One More (?) Go Around: A Hundred Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50

#357) "Hang Fire" by The Rolling Stones - Released in 1981, at the tail end of what might be considered the Stones' hey day, this is among the first songs I remember jamming out to, that is, jumping around my bedroom (or down in the living room if nobody was home), air-guitaring like nobody's business. I was both lead guitarist and singer in this imaginary band, electrified as much by the "doo doop doo-doo doo doop..." as anything. Still love it, still feel impelled to get the old band together in my mind when I listen to it, still think it's one of the Stones' best.

But what never occurred to me is what I read about the song as I prepared to write this post. According to Wikipedia anyway, "Hang Fire" is about the decline of the British economy throughout the 70s and the inability of politicians to do anything about it. Scanning the lyrics, that seems obvious now, but as often as I've jammed out to this song over the years, I never once made a connection between the lyrics and anything specific, at least nothing having to do with Britain...that is, until just now.  Maybe I was too distracted by the "doo doop doo-doo doo doop..."

And really, can you blame me?  ;-)

"You know marrying money is a full time job / I don't need the aggravation, I'm a lazy slob..."

#358) "Out of Tears" by The Rolling Stones - By 1994, the Rolling Stones had taken their place in the pantheon of rock legends. While that's doubtless a venerable spot to be, the place any artist would one day like to get to, it means you're not cool or current anymore.  It means styles and predilections have changed, the world has, collectively, passed you by, and while you might truly be great, "legendary", you are no longer what the kids are dancing to, and no matter how enthusiastically you try to spin it, that simply cannot feel like anything other than a downgrade.

I would imagine...

Since the early 80s, which for my money is when their "current" status started to wane, the Stones have never really had a comeback, but they've never really gone away either. "Strolling Bones" they may have become (such fate awaits us all), but the fact is, they are still strolling, still touring and packing in audiences. And the truth is, their music never gets stale. The phrase "moves like Jagger" can refer to more than just his behavior on stage...it can also refer to the sheer durability of the band's music, the fact that it should still interest new generations, in some measure (that I've observed) more so than the Beatles.

Known for their rock anthems, The Stones have never been slouches when it comes to writing ballads..."Angie", "Wild Horses"....both are suitable precursors to the drafty, lonesome resignation that colors "Out of Tears", a song that like the other two, engages a certain emotional nihilism in the face of the end, but also (befitting the fact that this song was released in 1994, not 1965...or 1973) a certain maturity.  Whatever that end may be, whatever the situation, such is all that's left when the dust settles: an inability to weep anymore being the only thing offering hope of moving on.   

Really a gorgeous song...and a gorgeous ending.

"I can drift, I can dream, 'til I float off your screen..."

Road Trip CliffsNotes

Of course, the details that shape a road trip are missing from a video like this. I would (will) document 1/48/50 differently (I'm way too much of a blowhard to keep quiet through six hours of video). But nevertheless, take a few minutes to watch some of it, and you'll find it's not only fairly mesmerizing, but I think it encapsulates visually what people love about driving. Without description, without sound, it makes me want to be the person behind the wheel in the worst way.

Thoughts on renewing my driver's license

My driver's license expired on my birthday, which is Christmas Day. It wasn't until the following week I realized it had lapsed, and not until after the New Year that I had a chance to take care of it. Oh yes, this 'bad boy' went nearly two weeks driving the highways and byways without a valid Wisconsin license, and I'm proud to say that's just about the most illegal thing I've ever done, unless you count my overnight parking violation ten years ago, a $25 fine I neglected to pay that resulted in a warrant being issued for my arrest.

Ever since I first got my license in January 1989, each 'renewal' - mandated by the State of Wisconsin every eight years - has felt like a passage, an exit off one stage of my life, onto another. I've kept all of them, all the little plastic cards that not only declare I'm qualified to operate a motor vehicle, but over time have allowed me to live my life - to buy cigarettes (back when I did so), buy alcohol, rent cars, rent movies, apply for jobs, check into hotels, check out books, deposit checks, step onto planes...to prove at a moment's notice, that I am me, should any individual of even the lowest level of authority think to ask (and all that that implies). Unfortunately I don't have them all with me, so can't display them with this post. Too bad. It'd be kind of trippy to see my transformation from scrawny, acne-ridden teenager to not-so-scrawny but still occasionally acne ridden adult, who at least can hide behind stubble when blemishes attack.

Things have changed since the last time I renewed. They don't process your license on site anymore. They give you a temporary slip of paper to provide as requested, and your new license arrives by mail within a week, from St. Louis, or Wichita, or somewhere. This surprises me, a little. It's hard to believe in this day and age that it is more efficient, or cost saving, to outsource production, and out-of-state no less, but I can say (at least) that it arrived within 7 business days, as promised. No hassle.

And I have to admit, the license that arrived is remarkable. Sporting a modern design that takes into consideration our society's appetite for visual stimulation ('packaging' as important here, it would seem, as it is on a bag of Doritos, or an NFL-sponsored beer can), it's also decked out in a lot more of the 'bling' that, for better or worse, defines the age we live in - an age in which, for security purposes, everything must be watermarked and hologrammed to the Nth degree, in an effort to combat/discourage tampering and forgery. It's not a stretch to suggest that these days your license isn't so much about proving you are allowed to drive a car as it is proving that you are who you say you are (or think you are ;-)...proving your identity, and more importantly, ensuring someone else hasn't stolen it.

My new license has all the pertinent information, all the physical stats, like usual. There is a picture of me on the left, but now a weird, clear version of the same picture on the right as well, with my name represented in a squiggly line below (not sure what that's all about; doesn't seem all that different from Microsoft WordArt). Directly below the actual picture, my birth month is stamped in big block letters, allowing me to fool no one.

FRESH NEW LICENSE, FRESH NEW LOOK...TIRED, MIDDLE AGED JGLO - I've saved all my old driver's licenses over time, since receiving my first in January 1989 (on the first try, thank you very much). Can it be that in the ensuing quarter century, I have gained 45 pounds!? 8-/

But what really struck me was the expiration date, that is, the next time I will be required to get my license renewed: December 25, 2023.

The day I turn 51.

I've been dwelling on the passage of time as it relates to my getting older for a while now. I went through what I believe (hope) was a mid-life crisis a year or two ago. All things considered, that transpired smoothly: I didn't go off any type of deep end, didn't start wearing the wrong clothes, or try to surgically alter my appearance in any way, didn't start using words like "beast" and "legit" (although I WAS called out once for trying to sneak 'baby mama' into a conversation...lol.)  I mostly became keenly aware of how quickly time is passing, and I admit, was kept up a few anxious nights fretting over the outrage of it all, before finally accepting it.

Holding my new license in my hands, that anxiety was revitalized, just for a moment. Oh hell, why don't I just come out and say it: cold reality smacked me across the face hard: I'm going to be past the half-century mark the next time I renew my license. Hair that has already start thinning will be thinner. The five o'clock shadow I've been hiding behind since I was that acne-ridden teenager, already starting to gray, will be even more so. There will likely be other passages in that time. A rearrangement, a shift of family dynamic. Nothing the same ever again.

It seems to me that fear of turning 50 isn't so much about the loss of youth and time (truthfully, a lot of that starts when you hit thirty), but the onslaught of new worries and concerns in the face of an entirely new uncertainty. The future is no longer guaranteed. It's never really guaranteed of course, but the average person under 40 lives comfortably inside a fortress of presumption that he or she will live to see another day, most likely.

After 40, and certainly after 50,"men of a certain age" cannot presume anything, and need to start doing things to help lock in on that next sunrise, things that are going to remind them on a daily basis that they're getting old.

Some of it I have on lock already. I eat better these days (or try to), and for the most part I don't have a problem eating better. I like veggies, and I don't feel the need to stuff myself with garbage every night, nor feel I'm in some way entitled to do so, for being American, or male, or some combination of the two. I drink a lot of green tea; that certainly can't hurt. I've cut out soda all together, rarely drink alcohol to excess (or at all), and I don't even have the sweet tooth I used to. I exercise regularly, too; sometime it takes every ounce of resolve that's in me to get myself to the gym...sometimes I don't go, roll over on the couch and sulk instead. But usually I do.

As for the regimen of pokes and probes out there waiting for this man of a certain age to arrive - heart monitoring, blood testing, the dreaded colonoscopy - well, that's all kind of a drag. But I'll show up, and hopefully be green-lighted for at least another twenty or thirty years.

But I will still be 51 the next time I renew my driver's license! Even healthy, fit as a fiddle, still managing to leap tall buildings in a single bound (well, under three at least), that's mind-boggling! Will I have done 1/48/50 by December 25, 2023?  Will I get through 48 states in under 50 years? I'm coming up on the third anniversary of this blog. I've reviewed a lot of songs, given my opinions on all sorts of random things, from Kesha to the Kardashians to drone technology to highway construction, but...yeah...where am I, exactly, with regard to actually taking the trip?

If I don't take this trip before 50, it won't actually matter. I don't have to take it at all, and keeping that fact in perspective helps quell the anxiety. This blog is intended to be fun, a way to keep the idea fresh in my mind week after week. It's not a contract.

That being said, I'm trying to think of it that way. I want to take the trip before I'm 50, and I'm expecting to. And now that I've set myself the goal, and am actively seeking to make it happen, it has made me more sensitive to the passing of each new era in my life, and left 50 looming just a bit larger on the horizon than it otherwise would.

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

#137) "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" by Ted Nugent - Once again, Uncle Ted comes barreling onto this list full of sexually charged energy, but also, like always, a touch of humor, looking and sounding a little like he's had a stroke ... er, in a good way.

Wang Dang... exemplifies Nugent's tightly crafted musicianship, too often drowned out by his mouth these days. He was no run-of-the-mill metal monger; I certainly wouldn't dismiss his body of work, at least his early stuff, as - *gasp!* - hair metal (in spite of his tenure with the Damn Yankees...), but rather top shelf rock and roll, in many ways how it should be done. His guitar licks and accompanying rhythms are impressively thought through, his stage shows intense and comical; I actually saw the Damn Yankees in Duluth, Minnesota in February 1991, and Nugent, of course, stole the show. In Wang Dang..., the guitar solo is typically hyper-active, and notably matched in its spastic energy by the bass line. Seriously, I have to wonder if the bassist had any thumb left after playing this.

"She's so sweet when she yanks on my meat..."

#138) "People are Strange" by The Doors - Jim Morrison was nothing if not a poet; some would say (maybe he would have, come to think of it) that he was a poet first, a rock star second. In the complete body of The Doors' work, their short-lived but monumental contribution to 1960s music, legend and lore, People Are Strange might be considered a throw-away by some. But the lyrics are pretty potent and poetic, as much about Morrison as anyone else, and yet at the same time mirroring everyone. Most people feel like this at some time in their lives, and good poetry should always reflect universality.

I mostly remember my older brother playing this song when we were kids, over and over, and being reduced to bitter tears by his smug insistence that Jim Morrison had written it specifically about me, at our parents' request.  Looking back, maybe I was 'strange', even at age 9, to have ever been led to believe that was possible. Lol.

"Women seem wicked, when you're unwanted..."

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

#18) 'Night Moves' by Bob Seger - When I was a senior in high school, a bunch of friends and I all worked at the same place and hung out afterwards, and like many teenagers, we were on a never-ending search for someone to buy us alcohol, a quest that frequently led to a local married couple. These two, who must have been in their late twenties at the time but already looked rode hard and put away wet, had no problem providing us with booze and a place to drink it, which turned out to be their janky apartment above a drug store downtown.

Halfway through one particular party, the cops showed up, like cops tend to on small town Friday nights. We all fell silent at the sound of pounding on the apartment door. "Police department!" 

Not a peep out of any of us for several moments. The swish of traffic on the street below filled the dead air that not ten seconds earlier had been congested with shouting, laughter and loud music.

Another round of pounding, more forceful this time. "Police! Open the door now!"

Any rebelling teenager worth his or her salt knows the response to this is to sit tight. They can yell and pound all they want, but unless they have a search warrant, they can't come in unless you let them in.

Uhhh...at least, that's what we all thought, and I think most of us were prepared to turn out the lights, keep quiet and wait it out.

But the married couple's response seemed to belie this confidence. They both sprang up and hastily disappeared into their bedroom without a word, as though knowing something we didn't, like the cops might actually have every intention of battering that door down. We heard the muted click of their bedroom door being locked, and in a panicked flash all followed suit, dashing into the kitchen and climbing through a window, onto a fire escape in the back of the building.

Seven of us stood there nervously, bouncing to keep warm without coats in 20 degree temperatures, as a buddy and I frantically tried to lower the ladder down to the ground to make our escape. We couldn't figure out how to do it, and wound up trapped on that fire escape, staring helplessly out at the roofs of buildings across the alley, windows of other apartments winking back at us dimly through the winter night. Another round of pounding on the door came to us, reaffirming the cops' determination. We all knew it was only a matter of time before they either tore the door down or got wise and came around back to the alley. Six people climbed back into the kitchen, took their chances hiding in a pantry closet. I was one of three, desperate to avoid an underage drinking fine, who jumped.

As I was plummeting 15 feet to the alley below, arms and legs extended out, Night Moves was playing.

Or should have been.

Bob Seger is just one of numerous musical heroes I have moved beyond, because tastes and influences and circumstances are ever-changing. But there was a time when his music was nothing less than the soundtrack of my young life, both how I saw myself and what I saw myself becoming. And I'd be surprised to learn there's a Midwestern man in his forties or fifties right now, once a Midwestern teenager, who can't relate to Seger in much the same way.

In a rush to consider him overrated, I think Seger is underrated. I can see why some music purists don't like him. There's nothing hip about his music, or especially innovative; he's not a romantic poet like Springsteen, nor does his music home in on something specific, like John Mellencamp and his farm country pride back in the day.

Seger lands on the bare bones side of roots rock. After his initial success in the late 1970s, he just grabbed that ball and took off running without ever trying something different, as both Springsteen and (especially) Mellencamp have (Key West Intermezzo and Pink Houses, for instance, are about as far apart, stylistically and in terms of subject matter, as can be imagined). There's warmth and reassurance in Seger's consistency if you can relate at all, testament to the very roots he rocks, but there's also boredom that doesn't go down so well on a dreary afternoon in Grand Rapids, Anywhere.

And then, of course, Like a Rock wound up in a Chevy commercial, and Seger and his music really became a caricature.

But there are subtleties in many of his songs that too often go unnoticed or unappreciated. It's too easy to dismiss Seger on the grounds of throwaways like Betty Lou's Getting Out Tonight, or Rock and Roll Never Forgets and miss what's really going on in Night Moves.

Reportedly inspired by the movie American Graffiti, Night Moves is a dark, sophisticated rumination that never turns sappy or melancholy, with lyrics that aren't too on-the-nose, but at the same time never try to be something they're not by straying too far from what the song's about: two teenagers looking for any opportunity to get their hands on each other and imagining how the news will play out among their social circle (in those Medieval days before social media, when news traveled only a fraction of a second slower).

Implicit here are many facets of the world I knew the night I plummeted from that second story fire escape, and will want to be reminded of at certain moments during 1/48/50: keggars in downtown apartments; keggars in the woods; peppermint schnapps; worrying about the cops; worrying about parents (coordinating our stories); worrying about kids from other towns who showed up at our parties unexpectedly; guys you didn't mess with; guys you did mess with; fresh-faced, pony-tailed girls with big hair, big glasses and nice asses slid into tight jeans with rips in the knees, who laughed at everything; the bluster, the machismo, idiocy, bad jokes, fake facts, false starts and unhappy endings that for all of us - or most of us - protected a still tender naïveté, but with a shell about as unbreakable as a Saltine...

And these days, of course, I frequently awake to the sound of thunder... so maybe Seger isn't a poet, but instead, some kind of prophet.

"How far off I sat and wondered..."

#19) "Theme from 'New York, New York'" by Frank Sinatra - This song doesn't really matter to me one way or another, it's just great fun to sing along to. Though, come to think of it, I guess I can't say it means nothing. New York, New York is one of the first songs I ever took notice of, that I ever heard, in fact. When I very young I remember hoisting my Bee Gees transistor radio (seriously) up to my ear when this song came piddling out of the little water drop tweeter, and feeling really good listening to it.

It still makes me feel good. How can anyone hear that leg-kicking coda and not feel good? It might not be the song to define Sinatra's career, but I think it very much defines Sinatra. The tart melody and anxious lyrics are an ideal blend of the Chairman's finger-snapping Rat Pack side and his melancholy, staring-into-a-whiskey tumbler on a Sunday evening side. 

I'd have loved to see him perform it live. (I guess that's what YouTube's for...)

"These little town blues/are melting away..."

#20) "Orange Blossom Special" by The Charlie Daniels Band - Instrumental, and reaching speeds of MACH 1, the CDB's Chicago performance of Orange Blossom Special makes them the Metallica of country music. Truthfully, this is country music you could bang your head to.

A consummate musician who travels with a merry band of consummate musicians, Charlie Daniels has always held a unique place in my heart as kind of a maverick in the business. Here, Daniels not only starts a fire with his fiddle bow (fiddle fire, literally...), but plucks his way through some 16 measures at just about the same speed, garnering the cheering approval of the crowd.

I've broken a sweat air-fiddling to this bad boy! I've broken a sweat listening to it.

#21) "Katmandu" by Bob Seger - Forgive me, Bob Seger was too important a part of my young life not to show up a few times on this list. Katmandu, from 1975's Beautiful Loser, might be considered one of his rock and roll throwaways, were it not for two things:

1) His vocals, thick and powerful, worthy of the greatness that's revealed on his live albums of the time.

2) His nod to the Midwest in the second verse, specifically the line, 'I'm tired of looking at the TV news...' There has always been something about television news, local television news, especially on gray days that get flushed into darkness, that has driven me toward (the likes of) Katmandu.

Further evidence that Seger knows things.

"But no one loves me here anyway..."

#22) "Ain't No Ramblers Anymore" by The Charlie Daniels Band - This might just be the first actual 'road song' on this list. Playful and spirited, it's another example of the CDB's tight musicianship, and precisely how I want the open road to unravel before me. The song describes a lot of what I want to see, but also how I want to feel when I see it. And any song that sounds like it could be played by Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem is automatically going to get my attention.

"They ain't ever going to Boise..."