Dianne Pearce Writes

“Grumpy Old Man” (by Remi Wolf).

Remi Wolf, you delightful youngster, I wish you lived next door to me.

I hope, if you read this post, you will take a listen to her song, and even try a few more by her.

This starts out with a little funk thing going on, bass guitar and maybe some upright bass too? What do I know? It sounds like it. When I hear that, I immediately want to get up and start moving.

Then you get these odd little bells dropping in at the end of a section, like someone’s rung the doorbell, or like the bell before an announcement in a 1960s department store, “Ladies shoes on special this week in our shoe department, floor three.”

“Bo Diddly buy baby a diamond ring, do do do, dodo dodo” wild little flourish there that seems to have nothing to do with the theme of the song lyrics except in the general “don’t take my stuff” vibe at the end.

And the video. Weird, Delightful. Odd. Funny. It looks like she made the video with her cousin Jeffrey and her neighbor Mr. Mackinaw. She definitely thrifted her awkward blue raincoat and her Devo energy dome hat from the 1970s, and she’s wearing a pair of glasses you could have taken off of Rhoda’s face.

I first heard Miss Remi on NPR.

Okay, let’s pause here and thank His Noodly Wonderfulness for NPR. Are you listening to NPR? OMGosh, I could write a whole thing about that. It’s the best, especially if you’re a poor adjunct and you have to commute to hell-and-gone to make a few bucks.

Anywho, I first heard Miss Remi on NPR, as well of a host of other music I just love, and will give a shout-out to Lily Allen, who was also brought to me by NPR. And I don’t think that Lily and Remi are anything alike, but they are both fresh crisp singers with a sense of humor, which I love, since I, myself, me, am also hysterical. I am. Come hang-out and see. And how do I know that both of these ladies are on fleek? Sophie likes them both too, and she doesn’t like anything musically that I like. No jazz, no Amy Winehouse, no Beatles, no Stones, no Split Ends. But, she does love Cake and Weezer… so go figure. Because they’re hysterical too, maybe, like her mom. 😉

I heard this song, by Remi Wolf, when I was driving, and when I got home I immediately started asking my Alexa to play it. Then I looked up the video, and I was hooked, and I started doing her “pull the horn on the big truck” dance around the kitchen. I even kinda want that awkward blue coat.

I’m in my 50s, so, to Remi Wolf, sadly, I’m definitely an old lady, and probably not her desired fan base, but I love this woman. And I love, from what I can see from when I became aware of things that were “cool” in the 70s, to now, how society has really shifted, at least in terms of musicians and people we like on YouTube videos, influencers, whatever, to allow for so much more diversity. Wikipedia says that Wolf is bisexual, Russian, Persian, and Italian, so that’s a little diverse, and she’s not some “perfect doll” looking singer either. She’s funky and fun, and creative with her persona and her look. I just moved back to Los Angeles so that my daughter could go to this relatively new arts charter school, which is in collaboration with the public school in the area, and is awesome, and I see, there, though the principals of the combined schools still wear business formal, that the kids are really free, so free, and so imaginative, and so creative, and so accepting of each other’s weirdness, or lack of weirdness. My daughter gravitates toward funny people, as she would, having been raised by a mom who’s hysterical, but aside from that, she really doesn’t care, and everyone (only about 1/3 of the kids have opted-in to the art part of the school) is cool with each other. Anyone can eat lunch with anyone. My daughter hangs with all girls at the moment, opposite from elementary school when she hung with mostly boys, but some of them speak barely any English, some are of mixed heritage, some are probably not straight, but they may be too young to know, some are fancy dressers, some are punks, my daughter is a hoodies and sweats person currently (which is amusing because the little girl who hung with the boys was 100% dresses and glitter), some of the kids have hair color from the Crayola box, others have perfectly boring hair. If one of them hopped up from the lunch table and started doing a Remi Wolf sort of thing, I believe the rest of them would be delighted, and the more outgoing would join in and the more ingoing would enjoy the show. There is this freedom, with many school-age kids, that I don’t think we had when I was a kid, though I certainly had more than my parents had. My brother was 9 years older than me, and I am 8 years older than my sister, so a pretty big span, and I am going to say the acceptance for weirdness did not progress during that time. I was fairly openly weird t school, and my classmates thought I was fairly weird. It wasn’t a “that’s just her vibe; she’s okay” kinda thing. I’d even venture to say the 90s got more buckled down, and that may have stretched over the aughts too. But now things are loosening up.

And, in my view, Remi Wolf is a perfect example of the feeling I feel out here among the kids my daughter hangs with now. Everything is flowing, and free-to-be-you-and-me in a way Marlo Thomas could never have imagined. I know it’s not like that everywhere; it certainly wasn’t like that in Milton; those parents seemed to want their kids to be happy, as long as they weren’t too happy, and as long as that didn’t involve any tastes or interests different than family had always had. And you gotta love sports. Sports. And it seemed to come with a threat of losing your family if you were not in-step. Out here the kids I’ve met seem to flow, like seaweed in the Sargasso Sea, and their parents are there as home base, but not to make the rules. It’s cool. It reminds me of everything I feel in this song, free flow, but okay to be odd, have silly fears, wear clothing that is an awkward shade of blue and a ridiculous hat, and just go, feel the sun, feel the beat, feel the joy of being who and what you are. And the sports kids hang with the band kids who hang with the no-extra-stuff kids who hang with the autistic kid who flutters from group to group hugging everyone and no one minds or says, “This ain’t your group.”

So, yeah, I could hear this song all day. And, looking up Remi for this piece, I see it may have been used in a macaroni and cheese ad, and why not? Macaroni and cheese is delicious.

Remi Wolf is delicious. Rock-on Woman! I adore you.

Today marks the first anniversary of the death of the legendary legal visionary, who was the first female tenured professor at Columbia Law School and the second woman to serve as a justice on the U.S. Supreme Court, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg ’59.

RBG has been called a lot of things: a trailblazer, a role model, the “Notorious RBG.” To us her most fitting description is “feminist icon.” During her life she worked to break down stereotypical gender norms, fought against patriarchy as a whole, recognizing how it oppresses men and women alike, and destroyed misconceptions about feminism in order to uplift anyone who felt marginalized.

I know that I was horrified when she died, so unprepared for it, and so angry when that Cheeto pushed through a Stepford Wife to replace her.

AND I KNOW THIS TOO:

We will never progress in our gender until women start agreeing to some basic fundamental things, like, our bodies should be our own. Regardless about how you personally feel about terminating a pregnancy, no woman on Earth can be truly free if she doesn’t, first and foremost, have the final say about her own physical body, and her safety in that body. That is the first thing. We MUST own us; we MUST have the final say about us. I am the mother of an adopted child, and I am so grateful her mother carried her to term, but I still support the right of ALL women, everywhere, to be the ultimate owners of their bodies. I have no business telling you what to do with your hair, or your face, or your clothes, or your uterus, or etc. And you don’t have any business prescribing to me, or another women, and ALL those who are not women have even less business telling women what to do.

So, try to come to grips with this one thing: ALL adults should own their own bodies. To be an adult is to, fundamentally, be trusted with yourself. And like everything in life, some of us will do better than others, but that does not negate our absolute right to own our own choices, successes, and fuck-ups.

May Ruth, one of the hardest working humans, male or female, who ever lived, live on in us, in women, and in the starlight that glows over us all every night, and in the bright sunlight that lights our days.

And may Ruth remind me to keep teaching my daughter to be an autonomous woman who knows she can make her own choices and own the consequences of them. And may Ruth remind me to turn my own head back to what is important to me, put my nose on that grindstone, and keep working toward my goals, and working hard. Life is for accomplishing things. You’ll sleep when you’re dead…. lol.

“The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” (by Traffic).

The thing I see, whenever I look this song up, is “What is that song about?”

Well, let’s look at it. I feel like I always got it, but here’s the lyrics to help:

If you see something that looks like a star
And it’s shooting up out of the ground
And your head is spinning from a loud guitar
And you just can’t escape from the sound
Don’t worry too much, it’ll happen to you
We were children once, playing with toys

And that thing that you’re hearing is only the sound of
The low spark of high-heeled boys

The percentage you’re paying is too high priced
While you’re living beyond all your means
And the man in the suit has just bought a new car
From the profit he’s made on your dreams
But today you just read that the man was shot dead
By a gun that didn’t make any noise
But it wasn’t the bullet that laid him to rest, was
The low spark of high-heeled boys

If you had just a minute to breathe
And they granted you one final wish
Would you ask for something like another chance
Or something sim’lar as this
Don’t worry too much It’ll happen to you
As sure as your sorrows are joys

And the thing that disturbs you is only the sound of
The low spark of high-heeled boys

The percentage you’re paying is too high priced
While you’re living beyond all your means
And the man in the suit has just bought a new car
From the profit he’s made on your dreams
But today you just read that the man was shot dead
By a gun that didn’t make any noise
But it wasn’t the bullet that laid him to rest, was
The low spark of high-heeled boys (high heeled boys)

If I gave you everything that I owned
And asked for nothing in return
Would you do the same for me as I would for you
Or take me for a ride
And strip me of everything, including my pride
But spirit is something that no one destroys

And the thing that disturbs you is only the sound of
The low spark of high-heeled boys

So, what is that about?

I always thought this: Boys (men), in the 1960s and 70s, were openly playing with fashion and gender in a way they never had before, and some of them had long hair and high heels on their boots, and those in bands were being robbed blind (often) by their record companies(the percentage you’re paying is too high) and that, eventually, those bad, judgmental greedy men in suits who buy themselves cars from profits made from the creativity and dreams of the boys are going to be laid low by the spark of genius in these young gender-bending (read as “free”) boys.

There you go. Wasn’t that easy?

And the last verse is just asking lovers and friends to be kind to each other.

This song is about 1/3 of my desired length, much more than the others I have put in this series. Yay! Traffic!

I believe this song can be classified as a fugue.

I think it is absolutely delicious in the way that, rarely, booze of some sort can be delicious. I once had a lychee sake that was like that: perfumed, it hung there on my tongue like a first French kiss…. Then the booze hit my blood, and all my limbs weakened in an utterly delightful way.

“The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” does the same thing. It hangs there, slowly seeping into all your pores, and then it speeds up and moves you along to the next sip. Keep that simmering buzz going.

Once my sweet brother made me a CD that contained nothing but the song “Smooth” by Santana six times in a row.

“The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” is the same. It should be on a long lazy loop through your entire weekend. And you should be feeling your beauty as you listen to it, dancing slowly through your kitchen, knowing that it won’t be a gun that makes things better, but the low spark of genius from you, and those high heeled boys.

Can you dig it?

Thank you, Plants and Poetry, for publishing one of my favorite poems I have ever written, “The Itch.” AND if you click on the link (the photo, or poem name) you can not only read my ode to bad gardening, you can hear ME read it to you! There is an MP4 there you can click on just above the poem’s title.

I love love love writing poetry, but poetry is a hard sell, and my poems are long trailing vining affairs, like “The Itch,” and that makes them an even harder sell to publishers and even readers.

I was extra happy that when my poem was accepted the editor wrote, “This poem is much different than others that have been submitted and I really enjoyed it. I like your voice. I think it will make an excellent addition.” I think my poetry is different than most poems that get published, and I am so glad she appreciated it for its difference.

Usually (and I know a lot of authors don’t like hearing this but) there is a fee to submit a poem anywhere, and journals may be themed, which may mean there is only one poem you have that could hit the mark. That can get to be pricey. And there is a lot of rejection.

The best we can do is try, and try, and try again, and, somehow, all by ourselves, keep our hopes up, which, if you read my poem, “The Itch,” is not that different from gardening.

I have had some other poems published online if you’re curious.

How to Swim Under Water. This one I published myself (I mean, I do run a publishing company, so occasionally the boss lets me sneak one in). Because it is collage and poetry combined, you may (fellow eyeglasses wearers) need to click on it to read it clearly.

Good Dog This poem is brought to you directly by slower lower Delaware, where one sees such things on a much too regular basis.

Jackie Don’t You Go This last one was written about two years ago, and revised and hacked at a bit before publication last year. A poem that has a lot of emotion to express can get so big that you have to chop at it and “smallen” it so it is not completely maudlin dreck. It is about my friend, Jackie B. who died at her own hands before the internet was a thing, so I cannot even check the spelling of her name. She was a bit older than me, and just a lovely human being, both inside, and out. I was envious of her poise, her kindness and calm affect, and her physical beauty. She was independent, and I truly thought she had it all figured out. She had none of it figured out, and, all these years later, I am still trying to come to terms with her actions and the loss of her, and how, for the rest of us, we keep ourselves going when we know that we have none of it figured out.

Well, you ignore the rejections, and you celebrate the wins.

Here’s to you having a win soon. Share it when you do; we need to know people are winning.

To Love Somebody by The Bee Gees

I grew up on this song.

My dad loved The Bee Gees, and we just passed his birthday. It would have been his 87th? I think so.

My dad was a man’s man, and so were The Bee Gees. Good-looking (more or less) Australian guys, macho culture (at the time), singing a song about a girl not treating him/them like a man, because she is not meeting his/their desires. A bit sexist, yup.

And you can see, in the video, how masculine and confident Barry is. He holds his place at the front of his family in that video. I was very surprised to see that it is actually Maurice hitting those “oh no no!” bits. Maurice died first, and never got a lot of attention, but his voice is flawless, and he sounds just like Barry. Robin was often the lead, did you know that? And from this video it appears that Robin must have had dental work done after they had made some money, because he certainly looked much different by the Saturday Night Fever days.

I think The Bee Gees are often dismissed with the whole “Disco Sucks” thing.

First of all, The Bee Gees do not suck; they were very talented singers, and I have a hard time finding a song by them I don’t like, and my dad felt the same.

Second, and I have to say this, loud and proud, DISCO DOES NOT SUCK.

This song is pre-their disco days, but still.

“Disco sucks,” I think, was a way to push out Black artists and other non-white guy groups who had begun to take a serious bite of the rock market. The Bee Gees, well, most American white guys weren’t afraid of The Bee Gees stealing their women. They dismissed them as effeminate. And I think Disco was dismissed for the same thing, but Disco is awesome, and The Bee Gees are awesome too.

And this song, I can feel the angst in it, sexist or not, and I love it. It’s a simple song, but it digs into the soul with it’s tune, and that elevates this song to one I could hear all day long (and, today, I probably will).

While looking for this song today, I found two more amazing versions of it.

First, Janis Joplin.

Fuck, Janis, Grrrrrrl!. “A volatile vial of nitroglycerin,” reads Dick Cavett. Hell yes. I mean, how did she turn it on every single time? How did she know how to riff so flawlessly? How did her body dance from the waist down, and suffer on the cross from the waist up? Damn I love this version, and I never heard it before today.

And, if you didn’t know this about me, I am a huge Janis fan. If you want to karaoke sometime, I’ll do my “Summertime” for you. I do a pretty terrible Janis impersonation, but I feel it when I do it. Janis, man, the rest of us are just amateurs.

And there is one more version I discovered.

And another musical thing you probably didn’t know about me.

Add this to disco, and I may damage my reputation for being cool.

(Wait, you have a reputation for being cool? Fuck yeah I do. )

I like Michael Buble.

I love his voice.

Most of his songs are sappy, but I love his voice. I think he adds something to Sinatra, and I just wish he sang more songs that were worth his time, and less pap.

His voice is great.

And in this video, not only is his voice great, but he’s even got a little sexy-something going on I don’t usually feel about him. It’s a little bit of Andrew Scott.(fuck me… Andrew Scott….)

And clearly he’s channelling the late-great Robert Palmer in this video, so what’s not to like?

Mmmmmm…. mmm.

Enjoy a little dessert Buble on me.

Can you dig it?