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Friday, January 31, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Yah Hey....(thoughts on talking like a Hoser...)
When I was twelve, we drove my older brother to college out east, and I will never forget a short but fateful elevator ride on the Bronx campus of Fordham University, with my dad and a strange man.
I don't remember exactly what was said, only the chronology of events: as we ascended, I spoke to my dad, asked him a question, I think. My dad answered back, and the strange man suddenly turned to him.
"You're definitely from Maine," he said, then turned his attention to me. "And you hail from either the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, northern Wisconsin, or northern Minnesota."
My dad and I flashed each other a puzzled glance. The man milked this a moment or two, before revealing that he was a language professor on campus, who specialized in colloquialisms, dialects and accents.
I may not remember what was said, but I do know the whole thing happened in under twenty seconds. Both my question and my dad's response were under five or six words a-piece. They had to be, as the building we were in couldn't have been more than four or five stories, allowing for a fifteen second elevator ride at most. For having so little to go on, this guy was spot on. My dad grew up in Portland, Maine, and I was at that time in the midst of being northern Wisconsin born and raised.
It's impressive in hindsight, but at the time it left me self-conscious, and not a little deflated. Throughout high school, my brother had cultivated a hearty distaste for our hometown and everything associated with it, as teenagers tend to do (his choice of an east coast school had as much to do with putting lots of distance between himself and 'home' as anything else). And as little brothers tend to do, I followed his lead, carved out my own indignation about where I was being born and raised, started wanting to be too good for it all just like he was, and as he excitedly geared up for college far, far away (New York City, no less...his freshman dorm wound up being across the street from Lincoln Center), I don't mind admitting I was feeling pretty left behind. I surely was in no mood to be pegged as a northern Wisconsinite. Everything I associated with northwoods culture was nothing cool: The McKenzie Brothers' 'hoser' humor (riding high on SCTV at the time), Polka Party, which aired every Saturday morning on the local radio station (and was exactly what it sounded like), Da Yoopers, a musical/comedy act from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan whose songs include 'Diarrhea' and 'Someone Ripped One on Da Dance Floor', and the Chmielewski Fun Time, a polka variety TV show that aired every Saturday night at five on a television station out of Duluth.
If something resembling Chmielewski Fun Time appeared as a joke on a TV sit-com or in a movie, or as a skit on Saturday Night Live, I'd probably be far more likely to roll my eyes than laugh. But CFT was very real.
At the time, my dad's accent was more obvious than mine. He'd grown up in Maine, and though he'd lived in Wisconsin for the previous fifteen years, still said 'cahr' instead of 'car', 'ahrange' instead of 'orange', and sported a few New England colloquialisms as well, notable among them the oft-debated 'soda' rather than 'pop'. Actually, that might have been my mom, who's from New Jersey. But in any case, against every natural impulse I trained myself to say 'soda', because 'pop' was so lame, so Midwestern, so northern Wisconsin....my brother thought it, and thus, so did I.
But in the summer of 1985, my brother was getting out. I was stuck there, stuck in the northwoods, for at least another six years. It was difficult enough to be dealing with an identity crisis at the dawn of the angst-ridden teenage years, not to mention so significant a life change as a sibling - my only sibling - going off to college, now I had just been branded 'one of them' by a complete stranger in an elevator.
I was one of them then, as it turned out, whether I liked or realized it. And truth is, I feel as though I am one of them still.
The accent in question was exaggerated to the Nth degree by Frances McDormand in the movie Fargo, and the culture from which it springs was funny stuff for Betty White's character Rose Nylund on The Golden Girls. It's rooted primarily (though not exclusively) in Scandinavian ethnicity (Norway, Sweden, Finland...), though my application of it can only be some form of nurture over nature, as I do not have a drop of Scandinavian blood in my veins.
Nevertheless, to this day, there are present in my speech certain totems to the environment in which I grew up.
* My 'O' sound is very thick, with certain words - 'boat', 'pole', and 'bowling' for example - usually plopping out of my mouth like clumps of clay.
* Also with certain words, I pronounce the short A sound as a long A sound. For instance, bag is pronounced 'bayg', 'hag' comes out 'hayg'... and on July 4th, we all proudly fly the 'flayg'...
* The word 'sure' usually gets pronounced 'sherr'...
* "Yah", or "oh yah', or "yah hey", find their way into my speech fairly frequently, particularly in moments of indifference.
* And of course, 'eh...?' has long been a readily selected punctuation to just about any sentence.
That the Fordham professor of 28 years ago specified northern Wisconsin or Minnesota when placing me somewhere is significant; testament, I think, to the man truly knowing his stuff. It really is a microcosmic culture, separate from the rest of those states. And the difference between the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the Lower Peninsula? Forget it. If Yoopers could secede, they surely would.
But to be honest, Chmielewski Fun Time notwithstanding, I think that whole culture is misunderstood and often unfairly characterized. Frances McDormand's accent in Fargo is a little too exaggerated, Rose Nylund's St. Olaf stories, while funny, are just a little over the top, merely gag lines written by script writers who may know humor, but don't necessarily know anything about what they're making fun of. In fact, I seem to recall an episode of The Golden Girls where they take a trip to the fictitious St. Olaf, and come to the bus station in Minneapolis, which, as depicted by the tableau built for the scene, has a pot-bellied stove in it. This is utterly laughable, of course, as even in the 1980s there was nothing 'rustic' about the bus station in Minneapolis. It was as plagued by top notch urban depravity as any; I know this first-hand, having picked my brother up numerous times on visits home. I've always considered that scene a good example of how little people on the coasts know about what - and who - lies east of the Rockies and west of the Appalachians.
Not knowing the story, or at least the whole story, is the crime. Yes, the McKenzie Brothers are funny, kind of, as are Da Yoopers , if I'm in the right frame of mind, not to mention Bananas at Large - of 'Da Turdy Point Buck' fame. I get why these things resonate with people, and they're not entirely inaccurate in their exaggeration. But they barely scratch the surface, and I would ask any outsider to dig a little deeper, don't rely on stereotypes, and you'll find northwoods culture is much more intricately textured, the heart that beats to keep the northern body warm more complexly wired.
Often, Yah hey, signifies much more than indifference.
Though I don't live in northern Wisconsin anymore, and probably never will again, I'm proud to hail from there, proud to talk like 'one of them'. While it may not be the sexiest accent in the world, that which it is, it is. I'm looking forward to wearing it like a name tag for people I meet on 1/48/50.
Wherever we are, there might be no more elemental representation of who we are (or at least what we once were), than the way we talk.
I don't remember exactly what was said, only the chronology of events: as we ascended, I spoke to my dad, asked him a question, I think. My dad answered back, and the strange man suddenly turned to him.
"You're definitely from Maine," he said, then turned his attention to me. "And you hail from either the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, northern Wisconsin, or northern Minnesota."
My dad and I flashed each other a puzzled glance. The man milked this a moment or two, before revealing that he was a language professor on campus, who specialized in colloquialisms, dialects and accents.
I may not remember what was said, but I do know the whole thing happened in under twenty seconds. Both my question and my dad's response were under five or six words a-piece. They had to be, as the building we were in couldn't have been more than four or five stories, allowing for a fifteen second elevator ride at most. For having so little to go on, this guy was spot on. My dad grew up in Portland, Maine, and I was at that time in the midst of being northern Wisconsin born and raised.
It's impressive in hindsight, but at the time it left me self-conscious, and not a little deflated. Throughout high school, my brother had cultivated a hearty distaste for our hometown and everything associated with it, as teenagers tend to do (his choice of an east coast school had as much to do with putting lots of distance between himself and 'home' as anything else). And as little brothers tend to do, I followed his lead, carved out my own indignation about where I was being born and raised, started wanting to be too good for it all just like he was, and as he excitedly geared up for college far, far away (New York City, no less...his freshman dorm wound up being across the street from Lincoln Center), I don't mind admitting I was feeling pretty left behind. I surely was in no mood to be pegged as a northern Wisconsinite. Everything I associated with northwoods culture was nothing cool: The McKenzie Brothers' 'hoser' humor (riding high on SCTV at the time), Polka Party, which aired every Saturday morning on the local radio station (and was exactly what it sounded like), Da Yoopers, a musical/comedy act from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan whose songs include 'Diarrhea' and 'Someone Ripped One on Da Dance Floor', and the Chmielewski Fun Time, a polka variety TV show that aired every Saturday night at five on a television station out of Duluth.
If something resembling Chmielewski Fun Time appeared as a joke on a TV sit-com or in a movie, or as a skit on Saturday Night Live, I'd probably be far more likely to roll my eyes than laugh. But CFT was very real.
The Chmielewski Fun Time Show aired every Saturday evening on a local television station when I was a little kid.
But in the summer of 1985, my brother was getting out. I was stuck there, stuck in the northwoods, for at least another six years. It was difficult enough to be dealing with an identity crisis at the dawn of the angst-ridden teenage years, not to mention so significant a life change as a sibling - my only sibling - going off to college, now I had just been branded 'one of them' by a complete stranger in an elevator.
I was one of them then, as it turned out, whether I liked or realized it. And truth is, I feel as though I am one of them still.
The accent in question was exaggerated to the Nth degree by Frances McDormand in the movie Fargo, and the culture from which it springs was funny stuff for Betty White's character Rose Nylund on The Golden Girls. It's rooted primarily (though not exclusively) in Scandinavian ethnicity (Norway, Sweden, Finland...), though my application of it can only be some form of nurture over nature, as I do not have a drop of Scandinavian blood in my veins.
Nevertheless, to this day, there are present in my speech certain totems to the environment in which I grew up.
* My 'O' sound is very thick, with certain words - 'boat', 'pole', and 'bowling' for example - usually plopping out of my mouth like clumps of clay.
* Also with certain words, I pronounce the short A sound as a long A sound. For instance, bag is pronounced 'bayg', 'hag' comes out 'hayg'... and on July 4th, we all proudly fly the 'flayg'...
* The word 'sure' usually gets pronounced 'sherr'...
* "Yah", or "oh yah', or "yah hey", find their way into my speech fairly frequently, particularly in moments of indifference.
* And of course, 'eh...?' has long been a readily selected punctuation to just about any sentence.
That the Fordham professor of 28 years ago specified northern Wisconsin or Minnesota when placing me somewhere is significant; testament, I think, to the man truly knowing his stuff. It really is a microcosmic culture, separate from the rest of those states. And the difference between the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and the Lower Peninsula? Forget it. If Yoopers could secede, they surely would.
But to be honest, Chmielewski Fun Time notwithstanding, I think that whole culture is misunderstood and often unfairly characterized. Frances McDormand's accent in Fargo is a little too exaggerated, Rose Nylund's St. Olaf stories, while funny, are just a little over the top, merely gag lines written by script writers who may know humor, but don't necessarily know anything about what they're making fun of. In fact, I seem to recall an episode of The Golden Girls where they take a trip to the fictitious St. Olaf, and come to the bus station in Minneapolis, which, as depicted by the tableau built for the scene, has a pot-bellied stove in it. This is utterly laughable, of course, as even in the 1980s there was nothing 'rustic' about the bus station in Minneapolis. It was as plagued by top notch urban depravity as any; I know this first-hand, having picked my brother up numerous times on visits home. I've always considered that scene a good example of how little people on the coasts know about what - and who - lies east of the Rockies and west of the Appalachians.
Not knowing the story, or at least the whole story, is the crime. Yes, the McKenzie Brothers are funny, kind of, as are Da Yoopers , if I'm in the right frame of mind, not to mention Bananas at Large - of 'Da Turdy Point Buck' fame. I get why these things resonate with people, and they're not entirely inaccurate in their exaggeration. But they barely scratch the surface, and I would ask any outsider to dig a little deeper, don't rely on stereotypes, and you'll find northwoods culture is much more intricately textured, the heart that beats to keep the northern body warm more complexly wired.
Often, Yah hey, signifies much more than indifference.
Though I don't live in northern Wisconsin anymore, and probably never will again, I'm proud to hail from there, proud to talk like 'one of them'. While it may not be the sexiest accent in the world, that which it is, it is. I'm looking forward to wearing it like a name tag for people I meet on 1/48/50.
Wherever we are, there might be no more elemental representation of who we are (or at least what we once were), than the way we talk.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
The Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#72) "Take Me Home" by Phil Collins - Seeing as Phil Collins is a drummer, I guess it's not too surprising that the prominent musical feature of Take Me Home is its rhythm. Collins has been known to ruin some of his more popular songs by allowing heavy percussion to crash the party, but here his drumming keeps the melody and strangely haunting vocals sewn up snugly with almost bewitching precision.
The song reads profoundly sad to me, speaking to an unfulfilled life, a small existence. The line, 'There's a fire that's been burning right outside my door, I can't see but I feel it, and it helps to keep me warm', remains to this day among the most lovely and unsettling phrases ever uttered in a song, in my opinion.
Yet if Take Me Home is actually supposed to be haunting or depressing, it's either so subtly (expertly) embedded as to be almost unnoticeable, or just my imagination. Truth is, the song ponders but never broods, reflects but never complains. This constitutes what I consider to be its brilliance, and is complemented (and affirmed) by the video - a string of pensive but light-hearted shots of Collins in various locations around the world. I remember watching it on MTV when I was twelve years old and being led to wanting to go places. Rather than leaving me feeling unfulfilled and small, it filled me with hope that I one day would.
"Take that look of worry, I'm an ordinary man / They don't tell me nothing, so I find out what I can..."
#73) "Pink Houses" by John Mellencamp - A lot more going on in this song than meets the ear; I think it's quite possibly the greatest protest song ever written.
Okay, maybe not a 'protest' song in the traditional sense, Pink Houses seems to be a stinging indictment of 1980s America nevertheless - the rise of corporatism, the death of the family farm and attendant 'little man', growing economic disparity and the casualty of dreams. Strewn under a deceptively patriotic premise (and refrain), Pink Houses' real meaning socks you in the nose when you come to realize it, and I'd be willing to bet that's just how Mellencamp wanted it. Like Springsteen's Born in the USA, he has more than once refused (certain) politicians and organizations permission to use this song in ads - politicians and organizations who just don't get it, who peg this as a mere flag-waving anthem, rather than a rough portrait of American life at the dawn of the technological age, signed in the lower right corner with the tip of Mellencamp's middle finger.
If nothing else, Pink Houses sounds like trains to me. In the first few measures, it mimics the resonant rumble engines make when they're not moving but turned on and warming up, and then later comes the tell-tale clack-clack embedded in the song's rhythm. I don't think this was intentional necessarily, but I hear it, and I like it. There's never anything about trains I don't like listening to, or looking at.
Same goes for Pink Houses. I love me some Pink Houses...always gets thinking and wondering and wandering in my mind. I'd rate it in the Top 10 greatest pop songs of all time for sure, even if I'm delusional about what I'm hearing. ;-)
"Cuz they told me, when I was younger, they said boy you're gonna be president / but just like everything else, those old crazy dreams just kind of came and went..."
#74) "N.W.O." by Ministry - Just a nice steaming pile of aggression and outrage to growl along with. When I was a young man, this song was actually an effective motivator when I was at work and there was work to be done....still is, come to think of it.
"????!!!???!!???!?!?!??!???!!?!???!???..."
#75) "1979" by Smashing Pumpkins - No other song seems to have a greater hypnotic effect on people than 1979, and this too is really no surprise. The song flows like cool, refreshing water, a tributary emptying straight into one's stream of consciousness.
I've seen this phenomenon in action, as a matter of fact. When 1979 gets played at my work, a lull invariably sweeps over everyone; seriously, every time. The women bob their heads left and right, mouth along silently with the words (as women tend to do), the men, however raucous and loud they were a minute ago, quietly set to the task at hand, whatever that may be. Some serious, and mysterious, hypnosis going on!
The song has a lulling, and fairly analgesic, effect on me as well, has a way of becoming my stream of consciousness. I should be careful with this song on 1/48/50, come to think of it...don't want to fall asleep at the wheel.
Of course, there are worse songs to be playing when the grim reaper comes a-calling. ;-)
"And we don't know just where our bones will rest, to dust I guess / forgotten and absorbed to the earth below..."
The song reads profoundly sad to me, speaking to an unfulfilled life, a small existence. The line, 'There's a fire that's been burning right outside my door, I can't see but I feel it, and it helps to keep me warm', remains to this day among the most lovely and unsettling phrases ever uttered in a song, in my opinion.
Yet if Take Me Home is actually supposed to be haunting or depressing, it's either so subtly (expertly) embedded as to be almost unnoticeable, or just my imagination. Truth is, the song ponders but never broods, reflects but never complains. This constitutes what I consider to be its brilliance, and is complemented (and affirmed) by the video - a string of pensive but light-hearted shots of Collins in various locations around the world. I remember watching it on MTV when I was twelve years old and being led to wanting to go places. Rather than leaving me feeling unfulfilled and small, it filled me with hope that I one day would.
"Take that look of worry, I'm an ordinary man / They don't tell me nothing, so I find out what I can..."
#73) "Pink Houses" by John Mellencamp - A lot more going on in this song than meets the ear; I think it's quite possibly the greatest protest song ever written.
Okay, maybe not a 'protest' song in the traditional sense, Pink Houses seems to be a stinging indictment of 1980s America nevertheless - the rise of corporatism, the death of the family farm and attendant 'little man', growing economic disparity and the casualty of dreams. Strewn under a deceptively patriotic premise (and refrain), Pink Houses' real meaning socks you in the nose when you come to realize it, and I'd be willing to bet that's just how Mellencamp wanted it. Like Springsteen's Born in the USA, he has more than once refused (certain) politicians and organizations permission to use this song in ads - politicians and organizations who just don't get it, who peg this as a mere flag-waving anthem, rather than a rough portrait of American life at the dawn of the technological age, signed in the lower right corner with the tip of Mellencamp's middle finger.
If nothing else, Pink Houses sounds like trains to me. In the first few measures, it mimics the resonant rumble engines make when they're not moving but turned on and warming up, and then later comes the tell-tale clack-clack embedded in the song's rhythm. I don't think this was intentional necessarily, but I hear it, and I like it. There's never anything about trains I don't like listening to, or looking at.
Same goes for Pink Houses. I love me some Pink Houses...always gets thinking and wondering and wandering in my mind. I'd rate it in the Top 10 greatest pop songs of all time for sure, even if I'm delusional about what I'm hearing. ;-)
"Cuz they told me, when I was younger, they said boy you're gonna be president / but just like everything else, those old crazy dreams just kind of came and went..."
#74) "N.W.O." by Ministry - Just a nice steaming pile of aggression and outrage to growl along with. When I was a young man, this song was actually an effective motivator when I was at work and there was work to be done....still is, come to think of it.
"????!!!???!!???!?!?!??!???!!?!???!???..."
#75) "1979" by Smashing Pumpkins - No other song seems to have a greater hypnotic effect on people than 1979, and this too is really no surprise. The song flows like cool, refreshing water, a tributary emptying straight into one's stream of consciousness.
I've seen this phenomenon in action, as a matter of fact. When 1979 gets played at my work, a lull invariably sweeps over everyone; seriously, every time. The women bob their heads left and right, mouth along silently with the words (as women tend to do), the men, however raucous and loud they were a minute ago, quietly set to the task at hand, whatever that may be. Some serious, and mysterious, hypnosis going on!
The song has a lulling, and fairly analgesic, effect on me as well, has a way of becoming my stream of consciousness. I should be careful with this song on 1/48/50, come to think of it...don't want to fall asleep at the wheel.
Of course, there are worse songs to be playing when the grim reaper comes a-calling. ;-)
"And we don't know just where our bones will rest, to dust I guess / forgotten and absorbed to the earth below..."
Friday, January 3, 2014
The Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#68) "Melissa" by The Allman Brothers Band - This song is just plain haunting to me; like a stairway landing in an abandoned house...or the music you'd hear there...
Or maybe the music out in what's left of the back yard...
Or the mailbox on the corner at the end of the block...
Or the fields you pass on the highway leading out of town...
"Crossroads, will you ever let him go..."
#69) "I Ain't Living Long Like This" by Waylon Jennings - Waylon Jennings might not have been the best country artist ever, but he was one of the coolest. And one of the luckiest, for that matter, when considering the day the music died...
But mostly one of the coolest. There was never anything about Jennings to really stand out, yet his impact on country music remains as significant as anyone's. He never did anything to grab for attention, and in this way never resorted to any stereotypes. He just kind of did his thing, and you never knew what he was going to say or sing next. There are routinely surprises in his songs, things you wouldn't expect from any country artist, and some of his ballads (Outlaw Shit, and Hank Williams Syndrome, to name a few) are introspective and smart and pretty moving without trying too hard...that is, without trying to be something they shouldn't be.
Even at 64, Jennings was taken too early. So I guess I actually do think he was one of the best country artists ever.
I Ain't Living Long Like This was written by Rodney Crowell, but its driving, 18-wheeler rhythm and 'outlaw' subject matter is quintessential Waylon nevertheless. The best part of this song, befitting Waylon's deceptive simplicity, is the vulnerability, and humor, of the outlaw it concerns itself with.
"I tried to run but I don't think I can / you make one move and you're a dead man, friend..."
#70) "Screaming for Vengeance" by Judas Priest - In case I get stuck between towns in the middle of the night, I'll have this to keep me awake. Also, this ferocious thrash was pretty ground-breaking for 1982.
"Hey listen don't you let them get your mind..."
#71) "Time" by The Alan Parsons Project - When I was in 8th grade, I brought another kid to tears of laughter when I started singing the refrain of Time by Alan Parsons. This was 1986, or so; music and media were not nearly so readily accessible as they are today. It was unusual that we both remembered this 'old' song, surely having heard it very second-hand on our parents' radio once or twice, or on a jukebox somewhere when we were much younger, and the fact that I knew the song well enough to sing it, and hit that long, uprush of falsetto, had this kid in stitches.
The performance worked out well for me; he was one of the cool kids, and my social status was elevated as a result.
Nowadays, Time means much more to me than fodder for gym class clowning. If I really sit and listen to it, it sweeps my mind completely offshore. Doubtless this was the point. There had never been a song like this when it was released in 1980 (Project, indeed...), and hasn't really been one since. Almost makes me feel guilty for making fun of it so heartily.
Almost. ;-)
"Who knows when we shall meet again, if ever / but time keeps flowing like a river (on and on), to the sea...to the sea..."
Or maybe the music out in what's left of the back yard...
Or the mailbox on the corner at the end of the block...
Or the fields you pass on the highway leading out of town...
"Crossroads, will you ever let him go..."
#69) "I Ain't Living Long Like This" by Waylon Jennings - Waylon Jennings might not have been the best country artist ever, but he was one of the coolest. And one of the luckiest, for that matter, when considering the day the music died...
But mostly one of the coolest. There was never anything about Jennings to really stand out, yet his impact on country music remains as significant as anyone's. He never did anything to grab for attention, and in this way never resorted to any stereotypes. He just kind of did his thing, and you never knew what he was going to say or sing next. There are routinely surprises in his songs, things you wouldn't expect from any country artist, and some of his ballads (Outlaw Shit, and Hank Williams Syndrome, to name a few) are introspective and smart and pretty moving without trying too hard...that is, without trying to be something they shouldn't be.
Even at 64, Jennings was taken too early. So I guess I actually do think he was one of the best country artists ever.
I Ain't Living Long Like This was written by Rodney Crowell, but its driving, 18-wheeler rhythm and 'outlaw' subject matter is quintessential Waylon nevertheless. The best part of this song, befitting Waylon's deceptive simplicity, is the vulnerability, and humor, of the outlaw it concerns itself with.
"I tried to run but I don't think I can / you make one move and you're a dead man, friend..."
#70) "Screaming for Vengeance" by Judas Priest - In case I get stuck between towns in the middle of the night, I'll have this to keep me awake. Also, this ferocious thrash was pretty ground-breaking for 1982.
"Hey listen don't you let them get your mind..."
#71) "Time" by The Alan Parsons Project - When I was in 8th grade, I brought another kid to tears of laughter when I started singing the refrain of Time by Alan Parsons. This was 1986, or so; music and media were not nearly so readily accessible as they are today. It was unusual that we both remembered this 'old' song, surely having heard it very second-hand on our parents' radio once or twice, or on a jukebox somewhere when we were much younger, and the fact that I knew the song well enough to sing it, and hit that long, uprush of falsetto, had this kid in stitches.
The performance worked out well for me; he was one of the cool kids, and my social status was elevated as a result.
Nowadays, Time means much more to me than fodder for gym class clowning. If I really sit and listen to it, it sweeps my mind completely offshore. Doubtless this was the point. There had never been a song like this when it was released in 1980 (Project, indeed...), and hasn't really been one since. Almost makes me feel guilty for making fun of it so heartily.
Almost. ;-)
"Who knows when we shall meet again, if ever / but time keeps flowing like a river (on and on), to the sea...to the sea..."
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