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Posts Tagged ‘1980s’

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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I remember you by

thunderclap in the sky

The feelings that surge in this one, more than any of our previous five Post-its. A certain M introduced me to Split Enz on those two celebrated mix tapes, and a certain L will forever come to mind first when I hear this group sing, as they do here more than almost anywhere else.

If you’re wondering what this is all about.

This is the most visceral of my Post-its, thunderclap in the sky, for me, someone who celebrates rainstorms, and used to thrill over being caught in them in grad school in Virginia, leaving the library as they moved in, being drenched while walking, then simply changing clothes when I got back to my apartment. Another time there, one struck at 8 or 9 pm and I dodged lightning bolts escaping my office with a female colleague of mine, we two laughing it up under a small wooden pavilion when we needed a break. Then there’s the morning thunderstorm when I was drawn to driving out to a great marsh and watching nature take its course seemingly ignoring the weather in what many imperceptive humans would describe as hell all round.

And then there’s that Louis MacNeice poem that led to a story with the same title.

Some memories of storms, and though I am more conscious now, sadly, of the chance of being struck by lightning, I still hope to be caught in them despite my mutated self. This song invariably brings me to L. The thunderclap of the lyric makes me think of her every time, so, it’s the lyric, the song, that brings her to me, not an actual thunder. It’s all the sameshe reappears to me in moments to treasure. The venture I took to go out and see her: tyranny of distance didn’t stop the cavalier.

* * *

This song is part of what I call a “hat trick.” This is a misnomer, but trifecta sounds too cheap, trilogy to lumbering. In hockey, not that I am a fan of that either, a hat trick is three goals scored in one game by the same player. I have co-opted the phrase to mean a span on an album where three songs in a row sustain a rarefied air, something well above and beyond, ten minutes of bliss. Why this matters I am not sure, but it’s hard to sustain such excellence and I make mental notes whenever I notice one. One the brain’s many parlour games. Time to share.

The practice started with Split Enz’ first album, Mental Notes, where three songs near the album’s end reach that peak, one I’m not sure has ever been matched. The hat trick we’re talking about today is not as intense, but the song “Six Months In A Leaky Boat” was prefaced by an instrumental called “Pioneer” on the Split Enz collection where I first heard it; and this was as it was on the Time and Tide album release. “Pioneer” sets the stage with smooth, swirling synth zest for “Six Months” and its video which has a touching, albeit outdated, nostalgia to it, bringing to mind initial contact and lost love.

The song is followed on Time and Tide by the first Split Enz I ever heard, “Haul Away.” This was on the mix tape M made for me, the one that introduced me to so much music of my future and present. So from “Pioneer” to “Six Months” to “Haul Away” it is a fantastic, very personal hat trick, even a triptych. (Maybe I should be calling these triptychs, but triptych implies a feature piece flanked by two lesser.) How the songs fold into one another: the instrumental setting the stage, the big impact of the main song, then the jaunty jig of a “nervous breakdown” ending things. More than ever, I feel the “lapping at my heels,” “love goes all wrong,” “it’s all we can do to carry on.” Listening to them all again yesterday, it’s amazing all the loving detail that goes into music, all eventually swept away by Time and Tide as the world stops listening and moves on to something new.

(Maybe I should go with three hares instead of hat trick. I am reading Watership Down for my big summer novel this year. That is a more circular symbol, though. But maybe that’s fitting for someone like me whose internal life is like being on a merry-go-round.)

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The Go-Betweens, another group I could write a volume on, or at least threaten to. Links to a handful of people in my life, with initials like M, J, S, A, L, R.

Your hair frames

the perfect face…

It seems it is actually “a” perfect face, but “the” is more unique, is it not? And that’s how I heard it. Another beautiful thought and image, matching the freshness, almost naiveté amid the sad experience, of the Go-Betweens last two albums, Tallulah and 16 Lovers Lane, where romance and diminishing romance shared the space with four of the band members. I always pictured this face as almost literally framed by the bobbed or flipped hair I admired from my 1920s phase that I’m not sure has ended.

“You Tell Me” has those rare, ethereal high harmonies of Waterloo Sunset. And, the beauty, the confidence of the woman being sung about: “Then you tell me, I have a choice, you you, you you.” The album is named after herTallulah.

And I remember one of those afore-initialed people in my life telling me her favorite line in the songcan you guess it? There was the drive to a wine-tasting that took place under a tent in summer rain with a shaggy dog dashing around the grounds and a little jazz combo. Many many little Go-Betweens memories.

Too bad to some now it’s a textbook, with a cool cover at least. Feeling the songs naturally as they came along into my life, that was remarkable and why they’ve had such an impact.

Driving one recent day, thinking about these associations, another interfered when “Brown Eyed Girl” came on the radio. I think we all know that gorgeous masterpiece, still strong although I’d heard it multiple times nightly for a solid year blaring outside a bar across a creek from a grad school apartment. It brought to mind the person I got to know then, enriching and ruining my life in equal dose. Yes, the past is quite dead to those who don’t remember it, and how many have I forgotten about or have forgetten about me! But when it lives, whether it’s healthy or not, it can be good company.

One more to go.

 

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From the various seemingly work-related jottings on the back, this seems to be the earliest Post-it, possibly from 2000 or 2001. I’m sure the efficient cause of this Post-it was my workplace, but it can apply to so much more. There’s really not much more to say.

BOOT

The Grime of this World

In the Crotch, Dear…

Louder Than Bombs was always a real album to me, not a compilation, a real treasure trove of Smiths stuff, and an album cover that stands with their best. “Unfocused,” as one reviewer says, but essential.

I’ve been having a Morrissey renaissance. Not owning all of his (often labored) solo stuff, I just collected of a “Golden Hour of The Smiths and Morrissey” for audio consumption, including uncollected Smiths songs and highlights from those Morrissey albums I don’t have.

Strange, it’s The Cure that comes in winter, The Smiths in summer. A few years ago I recommended a bakery barista listen to Strangeways, Here We Come as it started to get really hot out; summer was time for The Smiths I think I told him.

I don’t know if it was that certain mix tapes must have been given to me in the summer, or it’s a memory of tooling around with friends while back from college, but those very tapes still get played in my antient automobile from June to August.

I was going to end this with images from the Johnny Marr show at The Vic from May 2019, but that wouldn’t sit right with you know who. He might prefer to end on these notes, two of his newest, most delightfully nature-y videos, taking the outsider animal’s point of view, of course. Love Is On Its Way Out and Once I Saw A River Clean. There are some dogs in this one too. And what a song!

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A quick list of my six favorite * & The * groups, with music released under those names, in chronological order, as prompted by a friend who asked us to stop at five.

Gerry & The Pacemakers

Freddie & The Dreamers

The Mamas & The Papas

Sly & The Family Stone

Echo & The Bunnymen

Prince & The Revolution

 

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