136. "Istanbul" by They Might Be Giants (and The Four Lads)
Nearly all of the singers/bands I've seen or heard in person have at least one song on this Top 200 list. Obviously, bands like Rotten Tuna don't chart.) The first one on the list for They Might Be Giants is Istanbul. Why? Because when they played this song at the concert, everyone lost their mind! The chorus in the middle of the song turned into an enthusiastic sing-along with everyone--including me--doing a full-throated Turkish wail. Incredible!
Here's the official quirky video.
If that video didn't have enough quirkiness for, hold on to your Fez, 'cuz here's a double-barreled blast of electroquirk!
Celebrity (kind of) lip sync--a staple of late night TV talk shows, especially when the host can't think of anything funny to say. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Jimmy Fallon.)
And, of course, we can't forget the original group--The Four Lads--that recorded the song back in the 50s. (Yes, we can.) They don't look like lads anymore.
Why did They Might Be Giants change the song so that it was faster and quirkier than the Four Lads version? Because people just like it better that way.
I just discovered that people also really like to make videos of themselves video-game dancing to this Turkish delight. There are about three billion of these things on the interwebs. They watch the video below and try to match the dance moves. I'll spare you the bad live dancing. But the video is kind of fun to watch.
According to John Oliver, everything's better with a dancing zebra, so now for your viewing pleasure, here's twenty-three minutes and thirty-two seconds of silent green-screen zebra video. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
137. Because It's Illegal and Dangerous
137. "Why Don't We Do It in the Road" by The Beatles
The soundtrack to my earliest years of life--even before the family moved to Arimo--was The Beatles, a.k.a. the White Album. Mom bought it after she had taken care of me late one night and heard the song Rocky Racoon on the radio. Mom and Dad promptly gave me that nickname, but they're the only two on the planet that ever called me Rocky Racoon.
There were two songs on that album that we loved to sing together as kids whenever we played the album--Piggies and Why Don't We Do It in the Road. Piggies doesn't make it onto this countdown because Mom said it was okay to listen to Piggies, but she didn't like it when we listened to Why Don't We Do It in the Road, which meant it was a forbidden musical pleasure. And that's also why we sang it with such gusto, especially the part where Paul's voice goes up high, because when singing a song about engaging in a forbidden act becomes a forbidden act itself, that's when rock and roll hits its sweet spot and kids have the most fun singing along.
The soundtrack to my earliest years of life--even before the family moved to Arimo--was The Beatles, a.k.a. the White Album. Mom bought it after she had taken care of me late one night and heard the song Rocky Racoon on the radio. Mom and Dad promptly gave me that nickname, but they're the only two on the planet that ever called me Rocky Racoon.
There were two songs on that album that we loved to sing together as kids whenever we played the album--Piggies and Why Don't We Do It in the Road. Piggies doesn't make it onto this countdown because Mom said it was okay to listen to Piggies, but she didn't like it when we listened to Why Don't We Do It in the Road, which meant it was a forbidden musical pleasure. And that's also why we sang it with such gusto, especially the part where Paul's voice goes up high, because when singing a song about engaging in a forbidden act becomes a forbidden act itself, that's when rock and roll hits its sweet spot and kids have the most fun singing along.
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
138. Shillings and Bananas
138. "I'm Going Slightly Mad" by Queen
Things are more than a little off kilter with this song, which is what makes it so good. The lyrics are tragic yet funny. The melody is catchy yet creepy. The man in the song knows he's going mad, but only slightly mad. It's been in the works for a long time, and now it's finally happened. He's now crazy enough for it to be disturbing to himself and others, but not so much that he's forgot his manners. He still asks how you're doing.
This song taps into yet another one of my fears--losing my mind to dementia. I developed this fear in college because of two different experiences.
First, I took an abnormal psych class that taught me that no matter how strange, how disgusting, or how perverted any behavior might be, there's somebody out there that gets off on it. After Pete Welches slide show of sexual deviance, I came to the conclusion that people are capable of pretty much anything.
Second, I briefly had a job working as an activities assistant in a nursing home, where I got to see first hand the many different types of crazy that hits people as they grow old. This fear has grown in the last year--not because I turned 50, but because of what has happened to my brain--I've started to forget basic words and my ability to remember what has happened in the recent past is getting worse and worse. Last month, my boss asked me what I did over the weekend, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what I'd done on Saturday. And I'm losing vocabulary at an every increasing pace.Yesterday, I forgot the word--and I kid you not--"bedspread." I had to Google "bedcover" to remember what to call that thing is on the top of my bed that I sleep under every night.
I don't know if this is the usual kind of memory problems that fifty year old men get, or if it all might be early signs of a long descent into dementia. All I know is that my brain does not work as well as it used to, which is a bit frightening considering that if my memory is correct, my noggin never worked all that well in the first place.
And there you have it.
Things are more than a little off kilter with this song, which is what makes it so good. The lyrics are tragic yet funny. The melody is catchy yet creepy. The man in the song knows he's going mad, but only slightly mad. It's been in the works for a long time, and now it's finally happened. He's now crazy enough for it to be disturbing to himself and others, but not so much that he's forgot his manners. He still asks how you're doing.
This song taps into yet another one of my fears--losing my mind to dementia. I developed this fear in college because of two different experiences.
First, I took an abnormal psych class that taught me that no matter how strange, how disgusting, or how perverted any behavior might be, there's somebody out there that gets off on it. After Pete Welches slide show of sexual deviance, I came to the conclusion that people are capable of pretty much anything.
Second, I briefly had a job working as an activities assistant in a nursing home, where I got to see first hand the many different types of crazy that hits people as they grow old. This fear has grown in the last year--not because I turned 50, but because of what has happened to my brain--I've started to forget basic words and my ability to remember what has happened in the recent past is getting worse and worse. Last month, my boss asked me what I did over the weekend, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what I'd done on Saturday. And I'm losing vocabulary at an every increasing pace.Yesterday, I forgot the word--and I kid you not--"bedspread." I had to Google "bedcover" to remember what to call that thing is on the top of my bed that I sleep under every night.
I don't know if this is the usual kind of memory problems that fifty year old men get, or if it all might be early signs of a long descent into dementia. All I know is that my brain does not work as well as it used to, which is a bit frightening considering that if my memory is correct, my noggin never worked all that well in the first place.
And there you have it.
Monday, March 27, 2017
139. Rick James' Hair Says Hello
139. "Get Lucky" by Daft Punk
In August of 2013, for our 25th wedding anniversary, Julie wanted us to tour the Oregon coast and look at all the lighthouses. I begrudgingly went with the plan, but only after much grousing on my part and a couple threats to not even go even though Julie had already made reservations. Why wasn't I excited to spend a week on the Oregon coast? Because it's the Oregon coast! If you like gray skies and cold beaches, you can't beat Oregon--a fact that even the Oregon tourism industry will admit.
The first few days of the vacation were rough. Climbing a crowded Astoria Column reinforced my irrational fear of heights and put a new twist on it. What's worse than Acrophobia? Acrophobia combined with claustrophobia.
The motel at Bandon beach (see video above)--which was cleverly called the Bandon Beach Motel--was so depressing that I wanted to hike down the nearby multi-level stairway to the beach, wade out into the water to the rocks jutting up from the shoreline, scale up to the highest cliffs, and then throw myself off it onto the rocky shoals where crabs could pick at my corpse until only white salty bones remained.
How bad was the motel? It had a tube TV from the 90s, carpet from the 80s, and bedspreads from the 70s. The picture above makes you think the motel might be pretty nice. Here are two pics that are a little closer to the truth.
When we left Bandon, we toured some really nice lighthouses, and we thought our worst days were behind us. But we were wrong. On our anniversary night, Julie booked us in what she thought was a really nice Bed and Breakfast in Eureka, California.
From the outside, the house looked great. But they put us in a basement room that also opened out into a room they were using to store old furniture. I stubbed my toe so hard that night on some furniture while walking to the bathroom in the dark that my toe bled. There was zero air conditioning in the room, so the next day we checked out. Touring Eureka during our drive to a run-down cafe showed us why there's an "Eeek!" in Eureka. I remember telling someone later that the city reminded me of Pocatello--but with all the modernization and charm found in downtown Blackfoot.
After breakfast, we immediately drove straight out of town--didn't want to tour anything else in it--and drove down the coastal highway to go see Humboldt Redwoods State Park. That's when the trip started to turn around for us. Those trees were amazing! I just couldn't get over them. That drive through the forest made our sunroof totally worth the extra money we paid for it. I loved peering up through it at the canopies of the giant old-growth trees.
We found a Marriot hotel to stay in for the second-to-last night, so we got a decent bed, some decent sleep, and a decent flat-screen TV.
We headed home from the Redwood forest, via Crater Lake. And on the last night of our vacation, we totally lucked out and got the very last room available at the Crater Lake lodge. In fact, it was the manager's room that he usually stayed in, so it had a really good bed and a nice bathroom.
We spent our last evening on the viewing deck of the lodge, watching the sun set on Crater Lake, and eating carrot cake--the same as our wedding cake.
That moment made our misfortunes in Bandon and Eureka all worthwhile. It completely turned around my experience of our anniversary vacation, and I now actually would love to go tour the Oregon coast again with Julie. (But this time we'd stay only in Marriot hotels--and the Crater Lake lodge, of course.)
What does this travelogue have to do with the song "Get Lucky?" Right before we went on the trip, I bought the Random Access Memories CD to listen to in the car on the drive. I'd heard the song, and thought the rest of the album would be good. It was. At least it was good enough to listen to when the radio reception went out on our trip. I must have listened to it fifty times before we got to Humbolt Redwoods State Park. You'd think I'd tire of hearing it by then, but listening to "Get Lucky" as I drove through the redwoods with my sweet wife is one of the best music-related memories I've had in the last 25+ years. I really did get lucky when I married her!
In August of 2013, for our 25th wedding anniversary, Julie wanted us to tour the Oregon coast and look at all the lighthouses. I begrudgingly went with the plan, but only after much grousing on my part and a couple threats to not even go even though Julie had already made reservations. Why wasn't I excited to spend a week on the Oregon coast? Because it's the Oregon coast! If you like gray skies and cold beaches, you can't beat Oregon--a fact that even the Oregon tourism industry will admit.
The first few days of the vacation were rough. Climbing a crowded Astoria Column reinforced my irrational fear of heights and put a new twist on it. What's worse than Acrophobia? Acrophobia combined with claustrophobia.
 |
| From this column you can see all of your worst fears. |
 |
| Tube TV--the technology that makes you want to go on a hike to the beach. |
How bad was the motel? It had a tube TV from the 90s, carpet from the 80s, and bedspreads from the 70s. The picture above makes you think the motel might be pretty nice. Here are two pics that are a little closer to the truth.
 |
| The architectural charm of a trailer home, but with the convenience of under-the-trailer parking! |
 |
| I think this is the exact same room we stayed in. The TV is never shown in pictures of rooms at this motel. |
 |
| The House of the Purple Pinky Toe |
From the outside, the house looked great. But they put us in a basement room that also opened out into a room they were using to store old furniture. I stubbed my toe so hard that night on some furniture while walking to the bathroom in the dark that my toe bled. There was zero air conditioning in the room, so the next day we checked out. Touring Eureka during our drive to a run-down cafe showed us why there's an "Eeek!" in Eureka. I remember telling someone later that the city reminded me of Pocatello--but with all the modernization and charm found in downtown Blackfoot.
After breakfast, we immediately drove straight out of town--didn't want to tour anything else in it--and drove down the coastal highway to go see Humboldt Redwoods State Park. That's when the trip started to turn around for us. Those trees were amazing! I just couldn't get over them. That drive through the forest made our sunroof totally worth the extra money we paid for it. I loved peering up through it at the canopies of the giant old-growth trees.
 |
| Trees as tall as a football field is long. |
We headed home from the Redwood forest, via Crater Lake. And on the last night of our vacation, we totally lucked out and got the very last room available at the Crater Lake lodge. In fact, it was the manager's room that he usually stayed in, so it had a really good bed and a nice bathroom.
 |
| Nice lodge. (THANKS!) |
We spent our last evening on the viewing deck of the lodge, watching the sun set on Crater Lake, and eating carrot cake--the same as our wedding cake.
 |
| For some reason, carrot cake significantly reduces my fear of heights. |
That moment made our misfortunes in Bandon and Eureka all worthwhile. It completely turned around my experience of our anniversary vacation, and I now actually would love to go tour the Oregon coast again with Julie. (But this time we'd stay only in Marriot hotels--and the Crater Lake lodge, of course.)
What does this travelogue have to do with the song "Get Lucky?" Right before we went on the trip, I bought the Random Access Memories CD to listen to in the car on the drive. I'd heard the song, and thought the rest of the album would be good. It was. At least it was good enough to listen to when the radio reception went out on our trip. I must have listened to it fifty times before we got to Humbolt Redwoods State Park. You'd think I'd tire of hearing it by then, but listening to "Get Lucky" as I drove through the redwoods with my sweet wife is one of the best music-related memories I've had in the last 25+ years. I really did get lucky when I married her!
Sunday, March 26, 2017
140. Fighting Off the Frost
140. "Be Good Johnny" by Men At Work
I'm sixteen. It's winter. I'm driving an old pickup on its last legs down the lane. Randy is riding shotgun. We're off to feed the cows.
The heater doesn't work. It's cold. Frost covers the windshield. White film keeps forming on the glass from our breath inside the cab. I stab at it with a dull scraper. Enough of the frost flakes away to make a driving porthole.
Be Good Johnny starts playing. Randy cranks the volume knob up full, but the truck's speakers don't get any louder. We sing the lyrics, holding back our full enthusiasm for the song until our favorite part begins to play.
Are you going to play football this year, John?
Nah!
Oh, well you must be going to play cricket this year then, are you Johnny?"
Nah! Nah! Nah!
Boy, you sure are a funny kid, Johnny, but I like you!
So tell me, what kind of a boy are you, John?
We talk about Colin Hayes voice and how he makes the vibrato sounds. Randy tries to explain it, because he's a singer. In fact, he's such a good singer, at the beginning of school he walked into the MarVals auditions without any preparation at all and got in.
I don't sing good at all. I play trumpet and piano okay, but not if I'm singing while I do it--especially the piano.
Randy tries to sing like Colin Hayes and gets close, but he doesn't nail it. I try and fail miserably. We crack up.
We pull up to the barbed wire gate, and Randy gets it while I drive through. I shift into first gear and steer through the field while Randy cuts the bale strings with his knife and pushes chunks of hay off the back of the truck. The cows gather behind us to munch on the dried alfalfa.
Alone in the cab, I try to sing like Colin Hayes again. Can't do it.
Snow begins to fall.
I'm 50. It's spring. I live in the city. The farm is gone. The old truck is gone. The cows are gone. Randy is gone.
I still have his knife.
I don't sing good at all. I play trumpet and piano okay, but not if I'm singing while I do it--especially the piano.
Randy tries to sing like Colin Hayes and gets close, but he doesn't nail it. I try and fail miserably. We crack up.
We pull up to the barbed wire gate, and Randy gets it while I drive through. I shift into first gear and steer through the field while Randy cuts the bale strings with his knife and pushes chunks of hay off the back of the truck. The cows gather behind us to munch on the dried alfalfa.
Alone in the cab, I try to sing like Colin Hayes again. Can't do it.
Snow begins to fall.
-----------------
I'm 50. It's spring. I live in the city. The farm is gone. The old truck is gone. The cows are gone. Randy is gone.
I still have his knife.
Saturday, March 25, 2017
141. Mondegreen
141. "Don't Bring Me Down" by the Electric Light Orchestra
Three songs are inseparably connected in my head with 9th grade: (a) Another One Bites the Dust, (b) Another Brick in the Wall, and (c) Don't Bring Me Down. In the case of Don't Bring Me Down, it was a watershed moment in the way I felt about the group. I had liked them well enough before 1979's Discovery album hit the stores. I had enjoyed other ELO songs that had charted before then, including Evil Woman, Strange Magic, Do Ya, Livin' Thing, Telephone Line, Sweet Talkin' Woman, and Turn to Stone. However, until that point, ELO had always been that band that Joe just couldn't get enough of. But after I heard Don't Bring Me Down, I made up my mind that I couldn't get enough of ELO either. I became a fan.
Some say this song was the beginning of ELO not using any orchestra instruments in their songs. To those people I say, "Shut the hell up, Gregg! When was the last time you saw an orchestra without drums? Or without cymbals? Or without afros!"
The reduction in orchestral backing in this song doesn't bother me at all. But there is one thing that bugged me about this song as a 9th grader that still bugs me today--my uncertainty as to what word he's singing after "Don't bring me down." For many years, I thought he was singing "Don't bring me down. Gross!" However, I read somewhere that the lyric was "Don't bring me down. Bruce!" Other's on the interwebs agreed.
While it sounded plausible enough, this still didn't seem right to me, so I went straight to the authority on all things ELO. No, not Jeff Lynne. I went to Joe.
The explanation I got from him was that Lynn was singing "Don't bring me down. Groos!"--which is kind of a made up word. The lyrics on Google Play agrees with Joe, and since the oo in Google sounds like the oo in Groos, I would be inclined to say the issue has been put to rest.
But dammit! Some semi-reputable internet sources have claimed that Lynne sings it both Groos and Bruce, depending on if it's live or not!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don%27t_Bring_Me_Down#Lyrics
http://www.jefflynnesongs.com/dontbringmedown/
No! No! No! No! No! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Everytime I find a video of the live version, the cameras cut away from the closeup of Lynne singing so I can't read his lips!
Because of my uncertainty as to what the lyric really is, whenever I sing along to this on the radio, there's this frustrating moment of hesitation in my mind during which I think, "Do I sing Gross like I did in Jr. High, or Groos like Joe told me to, or Bruce like they would in Australia?!"
Confusion! I don't know what I should do! I'll leave it all up to you.
Gross!
Three songs are inseparably connected in my head with 9th grade: (a) Another One Bites the Dust, (b) Another Brick in the Wall, and (c) Don't Bring Me Down. In the case of Don't Bring Me Down, it was a watershed moment in the way I felt about the group. I had liked them well enough before 1979's Discovery album hit the stores. I had enjoyed other ELO songs that had charted before then, including Evil Woman, Strange Magic, Do Ya, Livin' Thing, Telephone Line, Sweet Talkin' Woman, and Turn to Stone. However, until that point, ELO had always been that band that Joe just couldn't get enough of. But after I heard Don't Bring Me Down, I made up my mind that I couldn't get enough of ELO either. I became a fan.
Some say this song was the beginning of ELO not using any orchestra instruments in their songs. To those people I say, "Shut the hell up, Gregg! When was the last time you saw an orchestra without drums? Or without cymbals? Or without afros!"
The reduction in orchestral backing in this song doesn't bother me at all. But there is one thing that bugged me about this song as a 9th grader that still bugs me today--my uncertainty as to what word he's singing after "Don't bring me down." For many years, I thought he was singing "Don't bring me down. Gross!" However, I read somewhere that the lyric was "Don't bring me down. Bruce!" Other's on the interwebs agreed.
While it sounded plausible enough, this still didn't seem right to me, so I went straight to the authority on all things ELO. No, not Jeff Lynne. I went to Joe.
The explanation I got from him was that Lynn was singing "Don't bring me down. Groos!"--which is kind of a made up word. The lyrics on Google Play agrees with Joe, and since the oo in Google sounds like the oo in Groos, I would be inclined to say the issue has been put to rest.
But dammit! Some semi-reputable internet sources have claimed that Lynne sings it both Groos and Bruce, depending on if it's live or not!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don%27t_Bring_Me_Down#Lyrics
http://www.jefflynnesongs.com/dontbringmedown/
No! No! No! No! No! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Everytime I find a video of the live version, the cameras cut away from the closeup of Lynne singing so I can't read his lips!
Because of my uncertainty as to what the lyric really is, whenever I sing along to this on the radio, there's this frustrating moment of hesitation in my mind during which I think, "Do I sing Gross like I did in Jr. High, or Groos like Joe told me to, or Bruce like they would in Australia?!"
Confusion! I don't know what I should do! I'll leave it all up to you.
Gross!
Friday, March 24, 2017
142. Two-Thirds of Our Bacon, One-Third of Your Cheese
142. "Quiche Lorraine" by The B-52s
Life was simple in Arimo. Even simpler for a kid that hasn't even entered kindergarten. When you're all of four years old (You? Or me?), you can't help but see all things, including interpersonal relationships, in pretty simple ways. Here's what I knew when I was four. I was Chris's friend. Chris had cousins. And I wanted Chris's cousins to also be my friends. Barry was one of Chris's cousins. So, logically....
Fast forward to ten years later. Barry and his family had recently moved to Marsh Valley. Chris and Barry and I were hanging out at his house talking about fireworks. We had concocted a plan to put on a fireworks show for our families on the next 4th of July. Barry had a fireworks catalog, and I had $50. Now back in 1980, you could get a lot of fireworks for $50, but you had to be selective and only order the ones that had a good price-to-OOOOooooo ratio. During our deliberations over what to put on the order sheet, we talked about many other things, like music. Barry mentioned something about a funny song he'd heard by the B-52s about a poodle named Quiche Lorraine. (I mentioned this song back in my entry for song #167--Private Idaho.)
Now, my 14-year-old brain was extremely interested in funny songs. The highlight of any Saturday spent discing the hell out of hundreds of acres of wheat fields was hearing the Dr. Demento show on the radio. The show had funny songs from the 50s through the present day, including such classics as:
Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini
Shaving Cream
My Balogna
Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb Bomb Iran
Junk Food Junkie
Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh! (A Letter from Camp)
Fish Heads
Psycho Chicken
Spam
Dead Puppies
They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!
The Streak
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
Shaddap You Face
Another One Rides the Bus
King Tut
Because of my affinity for funny songs, when Barry told me about Quiche Lorraine, I immediately determined that Wild Planet would be my next Columbia Records and Tapes pick. The album was an incredible tour de force of musical treats--quirky songs that at the time I would have lumped into the category of "funny" songs, including Private Idaho, Devil in My Car, Strobe Light, and the reason I bought the record in the first place--Quiche Lorraine! Onto the video!
Another reason I thought this song was exceptionally fun to sing along to was the fact that our bishop named one of his daughters by the name of Lorraine. So the song was a two-fer--I could fave fun singing about a weird looking poodle AND mock one of the few girls in town in the process.
Has anybody seen a dog dyed dark green,
About two inches tall, with a strawberry blonde fall,
Sunglasses and a bonnet,
and designer jeans with appliques on it?
The dog that brought me so much joy
Left me wallowing in pain!
Quiche Lorraine! (Bellon)
Fast forward another 30+ years. My son Erik spent a semester studying art at the San Fransisco Art Institute. While he was there, he got to meet one of the women in the B-52s. Cool! I can't remember which one, but she talked with him and some other students for a while. He wouldn't have known anything about the B-52s if he hadn't heard me playing their songs as he was growing up. It was the first time in a long time that he didn't resent the fact that I made him listen to my favorite music on a regular basis, instead of just listening to his all the time.
So thanks, Quiche, for making it possible for me to bond with my son over music for at least a few minutes. You really are a sweet, sweet, sweet puppy!
Life was simple in Arimo. Even simpler for a kid that hasn't even entered kindergarten. When you're all of four years old (You? Or me?), you can't help but see all things, including interpersonal relationships, in pretty simple ways. Here's what I knew when I was four. I was Chris's friend. Chris had cousins. And I wanted Chris's cousins to also be my friends. Barry was one of Chris's cousins. So, logically....
Fast forward to ten years later. Barry and his family had recently moved to Marsh Valley. Chris and Barry and I were hanging out at his house talking about fireworks. We had concocted a plan to put on a fireworks show for our families on the next 4th of July. Barry had a fireworks catalog, and I had $50. Now back in 1980, you could get a lot of fireworks for $50, but you had to be selective and only order the ones that had a good price-to-OOOOooooo ratio. During our deliberations over what to put on the order sheet, we talked about many other things, like music. Barry mentioned something about a funny song he'd heard by the B-52s about a poodle named Quiche Lorraine. (I mentioned this song back in my entry for song #167--Private Idaho.)
Now, my 14-year-old brain was extremely interested in funny songs. The highlight of any Saturday spent discing the hell out of hundreds of acres of wheat fields was hearing the Dr. Demento show on the radio. The show had funny songs from the 50s through the present day, including such classics as:
Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini
Shaving Cream
My Balogna
Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb Bomb Iran
Junk Food Junkie
Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh! (A Letter from Camp)
Fish Heads
Psycho Chicken
Spam
Dead Puppies
They're Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!
The Streak
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
Shaddap You Face
Another One Rides the Bus
King Tut
Because of my affinity for funny songs, when Barry told me about Quiche Lorraine, I immediately determined that Wild Planet would be my next Columbia Records and Tapes pick. The album was an incredible tour de force of musical treats--quirky songs that at the time I would have lumped into the category of "funny" songs, including Private Idaho, Devil in My Car, Strobe Light, and the reason I bought the record in the first place--Quiche Lorraine! Onto the video!
Another reason I thought this song was exceptionally fun to sing along to was the fact that our bishop named one of his daughters by the name of Lorraine. So the song was a two-fer--I could fave fun singing about a weird looking poodle AND mock one of the few girls in town in the process.
Has anybody seen a dog dyed dark green,
About two inches tall, with a strawberry blonde fall,
Sunglasses and a bonnet,
and designer jeans with appliques on it?
The dog that brought me so much joy
Left me wallowing in pain!
Quiche Lorraine! (Bellon)
Fast forward another 30+ years. My son Erik spent a semester studying art at the San Fransisco Art Institute. While he was there, he got to meet one of the women in the B-52s. Cool! I can't remember which one, but she talked with him and some other students for a while. He wouldn't have known anything about the B-52s if he hadn't heard me playing their songs as he was growing up. It was the first time in a long time that he didn't resent the fact that I made him listen to my favorite music on a regular basis, instead of just listening to his all the time.
So thanks, Quiche, for making it possible for me to bond with my son over music for at least a few minutes. You really are a sweet, sweet, sweet puppy!
Thursday, March 23, 2017
143. I'm Too MaTUah to Be Angray!
143. "Back Talk" by Journey
It's was Ruth's album, but I owned it. I kept it in my room by my stereo. I listened to it whenever I wanted. I memorized the lyrics. I sang them when I wasn't even listening to the album. It was in every way an album that defined my musical tastes as a teenager. The album was "Frontiers."
Why did I like it so much? In part, because for my very first rock concert I got to see Journey with special guest Bryan Adams at the Mini-dome in Pocatello. (I refuse to call it the Holt Arena!)
The time was early 1983. Journey had just come out with Frontiers and Bryan Adams had debuted his Cuts Like a Knife album. Nice combo! (THANKS!) Mom and Dad let me go because I attended the concert with my older sisters and their husbands, so there was little chance I'd get in any trouble. (Have you seen my brother-in-law Dirk? Nobody messes with Dirk.) Still, after the concert was over and my hearing began to return, I really felt like I had gone through a rite of passage into full teenagerdom--attending a rowdy rock concert with loud music, half-naked women throwing themselves at the band, and lots and lots of pot smoke in the air. I also saw a half dozen drug deals from our seats in the stands, as well as a few fist fights that got broken up by burly men wearing shirts that said "Security" on them. How's that for living up to the rock concert stereotype!
Bryan Adams was excellent, and he basically performed his entire album. The only thing I didn't like was at one point he got the whole crowd to yell "F--- You!" over and over. To what end, I have no idea. Maybe it was a general act of defiance to the moral policing of music that was a bit of a political issue at that time*. Then when Brian left the stage he promised he would come back to Pocatello to perform again. (He never did.)
Journey played a lot of their older hits, but mostly they played songs from Frontiers. I remember they smoked and drank a lot on stage. And Steve Perry was at his Perryest, hitting all those notes that are so high it makes your scrotum shrink. (Yours? Or mine? Me or you?) But you know what makes scrotums expand, don't you? Neither do I. But I think there might be a clue in this picture of the band from the 70s.
AhUUUahUUUahUUUah! How's about something a little less bulge-ish?
I cheered so hard at the concert that I couldn't do my fingers-in-mouth whistle at the end, as my lips had given out, which is something to say for someone who played trumpet every day for an hour in band class, and several more hours on pep band gigs per week. I think the band played three encores before they ended it for good and everyone went out to the mini-dome parking lot to wait in line for two hours to get out. Not too shabby for a first concert!
But that's only one reason why I loved Frontiers so much. The second reason was that when all my high school romances went south on me, there were lots of solid breakup songs on it that I could listen to and get out all that anger over being dogged by every girl I ever wanted to not be dogged by. And when I was in that mood, there was no song I liked to play more than "Back Talk." It's a blistering, hard-rockin' pile of shout-it-out-loud angry lyrics. Unfortunately, there is no decent live video of Steve Perry singing this song. The best I could find is a video with the new lead singer, who basically ruins every song he sings. Ugh! It makes me so mad!
Yes, in this instance, the song lyrics perfectly reflect the way I feel about this new lead singer.
I believe you enjoy this aggravation.
Lately that's all I get from you!
You were born to drive me crazy!
Can't take it, can't take it any more from you!
No! No more...
Back talk! I don't need it!
Back talk! I don't need it!
Back talk! Don't want to hear it!
Don't give me no back talk--
Sassy back talk--
Don't give me no sassy back talk!
Fortunately, I've listened to the Steve Perry version so many times that even this terrible, horrible, awful performance won't make me like the song any less. It is simply the perfect arena rock song for releasing pent-up anger. And if you don't believe me, then keep it to yourself, and don't give me no sassy back talk!
NO!
* Although she had been the drummer in an all-girl rock band called the Wildcats, Tipper Gore didn't like the potty-talk in rock and roll songs, and she wanted warnings/ratings on all the records so that parents could keep their daughters from listening to albums with evil songs on them. Apparently, an impressionable Gore girl bought Purple Rain and played "Darling Nikki"--a song that referenced self-pleasuring--on the home stereo while her parents listened (dumb idea!), and Tipper lost her mind. A couple years later, we started seeing those warning labels on album covers for explicit lyrics, which only made teenagers want to buy them all the more, which in turn made all the artists want to use them more. And that's why teenagers today have such filthy mouths when they give their sassy back talk.
It's was Ruth's album, but I owned it. I kept it in my room by my stereo. I listened to it whenever I wanted. I memorized the lyrics. I sang them when I wasn't even listening to the album. It was in every way an album that defined my musical tastes as a teenager. The album was "Frontiers."
 |
| This is what aliens looked like in the 80s--Michael Jackson's nose and Emma Stone's eyes. |
Why did I like it so much? In part, because for my very first rock concert I got to see Journey with special guest Bryan Adams at the Mini-dome in Pocatello. (I refuse to call it the Holt Arena!)
The time was early 1983. Journey had just come out with Frontiers and Bryan Adams had debuted his Cuts Like a Knife album. Nice combo! (THANKS!) Mom and Dad let me go because I attended the concert with my older sisters and their husbands, so there was little chance I'd get in any trouble. (Have you seen my brother-in-law Dirk? Nobody messes with Dirk.) Still, after the concert was over and my hearing began to return, I really felt like I had gone through a rite of passage into full teenagerdom--attending a rowdy rock concert with loud music, half-naked women throwing themselves at the band, and lots and lots of pot smoke in the air. I also saw a half dozen drug deals from our seats in the stands, as well as a few fist fights that got broken up by burly men wearing shirts that said "Security" on them. How's that for living up to the rock concert stereotype!
Bryan Adams was excellent, and he basically performed his entire album. The only thing I didn't like was at one point he got the whole crowd to yell "F--- You!" over and over. To what end, I have no idea. Maybe it was a general act of defiance to the moral policing of music that was a bit of a political issue at that time*. Then when Brian left the stage he promised he would come back to Pocatello to perform again. (He never did.)
 |
| Is he running? Is he dancing? Is he trying to start a new Olympic sport of guitar discus? |
Journey played a lot of their older hits, but mostly they played songs from Frontiers. I remember they smoked and drank a lot on stage. And Steve Perry was at his Perryest, hitting all those notes that are so high it makes your scrotum shrink. (Yours? Or mine? Me or you?) But you know what makes scrotums expand, don't you? Neither do I. But I think there might be a clue in this picture of the band from the 70s.
 |
| Neal Schon stuck in his thumb and pulled out a disco fro. |
 |
| Tighter pants. Modest bulge. Better hair. Thank you 80s! |
I cheered so hard at the concert that I couldn't do my fingers-in-mouth whistle at the end, as my lips had given out, which is something to say for someone who played trumpet every day for an hour in band class, and several more hours on pep band gigs per week. I think the band played three encores before they ended it for good and everyone went out to the mini-dome parking lot to wait in line for two hours to get out. Not too shabby for a first concert!
But that's only one reason why I loved Frontiers so much. The second reason was that when all my high school romances went south on me, there were lots of solid breakup songs on it that I could listen to and get out all that anger over being dogged by every girl I ever wanted to not be dogged by. And when I was in that mood, there was no song I liked to play more than "Back Talk." It's a blistering, hard-rockin' pile of shout-it-out-loud angry lyrics. Unfortunately, there is no decent live video of Steve Perry singing this song. The best I could find is a video with the new lead singer, who basically ruins every song he sings. Ugh! It makes me so mad!
Yes, in this instance, the song lyrics perfectly reflect the way I feel about this new lead singer.
I believe you enjoy this aggravation.
Lately that's all I get from you!
You were born to drive me crazy!
Can't take it, can't take it any more from you!
No! No more...
Back talk! I don't need it!
Back talk! I don't need it!
Back talk! Don't want to hear it!
Don't give me no back talk--
Sassy back talk--
Don't give me no sassy back talk!
NO!
Fortunately, I've listened to the Steve Perry version so many times that even this terrible, horrible, awful performance won't make me like the song any less. It is simply the perfect arena rock song for releasing pent-up anger. And if you don't believe me, then keep it to yourself, and don't give me no sassy back talk!
NO!
* Although she had been the drummer in an all-girl rock band called the Wildcats, Tipper Gore didn't like the potty-talk in rock and roll songs, and she wanted warnings/ratings on all the records so that parents could keep their daughters from listening to albums with evil songs on them. Apparently, an impressionable Gore girl bought Purple Rain and played "Darling Nikki"--a song that referenced self-pleasuring--on the home stereo while her parents listened (dumb idea!), and Tipper lost her mind. A couple years later, we started seeing those warning labels on album covers for explicit lyrics, which only made teenagers want to buy them all the more, which in turn made all the artists want to use them more. And that's why teenagers today have such filthy mouths when they give their sassy back talk.
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
144. The Mystery of the Plugged Bathtub
144. "Computer Blue" by Prince & The Revolution
The music of my freshman year at Ricks College was dominated by the soundtrack to Purple Rain. At the time I was NOT a fan of Prince. I thought the music to the movie was good, but I'm the kind of guy that thinks when a movie starts setting college fashion trends, it's time to actively resist. And Purple Rain definitely stirred up a fashion storm, even in the protective enclave of Ricks College.
One day while my roommate, Jeff, and I were talking (more accurately, he was talking while I was bashing) about Prince and Purple Rain, he mentioned a song off the album that I hadn't heard before--Computer Blue. He said he liked how it started with the dialogue between two women:
Wendy?
Yes, Lisa.
Is the water warm enough?
Yes, Lisa.
Shall we begin?
Yes, Lisa.
Then he busted up laughing at the dialogue he had just repeated. Huh?! What's so funny?
I remember after that chat he would sometimes just out of nowhere for no reason at all repeat this dialogue and then laugh. For the life of me, I don't know what he thought was so funny about these lines. First of all, it's obvious that there's oodles of sexual innuendo in the way the women say the lines. But sexual innuendo in a Prince song is nothing that surprising or entertaining or funny. So why did he keep laughing at these lines?!
Later in life, I was listening to the Purple Rain album because...um...I don't know. I must have been really bored, because like I said, I thought the songs were okay, but nothing that I'd want to listen to over and over. But I happen to be listening to the soundtrack when the song came up with that dialogue again, and I was instantly transported back to my dorm room and that conversation I'd had with my roommate Jeff. To my surprise, it turned out to be a very fond memory. And after I heard the guitar solo in the last 90 seconds of the song, I realized I liked it a lot for musical reasons too. For a Prince song, it rocked pretty hard! What's even more surprising is that when I saw the song being played in the movie, I didn't immediately dislike it because of the ridiculousness of the scene. Come on, Prince! Put a shirt on! Or at least towel off!
I still have no idea why Jeff got such a big kick out of the dialogue. When the dialogue is spoken in the movie, all it shows is a teary-eyed Prince and his drunken, abusive father smoking and standing in the hallway. So the movie is ZERO help in figuring out why Jeff thought it was so damn funny!
Nevertheless, even though I'm still annoyed by the opening dialogue in this song, because of its emotional connection to a period in my life that I now enjoy remembering, I have developed an affinity for this particular song. But I still refuse to think it's cool to dress like Prince!
The music of my freshman year at Ricks College was dominated by the soundtrack to Purple Rain. At the time I was NOT a fan of Prince. I thought the music to the movie was good, but I'm the kind of guy that thinks when a movie starts setting college fashion trends, it's time to actively resist. And Purple Rain definitely stirred up a fashion storm, even in the protective enclave of Ricks College.
 |
| Stop dressing like me! You're ruining this movie for everyone! |
One day while my roommate, Jeff, and I were talking (more accurately, he was talking while I was bashing) about Prince and Purple Rain, he mentioned a song off the album that I hadn't heard before--Computer Blue. He said he liked how it started with the dialogue between two women:
Wendy?
Yes, Lisa.
Is the water warm enough?
Yes, Lisa.
Shall we begin?
Yes, Lisa.
Then he busted up laughing at the dialogue he had just repeated. Huh?! What's so funny?
I remember after that chat he would sometimes just out of nowhere for no reason at all repeat this dialogue and then laugh. For the life of me, I don't know what he thought was so funny about these lines. First of all, it's obvious that there's oodles of sexual innuendo in the way the women say the lines. But sexual innuendo in a Prince song is nothing that surprising or entertaining or funny. So why did he keep laughing at these lines?!
Later in life, I was listening to the Purple Rain album because...um...I don't know. I must have been really bored, because like I said, I thought the songs were okay, but nothing that I'd want to listen to over and over. But I happen to be listening to the soundtrack when the song came up with that dialogue again, and I was instantly transported back to my dorm room and that conversation I'd had with my roommate Jeff. To my surprise, it turned out to be a very fond memory. And after I heard the guitar solo in the last 90 seconds of the song, I realized I liked it a lot for musical reasons too. For a Prince song, it rocked pretty hard! What's even more surprising is that when I saw the song being played in the movie, I didn't immediately dislike it because of the ridiculousness of the scene. Come on, Prince! Put a shirt on! Or at least towel off!
I still have no idea why Jeff got such a big kick out of the dialogue. When the dialogue is spoken in the movie, all it shows is a teary-eyed Prince and his drunken, abusive father smoking and standing in the hallway. So the movie is ZERO help in figuring out why Jeff thought it was so damn funny!
Nevertheless, even though I'm still annoyed by the opening dialogue in this song, because of its emotional connection to a period in my life that I now enjoy remembering, I have developed an affinity for this particular song. But I still refuse to think it's cool to dress like Prince!
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
145. Jacob's Ladder
145. "Don't Stand So Close To Me" by The Police
Every summer, from the time I was a baby until around 14 years old, Mom would pack all six or seven kids (depending on how many had been born that year) into the blue Ford LTD and drive to Aunt Elva's for an extended visit of four to five days. The reasons for the long stay were two-fold. First, we loved playing with our cousins toys, which we did NOT have duplicates of at home. Second, according to the unwritten Law of Family Visitation, the longer the trip to get there, the longer the stay had to be.
Now, back in the day when the national speed limit was 55 miles an hour, a trip from Arimo to Sand Hollow (located near the western border of the state just before hitting Oregon) took approximately 17 hours and 13 tanks of gas. Of course, I'm only counting the time it took for me to make the trip. Being the middle kid, I usually had to sit in the middle of the back seat, which nearly triples the time it takes to get anywhere. If I'd had the luxury of sitting next to the window, like my older siblings did, the drive would have taken around 6 hours.
There were three forms of entertainment on these windowless, cross-state treks: listing to the car radio, reading a book, or fighting with siblings, which most often involved arguing over what station to listen to on the radio or hitting one another with books. Such fights were exhausting for everyone, so Mom always took a breather at a rest stop somewhere in the middle of Idaho to refuel us with a picnic lunch of baloney and cheese sandwiches on homemade bread. We washed it all down with water from an old bleach bottle that had been removed from the freezer that morning and was still half-filled with ice. This was our only real source of relief from the heat, as the air conditioning in cars back then was of such limited power that we often had honest arguments over whether or not it would feel cooler to roll down the windows.
Although our drive from Marsh Valley through Magic Valley to the Treasure Valley was fraught with the perils of heat, hunger, and hitting, I still always looked forward to these trips. Why? Because at the end of our three-valley pilgrimage, I got to play with my cousin Randy, who was about one year older than me.
Wait. Did I say "play?" That's really not quite the right word for what we did all day together. Aunt Elva's family lived on a dairy farm, which is why we usually visited them and they rarely visited us. Unlike fields of wheat, milking cows are not something you can just leave behind for a day or two. They've got to be milked twice a day, rain or shine. Consequently, even though we were visitors, we were still expected to help out with the day-long list of chores--milking cows, herding cows, feeding cows, cleaning cowpies out of the milking barn, irrigating alfalfa fields, hand-pollinating row after row after row of corn, feeding pigs, herding pigs, feeding chickens, gathering eggs, feeding rabbits, and catching rabbits that broke loose while we were feeding them. We only got to "play" after we got our chores done. And my favorite game was Caroom--a poor man's version of pool played by using a small cue stick to strike a colored ring so that it collided with other colored rings with the hope that your color of ring would slide into one of the four corner pockets.
I know. I know. It doesn't sound like it's even half as fun as regular pool. But after spending most of the day doing dairy-farm chores, it seemed like the greatest game ever invented. I begged Randy to play it all the time, and he usually obliged, and he usually won. However, the real pleasure of playing the game came from glancing the rings off the sides of the board into a corner pocket--hence the name Caroom!
During the summer of 1981, right after I'd finished the 9th grade, my summer visit to Aunt Elva's marked a change in my relationship with Randy. I became more of a tag-along than a playmate. He tried to ditch me a couple of times by sneaking around corners when I wasn't looking. This made me try to stay really close to him as we did our chores, since I didn't want to have to hunt him down or go back to the house without him, as that would make me look like I was being lazy, and Mom would get mad at me and tell me to get back out and help with the chores.
Because I was trying to stick to Randy like glue, he got annoyed at me on our second day and told me to back off. Then, for the rest of the visit, he would sing "Don't Stand So Close to Me" anytime I got within arm's length. But he wouldn't just sing that chorus line, he'd go on to sing other parts of the song, and he sometimes change the lyrics. He was especially fond of replacing the word "bad" with "fat" in the line "Her friends are so jealous, you know how FAT girls get!"
While I didn't appreciate Randy's repeated musical admonitions of "don't stand so close me," I actually began to like the song because of his singing it. Later that year, when I joined the Columbia Records and Tapes club, as one of my thirteen choices I ordered the Police's third album "Zenyatta Mondatta"--which I believe in the original language of Stingish means "statutory rape."
The commercial success of this song forced these three musical geniuses to create one of the most boring music videos of all time. The only redeeming thing in this visual debacle is the somewhat Stooge-esque dance moves. Here's a tip for producing a quality video, laddies. When a ladder is the most interesting thing in the video--even more interesting than Sting taking off his shirt--it's time to stop filming and come up with another idea for the video.
While I enjoy all of the songs on that album--including the baby-talk titled song "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da"--I've come to accept that my favorite song on the album is "Don't Stand So Close To Me." In spite of the creepy storyline of an English teacher's illicit affair with a sexually precocious teenage student, I can't help but associate it with my fond memories of staying at Aunt Elva's house during the summers of my youth.
Sadly, after that summer Randy introduced me to The Police, his life took a number of turns that put us on much different paths. Because of his drug use, we did not end up the life-long friends that I'd hoped we'd be. And even more sadly, the drugs eventually led to him dying at the age of 40 due to complications of a fungus infection in his lungs. However, the good memories of our times together remain a source of happiness to me. And to this day, whenever I hear "Don't Stand So Close To Me," I turn up the song, think of Randy, and belt out the line "You know how FAT girls get!"
Every summer, from the time I was a baby until around 14 years old, Mom would pack all six or seven kids (depending on how many had been born that year) into the blue Ford LTD and drive to Aunt Elva's for an extended visit of four to five days. The reasons for the long stay were two-fold. First, we loved playing with our cousins toys, which we did NOT have duplicates of at home. Second, according to the unwritten Law of Family Visitation, the longer the trip to get there, the longer the stay had to be.
Now, back in the day when the national speed limit was 55 miles an hour, a trip from Arimo to Sand Hollow (located near the western border of the state just before hitting Oregon) took approximately 17 hours and 13 tanks of gas. Of course, I'm only counting the time it took for me to make the trip. Being the middle kid, I usually had to sit in the middle of the back seat, which nearly triples the time it takes to get anywhere. If I'd had the luxury of sitting next to the window, like my older siblings did, the drive would have taken around 6 hours.
There were three forms of entertainment on these windowless, cross-state treks: listing to the car radio, reading a book, or fighting with siblings, which most often involved arguing over what station to listen to on the radio or hitting one another with books. Such fights were exhausting for everyone, so Mom always took a breather at a rest stop somewhere in the middle of Idaho to refuel us with a picnic lunch of baloney and cheese sandwiches on homemade bread. We washed it all down with water from an old bleach bottle that had been removed from the freezer that morning and was still half-filled with ice. This was our only real source of relief from the heat, as the air conditioning in cars back then was of such limited power that we often had honest arguments over whether or not it would feel cooler to roll down the windows.
Although our drive from Marsh Valley through Magic Valley to the Treasure Valley was fraught with the perils of heat, hunger, and hitting, I still always looked forward to these trips. Why? Because at the end of our three-valley pilgrimage, I got to play with my cousin Randy, who was about one year older than me.
Wait. Did I say "play?" That's really not quite the right word for what we did all day together. Aunt Elva's family lived on a dairy farm, which is why we usually visited them and they rarely visited us. Unlike fields of wheat, milking cows are not something you can just leave behind for a day or two. They've got to be milked twice a day, rain or shine. Consequently, even though we were visitors, we were still expected to help out with the day-long list of chores--milking cows, herding cows, feeding cows, cleaning cowpies out of the milking barn, irrigating alfalfa fields, hand-pollinating row after row after row of corn, feeding pigs, herding pigs, feeding chickens, gathering eggs, feeding rabbits, and catching rabbits that broke loose while we were feeding them. We only got to "play" after we got our chores done. And my favorite game was Caroom--a poor man's version of pool played by using a small cue stick to strike a colored ring so that it collided with other colored rings with the hope that your color of ring would slide into one of the four corner pockets.
 |
| Caroom! |
During the summer of 1981, right after I'd finished the 9th grade, my summer visit to Aunt Elva's marked a change in my relationship with Randy. I became more of a tag-along than a playmate. He tried to ditch me a couple of times by sneaking around corners when I wasn't looking. This made me try to stay really close to him as we did our chores, since I didn't want to have to hunt him down or go back to the house without him, as that would make me look like I was being lazy, and Mom would get mad at me and tell me to get back out and help with the chores.
Because I was trying to stick to Randy like glue, he got annoyed at me on our second day and told me to back off. Then, for the rest of the visit, he would sing "Don't Stand So Close to Me" anytime I got within arm's length. But he wouldn't just sing that chorus line, he'd go on to sing other parts of the song, and he sometimes change the lyrics. He was especially fond of replacing the word "bad" with "fat" in the line "Her friends are so jealous, you know how FAT girls get!"
While I didn't appreciate Randy's repeated musical admonitions of "don't stand so close me," I actually began to like the song because of his singing it. Later that year, when I joined the Columbia Records and Tapes club, as one of my thirteen choices I ordered the Police's third album "Zenyatta Mondatta"--which I believe in the original language of Stingish means "statutory rape."
The commercial success of this song forced these three musical geniuses to create one of the most boring music videos of all time. The only redeeming thing in this visual debacle is the somewhat Stooge-esque dance moves. Here's a tip for producing a quality video, laddies. When a ladder is the most interesting thing in the video--even more interesting than Sting taking off his shirt--it's time to stop filming and come up with another idea for the video.
While I enjoy all of the songs on that album--including the baby-talk titled song "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da"--I've come to accept that my favorite song on the album is "Don't Stand So Close To Me." In spite of the creepy storyline of an English teacher's illicit affair with a sexually precocious teenage student, I can't help but associate it with my fond memories of staying at Aunt Elva's house during the summers of my youth.
Sadly, after that summer Randy introduced me to The Police, his life took a number of turns that put us on much different paths. Because of his drug use, we did not end up the life-long friends that I'd hoped we'd be. And even more sadly, the drugs eventually led to him dying at the age of 40 due to complications of a fungus infection in his lungs. However, the good memories of our times together remain a source of happiness to me. And to this day, whenever I hear "Don't Stand So Close To Me," I turn up the song, think of Randy, and belt out the line "You know how FAT girls get!"
Monday, March 20, 2017
146. The Pipes are Calling
146. "It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll)" by AC/DC
Bagpipes!
Did I mention the bagpipes?
BAGPIPES!
'Nuff said!
Bagpipes!
Did I mention the bagpipes?
BAGPIPES!
'Nuff said!
147. Soitenly!
147. "The Curly Shuffle" by Jump 'N' the Saddle Band
The beginning of the 1976 television season introduced my 10-year-old cartoon loving brain to Jabberjaw--a shark that talked like Curly on The Three Stooges. I didn't like the storyline of the cartoon that much--a shark that's a drummer for a lame teenage rock band. It actually wasn't that memorable of a show to me, and I don't recall anything that ever happened in any of the episodes. But I loved how Jabberjaw talked like Curly--so much so that I began to imitate Jabberjaw. That's right. In my pre-pubescent mind, I wanted to learn to talk like Jabberjaw, not Curly. So I practiced by repeating the phrases and sounds that Jabberjaw made until I got decent enough at imitating the shark that I could not only make my sisters laugh, but I also could make myself chuckle. Granted, my Jabberjaw repertoire was mostly limited to three sounds: woob-woob, nyuk-nyuk, and ahUUUah! But you can do a lot with just these three sounds. In fact, these three sounds made up about 37% of the shark's dialogue on the show. Don't believe me? Here's a sample.
In this clip, Jabber has about 40 seconds of dialogue. In that time, he had 3 woob-woobs, 6 nyuk-nyuks, and 5 ahUUUahs. The time it takes to make those three sounds varies, but it's about 15 seconds in total. 15/40 = 37.5%
I told ya! I told ya!
Full disclosure--I totally made up the 37% number before I did the dialogue analysis, and I was right on the mark! I guess I must have learned more from Alan Christensen's math classes than how to make girls laugh by sharpening pencils. (Take a full-length pencil, insert into sharpener, crank for about 5 seconds, blow on the pencil tip and check for sharpness, insert and crank again for about 10 seconds, blow again, sharpen for 2 seconds, blow again, sharpen for 2 quick cranks, blow again, return to seat with pencil nub.)
Because I had already mastered the three basic Jabberjaw curly-esque sounds, when the Jump 'N' the Saddle Band released "The Curly Shuffle" in 1983 I made an immediate, strong connection to the song, and I started adding some Curly quotes to my Jabberjaw noises, including "Oh, wise guy!" and "Soitenly!"
The Curly Shuffle hardly ever gets played on the radio anymore, but every now and then when I'm feeling like I want a little pick-me-up, I'll google up an illegal copy on the ol' internet and let the song take me back to a time when all I needed to be happy was a little Jabberjaw noise.
I don't know if there was ever an official video that went with this song, and if there was, I doubt MTV played it. But I do think that it is entertaining to listen to the song while watching clips from The Three Stooges shorts.
By the way, I think most songs would be better if you've got a Stooges movie compilation for the video. For example, Gangnam Style is at least 1000% better with Moe, Larry, and Curly (and Shemp) dancing to it. (I'm sure that Roni and Buzz will back me up on that claim.)
If only I could imitate those dance moves!
The Curly Shuffle isn't the first or last novelty song on the list. But it is the only song that brings out my inner ten-year-old so much that I walk around the house doing Jabberjaw sounds for the rest of the day. Of course, you know what my wife's reaction is to that--AhUUUahUUUahUUUah!
The beginning of the 1976 television season introduced my 10-year-old cartoon loving brain to Jabberjaw--a shark that talked like Curly on The Three Stooges. I didn't like the storyline of the cartoon that much--a shark that's a drummer for a lame teenage rock band. It actually wasn't that memorable of a show to me, and I don't recall anything that ever happened in any of the episodes. But I loved how Jabberjaw talked like Curly--so much so that I began to imitate Jabberjaw. That's right. In my pre-pubescent mind, I wanted to learn to talk like Jabberjaw, not Curly. So I practiced by repeating the phrases and sounds that Jabberjaw made until I got decent enough at imitating the shark that I could not only make my sisters laugh, but I also could make myself chuckle. Granted, my Jabberjaw repertoire was mostly limited to three sounds: woob-woob, nyuk-nyuk, and ahUUUah! But you can do a lot with just these three sounds. In fact, these three sounds made up about 37% of the shark's dialogue on the show. Don't believe me? Here's a sample.
In this clip, Jabber has about 40 seconds of dialogue. In that time, he had 3 woob-woobs, 6 nyuk-nyuks, and 5 ahUUUahs. The time it takes to make those three sounds varies, but it's about 15 seconds in total. 15/40 = 37.5%
I told ya! I told ya!
Full disclosure--I totally made up the 37% number before I did the dialogue analysis, and I was right on the mark! I guess I must have learned more from Alan Christensen's math classes than how to make girls laugh by sharpening pencils. (Take a full-length pencil, insert into sharpener, crank for about 5 seconds, blow on the pencil tip and check for sharpness, insert and crank again for about 10 seconds, blow again, sharpen for 2 seconds, blow again, sharpen for 2 quick cranks, blow again, return to seat with pencil nub.)
Because I had already mastered the three basic Jabberjaw curly-esque sounds, when the Jump 'N' the Saddle Band released "The Curly Shuffle" in 1983 I made an immediate, strong connection to the song, and I started adding some Curly quotes to my Jabberjaw noises, including "Oh, wise guy!" and "Soitenly!"
The Curly Shuffle hardly ever gets played on the radio anymore, but every now and then when I'm feeling like I want a little pick-me-up, I'll google up an illegal copy on the ol' internet and let the song take me back to a time when all I needed to be happy was a little Jabberjaw noise.
I don't know if there was ever an official video that went with this song, and if there was, I doubt MTV played it. But I do think that it is entertaining to listen to the song while watching clips from The Three Stooges shorts.
By the way, I think most songs would be better if you've got a Stooges movie compilation for the video. For example, Gangnam Style is at least 1000% better with Moe, Larry, and Curly (and Shemp) dancing to it. (I'm sure that Roni and Buzz will back me up on that claim.)
If only I could imitate those dance moves!
The Curly Shuffle isn't the first or last novelty song on the list. But it is the only song that brings out my inner ten-year-old so much that I walk around the house doing Jabberjaw sounds for the rest of the day. Of course, you know what my wife's reaction is to that--AhUUUahUUUahUUUah!
Saturday, March 18, 2017
148. Runny Mascara
148. "School's Out" by Alice Cooper
Since I've been a professional educator for most of my career, most people would probably not expect a song like "School's Out" to be one of my favoritist songs. But as my good friend Hondo says, "Peoples is idiots."
In truth, teachers can hate school as much or more than the students. And having worked as a teacher for six years, I can guarantee that the only people that detest the principal more than the students are the teachers. By the end of the year, the teachers are so sick of putting up with crap from administrators that they can barely hold on to their sanity until that last bells rings and they have three therapeutic months to repress the urge to firebomb the principal's office.
Don't get me wrong. I learned to hate school plenty enough when I was a student. The last semester of high school went pretty sour for me. I did have some good memories, especially of Mz. Marsh Valley, band tour, and track. But when I wasn't hanging out with friends, I basically retreated mentally into this little corner of hell reserved for teenage boys that have sworn off dating due to multiple rejections only to be asked out to the senior prom by their principal. (That entire tale will be chronicled in another related song.) Anyway, for the last four months of high school, I basically felt like Alice Cooper looks. And this song perfectly embodies the way I felt about school by graduation.
Well we got no class.
And we got no principals.
And we got no innocence.
We can't even think of a word that rhymes.
School's out for summer!
School's out forever!
My school's been blown to pieces!
It was lyrics like these that made Alice Cooper one of the evil musicians that our religious leaders warned us about--a depraved pervert that would brainwash us with his song lyrics so that he could lead the youth astray and eventually destroy our nation through the spread of sin. But honestly, after this last election and what we've seen Trump do to America so far, do we really still think Alice is the one that wants to destroy public education, set a bad example for our youth, and send the country down the path of ruin? Hell! I'd vote for him!
Since I've been a professional educator for most of my career, most people would probably not expect a song like "School's Out" to be one of my favoritist songs. But as my good friend Hondo says, "Peoples is idiots."
In truth, teachers can hate school as much or more than the students. And having worked as a teacher for six years, I can guarantee that the only people that detest the principal more than the students are the teachers. By the end of the year, the teachers are so sick of putting up with crap from administrators that they can barely hold on to their sanity until that last bells rings and they have three therapeutic months to repress the urge to firebomb the principal's office.
Don't get me wrong. I learned to hate school plenty enough when I was a student. The last semester of high school went pretty sour for me. I did have some good memories, especially of Mz. Marsh Valley, band tour, and track. But when I wasn't hanging out with friends, I basically retreated mentally into this little corner of hell reserved for teenage boys that have sworn off dating due to multiple rejections only to be asked out to the senior prom by their principal. (That entire tale will be chronicled in another related song.) Anyway, for the last four months of high school, I basically felt like Alice Cooper looks. And this song perfectly embodies the way I felt about school by graduation.
Well we got no class.
And we got no principals.
And we got no innocence.
We can't even think of a word that rhymes.
School's out for summer!
School's out forever!
My school's been blown to pieces!
It was lyrics like these that made Alice Cooper one of the evil musicians that our religious leaders warned us about--a depraved pervert that would brainwash us with his song lyrics so that he could lead the youth astray and eventually destroy our nation through the spread of sin. But honestly, after this last election and what we've seen Trump do to America so far, do we really still think Alice is the one that wants to destroy public education, set a bad example for our youth, and send the country down the path of ruin? Hell! I'd vote for him!
Friday, March 17, 2017
149. Blitzkrieg Bop
149. "Metal Health" by Quiet Riot
On a chilly evening in the fall of 1983, the Marsh Valley football team stood on the Malad football field stretching out and warming up with our usual routine of jumping jacks, pushups, choppers, and leg stretches. Malad's team hadn't taken the field yet, and we had pretty much run out of exercises to do. We had a good team that year, and we were pretty confident we'd win this game, so we weren't really nervous about the game, but we weren't psyched up about it either.
Then the dragons finally stormed onto the field while the hometown crowd cheered them on--usually a moment when the visiting team gets psyched out, not psyched up. But the folks running the loudspeakers made a terrible mistake. Instead of letting the noise of the crowd energize their players, they blasted out a song from the Footloose movie soundtrack.
No, not "Let's Here It For The Boy." Nope, it wasn't "Almost Paradise." Sorry, but there was no "Dancing in the Sheets." And there wasn't anyone cutting "Footloose" either. Why? Because the movie Footloose wouldn't premiere until a good 3+ months later. But there was one titular song from another album that was making its way up the charts that would be featured in the film and would be listed as a bonus song on the Footloose soundtrack. That song was "Metal Health" by Quiet Riot.
At the sound of that song blasting out onto the field, everyone on the Eagles side of the field yelled out in delight. Adrenaline shot through our veins, and we started to get violently psyched up for the game--pounding each other's shoulder pads and slamming our helmets together when the lead singer belted out the line "Bang your head!"
While Malad's team put on quite a show of excitement while the song was playing, I think at least a few people on their sideline noticed that we had become more psyched up by the song than the home team. They probably didn't realize it, but the moment the opening chords of the song hit our earbones was the moment Malad lost the game. We got so psyched up by the song that we ended up crushing them in the first half. I don't remember the final score, but I do remember that we got so far ahead of them that the coach actually let me play linebacker for four plays--two plays at two different times during the game.
I had always wanted to play linebacker, not center. Unfortunately, the team had plenty of guys that could play linebacker, but only two that could focus their attention during a game well enough to keep count when the quarterback started yelling "Hut!" and hike the ball at the right time--me and Shane McQuivey. And the coaches didn't want to risk me getting injured during the game on defense so that I couldn't play offense. But because we were so far ahead in the game by the second half, they started letting the second string center play ball, which put me on the sidelines. (Doug Armstrong was second string center. And no, he didn't count too good.)
Because the coaches began to look at the game as an opportunity to train people in their back-up positions, I got to finally play some defense! Each time I took the field as linebacker, I was sent in on a blitz. And each time I either tackled the ball carrier or made them scramble in the backfield so the play got screwed up and they lost yards. It was my finest defensive moment of my high school football career! And it never would have happened without this song.
Now, each time I hear the thunderous guitar of the opening bars of Metal Health on the radio, I turn the volume all the way up, scream out the lyrics, and get psyched up all over again. Sounds crazy? Exactly! Metal health'll drive you mad!
On a chilly evening in the fall of 1983, the Marsh Valley football team stood on the Malad football field stretching out and warming up with our usual routine of jumping jacks, pushups, choppers, and leg stretches. Malad's team hadn't taken the field yet, and we had pretty much run out of exercises to do. We had a good team that year, and we were pretty confident we'd win this game, so we weren't really nervous about the game, but we weren't psyched up about it either.
Then the dragons finally stormed onto the field while the hometown crowd cheered them on--usually a moment when the visiting team gets psyched out, not psyched up. But the folks running the loudspeakers made a terrible mistake. Instead of letting the noise of the crowd energize their players, they blasted out a song from the Footloose movie soundtrack.
No, not "Let's Here It For The Boy." Nope, it wasn't "Almost Paradise." Sorry, but there was no "Dancing in the Sheets." And there wasn't anyone cutting "Footloose" either. Why? Because the movie Footloose wouldn't premiere until a good 3+ months later. But there was one titular song from another album that was making its way up the charts that would be featured in the film and would be listed as a bonus song on the Footloose soundtrack. That song was "Metal Health" by Quiet Riot.
At the sound of that song blasting out onto the field, everyone on the Eagles side of the field yelled out in delight. Adrenaline shot through our veins, and we started to get violently psyched up for the game--pounding each other's shoulder pads and slamming our helmets together when the lead singer belted out the line "Bang your head!"
While Malad's team put on quite a show of excitement while the song was playing, I think at least a few people on their sideline noticed that we had become more psyched up by the song than the home team. They probably didn't realize it, but the moment the opening chords of the song hit our earbones was the moment Malad lost the game. We got so psyched up by the song that we ended up crushing them in the first half. I don't remember the final score, but I do remember that we got so far ahead of them that the coach actually let me play linebacker for four plays--two plays at two different times during the game.
I had always wanted to play linebacker, not center. Unfortunately, the team had plenty of guys that could play linebacker, but only two that could focus their attention during a game well enough to keep count when the quarterback started yelling "Hut!" and hike the ball at the right time--me and Shane McQuivey. And the coaches didn't want to risk me getting injured during the game on defense so that I couldn't play offense. But because we were so far ahead in the game by the second half, they started letting the second string center play ball, which put me on the sidelines. (Doug Armstrong was second string center. And no, he didn't count too good.)
Because the coaches began to look at the game as an opportunity to train people in their back-up positions, I got to finally play some defense! Each time I took the field as linebacker, I was sent in on a blitz. And each time I either tackled the ball carrier or made them scramble in the backfield so the play got screwed up and they lost yards. It was my finest defensive moment of my high school football career! And it never would have happened without this song.
Now, each time I hear the thunderous guitar of the opening bars of Metal Health on the radio, I turn the volume all the way up, scream out the lyrics, and get psyched up all over again. Sounds crazy? Exactly! Metal health'll drive you mad!
Thursday, March 16, 2017
150. Windows of Heaven
150. "Barracuda" by Heart
Two vehicles are inextricably connected to many fond memories of my teenage years--Old Blue and The Cuda. While there are a number of songs I associate with Old Blue--especially songs by Meatloaf--there isn't any particular song on the radio that makes me want to belt out its name. Not so for The Cuda. Thanks to the Wilson sisters, every time I hear the opening 30 seconds of "Barracuda," I'm transported in my mind to a highway leading out of Arimo with me in the back seat or, preferably, riding shotgun, with Joe at the wheel slamming down the gas pedal with his foot and looking out the windshield with an expression on his face that says "I OWN this road!"
Yes, I know the song is not about the car. It's about music industry sleaze-bags. Still, when Ann sings out "Barra-Cu-da!" I'm belting out the word too with nothing in mind but cruisin' Arimo in a white Plymouth Barracuda with a giant wrapped-down back window.
My friends' cars were part of who they were individually and who we were as a group. There was as much Old Blue in Sheldon as there was Sheldon in Old Blue. The same went for the Cuda, a fact that David Jane found out when he tried to pick a fight with you at a churchball game. You really wanna fight David? I don't think so. If the Cuda revs up in the middle of a brawl, you're going to end up roadkill! I also remember riding around in Chris's car--an Uncle Wayne gift that said "I love you so much, grandson, that I'm going to keep you safe by making sure you don't ride around town in Old Blue anymore."
Now, I'm very grateful that my father has always been good about making sure I've had a vehicle to drive. In fact, I've been driving one of Dad's pickups for the last ten years. But I never had a car of my own during my teenage years. I never had a vehicle that merged with my own personality and became part of who I was. Instead, it was my friends' vehicles that wormed their way into my heart and became part of my being. And that's why whenever this song comes on the radio--and it does a LOT--I swear I smell just a little car exhaust flow into the cab, and if I happen to be on a highway, the hammer goes down as the radio volume goes up.
Oooooo! Barra-CU-da!
Two vehicles are inextricably connected to many fond memories of my teenage years--Old Blue and The Cuda. While there are a number of songs I associate with Old Blue--especially songs by Meatloaf--there isn't any particular song on the radio that makes me want to belt out its name. Not so for The Cuda. Thanks to the Wilson sisters, every time I hear the opening 30 seconds of "Barracuda," I'm transported in my mind to a highway leading out of Arimo with me in the back seat or, preferably, riding shotgun, with Joe at the wheel slamming down the gas pedal with his foot and looking out the windshield with an expression on his face that says "I OWN this road!"
 |
| I've probably got the wrong model year pictured here, but that's the back window I've got in my head. |
Yes, I know the song is not about the car. It's about music industry sleaze-bags. Still, when Ann sings out "Barra-Cu-da!" I'm belting out the word too with nothing in mind but cruisin' Arimo in a white Plymouth Barracuda with a giant wrapped-down back window.
My friends' cars were part of who they were individually and who we were as a group. There was as much Old Blue in Sheldon as there was Sheldon in Old Blue. The same went for the Cuda, a fact that David Jane found out when he tried to pick a fight with you at a churchball game. You really wanna fight David? I don't think so. If the Cuda revs up in the middle of a brawl, you're going to end up roadkill! I also remember riding around in Chris's car--an Uncle Wayne gift that said "I love you so much, grandson, that I'm going to keep you safe by making sure you don't ride around town in Old Blue anymore."
Now, I'm very grateful that my father has always been good about making sure I've had a vehicle to drive. In fact, I've been driving one of Dad's pickups for the last ten years. But I never had a car of my own during my teenage years. I never had a vehicle that merged with my own personality and became part of who I was. Instead, it was my friends' vehicles that wormed their way into my heart and became part of my being. And that's why whenever this song comes on the radio--and it does a LOT--I swear I smell just a little car exhaust flow into the cab, and if I happen to be on a highway, the hammer goes down as the radio volume goes up.
Oooooo! Barra-CU-da!
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
151. Everything's Up to Date in Kansas City!
151. "Short Skirt/Long Jacket" by Cake
Begins with trumpet high note. Check.
Catchy bass riff. Check.
Funky beat. Check.
Rattlesnakey sound. Check.
Ironic lyrics about men's chauvanistic ideas on what makes a "perfect" woman. Check.
Extended pause. Double-check.
Sing/shout-along chorus. Check.
Extremely clever simile. Check.
Trumpet solos. Check.
Na-na-na-na-na-nahhhs. Check.
Ends with trumpet high note.
Oh, this is has got soooooooo much good stuff in it! Who wouldn't absolutely LOVE this song?!
Apparently, Cake wanted to find out.
My first reaction to this song was similar to Robert L. Clark's--"Damn! This is good!" I knew right away that I would like the song, but what propelled it into the top 200 was the ingenious line "With fingernails that shine like Justice." That line, and the rest of this song, made me laugh involuntarily laugh through the first listen, and I still crack a smile every time I hear it, partly because it reminds me of all those ridiculous women I had to deal with in Kansas City that dedicated their lives to climbing the corporate ladder (by touring the facility and picking up slack) and all the men that wanted to bed (but not marry) women like that. I'm so glad I quit that job!
Anyway, even though I'm really a pie guy at heart, I have to admit it--I likes me some of this Cake!
Begins with trumpet high note. Check.
Catchy bass riff. Check.
Funky beat. Check.
Rattlesnakey sound. Check.
Ironic lyrics about men's chauvanistic ideas on what makes a "perfect" woman. Check.
Extended pause. Double-check.
Sing/shout-along chorus. Check.
Extremely clever simile. Check.
Trumpet solos. Check.
Na-na-na-na-na-nahhhs. Check.
Ends with trumpet high note.
Oh, this is has got soooooooo much good stuff in it! Who wouldn't absolutely LOVE this song?!
Apparently, Cake wanted to find out.
My first reaction to this song was similar to Robert L. Clark's--"Damn! This is good!" I knew right away that I would like the song, but what propelled it into the top 200 was the ingenious line "With fingernails that shine like Justice." That line, and the rest of this song, made me laugh involuntarily laugh through the first listen, and I still crack a smile every time I hear it, partly because it reminds me of all those ridiculous women I had to deal with in Kansas City that dedicated their lives to climbing the corporate ladder (by touring the facility and picking up slack) and all the men that wanted to bed (but not marry) women like that. I'm so glad I quit that job!
Anyway, even though I'm really a pie guy at heart, I have to admit it--I likes me some of this Cake!
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
152. Where and When?
152. "Right Here, Right Now" by Kiss Fat Boy Slim Zach Efron and Vanessa Hudgens Giorgio Moroder Sander van Doorn Jesus Jones
Nope. That's not it.
That's not it either.
Definitely NOT it!
Hmmmm. Giorgio looks a lot like Kylie Minogue.
Who the hell is Sander von Doorn?
Okay. That's more like it. Kind of. Can't find a good copy of the original music video for this song, but this particular lip-sync television performance is lame enough to be mildly entertaining.
When I told Julie this song made the cut she said, "Really?! Why?!" Good question, my dearest alt-rock muse!
When the Berlin Wall began to fall in November 1989, there was a sense that the world was about to change in a big way. About a year later, East Germany and West Germany unified. And about a year after that, during the summer of 1991, Jesus Jones had this song--Right Here, Right Now--hit the tops of the charts. With all of the former soviet states declaring their independence one after another, it seems only a matter of time before the U.S.S.R. would collapse. Then, on Christmas Day 1991, the Soviet Union disappeared and Boris Yeltsin became president of Russia.
While I don't remember much about Yeltsin, I do remember that he was quite a character. He was this old man that said whatever he wanted to say and didn't show much restraint in his personal behavior. And he really didn't care much about what all of his radical changes to the government would do to his country. We will never see the Russians elect a president like him again.
Uhhh. Well, maybe they will...someday...maybe.
By the end of 1991, the Cold War world I had grown up in was gone. After that, America was left as the only remaining superpower, and that meant only one thing--I could finally come out of my underground bunker and run a marathon!
Of course, it took me about 5 years after that before I got in good enough shape to run one. But as I stood at the starting line of the St. George marathon amongst thousands of excited people just waiting for the race to begin, the breathy voice of Jesus Jones blasted from the starting line speakers. I remember thinking "Yes! Right here. Right now. This IS the only place I wanna be-EEEEE!" And shortly after the song ended, the starting gun rang out, and thousands of eager, energetic runners cheered and galloped down the desert road in unison. What a rush!
And thirty minutes and five miles later I began to walk, and I remember thinking to myself, "Why am I here right now?" Holy Moses! It hurt so bad!
But I kept on going--walking and running and walking and running and walking and walking and walking--and just didn't stop until 21.2 miles and four hours later, when I hobbled across the finish line.
So this song does double duty for me. First, it reminds me of the passing of my youth and the old world order where the Russians were considered the evil arch-enemies of America--Oh! How I miss those days! And it also reminds me of that sweet adrenaline rush of the first few minutes of my first marathon--something that felt so good I ended up running two more marathons later in life, including one with you, Hondo Joe! So if you've ever wondered who was to blame for all that pain you felt while dragging yourself through Cache Valley with me on a 26.2 mile run, you now know the answer--it was all because of Jesus.
Nope. That's not it.
That's not it either.
Definitely NOT it!
Hmmmm. Giorgio looks a lot like Kylie Minogue.
Who the hell is Sander von Doorn?
Okay. That's more like it. Kind of. Can't find a good copy of the original music video for this song, but this particular lip-sync television performance is lame enough to be mildly entertaining.
When I told Julie this song made the cut she said, "Really?! Why?!" Good question, my dearest alt-rock muse!
When the Berlin Wall began to fall in November 1989, there was a sense that the world was about to change in a big way. About a year later, East Germany and West Germany unified. And about a year after that, during the summer of 1991, Jesus Jones had this song--Right Here, Right Now--hit the tops of the charts. With all of the former soviet states declaring their independence one after another, it seems only a matter of time before the U.S.S.R. would collapse. Then, on Christmas Day 1991, the Soviet Union disappeared and Boris Yeltsin became president of Russia.
While I don't remember much about Yeltsin, I do remember that he was quite a character. He was this old man that said whatever he wanted to say and didn't show much restraint in his personal behavior. And he really didn't care much about what all of his radical changes to the government would do to his country. We will never see the Russians elect a president like him again.
Uhhh. Well, maybe they will...someday...maybe.
By the end of 1991, the Cold War world I had grown up in was gone. After that, America was left as the only remaining superpower, and that meant only one thing--I could finally come out of my underground bunker and run a marathon!
Of course, it took me about 5 years after that before I got in good enough shape to run one. But as I stood at the starting line of the St. George marathon amongst thousands of excited people just waiting for the race to begin, the breathy voice of Jesus Jones blasted from the starting line speakers. I remember thinking "Yes! Right here. Right now. This IS the only place I wanna be-EEEEE!" And shortly after the song ended, the starting gun rang out, and thousands of eager, energetic runners cheered and galloped down the desert road in unison. What a rush!
And thirty minutes and five miles later I began to walk, and I remember thinking to myself, "Why am I here right now?" Holy Moses! It hurt so bad!
But I kept on going--walking and running and walking and running and walking and walking and walking--and just didn't stop until 21.2 miles and four hours later, when I hobbled across the finish line.
So this song does double duty for me. First, it reminds me of the passing of my youth and the old world order where the Russians were considered the evil arch-enemies of America--Oh! How I miss those days! And it also reminds me of that sweet adrenaline rush of the first few minutes of my first marathon--something that felt so good I ended up running two more marathons later in life, including one with you, Hondo Joe! So if you've ever wondered who was to blame for all that pain you felt while dragging yourself through Cache Valley with me on a 26.2 mile run, you now know the answer--it was all because of Jesus.
Monday, March 13, 2017
153. Island Girl!
153. "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred
If there was ever a perfect song for public cross-dressing activities, it's this one. If we'd had this song in 1984, it definitely would have replaced "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" as the Mz. Marsh Valley workout song. I got married in 1988--about three or four years before this song began to hit the charts--so for me, this song has always been one of those goofy but infectious tunes I can play and make my wife crack up by dancing in a very un-sexy way. It's tailor-made for strutting and booty-shaking and hip-thrusting and rubbing your chest with your hands and dozens of other things that overweight, middle-aged men should never, ever attempt in front of others but still do because when the bass beat gets going, it's almost impossible not to indulge your inner Zoolander.
There's not too much else to say about this song that wasn't already covered in The HondoJoe Top 200. This song came in at only #174 on that list. But I think I found something that could move it up that chart a few places. Behold! The power of Dawn Wells!
If there was ever a perfect song for public cross-dressing activities, it's this one. If we'd had this song in 1984, it definitely would have replaced "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" as the Mz. Marsh Valley workout song. I got married in 1988--about three or four years before this song began to hit the charts--so for me, this song has always been one of those goofy but infectious tunes I can play and make my wife crack up by dancing in a very un-sexy way. It's tailor-made for strutting and booty-shaking and hip-thrusting and rubbing your chest with your hands and dozens of other things that overweight, middle-aged men should never, ever attempt in front of others but still do because when the bass beat gets going, it's almost impossible not to indulge your inner Zoolander.
There's not too much else to say about this song that wasn't already covered in The HondoJoe Top 200. This song came in at only #174 on that list. But I think I found something that could move it up that chart a few places. Behold! The power of Dawn Wells!
Sunday, March 12, 2017
154. Dude Looks Like a Lady!
154. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper
While the reaction of parents and school patrons to "The Thriller" drill team controversy may have been meant to send out a strong message that it was morally wrong for young women to dance in public while wearing tight-fitting women's clothes, the public's reaction to the Mz. Marsh Valley contest sent out an even stronger message that it was A-OK for young men to dance in public while wearing tight-fitting women's clothes, but only as long as they wore wigs and fake boobs while they did it. I have already chronicled much of my remembrance of the pageant in my write-up for song #189: Maple Leaf Rag. But I did not mention that we all had to learn a really lame Jane Fonda-esque workout routine to the song "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper. I don't remember the dance moves now. I think that's in part because I didn't remember them back then either. Much of the unintended comedic moves I performed in that routine arose organically out of my inability to memorize the elaborate sequence of moves that some girls on the drill team had made up for us. Although, in my own defense, I don't think my botched dance moves could have been any worse than the dancing in the music video for the song.
Watching the video now brings back fond memories of coming home from school to find my depressed aproned mother cracking two dozen eggs in a bowl for no apparent reason, because the only other thing she had out on the counter to cook with was a box of corn flakes. Of course, they were no ordinary corn flakes. These cornflakes had the ability to pour themselves! (Check out the video at the 00:41 mark to see what I mean.)
From what I can tell from the video, girls in the early 80s found it fun to (a) twist the arms of obese, shirtless men with Jerry curls; (b) talk on the phone; (c) engage in small-group synchronized movements while sitting on bleachers; (d) become trapped in the Phantom Zone; (e) watch hunchbacks carry unconscious women into cathedrals; (f) put on sunglasses; and (g) dance in an every increasingly longer conga line down the middle of a street lined with obviously unemployed men into a New York subway that leads to the court-house steps and then all the way back to their pink-walled bedrooms where they can have a confetti party. Yep. That's exactly what girls did for fun in the early 80s. For boys to have fun, they had to engage in publicly sanctioned cross-dressing activities.
Watching the video now brings back fond memories of coming home from school to find my depressed aproned mother cracking two dozen eggs in a bowl for no apparent reason, because the only other thing she had out on the counter to cook with was a box of corn flakes. Of course, they were no ordinary corn flakes. These cornflakes had the ability to pour themselves! (Check out the video at the 00:41 mark to see what I mean.)
From what I can tell from the video, girls in the early 80s found it fun to (a) twist the arms of obese, shirtless men with Jerry curls; (b) talk on the phone; (c) engage in small-group synchronized movements while sitting on bleachers; (d) become trapped in the Phantom Zone; (e) watch hunchbacks carry unconscious women into cathedrals; (f) put on sunglasses; and (g) dance in an every increasingly longer conga line down the middle of a street lined with obviously unemployed men into a New York subway that leads to the court-house steps and then all the way back to their pink-walled bedrooms where they can have a confetti party. Yep. That's exactly what girls did for fun in the early 80s. For boys to have fun, they had to engage in publicly sanctioned cross-dressing activities.
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