Tag: love

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IT SHOULD BE LIKE A HALF AN HOUR VOLUME 13: DISC 2 SIDE 2

I cannot believe how long it has been since I last did one of these posts.

Well, I’m back baby. 🙂

Once upon a time I had a fairly large vinyl collection. And then I started moving often. I took the whole collection with me to the dorms my first year of college, and when I flunked out that first year and my mother kicked me out of the house, I took the whole collection (and my rickety record player)

And here it is (thank you eBay!):

From there I went, eventually, back to my parents’ house, which was the worts place for me, and for which I blame Ronald Reagan (there were no jobs). After I got my degree, and then a few jobs, I moved myself and my record collection to my boyfriend’s house. But that lasted about 3 years because I am a bad picker, and so I eventually decied to move out so his new girlfriend could move in, even though he would have been happy to have me stay on, oddly enough.

My record collection and I went from the suburbs to Philly. I had an awesome, if rodent-infested, apartment in West Philly for about three years, until I managed to buy a small twin in Roxborough. I lived there for one of the longer periods of staying-put, just about seven years, and then, having both gotten sick of the parking situation (trashcans in the street anyone?) and swept David off his feet, I moved to CA, and sold or donated most of my collection (and, luckily, my sister showed up at the donation place right after I left, and she rescued a few of them, (inlcuding my Wings Over America, which she very kindly returned to me last month! It still has all the skips in it I remember. Delicious!) Of course the record player, the double of which is now selling on eBay, had long since died, so there was not anything to play the vinyl on anyway. And have you attempted to travel with vinyl? It slips and slides and weighs a literal ton. But, it is still my favorite way to listen to music.

Just to get us up to date: I spent 4 years in Venice Beach, and 4 years in Canoga Park, and then we went back to the East Coast, reluctantly for me. There was a year back in my mother’s house (my father was gone), which, was, again, the worst place for me, and then we landed in teeny tiny Milton. Whicle we were there my sister, who was living n Brooklyn, found a record player in the trash which she gave to me, and I started lisstening to my little stash once again. I had mostly saved the family Christmas albums that my mother had tried to sell at a garage sale once in my presence (the Philistine!), my small jazz collection, my smaller bluegrass and cajun collection, and a few rock albums. We then spent (I believe) exactly 7 years in Milton (about 3 too many), and then we came back to CA, and we spent 1.5 years in Montclair, and now we’ve settled in Monrovia. We’ve been here almost 9 months, and I could see myself not leaving, actually. We’re renting, which is not ideal (it’s been 16 years since I last had a rental), but we’re one-block from a street full of restaurants, which I love, and we turn the corner from our rental and see the mountains, and we’re all very happy. It’s like we found our way back home, to some extent. And so I have started collecting vinyl again, and we have just a wonderful front porch, and David recently surprised me with a second record player, very small, for the front porch. The past couple of weeks I’ve been lugging the laptop out to the porch (and the precious coffee), and working out there, and now I have music too, which is very distracting, but I do love it.

And this is about one of the most recent albums I bought, which I used to have on CD, lord do I hate cds! But that’s what we used to have for the car. In any case, I got myself BY THE WAY by one of my top 5 favorite rock bands, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, on vinyl. It’s a two record set, and disc 2 side 2 has four songs on it that I wish, each one of them, would never end.

I think I first got into the Chili Peppers when they put out “Breaking the Girl,” which is on BLOOD SUGAR SEX MAGIK (which Dave got me on vinyl to go with the record player!). And that song is a really well known one, and a really good example of why I love them. First of all… funk. I love funk, and, in my view, they are funk. Second, they have a vibe, a thing that goes on in their music which I can only describe as cacophony. It sounds like someone is tapping a glass, and someone else is banging pot lids, and someone else is clapping, or there are street sounds, just… a lot of sound. Their songs are really layered and tend to, in general, really improve my mood any time I hear them. They make me want to move around.

Disc 2 side 2 is one of their more mellow outings, but it still has the layers of musics and noise, and it makes me want to move and sing, and I get it gloriously stuck in my head. I expect I will wear out the album, but it will be this side I destroy first, in the same way you might destroy your favorite teddy bear from sleeping with it so hard.

The first track is “On Mercury.” It has a Mexican/mariachi sound to it. I’m a big Herb Alpert fan, and it is reminicsent of that sound I think. It reminds me a bit of “The Lonely Bull.” It’s fast and upbeat, and it repeats the chorus, and I love the idea of “lemon trees on Mercury,” because I am certain that if trees on Mercury were possible, the would be lemon yellow, almost as if being so close to the sun burned them yellow, rather than buring them black.

“I change the key from C to D; you see to me it’s just a minor thing; he knows everything.” The second track on thsi side is “Minor Thing,” and even though minor keys are associated with being down, or sinister sounding, this song is very upbeat. The guitar that anchors this song sounds like vintage U2, and I would be willing to bet there’s a flute or recorder being played though it. It’s a fast song, and a little bit rap, and I just feel like it’s clever.

Then the tempo slows and Kiedis sings, “Shiver for me girl…,” and goes on to sing, “….swim for your smile in a blue rock quarry,” and ends with the words, “…settle for love.” It’s got an orchestra playing along with the band, and I think it’s very romantic (and it helps that I’ve always found the whole band to be easy on the eyes). It’s called “Warm Tape,” and I find myself going through my day repeating the “shiver for me girl” part over and over, though I confess I don’t “get” the title.

The last song on disc two side two is “Venice Queen..”

SatoriTree has this to say about it on Reddit:

If it’s true, it makes it even better. It’s not a slow song, but the vibe is very mellow, and it begins sounding almost mystical. Flea does great harmonies on this one, and he and Anthony sound to me like they could be family because their voices meld so well. I like to sing Flea’s part when I sing along, but I often like to sing the harmony. I think I would have made a fantastic back-up singer, can hold a harmony well, and I’m not really looking to be a front man.

LOL, in some ways, maybe that is why I am so passionate about publishing people. I’m not a front man, really, but I’m a helluva back-up singer.

While I have been picking away at the keys trying to write this post, being interrupted by my daughter, and my dog, multiple times over, I have listened to this on repeat, disc two side two, about 4 times, and when I finish typing this, I’m going to start it again.

“I see you standing bby the sea; the waves you made will always be; a kiss goodbye before you leave, G*L*O*R*I*A is love…. my friend, my friend, my friend….

I think anyone who dismisses the RHCP out of hand as just noise, or whatever, needs to really take a listen. This band has very complicted music, and gorgeous lyrics, and they just may be hiding them from people who judge them by their looks. And, as I alluded to above, I like their looks just as much as their music. But, really, this is a complex and talented band, and every time they make new music, I’m in.

OH MY GOODNESS, how did I just find this today?:

So fun! I love the Peppers!

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IT SHOULD BE LIKE A HALF AN HOUR VOLUME 12: “Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

HA! I got you! You thought I was going to put up the Beatles version, didn’t you?

Well, there’s a reason I didn’t put that first, but I will put it below.

George, I never knew him, but he always struck me as soft and gentle, in the way that men are not supposed to be soft and gentle. And I think it was very hard for him, as it is for so many people in so many bands, not to be overshadowed by the other members. And I am a Beatle girl, until the age of 30 or so, there was no other band I would spend my limited record money on (aside from Wings, because I was desperately in love with Paul). So I love the Beatles version, but George was given so few slots in the band’s catalogue, so let’s begin with him here, and paired with another gentle great, Paul Simon. And BONUS, if you watch all the way through you get “Homeward Bound” too, one of my favorite S&G songs. I had S&G’s greatest hits (still do have it) because I stole it from my brother, so that was his record money, not mine, and I know I that I probably wore out “Homeward Bound” and “America.”

But this is about the great song, “Here Comes the Sun, ” which I have literally had on “Alexa” repeat since Dave took Sophie to school… so a few hours.

What do I like about it?

Well, it’s plinky might be the first thing I would say. It’s got great plinky guitar. I like plinky guitar; I am a big fan of it. Secondly, that plinky guitar acts like an extra voice: it follows the melody through the song, literally singing the main tune right along with George. I remember hearing that the Beatles had conflict over George wanting to (often) have the guitar follow the melody in the songs, as an extra voice. And the story went that Paul didn’t like it. I do not know if that is true, and Paul may be the sometimes most-hated Beatle, but the guy is a hugely successful songwriter, so there’s that. I think the plinky and the guitar acting like a voice works here, and ads to the gentleness of the song.

The second thing I like about “Here Comes the Sun” is that it is understated. If we assume it’s England, where the sun often hides, and it’s been a long cold lonely sunless period, then WOW! the sun is out!!!
But this is “Here comes the sun… do-do-do-do…,” and “…it’s alright.” It’s low-key, low energy, they way an introvert gets excited about things. Harrison was probably an introvert, and I feel that, and I feel that low-key excitement. It’s no less joyful for not being an explosion of confetti and balloons.

I chose this song today because yesterday I took my teen daughter into teen-daughter heaven, what you probably know of as a store called Claire’s. I have had some fun times finding little doo-dads (doo-dads, am I 100 years old?) at Claire’s, but the three or four times I have been there in 2023 I have been assaulted, every single damn time, by the same two songs, one a country western song, and one a pop song, both of which are guilty of crap formulaic song writing and being ear worms. I will not name the atrocities lest they attack you too. I sentence them to exile from the planet. And clearly neither song writer ever listened to George Harrison.

So, I am using George today, to lift my mood in a gentle “I might have a hangover” way, and also because George can be heard over and over and exterminate those earworms without becoming one himself, because George would never do that. George has mad skills. And I love George with ELO, on his own, with The Beatles, and really quite a lot with The Traveling Wilburys, a band that was much too short-lived.

And, on that note, I want to introduce you to another George song that I adore:

“Give Me Love” almost always brings me to the edge of tears, and not because of the lyrics. The music is sweet, and sad, and… oh I dunno. It’s just something.

It’s good to have gentleness in the craziness of life. George gave us gentleness.

Rest well George. Thanks for all the gentle sweetness.

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IT SHOULD BE LIKE A HALF AN HOUR VOLUME 11

“Would you welcome now, to the midnight special, the fabulous Bee Gees!”

“Nights on Broadway” is one of those wonderful “stalker” songs from the 60s and 70s. If you’ve ever been stalked, it isn’t even remotely funny, so, ignore my rude post, and I apologize. And, in the 50s, 60s, and 70s (not all of which I was alive for), and probably many decades previously, stalking was A-ok. It was how a young man professed his obsessional love for HIS woman. Got it? It was okay; nobody thought anything of it beyond, “Why is she being so cruel to the one who truly loves her?” I’ll tell you why, now, as a grownup, in hindsight, it’s because of the stalking.

Yes, yes, okay.

But, this is a freaking great song! And so just ignore the stalker bits and take the words with a grain of salt.

Robin reminds me of Neville Longbottom, and he dances about as well as I would expect Neville Longbottom to dance, but as Jamal says in this video, he isn’t using anything artificial to get himself to those high notes, and neither is Maurice.

Maurice is, IMHO the cutest Bee Gee, which of course does not count their absolutely scrummy younger bother who was not in the group, Andy Gibb. Whatever genetics were doing in that family, they got it perfect with Andy, but Andy, sadly, did not survive Rock & Roll.

I love, BTW, watching Jamal watch the Be Gees. Jamal’s kinda scrummy too, easy-on-the-eyes, and he’s adorable watching music he hasn’t heard before.

I’m just trying to keep the whole “stalker vibe” going you know.

And I just have to wax poetic about the harmony going on here. The Bee Gees usually have three layers of vocal going on, which makes sense. And I really enjoy singing along to this one and jumping from branch to branch, level to level. I’ve become a mezzo in my old age, but once I get warmed up, I can still hit those Maurice high notes. “Oh yeah yeah. Yeah!”

Because of those levels, it’s a song most singers can sing along to. You just find your range. It’s there.

I love the idea, too, of blaming the behavior, the “out of control” on the nights on Broadway. I have had those moments, more when I was younger I admit, where I was so pumped up and excited (nothing to do with booze or other substances, this pumped-up must come from your own endorphins), that I felt sure that something magical was going to happen, or that, if I did something reckless, like grab someone and kiss them, it would not be my fault.

I actually did grab someone and kiss them once. Adrian Smith (I think it was Smith) had gone to Paris with me and a bunch of other kids in 9th or 10th grade. In Paris I was many things that I really enjoyed: I was proficient in the language (at the time) with a good accent; I was free of my f-ing parents; I was free of my “boring weirdo nerd” status in high school; and I was, for the first fucking time in my life, autonomous, because my French teacher was a delightfully absentee landlord. I went wherever I wanted in Paris, and my friends followed because I was the best at French, reading maps, navigating subways, and asking for directions, and I also had a lot of ideas about where we should go.

Getting on the plane to go home was like walking to the gallows for me. It was like I had finally been able to breathe, and the universe was insisting I get back in the damn box. I could have cried my heart out the whole flight home, surrounded by other kids who had had enough, and could not wait to get back to Mom and Dad. I failed, I knew it, when that plane took off, because I could not, the whole time I was in Paris, come up with a plan to escape the school trip and stay in France. It was, I think, my first time realizing I could get out of my co-dependent family situation, but I didn’t have the smarts to figure out how I would: get work, get a place to live, avoid the authorities, and, most of all, hide from the long arm of my mother. As good as I was at all those other things, I was hopeless at saving myself. In fact, I think I’ve only just got there now, in my old, mezzo-soprano fucking age. *sigh*

When we got off of the plane in Philly, the parents of all of us were there, and mine were in my face. They wanted me to be soooo excited to see them. They wanted me to be more interested in them than anything else. And my mother wanted me to tell her every detail of the trip, because I wasn’t allowed to have private adventures.

At some point, feeling like my life had ended and I’d never be free again, I came upon fellow student and traveler, Adrian. He stopped to say something to me, and I walked up to him, slid my hands up his cheeks and into his hair, and pulled his face to mine, and laid one on him, just like in the movies. Just like you would expect a person to do in Paris, of course. Just like that guy in that photo from when the war is over, and he just kisses that nurse, and she just has to take it, accept it, give in to it, because it’s all beyond anyone’s control, but it is loose and reckless in a forgivable and not at all stalkery sort of way.

Yes it is.

And you can blame it all, on the nights on Broadway.

When you’re “singing them love songs, singing them straight to the heart songs.”

I wonder where Adrian is today. I certainly wasn’t in love with him, but he was a very nice guy, and I was in love with the me who could just lay a guy out with a kiss. I wonder if that girl’s still in here somewhere.

Ultimately I think what I did with all the co-dependence and control was to find a way to live with it. A therapist once told me that we’re all in a rubber fence with our families, and maybe even a rubber cage is better to say. We can never be free. Not all the way. And some don’t have families they need to be free of, and others do. And those that do probably learn to live inside the lines, a bit of a shrunken life, or they escape in some other way, which could be substances, and was for my brother, and I am glad, as boring a human as I may be, that substances was never where I went to pop the top on the cage. If someone keeps yelling at you, and you just walk away, well, you’ve pretty much taken the weapon away. But, I don’t think you can go back. I don’t think you can accept the cage sometimes and ignore it others. I think, in all honesty, I finally just realized the cage was a construct, like the Matrix, that I no longer needed to believe in.

Or maybe I just got swept up by the “Nights on Broadway.”

May you not stalk or be stalked, but may you have a little romance with yourself, and if you get a little tipsy on love, may you be able to blame it all on the “Nights on Broadway.”