No Laughing Matter

Song 261: This week on the playlist, we've got Peace Love and Understanding by Elvis Costello, written by Nick Lowe. It might seem a bit soon for Costello to show up again, since I posted Girls Talk not so long ago, but that was Linda Ronstadt covering his song, whereas here he's covering a Nick Lowe composition, so I believe that spreads the spotlight around a bit. As you may notice, this week's track continues the peace theme from last week in recognition of the historic agreement reached with the Islamic Republic of Iran and the resulting clash swirling around D.C. as the pro-war gang struggles to derail that deal. In the fall of 1977, I saw EC on his first U.S. tour, and I enjoyed his show, although I liked the opening act (Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers) a bit more. I thought this new late-1970s Elvis sounded pretty good, though, and when he came along with this song a year or two later, I felt he had exceeded my expectations. Certainly Dylan, Pete Seeger and a few others had written some good songs about war and peace, but I longed for one that really rocked out, and that also took on the issue with some genuine feeling while delving into the complexity of human conflict instead of painting a simplistic, two-toned good vs. evil picture of the matter, so then EC suddenly had this new track that accomplished all of that, in a way that made it sound easy. As a songwriter myself, I had wanted to meet that challenge, and at the time, it certainly did not come easily to me. I especially like the way this lyric asks why so many people would laugh at the very suggestion of wanting to have peace, when, as H. G. Wells warned us, "If we don't end war, war will end us." Now, more than ever, in this era of atomic weapons, we need to take peace, love and understanding seriously, and to get there while we still can, before we set ourselves on a path to our own destruction.

Peace, For a Chance

Song 260: For this week's playlist track, why not Give Peace a Chance by The Plastic Ono Band, written by John Lennon. While it might seem a bit soon to feature another Lennon song, having posted Ticket to Ride as Song 229, in light of the historic peace deal that the Obama administration, under the guiding hand of Secretary Kerry, has now reached with the Islamic Republic of Iran, I can think of no better song to fit this political moment. The pro-war contingent in Congress has vowed to do everything possible to scuttle this deal, so right now they really need to hear the message of this song. Actually, the entire D.C. government throng needs to hear it, regardless of party affiliation, position or ideology -- hear it, understand it and act on it, as if the future of humanity depended on it, because it very well might. Back in the middle of the summer of 1969, not long before my 18th birthday, I toured Europe for about a month with my high school singing group The Vestal Voices, and near the end of the tour we visited Venice, on Wednesday, 8/13, though we didn't perform there. When we split into smaller contingents, according to the tour rules, we were supposed to chaperone each other so that no one ended up walking around alone, but once again, as usual, my designated companions deserted me. I think they mostly wanted to get some alcohol, which I didn't care to do, but for whatever reason, I soon found myself exploring the streets of one more European city on my own, and while I have always had a good general sense of direction, this time, I did get lost. I had wanted to get beyond the touristy parts of the city, and I managed to do so, finding myself totally alone in an area that was a bit funky, and not at all like the picturesque Venice that graces most photographs of the famous city. I felt a touch of anxiety, not quite knowing where I was, but I had some time, and I expected that I'd find my way back to the group. As I walked along, I heard the sound of an acoustic guitar and John Lennon's voice coming from an upper-story window. About a week earlier, a bunch of us had located the latest Beatles single (The Ballad of John and Yoko/Old Brown Shoe) on a juke box in Munich, and listened to both sides, though the sound quality of the machine made it difficult to hear clearly. Now, here was another new Lennon recording, though it didn't exactly sound like a Beatles track. I liked it a lot on first hearing, even though at the time I still worried about dominoes falling near Viet Nam, and Lennon's view, as expressed in this song, seemed a bit simplistic and naive, but I still wanted to give peace a chance whenever possible. Over the years, as I have gained a deeper understanding of the causes of war, I have come around to John's POV. Meanwhile, not long after I heard this song, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the Bridge of Sighs, as I later wrote in my diary entry for the day. I didn't mention this track in my diary, but 46 years later, I remembered the song moment very well, and also being lost, but didn't recall the Bridge of Sighs until I read the diary. At any rate, over the next 2 months, we all need to strongly aim this message towards D.C. in whatever way we can convey it, because the future survival of humanity may very well depend on whether enough government people there make the right choice to give peace a chance.

Another Turn Comes Around

Song 259: For this week, Tomorrow is My Turn by The Fifth Estate, written by Wayne Wadhams and Don Askew, rocks the playlist. In that long ago era before you could own a movie, the once-yearly broadcast of The Wizard of Oz become an annual event for my school mates and me, well enough established by 1967 that some of my chums, knowing it so thoroughly, might even choose to skip the annual viewing ritual, though it never lost its magic for me. However, when The Fifth Estate released their updated hit version of Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead in the summer of '67, I had no interest in it -- I liked the movie soundtrack and, despite my passion for '60s-style music, I didn't feel that any of the Wizard material needed an update. I had similar feelings about TFE's hit version of Heigh Ho! that followed some months later, so I had no great expectations at that point about liking anything the band did. The following spring, I somehow managed to talk my parents and grandparents into allowing me to buy a small box of rock and roll 45s -- they didn't approve of my interest in the devil's music, but I persuaded them to make a solo exception to what had previously been an unbending rule. The box contained 10 singles, for a very good price, and though I recognized less than half of the titles, I thought it would make a very good start for a record collection, and it did, although not in the way I had anticipated. I already had a small record player set up in my own basement area that could play 45s, and I soon discovered that most of the titles I didn't recognize also didn't thrill me. The existence of that box of singles gave me cover, though, as I began smuggling in 45s that I bought from neighborhood friends when they got tired of their golden oldies, and before long I owned 2 or 3 dozen, but my parents never knew the difference, since my records all sounded the same to them, and I kept most of my vinyl collection hidden except for a handful that I would be playing at any given time. My parents and grandparents said more than once that they regretted allowing me to buy that box of records, but as far as I know, they never caught on to how I had greatly expanded on the original 10 singles. Among that first bunch, though, there was one that I really liked, and that I played a lot, and it was this track, which was actually the B-side of the Morning, Morning 45. I liked and played the A-side as well, but this B-side track left a deeper mark on my musical landscape, to the point where I knew it well enough to sing along even when it wasn't spinning on the turntable, and I understood exactly what the singer meant about when the circle comes 'round.

Play It Again

Song 258: This week's playlist track will get you to Do It Again by Steely Dan, written by Walter Becker and Donald Fagen. Rock and roll had begun to lose its luster by the fall of '72. The radio still played plenty of good songs by new and established artists, but music fans felt the lack of something truly dynamically new. The previous decade had featured acts that practically exploded onto the scene, with a dizzying variety that ranged from The Beatles to Hendrix, Dylan to the Doors, and many seemed to widen the range of possibility with each new release. Near the end of the following decade's 3rd year, rock and roll had not yet produced any really exciting new sounds, and as the listeners wondered how much longer it would take until the Magic Next Big Thing would arrive, this single popped up on the airwaves. It sounded dramatically different from everything else, suggesting magic new musical directions, with lyrics that hinted at poetic possibilities. The album title Can't Buy a Thrill payed homage to Dylan, and raised the prospect that perhaps the Supergroup of the '70s had finally arrived -- a band which would mix the best of the '60s RnR influences together into a unique and timely brew, with words and music that matched the current calendar page. This track sounded so good then, and still does today, but alas, the rest of the album didn't quite fulfill the expectations raised by this cut, even though the LP had plenty of other fine songs. As it turned out, that decade did not produce any acts that truly qualified as the '70s Beatles, the '70s Hendrix or any other updated versions of '60s musical icons, but for a brief moment in the fall of '72, this track raised the possibility that Steely Dan might blaze a new musical trail that would define the era. If you had waited for the arrival of the mythic Supergroup of the '70s, and you thought the wait was over when you heard this song, unfortunately, you had to go back, Jack, and do it again -- waiting, that is, and specifically, waiting for the band that never arrived.

Do You Like It Strong?

Song 257: This week seems like a good time for the playlist to feature a taste of Expresso Love by Dire Straits, written by Mark Knopfler. Dire Straits had already become one of the few bright spots in the late '70s (see Song 132: Down to the Waterline) during an era when rock and roll didn't appear to have that many, and when the band's 3rd LP Making Movies came along in the fall of 1980, they seemed to shine quite a bit brighter. A few friends picked up the album right away, so that by the time I bought my own copy I had heard the whole set a few times through, but still, for the first spin on my turntable, this track, which opened side 2 back in the vinyl days, sounded so good that I felt like it might jump off the record and spin up through the ceiling of my room. I don't drink coffee, but I've got several good friends who do, such as Jeff Larson (who wrote a song called Coffee at Midnight that will probably appear on this list at some point), so I well understand the lyrical reference to a lover who makes the singer feel a very strong, edgy spark similar to what a cup of expresso might inspire. My Oakland ex-roommate Doug and I had at least one conversation where we laughed about the line Boys don't know anything and about how true it is that guys like us would so often be clueless about women and relationships. About 9 years after the record's release, I met a woman who reminded me of the character in this song, to the point that, even though she never said the line contained near the end of it, I felt like I wanted to say to her, "No, I'm not just another one just like the other one." We actually didn't have that conversation, but during the few months that we interacted, I listened to this cut over and over. If you're wondering who the keyboard player was who added all those tasty riffs to this mix, that would be Roy Bittan, who is best known as a member of Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band, and who just happens to have a birthday coming up on Thursday of this week (7/2).

Get Some Satisfaction

Song 256: This week Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, rocks onto the playlist. Summer had already started rocking with a bunch of marvelous new songs like Ticket to Ride (Song 229), but then, in the middle of summer, along came this amazing new Rolling Stones single that topped them all. One of my friends got a pool party from his parents as a birthday gift, and that afternoon a handful of us enjoyed the water, the sun and the radio, which must have played this track at least 3 times in as many hours. Of course, a song this suggestive drew the ire of many of our religious parents who objected to our embrace of the devil's music, but I well remember a home gathering of our church youth group in '67 or '68 when one of the family's sons played a few RnR singles as we teenagers assembled, with this 45 as the very first, and we all quickly slipped into the groove. In that era of the generation gap, many of our parents felt a strong visceral repulsion to the music that turned us on, to the degree that they believed we couldn't possibly like what we heard -- they thought we were pretending to like the music simply for the sake of peer approval and acceptance. A Christian anti-RnR movie I saw back then featured an adult woman who reacted with extreme revulsion on hearing the lines of the 3rd verse of Satisfaction. I struggled with RnR, and at points tried to give up on the devil's music to live up to the religious ideals that ruled my family, but the pull of that back beat proved too strong for me to resist for very long. Keith Richards had me wrapped around this simple riff from the first time I heard it, and I wrote at least 1 song during my high school years by making mistakes while trying to figure out how to play the chords and riffs of this tune. Then during my first year at N.U., my roommate Abby, who I mentioned in my blurbs about Girls Talk (Song 246) and Subterranean Homesick Blues (Song 243), wanted to sing Satisfaction, and he assumed I knew it, so we blundered our way through it, and I mostly figured it out, but I was still missing one piece. I had the verses right, but for the riff on the chorus, even though I had the riff notes right, I just played the E first chord and the D third chord, leaving out the A middle chord. Playing the tune that way, it sounded close, but still not quite right, like I was missing something, which I truly was. When, a couple of decades later, I stumbled onto that missing piece, it seemed so obvious that I could hardly believe I hadn't figured it out sooner. The E-A-D-A repeated chord pattern was already a highly-overused RnR sequence the night Keith put it down on a tape in a hotel room just before dozing off, so it's understandable that even coupled with the lead riff, he still didn't think it was necessarily something special when he first played it for Mick, but lucky for us all, Mick understood on first hearing the real value of what Keith had stumbled upon. The Stones got plenty of mileage from this track, including their first chart-topper, but they followed it with plenty of others, so that by the time I saw them in Chicago in the summer of '78, everyone knew that despite how much fans might like to hear it, the band never played Satisfaction. Except, in this case, when they came out for their encore, they actually did play it! Whenever I've felt dissatisfied in my life, this track has perfectly expressed that feeling, and in so doing, has given me plenty of Satisfaction.

No Two Alike

Song 255: Seven weeks after my last playlist song by a personal friend, this week's track is Snowflakes by my friend Terry Kitchen, who also wrote the song, and since we're only a few days away from the first official day of summer, why not post a tune about snowflakes? This track closes Terry's 2009 CD Summer to Snowflakes and presents a moving eulogy to a young woman bullied into taking an overdose as a means of escape. As I mention in my post for Song 122 (Break the Same Heart Twice by TK), I spent a memorable weekend as Terry's guest back in March of 1993, just about the time a major blizzard hit the Boston area, so for a couple of days, he and I both saw quite a lot of snowflakes. For that weekend, he had jokingly nicknamed his apartment Ice Station Zebra, and I will forever remember it by that moniker. As much white stuff as we saw from that blizzard, though, the winter of 2015 brought a much greater storm of snowflakes and I can't quite imagine how the neighborhood around Ice Station Zebra looked only a few months ago, but for this track, Terry has made good use of an image quite commonly seen in his vicinity.