#111) "Ride to California" by The Paper Tongues - A great road song, with restless rhythms and a fevered incantation pointing the way toward the spurious but irresistible promise of California living, Ride to California also showcases singer Aswan North's unrivaled ability to shred sideways through paper with his voice...er, tongue...?
"I can't wait to get a ride to California / 'Cause it makes sense to go to California..."
#112) "Take It On The Run" by REO Speedwagon - Once again, REO Speedwagon demonstrates an ability to wield an emotional weapon. Take It On The Run has a thin barbed tip, perfect for letting a little air out of their pudgy reputation as love sick warblers. And once again, Gary Richrath, who wrote the song, reveals himself to be a fantastic guitarist, with a sharp ear for composition.
"And you need never look back again..."
#113) "One in a Million" by Guns -n- Roses - Not everyone will agree I'm sure, but I think the B-side of the album GNR Lies, released in 1988 as a follow up to the wildly successful - as in generation defining - Appetite for Destruction, is Guns and Roses' best work. Maybe because it's the first time I remember getting excited by music that was considered new, feeling that I was marching in time to my 'generation', and feeling cool and current telling people about. I'll never forget a morning in February 1989, skipping 1st hour, hiding out in one of the band practice rooms with two girls named Karen and Cheryl. As we cautiously glanced out the window at the hallway scanning for any sign of authority (and as I tried not to gawk too much at Cheryl's ass), the three of us agreed that Guns and Roses did not sound good singing a slow song...("Patience", which earlier that week they'd performed at the American Music Awards).
All these years later, I think we were right. That very performance is available now on YouTube and it really isn't good, nor are many GnR live performances (aside from Axl Rose's frequent on-stage tantruming). But it felt good to be sixteen and sounding cool, skipping class with two hot girls in a band practice room, rebelling and having something to contribute to the conversation. (Until we ended up getting busted, which they blamed me for...yeah, I think I may have sneezed or something...). But Side B of ...Lies has a command presence all its own, and my praise for it includes "One in a Million", a song that caused controversy for its racist and homophobic lyrics.
It's an irrefutable charge, really. There's not a lot of room for interpretation. "One in a Million" spits out bile and ignorance in toxic quantities, no question.
At the time, Axl Rose was quick to defend the song, and himself, by saying it reflects a certain point of view, to some extent his point of view, his experience when he first came to LA from the Midwest. I have always accepted that explanation, and taken it a step further, in fact:
"One in a Million" is the larger experience of the disenfranchised, and disadvantaged, white guy.
First off, let's be very clear, am I that guy? Not at all. But I know him well. I grew up with him, went to school with him, used to avoid him on the playground, in the hallways, the cafeteria. When I was older, I drank with him at parties, took my beer to the other side of the bonfire when he (invariably) got too drunk and out of control, then, later, to the other side of bar.
As a young man with not a hell of a lot going on myself, I worked with him. Our paths regularly crossed pumping gas, flipping burgers and loading trucks. We competed for these jobs, and for hours, and favor with management, and I usually won because he was an asshole and/or never stuck around.
In recent years, I've hired this guy, fired him, and hired him back. He doesn't stick around any more now than he did twenty years ago, but he's not a bad worker when he's not distracted by trying to reconcile the shit hand life has dealt him with his own bad decisions, a currency he inevitably finds more worthless (and accepted at less places) with each passing year. Although even though I grow older, he never seems to...he's always somewhere between 19 and 28.
By no means is he right in his worldview, but he's part of the world nevertheless, embedded in every facet of our lives, populating the places most people strive to avoid, yet visit on a daily basis. He prepares our food, cleans up after us, does all those proverbial jobs "nobody wants to". And we would all be well-advised not to dismiss him any more quickly than we might the disenfranchised and disadvantaged African American, Latino, or whatever.
I contend that his ignorance makes him fearful, not hateful (an important distinction). I view the hostility in "One in a Million" as a defensive posture, and maintain that the song itself is a spot-on representation of his emotions, for better or worse, not his opinions.
Controversy aside, both Axl Rose's vocals and Slash's guitar work are pretty astonishing here, rising in intensity as the song progresses. Best vocals from Axl Rose to be found, I'd say.
"Radical and racist, don't point your finger at me / I'm a small town white boy, just trying to make ends meet / don't need your religion, don't watch that much TV..."
#114) "Tuesday's Gone" by Hank Williams Jr. - Another cover that does the original justice, lending it a sky-draped drama. This is the version I've turned to over time, time and time again, whenever Tuesday has gone.
"Now I don't know where I am going / I really wanna be left alone..."
Showing posts with label paper tongues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paper tongues. Show all posts
Friday, October 3, 2014
Friday, December 13, 2013
The Top 100 (or so) Songs I Absolutely Must Have With Me on 1/48/50 (cont...)
#56) "Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate" by Jackson Browne - When I was in high school, I was constantly on the hunt for musical heroes. While all in all I have fairly eclectic tastes, my 'heroes' list has never strayed too far from what I call white boy troubadours: John Lennon, Meat Loaf, Bruce Springsteen, Hank Williams Jr., Frank Sinatra, Tom Waits, among others, and principal among them (at least from age 16-22, when it mattered most): Bob Seger.
One night long ago, somewhere, I so frustrated a girlfriend (we'll call her Sammy) with a blowhard-ish sermon about what Seger's music is really saying (and that I was likely the only one understanding) that she blurted out, "You know what? I don't think you're Bob Seger at all...if you're 'like' anyone, it's him!"
She pointed to the radio. 'Him' was Jackson Browne. The song playing at the time, Running on Empty.
"What the hell does that mean?" I said, flailing in the most sticky and viscous indignation my 18-year-old self could muster, as though she'd just questioned my manhood.
"I just don't think you're Bob Seger," she shrugged flatly. "You remind me of that guy."
I was appalled! Jackson Browne was obviously no Bob Seger, and she clearly wasn't listening! She wasn't understanding! She didn't GET me! ;-)
Now, twenty-five years later, I look back on her evaluation and think it was not only spot on, but, frankly, one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me.
Those for whom music is more than mere background noise know what it means to search for heroes, artists from whose songs we can report the news of our existence, compile the soundtrack of our lives. Naturally those heroes change over time, because we grow, evolve and adapt to changing life circumstances and stages. But I think Sammy was right even back then. It took me a while to come to Jackson Browne, because I didn't understand. I wasn't listening. I didn't get "him".
Without question, the viscous 'essence' of me, the stuff that hasn't changed over time, with a long (but not too long) shelf life - how I cope with other people, with myself, with my emotions, with heartache and jubilation alike, with all those drastic changes in circumstances and stages - can be found in the comfy old shoe melancholy of Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate. The highway, the looking back, the looking forward, the old friends slipping away, the mellow, just-this-side-of-sentimental reflection that seeps out of the sunlight...never overwrought, never hyper-sensitive or drama-fueled...yes sir and ma'am, that's pretty much how I've always rolled, emotionally, ever since I've been rolling, or ever since I've been aware that I am.
And I gotta say, it's made for a slow, steady pleasurable ride that I wouldn't trade for anything.
"Sitting down by the highway (looking down the road), waiting for a ride / I don't know where I've been (wishing I could fly away), don't know where I'm going (wishing I could hide)..."
#57) "Love's the Last to Know" - by Bob Seger - Oh Sammy, that poor girl, suffered at the hands of my ego too often! In another instance, it wasn't enough to tell her about Seger, to blather about my essence, about some rarefied plane I'd cooked up in my mind, I felt compelled to play the music for her.
'Just listen to this one song,' I told her, 'and you'll understand what I'm talking about! You'll understand me!'
She reluctantly agreed to give a listen, and as I fumbled to rewind the cassette tape to just the right spot, I caught her rolling her eyes.
'Does this song have a lot of piano in it?' she groaned.
An astute observation, I've always thought, for a couple of reasons, and the answer, of course: hell yes, a lot of piano.
Love's the Last to Know doesn't move me quite like it used to. But it illustrates as vividly as a photograph the type of person I was once, or thought I would be...er, at least tried to make myself. And it still makes me think of morning as the best time to skip town. To that end, I have no doubt 1/48/50 will be launched in Steinbeck's hour of the pearl.
"There's a distant sound, to the outward bound, on a cold and windy night / A restless sigh as it fades away, a longing at first light..."
#58) "Whiskey River" by Willie Nelson - I'm not sure where this particular live version was recorded (Austin City Limits...?), or what album it was first released on (Willie and Family Live...?) but it is a great example of musical innovation, vastly different from the 1972 original by the lesser-known Johnny Bush, who wrote it. A friend of mine could not believe Willie's sharp, funked-out interpretation, which throws the country music playbook (of the time, anyway) out the window, and more importantly, captures a moment in country music history when lines were more blurred. It was harder to figure out just how the likes of Nelson (et al.) identified - as a redneck, or a hippie. Lots of twang and fiddle and pickin' going on (Willie's a killer picker), but rednecks don't groove like this...do they? And what's with the braids and bandanna?
Today, mainstream country music lamentably is mired in stereotypes that don't leave a lot of room for variety. Or braids and bandannas.
As one who has sort of always identified as a little bit redneck and a little bit hippie, and being from Wisconsin, Whiskey River has on more than one occasion provided the perfect accompaniment to the spastic moves I would bust out after 8 or 9 Pabsts, back in my younger days, when Pabst Blue Ribbon wasn't the victim of ignorant hipster whimsy, but simply the beer we could afford.
"Feeling the amber current flowing from my mind...."
#59) "Love Like You" by Paper Tongues - Something about this power ballad stirs me like no other, literally makes my heart beat faster. It's a custom-made wedding song, but encompasses all things good, fresh, and exhilarating. Seriously, this song would have you believe getting out of bed in the morning can or should be a nitrous-fueled acceleration toward the sun as she throws back her long blonde hair.
And really, what in the world could possibly be wrong with that?
"Your heart is a like a castle in my sky..."
One night long ago, somewhere, I so frustrated a girlfriend (we'll call her Sammy) with a blowhard-ish sermon about what Seger's music is really saying (and that I was likely the only one understanding) that she blurted out, "You know what? I don't think you're Bob Seger at all...if you're 'like' anyone, it's him!"
She pointed to the radio. 'Him' was Jackson Browne. The song playing at the time, Running on Empty.
"What the hell does that mean?" I said, flailing in the most sticky and viscous indignation my 18-year-old self could muster, as though she'd just questioned my manhood.
"I just don't think you're Bob Seger," she shrugged flatly. "You remind me of that guy."
I was appalled! Jackson Browne was obviously no Bob Seger, and she clearly wasn't listening! She wasn't understanding! She didn't GET me! ;-)
Now, twenty-five years later, I look back on her evaluation and think it was not only spot on, but, frankly, one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me.
Those for whom music is more than mere background noise know what it means to search for heroes, artists from whose songs we can report the news of our existence, compile the soundtrack of our lives. Naturally those heroes change over time, because we grow, evolve and adapt to changing life circumstances and stages. But I think Sammy was right even back then. It took me a while to come to Jackson Browne, because I didn't understand. I wasn't listening. I didn't get "him".
Without question, the viscous 'essence' of me, the stuff that hasn't changed over time, with a long (but not too long) shelf life - how I cope with other people, with myself, with my emotions, with heartache and jubilation alike, with all those drastic changes in circumstances and stages - can be found in the comfy old shoe melancholy of Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate. The highway, the looking back, the looking forward, the old friends slipping away, the mellow, just-this-side-of-sentimental reflection that seeps out of the sunlight...never overwrought, never hyper-sensitive or drama-fueled...yes sir and ma'am, that's pretty much how I've always rolled, emotionally, ever since I've been rolling, or ever since I've been aware that I am.
And I gotta say, it's made for a slow, steady pleasurable ride that I wouldn't trade for anything.
"Sitting down by the highway (looking down the road), waiting for a ride / I don't know where I've been (wishing I could fly away), don't know where I'm going (wishing I could hide)..."
#57) "Love's the Last to Know" - by Bob Seger - Oh Sammy, that poor girl, suffered at the hands of my ego too often! In another instance, it wasn't enough to tell her about Seger, to blather about my essence, about some rarefied plane I'd cooked up in my mind, I felt compelled to play the music for her.
'Just listen to this one song,' I told her, 'and you'll understand what I'm talking about! You'll understand me!'
She reluctantly agreed to give a listen, and as I fumbled to rewind the cassette tape to just the right spot, I caught her rolling her eyes.
'Does this song have a lot of piano in it?' she groaned.
An astute observation, I've always thought, for a couple of reasons, and the answer, of course: hell yes, a lot of piano.
Love's the Last to Know doesn't move me quite like it used to. But it illustrates as vividly as a photograph the type of person I was once, or thought I would be...er, at least tried to make myself. And it still makes me think of morning as the best time to skip town. To that end, I have no doubt 1/48/50 will be launched in Steinbeck's hour of the pearl.
"There's a distant sound, to the outward bound, on a cold and windy night / A restless sigh as it fades away, a longing at first light..."
#58) "Whiskey River" by Willie Nelson - I'm not sure where this particular live version was recorded (Austin City Limits...?), or what album it was first released on (Willie and Family Live...?) but it is a great example of musical innovation, vastly different from the 1972 original by the lesser-known Johnny Bush, who wrote it. A friend of mine could not believe Willie's sharp, funked-out interpretation, which throws the country music playbook (of the time, anyway) out the window, and more importantly, captures a moment in country music history when lines were more blurred. It was harder to figure out just how the likes of Nelson (et al.) identified - as a redneck, or a hippie. Lots of twang and fiddle and pickin' going on (Willie's a killer picker), but rednecks don't groove like this...do they? And what's with the braids and bandanna?
Today, mainstream country music lamentably is mired in stereotypes that don't leave a lot of room for variety. Or braids and bandannas.
As one who has sort of always identified as a little bit redneck and a little bit hippie, and being from Wisconsin, Whiskey River has on more than one occasion provided the perfect accompaniment to the spastic moves I would bust out after 8 or 9 Pabsts, back in my younger days, when Pabst Blue Ribbon wasn't the victim of ignorant hipster whimsy, but simply the beer we could afford.
"Feeling the amber current flowing from my mind...."
#59) "Love Like You" by Paper Tongues - Something about this power ballad stirs me like no other, literally makes my heart beat faster. It's a custom-made wedding song, but encompasses all things good, fresh, and exhilarating. Seriously, this song would have you believe getting out of bed in the morning can or should be a nitrous-fueled acceleration toward the sun as she throws back her long blonde hair.
And really, what in the world could possibly be wrong with that?
"Your heart is a like a castle in my sky..."
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