesn’t say a thing. The look she fires and her strut declare enough. She could fuck me up.
And she did.
That’s ok because I’m going to steal her theme music next time I have to walk down a dark alley. This time I’ll be the dirty hooker.
Strange
Wire (homepage)
Dick Marx Orchestra and Choir :: Here Come the Hawks
For reasons not completely clear to me, or God, ice hockey in the 60s and 70s, especially at the pro level, somehow gained an association with brass-heavy, grocery-store/game-show styled pop tunes (not to mention the associative big-collared polyester shirts, and bell-bottomed tweed, plaid pants).
For a fast-paced, highly improvised game born on the ponds of Nova Scotia and nurtured in the ice barns of Eastern Canada, this just doesn’t seem right. Perhaps it was a result of a strong push by the NHL to market the game in the States, and the subsequent hiring of several jingle writers and producers (Dick Marx, father of Richard, for example) to produce hockey related themes? Despite this rather artificial association of brass and ice, this era produced some real musical gems like The Hockey Theme (often referred to as the Hockey Night in Canada Theme), and the old Hartford Whalers tune Brass Bonanza. Although I wouldn’t consider this one a gem, the official Chicago Blackhawks fight song Here Come the Hawks was produced at the same time.
Certainly these tunes in no way whatsoever capture the essence of the game. But I cannot deny them, and their contrived link to a sport I love. Nor can I deny that I’m not wearing a shirt right now.
Here Come the Hawks
Dick Marx (wikipedia)
(song originally written by J. Swayzee)
Johnny Nash :: Love Ain’t Nothing (But a Monkey On Your Back)
I sometimes feel that talking about love is, in many respects, an unavoidable fool’s errand. While trying to articulate how, why, and for whom our bellies burn, we may find ourselves first having to suppress that knee-jerk tendency to employ some of the clichés that our pervasive culture industry has defined narrowly as love. From coveted blood diamonds to hokey pet names, the commercially viable “I love you” dialect has been systematically embedded in our subconscious and can impair our ability to communicate creatively and authentically how and why we adore, want, and need one another. To be sure, each of us is an inimitable occurrence in this vast universe and, despite our individuality, we continually resort to the use of hackneyed statements, predictable behaviors, and borrowed gestures in an awkward attempt to say just what we mean. I think that the poet protests this state of affairs and struggles constantly to speak of love descriptively and evocatively. Of the standardized love vernacular in question, Nietzsche said that poets and artists “despise the lax procession in borrowed manners and appropriated opinions.” Sure, such a statement is arguably pretentious and maybe even cruel in some respects as it arguably insults millions of well-meaning lovers. To be fair, the customary tongue can and does, to some extent, work. However, for the millions more that find love to be less than all it’s cracked up to be, the expression of amorous sentiment is an enterprise mired in hogwash, greeting card pretexts, and unrealistic expectations.
Within this line of criticism, one can also discern a marked disjuncture between popular culture’s reductive definition of love and the infinitely varied ways we experience it. While the Hallmark/Hollywood love model is most assuredly flawed, academic assessments are equally dubious. That is to say that formulaic and absolutist explanations of amore fail to grasp the totality of the nebulous subject. So I ask, must the way in which we talk about love (like every other human possibility), become routine and quantifiable? Is being in love best described as a mere chemical reaction?
According to Johnny Nash, “Love ain’t nothing but a monkey on my back, a word, a word I wish I never heard.” As he belts out those lines with sultry woe, I can’t help but feel like he’s all ‘pure being’ and shit because he draws an implicit distinction between the tired concept and the elusive real thing for which pedestrian parlance (and science) has no perfect moniker. I think that he is suggesting that his faith in essentialist notions of love has brought him misery instead of the joy he once expected. While he rejects the booby-trapped trope of love, he nonetheless showers you with something reminiscent of what love might really entail as he sings with such passion, ardor, and pain. Furthermore, for him (and us) love is not yet a specific taste or a precise recipe; rather, it remains something far beyond the reach of slogans and equations. In short, there’s nothing like the real thing, baby.
Love Ain’t Nothing (But a Monkey On Your Back)
Johnny Nash (wikipedia)
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)
Pieta Brown :: I Never Told
A few of country music’s most talented and interesting women have found a following in the wider music listening world: Gillian Welch, Lucinda Williams, Neko Case. In my (admittedly humble) opinion, Pieta Brown deserves to join their ranks.
I first saw her in the town of Homer, Alaska, playing a high school auditorium (the largest venue in town). She was opening for her father Greg Brown, but a friend of mine was driving four hours from Anchorage in order to see the opening act. That convinced me to go. The black stage was bare—just Pieta and Bo Ramsey and some spotlight. If there was a drummer, even, I don’t recall. I do recall that Pieta did this strange and wonderful thing while singing and playing guitar. She’d slowly lift one leg through a phrase of the song only to put it down again, then slowly raise it through the next phrase, all the time putting me in mind of a crane. Graceful, eerie, messenger-like.
It was hard for me to choose one song of hers, as, in the best possible way, they all blend into one. Not one song, exactly, but all evoke in me the feeling of rural summer. A day that’s humid, green and buggy, full of waiting. On a stretch of dirt road, one solitary house, its door too swollen to close.
I Never Told
Pieta Brown (homepage)
The Collectors :: My Love Delights Me
This is a sweet song for warmer weather about being in love and loving love and having the whole world around you bow down to your resonating happiness; the wild strawberries, the boulevards, the summer wind, etc. Yet despite all the flourish and fanfare, the nonsensical chorus and general whimsy are set against a darker Solomon Grundy-esque backdrop giving nod to the inescapable stages of life—from a man in a cradle to a man in the grave—echoing the futility of life and world-washing-its-hands-of-you stance of the nursery rhyme.
Remember?
Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
That was the end of
Solomon Grundy.
Oh, how the world treats us with such unbearable lightness!
Yet, The Collectors maintain their claim on happiness and state of their love “like summer and stars, we are constant, forever.” Now, neither summer nor stars are constant (summer gives way to winter, stars give way to sunlight) but they are consistently not constant. A cycle of birth and rebirth not unlike the fortune of mankind. From the cradle we are damned to the grave, but within that short breath of life we are offered the time to enjoy and be happy—now that’s the kind of benevolent pessimism I can really get behind and take with me to the beach/barbecue/partytime/whatever.
My Love Delights Me
The Collectors (wikipedia)
Raymond Scott :: Little Miss Echo
I love me some cartoons. When I was a kiddo I’d sit back, work my fine motor skills opening coke cans, throw on some Looney Tunes and love life. It’s amazing to watch those old cartoons and hear the vocabulary they used. They didn’t dumb-down for the audience. That goes doubly for the music. Everyone knows Carl Stalling. He was a freaking genius. One time in college, we had a cartoon music composer come in for a guest lecture. He put some of his scores up on a projector so we could analyze the music: frenetic, genre-blasting, wacky and brilliant. He talked about Carl Stalling’s influence a great deal. Unfortunately he neglected to talk about the guy who started it all: Raymond Scott. This guy was the real deal. Not only was he a major influence on cartoon music but he also taught a young Bob Moog about electronics and how to apply the science to musical instruments. Yep, that far reaching…
If you want to hear a song that you had no idea was written by Raymond Scott check out Powerhouse. You’ll recognize it right away. Think factory line music. Anyway, this post is not quintessential Raymond Scott but it’s oh-so pretty. Who wants a coke?
Little Miss Echo (10.5mb mp3)
Raymond Scott (homepage)
The Robot Ate Me :: They Ate Themselves
In Virginia, everyone is emo. Everyone says Fuck you. A sulk and a good cry is as common as a shave and a haircut. Everyone owns a gun. Perhaps consequently, the ratio of citizens to cops is 3:1.3* Virginia contains many forests, and hence, always smells of dead or decomposing leaves. Good air. In Virginia the dune grass slopes down the sides of the sandy brows and curves to the left, much like the bangs of any emo dude sloping down the streets of Richmond. Every day is bright sunshine, glaring hard like glass on the dyed black hair of the bartender at Beach Hut Subs and Pub. If you are one of those people who believe that everyone has a dark side, then you are probably from Virginia, or believe that based on observing the actions of or relating to Virginians. Here is a question: Is Kurt Vonnegut emo? He would probably say no, fuck you. But do some people who espouse emo espouse Kurt Vonnegut? Most definitely yes, if they are Virginians. Another question: what is the connection between a drugged mind, a heartfelt apology, and two lovers having a falling out?
* this song clocks out at 3:13, for laymen, three minutes and thirteen seconds. Just try to be alive.
They Ate Themselves
The Robot Ate Me (homepage)
(editor’s note — this song was originally recorded by The Robot Ate Me’s Ryland Bouchard’s first band Kilmore Trout)
Rachel Ries :: Hands to Water
Up all night again, up to no good again, thought I could shake this life by now, yeah not so much. Got in the game cause I read Rolling Stone once, it stuck, perpetual need to create can be such a bad habit. It can lead one to strange and beautiful and often dangerous places. My favorite unlit alleys that remain frozen in the 70s somehow. I have been doing some walking lately, the family dog 18 yrs young, my puppy Dizzy got put down recently, no sweeter life-form hath existed. This song is the best lament I know, I have been listening to it over and over and can also play it on the piano.
Hands to Water
Rachel Ries (homepage)
April Stevens :: Teach Me Tiger
Teach Me, Tiger was one of the first songs that came to mind when I first heard about this project. Its campy brilliance is unsurpassed! Though I think April Stevens’ “whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa” is truly beyond words, still I had to come up with something to write. Upon searching the title, I happened upon a fascinating document.
This song was used as a wake-up call aboard NASA’s sixth Challenger mission on April 6, 1983. As a child I remember watching PBS footage of astronauts afloat in space with a single umbilical link to the spaceship, while The Beach Boys’ I Get Around played in the background. It never occurred to me that the song actually could’ve been pumped through their spacesuits. It turns out that wake-up calls are a “long-standing tradition of the NASA program.”
NASA playlists seem to be the sole responsibility of CAPCOM, the DJ at Mission Control, although special requests often are made by the families of astronauts. In the sixties, classical music and showtunes dominated the spacewaves, and most missions ended with Going back to Houston by Dean Martin. Themes of the sea, home, and lost love emerged throughout the seventies, while the lyrics tended toward hitting the road in the eighties. Certainly, some CAPCOMs had a better sense of humor than others. For the Discovery’s seventh mission, Robin Williams belted “Gooooooood morning, Discovery!” in Good Morning Vietnam style. In the later eighties, radio DJs submitted zany lyrics set to familiar tunes for CAPCOM approval, including the Star Wars theme with a Darth Vader voice over. Some songs were chosen for particular lyrics quoting the names of dropped or unusual scientific circumstances. Got Me Under Pressure by ZZ Top was played for a particular bout with high cabin pressure.
The 1994 Discovery mission’s crew included Susan Helm, possibly better known as the keyboardist for all-astronaut band Max Q. Most of their wake-up calls came from Max Q’s tape Mach 5. In 1995, Max Q recordings dominated playlists when their drummer, Jim Weatherbee, came aboard.
Though today’s wake-up calls seem decidedly less funny, inside jokes, wedding songs, and family voices still dominate wake-up call playlists. CAPCOM set a precedent in 1989 by sending recordings of astronauts’ children shouting such things as “Get up, Dad, get out of bed and get to work,” and “Hi, daddy, this is your darling daughter telling you to wake up.” This was followed by What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. The shuttle crew then broadcast Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel back to Mission Control.
Some of my favorites include the clever classics:
Carole King I Feel the Earth Move, Chicago Good Morning Sunshine, Willie Nelson On the Road Again, Judy Garland Over the Rainbow, Christopher Cross Sail Away, John Denver Take Me Home, Country Roads, Jerry Lee Lewis Great Balls of Fire, Perry Como Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes, Lynyrd Skynyrd Free Bird, Bachman-Turner Overdrive Takin’ Care of Business, The Muppets Pigs in Space, Theme from Chariots of Fire, Theme from Rocky
The utterly obnoxious:
the Singing Dogs Jingle Bells, Raffi with Ken Whiteley Rise and Shine, R.E.M. Shiny Happy People, Baha Men Who Let the Dogs Out, Bruce Springsteen Born in the U.S.A.
And the ones that kinda blew my mind:
The Beatles A Hard Day’s Night, U2 I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, Surfaris Wipe Out, AC/DC Who Made Who, The Clash Should I Stay or Should I Go (played at the end of several missions), Simon and Garfunkel The Sound of Silence, Thomas Dolby She Blinded Me With Science, Irene Cara What A Feeling, Theme from Godzilla Versus Space Godzilla, R.E.M. Stand, Sonny and Cher I Got You Babe (referencing Groundhog Day on missions extended extra days)
Teach Me Tiger
April Stevens (wikipedia)