"...maybe this year will be better than the last..."

As 2013 is about to end, I'm thinking about Counting Crow's song "A Long December."   There have been years when the underlying sentiment in the song has been amazingly appropriate for how I felt.

A long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving
Oh the days go by so fast

Not this year, and not for the past several.  Although the years have gotten better, it's not because the years ending have been difficult ones or unhappy ones.  Quite the contrary.

Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after 2 a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her 

But there were time when mostly what I had to go on was the hope--the belief--that the year to come would be better.

And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass

 But for the past decade (and a little more), the moments have passed, but I have welcomed the moments as they have arrived.  With a little luck, and a little work, that's how things will continue.

Happy New Year.

Memories of Phil Ochs

I was reminded elsewhere of the only time I saw Phil Ochs perform live--at DePauw University, at a fundraised for Gene McCarthy in February or March of 1968 (we can't pin down the date).  The first time I heard of Phil Ochs was when Chet Huntley and David Brinkley did a segment (probably 1964) on draft resistance and played behind them a clip of Ochs singing the "Draft Dodger Rag:"

Well, I’m only eighteen
I got a ruptured spleen,
And I always carry a purse.
I got eyes like a bat
And my feet are flat
And my asthma’s gettin’ worse.
Consider my career,
My sweetheart dear,
And my poor old invalid aunt
Besides I ain’t no fool
I’m a-goin’ to school
And I’m workin’ in a defense plant.

I was struck by two things, one of which was the sense of humor.  The other was that underlying the song was (at least I thought) a real sense that dodging the draft was a dodge, that it was resistance that was called for.  And I started buying his records.  But the album on which "Draft Dodger Rag" had not yet been released, only All the News That's Fit to Sing was available (I Ain't Marchin' Anymore came out early in 1965--and I grabbed it as well).  "Too Many Martyrs" grabbed me almost immediately:

His name was Medgar Evers and he walked his road alone
Like Emmett Till and thousands more whose names we'll never know
They tried to burn his home and they beat him to the ground
But deep inside they both knew what it took to bring him down, 

Too many martyrs and too many dead
Too many lies, too many empty words were said
Too many times for too many angry men
Oh, let it never be again

Ochs was angry about injustice, and it showed--listen to "The State of Mississippi" from I Ain't Marchin' Anymore. 

Pleasures of the Harbor, from 1967, has what may be his best song on it, "Crucifixion," about the assassination of John Kennedy, and which Ochs is reported to have sung for the first time in public in Robert Kennedy's senatorial office.  His next album, Tape From California, has my own personal favorite song, "Half a Century High," on it:

In the tube where I was born
I could have sworn
There was so much to see
There was so little to be
But I was free
World at my command
Through the dots I ran
Looking for a man
Who looked like me 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
 
In the tube where I was raised
I was amazed
On the pictures I would lean
That went flashing on the screen
Oh, I was dazed
But then my eyes were made
Hypnotized, insane [unverified]
Buried in my brain
In a blinding blaze 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
 
In the tube where I was grown
I was alone
The figure on the floor
(Laying on the floor)
The dream behind the door
(I'd lock the closet door)
The sound was low
Ballgames on the street
Disappeared behind my feet
Out of breath my heart would be
To see another show 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
 
In the tube where I was made
I was afraid  
Spinning through the space
Another scene, another face
Another shade
Mirror of my mind
On electric wheels of wine
Living on the lines
That were displayed 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
 
In the tube where I was fed
I lost my head
I watch the lives they led
Watch them to the end
And then again
An open kind of laugh
I gave all the mind I had
And whenever I was sad
I had my friends 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
 
In the tube where I was killed
I was fulfilled
Such an easy way to win
Talking to my twin
No sign of sin
The sacrifice was small
Fascination was the fall
I was extended by the wall
That held me in 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high
In the tube where I was killed 
 
I was fulfilled
The lies of light would bend
I'd stare until the end
And then again
Faded and the fad
I gave all the mind I had
And whenever I was sad
I had my friends 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high 
In the tube where I was born
I could have sworn
There was so much to see
There was so little to be
But I was free
World at my command
Through the dots I ran
Looking for a man
Who looked like me 
 
And now it can be told
I'm a quarter of a century old
But I'm half a century high

 

 I wondered then if he ever found the man who looked like him; I was to learn that, apparently, he had not.  I learned that, first of all, from two songs on the final album released during his lifetime, Phil Ochs' Greatest Hits, "Chords of Fame" and "No More Songs."
 

I found him by the stage last night
He was breathing his last breath
A bottle of gin and a cigarette
Was all that he had left
I can see you're making music
'Cause you carry a guitar
But God, help the troubadour
Who tries to be a star 
 
So play the chords of love, my friend
Play the chords of pain
If you want to keep your song
Don't, don't, don't, don't play the chords of fame 
 
I've seen my share of hustlers
As they try to take the world
When they find their melody
They're surrounded by the girls
But it all fades so quickly
Like a sunny summer day
Reporters ask you questions
They write down what you say 
 
So play the chords of love, my friend
Play the chords of pain
If you want to keep your song
Don't, don't, don't, don't play the chords of fame 
So play the chords of love, my friend
Play the chords of pain
If you want to keep your song
Don't, don't, don't, don't play the chords of fame 
 
They will rob you of your innocence
They will put you up for sale
More that you will find success
The more that you will fail
I've been around, I've had my share
And I really can't complain
But I wonder who I left behind
 On the other side of fame 
 
So play the chords of love, my friend
Play the chords of pain
If you want to keep your song
Don't, don't, don't, don't play the chords of fame

 

 "I wonder who I left behind/On the other side of fame..."  The meaning of the other song from this album was born in on me in April 1976, when I woke up to the news that Phil Ochs had committed suicide.  The editor of Creem wrote, in the next issue, that he wished Phil had left us a suicide song.  And that's when I realized that he had..."No More Songs:"

Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody home?
I've only called to say, I'm sorry
The drums are in the dawn and all the voices gone
And it seems that there are no more songs 

 

Once I knew a girl, she was a flower in a flame
I loved her as the sea sings sadly
Now the ashes of the dream, can be found in the magazines
And it seems that there are no more songs 

 

Once I knew a sage, who sang upon the stage
He told about the world, his lover
 Now a ghost without a name, stands ragged in the rain
And it seems that there are no more song 

 

The rebels they were here, they came beside the door
They told me that the moon was bleeding
Then all to my surprise, they took away my eyes
And it seems that there are no more songs 

 

A star is in the sky, it's time to say goodbye
A whale is on the beach, he's dying
A white flag in my hand and a white bone in the sand
And it seems that there are no more song 

 

Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody home?
I've only called to say, I'm sorry
The drums are in the dawn and all the voices gone
And it seems that there are no more songs
It seems that there are no more songs
It seems that there are no more songs

 

I hope that somewhere, somehow, at some time, he found some peace.

 

 

 

 

 

Do #1 Hits Provide a Good Guide to the Quality of Current Music? Did They Ever?

I've been doing a series of posts (on a closed FB site) on the #1 hit singles from 1965 to 1969.  (Because my 45th college reunion is coming up, that's why.)  My memory is that the music of those four years was extraordinary, and somehow that was not coming through when I looked at the #1s.  Especially those from September 1967 to August 1968 (The final column is weeks at #1).

Dates	Performer/Title
August 20 – September 16 1967	Bobbie Gentry - Ode to Billie Joe	4
September 17 – October 14 1967	Box Tops - The Letter	4
October 15 – November 18 1967	Lulu - To Sir with Love	5
November 19 – 25 1967	Strawberry Alarm Clock - Incense and Peppermints	1
November 26 – December 23 1967	Monkees - Daydream Believer	4
December 24 1967 – January 13 1968	Beatles - Hello, Goodbye	3
January 14 – 27 1968	John Fred and His Playboy Band - Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)	2
January 28 – February 3 1968	Lemon Pipers - Green Tambourine	1
February 4 – March 9 1968	Paul Mauriat - Love Is Blue	5
March 10 – April 6 1968	Otis Redding - Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay	4
April 7 – May 11 1968	Bobby Goldsboro - Honey	5
May 12 – 25 1968	Archie Bell and The Drells - Tighten Up	2
May 26 – June 15 1968	Simon and Garfunkel - Mrs. Robinson	3
June 16 – July 13 1968	Herb Alpert - This Guy's In Love With You	4
July 14 – 27 1968	Hugh Masekela - Grazing In The Grass	2
July 28 – August 10 1968	Doors - Hello, I Love You	2
August 11 – September 14 1968	Rascals - People Got To Be Free	5

Now, there are some very good songs here.  But there's also a lot of fluff and dreck ("To Sir, With Love;" "Incense and Peppermint;" "Judy In Disguise';" "Green Tambourine;" "Love Is Blue;" "Honey;" "Tighten Up;" "This Guy's In Love With You;" accounting for 25 of the 53 weeks).  And much of what I remember from 1967-68 is not to be found.

There are some reasons for this.  For example, The Beatles chose not to release any singles from Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  For example, the only album Bob Dylan released in this period was John Wesley Harding, and the only single from the album was "Drifter's Escape."  ("All along the Watchtower" was released in November 1968, and Jimi Hendrix had a monster hit with it separately.)  The Kinks album of the time was Something Else, which peaked on the album charts in the US at #135; "Waterloo Sunset" is probably the best-known song from the album, and although it reached #2 on the British pop charts, if never made the top 100 in the US.  The Who Sell Out was released in December 1967, with only 1 single released--"I Can See For Miles"--which peaked at #10 in the US.

But the number of outstanding songs...well,, looking back, I am amazed.  Here's a list of songs that hit the top 40, and never made it to #1, that I personally think are terrific (note that this is not a complete list of songs from the top 40):

Light My Fire (twice, two different performers)
I was Made To Love Her
A Whiter Shade of Pale
Funky Broadway
All You Need Is Love
Brown-Eyed Girl
There Is a Mountain
Higher and Higher
Soul Man
Natural Woman
People Are Strange
I Can See For Miles
I Heard It Through the Grapevine
I Second That Emotion
Chain of Fools
Different Drum
I Wish It Would Rain
I Just Dropped In To See What Condition My Condition Is In
Walk Away Renee
I Thank You
Dance To the Music
The Mighty Quinn
Scarborough Fair/Canticle
Lady Madonna
A Beautiful Morning
Summertime Blues
Like To Get To Know You
Ain’t Nothin’ Like the Real Thing
Think
Cry Like a Baby
Jumpin’ Jack Flash
Stoned Soul Picnic
Hurdy-Gurdy Man
Classical Gas
Sunshine of Your Love
Born To Be Wild
You Keep Me Hangin’ On
Journey To the Center Of Your Mind
Dream a Little Dream Of Me
People Got To Be Free

I did not list the performers (but will note that there are three song by Aretha Franklin on the list).  There were 17 #1 songs from September 1967 to August 1968.  My list has 40 songs on it.  Take the 17 worst songs from my list and compare those to the #1 hits.  Which would you rather listen to?  For me, it's an easy choice.

"We will survive"

One thing about the Grateful Dead--they did not do a lot of things that were even likely to wind up as "hit" songs; in fact, as far as I know, they had only one top 10 hit, and it's this one.

It must be getting early
Clocks are running late
Paint by numbers morning sky
Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains, I don't care
'Cause it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

 Yep, "Touch of Grey," from the album In the Dark.  I don't know that it's a great song, but it sounds so good, and like a few of my other favorite songs, the music is very upbeat, almost cheery, while the lyrics are not.

I see you got your list out
Say your piece and get out
Yes I got the gist of it
But it's alright

Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver lining's got a
Touch of grey

Part of it sounds like someone getting older, looking at the world and wondering what has gone wrong, where his hopes and dreams anve gone to:

I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears
But it's alright

Cows are giving kerosene
The kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
But it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

But old or not, disappointed or not, we will get by, we will survive..

The shoe is on the hand it fits
There's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and split
'Cause it's alright

Oh well a touch of grey
Kind of suits you anyway
That was all I had to say
And it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive

Open to persuasion

I started thinking the other day about songs that have grabbed me immediately, either because of something about the music, or something about the lyrics.  And I thought of Joan Armatrading's "Love and Affection" (which you can see and hear here, find the lyrics here, and buy the album here).  It begins:

I am not in love
But I'm open to persuasion...

What a beautiful opening and a beautiful sentiment.  I don't think, really, there's any need to say anything more.

 

 

 

 

 

After posting about Jackson Browne's "Running on Empty"

I thought immediately of Tim Hardin's great song, "Reason to Believe," because of the echo in "Running on Empty" of the lyrics. This is not a song about a happy or even hopeful relationship:

 

If I listened long enough to you
I'd find a way to believe that it's all true
Knowing that you lied straight faced while I cried
Still I look to find a reason to believe

But I think we've all been there at one time of another.  I think I first heard in on the radio in late 1965 or early 1966, and I bought the album (Tim Hardin 1) in the summer of 1966.  One of the (unsurprising) reasons that the song has remained in my memory is that someone had more-or-less done that to me.  I learned something from it, maybe not the right lesson, and one I eventually un-learned.  I told myself I'd never care that much about anyone ever again (easy to say when you're 18), but (of course, and I am awfully glad) I did, and more than once.

Someone like you makes it hard to live
Without somebody else
Someone like you makes it easy to give
Never thinking of myself

For Neil Young on his birthday

Neil Young turns 68 today, so it seems appropriate to remember him, and one song in particular, "After the Gold Rush":
 

I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With the full moon in my eye
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the sky
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said, I was hopin' it was a lie
Thinkin' about what a friend had said, I was hopin' it was a lie.

Happy Birthday, Neil.

Time for another song

This one is, in many ways, very personal, beginning with some of the lyrics:
 

In sixty-five I was seventeen and running up 101...
I don't know where I'm running now, I'm just running on...

In sixty-nine I was twenty-one and I called the road my own...
I don't know when that road turned into the road I'm on  

 Well, in 1965, I was 17...and in 1969, I was 21, in Indiana, not California, but I also didn't know.

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels,
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy it is this feels.
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see they're running too

And there have been times like that as well, when all I could see in my friends' eyes is that they were as lost as I.

Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive ;
Trying not to confuse it with what you do to survive

Trying to keep my life--the people I care about, loved--separate from the day-to-day has often been a struggle (as, I think, it is for all of us). 

Everyone I know, everywhere I go,
People need some reason to believe...
I don't know about anyone but me

And belief is something that I have trouble with (I once wrote a haiku about belief:
Here's what I believe:
Belief is a luxury
I cannot afford.)
But it would be nice, once in a while, to be able to believe.

"Running on Empty," from the album of the same name, by Jackson Browne.