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Posts Tagged ‘1980s’

Reflecting on the two lovely blue-covered books I just read, I’m struck by two things, one seemingly superficial, one psychological, both important to me. The first book is “Hour of the Beaver” by Hope Sawyer Buyukmihci, from the early 1970s. The other is from the early 1980s, “Tennis My Way” by Martina Navratilova. That decade span is a nice envelope around my childhood.

The first thing is just the sheer quality of the books from back then. There are many better examples, but the beauty and durability of the hardcovers from that era is comforting and speaks to a time when publishers could afford to “care.” The textures of the covers, the quality of the paper, the fonts, the white space on the pages, the generous illustrations, all speak to me and reflect the value of the book’s contents. (Dustjackets are shown in the second group of photos.)

The second thing is just how much we are made in our formative years. Luckily, in my case, the person who was developing in this time—and continues to develop, I hope—was influenced by enlightened people like these two authors. “Hour of the Beaver” is a passionate argument for conservation and seeing other creatures’ point of view, with simple, eloquent seeds of the arguments against hunting and converting wild lands into human ones. Martina’s book is a no-nonsense guide to tennis, shedding light on one of its greatest player’s opinions and mindsets, with lessons that can be applied by anyone who wants to apply themselves to any pursuit!

As much as we’ve learned and been tidal-waved by data and developments since these books were written, the fundamentals these authors share are touchingly written and are good reminders that there were indeed people in the past who had ideas that are point the forward to this day. In fact, Navratilova and Buyukmihci build upon foundations laid long before they took to the pen. They certainly seem to influence me more strongly than many a contemporary figure. Why is this? The aesthetic or style of their message? Their roles as “elders” in my formative years? It’s hard to say, but I’m happy they’re (still) around.

Incidentally, Martina’s autobiography (also written in the early ’80s) is also well worth reading, a real testament to her directness through her detailed story of emerging from the Iron Curtain and finding her way in the world.

You can find mini-reviews of these books, and many more, on my Amazon profile page. Here’s the link to them. Keep an eye on my conservation thoughts here, at squirreloftheweek.org.

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Early May in recent years has been subject to the feeling in one of my posts, namely this one and this one. That sadness is coupled with another, more invigorating feeling, in mid- to late May. As I sit in early June listening to a lovely piano concerto by Saint-Saëns, I thought I’d turn to it for a moment, if I may.

I’ve long had a vague notion that back in 2008, a certain love was developing rapidly in late spring, so since then my music-playing in May has been Bic Runga and The Go-Betweens—music from Down Under. I’d already listened to the Go-Betweens and their catalogue full of associations, so this year it turned into a season of Crowded House, with some Split Enz thrown in at the end—more music from Down Under.

May 11. Little did I suspect that May would be a month of my own shadows, a subject that seldom shows up in my pictures.

Long-neglected World Party also crept in as did The Red Hot Chili Peppers. These two groups, and the tones of regret and nostalgia and loneliness they strike at favorite moments, fit into the general spell. For, not only was it May 2008 that I was in this mood, but I’ve come to realize it was also this way in 1997: both are years that love really struck me.

I wasn’t listening to some of this music back in those days, in media res, but gradually this music came to sum up everything—the feeling then as well as the place the romance holds in my psyche now.

May 26. The month really did seem to last a long while, and its Wonderland was indeed full of trees and grass for me as well as these feelings and songs.

So, what exactly is this feeling, and where are the songs? The songs first. I listened to most of my Crowded House music, with “Sacred Cow,” “I Love You Dawn,” “World Where You Live,” and “People Are Like Suns,” bringing back a lot of that 2008 feeling. World Party chimed in: “I Fell Back Alone,” “She’s The One,” “Is It Like Today?” bridging back to the ’90s more so than the ’00s.

Love was growing in those Mays, and two songs really do capture what came of it all. For 2008, it’s “Poor Boy” by Split Enz. That year, the impetus to give it a go gathered serious steam with someone I’d known for years when she re-appeared in my life. Back when we had first met, it was she pursuing me from about as “afar” as you can get on this planet:

My love is alien, I picked her up by chance
She speaks to me with ultra-high frequency
A radio band of gold
Gonna listen ’til I grow old

For 1997, it’s “Dosed” by the RHCPs. I had just met her in 1997, but this song speaks to how it all turned out in the short and long term:

I got dosed by you and
Closer than most to you and
What am I supposed to do?
Take it away I never had it anyway
Take it away and everything will be okay

Rather than provide the details, I’ll let the lyrics hint at them. The impact of those times will never change, I suspect. For all the pain and sadness, there’s deep pleasure in those loves and what they brought me.

It’s amazing what a few words and bits of music can do. And there you have it, along with one more shadow photo.

May 31. But is any of it art? Actually, that’s about as “Who cares?!” a question as you can pose.

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A couple of weeks ago, a friend and I exchanged Top 10 Songs by The Cure lists. He’s an exact contemporary of mine, age-wise, with the fundamental difference here being he discovered the group several years after I did, my awakening coming around 1988, his 1991. Perhaps that has made all the difference, but in reality his tastes are quite different than mine, his seeming stubbornly obscure even to me, not to mention terrible. And then there’s my possibly extreme belief that The Cure really dropped off after Disintegration, much as my R.E.M. experience.

Neither of our lists is in any particular order. Here’s his:

1. A Letter to Elise 2. Pictures of You 3. There Is No If 4. Pirate Ships 5. Strange Attraction

6. The Caterpillar 7. Burn 8. Wrong Number 9. In Between Days 10. The Lovecats

I’d never heard of half of his. Here’s mine:

1. Three Imaginary Boys 2. Do The Hansa 3. Just Like Heaven 4. Catch 5. A Forest 

6. The Caterpillar 7. A Night Like This 8. Close To Me (horns version)

9. The Perfect Girl  10. Grinding Halt 

And there is a “secret” order to mine. It’s the order I built the list, mostly in my head, by the gut, with a bit of quickly moving through the albums chronologically to be sure I didn’t miss something obvious.

As he pointed out, it’s pretty cool that our overlap is “The Caterpillar,” which makes it fitting that this is the link I provide. We have some near overlap in his numbers nine and ten, which I’d put on a greatest hits of a decent length. He mentioned personal stories (unknown to me) attached to many of his picks; one or two of mine are here partly because of an incident behind them.

There’s so much more that could be said and done with this. For now, I’ll listen to his list sometime soon. The Cure figured pretty greatly in my early life and there’s a lot that reflection upon that, their albums, their songs, their continued existence could bring forth.

For now, I’ll recommend this to those who’d like to explore the breadth of their work over the decades: Cureation: From There to Here From Here to There. A song from each album, starting with the oldest, then back again. A kindred soul in music pointed their efforts like these to me a few years ago and for that I am forever grateful. I know this person hated by #2 song. Maybe we’ll meet again one day.

Meanwhile, what are your favorite Cure songs?

p.s. This is most amusing too! Man of a thousand faces Long live Mad Bob.

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As much as I’d like to use a Greek “k” when spelling disc, I’ll go with a standard that’s been around for decades. This British staple is not so well-known here, but it seems about time for me to appear on this radio show where eight tracks are selected, plus a book and luxury item to have at one’s disposal while stranded on a desert island. What are yours?

I came up with my selections off the top of my head after only briefest musing. I wonder how they’ll hold up.

Eight Discs
1 “Swan Lake Suite” by Tchaikovsky. I figured I could be granted this if not the entire opera. Drama, beauty, melody, atmosphere, birds, ballet.

2 “Moonlight Serenade” by Glenn Miller & His Orchestra. I love Big Band vocals, but the beauty of the sound, mood, and feel of my grandparents’ generation makes this the one.

3 “The Rain, The Park & Other Things” by The Cowsills. My favorite of a certain 60s genre and subject matter.

4 “Everybody Is A Star” by Sly & The Family Stone. Captures so much in its brief stay.

5 “Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On)” by Talking Heads. For certain moods.

6 “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths.

7 “Streets Of Your Town” by The Go-Betweens. Everything comes together perfectly for a band’s music that is full of associations with many of my favorite people on this planet.

8 “Hurricane” by Natalie Imbruglia. One in my quests for the best of the female voice. A song I didn’t know until recently, so good to have something fresh to get to know on this island. And it might be quite à propos for a desert island regardless.

Many important figures in my life are left out. I did an exercise in picking five songs with some friends years ago, with different tunes, but this is how this one turned out. I’ll share those sometime too.

Book
Contestants are granted a copy of the complete Shakespeare (thank you) and The Bible or other religious tome that suits them (not so keen). I apparently echo Eleanor Bron and others in my selection of Homer’s Iliad in dual language (original and the Richmond Lattimore English translation). Could I put this in the place of The Bible and pick another one?

Luxury Item
Pending. Any suggestions?

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Ageless and

I hear the opening bars and how can I resist? I’m back in the 1970s again, Barbra Streisand’s “Evergreen” bringing me there. This transport is instantaneous. Resisting isn’t even an option; there’s no time for it. Hearing that song again after a long time, I think it would be fun to pull together a collection from Streisand’s peak era, that decade. I tried the same with Bette Midler and that failed miserably due to lack of quality material, but in this case it worked out, as it has recently for in-depth looks at Natalie Imbruglia, Laura Nyro, Lisa Loeb, Sarah McLachlan, and an over four hour sampler of Olivia Newton-John’s entire career. With Streisand, as I collect the songs I remember that I once owned her second greatest hits cassette. No wonder this is so familiar.

Streisand’s never meant too much to me. Stoney End is a great album I invested in some time ago. But, otherwise, of her films, her life, and her earlier and later songs, only her ridiculous version of “Jingle Bells” figures in my active consciousness as I find myself singing it once every year or two. And, although she didn’t write anything I can think of, she did have a way of making songs her own, as singers of earlier eras and her ilk do. (Sometimes—even in the era of sing-songwriters—it’s surprising to learn that they did write a lot of their own material, as is the case of Melissa Manchester.) In the 70s, Streisand’s songs were beautifully arranged and lovingly orchestrated—she definitely cultivated a sound.

So, spurred on, I started listening to a bunch of her songs from my early life and created a 17-song “golden hour” group. Some are from that old hits collection and some I’d never heard or heard of. I left out the duets with Neil Diamond and Barry Gibb, wanting to keep it her voice—although the Donna Summer song is included (“No More Tears: Enough Is Enough”) as they meld well in their womanly sentiments.

I wound up grouping them haphazardly, but by album. Along with “Evergeen” and “The Way We Were,” two songs written to make me want to cry, there’s “All in Love Is Fair” and the towering “Woman in Love.” I hadn’t heard “Prisoner” in ages. “Superman” and the touching “Songbird” were faint memories.

Hearing “My Heart Belongs to Me” again for the first time in decades is a grand reunion; it might be her very best song. Possibly more exciting, there were songs I’d never even suspected existed: “The Summer Knows,” the surprising (based on its eyebrow-raising title) “Wet,” and best revelation of all “Lazy Afternoon,” a truly amazing atmosphere you can enjoy during any season (winter especially?), which I link you to here.

With all of the music coursing through my veins and across my ears, I should be doing posting daily to squeeze this all into what’s left of my lifetime. One day I’ll pursue my “Women of Song” or “1970s Epitome” ideas. Maybe I’ll analyze just what this 1970s feel is; for now I think of it as beauty unfiltered by experience. But for now there’s this, the song that’s haunted me in and out, off and on, for days: click here.

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Can’t Change That

I was listening through my mix CDs the other day and came across these two classics:

Raydio, much better than Ghostbusters, “You Can’t Change That

Naked Eyes, of so many New Romantics, “Promises, Promises

After thoroughly enjoying both, I wondered which was better. Then I realized, of course, that luckily it doesn’t matter. Both are awesome!

So, back to the old station wagon car and little transitor radio tunes. Sometimes it seems it would have been good if the world had frozen sometime around then, but maybe the past can be much more thoroughly enjoyed when it’s pretty deeply buried, so I get luckier and luckier as the weeks and months move along.

Okay, logically-unsound-and-not-thought-through thought for the time being. But another post and a couple of great songs for whoever sees this.

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As a kid I played the standard football, baseball, and basketball with my friends on the block, and was in the local soccer league through the park district, complete with reversible shirt, allowing us to be the yellow or blue team as needed. Gym class, a tiny bit of track, tennis lessons, and then softball and misc in college and after. Most of what I played in did not attract a crowd.

My parents I am sure did a great job cheering me on, and my dad certainly ran to my rescue when I was kicked in the jaw by my own teammate, but I can only think of two occasions when I noticed being cheered for while playing.

The first was in junior high, a day when for some reason we had to run laps around the school—state fitness standards or track tryouts? A certain tall, curly-haired KJ made a point of yelling my name and encouraging me, something immensely more inspiring than the binomial equation she wrote when she signed my yearbook. It must have been our Project Idea ties and general camaraderie in sharing a bunch of classes throughout our careers. I hope I cheered her on when she was similary forced to lap the school.

The second, still more treasured, a certain blonde-haired and blue-eyed BD in college cheering me on by name from the sidelines in an intramural basketball game. (Not the greatest basketball player, but I had my strengths.) We were most likely playing the fraternity whose members she hung around with, so her mentioning me from the sidelines was especially exciting and inspiring for me. Thank you, B.

What effect it can have when someone on the sidelines is there for you, especially unexpectedly. BD also majored in English, but, not surprisingly, we didn’t see much of each other as I seldom saw much of English majors and there was no apparatus tying such majors together.

Such tiny slices of memory taking on such a relatively large shape. The mind and heart are amazing. I could catalogue moments like these.

* Musical Interlude *

Two trios of songs joined me yesterday.

The first started with me listeining to Document after ages away from it. R.E.M.’s “Central America Triptych” has some of their best music and more intriguing lyrics and concepts, all seemingly inspired by Noam Chomsky’s Turning The Tide and the general 1980s anti-Reagan vibe I remember fondly.

Document offered “Welcome To The Occupation,” with “The Flowers of Guatemala” and “Green Grow The Rushes” from their previous two albums. The third has quite possibly my favorite R.E.M. guitar hook, the second a rousing solo, and the “Welcome…” just an all-around vibe and melody that easily lands it on my best of R.E.M. which should one day exist. Until yesterday I’d barely connected any of them to 1980s U.S. intervention in Central America. Oh well. Layers of meaning?

In the evening I played Dionne Warwick and pleasantly remembered she had recorded the Bacharach-David “This Empty Place.” Is it somehow only my third favorite version of this excellent song? I think so. I first heard it by The Searchers as an extremely catchy album track, backed up with their smoothly great instrumentation. Then, it came again later as a highlight album track for Swingin’ Cilla Black who has a way with the drama and nearly veering out of control, and this song is no exception. Her version’s modeled on Dionne’s and I can only say, woo-weee!

Think pink cover from Cilla’s 1965 U.S. album. (from Discogs.com)

Some old Sandie Shaw stuff is next.
We’ll see how that goes!
Long long live love.

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I got a lot done yesterday, accompanied by the music of three 80s gals.

Starting out with Annie Lennox’s Eurythmics, the 1985 album Touch. Who’s That Girl?

Then Suzanne Vega’s Retrospective, with this awesome 1986 single. Left of Center.

And winding things up with Tina Weymouth’s Tom Tom Club, eponymous first album from 1981. She just so happens to have some French-Breton heritage. L’Elephant.

In the outskirts and
In the fringes
In the corner
Out of the grip

 

 

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This brings me back to when I wanted to take a special course on prosody: the metrics of poetry, the rhyme schemes, the rhythms, and all the technical stuff that went into this subject, captured best by reliable textbooks of the 19th century I used to own and peruse. A professor, uninterested, dissuaded me saying I could learn it on my own, implictly hinting as well that it likely wasn’t worthwhile. As a writer of poetry and student of older poetry especially, I was a bit disappointed, but did teach myself a thing or two.

How strange to think about that time and this topic after such a long time away from “home,” but the simple, deliberate poetic choices of “The Sun and the Rainfall” of our parallel post brings me back. 

Someone will call
Something will fall
And smash on the floor
Without reading the text
Know what comes next
Seen it before
And it’s painful
 
[The rhyme scheme is straightforward AABCCBD. The “someone” and “something” is a nice touch too.]
 
Things must change
We must rearrange them
Or we’ll have to estrange them
All that I’m saying
A game’s not worth playing
Over and over again
 
[ABBCC and A (almost). Two “feminine” rhymes, that is two-syllable rhymes, “-ange them,” for example. I like how the two “-ange them” rhymes are tied to the first line’s “change.” Assonance throughout, with the “ay” sounds, viz. -ange, -aying, -ain.]
 
You’re the one I like best
You retain my interest
You’re the only one
If it wasn’t for you
Don’t know what I’d do
Unpredictable like the sun
And the rainfall.
 
[Return to the first verse, AABCCBD, with the D here nearly the same as the first verse’s: “painful” and “rainfall” with the plangent consonance and variation of the vowel sounds, slant rhyme. Nice, harmonious touch as in the first verse, leading with “you’re” and “you retain,” which is even an eye rhyme: “you’re” and “you re”.]
 
Not only is this craft of this poetry charming and beautiful, the song is part of one of the great “hat tricks” (three great songs in a row): “Photograph of You,” “Shouldn’t Have Done That,” and the cap, “The Sun and the Rainfall.”
 
What better song, with it’s soft, slightly muffled production, complex layering, tiny tinges of sound, music in no hurry, subtly poetic lyrics, and highest of compliments? It brings to mind an A. E. Housman poem in style and atmosphere.
 
And what better album to listen to on one of those hottest summer days of the year with blearing sun and wistful memories and, as so often, rainfall on my mind?

 

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(This Is A) Love Song

Ask me in the 80s, or 90s, or 00s, and I never thought I’d be writing about a Depeche Mode song. Despite some comments I’ve seen elsewhere, and realizing we all have filters for taking in everything (especially art), I think Martin Gore wrote a love song here. My thoughts in [brackets].

The Sun and the Rainfall

Someone will call
Something will fall
And smash on the floor
Without reading the text
Know what comes next
Seen it before
And it’s painful
 
[He’s speaking generally here, with no specific relationship being referred to, just observations of close human relationships he’s seen and experienced. Tense disputes, conflicts.]
 
Things must change
We must rearrange them
Or we’ll have to estrange them
All that I’m saying
A game’s not worth playing
Over and over again
 
[To me, the “we” used here is not specifically the singer and his significant other, it’s the more general “we.” People need variety, change, growth; it’s healthy and keeps love alive, especially when a rut or chronic conflict arises. ]
 
You’re the one I like best
You retain my interest
You’re the only one
If it wasn’t for you
Don’t know what I’d do
Unpredictable like the sun
And the rainfall.
 
[The ultimate compliment, at least to nature lovers like me. Something as beautiful as two of those splendid ways we experience the atmospherethe sun and rain. Both are great nourishers and replenishers of life. And beautifully unpredictable—all the infinite permutations in the weather that are familiar but always fresh, and ever-renewing.]
 
More on this understated creation here.

 

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