The Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)

#14) 'I Got a Name' by Jim Croce - I have a somewhat haunting memory of hearing this song for the first time around 1979 or 1980. I was with my parents at a bar or diner somewhere; it was a Saturday or Sunday morning, bright sunlight through a fly-speckled window laying a yellow bar across a heavily worn 50s-era red carpet. I Got a Name was pulsing thickly from a jukebox in a corner and I remember being intrigued, even at age 7 or 8, by the line 'Moving me down the highway...', excited by the implied limitlessness, with no actual clue as to what the lyrics were really saying.

As a teenager, I rediscovered it on some '70s Hits!' compilation I picked up at Pamida, and its talk of pines trees lining winding roads and (especially) the north wind whistling down the sky spoke profoundly to me, though I was still unable to wrap my head around the message.

Now, of course, life IS well on its way to passing me by, so, road trip or not, I feel I gotta keep moving. Gotta keep moving.

From 1973, this was one of the last songs Croce recorded before his death, reluctantly, because he did not write it. But it fits well in his repertoire, and seamlessly into the singer/songwriter vibe of the time, when many songs emerged that traded hipness for a recognition of something else...something personal and satisfying that we don't always reveal to other people, but surely gets bandied about our minds in moments of reflection, and makes many of these types of songs enduring classics. I was pretty devastated (okay, just highly annoyed) when I Got a Name appeared in a Remax commercial last year, though have since learned that it's been used in many commercials and films over time...no doubt for for that very 'personal and satisfying' element. 

"They can change their mind, but they can't change me..."

#15) 'Sister Christian' by Night Ranger - Hard as it is for me to believe, or admit, this song has probably commanded more of my attention over the years than any other, on account of two separate heated arguments I've had about it.

The first, when I was eighteen, driving somewhere with a girlfriend. Sister Christian was playing on a mixed tape, and at the end I took it upon myself to sing the last bellowing note - the (overwrought) 'YEEAAAH....MOTORING!...' 

This annoyed her more than impressed her, but she didn't know what she was getting herself into when she said I sounded flat.

The second, many years later, was a far less emotional, more intellectual, debate over whether the song should be lumped in, and dismissed, with other 'hair metal' power ballads of the day.

I'll address the singing part first: yeah, I was probably flat. In fact, I'm sure I was. I just couldn't be told anything in those days. My Herculean ego could only interpret her (mostly passing) critique as a totally unfair, and heartless, criticism.  Had I been in her shoes, I might have conceded just to shut me up, but (to her credit) she didn't. She stood her ground, insisted that it didn't matter how many times I rewound the tape and sang again (determined to prove I could hit the note), I was still coming up flat every time. All these years later I have no problem admitting she was right.

As to whether Sister Christian is a 'typical' power ballad, deserves to be deposited on the ash heap of 80s hair metal history along with Every Rose Has Its Thorn by Poison, Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue or Carrie by Europe, I don't think so. I won't presume to bore the reader with what I think the song's about (or pretend that I care much), but merely from a musicality standpoint, I think Sister Christian stands head and shoulders above any other swaying lighter stadium anthem.

The piano at the beginning and end really is quite lovely, the line 'You're motoring...', as it's applied here, fairly poetic (though, admittedly, much of the rest of the song's lyrics are pretty awful). The guitar solo acts as all good guitar solos should, spinning wildly away from the original melody but never at its expense, instead taking the song to a new place for a moment. And I especially like the thunderous drumming at the very end (the result of the song's composer and singer, Kelly Keagy, being Night Ranger's drummer). I think it blends with the piano, and punctuates the melancholy of the song. To me it's always sounded like noises coming through walls from the next room, or the next apartment, or the house next door. You wonder what's going on, but you may never know because it doesn't concern you. Not everything that happens concerns us. And that thought by itself has always struck me as sad.

The video, though, I admit, is kind of hilarious...how old were the band members, like 35, cavorting with school girls?

"And you know that you're the only one to say okay/but you're motoring..."

#16) 'Master of Puppets' by Metallica - I think it was Kurt Loder from MTV who once aptly called Metallica the 'thinking man's metal band'. They were also, in their day, hugely ground breaking. How crazy must it have been to be a teenager in '83 and hear The Four Horsemen or Whiplash for the first time? These days fast and loud of that caliber is a common tool of the trade in metal, but thirty years ago it was largely unheard of and, for kids needing such an outlet, probably perceived as a form of alchemy.

But Loder was right. There was more to Metallica than merely metal for the sake of metal. They were fantastic musicians, really did play as fast and precise live as on their albums, but more to the point, James Hetfield, the primary songwriter, was a kind of poet, and as such, their songs tended to be not just 'fast and loud', but worthy indictments of injustice and tragedy far and wide.

By 1986, Metallica hit their stride musically. Master of Puppets, the song, is what kids today might call epic. Almost nine minutes of emotionally complex metal virtuosity, and probably a stronger anti-drug message than 'Just Say No' spoken in a hundred different languages.

"Needlework the way/never you betray/life of death becoming clearer..."

#17) 'Blackened' by Metallica - From 1988's ...And Justice For All (their best album, for my money; the one that introduced me to the band), Blackened is another sterling example of Hetfield's poetry, further evidence that Kurt Loder hit the nail on the head.  If environmentalists took this tack to get their message out, we might have a cleaner, more livable world on our hands, global warming a thing of the past.

Metallica could sustain me clear across the wind-swept plains if I needed them to. Maybe I'll devote an entire state to them....Nebraska?

"Blackened is the end/winter it will send/throwing all you see/into obscurity..." 

#18) 'That's Life' by David Lee Roth - In the end, the big end we all face, this song is really all that's left to say. This is our charge on Earth: to roll with things, with the lemons, the shit sandwiches, the shit that happens, the treachery and dishonesty, disappointment and hurt feelings...to grin and bear it, to laugh out loud as much as possible, try not to take things too seriously for too long, least of all ourselves. 

Roth has always been good at not taking himself (too) seriously, and he really shows his range here, legitimately belting this number out without making you wonder why he's bothering. You got to respect anyone who can shift from the likes of Panama to That's Life, from (Just a) Gigolo to Yankee Rose. 

Whether it's Frank Sinatra's version or David Lee Roth's, That's Life has done a better job of casting me out of funks than any other song. It is critical musical gear for 1/48/50.

"That's life, and as funny as it seems/some people get their kicks, stomping on a dream..."

The Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)

#10) 'Middle of the Road' by The Pretenders - All things musical considered, Middle of the Road might just be an incarnation of the perfect 'rock and roll' song. It's tight and energetic without becoming hysterical, angry without resorting to savagery, emotional, but never at the expense of a base logic. Lyrically it is a unique assessment of facing middle age and the attendant concessions, which for better or worse, resonates with me in a way I never imagined it would. And Chrissie Hynde is - and always will be - pretty damn hot.

'The middle of the road is trying to find me/I'm standing in the middle of life with my plans behind me..."

#11) 'Luka' by Suzanne Vega - I figure this one might raise some eyebrows. There's nothing about this song that speaks of - or to - anything even remotely associated with freedom or the open road; no sir, not much here to lift your spirits. But those elements are just part of the equation, in my eyes, to a good road song. Luka has a way of getting my mind wandering to places. It reminds me of high school, of my first love (playing on the radio, and on MTV, at the time), and like any good folk (ish) song, is designed to get the listener thinking. And what does an elongated road trip offer more than lots and lots of time to think?

Not to mention, the guitar work in this song is gorgeous, and does, in fact, always lift my spirits, in spite of the bleak subject matter. I suspect this too might be by design.

'You just don't argue anymore...'

#12) 'American Idiot' by Green Day - As For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield is inextricably linked to the 60s, to love-ins and hippies and civil unrest and Vietnam, American Idiot will forever be associated with the 2000s - the Bush White House, the rise of uber-patriotism in the wake of 9/11, the Iraq War, political polarization in a media-soaked society.  With an appropriate lack of subtly and providing more energy than four cans of Monster, this is Generation Y's foremost protest song. And no thinking person should ever dismiss any protest song outright.

Another good song with which to punish your steering wheel.

'Welcome to a new kind of tension/all across the alien nation...'

#13) 'Wanderlust' by Paul McCartney - Placing Paul McCartney on any list is never going to be a simple matter. For my money, McCartney is the greatest rock/pop performer ever...period...for his ability to shriek out (convincingly) songs like Helter Skelter, Oh Darling, Why Don't We Do it in the Road or Maybe I'm Amazed, while at the same time giving us Yesterday, Let It Be, Penny Lane, or something so oddly compelling as Let 'Em In, and doing it all fairly consistently for 50 years now. There's never appeared to be any limit to this man's ability and range in the musical realm.

'Sir Paul' indeed....

And for a man who claims he's okay with silly love longs, when he does get personal, it's a surprisingly intense affair. Much evidence of this can be found on his 1982 album Tug of War, perhaps his best post-Beatles work. It's an anguished collection of music evincing in no uncertain terms his fragile state of mind in the aftermath of the death of John Lennon and his turning 40 in a world far more uncertain than his generation once hoped.

Amidst this string of pearls, Wanderlust emerges. Dignified in its sadness, the opening piano riff is - quite literally, I think - what a goodbye sounds like in our minds as it's happening.

Or should.

'Oh where did I go wrong my love/what petty crime was I found guilty of/what better time to find a brand new day...''

The Top 100 (or so) songs I absolutely must have with me on 1/48/50 (cont...)

#5: 'Without Love' by Tom Jones - Once recently, as I pulled into the K-mart parking lot, I was blaring this song and singing along to the best of my ability. My driver side window was open, and when it came to the great six-step crescendo of horns and vocals, I sung so loudly (straining a groin muscle trying to do what Jones does), a guy walking out of K-mart looked up startled from his phone to see my gigantic mouth open in a full-throttle bellow. Poor guy.

I really like the 'aging Sinatra/fat Elvis' vibe of this late-60s ballad (as I am a fan of both aging Sinatra and fat Elvis). There's no arguing the sentiment, and though it's hard to listen to (or watch) She's a Lady or his later version of Prince's Kiss and take him too seriously, there's no denying Tom Jones' magnificent tenor and effective method of attack, or the fact that, with the right song, he sounds like, and becomes, nothing less than the bomb motherfucker.

Rather than the lovesick hippopotamus I became in the K-mart parking lot.

"Without love, I had nothing, nothing at all...(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)"

#6: 'Sweeter Than Wine' by The Brains - Once more, I feel The Brains will provide a kind of insulation from dark thoughts on the road...although maybe not. I'm not sure this song doesn't have a streak of Patrick Bateman-esque cannibalism running through it. But its (even strayer) Stray Cats hook and smooth vocals - and just a little the suggestion of something sinister - are pretty compelling. It will keep me from falling asleep at the wheel, if nothing else.

"I like the way, the way that she dances/get this started and skip the romances..."

#7 'God' by John Lennon - John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band was Lennon's first post-Beatles offering, and God, playing at the end, is a cathartic summation of the rage, disillusionment and weariness (with everything except 'Yoko and me...') coursing through the album. It's a little hard to plug in personally to God, though, as it is so unambiguously about Lennon, but the mood of the song (wrought by the angry punching of piano chords, percussion lumbering along reluctantly, Lennon's tormented vocals...) evokes a sense of precipitous futility, a kind of event horizon from which there is no turning back felt by most people (even those who weren't around in the 60s) at some point in their lives. It makes me think of tides turning, paradigms shifting, ground crumbling beneath feet, and in the end, when the dust has settled, nothing being left but the sunlight captured in the strangely beautiful album cover art, which just might be where we all should want to be headed.   No matter how we get there, or when.

"The dream is over/what can I say...?"
 

#8: 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane - By no means a 'road song' in the traditional sense, Somewhere Only We Know is a wind-driven piece of music that, for me, captures something larger than itself. The thoughts that, on a day-to-day basis, inspire me, frighten me, bring me up, take me down, turn me out, lead me to loving, sometimes hating, cause me to reflect, to mourn, to move on, get me writing or sometimes render me unable to write, all sound a lot like Somewhere Only We Know. And it would be a long 14,000 miles without hearing this once, somewhere along the way.

"Oh simple thing, where have you gone/I'm getting old and I need something to rely on..."

#9: 'The Golden Age' by Cracker - Released in 1996, The Golden Age was a divergent musical path for Cracker. I might never have known about this beauty, had it not wound up on a CDX release sent to the country radio station where I worked at the time. 

It is 'country', I guess, certainly possesses the requisite twang, but that's about it. The Golden Age exists - plays - on a more complex level than any country song...at least anything considered 'hot country'. Like Somewhere Only We Know, it is lush and spacy and grabs at a weightier sadness than merely our emotions, holding court in a larger venue and seeming to flourish in long, lingering sunlight. I'd venture The Golden Age as my favorite song of all time. 1/48/50 would feel incomplete without it.

And so would I.

"The flaxen light, off of the dying wheat/your rye whiskey mouth, and your dandelion teeth..."
  

Music

So I wasn't kidding; I think I really could keep coming up with reasons to live nebulously for years and years. I've been going strong for four months, still have a bunch built up in cue, and every day something new gets me feeling a little down and hopeless, and a little restless in kind (the Kardashians seem to have made it their personal business to help me out).

But keeping such a list is depressing, and takes away from the point of this blog, which is preparation and anticipation, looking forward to something. So I've decided to put the 'Reasons...' list on ice for a while. If a big one crawls up my leg and bites me - and doubtless it will - I will share it, but going out in search of something to feel bad about is no way to live.

Instead, I'm going to switch gears a little, talk about music.

There aren't likely many over the age of 30 who haven't assembled a mix tape at least once in their lives; under 30, you probably never have needed to. Doing so was exactly the same as playlisting today, entailing the very same psychology, just a much bigger pain. Music was not so readily available, nor was recording it from one place to another anything other than a clunky, mechanical process.

But it was a big deal nevertheless, a big deal for me. When I was a kid, age eight or nine, I'd sneak into my older brother's bedroom and avail myself of his Beatles records, carefully holding the external microphone of an old Panasonic tape recorder close to a speaker of his turntable, and praying he didn't arrive home unexpectedly and catch me. Sometimes he did, or sometimes he'd notice records accidentally left out of their sleeves, or placed back in a different order, and there'd be hell to pay. Somewhere on a 60-minute Memorex tape, probably still sitting in a storage box in an upstairs bedroom of our parents' house, there's a tinny recording of Eleanor Rigby interrupted by the sound of him bursting through the door and shouting at me, followed immediately by me bursting into tears, then a buffeted thud as he grabbed the microphone out of my hand. Hilarious, in hindsight; I'd love to find that recording and share it, but that would actually be an Eastbound... post.

When I was a bit older, in middle school, I delivered a lot of newspapers to save up money for my very own 'sound system' (an LP/dual cassette/AM-FM elephant, with huge plastic knobs and an analog tuner) and became a mix tape-making fiend. I got completely swept up in the aforementioned psychology of doing so. I would buy tapes or records by the handfuls, as many as my paper route income afforded me, and cherry pick the songs I wanted. If I was broke, I would wait vigilantly for a song I liked to come on the radio, ready to scramble off my bed with a gymnast's dexterity and hit the record button before they started singing. Distilling my musical tastes down into a short, important list, a soundtrack of my life, was a savory pastime, and I considered my ability to fit as many songs on one side with as little leftover tape as possible - usually mere seconds - a kind of bragging right.

Today there is no such rigmarole, no need to cherry pick or wait around for something to play on the radio. Nearly all music is available at any time on-line, song by song...no more having to endure an album of crap for the one tune you actually like.

In spite of the digital revolution, or perhaps because of it, the art of playlisting is still something I take seriously. My lists are not mere random assemblages of songs; they are thematic, significant to some portion of my existence, something that's happened, a by-gone era, occasionally a specific person in my life, and always, always, whatever trip I've taken. I don't think I have ever been on a road trip of more than four hours for which I did not cobble together a unique group of songs.

I think most people will agree that when it comes to a road trip, selection of musical accompaniment is not only the most savory part of anticipation, but can also be a critical element in the vibe that's created once the trip gets under way. If it's a long trip, a vacation, the music might very well color how you remember specific things. I can point to numerous road trips in my past, even distant past, where this is the case. A road trip to Cincinnati in 1993 will always be inextricably linked in my mind to Sir Mix-a-Lot's Baby Got Back. The song had come out the year before, was already old news, but it got played on a mix tape during the drive, or on the radio. We laughed and rapped along, and to this day, I associate it with Ohio.

A couple of years later, a trip to Des Moines in the dead of winter left me associating grim, featureless, snow-covered corn fields with Take a Bow by Madonna.

And memories of my 2011 Road Trip, where my travel companions and I listened to lots of different music, will always be sparked by no less an incongruous pairing than Love Grows (Where my Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse, and Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant.

Even if it's just a short drive, certain music might very well make the difference between a good mood and a bad mood. In the summer of 1985, I was on a trip out east with my parents, and in Boston I remember, first, getting swamped by an awful traffic jam, then taking a wrong exit and getting lost in some concrete neighborhood from where there seemed no easy return to the Interstate. From the back seat, I was aware of the situation, kept expecting my dad to go into his patented foot-stamping freak out mode (which I have inherited, among other things, from him)...but he never did. He kept his cool, kept laughing and talking from behind the wheel, acting as if he knew exactly where we were, until eventually he did. For years after, he claimed his ability to listen to Sinatra during those two or three hours of gridlock was what kept him calm, and I have no doubt that it's true.

Music truly hath charms.

I will probably take all my music along with me on 1/48/50, because I can, because it doesn't entail carrying anything physical other than a device that fits in my pocket. And to be honest, I suspect a lot of what I will actually be listening to during the drives will be talk radio, because that's what I do.

But the music is still vitally important. Sometimes I get sick of hearing people talk...sick of hearing myself talk, sick of listening to myself think.  And there will be 14,000 miles to get through. So I have started to compile my playlist for this road trip, even though it is still several years out.  The details of my musical considerations and conclusions would bore the crap out of people. Suffice to say, given the breadth and scope of 1/48/50, I've put a lot of thought into it.

This list will surely puzzle or annoy some readers, since musical playlisting for any reason is about as subjective a discipline as can be imagined. Just bear in mind, this is not to be taken seriously; it's simply a light-hearted break from 'Reasons to Live Nebulously' ... and if it sparks a debate or discussion, or maybe leads someone to discovering a new artist or song, great.

Here then, a few at a time, and in no particular order, are my Top 100 (or so) songs I absolutely must have with me on 1/48/50:

#1: 'Copperhead Road' by Steve Earle - The wailing bagpipes that throw open this song like curtains are a fitting tribute to heritage, restlessness and rebellion. I'm not ordinarily a fan of Steve Earle, but Copperhead Road is a rousing take on bootlegging and its evolution over the 20th century, an intelligent commentary on the relativism that can lend tradition a necessary adaptability, and an indictment of the ongoing futility of prohibition. Musically, it's one of those songs that through rhythm and intonation provides the sensation of speed, of spinning wheels, making it a perfect representation of 'the road', though I'm not sure whether it suggests chasing or fleeing.

Maybe that depends on whether you think prohibition is futile.

"Well him and my uncle tore that engine down..."

#2: 'Bones' by The Brains - Not the early 80s band from Georgia, but what's described as 'Canada's most insanest, undeadest and bestest psychobilly horror-punks', The Brains are like Brian Setzer buried in Pet Sematary. I have always responded well to unrelenting, even aggressive energy, especially from any band with as tight a musical style as The Brains. Bones just might be the ultimate drum-on-steering-wheel ditty, and I suspect a reliable defense against road exhaustion, not to mention any lonesome thoughts that might jump out of rainy nights in the middle of nowhere. To that end, I'm thinking The Brains will factor repeatedly on this list.

"Show me your bones, dance with the dead..."

#3: 'Buddy Holly' by Weezer - Like everything Weezer does, Buddy Holly is first and foremost tongue-in-cheek and infectious like a superbug. There's something about this song that gets me very aware of my surroundings, and laughing at them, not sure why. Maybe it's the video. Once again, if you're over 30 right now you will probably understand why it's funny as hell; under 30, not so much. But when life gets you down, when you start feeling overwhelmed, feel like it's all too much, remember this sage advice: sometimes you just gotta watch Fonzie dance.

"Your tongue is twisted, your eyes are slit/you need a guardian..."

#4: 'Hot for Teacher' by Van Halen -  For my money, no song is a more fitting ambassador from the (original) David Lee Roth era of Van Halen than Hot for Teacher. Its buzz saw guitar licks and rattling drum riffs, combined with the video (from an age when celebrity and a sense of humor were not mutually exclusive), complement every drop of Diamond Dave's dogmatic rock and roll bluster, from his ribbon-waving scissor kicks to ass-less spandex. If I have to hear one more Generation Y-er tell me he loves this song because it's his favorite to play on Guitar Hero, I'm going to be sick (Guitar Hero might itself be a reason to Live Nebulously!).

"Oh man, I think the clock is slow/I don't feel tardy/class dismissed...."


Stand tuned for more Happy Days...!  ;-)