#80) "Freebird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd - It may be considered among the greatest rock and roll songs of all time (certainly among the greatest 'air guitar' numbers), but honestly, Freebird isn't my favorite, not by a long shot. I can't even say I've listened to it straight through since my teenage years; it's a bit slow-moving, bordering on ponderous, usually leaves me tuned out midway through the second verse. But like more than a few denizens of the 'classic rock' realm, a heightened self-awareness and maturity in middle age has enabled me to re-discover it, and realize there's a reason it's considered classic, a reason why it endures, finding new fans in each new generation, usually right around the age of 15 or 16, when you first realize you won't always have to stay in one place if you don't want to. There will come a time...a time soon...and you'll be free.
A melodically disquieting guitar riff strings together lyrics of longing that include what I think is a fairly heady question. If I leave here tomorrow, Mr. Van Zant sings, would you still remember me?
Not 'please remember me', or 'I'll remember you', but would you? As in, will you? The grammar's off a little, but the line always gets me thinking about the underlying futility of most relationships, romantic or otherwise. I'm not convinced most people have remembered me when I've left, and looking back (the older I get...the more time that passes), I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Then of course there's the monster guitar solo, consuming the song at the end and, in some live versions, pushing it 100 miles per hour for a full ten minutes. It's no wonder Skynyrd generally chose this song to close out their shows. Freebird was the first song - way back in 7th or 8th grade - to make me appreciate the guitar solo as an emotional expression all its own, and - if I make it that far without switching songs or stations - I never, ever tune it out.
I think it very well might have been the first I ever air guitared to as well...it was either Freebird, or the solo in Led Zeppelin's Heartbreaker.
Probably Freebird. It's easier to play. ;-)
"And this bird you cannot change..."
#81) "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" by Kathy Mattea - It would be easy to dismiss this as just another blob of fluff oozing out of a genre of music that is the world's foremost producer of fluff. It has the usual punny mass embedded in the lyrics, like a lot of country songs ("10 more miles, on his 4 day run...get it? 10/4!...he's a trucker!"), and for some reason, I'm thinking I'd never want to watch the video. But its steady, guitar-strummed rhythm and sunlit melody helps Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses wrap its arms around something more than mere sentimentality. It addresses a certain tenderness I like to think courses through all of us, whether we show it, a shared sense of surrender to the passages that punctuate our lives - in this case, retirement, rekindled love, and leaving. Laugh and mock all you want, are there any among us who don't want this to be their life at some point, particularly in the twilight years?
Also, I really like the line, "A few more songs from the all night radio..." for its reference to what lamentably has become the by-gone era of 'all night radio' for truckers.
When I was a young man, many were the nights I spent taking relentlessly restless 'runs' up and down the main drag of my town. From the Hardees on the west end to the Soo Line trestle on the east end, and back again, this went on all night. Sometimes past bar close. Sometimes, even, until it was light out. And in these throes of having nowhere to go but being reluctant to go home, my radio was almost always tuned to the AM side. The local station, WATW, ended its broadcast day at midnight, and was replaced by the trucker's network until 7 a.m.
I can't for the life of me remember what the network was actually called, but I remember names like Charlie Douglas, and Road Gang. They played country music and humorous bits and all that, but also frequent weather forecasts and current conditions from Interstates and major highways all over the country, and that's what I found intriguing. These reports mentioned certain communities by name, and listening to them always got me wishing I was somewhere else, or on the way to somewhere else.
One time, the weather announcer followed his radar images right through my area: 'Strong line of storms is making its way through Minnesota, right now, crossing I-35, these will continue on into northern Wisconsin, and into the Upper Peninsula of Michigan along US Highway 2 through the overnight hours," his voice crackled over the AM band. "There's a band of showers just head of these storms. If it's not raining in Ashland, Wisconsin right now, it's going to be in the next few minutes."
As if on cue, the downpour started not thirty seconds later, and the timing of this, for reasons I couldn't explain (but no doubt have spent the last year writing about here), seemed to ease the loneliness of that hometown night.
Today of course, automation has made nearly every radio station in this country a 24/7 operation, and satellite radio (and Internet for that matter) means nobody has to ever be without a voice from somewhere. So while 'trucker's radio' does still exist, it simply doesn't mean as much as it used to. Nobody's ever really 'alone' at all, even in the overnight hours.
In the end, this may be a good thing, but I still like the thought of being awake when the rest of the world is sleeping, still crave a little late night alienation once in a while, and miss the days when there was just one unique outlet for that unique set of circumstances.
"They'll buy a Winnebago, set off to find America..."
#82) "And When I Die" by Blood Sweat and Tears - Smart, funny and clever, this song's good humor goes a long way toward clipping long thoughts. It's fun to sing, and is also very much an essential truth. Testify!
"Don't wanna die uneasy..."
#83) "Time" by Pink Floyd - I was planning to keep Pink Floyd off this list, intending to save them for when (if ever) I list the top complete albums to take with me on 1/48/50 (a list on which they would appear at least twice). I've blogged about them in the past, always seem to have too much to say, and frankly, there isn't really anything about their music that complements the road.
Mind expanding yet technically flawless it may be, but cruising down the highway for 14,000 miles, I don't know that I'll want to be weighed down or distracted by the heavy serum dripping out of Dogs, Echoes, Us and Them or The Great Gig in the Sky.
But I've decided to make an exception with Time, because it is the band's masterwork (in my opinion), hanging prominently in an already impressive gallery.
It's the only song on The Dark Side of the Moon that credits all four band members as writers, and that makes sense, as contributions from each to an aggregate greatness are not hard to identify. Nick Mason's rototom rattle for the first two minutes is like the palpitating heart of someone who has just realized the enormity of the truth behind Roger Waters' psychologically dense lyrics. (Half a page of scribbled lines...indeed.)
David Gilmour and Richard Wright's shared lead vocals sound eerily similar, and Gilmour's guitar solo has a compelling vocal quality, sounds like someone sitting across from you whose company you don't particularly enjoy; someone who is intermittently lamenting and bitching so incessantly (about the passage of time...or perhaps the shit hand life's dealt), you don't know whether to sympathize or tell him to shut the hell up. It evokes as much derision as sympathy.
Now that's an emotionally expressive guitar solo...
Then all of a sudden, close to the end, comes that mysterious female voice. I haven't been able to determine if it's Clare Torry, whose vocal stylings (this might be the one instance when that phrase actually makes sense) simultaneously sew The Great Gig in the Sky together and tear it to shreds, or another backing vocalist on the album, Doris Troy. I'm thinking it's Troy, but it is bewitching either way, a presence seeming to come out of nowhere, as if from hiding (yet there the entire time), offering a lovely lilted flutter of beauty for a second or two, yet no fucking solace whatsoever.
Time seduces, then filets into long, red ribbons that bunch up in the corner of the room.
Come to think of it, maybe I will leave this one home on 1/48/50. :-/
"The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older..."
