365 Day Song Challenge: Day 90 – “Don’t Come Around Here No More”

Day 90: A song you like to sing to babies.

“Don’t Come Around Here No More”
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

Don't Come Around Here No MoreTruth be told, I don’t actually sing to babies. In fact, I avoid babies like the plague. I simply don’t understand people’s affinity for them.

“They’re so cute!” people say. I can buy that. If you find amorphous blobs that drool all over you cute. (I personally think all babies pretty much look alike. I guess that makes me infantist.)

“They smell so good!” people say. I must have different olfactory sensors than other people (or a different definition of “good”), because babies just smell like spit-up formula to me. Which does not smell good; it just smells like bad milk with a hint of bile. And that’s the lesser of the two evils, because just as often, they smell like poop.

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“Doesn’t it make you want to have one?” people ask. Oh sure. In the way that seeing someone else’s festering boil makes me want one of my very own, too.

“It’s different when it’s your own,” people say. Yes. Yes it is, because I’d actually have to keep it for at least 18 years. And feed it, bathe it, pay its way… The list of bad things goes on. As it is now, I can simply hand the child back to you when I’ve had enough.

“What if your parents had thought like that?” people ask. Then I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

Now, I know some people will take offense to all that, (while others will agree whole-heartedly) but please note, I didn’t say you shouldn’t have babies, or like their stink… er… smell, or think they’re cute. I’m just saying that’s how I feel. If everyone felt like I did, the human race would cease to exist. Maybe. But that’s a discussion for another day (and maybe even another blog.)

So, how about that song? Well, given my aversion of people of the short-and-coordinationally-challenged variety, “Don’t Come Around Here No More” seemed like a reasonable, if tongue-in-cheek, option for today’s post. It comes from Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers’ 1985 album Southern Accents, which also spawned the singles “Rebels” and “Make It Better (Forget About Me).”

I think this album is underrated. Its singles were not massive hits (but did get lots of traction on rock stations), but even outside of the singles, songs like “Spike” and the title track are very good as well. And the live version of “Spike” (found on The Live Anthology) with its additional narrative is just great (it quickly jumped on the favorites list when I got The Live Anthology). While it’s a quality album, apparently the recording process was rife with stress (Tom Petty broke his own hand slamming it into a wall) and marred by rampant drug use, making it less of a favorite among the band, but luckily as listeners we don’t have to worry about all that baggage.

Hmm… stress and baggage. Sounds like someone wanting to travel with an infant. And by “travel,” I mean “leave the house for more than five minutes.” Yeah, sign me up for that…

Hey! Don’t come around here no more.

365 Day Song Challenge: Day 89 – “Blue Boy”

Day 89: Your favorite country song.

“Blue Boy” – Jim Reeves

Blue BoyI’ve mentioned before that country music isn’t high up on my list of preferred genres. But, I did grow up with it. As I’ve stated before, my parents were fans of the “hillbilly music” and so, for much of my early childhood, that’s what I heard. There wasn’t a lot I could do about it. It’s validation of the advertising maxim that repetition will make you remember things, even if you don’t like it.

The problem is, I do like some of it. And this galls me more than you know. Whether it’s sheer nostalgia, brainwashing or something else, I can’t say. But there it is. So, I do in fact have a favorite country song. There are a bunch, actually, but I wanted to pick something that was really country. As opposed to something that was a major crossover hit, because the crossover seems to make it “less country,” somehow.

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“Blue Boy” is one of those songs from my childhood. Jim Reeves was blessed with a rich, baritone voice. Accounts vary as to whether it was Reeves himself or producers who wanted him to use higher registers and who conversely “won out” with the result being his use of said baritone. Either way, once he started using it, it became his trademark and his golden ticket.

“Blue Boy” was one of his earlier hits, and is a little more “country” than some of the later material. It begins with a walking bass line and piano riff, and then he kicks in with that voice. This song struck a chord with me long ago and has not let go in the intervening years.

Reeves had a long string of country (and crossover) hits subsequent to “Blue Boy” before a 1964 plane crash cut his life short. (Did you ever notice how many musicians and singers have died in plane crashes? Granted, they tend to do an inordinate amount of traveling, and many of the ones I’m thinking of died in the 50s and 60s when plane travel wasn’t what it is today. But even so, that list is really long.) Savvy marketing on the part of his wife kept him on the charts well into the 70s. This is likely why the Jim Reeves 8-Tracks infiltrated the house.

Close runners-up for today’s post are two songs by the Statler Brothers. It pains me to admit it, but I have a very large soft spot for these guys, too. Yes, I own a few albums. I will now hang my head in shame. Trust me, I’m hanging it, even if you can’t see it.

“Do You Know You Are My Sunshine?” is a very typical, twangy country song. I should, by all rights, hate this song. And then there’s “Who Am I To Say?” This one is less typically twangy, but it is without a doubt in the country fold. Hearing either of these songs puts me back in the living room of our house in Pennsylvania, circa 1979. I can see the green-hued wallpaper and visualize how the room is set up. I have to believe this time transport is all part of the reason I like them today.

And, truth be told, if I wasn’t being picky about the crossover thing, “I Love A Rainy Night” by Eddie Rabbitt would probably have won out. I love this song. I love the beat, the music, the lyrics. When this was popular I used to bop around the roller-skating rink to it. I remember one night one of my friends coming over to me and saying in horror: “Everyone is looking at you!” To which I replied, “so?”

Somewhere along the line that ability to simply not care got beaten out of me. (Junior high can be rough.)

I’d like to get that back.

Do you think if I went to a roller rink they’d play “I Love A Rainy Night” for me?

365 Day Song Challenge: Day 88 – “Dim”

Day 88: A song that you love to work out to.

“Dim” – dada

DimIt should be noted that I find “love to work out to” is a strong statement. It’s the word “love” that I take issue with, really. I am not a huge fan of working out. I’m not any kind of fan of working out, to be perfectly honest. Like Chris Knight, I run only when chased. These are some of the reasons that “My Greatest Challenge” last year was to ride roughly 3700 miles. That much exercise was, indeed, a real challenge.

Which is not to say I absolutely hate working out. I just mostly hate it. I do enjoy riding my bike (once I learn to ignore that gasping for air) and a good spinning class (or a personal spinning session) feels good. I would prefer not to have to exercise, but I like food (and living) too much to completely ignore it.

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Which brings me to “Dim.”

I first mentioned this song back in the post about my favorite song of the 90s. It has an incredibly driving beat, one that made me promise myself long ago never to listen to it while driving at night. Just hearing it puts visions of passing other cars at 100 miles an hour in my head. My foot, which is often secretly in cahoots with my brain on these things, would quickly set the plan into motion. So it’s better just to avoid the temptation completely.

It is, however, perfect for spinning. When the song comes on, I can’t help but start cranking. It’s four minutes and twenty-two seconds of balls-to-the-wall pedaling. Followed by four minutes of rolling around on the floor clutching my stomach and struggling to breathe, and on rare occasions, three minutes of unconsciousness.

“Dim” is from dada’s first album, Puzzle. When it comes to dada songs, readers will be most likely to be familiar with “Dizz Knee Land,” which was the “hit single.” But much like many “one hit wonders” there’s a lot more to dada than that. They’ve actually recorded at least five albums and an EP (that I know of, there may be more lurking out there). I’m most familiar with the first four, and I’ve got to say, it’s another case of “I don’t get it.” As in, why weren’t they more popular? Their other material is just as good, if not better in some cases, than “Dizz Knee Land” but for some reason (I’m going with lack of promotion again) they just didn’t hit.

Many of their songs (“Pretty Girls Make Graves,” “Agent’s Got No Secret,” “Dorina” and many others feature the singers’ great harmonizing (they almost sound like two guys sharing the same voice, but it’s obviously not the case). Musically, they never fall into a rut. Their lyrics are intelligent (generally). Their catalog is varied, although not quite “eclectic.”

Maybe that’s the problem. People want mind-numbing sameness. And choreographed dancing. Yeah, these guys aren’t into that. Sorry.

So check them out. Especially their fourth album dada, which you’d expect to have been the name of the first album, but you’d be wrong. One of my favorites from that album will be the topic of a later post. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I will look for more ways to avoid exercising, unconsciousness, and speeding tickets. I won’t judge you if you join me.

 

365 Day Song Challenge: Day 87 – “Djäpana”

Day 87: A song that you like that’s from a different culture.

“Djäpana” – Yothu Yindi

DjäpanaToday’s choice may be a little sketchy, depending on your interpretation of the challenge.

“Djäpana” is a song by Yothu Yindi, a group composed of both Australian Aboriginals and non-Aboriginal members. The music has a western sound, but it is strongly influenced by the Aboriginal culture and makes good use of native instruments, such as yidaki (more commonly known as the didgeridoo). The video for the song also embraces and celebrates the Aboriginal culture.

When I returned to Australia in 1992, the group had recently released its Tribal Voice album, which spawned not only “Djäpana” but also another hit called “Treaty.” And both were doing well in the ARIA charts.

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This was a little surprising to me, because at the time, racism was still pretty rampant in Australia. (That’s not to say it isn’t here in the US, too, but I saw more blatant evidence of it there than I had ever witnessed personally here.) Hopefully that’s changed in the intervening two decades, but I can’t say for sure. In fact, some of the lyrics in “Djäpana” deal with that, as well:

Hey, you people
Out there
How come
You ain’t fair
To the people
Of the land
Try my, try my, sunset dreaming

Now, to be sure, it’s not all Australians who held those views. Bands like Midnight Oil (and others) were doing what they could to not only change the “mainstream view” of the Aboriginals, but also to work towards Aboriginal rights. I think they were attempting to bridge the gap, to varying degrees of success. (Some people will never change their minds.) Songs like “The Dead Heart” and “Warakurna” are in the vein of trying to get people on each side of the race line to understand each other (and their issues) better. Here’s hoping…

On a less serious note, “Djäpana” could have been a serious contender for the “song you change the words to when you sing it” post. I’ve been singing the native lyrics wrong for so many years, I couldn’t even begin to get them right at this point. For example, the song starts with (and it might be helpful to start the video now and listen as you read):

Wo-o-o djäpana
Wo-o-o warwu

Now, I stayed in a small town called Kiama, and there was a nearby town called Warrawong. The way “warwu” from the lyric above is sung, it always sounded like “Warrawong” to me (even though I knew it wasn’t) so that’s what I sang.

For mis-sung lyric #2, direct your attention to about 0:15 in the video. Tell me it doesn’t sound like they’re chanting “puffed wheat” (or “buckwheat”, take your pick, although given the stereotype usually associated with that it could be considered a little bit racist in itself). I honestly have no idea what they’re actually saying. So, “puffed wheat” it is.

Note the  didgeridoo in that passage as well.

Hmm? Why, yes, I am trying to draw your attention away from my idiocy, in fact. Did it work?

But back to the matter at hand. No, “Djäpana” is not a “pure” example of a song from another culture. It’s not really “World Music” as we’ve come to know it. I suppose I could have gone with something from Paul Simon or Peter Gabriel, but I don’t feel like that counts since it’s coming primarily from a very “Anglo” artist, even if there are World Music elements to it. My choice is not something from Africa or South America, but the Aboriginals have their own unique culture. One that should be respected and celebrated. Despite its Western leanings, “Djäpana” is about as close as I can come using songs that are actually in my collection.

And at the end of the day, I just like it.

Sunset dreaming…

365 Day Song Challenge: Day 86 – “Industrial Disease”

Day 86: A song you wish you heard often on the radio.

“Industrial Disease” – Dire Straits

Industrial DiseaseBefore Mark Knopfler wanted his MTV and Dire Straits had massive (and I mean massive) success, they had “Industrial Disease.” It didn’t fare so well on the Hot 100 chart, but did reach #9 on the Top Tracks chart (now called Mainstream Rock) which measures airplay specifically on rock-oriented stations. It was during this buzz of airplay that I originally became acquainted with the song.

Unfortunately, it didn’t get then and doesn’t get now as much play as I would like, generally eschewed for more popular fare like “Money For Nothing,” “Sultans Of Swing” and “Walk Of Life” if Dire Straits gets played at all.

Dire Straits is a band I appreciate more and more as I get older. Mark Knopfler, in general, writes challenging, nuanced music that you need to work a little bit to get into. There are exceptions, of course. Most of Brothers In Arms, their 1985 breakout hit, was much more accessible compared to much of the rest of their catalog, and then there were the radio favorites such as the aforementioned “Sultans Of Swing.” And today’s song.

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Love Over Gold, the album from which “Industrial Disease” sprang, contains only 5 songs. At 5:55, “Industrial Disease” is the shortest of the lot, which tells you something right there. The album also includes “Telegraph Road,” a 14+ minute opus based around the theme of the roads that stretch across the United States. That song spends about seven minutes slowly building up (because, I guess it’s hard to spend seven minutes quickly building up) to its main story of a modern-day man and his struggles in Detroit (near the titular Telegraph Road). I’ve owned this album for about 15 years, and over that time my appreciation has slowly grown, but I have to admit, I still struggle with it a little bit (and this is from the guy who has no problem with “Supper’s Ready.”)

This is not an album that you immediately “get.”

“Industrial Disease,” though, was pretty accessible and a song I’ve always liked. It was really the only reason for me buying Love Over Gold. I didn’t know anything else on the album, and I bought it only because the song is simply not available anywhere else. Not live, not on greatest hits packages, nothing. It’s like Knopfler disavowed this song for some reason. Otherwise I probably would have skipped Love Over Gold completely.

As a keyboard guy, that’s what originally grabbed me, and I love the walking bass line but the lyrics are interesting as well. “Industrial Disease” is about a fictitious malady, but is symbolic of the state of the manufacturing industry. Or so I’m told. I’m in it for the humor, really.

Doctor Parkinson declared “I’m not surprised to see you here
You’ve got smoker’s cough from smoking, brewer’s droop from drinking beer
I don’t know how you came to get the Bette Davis knees
But worst of all young man you’ve got Industrial Disease”

But by far my favorite line in the song (and one that at various times I’ve used as my email signature) is:

Two men say they’re Jesus
One of them must be wrong.

That never fails to make me smile.

Once Brothers In Arms came out, this song had no chance of airplay, really. I mean, what are you going to pick if you’re a programming director? The massive, former #1 hit or the song that some guy in Massachusetts and maybe twelve other people like? (Being the guy in Massachusetts, I know what my answer would be, but I’m a little wacked anyway.)

Maybe I need one of the Jesuses (Jesi?) to intervene. The problem is picking the right one.