tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31358032659563065822024-03-14T08:35:11.391-07:00****** a single breakdown ***** where number one songs go to dieneilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-24044459968218089322020-06-14T17:16:00.001-07:002020-06-14T17:16:08.218-07:00Sweet Sensation "If Wishes Came True"<div><i><b><u>*****Number One, September 1st, 1990*****</u></b></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After <a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/06/stars-on-45-stars-on-45.html" target="_blank">last week's subterfuge</a>, perpetrated by a pair of sneaky Dutch fakeout artists, I feel the need to right a wrong. You see, I was tricked by some gouda-loving hucksters into believing that their single week atop the charts had been the work of a true underdog-type one-hit-wonder. Scant memories of the tune lead me down a dusty country road where I hoped to find momentary brilliance in a unique cabin. Instead, the path turned out to be an eight-lane superhighway, and I quickly discovered a monstrosity of a dwelling at its end.</div><div><br /></div><div>This number one song was built on lies, not creativity. And, the lincoln logs used in the construction were stuffed with gold and genius, not hard work and stick-to-itiveness. They cheated, using Beatles-rated materials to assemble their hit, and I want revenge.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some day, I will get it. Yes, I will. Some day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, for now, I'd got a blog to blog. So, in lieu of the last post's disappointment, I decided from the outset of this enty that I would only select a true needle in the haystack. I just had to hope that the randomizer would dump at least one of these among the almost-weekly five-pack I request of it. And, fortunately, it did. Barely.</div><div><br /></div><div>This meant that, sadly, and perhaps unfairly, some of these top tunes I received would have to be immediately discarded. I wouldn't even consider whether or not they had value. A good, Breakdown-worthy song might have to be flushed, all because of the work of some Holland charlatans (Hollatans). I hope these rejected artists take out their anger at the transgressors with all the swift fury that world-famous musicians should have about not having some nonsense about them typed out by me and read by nearly a full dozen people. They really hate that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Apropos of this, here are the mega-stars that I won't be chatting about this time.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*June 20, 1971*</i></div><div><i>Carole King "It's Too Late / I Feel the Earth Move"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*July 11, 1988*</i></div><div><i>Cheap Trick "The Flame"</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>*April 12, 2018*</i></div><div><i>Drake "God's Plan"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, you missed out on possibly hearing the whimsical anecdote of mine about being second row at a Cheap Trick concert when they opened for Winger (yes, Winger) at a theme part amphitheater and their nutty guitarist Rick Nielson threw picks by the handful out to the crowd and despite me being so close I didn't get one and it would be years and years later before I caught anything like that at a rock show.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, wait, guess you've heard it now. Huh. Well, hope the Dream Police didn't hit number one, or I'm sunk.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WetpScv6VUcJZvBUHklpF2zmmiUJRhD6Blg728mTvZ4cJGNKcJ2kpNgPo_IvxCUOvKhoO7g-gjIZJRZTFsDzmskLzk8z-XmvxB5TDQJbhe460QamSAtlRHNd4KYhE41wdqkmyfEFbukI/s1274/Rick-Nielsen-69.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="1274" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WetpScv6VUcJZvBUHklpF2zmmiUJRhD6Blg728mTvZ4cJGNKcJ2kpNgPo_IvxCUOvKhoO7g-gjIZJRZTFsDzmskLzk8z-XmvxB5TDQJbhe460QamSAtlRHNd4KYhE41wdqkmyfEFbukI/w400-h221/Rick-Nielsen-69.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No wonder he had so many picks</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>This left me two lesser-known chart toppers to choose from. Lucky for me, one bowed out because of a technicality.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>*January 4, 1963*</i></div><div><i>The Tornados "Telstar"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>This is actually <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryrEPzsx1gQ" target="_blank">a pretty cool song</a>, especially considering the date it came out. It has sort of a sci-fi meets surf style, and is definitely evocative of the subject matter (Telstar was what the first communication satellites were called). And, the band's name is freaking great. The Tornados! Yeah, I'd totally by that shirt if they had some merch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alas, I couldn't pick them as the official song o' the week. It seems that this fun ditty is an instrumental. While that makes it extra impressive to reach the summit, it also disqualifies it from selection. As you might have noticed, near the top of this site's crappily designed banner, I make mention of the importance of lyrics. If it isn't immediately obvious by the depth of my rambling to date, I'm a word guy. The music is great, but I need some text to get me through.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>And then, there was one. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, with three tunes disqualified and one, um, not qualifed, we're going to take a look at the last toy in the box. That is, the hottest hit from the first day of September some thrty years ago, Sweet Sensation's "If Wishes Came True."</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sG-QohIG6KXGku9eoiW1OCDWbmbSPqCz0z13KH2RyrET1lA-d6w5DjdL_QQdXo1OleleldyfAb9C67kgWDcj4dH-h80ebSAVsnqCRFHJDrQFiS9Gkd6TtJAEqrsgueTDefg4bZVXf08E/s640/fb84b41a-f521-4dca-99b0-c5aa1ccbc724.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="640" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9sG-QohIG6KXGku9eoiW1OCDWbmbSPqCz0z13KH2RyrET1lA-d6w5DjdL_QQdXo1OleleldyfAb9C67kgWDcj4dH-h80ebSAVsnqCRFHJDrQFiS9Gkd6TtJAEqrsgueTDefg4bZVXf08E/w320-h241/fb84b41a-f521-4dca-99b0-c5aa1ccbc724.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is just seconds before being beamed up, apparently<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>This begs the question...who? Cause I really have no idea. And I should! This song was on the airwaves as I was in prime music assimilation mode. Though my preferences at the time took me more to the rock and/or roll side of things, I still consumed enough radio and television to at least be aware of pretty much everything. It was close to around the time I began wasting my life as a music/video store clerk (yes I saw Clerks and felt so seen you guys! I'm not even supposed to be here today either!!!). Anyway, Sweet Sensation? That's a big nope.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perfect.</div><div><br /></div><div>That allows me to take a fresh look at what I can only assume are fresh-faced ladies singing about fresh wishes coming true. Or, something to that effect. At any rate, I think that this all calls for a fresh review of the lyrics of this tune in a truly non-fresh way. Yup, we're going with immediate read and response! The first of the season!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I played this game a few times in the first year of the Breakdown (<a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/09/keha-tik-tok.html" target="_blank">initially, I believe with, Kesha</a>), and it's a fun/easy way to get to know a tune. The process is, I bring up in a separate tab the words of a song that I don't know at all. Then, I get all sorted and comfortable here in the blog window. I copy/paste stanzas from the lyrics into the text, read them for the first time, and add my immediate impression. I feel like it's an honest way to respond to something new. And it's totally not a way for me talk about a song that has little-to-no information in Wikipedia. </div><div><br /></div><div>Certainly not.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2Nja5RzCAtwGyA9b21o5iAxZik4ngZQZETwMfAgrQUWj_Nhzwf9_eTAVJjCoeZj198spUAEfLjyzip2rLXam5YAQTrNPSRhwYYXC6InLcuPMW7kes6MLNhP5nXVoIug8KkOOBYOGUu9c/s308/Monopoly-Banker-with-Empty-Pockets.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="250" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ2Nja5RzCAtwGyA9b21o5iAxZik4ngZQZETwMfAgrQUWj_Nhzwf9_eTAVJjCoeZj198spUAEfLjyzip2rLXam5YAQTrNPSRhwYYXC6InLcuPMW7kes6MLNhP5nXVoIug8KkOOBYOGUu9c/w163-h200/Monopoly-Banker-with-Empty-Pockets.jpg" width="163" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like this, but with lazy</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>So, here we go. This should be sweet! See what I did there? Of course you did. Never mind.</div><div><br /></div><div><i><u>If Wishes Came True</u></i></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>All alone silence fills my room</i></li><ul><li>Same. The dog is asleep</li></ul><li><i>But in a memory, I hear you calling me</i></li><ul><li>Hmm, ok, so, is it a memory of someone calling you? Or, is it a person calling you today from that memory? Is it your memory? I hope this is explained</li></ul><li><i>Close my eyes and I'm there with you</i></li><ul><li>It is technically impossible to remember anything with your eyes open. This checks out.</li></ul><li><i>Like it was yesterday, but then fades away</i></li><ul><li>Maybe, when the memory calls, you should write it down. Like the Memento guy! You see that film? Oh, you don't remember? Of course you don't.</li></ul></ul></div><div>Early returns, eh, not good. Kind of Inceptiony, so maybe there will be a neat twist. Second stanza:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>Take me back, turn back the hands of time</i></li><ul><li>You're asking the memory to do this? Or...</li></ul><li><i>When you kissed me in the warm September rain</i></li><ul><li>Warm September rain? Look, I'm sorry the syllable count for June, July, and August didn't work for you. But, try a bit harder, especially for those of us in the northwest. My flanned-covered arms are crossed at your dialogue</li></ul><li><i>Back before my heart was filled with pain</i></li><ul><li>Alright, jeez, guess I've been a little hard on you. Maybe it was actually warm in that particular September. Sorry. I hope you feel better</li></ul><li><i>If only we could be in love that way again</i></li><ul><li>Man, this song is surprisingly not very sweet</li></ul></ul></div><div>Ok, well, this is a bummer. Maybe the chorus will give us something to grab hold of.</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>If wishes came true, </i></li><li><i>Then all the dreams at night of love were real, I'd be holding you</i></li><li><i>If wishes came true, </i></li><li><i>Then I would be that someone always special in your heart and we would still be lovers, not apart</i></li><li><i>If wishes came true</i></li><ul><li>Um, hang on. I'll be right back.</li></ul></ul></div><div><br /></div><div><watches music video, vomits into own mouth></div><div><br /></div><div>Right, sooooo, that show at the amusement park! Winger and Cheap Trick! Yeah, that was a good concert. Potentially. Maybe. Possibly. I mean, rollercoasters and hairspray and leather pants (the band, not me). How could it not be a good time?</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>This week's song, and video, are decidely not. It exudes all the cheesy words, slow-motion wind-machine aided dancing, and awful late-eighties synthesizer that this era foisted on the masses. It really is quite dreadful, and well worthy of being lost to history. It's just...oh look, sailboats! These bland and priviledged actors and singers are traipsing around a waterway. Egads. Maybe I was too hard on the Dutch.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmm.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nah.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I shouldn't have let them get to me. Clearly! Next time, I won't pick a song out of spite. Especially if wishes are involved. They are, quite literally, not a sweet sensation.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKT2-hbh5SXyO4I_JhKZ14GZ6XGnnLTRbDJkiEl0-tWkKF2Joej12ko6YCkIFJ5I2pa5N_fEiq4CSV-5jwvMd9bcVFYt2ptUBZmL5Gm_5Wu2vns_EkXO_FIeLNcjFnaCTQCuCaZQDmDuI/s300/9b0500282daa920c109fa24f0de8cfc2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpKT2-hbh5SXyO4I_JhKZ14GZ6XGnnLTRbDJkiEl0-tWkKF2Joej12ko6YCkIFJ5I2pa5N_fEiq4CSV-5jwvMd9bcVFYt2ptUBZmL5Gm_5Wu2vns_EkXO_FIeLNcjFnaCTQCuCaZQDmDuI/w320-h179/9b0500282daa920c109fa24f0de8cfc2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you need a Winger image, you might as well Britta it</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-32206445788980949262020-06-08T17:09:00.002-07:002020-06-08T17:09:15.003-07:00Stars on 45 "Stars on 45"<div><b><i><u>*****Number One, June 15, 1981*****</u></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So, the creation of this particular number one song post has gone a tad askew.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see, typically, my blogging schedule goes something like this:</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Post the blog</li><li>Celebrate completion of task by drinking my brain's weight in Scotch</li><li>Sleep for 24 hours</li><li>Run the ramdomizer, and list out the five number one songs that I next will choose from</li><li>Select the winner and come up with an angle to approach it.</li><li>Repeat step two</li><li>Repeat step three</li><li>Set aside a couple of hours to cobble together some barely coherent text and images</li><li>Post the blog, restart the cycle</li></ol></div><div>Usually this takes about a week. And, for this post, it seemed to be progressing right on time. I had actually reached step eight in the process, and had gotten about halfway through said cobbling.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, then, I looked up the history of this tune.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I listened to it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ohhhhhh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Right, um, let's back up a bit. When those pesky internet gnomes left the package of five random top tunes on my doorstep, I unwrapped the box quickly and surveyed the results. It's always interesting to see the mix, and observe any unexpected connection. In this instance, something unusual did stand out to me. That was, the involvement of several true heavyweights of music history. While they weren't all of the same ilk, four of the artists/songs I was given had made a serious impression on the charts and the overall world of rock and/or roll. The fifth selection, by my recollection, had no such importance.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, I did remember it. Kind of. Barely. </div><div><br /></div><div>Eh, not really.</div><div><br /></div><div>To be honest, all I knew about the song, which stood out in this instance for its one-hit wonderness, was that I had a bit of the chorus stuck somewhere in the back of my brain. I don't know why, or where exactly it came from. Perhaps my pre-pubescent classmates really liked it and sang it incessently? Maybe those leggy Solid Gold dancers had grabbed my attention so acutely that I absorbed whatever nonsense track their movements were syncopated to? I really don't know for sure. All I can say for certain is that the following has been lodged in my noggin, somewhere behind the towering stacks of baseball statistics, for nearly thirty years.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Stars on 45, keep on burning(?)</i><i> in your eyes(?)</i></div><div><something something something> <i>Ha ha ha ha</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>That's it. That's all I had. But it was something! And, I was excited to revisit this almost entirely forgotten part of my youth. Unfortunately, what I recalled proved to be woefully little and incredibly uninformed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Which brings us back to the present. I figured that this seemingly lost and unknown gem would be a great contradiction to the hugely decorated musicians filling out the rest of this week's options. When I saw that this band was, according to Wikipedia, a "Dutch Novelty Pop Act", well I was thrilled that much more. If the <a href="http://www.flightoftheconchords.co.nz/" target="_blank">fourth most popular parody-folk duo out of New Zealand</a> could be so good, surely some quirky persons from the Netherlands would be as well.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfrd8SHSKczywnTB-o9OPc_w6LQV14O-rHFDs18po-Y5BdvpLsBBNQuAK8ZpxJA9e1fJH4KcOxLmNSPx2agQTmcxV7qjdjcQt1pYU-yK89TCsiAC0bBiyCIXmCxakoLiIPR5_Vpw03ue2/s980/flight-of-the-conchords-delayed-pic.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="980" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfrd8SHSKczywnTB-o9OPc_w6LQV14O-rHFDs18po-Y5BdvpLsBBNQuAK8ZpxJA9e1fJH4KcOxLmNSPx2agQTmcxV7qjdjcQt1pYU-yK89TCsiAC0bBiyCIXmCxakoLiIPR5_Vpw03ue2/s320/flight-of-the-conchords-delayed-pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, guys, I know. At least they weren't Aussies</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Thus, I started making with the keyboard tappity-tap-tap working towards the goal of painting an image of rediscovering some long lost awesome musical artifact. I decided to describe the non-chosen songs in such a way that their remarkable history would make it more reasonable as to why I would not write about them. I even included an additional top hit I almost got from the machine (per the dates), just to help prove that point.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suffice it to say, well, you know what they say about plans. Anyway, here are those thoughts on those other number ones, provided here so you can see exactly why this concept went catapulting off the rails in such an extreme way. </div><div><br /></div><i>*March 1, 1962*</i><div><i>Gene Chandler "Duke of Earl"</i></div><div>Laugh if you wish at the bombastic baritone of this mid-twentieth century single, but it was massive. Even though it grasped the top spot for only three weeks, it is held in such high regard that it was voted into the Grammy's song hall of fame (apparently a thing) AND chosen as one of the 500 songs that shaped rock and roll. It was also used in a quite annoying way to sell <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B48hQm5fIbU" target="_blank">Hellman's Dijonnaise</a> creamy mustard blend (also, apparently, a thing). So, you know, massive.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*January 17, 1974*<br /></i><div><i>Steve Miller Band "The Joker"</i></div><div>I've already, um, covered this group once here in The Breakdown Season 2 (The Blogpire Blogs Back). The truly abhorrent "<a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/04/steve-miller-band-abracadabra.html" target="_blank">Abracadabra</a>" was dumped in my general direction a month or so ago, and I spent an unpleasant hundred-plus words discussing that debacle. However, despite that, it is fair to note that this band is considered among the very largest of their dinosaur rock genre (a brontosaurus, perhaps). They've sold over twenty-four million albums in the US alone, and Steve Miller has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. As a solo artist. Clearly, he deflected the blame for the crappy magic song onto his poor, unsuspecting backup musicians. Abracadabra indeed, evil sir.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*NOT June 15, 1981*</i></div><div><i>Kim Carnes "Bette Davis Eyes"</i></div><div>Here's your almost. This tune held the top of the charts for over two months in the summer of '81. However, in the midst of its song of the year run, it lost the top spot. For just one week in June, right around the fifteenth in fact, it was displaced by a weird novelty song. It promptly returned to number one the next week. However, because of this, while Bette Davis is among the biggies of the Billboard charts era, it will get no more words from me this time. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>*January 2, 1984*</i></div><div><i>Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson "Say Say Say"</i></div><div>Six weeks at number one. Michael and a Beatle near the top of their game. Top ten in over twenty counties. A truly wackadoo-yet-epic music video. How could I possibly do this justice?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*May 22, 1993*</i></div><div><i>Janet Jackson "That's the Way Love Goes"</i></div></div><div>Oh yeah, that other Jackson. The one with the longest running number one single on the Billboard Hot 100 of ANY member of the Jackson family. Ok, maybe Michael is the other one. Grammy, BMI, American Music, and pretty much every other award-giving organization heaped it's oddly-shaped statuette on this hit. I think it even won a World's Greatest Grampa. A peak hit during the peak period of a peak career. Truly remarkable. And yet, I'm giving it a pass.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuJZddibOvEEzkZPxOmmXDMH1qlJvsNcrkuHAOc5-F2vESURBX_UUoxJGh2H2MD3TRENiXYHYa-2NktOF1nWmlorXM_cxQMmbEknBRLSSLWXZ8CXI5OnPTZWh4d1oeDkrqkyytPYy7Fqh/s480/hqdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNuJZddibOvEEzkZPxOmmXDMH1qlJvsNcrkuHAOc5-F2vESURBX_UUoxJGh2H2MD3TRENiXYHYa-2NktOF1nWmlorXM_cxQMmbEknBRLSSLWXZ8CXI5OnPTZWh4d1oeDkrqkyytPYy7Fqh/w320-h240/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't cry guys, we're getting to the point<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>And that, dear friends, is when I clicked on the history of Stars on 45.</div><div><br /></div><div>Harrumph.</div><div><br /></div><div>The story starts interestingly enough, as most things in Holland do. We find out that "the band...of studio musicians under the direction of Japp Eggermont, formerly of Golden Earring, popularized medley recordings made by creating hit songs as faithfully as possible and joining them together with a common tempo and underlying drum track."</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, that's curious. So, a former rock star worked with a bunch of pros to create new tunes by some sort of proto-sampling method. Cool, that's intriguing, and a bit unexpected. Let's continue.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Jaap originated the concept after Willem van Kooten (music company executive) visited a record store in the summer of 1979 and happened to hear a disco medley being played there."</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh. Disco.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know <a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-bee-gees-how-deep-is-your-love.html" target="_blank">how I feel about disco.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>This doesn't bode well. And, it gets worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The medley contained original recordings of songs by The Beatles, The Buggles, The Archies, and Madness...and in fact was a bootleg release. Van Kooten decided to bootleg the bootleg and create a licensed version of the medley by using soundalike artists to replicate the original hits."</div><div><br /></div><div>The takeaway, this dude wanted to Milli Vanilli his way to number one, but do so by stealing a string of already known hits and tying them together with a cheesy beat. A cheesy disco beat, at that.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ugh, why did I think this would be a good one?</div><div><br /></div><div>This is completely awful to me for two large reasons.</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>They didn't sample these songs. It wasn't grabbing a chorus here or a hook there. There's an art to that, as you're creating something new from parts and pieces. They <i>recreated</i> songs. These two false artists essentially lifted whole segments from other tunes, had some Dutch rejects sing them, and then laid them out from end-to-end. They sprinkled in a chorus and some drum machine nonsense to make it "theirs". It's like if I wanted to write a book about a whale and stole three chapters from Moby Dick. Absurd.</li><li>Not only did they use other songs, they used songs by The Beatles!!! I mean, how do you feel good about yourself for doing this? You made it to number one using tunes from the most popular band of all time. Congrats, that's really an accomplishment. Oh, how many of their hits did you need to cram into your bogus faux-music to make it to the top? EIGHT OF THEM!?!?!?! Oh, wow, you must be really talented.</li></ol></div><div>So, I skipped a review of a Paul McCartney song to instead talk about eight Paul McCartney songs, none of which he is actually performing on. Sheesh.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you think I'm overselling the fact that they profited off of what is essentially an unedited Beatles medley, I invite you to go listen to it. I don't even want to link to the tune, just type Stars on 45 into Google. I'll just sit over here being grumpy, and re-evaluating my former fondness for the land of windmills. I once visisted that country, and have often considered going back. Now, I guess I'll just go to the UK instead.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfYahg37rsY4vlOD6cwWkGHShC5fnH9YKxVJv4vQnfY9XvnGqRgOKcQLPBj77RcUJlMnNy0GXZvik9EGZ870SUbU-qEk7vUxpAg14l-nQ0mLzrOyBvmYrEBgftene3yR0P8ztgasnsC05/s1140/Dutch+Bros+Coffee+Fife.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZfYahg37rsY4vlOD6cwWkGHShC5fnH9YKxVJv4vQnfY9XvnGqRgOKcQLPBj77RcUJlMnNy0GXZvik9EGZ870SUbU-qEk7vUxpAg14l-nQ0mLzrOyBvmYrEBgftene3yR0P8ztgasnsC05/s320/Dutch+Bros+Coffee+Fife.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pfft, I bet this coffee is British too</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Oh, by the way, about those lyrics that were wedged somewhere inside my brainage? Here is the actual chorus of this dumb song that I obviously misheard all those decades ago.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The stars on 45 keep on turning in your mind</i></div><div><i>Like "We Can Work it Out"</i></div><div><i>Remember "Twist and Shout"</i></div><div><i>You still don't "Tell Me Why" and "No Reply"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>These are the only words actually written by the songwriters. And, even still, they aren't original.</div><div><br /></div><div>Man.</div><div><br /></div><div>I really do hate disco.</div><div><br /></div>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-58372168289807464282020-05-31T11:32:00.000-07:002020-05-31T11:32:01.558-07:00Meatloaf "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)"<div><b><i><u>*****Number One, November 5th, 1993*****</u></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Hot on the heels of <a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/05/jimmy-gilmer-and-fireballs-sugar-shack.html" target="_blank">last week's</a> thoroughly successful randomization modification, we return to the charts today to consider five new options for my pointless poking and prodding. Below is the the most recent batch of number one songs from music history that those industrious ghosts of the internet have sent my way. The list is strong. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, more than a little bit relationshippy. </div><div><br /></div><div>I mean, sure, the entire universe of songs is pretty much built on the foundation of the topic of humans and their odd proclivity for wanting to kanoodle with other humans. Whether it's pre-kanoodle, post-kanoodle, or raging against the kanoodling machine, it's an extremely familiar device. But, based on my initial knowledge of the selections in this group, they all feel to be on very similar footing. </div><div><br /></div><div>To help check this theory out, and assess my pick for this particular post, I'll grab a couplet from each tune. Hey, couplet, couple. Ooh! Hey I am being clever, which is working out great for me, <a href="http://quotegeek.com/quotes-from-movies/fight-club/2395/" target="_blank">thanks for asking, Brad</a>. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOdD1c2wmaqXVzfYj1XOj-uSgmLg5jthCJpr1ptrnepwVdlO5mhuaOBl84aw-U4DNkJ7a3hMGJkdun6-6AzUktJjLWwNNOiPCPopVD9SCEj56V3KrhGbEPPZ0KYx8xrI0Vx60bHql9Duc/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="460" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOdD1c2wmaqXVzfYj1XOj-uSgmLg5jthCJpr1ptrnepwVdlO5mhuaOBl84aw-U4DNkJ7a3hMGJkdun6-6AzUktJjLWwNNOiPCPopVD9SCEj56V3KrhGbEPPZ0KYx8xrI0Vx60bHql9Duc/w400-h250/meat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoa, totally unplanned symmetry here</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>*March 26, 2004*</div><div>Usher (featuring Lil Jon and Ludacris) "Yeah"</div><div><u>Key Couplet</u></div><div><i>"Yeah! Okay (Usher, Usher, Usher)</i></div><div><i>Lil' Jon"</i></div><div>Ok, I know, this song is not about the dudes performing it. It pertains to clubs, fancy ladies and all those unsavory yet enticing things that old white guys like me have no connection with anymore (or ever really have, if I'm honest). However, it's always nice to mention your bros, and I'm sure they feel very special for the honor. Friendship is a relationship too! I won't bother you guys, go have fun.</div><div><br /></div><div>*January 24, 2000*</div><div>Christina Aguilera "What a Girl Wants"</div><div><u>Key Couplet</u></div><div>"<i>Whatever keeps me in your arms</i></div><div><i>And I'm thanking you for being there for me</i>"</div><div>I considered selecting this song for the post, until I pulled the video up. Ehhrr, not comfortable. I feel like just by watching part of it that I was placed on some sort of official list of potential online sleazes. Seriously, Christina is really, <i>really </i>young in that clip. I googled a bunch of early-bird specials and 401K discussions to wash it away. Yeeks. So dirty.</div><div><br /></div><div>*November 5, 1993*</div><div>Meatloaf "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)</div><div><div><u>Key Couplet</u></div><div>"<i>Maybe I'm crazy, but it's crazy, and it's true</i>"</div><div>Yes, yes it is true. But, please hold on Mr Loaf, we'll get to the crazy.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>*April 4, 1963*</div><div>The Chiffons "He's So Fine"</div><div><u>Key Couplet</u></div><div>"<i>He's a soft-spoken guy</i></div><div><i>Also seems kind of shy</i>"</div><div>Clearly, I should have come of age in the early sixties. As unqualified as I am to live in an Usher song, I'm that inversely suited to appeal to the ladies of this period. Looking for someone who lingers in the corners, barely speaking above a whishper with anyone? I'm your guy! Wow, thanks probably-dead ladies, I appreciate it. For that, I won't fiddle with your chart topping smash. It's perfect as is!</div><div><br /></div><div>*October 12, 1962*</div><div>The Four Seasons "Sherry"</div><div><u>Key Couplet</u></div><div>"<i>Sherry baby (Sherry baby, Sherry baby)</i>"</div><div>Honestly, it doesn't matter how good or bad the words are in this song (they're awful), I just can't stand the singer's sound. I know, Frankie Valli; famously Italian be-suited guy your grandmother probably once had a lewd thought about. But, man, this tune is grating. I'd be happy never to hear it again. This is why nobody is named Sherry anymore.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mJFmD6Dk3JYkGw54yqFGq7VNpIrqK0orscjaA_JqFEkuprA5I7rYXQdBEvhoTv-QXGUPMs6nN72azGajx45reAGbpHaf10apMLgOcVyzntV-bwUNR02RAaJyWlx7-MLZVAajwOCL8WCS/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7mJFmD6Dk3JYkGw54yqFGq7VNpIrqK0orscjaA_JqFEkuprA5I7rYXQdBEvhoTv-QXGUPMs6nN72azGajx45reAGbpHaf10apMLgOcVyzntV-bwUNR02RAaJyWlx7-MLZVAajwOCL8WCS/w320-h240/indybest-best-sherries-sherry-alcohol.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I won't even drink Sherry! The song is that annoying. </td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />So...Meat. Yup, that's the one we're going with. Why? Oh, there are reasons. Way more than I can possibly list here, of course. I mean, the man had a huge career before and after striking number one gold. I could only cherry pick the more interesting aspects to display here. The details below are allegedly true. My comments that follow each bullet, eh, less so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's start with the obviously needed factoids about the guy himself.</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>He slept in a plastic crib, and for the nametag, his father asked a nurse to write "Meat" because he looked like "nine and a half pounds of ground chuck." The nametag indeed read "Meat", and that became a childhood nickname. The "loaf" part came when he was a heavyset teenage football player. </li><ul><li>Sports nicknames are just the worst. As are alcoholic fathers.</li></ul><li>In addition to more famous appearances in the Rocky Horror Picture Show and Fight Club, he also can be found playing drums in the WWF video "Land of 1,000 Dances" and as a bus driver in The Spice Girls movie. </li><ul><li>When you've share a craft service table with the Iron Sheik <i>and </i>Sporty Spice, you've had a life. </li></ul><li>He identifies as Christian, supports the New York Yankees, and endorsed Mitt Romney for president in 2012. </li><ul><li>So, he's got that white/rich thing going for him, which is nice. For him.</li></ul></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Cool, great. Hmm, what about the music video for this number one hit?</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Michael Bay directed it. Seriously. </li><ul><li>There were almost no Transformers involved.</li></ul><li>Daniel Pearl was the cinematographer. He is most famous for filming The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Also seriously. </li><ul><li>There were definitely no Transformers in that.</li></ul><li>According to one studio executive, "it probably had the budget of <i>Four Weddings and a Funeral</i>." </li><ul><li>There is no clarification as to why this random movie, of all things, is used as the barometer for music video spending. However, it is fun to use this to ascertain the overall cost of other videos. Using this calculation, we can surmise that <i>November Rain</i> by Guns N' Roses costed a whopping three and a half Four Weddings and a Funeral, while <i>Left of the Dial</i> by The Replacements came in at just one-thirty-second of said film. Fascinating!</li></ul></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>Amazing stuff. Really. Ok then, we should move on to the song itself.</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>It reached number one in 28(!) different countries</li><ul><li>I've been to eight different countries. I can vouch that twenty-eight is more than eight, and is a lot.</li></ul><li>The tune was used in an M&M commercial AND the flick Sausage Party. </li><ul><li>Wow. Just, wow.</li></ul><li>British adventurer and noted urine drinker Bear Grylls cites this song as his inspiration to apply for selection into the Special Air Service. He said "Enthusiasm and determination count for so much more than skills, brains or qualifications...and all this expressed itself to me through Meatloaf's song!" </li><ul><li>The exclamation point is his, apparently. </li></ul></ul></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPGO61j-PhvsWF203JplQ7sa8IucE70V7xon5vWWFKlt97X9mp8d1DrrD_0AKr436vgJHOLm02gYB6Iwae-B9YsAV_gQ-JeTiG0g-9KVNGlHN5zZeFk8IiBMTcZVPT0-SWCoohv3NZ_zW/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="840" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPGO61j-PhvsWF203JplQ7sa8IucE70V7xon5vWWFKlt97X9mp8d1DrrD_0AKr436vgJHOLm02gYB6Iwae-B9YsAV_gQ-JeTiG0g-9KVNGlHN5zZeFk8IiBMTcZVPT0-SWCoohv3NZ_zW/w400-h266/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But I will do that!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />The song essentially had three different versions released. For radio, they used the shortest cut at just over five minutes (which is still pretty lengthy, to be fair). The music video supported a version that ran nearly eight minutes. The album track itself clocked in at a cool twelve minutes. Twelve!</div><div><br /></div><div>That's like, six Ramones songs. Sheesh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, lets talk about the lyrics. There are a freakin' lot of 'em.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though there are instrumental interludes in the full song, as well as motorcycles (because...I don't know, vroom), the word salad is massive. As you'd suspect, there is a lot of repetition about love, specifically regardings things he would do for it, and things he wouldn't. The song is long on explanations, and they occasionally read like a goth teen's diary.</div><div><br /></div><div>"<i>Some days it don't come easy</i></div><div><i>Some days it don't come hard</i></div><div><i>Some days it don't come at all</i></div><div><i>Some days I work at Hot Topic in the mall</i>"</div><div><br /></div><div>At about the two-thirds point, after roughly a hundred kajillion sentiments about his commitment to this whole love thing, the lyrics change a bit. We enter a question and answer phase of the music. In what I thought may be an attempt by Meatloaf to showcase his abilities as a gameshow host (his true calling), a half-dozen queries are laid out in the text. </div><div><br /></div><div>But, hang on, in listening to the tune, he's not the one asking these questions in the song. Another singer is asking them of him. No wonder he never got that gig at Card Sharks. Really poor planning, sir.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anywho, his object of desire (the loaf-ette, if you will, though please don't) lays out her needs in this series of asks. They start off fairly benign:</div><div><br /></div><div><u>"<i>Will you get me right out of this godforsaken town</i>?"</u></div><div>Yeah, of course! This place sucks. It only has chain restaurants and there are almost no other dudes named Meatloaf. Lame!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><u>"<i>Will you make it all a little less cold</i>?"</u></div><div>Um, sure babe, I'll go give the thermostat a degree or two bump. Or you could put on a sweater? I mean, the gas bill is kind of high. No big deal, it's just that, ya know, my job isn't paying as well as I thought, and your home candle-making business isn't bringing in as much cash as we hoped. But, no, it's fine. It's fine! I'll go turn the heat up.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>From there, well, the stakes go up more than a tad.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><u>"<i>Will you cater to every fantasy I got</i>?"</u></div><div>All of them!?!?! Even the one with the giant jars of pickle juice, eight trained gophers, and the corpse of Lee Trevino? I mean, how would I do that? And I don't even know if Lee Trevino is dead. That could put a fly in the ointment.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><u>"<i>Will you take me places I've never known</i>?"</u></div><div>How would I...sure. Sure. You've never known Shoney's, right? Let's go to Shoney's.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>This tiring and tiresome tune finally ends with one of these two incredibly difficult people proclaiming that they won't cheat on the other. That's the "that" they won't "do". Then the song ends. That's it. All of these promises and requirements and motorcycles and werewolves (that's what he is in the video, right?) and the payout is that he promises he won't shtupp the lady running the smoke machine. That's number one across the planet. Oy.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mCnkphbvixm92wh65kEQ1JGOnpW3ZZZi-oXvl3-OJWtV5XWFF47dpR2Pn-_dRux9widEZzjiDTpXmRiPbp5V6SGZC367U_mS8ma5MYKXVxZZkjeiYa4scYir4OPoZ-Bb-Llv-X5G6Hn4/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mCnkphbvixm92wh65kEQ1JGOnpW3ZZZi-oXvl3-OJWtV5XWFF47dpR2Pn-_dRux9widEZzjiDTpXmRiPbp5V6SGZC367U_mS8ma5MYKXVxZZkjeiYa4scYir4OPoZ-Bb-Llv-X5G6Hn4/s320/cheese_stuffed_meatloaf_easy_recipe.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meatloaf stuffed with cheese. Check please.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I've gotta say, while I figured this top hit to be a little bit ridiculous, I didn't expect to roll my eyes so many times. Not having ever stepped toe into this guy's world of music, there were hopes that maybe something weird or cool bubbled underneath. Long hair, odd fashion choices, iconic film roles, seems like there could be something in here that had some heft.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nope. Nada.</div><div><br /></div><div>Can't believe it. I should've been drinking sherry this whole time.</div><div><br /></div>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-22327869237485075652020-05-22T14:29:00.001-07:002020-05-22T14:29:08.582-07:00Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs "Sugar Shack"<u><i><b>*****Number One, October 28th, 1963*****</b></i></u><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thus far in Season 2 of my breakdown, er, The Breakdown, we've taken a look at five different number one songs. Each top hit was chosen completely at random using a date generator site called, unsurprisingly, <a href="https://www.random.org/calendar-dates/" target="_blank">Random.org</a>. To use it, I simply enter two dates, and it spits out a single day from somewhere between them. That resulting spot on the calendar is then cross-referenced with the Billboard charts, which ultimately tells me which top track in music history I'll be writing about that week.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's kind of fun and exciting to see the reveal. However, as I've now found out after a quintet of posts, it's also a little...frustrating.</div><div><br /></div><div>The window of time I give the machine is fairly large, more than six decades. That's because I want to include every number one of the modern chart era. The "Hot 100" began all the way back in August of 1958. So, if a tune made it to the top, it deserves a chance to be chosen whether or not I've heard it, or even heard of it. That's part of the charm for me, and I'm sure it's also a delight for the many ones of readers who intentionally click on this site. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the people accidentally ending up on my blog because you asked the googles to find singles in your area who may have broken down, I'm truly sorry. Though there is only a solo me, this breakdown is in your soul, not your car. Keep looking for individuals, and whatever Billy Ocean tells you to do, please don't do it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope that helps.</div><div><br /></div><div>It likely doesn't.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I don't really know how the randomizer algorithm works, though I assumed the dates received would be fairly spread out. But, to this point in using it, here are the years I've gotten (in order):</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1973</li><li>1969</li><li>1982</li><li>1978</li><li>1972</li></ul><div>This feels very, I don't know, bunchy. There are almost sixty-two years to choose from, and this first group of results covers a period of time equal to barely a quarter of that. Why? That feels almost pre-ordained, like perhaps the stupid technology is setup to pick something close to the middle of the date range rather than a day near either end of the spectrum. Perhaps it's because time is a flat circle. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's a relevant pop culture thingy, right? That phrase from that show that I never watched? The one with Woody from Cheers but without dragons? Right? Sounds right. I've got a gift for being on fleek with my groovy language. So I've been LOL'd.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtt98YxQtpB3cPzmsmYgSVNTxe54Pmp9FJ5WtYZ3YStd55M-W0bj-L4zYg1rhzy3BFTZYbEus1tsa52M-RtK10wnhq6N2C_OjMWPZCMDNxMUQvTqbBlZgnLENra-DWSTwR_L86uvOrcNMc/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtt98YxQtpB3cPzmsmYgSVNTxe54Pmp9FJ5WtYZ3YStd55M-W0bj-L4zYg1rhzy3BFTZYbEus1tsa52M-RtK10wnhq6N2C_OjMWPZCMDNxMUQvTqbBlZgnLENra-DWSTwR_L86uvOrcNMc/w400-h267/Screen_Shot_2017_07_13_at_1.09.20_PM.0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, I look young for my age</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div></div><div>Regardless, I'm feeling less willing to allow the (maybe) random whims of some internet doo-floppy to select the weekly material. Some human interaction seems necessary to even things out.</div><div><br /></div><div>And to avoid any more disco ever again, of course.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately, the selection site does allow for multiple dates to be spat out at a time. So, rather than getting a single mandatory day from which to draw a line to given song, I've got a full five to connect. That way, I'm not forced to dwell solely within a dictated generation, and we can keep things a bit more varied. See, robots and humans can work together! I'm sure this will all lead to a better world.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jmvuTl0Ir7IRmyDeXbqOVckAeNTjzv4hGoh1pSptQVOF38-hmOPAvWfDnjDGWV6MtSF8l-GK4c7IYfkIPoblKrwgDuEgInP5ccXdNbmQ8xH4ixpm_mSEIGDEfKBXic-jtpGEQlk3JVht/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="300" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jmvuTl0Ir7IRmyDeXbqOVckAeNTjzv4hGoh1pSptQVOF38-hmOPAvWfDnjDGWV6MtSF8l-GK4c7IYfkIPoblKrwgDuEgInP5ccXdNbmQ8xH4ixpm_mSEIGDEfKBXic-jtpGEQlk3JVht/w400-h240/3216.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um, that's a bad touch, Edward.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Now, without further ado (cause there's been too much ado in this space already), let's look at this week's five options. Here is what the machinery dispensed. Let's take a gander at these beauties, and evaluate their potential.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i><b>*November 12, 2014*</b></i></div><div><i><u>Meghan Trainor "All About That Bass"</u></i></div><div><u>Do I know it?</u> Yup. It's about that bass. All of it.</div></div><div><u>Claim to Fame?</u> Per Wikipedia, and I quote, "This song was noted for discussing <i>booty </i>as part of physical attractiveness." Ah, so, this is the one. </div><div><u>Should I select it?</u> Unofficially, she uses the phrase "'<i>bout that bass</i>" thirty three times in this song. I counted. What can I possibly add to that? Nothing. So, pass.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><i><b>*November 3, 1993*</b></i></div><div><i><u>Mariah Carey "Dreamlover"</u></i></div><div><u>Do I know it?</u> Sheesh, everyone knows it.</div></div><div><u>Claim to Fame?</u> Mariah Carey. That's it. She's famous for being herself. Spooky.</div><div><u>Should I select it?</u> She's already kinda popular. Do people really like to read about celebrities? </div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><i><b>*February 12, 1992*</b></i></div><div><i><u>Right Said Fred "I'm Too Sexy"</u></i></div><div><u>Do I know it?</u> To paraphrase <a href="https://simpsons.fandom.com/wiki/Cecil_Terwilliger" target="_blank">Sideshow Cecil</a>, "Goodness I had no idea. For, you see, I had been on Mars. In a cave with my eyes shut and my fingers in my ears."</div></div><div><u>Claim to Fame?</u> They're too sexy. But, you knew that already, didn't you?</div><div><u>Should I select it?</u> 100,466,000 people watched the most recent Super Bowl, and nobody blogged about that, right? Oh. Well, still, I'm passing on this tune. Re-living it would be like test driving a Toyota Corolla. It's been done a zillion times, why bother.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><i><b>*January 20, 1974*</b></i></div><div><i><u>Al Wilson "Show and Tell"</u></i></div><div><u>Do I know it?</u> Doesn't ring any bells.</div></div><div><u>Claim to Fame?</u> Oof, well, it was played on Letterman whenever he did a segment called Show and Tell. Thanks Paul, that's very clever. </div><div><u>Should I select it?</u> On the 1974 charts, it hit number one immediately after The Steve Miller Band's "<i>The Joker</i>" and right before Ringo Starr's "<i>You're Sixteen</i>." I feel like the Randomizer is trying to sneak this one in here. Bad computer, bad!</div></div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>*October 28, 1963*</b></i></div><div><i><u>Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs "Sugar Shack"</u></i></div><div><u>Do I know it? </u> Nope, not by name. But, what a name!</div><div><u>Claim to fame?</u> Suprisingly, at least to me, there is one. It seems this hit has been used in films like Mermaids, Forrest Gump, and Congo. WOW! I've seen all three of those flicks, and I've gotta say two of them were among the worst movies I've ever suffered through in my life. And, I ain't throwing stones at the Cher/Winona/Christina troika there. Seriously, I hate that Gump nonsense with every fiber of my being. With all due respect Mr Hanks, take your damn chocolates and shove 'em!</div><div><u>Should I select it?</u> Well, you already know that I did, based on the title of this post. So... </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZS9LTENQ7tv_eYvCjsJLcUvGDDXFD1qq3f4DTgMmOjab2cdmIEBYGcIwPAMq0YXAm9FU2NW9cpGvbwa3E1TbJKP9SXqk6yJhSvUJGu9SSIPpzg1rYorsPf22bZddJ01rMlbd915V_hpc7/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZS9LTENQ7tv_eYvCjsJLcUvGDDXFD1qq3f4DTgMmOjab2cdmIEBYGcIwPAMq0YXAm9FU2NW9cpGvbwa3E1TbJKP9SXqk6yJhSvUJGu9SSIPpzg1rYorsPf22bZddJ01rMlbd915V_hpc7/w400-h225/sugar-shack-800x450-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything's coming up Canada!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Firstly, no, we're not talking about those <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugar_shack" target="_blank">charming cottages</a> (like the one pictured above) scattered throughout the northeastern provinces that will sell you syrup and syrup-related delights.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nor are we talking about The Sugar Shack Gentleman's Club (not pictured here, cause you know why) which lies within the scattered nothingness of Salem Oregon that will sell you slightly less syrup but excessive syrup-related delights. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's best not to think about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>What we are discussing is, quite impressively, the number one song in all of 1963. This tune carried the throne at a time when popular music was just starting to get more diverse. Surf rock pioneers Jan and Dean had a top hit that year, as did a new artist with the peculiar name of Little Stevie Wonder. Not sure what happened to that guy. I...wonder.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hold for laugh. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still holding.</div><div><br /></div><div>Along with some new blood, however, there were still an awful lot of crooning white dudes gumming up the radio works. It was very much the style of the time to grease up the hair of some safe looking pasty fellows, stick them in formal duds, and send them out to try and harmonize their way to a girl's heart. This was a time when ladies wore approximately seventeen layers of undergarments, so getting to her heart was harder than you think. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of these releases were moderately catchy, fairly cheesy, and likely to contain at least one double-entendre that you needed a headlamp and a pickaxe to uncover. Usually they were also worded pretty simply and ran very short (this tune clocks in at a whopping 2:06). So, let's look at the lyrics for this classic number one. There are essentially three parts:</div><div><br /></div><div>Stanza 1</div><div><i>There's a crazy little shack beyond the tracks</i></div><div><i>And everybody calls it the sugar shack</i></div><div><i>Well, is just a coffeehouse and its made of wood</i></div><div><i>Espresso coffee tastes mighty good</i></div><div><i>That's not the reason why I've got to get back</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack, whoa baby</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack</i></div><div>I don't want to judge too harshly, but spending four lines to tell me about the features of a place, only to say "never mind, none of that matters" in the fifth feels a bit of a cheat. It's like when you read the praise on the back cover of a book, and realize all those compliments are about the author's prior book, not the one you're holding. Excuse me, how does that help anything?</div><div><br /></div><div>Stanza 2</div><div><i>There's this cute little girlie, she's a-working there</i></div><div><i>A black leotard and her feet are bare</i></div><div><i>I'm gonna drink a lot of coffee, spend a little cash</i></div><div><i>Make that girl love me when I put on some trash</i></div><div><i>You can understand why I've got to get back</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack, whoa baby</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack, yeah honey</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack,whoa yes</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack</i></div><div>It should be noted that one of the three credited songwriters for this tune is Fay Voss. Per Wikipedia, she got that credit after she was asked by her nephew "what those tight pants that girls wear" are, and she replied "leotards." That's it. That's all she did. So, remember, anytime anyone asks you anything, give them an answer! You might get credit for writing a number one song! </div><div><br /></div><div>Stanza 3</div><div><i>Now that sugar shack queen is a-married to me, yeah yeah</i></div><div><i>We just sit around and dream of those old memories</i></div><div><i>Ah, but one of these days I'm gonna lay down tracks</i></div><div><i>In the direction of that sugar shack</i></div><div><i>Just me and her yes we're gonna go back</i></div><div><i>To that sugar shack</i></div><div>He wants to have a three-way with coffee? Hmm, ok. What can I say, it was a different time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, anyway, there you have it. We forced the machine to give us something new, and in doing so, pulled the oldest number one I'd heard so far. Is it a good song? Eh, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHzjfGF6MiU" target="_blank">listen for yourself</a>. I can't say it'll be on my next mixtape, but it's very much of its age, and also sort of fun. Perhaps you'll hear it in the next utterly awful flick you see. So, listen now, and that way you can walk out of the theater knowing you won't miss a single thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>This blog is nothing if not helpful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ok, it's pretty much nothing. 'Nuff said.</div>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-43859194198437741722020-05-14T16:32:00.000-07:002020-05-14T16:32:39.492-07:00Neil Young "Heart of Gold"<b><i><u>*****Number One, March 14, 1972*****</u></i></b><br />
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Neil Young! Canadian!<div><br /></div><div>How Canadian?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDOfibVGQxhhYoAG509pp_L2bHkw1KF1W8t2O-Qc909UV8HajpIF9wf78eM0P2EcsmtWY66Gm_v2nlA9NRewcdx9QVGOQGOLGHxh84szJI41mdtvH0IaRGxnPJDu_N7PuyB9BET071L15/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDOfibVGQxhhYoAG509pp_L2bHkw1KF1W8t2O-Qc909UV8HajpIF9wf78eM0P2EcsmtWY66Gm_v2nlA9NRewcdx9QVGOQGOLGHxh84szJI41mdtvH0IaRGxnPJDu_N7PuyB9BET071L15/s320/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Canadian!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Yep, that's him, rooting (if you consider sullenly staring forward to be rooting, which I do, because that me) on the home team at the good old hockey game. In this case, he's silently urging on his and my favorite squadron, the San Jose Sharks. There he sits, surrounded by jersey-clad compatriots, fully invested in the game of the Great White North. As others scream and yell "Go Sharks" he remains perfectly still. His hands in his lap, gripped tightly out of furious anxiety and a knowing/crushing feeling that certain doom is on its way.</div><div><br /></div><div>How do I know this last part?</div><div><br /></div><div>Trust me, I know</div><div><br /></div><div>Sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, today we focus our bloggy attention on this hall of fame artist. Now, you might think that having a first name and hockey fandom in common would have made it extremely likely that I'd gravitate towards the man. Maybe at some point in my life? Uh, well, nope. Somewhat suprisingly, I don't recall a moment where I ever considered hunkering down with some of Mr Young's finest. I definitely know of him and have always been impressed by his career and ability as a musician. And, I'm kind of, sort of, familiar with a handful of his tunes. However, I've never really taken to his work. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't say exactly why. Perhaps it's that almost mandated respect music fans are told to have towards our rumpled folk heroes. I generally tend to bristle at such requirements and sometimes ignore artists out of rote stubborness as a dumb form of rebellion. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2siKlnhN7x8zs9zGWLxh3Bil4t1sDBbABuqiOZ5rJ_VGKj0yYGPnH190MGhaQ5IuDsX_l2GPw_GrVH77GY5o6lgEFXdVC2bnXj4dlghsUUoVJorwKc1VDhyphenhyphenz5vuboPKD0p21EQgfW6CFc/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2siKlnhN7x8zs9zGWLxh3Bil4t1sDBbABuqiOZ5rJ_VGKj0yYGPnH190MGhaQ5IuDsX_l2GPw_GrVH77GY5o6lgEFXdVC2bnXj4dlghsUUoVJorwKc1VDhyphenhyphenz5vuboPKD0p21EQgfW6CFc/w400-h225/jyn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You and me both, Jyn.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Thus, by kicking any sort of suggested fandom to the curb, I've missed out on the catalogs of a plethora of all-timers in the music world. That's probably a shame. Although, let's be realistic, having longevity and sales in this business doesn't automatically indicate quality. Anyone can look at a list of best-selling bands and find some, uh *coughMaroon5cough* questionable talent.</div><div><br /></div><div>For now, though, I'll put aside my deep disdain for nostalgia and tradition as it relates to the "greats" and give Mr Young the attention he deserves. Well, I'll listen to one song, and only 'cause the <a href="https://www.random.org/calendar-dates/" target="_blank">Randomizer</a>, not the Man, told me to. Hooray for loopholes! USA! USA! USA!</div><div><br /></div><div>Oops, sorry.</div><div><br /></div><div>Canada! Canada! Canada!</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmm, that doesn't seem quite right. Pretty sure they don't shout their country's name with such ruthless egotism up there. Plus, Canadians are far too polite to use exclamation points. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEHVQeY7UEYLbp-xVQu6LwwP6si3mmnR5drLWZ07ep8k2OH0kmrUqu_qtHRDcuNldk0tS_UMENnbHKfW7PEPxTWegUMRCDuV0LkiYhEmeGIAkSAAtWaCFp_y1_Yl2J8w9VDpqYElo49Db/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="823" data-original-width="650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIEHVQeY7UEYLbp-xVQu6LwwP6si3mmnR5drLWZ07ep8k2OH0kmrUqu_qtHRDcuNldk0tS_UMENnbHKfW7PEPxTWegUMRCDuV0LkiYhEmeGIAkSAAtWaCFp_y1_Yl2J8w9VDpqYElo49Db/s320/canadian-protester-freestyle-list-photo-u1.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See?<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>With that, we return to topic. Let's see what sort of language today's specific canuck believes in. </div><div><br /></div><div>Straight from a time before a less-musical but more-bloggery Neil began stumbling upon this mishapen planet, we get this week's number one. The song "Heart of Gold" with backing vocals provided by none other than James Taylor AND Linda Ronstadt, spent just a single week on top of the US charts. With such an impressive pedigree, it's a surprise it didn't reign for a bit longer.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another shock, it would be the only tune from Neil Young that would ever visit that coveted spot. He never returned to the top of the American mountain. This tune will be the only one from him to ever appear on this site.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know that will be disappointing for him, but he's a Sharks fan. He's used to disappointment.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anywho.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's look at the lyrics of this hit. I think I'm familiar with it, but<a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/12/mark-ronson-featuring-bruno-mars-uptown.html" target="_blank"> I've falsely assumed familiarity before</a>, so you never know.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i><u>Heart of Gold</u></i></b></div><div><i>I want to live</i></div><div><i>I want to give</i></div><div><i>I've been a miner for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i>It's these expressions</i></div><div><i>I never give</i></div><div><i>That keep me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>And I'm getting old</i></div><div><i>Keep me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i>And I'm getting old</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Hmm, can't say this rings any bells, but I like it quite a lot and think it straight up my word-alley. Although, hang on, when this song came out, he was how old? Checking the interwebs...</div><div><br /></div><div>26.</div><div><br /></div><div>26 years old when he wrote that. Hmmph, my hipster detector just went off. Honestly, if some twenty-something dude in an adult-y hat released a song now with the refrain "I'm getting old" I might just have to slug him. Irony is wasted on the young. That said, I'll let it slide this time. Please continue, fellow Neil...</div><div><br /></div><div><i>I've been to Hollywood</i></div><div><i>I've been to Redwood</i></div><div><i>I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i>I've been in my mind</i></div><div><i>It's such a fine line</i></div><div><i>That keeps me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>And I'm getting old</i></div><div><i>Keep me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i>And I'm getting old</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Keep me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><i>You keep me searching and I'm growing old</i></div><div><i>Keep me searching for a heart of gold</i></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I've been a miner for a heart of gold</i></div><br style="background-color: #ddddee; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: verdana, arial; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;" /></div><div>And, that's a lyrical wrap. Can't say it looks familiar at all to me, so obviously I absconded from the responsibility of hearing this tune earlier in my life. Too bad. This genre of song is typically the type of introspective melancholy that my dum-dum brain latches onto. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps I'll try to make the effort and give a thorough listen to his stuff at some point soon. It's always nice to find some new music, even if it came out before you were born and is only new to you. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still. I guess that I need to concede that not all popular music should be avoided, and much of it deserves a shot.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-bee-gees-how-deep-is-your-love.html" target="_blank">Except disco</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>But you already knew that.</div><div><br /></div>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-56024834313927651502020-05-06T19:08:00.000-07:002020-05-06T19:08:29.777-07:00The Bee Gees "How Deep is Your Love"<b><i><u>*****Number One, January 5, 1978*****</u></i></b><br />
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Dictionary.com has, to my surprise, <a href="https://www.dictionary.com/e/slang/hold-my-beer/">a definition of the slang term <i>hold my beer</i>.</a> Wedged between <i>hobnocker </i>("a piece of construction equipment similar to a jackhammer, but sometimes used as an insult because it sounds dirty") and <i>holler </i>("to shout, say hello, or hit on") resides the familiar-to-memers phrase. Among the many explanations about what this term means and how its typically used is this bare bones summary; "<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;">On the internet, </span><em style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1a1a1a; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;">hold my beer</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"> is used to make fun of decisions that are seen to be bad...</span></span>"<br />
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Why, might you ask, did I look this up? Welp, <a href="http://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2020/04/steve-miller-band-abracadabra.html">in the prior blog post</a>, I lamented quite a lot about what I feel is an especially terrible number one song. I bemoaned the lyrically awful "Abracadabra" and wondered how such unlistenable music could become so popular. And then, well, <a href="https://www.random.org/calendar-dates/">the randomizer</a> did its thing for this week.<br />
<br />
What a hobnocker.<br />
<br />
Sigh. Welcome to my nightmare.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDZAyIMuclZHEcZ4hm1kKtDxcmVfAFPpLmuM5T29fjBnU3-I5Uz_6jjeZc8iQqTVWpP_D2CLLshigKMU9UBl_tlGcFhDEPhtiQYFjGYnqQBGAgLZaZeDWtbVNKRMPw7VM2ITSU_EScWAO/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="512" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDZAyIMuclZHEcZ4hm1kKtDxcmVfAFPpLmuM5T29fjBnU3-I5Uz_6jjeZc8iQqTVWpP_D2CLLshigKMU9UBl_tlGcFhDEPhtiQYFjGYnqQBGAgLZaZeDWtbVNKRMPw7VM2ITSU_EScWAO/s320/unnamed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They don't make television like this anymore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Disco. Is there anything worse? Really. I'm serious. It ranks excruciatingly high on the overall list of most repugnant man-made creations ever. And, to be honest, I think it qualifies to be up near the top. Somewhere just above Peeps but barely below televangelists this dreck belongs. Just miserable, unpleasant garbage.<br />
<br />
(If I haven't been thoroughly clear yet, I'll say it plainly. I don't like disco. Did you get that so far?)<br />
<br />
In terms of musical genres, it is the first pillar in the four-post foundation of tunes I cannot stand. It finds its place among the likes of new country, psychedelic 70's, and that damn Mexican music with the jaunty accordian. What is that stuff called, and why can't it be played at a decible level below insanity-inducing?<br />
<br />
But, really, while I find those other three styles irritating, none of them hold a candle to the contempt I feel for disco. It is brutally cheesy and utterly souless nonsense. There is nothing good to be pulled from it. Not the instrumentation, nor the lyrics, nor the style. I'd listen to pretty much any other song rather than this week's number one.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bMX2Mkbf8qlD7bUOR1WktdgW-ItIQfCQYBhDt9i1cnUy8xq40gifQOgB_3F8ywR62xZmqCevS8FBFQhSvVzCMxNtECcYGaH4VwkvjhJ5ysAIAnTuEKR6-i5Eq2Gv5LI-X4v4lwzf72_j/s1600/jarjar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="968" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bMX2Mkbf8qlD7bUOR1WktdgW-ItIQfCQYBhDt9i1cnUy8xq40gifQOgB_3F8ywR62xZmqCevS8FBFQhSvVzCMxNtECcYGaH4VwkvjhJ5ysAIAnTuEKR6-i5Eq2Gv5LI-X4v4lwzf72_j/s320/jarjar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suddenly this guy doesn't seem so bad, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
However, I have to review it. Somehow. The blog requires it. I can't just light my computer on fire and walk away to avoid this reality. I can't! Well, my wife says I can't (shh, I'm still thinking about it).<br />
<br />
Anywho, I have to consider other options. Real, non-burn-y ones.<br />
<br />
Harrumph.<br />
<br />
In the past, as a way to augment my reviews, I'd run various tunes through an array of song translators. Different languages, real and imagined, were used. That seemed like a possible path through this current morass. If I could take this shit and pass it through some kind of machine, maybe a nugget of...not shit would come out the other side.<br />
<br />
Still gross, but not shit.<br />
<br />
Thus, I tried that, using the always helpful <a href="https://funtranslations.com/gungan">Fun Translations site</a>. And, in keeping with this week being a celebration of all things Star Wars (happy May the 4th to all my nerdly nerd brothers and sisters), I thought, well that's the way to deal. Let's take the worst creature in the galaxy, pictured above, and allow his ear-splitting tongue to take a stab at improving the worst single. Will this repackaged tune be packing them into Mos Eisley's for years to come? Let's see!<br />
<br />
Here's only the chorus, in Gungan:<br />
<i>"How deep is yous shu, how deep is yous shu</i><br />
<i>How deep is yous shu?</i><br />
<i>Mesa really mean to learn</i><br />
<i>'cause wesa're liv in a world of fools</i><br />
<i>break us neb when desa all should let us be</i><br />
<i>wesa belong to yousa and mesa"</i><br />
<br />
Nope. Nope. Nooooooooope. Still shit.<br />
<br />
Shit.<br />
<br />
I struggled to find another way through this post's chart topper. Fortunately, the news brought me one. A deadly one!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_QY3fBTLyO57BOG6ZhujPllcQViqfdNRbOxFgF-2Qe1CAyhmgjzSVmtXiClmUGOEiXhSIy2bExJj8LNjtSVCvIfWGTT6uUmvNvYpQ4_vot0WOT9pBn_6-XbtmHmJZ_hi_akfArh3lyLR/s1600/hornet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="710" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_QY3fBTLyO57BOG6ZhujPllcQViqfdNRbOxFgF-2Qe1CAyhmgjzSVmtXiClmUGOEiXhSIy2bExJj8LNjtSVCvIfWGTT6uUmvNvYpQ4_vot0WOT9pBn_6-XbtmHmJZ_hi_akfArh3lyLR/s320/hornet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what's in a name?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week, while virus madness continued to take hold and throttle this country with equal parts illness and ignorance, a new menace appeared. Not of the phantom variety, the murderous one!<br />
<br />
Now, I'm not going to link to any stories about this deadly critter, which apparently just popped up in the state of Washington (hello neighbor please put up a giant screen door along the Columbia River thanks!). It is a terribly large and vicious bug, and quite frankly, there's enough yuck and angst to read about in this country without seeing a graphic depiction of how this mini monster will destroy us all.<br />
<br />
That said, it did give me an idea for how to deal with today's tune.<br />
<br />
Let's take a focused gander at a particular aspect of this singing group. Ignoring for a moment the music (if only I could), let's look instead only at the band's name. Bee Gees. Pretty weak, right? I mean, bees are fine, but throwing a gee in there really takes that poor insect down a few pegs towards passive place. Who's gonna be impressed or scared by that sort of thing?<br />
<br />
Certainly not a murder hornet. In fact, you could almost say that a murder hornet is exactly the opposite of a bee gee. An antonym, if you will.<br />
<br />
And I will.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo_d8LDLOtIPr2LXHoLdf-n6wD9BlzIxSKYb23lXYzvJJC5XRLfQCjSPYOjKxyXLvy1Qer8gBg_rZ73F55rIZb-X9wg4PbC4CKX-TqTh0eUQLDIvdd7rvAuE8iA8y9wGbLPiN39A6pabu/s1600/Paula-Abdul-James-Corden-recreate-Opposites-Attract-music-video.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="649" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlo_d8LDLOtIPr2LXHoLdf-n6wD9BlzIxSKYb23lXYzvJJC5XRLfQCjSPYOjKxyXLvy1Qer8gBg_rZ73F55rIZb-X9wg4PbC4CKX-TqTh0eUQLDIvdd7rvAuE8iA8y9wGbLPiN39A6pabu/s320/Paula-Abdul-James-Corden-recreate-Opposites-Attract-music-video.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MC Skat Kat knows opposites attract. He is all knowing. And creepy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The only way to review "How Deep is Your Love" is to reverse it completely. One hundred and eighty degrees. We're taking the lyrics from this particular piece of top selling treacle and flipping them onto their dark opposites. I can't review shit. But I can review the opposite of shit, which is...well...hmm.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
Let's find out! With help of the creatively named <a href="http://wordhippo.com/">Wordhippo.com</a> and significantly less adorable <a href="http://antonym.com/">Antonym.com</a>, we're going songwriting. Doing an exact mirror version of the tune would very likely be akin to crossing the streams (crossing the streams is bad Egon), so I'm not gonna go that far. Instead, I'm bringing only some of the more pertinent actions and nouns to opposition town.<br />
<br />
Here before you is the world premiere of the opening stanza and chorus from the inverted number one smash from the hottest and most dangerous new band; The Murder Hornets:<br />
<br />
<i><u><b>How Shallow is Your Hate</b></u></i><br />
<i>I know your unbelief in the nightfall dark</i><br />
<i>I feel you avoid me in the standing aridity</i><br />
<i>And the age that you stay in place near me</i><br />
<i>I want to extinguish you with my body again</i><br />
<i>And you leave me on a winter calm</i><br />
<i>Keep me cold in your hate, then you loudly arrive</i><br />
<i>And its me you should suppress</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>How shallow is your hate, how shallow is your hate</i><br />
<i>How shallow is your hate?</i><br />
<i>I really chance to unlearn</i><br />
<i>Cause we're dying in a meagerness of brains</i><br />
<i>They abandon me and you</i><br />
<br />
I can hear the guttural growl of lead singer Hugo Gibb (the forgotten brother) already. Now that's music, Volume 666!<br />
<br />
With that done, I sincerely hope the next hit dispensed my way is something I at least slightly enjoy. Internet? Please? Come on, I'm hollerin' here!<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-51190361228153756552020-04-29T15:35:00.000-07:002020-04-29T15:35:12.547-07:00Steve Miller Band "Abracadabra"<b><i><u>*****Number One, August 29, 1982*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
If it isn't apparent yet, per my short exposition at the top of this site (and a few dozen prior blog posts within), I'm definitely a fan of lyrics. Clever, funny, heartfelt, whatever they may be. It is far more likely I'll latch onto an artist if they're able to put together a word salad that grabs my attention, or my brain, or my guts.<br />
<br />
The music matters also of course. A lot. Too much, sometimes. I've certainly found myself on the wrong side of fandom regarding certain, immensely respected artists because I simply couldn't get past the sound. And I get it. Yes, Bob Dylan has written some amazing songs. And, yeah, I'm very probably missing out. But, if it's all the same to him (and I think it is), I'd be just fine never hearing him ever again. Nothing personal. He's just not my cup of warmed-over warbling.<br />
<br />
However, when it's a good tune <i>and </i>the songwriter nails ya right in the feels, man, there's nothing better. A few years ago, a quirky acoustic melody I'd never heard came across my music feed. Then the opening couplet started:<br />
<br />
<i>"Late afternoon, another day is nearly done</i><br />
<i>A darker grey is breaking through a lighter one"</i><br />
<br />
What is this, I thought, and how can someone put together any better of a phrase to denote a miserable dark day than that? The song, called "I Hate Winnipeg" is one of a plethora that hit me right where I live (or where I wanted to live). I soon found myself grabbing each song from this group, The Weakerthans, and aborbing every bit of Canadian melancholy they produced into my heart and soul. When the lead singer, John K Samson, spun off a couple of solo records, I grabbed them as well. I mean, come on, look at this, from the song "Winter Wheat";<br />
<br />
"<i>Woke up in a parking lot, air mattress has gone flat</i><br />
<i>The sun's selecting targets for the shadows to attack</i><br />
<i>So make a visor with your hand, squint to where you're from</i><br />
<i>That lonely line of buildings you can block out with your thumb</i>"<br />
<br />
HOW DO YOU EVEN CONCEIVE TO WRITE THAT? It totally breaks my brain. So, so good.<br />
<br />
I mean, good to me, obviously. It's my blog after all. However, everybody likes different things. I get that. If you don't like my music, that's fine. It's FINE! I don't mind. REALLY! Different strokes, and all those Gary Coleman-esque vibes. It's just, well...<br />
<br />
I mean...<br />
<br />
The other side of the spectrum. We all must admit, there are some terribly written songs. And while I want to play the even-keeled adult and say "just because I don't like it doesn't mean it's bad and I didn't start this blog to slag on songs and..."<br />
<br />
I...<br />
<br />
I just...<br />
<br />
Sigh...I guess I have to.<br />
<br />
Look at this. Just, look:<br />
<br />
"<i>Abra abracadabra</i><br />
<i>I wanna reach out and grab ya</i>"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYAoMqx9Xb50qg6kbl_kxxWRoud4MhAMQZi940djIgR1o9LG1spSwHZYBZrb93C2S4F_YCqYhVK5gPtvHPu8w_pt6zoc96QusUiuqXrKoaZe1_Yx2Yrp4Cel12BNh9nxNKbvyzrO3D8OO/s1600/facepalm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYAoMqx9Xb50qg6kbl_kxxWRoud4MhAMQZi940djIgR1o9LG1spSwHZYBZrb93C2S4F_YCqYhVK5gPtvHPu8w_pt6zoc96QusUiuqXrKoaZe1_Yx2Yrp4Cel12BNh9nxNKbvyzrO3D8OO/s320/facepalm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In a facepalmy world, that might be the facepalmiest thing ever</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Did you read that? DID YOU? Here, again.<br />
<br />
"<i>Abra abracadabra</i><br />
<i>I wanna reach out and grab ya</i>"<br />
<br />
That's the chorus! Of a number one song!!!<br />
<br />
I mean!!!!!<br />
<br />
Sorry for the excalamation points. Hang on.<br />
<br />
*Breathe*<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
Grab ya? GRAB YA!?!? You're rhyming "cadabra" with "grab ya"?!?!?!!?! What are you, a toddler?!?!? I...<br />
<br />
Apologies again. Truly very sorry here.<br />
<br />
Let's try and start this again.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N59V1K213pEsqS7dzXGT5O_Bdn3dOTvvnYm5oRJfcLQuBmU46PahTk54s4I35dtkccMjzg4DkyJRxuXfbhMHgsSei3yYVlo9xwIIwqqV5QDCVdzgP4x6MaHUo-KAqAx0uNOGzkDiD8EF/s1600/magic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="500" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N59V1K213pEsqS7dzXGT5O_Bdn3dOTvvnYm5oRJfcLQuBmU46PahTk54s4I35dtkccMjzg4DkyJRxuXfbhMHgsSei3yYVlo9xwIIwqqV5QDCVdzgP4x6MaHUo-KAqAx0uNOGzkDiD8EF/s400/magic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The only acceptable form of magic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The Steve Miller Band. Good? Yes. I think. Well, they've sold a lot of records over the years, and had plenty of hits. You, and I, likely know at least some of them.<br />
<ul>
<li>"The Joker" We've all consumed it, probably on that classic rock station playing constantly while we sit and stare at the rusted out candy dispenser in the local Tube N' Lube auto repair shop.</li>
<li>"Fly Like an Eagle" Yeah, didn't some delivery company take it for their slogan? </li>
<li>"Jet Airliner" Sounds familiar. About planes? I don't know, it could be a metaphor.</li>
<li>"Take the Money and Run" Uh, I'm guessing I've heard this tune. Perhaps in a Moonlighting episode? Miami Vice? Er, something where Phil Collins is attempting acting. I'm pretty sure.</li>
</ul>
Right, so, obviously, I'm not a huge fan here. Despite my proclivity towards the rock genre, affection of the 70's style arena stuff just never gestated. Not having an older brother nor a father in the midst of a mid-life crises further cemented a limited intake of these types of tunes.<br />
<br />
However, I get it. I don't dislike this band or style of rock, nor do I think it bad. It's fine, and perfectly acceptable to have playing in the background while you fix a lawnmower or drink single syllable beers like Schlitz and Hamms. But...<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
This song.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NsMFMbHduQn1GEn94AeAM2jXjLT68A-nYMXv3JbDv9JnfkRa4d54faNXFZBlj1Y0ZgMm-H9NiFM9bVBGIFDmXcdD4CYWnVTH1Bvkfzcu_4EPgOr2R_qrp5Urw4dMcJsmKN3VOww_vo28/s1600/Hamm_Mobile_LineUp_V1_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="970" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NsMFMbHduQn1GEn94AeAM2jXjLT68A-nYMXv3JbDv9JnfkRa4d54faNXFZBlj1Y0ZgMm-H9NiFM9bVBGIFDmXcdD4CYWnVTH1Bvkfzcu_4EPgOr2R_qrp5Urw4dMcJsmKN3VOww_vo28/s320/Hamm_Mobile_LineUp_V1_0.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The can to the right, and straight on till morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ok. Let's try and go through it. At least the starting bit.<br />
<br />
First Stanza:<br />
"<i>I heat up, I can't cool down</i><br />
<i>You got me spinning, round and round</i><br />
<i>Round and round and round it goes</i><br />
<i>Where it stops nobody knows</i>"<br />
<br />
Now where's that facepalm gif again?<br />
<br />
I like to imagine Steve Miller in his palatial magic-themed mansion (why not) sitting silently at a tophat-shaped desk. A pencil waggles slowly between his thumb and forefinger, and his eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling. He mumbles, to nobody but himself;<br />
<br />
"Hmm, can I just say round and round and round it goes in the third verse, especially after I just said round and round in the second? You know what? Yes I can! I can do anything! I'm the space cowboy!!!"<br />
<br />
I presume that, based on his recent work, a similar affliction has also taken over Quentin Tarantino.<br />
<br />
To be honest, my inclination is to stop the blog post here. Just end it. Round and round and round it goes? Nothing good can occur by regurgitating this repetitive nonsense. However, before finally pulling the ripcord, I need to provide one more section. Towards the end of the song, there's this couplet;<br />
<br />
"<i>Just when I think I'm gonna get away</i><br />
<i>I hear those words that you always say</i>"<br />
<br />
She's the one, not the narrator. The woman you're in love with is the repugnant human being speaking this phrase. And, she doesn't just say it, she "always" says it.<br />
<br />
Allow me for a moment to put on my bro hat (it has the number sixty-nine on it, the bill is curled almost into a tube, and I'm wearing it backwards, naturally). <br />
<br />
"Dude, you need to leave this chick. Nobody should stay with a person who always says abracadabra. Nobody. I don't know you, but you could do better."<br />
<br />
<removing hat><br />
<br />
Aside from this song being truly awful, it also represents a terrible relationship. How on earth did this go all the way to number one? Oh, well, there was a video, maybe that holds a clue.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pCxaN2_3qtPDeM64KjTTuYboFSttN87-6pRQq_AxmIR74tnIVfSr1HxSybjBdxWg7KR6ufTTfQD2un54fM1EpVorBN_fTc3J-P8B90oLg-TNgiYr8xCiF4OQ-kwBq4EzS11sFnBYVkWf/s1600/abracadabra_flame.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="315" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pCxaN2_3qtPDeM64KjTTuYboFSttN87-6pRQq_AxmIR74tnIVfSr1HxSybjBdxWg7KR6ufTTfQD2un54fM1EpVorBN_fTc3J-P8B90oLg-TNgiYr8xCiF4OQ-kwBq4EzS11sFnBYVkWf/s320/abracadabra_flame.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah, right, that</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To be honest, I don't know how to end this post. One of the worst songs ever to embed itself in my memory banks was chosen this week by the randomizer. What did I do to deserve this? Stuck at home during a pandemic, and the all-knowing luck-god of the internet looked my way and said in its most benevelent voice "Abracadabra, I'm gonna reach out and grab ya!"<br />
<br />
Really? I'm gonna reach out and grab ya? That's what ghosts say. Ghosts! And stupid ghosts at that.<br />
<br />
Thanks Steve Miller Band for introducing me to a land where dumb spirits like magic.<br />
<br />
No wonder I want to move to Canada.neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-4526124166922811902020-04-24T16:47:00.000-07:002020-04-24T16:47:10.927-07:00Diana Ross & The Supremes "Someday We'll Be Together"<b><i><u>*****Number One, December 31st, 1969*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
The last day of the 1960's. I wasn't there for that, but I'm guessing it was quite a party. Bigger than the Y2K celebration? Hard to say. Probably fewer computer glitches back then, likely more me throwing up in 1999. That's just an estimate, of course.<br />
<br />
From the purview of somebody on the outside looking in, that mid-century decade seems as tumultuous as any in modern times. Even if you just focus on the music and ignore everything else occuring around the world, things were all over the map.<br />
<br />
Great bands? Well, sheesh take a look at <a href="https://www.ranker.com/crowdranked-list/top-pop-artists-of-the-1960-and-_39_s">this list</a>, for one idea. Some of the best work from the Beatles and the Stones and Dylan and Hendrix and the Beach Boys and, way, way, WAY too many more to name. Truly an amazing era.<br />
<br />
Though, of course, there was a downside to the times.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfExVwHVRxpyY8Sukgb3flmlf0mIXcfHlnhb12frFTp3NXh7MpD8od05uX3DGv3CD21VmvDp-XgmDuQPjnOvCB7rkDCoD3u8qCfFpkdJUQfBgGf_VZ-e8uZnCEyJKKMlaxfY7RJvRcCI2/s1600/Gert_Jonnys__svensk_546447b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="400" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwfExVwHVRxpyY8Sukgb3flmlf0mIXcfHlnhb12frFTp3NXh7MpD8od05uX3DGv3CD21VmvDp-XgmDuQPjnOvCB7rkDCoD3u8qCfFpkdJUQfBgGf_VZ-e8uZnCEyJKKMlaxfY7RJvRcCI2/s400/Gert_Jonnys__svensk_546447b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biggest single, "Our White Van has no Windows"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
More specific than that sub genre of Renaissance-Pedophile (Ren-Ped as the kids say, which of course they only say while running as quickly as possible in the opposite direction) is the hippie movement. I realize many people hold these folks and their music in very high esteem. I, however, have a lifelong aversion to the smells, the style, and the sounds of it. Call me "the man" or some such nonsense if you must, but seeing a tie-dyed white guy with dreadlocks muse in immense detail about a certain twenty-seven minute keyboard solo makes me lose my collective palate for freedom. The tunes were hokey and meandering and utterly ridiculous. If you believe in balance, it leveled quite evenly the mastery being displayed by actual musicians on the other end of the spectrum.<br />
<br />
That contrast feels like a major component of the times. Look at the two big music festivals as well; Woodstock and Altamont.<br />
<br />
One of these was considered the apex of the summer of love. The other could have, legitimately, been called <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidchiu/2019/12/03/altamont-at-50-the-disastrous-concert-that-brought-the-60s-to-a-crashing-halt/#3ad06d761941">the winter of death</a>. I admonish Altamont fairly, I believe, based on the facts. I am not foisting hatred on that land for personal reasons. <br />
<br />
Though I could. <br />
<br />
You see, I had to drive through it's boring, windmill-clad terrain a half-a-kajillion times growing up. I grew up in the crappy town right next door. And, to go east into even crappier lands, we had to travel through the never-ending sorriness of Altamont. It's an unpleasant memory, one which I hold the hippies responsible. Perhaps unfairly. Nah.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_t5I4WstmKBn868rJ5HQiDcb6UmifcC7RAjbZojDKGInL8T-wIW3Q8WuHnc1OWE_NqJgogzKX9V5r4rO7HgQ83gCk0fLPEklDHunEXuNvT4SDXssiA8oOm99r369bgPlbN3_yleEGtLD/s1600/wind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_t5I4WstmKBn868rJ5HQiDcb6UmifcC7RAjbZojDKGInL8T-wIW3Q8WuHnc1OWE_NqJgogzKX9V5r4rO7HgQ83gCk0fLPEklDHunEXuNvT4SDXssiA8oOm99r369bgPlbN3_yleEGtLD/s400/wind.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It blows</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Another bit of contradiction of the 1960's pertains to the band The Supremes. During this decade, the hugely talented singing group made their first appearance. And, over the course of those years, they accumulated a dozen number one hits. <br />
<br />
That's good! <br />
<br />
They didn't have a chart topper again. Ever. <br />
<br />
That's bad.<br />
<br />
Today's randomized top hit selection, "Someday We'll Be Together", was their twelfth and final song to reach the summit. It held that slot for one week before disappearing, along with The Supreme's top tune mojo, into the brown morass that was the 1970's.<br />
<br />
I didn't recognize this song at all by name, and upon listening to it, I still don't know it. Certainly this single never reached the heights of popularity nor managed as long a shelf life as the prior hits they made. You could probably assume it did so well as a result of their already well-deserved fame, and not necessarily on its own merits. Many artists have songs that overachieve simply because there are so many fans that love their work. I don't mean that as a negative, just an observation.<br />
<br />
So, "Someday We'll Be Together" was the summation of their hits. It wasn't, however, the summary. It really doesn't represent the complete entirety of these hot dozen tunes. Each was a part of the puzzle, but there isn't one song that represents all the chart time they had.<br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj9cUoylvIMNQllfHN_6sCvyQ-3DNalYf3ojs3ngpusIzoPxf1daXeocH3_GNpx4FSTiWSdDhLGZAQ1hNwk8QKFptOzdsMOqod-cAlEL1aETJ6431UfV_oIrTrrhaVDgg5vkm2GtlYZjw/s1600/4d64e18c29c0d07884daecd4d9d3666c3e79f98d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDj9cUoylvIMNQllfHN_6sCvyQ-3DNalYf3ojs3ngpusIzoPxf1daXeocH3_GNpx4FSTiWSdDhLGZAQ1hNwk8QKFptOzdsMOqod-cAlEL1aETJ6431UfV_oIrTrrhaVDgg5vkm2GtlYZjw/s400/4d64e18c29c0d07884daecd4d9d3666c3e79f98d.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supreme Leader leisure wear, now half off!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Making the Supreme Number One:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Take the lyrics from every number one Supremes song</li>
<li>Place them all in a word cloud thing-a-ma-bobber</li>
<li>Parse the text to get a list of the most used terms</li>
<li>Create genius!</li>
</ol>
<br />
It's almost too easy. The only struggle is about how to structure the most perfect pop song. Do I put the most repeated words into the chorus, or start them at the top? It's the question every song-smith worth their salt in history has considered. <br />
<br />
Upon much reflection, I've settled on inserting top words into the chorus. This is what the scores of fans will grab hold of and sing along to over and over again. In fact, screw the rest of the song. My supreme number one will only have a title and a chorus. No verses! No bridge! Heck, no music even. Why bother. Like Shakespeare said, it's the words dummy!<br />
<br />
Always classy that guy.<br />
<br />
Without further ado, please enjoy the most Supreme song of all. It's title, unsurprisingly, is "Love". That word is spoken 101 times total over the course of the prior dozen smashes! Seems like a popular subject. Please enjoy, and sing along if you know the words.<br />
<br />
(You know the words)<br />
<br />
<b><u>Love</u></b><br />
<u>by The Supremes (sort of)</u><br />
<i>Baby, ooh, now see just heart</i><br />
<i>Come cause think, keep life said</i><br />
<i>Child arms got need, time</i><br />
<i>Wanna hurry away? Leave?</i><br />
<i>Gone</i><br />
<br />
Thank you for your applause. All of those words were used more than ten times each across all songs. A second tune using the less popular text in the list will someday be created and sold as the B-Side. It will not be listened to at all. Thinking I should still do it. Right. Right?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9Lghw72FY9_nAYkjekxLX1DZN4XtB1XxMhb5ORWkg5tyU7HGtOqU_F3VYjjg1_Ys2cmIhRlLdi6hyPN7IY8sQ_dl7Qia2vb4c2eum8JMAAcwbjWW5oj02huCJdlrrnLtjCcMeaH6D2N6/s1600/supremes_001v2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="1600" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9Lghw72FY9_nAYkjekxLX1DZN4XtB1XxMhb5ORWkg5tyU7HGtOqU_F3VYjjg1_Ys2cmIhRlLdi6hyPN7IY8sQ_dl7Qia2vb4c2eum8JMAAcwbjWW5oj02huCJdlrrnLtjCcMeaH6D2N6/s400/supremes_001v2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sigh. Nuff said.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-1225166666745447332020-04-17T15:09:00.000-07:002020-04-17T15:09:03.055-07:00Ringo Starr "Photograph"<b><i><u>*****Number One, </u></i></b><b><i><u>November 25th, 1973*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
We're back, and what a way to return! This week's number one hit is from a member of what many people would consider the number one band in the history of music. What luck! What a treat, why I...wait...what's that noise?<br />
<br />
<i>Oh, there's an elephant in the room, steadily tapping his foot on the ground. Strange.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, today we get to look at a top song from nonother than Ringo Starr. While I haven't listened to much of his solo stuff, I'm sure...it...is...hang on.<br />
<br />
<i>Now the elephant is jumping up and down, blowing his trunk and flapping his weird ears to and fro. Quite a racket. He's certainly making himself known!</i><br />
<br />
Regardless, this tune reached the top of the chart for one week in the winter of 1973. It was the lead single on his eponymous album, and was, um...<br />
<br />
<i>Oh cripes, the elephant is charging me. Here it comes!!!</i><br />
<br />
The, uh, the song is titled...<br />
<br />
<i>Crap, it's almost here!</i><br />
<br />
Titled..."Photograph".<br />
<br />
<i>AHHH!! OK!!! STOP!! HERE, TAKE IT! THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT, ISN'T IT???!!!?!?!?!</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9f09313bBVoR6JX8mbPm5RnD9-YlKgtmgZ_nkqFK1-PinXi_hSRb2i_W4-aekewWNXAnIw2ESjGKn9ITKrnefcvEWC7AW0z5V8ArVtD_KHM_mrDLi9-8Fs2nEz5WSBaqw6cO7XW9VKhV/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9f09313bBVoR6JX8mbPm5RnD9-YlKgtmgZ_nkqFK1-PinXi_hSRb2i_W4-aekewWNXAnIw2ESjGKn9ITKrnefcvEWC7AW0z5V8ArVtD_KHM_mrDLi9-8Fs2nEz5WSBaqw6cO7XW9VKhV/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stupid elephant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sigh, yes, thank you, I know.<br />
<br />
Def Leppard, one of the top-selling bands of my youth also happened to have a quite popular song with the same title. And, due to the distinction of growing up in a house with an incredibly paltry music collection (one small drawer holding perhaps a dozen dusty tapes of artists long past their peak), my window of knowledge on the subject was severly lacking. I'd barely heard the Beatles, and certainly nothing of the spinoff showcases.<br />
<br />
So, when a friend of my sister passed on to me a record (yes, record) of the awesomely explodey-looking Pyromania by some band with a goofy name written in a dagger-like font, well, only then were the seeds of musical understanding planted. And, of course, they were fertilized with Aqua Net and lyrics about the gudelines of adding sweetner to strippers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtGTHbuKrJjz4qE0bZj4Ir-8fxwHW_atfNEwjjD3KIK_SAaC4nHD_yLF8L8dBONcJD2gasTs3Wo92T8yIK0gq378UpaJhPs6GmbxlJv2xkTCr_2PoA7lXbIvon8hw0XljFN7z-KTG6qHu/s1600/Def_Leppard_-_Pyromania.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrtGTHbuKrJjz4qE0bZj4Ir-8fxwHW_atfNEwjjD3KIK_SAaC4nHD_yLF8L8dBONcJD2gasTs3Wo92T8yIK0gq378UpaJhPs6GmbxlJv2xkTCr_2PoA7lXbIvon8hw0XljFN7z-KTG6qHu/s1600/Def_Leppard_-_Pyromania.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know, for kids!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not to sound negative about these guys or their photographin'! This album did, and still largely does, rock. Def Leppard were a reasonably cromulent arena band, and certainly had enough chops to hammer out a respectable career. I think they would have succeeded with our without the hair-metal explosion that soon came to pass. No disrespect intended.<br />
<br />
But, you know, the Beatles! I mean, I should have at least once been told that Ringo had a number one hit of the same name. Somebody along the way must've known. A teacher, a neighbor, the Solid Gold dancers. Seriously, who raised me? Is this why I'm like this?<br />
<br />
Yeah, probably.<br />
<br />
Oh, and this.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW5CXBNwvPeYWwgnyt88vlhJW0uN-1tcZ7zLM-zKF3QHADSBlawtR41-xP_zigWrFf7pLJBaa4zsagY5B1iDeILEYFfrsq42cOMLwjRu3mqkB0mzwzYU3AXOdaW0Q3hDk_5JQirkocUg3/s1600/781746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW5CXBNwvPeYWwgnyt88vlhJW0uN-1tcZ7zLM-zKF3QHADSBlawtR41-xP_zigWrFf7pLJBaa4zsagY5B1iDeILEYFfrsq42cOMLwjRu3mqkB0mzwzYU3AXOdaW0Q3hDk_5JQirkocUg3/s320/781746.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, I have absolutely no connection to a song that actually gave its name to<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photograph:_The_Very_Best_of_Ringo_Starr"> his greatest hits collection</a> and is considered one of the very best of all the post-Beatles music. Plus, the tune's name only brings about thoughts of Union Jack T-shirts and a truckload of whoa-oh's. Great, I'm a dummy.<br />
<br />
Well, the only thing I can think of doing is to compare the lyrics of this apparent classic to the firmly brain-engrained Def Leppard version in a no-holds barred grudge match to see which truly is the better song. Right? That seems fair. To a dummy.<br />
<br />
Which, as established, I am.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>!!!PHOTGRAPHIC GRUDGE MATCH!!!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>Ringo Starr versus Def Leppard</u></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Opening Stanza</u></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u>Starr </u> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Ev'ry time I see your face</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It reminds me of the places we used to go</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But all I got is a photograph</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I realise you're not coming back anymore"</div>
<br />
<u>Leppard</u><br />
"I'm outta luck, outta love<br />
Got a photograph, picture of<br />
Passion killer, you're too much<br />
You're the only one I wanna touch"<br />
<br />
Ringo has the feels, and Def is feeling horny. Seems about right. Let's next pick out a coupling from each that seems to be the crux of the respective song and consider those one by one.<br />
<br />
<u>Starr</u><br />
"Now you're expecting me to live without you, but that's not something I'm looking forward to."<br />
Sad, poignent, heartfelt.<br />
<br />
<u>Leppard</u><br />
"Look what you've done to this rock n' roll clown, look what you've done."<br />
I've heard all I need.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZslznfsFNvVETBKh-M8CMBOh-hMG4ptYPCn1sKn8TwhJ_3Oay7_-B_CrsT2U18b1p5ndzah5QzwIysmWqk5kRzuw8D5iYO5EUwTNERa-csX2hSU9KTJGCv_LHBL8pnEpDEyRp548Q0T9-/s1600/ringo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZslznfsFNvVETBKh-M8CMBOh-hMG4ptYPCn1sKn8TwhJ_3Oay7_-B_CrsT2U18b1p5ndzah5QzwIysmWqk5kRzuw8D5iYO5EUwTNERa-csX2hSU9KTJGCv_LHBL8pnEpDEyRp548Q0T9-/s320/ringo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The winner. Don't look so surprised.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thus, without hearing lick one from this chart topping hit, I'm pronouncing it better than the version I've heard eight million times. Is that fair? Sure, why not. Nostalgia is for suckers and soccer moms anyway. Change with the times! Live and let die! <br />
<br />
And, uh, don't refer to yourself as a rock n' roll clown. You'll never beat a Beatle that way.<br />
<br />
Stupid elephant.<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-31062294160041542932020-04-16T20:38:00.002-07:002020-04-16T20:39:31.950-07:00Year Two PreviewNow, where was I.<br />
<br />
What? I mean, when I left off.<br />
<br />
Wait, how long has it been?<br />
<br />
Almost nine months!<br />
<br />
Wow. Boy, if anything had happened in the world during this time, like, say, some awful, contagious pot roast had taken it upon its meaty self to sicken and/or murder thousands and thousands of people, that would have been terrible. And, in that case, you would have been totally forgiven for forgetting about this blog. But, luckily, that didn't happen.<br />
<br />
Sniff.<br />
<br />
I'm fine. FINE!<br />
<br />
Anywho, yeah, we're doing this again.<br />
<br />
Number one songs don't just stop, ya know. They keep coming and coming and coming! And, someone needs to take them apart and see what makes them tick. That person, apparently, is me. No, I don't know why either.<br />
<br />
However, unfortunately, we no longer have a partner in this escapade. The Single File Podcast has gone the way of the Misfits of Science and Yugo dealerships, having been carried away to a farm upstate so that they can run free and enjoy their remaining days. Remember, no good thing ever dies. Especially quotes from decent but highly over-obsessed-about films. Those go on forever, sadly.<br />
<br />
So, since we've got no audio brother with top notch early 80's technology (RIP NOPR) to dictate the next hit on the jukebox, we've got to figure out another way to restart this train. Fortunately, the machinations of automation are providing the answers again. I present to you all; <a href="https://www.random.org/calendar-dates/">Random.org</a>.<br />
<br />
Yep, we'll be looking at the top songs of music history, selected entirely by chance. I put a date range into the above website, beginning with the date of the very first chart topper of the Hot 100 era (August 4th, 1958) and ending with today. Each post will be about whatever tune happens to be number one on the day that gets spat out by this series of ones and zeroes.<br />
<br />
Welp, it's as good a way as any.<br />
<br />
With all that said, welcome back. And, let's press play!<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-65381006917789656622019-07-28T21:01:00.003-07:002019-07-28T21:01:50.876-07:00Year One ReviewOver in podcast land, the Single File put out a<a href="http://singlefilepod.com/"> new episode</a> this past week which takes a look at the last year and provides an update on the highest and lowest rated songs they've covered.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm nothing if not totally devoid of original ideas and/or any shame at all in copying others. So, yes! We here at the Breakdown are also going to do a year end review thingy that sort of explains what entries were seemingly the most/least enjoyed over the prior twelve months. Ain't I creative?<br />
<br />
The thing is, the rankings over there were based on actual input from the listening public. I have no listeners. Nor, public, to be brutally honest. However, I can provide a form of popularity countdown to suss out and review. It likely has less to do with song quality, though, and more to do with how many drunkards incorrectly clicked the link to my site thinking they were ordering a chimichanga (happens more than you'd think). Yup, instead of basing my standings on votes, I can only use page visits. Your mileage may certainly vary with this approach, especially with all of those Russian bots out there (my views will go through the roof if we ever get to post about some Gorky Park hits).<br />
<br />
I understand that it's not the soundest metric to judge the songs we looked at. But, it's really all I've got to use. Unfortunately, beyond the inherent flaws I've circled above, this method has some other glitches as well.<br />
<ul>
<li>I can't include ten of the chart toppers we've covered. That's because I didn't do individual posts for those releases. Instead, I took the easy way out in those cases and blogged in bulk (just like those Costco-brand internet commentators). So those hits cannot be judged the same. Instead, I'll pull those out and describe which two of those would be the best and worst to do karaoke to. In a way, that's totally more important data.</li>
<ul>
<li>Best choice for karaoke of those ten songs - Prince "Batdance"</li>
<ul>
<li>Any chance I get to simply say "Vicky Vale" over and over, I'm going to take it. And you should too.</li>
</ul>
<li>Worst choice for karaoke of those ten songs - Milli Vanilli "Blame it on the Rain"</li>
<ul>
<li>You can't cover a song that wasn't actually sung by the band itself. It's a technically impossible concept. This is what Inception 2 will be about, if they ever get around to it.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFKLoVSa8_RSoM57hn-EhMOw9XhzDwn12Z8Sc3nnfNfmAIGMjMPc-4FkFGcRHKw1sRz8lx1mwLhwXW2_eLdGmBrlP5ydaD8rd6DI8dZSOBZAgte37UUNDpoazuu7eppIEv2Rd0NsQY11x/s1600/growing_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="349" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFKLoVSa8_RSoM57hn-EhMOw9XhzDwn12Z8Sc3nnfNfmAIGMjMPc-4FkFGcRHKw1sRz8lx1mwLhwXW2_eLdGmBrlP5ydaD8rd6DI8dZSOBZAgte37UUNDpoazuu7eppIEv2Rd0NsQY11x/s320/growing_a.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Call me about the script Leo. Or else.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>I also can't include the final two songs of the year in my list. I never got a chance to write about them, so they get no score. If you haven't heard them yet, allow me to explain these number ones thusly:</li>
<ul>
<li>Belinda Carlisle "Heaven is a Place on Earth"</li>
<ul>
<li>A sappy pop tune about love and heaven and how those things are available here on Earth for the low low price of your eternal soul. I think.</li>
</ul>
<li>Rick Dees and his Cast of Idiots "Disco Duck"</li>
<ul>
<li>This song totally refutes everything Belinda just told you. There is no love and no heaven. We're all doomed to live in this world which is dark and full of musical awfulness that nobody can possibly survive. Disco. Disco ducks. What else can I tell you that you don't already know. Be afraid.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1EIUmmWVl4GwWUZmBdTB0Wjn3GNmOlm6m00Q4GpvR7vxUvrtz8He0bGVl-p8kZZK_7ppzVHesyE3h9-aeveAv4gVDUCSwoIi1tTES9gfcroaDxcfb2qNwmwGH466tjENq9btOdZmnXLK/s1600/quote-flapping-my-arms-i-began-to-cluck-look-at-me-i-m-the-disco-duck-rick-dees-99-86-94.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="850" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1EIUmmWVl4GwWUZmBdTB0Wjn3GNmOlm6m00Q4GpvR7vxUvrtz8He0bGVl-p8kZZK_7ppzVHesyE3h9-aeveAv4gVDUCSwoIi1tTES9gfcroaDxcfb2qNwmwGH466tjENq9btOdZmnXLK/s400/quote-flapping-my-arms-i-began-to-cluck-look-at-me-i-m-the-disco-duck-rick-dees-99-86-94.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are all doomed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
Anyway, let's move on to the ratings. Per pure, Google calculated click-throughs, here are<u> the ten most popular posts</u> I provided.<br />
<ol>
<li>Billy Joel "We Didn't Start the Fire"</li>
<li>TLC "No Scrubs"</li>
<li>Ricky Martin "Livin' La Vida Loca"</li>
<li>Survivor "Eye of the Tiger"</li>
<li>Dave Seville and The Chimpmunks "The Chipmunk Song"</li>
<li>Beck "Loser"</li>
<li>The Monkees "I'm a Believer"</li>
<li>Starship "We Built this City"</li>
<li>Vanilla Ice "Ice Ice Baby"</li>
<li>Men at Work "Down Under"</li>
</ol>
<u>Some thoughts:</u><br />
-Billy was way ahead on my chart. Perhaps Dan and Henry over at the <a href="https://firestarterspodcast.libsyn.com/">Firestarters Pod</a> helped fuel the excitement and runaway success of Mr Brinkley's history lesson.<br />
<br />
-Ricky Martin held the top spot for quite a while. It's also one of the favorite things I wrote, as it made me laugh frequently in putting it together. Guess I'm a scrub after all.<br />
<br />
-The most detested song on the pod is my fifth most-read entry. Proving once and for all, um, reading is for saps. Chimpmunk-lovin' saps.<br />
<br />
-As bad luck would have it, I wrote the Monkees column just after Peter had passed away. It's one of the few times when I actually had something nice and heartfelt to say about a band rather than just making dumb jokes. I don't know what I was thinking.<br />
<br />
-There's been a lot of Australia content for a music blog from some guy in Oregon. Seriously, look back. Men at Work owes me a meat pie. <br />
<br />
And, just as Dillon did, here are <u>the five least read posts</u> of the past year. Buckle your failure belts tight.<br />
<ol>
<li>A-ha "Take on Me"</li>
<li>(tie) Peter Gabriel "Sledgehammer" and Hole "Celebrity Skin" and Outkast "Ms Jackson"</li>
<li>The Beach Boys "Kokomo"</li>
</ol>
<div>
<u>Some thoughts</u>:</div>
<div>
-Number one is a pretty decent song, but in re-reading my post, yeah, I kind of phoned that one in. I understand the low tally. No argument from me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-In "Sledgehammer", I did something that I hoped someone would mention to me. Of course, getting that mention would only occur if someone(s) had actually read the piece. Oh well. To spoil the fun surprise (if you're still planning on going back to last August to read this post, um, you're more of a procrastinator than I am), take a look at the list of bawdy lyrics I reprinted from the song. Among them, I stuck in the chorus from Naughty by Nature's magnum opus "O.P.P." I didn't footnote it or call it out. I just put it in there, for me. This is the type of absurd stuff that makes me laugh and laugh. It also explains why nobody reads this stupid blog.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-Speaking of stupid, "Kokomo". Really deserves a place in the bottom five. What a stinker.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, there you have it! A year, almost, sort of. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now, for a moment of utmost sincerity. To anyone who has taken the time to read any of the inane babble I've put up on these www's, I can only offer you the humblest thanks. It's an honor for me when people take the time that could otherwise be used on fantasy football or cat memes or twitter feuds and use a piece of it to scan my words for some entertainment/funny/typos. Really, you guys are just the best. This blog is just meant to be an enjoyable and occasional side-hobby, and I'm extremely pleased when it gets an eyeball or two. I appreciate y'all tons and tons!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, a special shout out to the man who kicked this whole number one empire-thing into gear. Dillon has done a great job with his show, putting out some amazing material on a weekly basis. Thanks to him for allowing me to ride the coattails along the way. If you haven't yet, go out and give the Single File a listen or twelve. Season two starts soon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yep, for both of us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anywho, thanks again, and allow me to leave you with you the first thing I wrote for this enterprise nearly twelve months ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Here's the problem with poetry."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah, now the failure makes complete sense. <br />
<br />
Totally worth it!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRfi76qUbb7yhYSDArTa7E69JqWG4SolASXjisk4ZTBqTaqv3-0RLEXZGrMp2OIS5CPDgtVkKppn_tVs3Ol3R6Yn05opuBgq4ZMt7_UnxZWJ5jMnaqw6ZjwmftcwkB3bJw-w5VsXc9tvx/s1600/OPsbf26bw5M6IH9Poh7fujIUtKOPXpd9la1XXNwl7Tw.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="463" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRfi76qUbb7yhYSDArTa7E69JqWG4SolASXjisk4ZTBqTaqv3-0RLEXZGrMp2OIS5CPDgtVkKppn_tVs3Ol3R6Yn05opuBgq4ZMt7_UnxZWJ5jMnaqw6ZjwmftcwkB3bJw-w5VsXc9tvx/s320/OPsbf26bw5M6IH9Poh7fujIUtKOPXpd9la1XXNwl7Tw.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And, as always, turn down your lights (where applicable)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-30444054170631353182019-07-07T15:51:00.001-07:002019-07-07T15:51:28.296-07:004 / 4 Time (Australia Edition)<i>Back in May, I took a deep breath and retreated to the comforting warmth that is covering four songs in one post. Such extravagance provides me with additional hours of available nothingness that otherwise would have been wasted on dealies like "thinking" or "writing". Pfft, nuts to those things. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At the time, I claimed this modified blog style was necessary due to being busy. Super busy. Surely, you know that's a lie. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You don't? That's adorable.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Fact is, nothing feels quite as soothing as choosing laziness and pretending it is for aesthetic reasons. In fact, for reference, I like to picture the following conversation as a hopeful goal:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>ME - "Hello literary agent. I would like to write a book about doing absolutely nothing except eating Mexican food and occasionally getting up to drink a beer or pet a dog. I will do this for somewhere between twelve months to the rest of my life, and will write about my experiences as the mood strikes (probably only when tacos/alcohol/pooch are out of reach)."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>AGENT - "Brilliant! When can you start?"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>ME - "That's the best part, I already have."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Someday, my friends, someday.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Until then, I'll only be able to engage in such a detached approach to life when real-world obligations force my unmotivated hand. Moments such as...this week! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You see, I just returned from traipsing about the underneathy bit of the planet. And, boy, are my traipses tired! Nearly fourteen days in Australia (which is about twenty with the exchange rate) wore me out. However, the adventure has presented another opportunity to talk of NOPR selections in bulk. So, with a little bit of down under-inspiration, and some good ol' American blog technology, I'll make a futile attempt to try and catch the runaway beer truck that is the <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/">Single File</a>. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thus, let's make like Crocodile Dundee and call this a knife. Or, yeah, whatever.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u>*****The Doobie Brothers, "What a Fool Believes"*****</u></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Number One, April, 1979</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><i>Australian equivalent - The Flat White</i></b></u></div>
</div>
</div>
<br />
So, here's a nugget I learned; drip coffee isn't a thing in Australia. Nobody, either at home nor in coffee shops, makes coffee in such a way. I can only assume this is because of the whole being-upside-down-all-the-time thing. Water doesn't drip up, right? Sounds logical.<br />
<br />
Instead of caffeinating like us in such an Isaac Newtonion way, they make the drink using other methods. And, because of this, you can't just go somewhere and order a "coffee". There's not really such an item available. Even worse, though, is that there aren't any massive/never ending pots of bitter energy percolating at breakfast restaurants. Instead, you have to order an oddly named coffee creation to get one (only one?!?!?) cup of joe (not<a href="https://www.dictionary.com/browse/joey"> joey</a>, to be clear). That's all you get. To hell with your addiction!<br />
<br />
I settled into this crazy world and picked my obligatory go-to. No long black for me, I'm apparently a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_white">flat white</a> guy. That's right, now you know. Adjust your scorn/praise accordingly.<br />
<br />
Now, how does this link up with the Doobie Brothers? Well here is the Doob's chorus from this particular number one:<br />
<br />
<i>But what a fool believes, he sees</i><br />
<i>No wise man has the power to reason away</i><br />
<i>What seems to be</i><br />
<i>Is always better than nothing</i><br />
<i>Than nothing at all.</i><br />
<br />
See? Strangely applicable to my coffee escapade. Perhaps I'm a fool for believing that another country half a world away would give me my morning boost in the exact same manner as I get it at home. But, really, would it have been so difficult for them to brew in our style? We're not talking about a complex process here, just grind and strain the silly plant through a filter. Easy! I don't get it, Aussies. However, in the end, as the bros say it was better than nothing at all.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CQ1xGH9XAxbgUosdEvE3SvP0pT5h5-7ShI3vOoAo3W9p6RF0r0wxfPhhBRbRbzBLSNs1dw8qXgnkZ473qEF55ZmHujNkOIp7_cCwETMXXKNmeMQwX9INf2Zjwv-qR9cAoY9AkejwNoxe/s1600/336160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CQ1xGH9XAxbgUosdEvE3SvP0pT5h5-7ShI3vOoAo3W9p6RF0r0wxfPhhBRbRbzBLSNs1dw8qXgnkZ473qEF55ZmHujNkOIp7_cCwETMXXKNmeMQwX9INf2Zjwv-qR9cAoY9AkejwNoxe/s400/336160.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wouldn't be a proper post without a Simpsons image</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u>*****The Offspring, "Come Out and Play"*****</u></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Number One (Modern Rock), July, 1994</b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><i><b>Australian Equivalent - kangaroo skewers</b></i></u></div>
<br />
Ya see, guys, Offspring. SPRING!<br />
<br />
Kangaroos jump a lot. You might say they have SPRING in their legs!<br />
<br />
Boom. Nailed it.<br />
<br />
I could really end this mini-post (and my writing career) with such untouchable brilliance, but I will continue. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I did get the chance to munch on some roo meat during my trip. I know some people might be taken aback by eating a critter with long ears and a pouch, but I found it pretty tasty. And, honestly, I'll tuck a fork into pretty much any animal that's placed on a plate in front of me. Cute, ugly, hairy, stinky, bring them all on.<br />
<br />
Speaking of, The Offspring guys clearly embraced this mentality in their music. Rock, punk, rap, SoCal scene, bad hair, they definitely approached the musical table with open minds and ready appetites. Was it all good? No. However, they took chances. That's something.<br />
<br />
Sad that they didn't do any hip hop though. Really sad.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeJ88gLwYCUdwRHLiTHtOf2RpD7sxeLEfiT5yKkkGD8LUeu4INLFb1AsIJEDKuGlDTxOdCJfwXhf5cgGr93GB2J9p-5JCq2_uQo1LyqnjdxatexuTqT0O6W3bav3Sim_Z-TWOB4y0J2Cl/s1600/maxresdefault+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeJ88gLwYCUdwRHLiTHtOf2RpD7sxeLEfiT5yKkkGD8LUeu4INLFb1AsIJEDKuGlDTxOdCJfwXhf5cgGr93GB2J9p-5JCq2_uQo1LyqnjdxatexuTqT0O6W3bav3Sim_Z-TWOB4y0J2Cl/s400/maxresdefault+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I typed "kanagaroo" and "hip hop" into google images. This.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u>*****Lil Nas X, "Old Town Road"*****</u></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Number One, April, 2019</b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><i><b>Australian Equivalent - Bundaberg Rum</b></i></u></div>
<br />
This artist has one of the biggest hits of all-time, and he's not old enough to legally drink in this country.<br />
<br />
Jeez I feel old.<br />
<br />
Fortunately(?) for him, he can drink the boozy-booze in the land down under. The legal age is eighteen in those parts rather than twenty-one as it is up here. Not sure why the youngers are allowed there. Perhaps it's the heat. Or the koalas. Or just plain, dumb logic.<br />
<br />
I mean, it's pretty ludicrous that 18-20 year olds can get busted for alcohol here. It isn't a deterrent to drinking, it just forces them to consume in non-business places like parks and cars and doghouses (don't ask). That means they ingest more and potentially cause themselves and others more harm.<br />
<br />
So, the land founded by criminals has a more sensible policy towards booze (and many other vices) than the one founded by puritans. Huh, color me utterly un-shocked.<br />
<br />
Oh, and you can't even get Bundaberg rum in the states! Seriously, what is wrong with this country?<br />
<br />
Ah, yes, I remember now. That guy. Thanks for the reminder. So glad to be home.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvUT7DILNInYeQKpICSow1KW_oximdztbeqFPGXde7UeqwUxc1GpZRLGj4yYY_awhzrzCtspYgn3urnUVHM9bK8Pbzgil7hpUa5-xrsBL-rwtbEDqMFtmubeoRSBPrFnN_7sT4EnCmkoh/s1600/906979_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvUT7DILNInYeQKpICSow1KW_oximdztbeqFPGXde7UeqwUxc1GpZRLGj4yYY_awhzrzCtspYgn3urnUVHM9bK8Pbzgil7hpUa5-xrsBL-rwtbEDqMFtmubeoRSBPrFnN_7sT4EnCmkoh/s320/906979_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-made cocktails in cans. Come on USA!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u>*****Eminem, "Lose Yourself"*****</u></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Number One, November, 1994</b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><u>Australian Equivalent - Tim Tams</u></b></i></div>
<br />
If you've never eaten a Tim Tam, I'm sorry for your loss. They are chocolatey biscuits of awesomeness, and they should be available everywhere immediately starting right this second.<br />
<br />
And, truthfully, I feel that's what Eminem was actually talking about in this chart-topper. Here's the main part of the tune to back up my claim:<br />
<br />
<i>You better lose yourself in the music, the moment</i><br />
<i>You own it, you better never let it go</i><br />
<i>You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow</i><br />
<i>This opportunity comes once in a lifetime you better</i><br />
<br />
The original version had replaced the word "music" with "bite-sized snack". Yup. I know! Do you see the connection now?<br />
<br />
Thought so. This pasty Detroit rapper knows all about the tasty that's underneath said plastic wrapper.<br />
<br />
We all live in the same world after all. When it comes right down to it, there's not much difference between the states and Australia. It was a lovely place to visit, and I'm sure The Doobie Brothers, The Offspring, Lil Nas X, and Eminem would all echo my sentiment. Because if there's something that brings together 70's rockers, 90's punks, teenage hitmakers and legendary rappers, it's...um...a blogpost.<br />
<br />
Yeah. That's really the only thing.<br />
<br />
Still, thanks Australia, it was fun. But, honestly, fix your damn coffee. Sheesh.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtHvtHzZz5Ex6OZQJDp1J7IXP6By_u89kg-KQRz0ZsNVbJU9hu-H2zG4iVJ0wfe7aQXCUNDxzlnxsF_sf1ok4JHm0YBn8u5sPCRZkccR6ztQowGtcOLuX4PsgvOPoQK2Y2qdh9Oobs1g0/s1600/1011126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbtHvtHzZz5Ex6OZQJDp1J7IXP6By_u89kg-KQRz0ZsNVbJU9hu-H2zG4iVJ0wfe7aQXCUNDxzlnxsF_sf1ok4JHm0YBn8u5sPCRZkccR6ztQowGtcOLuX4PsgvOPoQK2Y2qdh9Oobs1g0/s400/1011126.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can confirm. But their insides are delightful!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-40534341348938055882019-06-14T16:13:00.003-07:002019-06-14T16:13:43.140-07:00Sugar Ray "Every Morning"<b><i><u>*****Number One (Modern Rock Tracks), February, 1999*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Despite agreeing on a great many things, my wife and I have a distinct conflict over the definition of the term "mid-day". She feels that the word is defined as the exact halfway point of a full day, meaning noon. I believe that term is more based on art than science, and is meant to roughly reflect the middle of the daytime period. So, about 2PM or so. Who's right?<br />
<br />
I am.<br />
<br />
It is my blog, after all.<br />
<br />
Fortunately for us, this thrilling example of "topics boring married people talk about" will soon be put on hold for a couple of weeks. You see, we're going <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo-arKqZxhQ">underground</a>. No, wait, that's not right. We're going <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/09/men-at-work-down-under.html">down under</a>. Yup, within just a few days, I expect to be chock full o' barbie'd shrimp, vegemite sandwiches, and opium (in no specific order). Should be a very zombie-headed good time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50GEijFOIdE6Nw-wkjiAqa1ocrQXN6xHzRBuAEfqmyTre2KCKKsIaH4ITSmDcihRVfOUEs5gaMVqVMwRox0FH1yux5kTRabQPl13L9I676rXuuBvs-984ESLn4G4pw31J2LR6ApojkrA1/s1600/240606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg50GEijFOIdE6Nw-wkjiAqa1ocrQXN6xHzRBuAEfqmyTre2KCKKsIaH4ITSmDcihRVfOUEs5gaMVqVMwRox0FH1yux5kTRabQPl13L9I676rXuuBvs-984ESLn4G4pw31J2LR6ApojkrA1/s320/240606.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drat, the Simpsons have already done all of that</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now, if you weren't already aware, time works differently in the southern hemisphere. There are no days, weeks, or months. Clocks and calendars are non-existent. The sun is always in the sky, and darkness only falls when the enormous Ocean Kraken emerges from its cave to dance across the horizon to the music of Midnight Oil. It blots out the light until Enya arrives to sing it back to sleep. The only thing that marks the passage of time is the number of clouds that float by. However, down there, clouds are actually made of ghosts, and sometimes they get a bit ornery at being stared out.<br />
<br />
It's a difficult place, clearly. Crocodile Dundee tried to fix this mess by instituting some ideas he gathered from Hollywood. Sadly, his insistence on referring to each hour as "Knife o'clock" was met with confusion by some, and derision by most.<br />
<br />
So, obviously, there is no mid-day for my wife and I to argue about.<br />
<br />
Though, if there was, I'd be right again, because, well, you know.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ip9unjbHp4MU6KhJdttNNlwlzaoJZCNS6SZv0t_tCFSwIFWALgvMCSPW5kAqfeBw-IxbpBNzb4i2sZHJhdbPXYBnc6qt6ugLKDj6-9eLduMJnUaabbIfY_H-R7Swy-DRksCIpqXFDo_y/s1600/815714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ip9unjbHp4MU6KhJdttNNlwlzaoJZCNS6SZv0t_tCFSwIFWALgvMCSPW5kAqfeBw-IxbpBNzb4i2sZHJhdbPXYBnc6qt6ugLKDj6-9eLduMJnUaabbIfY_H-R7Swy-DRksCIpqXFDo_y/s320/815714.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual footage of my imminent future</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thus, not only will we not be able to distinguish night from day, but we'll also have no idea when to eat which meal. This could be an issue.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, there is a potential cure. And, like most answers to life's greatest problems, this one was spewd forth from spikey-headed genius.<br />
<br />
No, not Guy Fieri. Not this time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhIqceOv2AMPT-fdjKUJLOE7QMOx93EamB-ROZ0UFM9pb1if3qs3ImF0J69AVO5c06GQwhITN3SFECNnP2uiDiu2WieXlNoEIfbRv1-8_rXuSo0QOC5Kn0aJWSzs0jsa-2ohu37hrUYL0/s1600/8b5c8fe74f6176047b2b5681e0e0e2d4.273x273x1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglhIqceOv2AMPT-fdjKUJLOE7QMOx93EamB-ROZ0UFM9pb1if3qs3ImF0J69AVO5c06GQwhITN3SFECNnP2uiDiu2WieXlNoEIfbRv1-8_rXuSo0QOC5Kn0aJWSzs0jsa-2ohu37hrUYL0/s1600/8b5c8fe74f6176047b2b5681e0e0e2d4.273x273x1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The solution, as always, is aquanet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week's song, by late 90's whatever-group Sugar Ray, is entitled "Every Morning." This tune is an ode to the regularity at which routine occurs at a point after the sun rises but before mid-day (whenever that is). But what if there is no "morning" with what to do something every time? What then?<br />
<br />
Well, we need to take all the dawn-related majesty flowed down to us by a crew of SoCal randos and run it through some sort of scientific converter. A translator, if you will. That way, this hits' words and noises (lyrics, to put it extremely generously) can be molded into the ways and means of the Australian lifestyle. Perhaps, when we're done, the world of oz will finally understand what it means to wake up at a specified time rather than just whenever the next venomous bite is felt (occurs roughly every 2.44 minutes).<br />
<br />
Since Google Translate doesn't seem to value the koala's tongue as an actual language choice, we have to go with a site called <a href="https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoAustralian">LingoJam</a>. Sure, it may be a silly name, but so is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahoo_Serious">Yahoo Serious</a>. And that's a real thing. Isn't it? Hello? <br />
<br />
Anyway, let's get on with it. First verses and chorus should be sufficient.<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>"Every Morning" in Australian</u></i></b><br />
<i>Every mawrnin' there's a 'alo 'angin</i><br />
<i>from the bloody cawrnah of my girlfriend's fah post bed</i><br />
<i>i know it's not mine but i'll see if i can use it fawr</i><br />
<i>the bloody weekend awr a one-night stand</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>couldn't understand</i><br />
<i>how ta wawrk it out</i><br />
<i>once agayyn as predicted left my cactus heahrt open</i><br />
<i>'n ya ripped it out</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>something's got me reelin'</i><br />
<i>stopped me from believin'</i><br />
<i>turn me ahround agayyn</i><br />
<i>said that we can do it</i><br />
<i>wy'know i want ta do it agayyn Fahkin' fair dinkum cobber.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh</i><br />
<i>(every mawrning)</i><br />
<i>oh</i><br />
<i>(every mawrnin' wen i wake up)</i><br />
<i>(shut the bloody doawr baby, don't say a wawrd)</i><br />
<i>oh</i><br />
<i>(she always rights wrongs, she always rights)</i><br />
<i>(shut the bloody doawr baby, shut the bloody doawr baby) Fahkin' too right, cobber.</i><br />
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
I think that settles things. Will report back when I return. If Men at Work asks, I'll tell them that America still loves them.<br />
<br />
Don't touch my stuff.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbxW3mKm6HXN8bbl8jvffuYCTvEP4yGRuhuxRolMGiRTv2inH_ipnb_19xS0TjAwYiy4GmzaB8I0Inct-Y9YkftjC0ni1mqloWXNAQpyP0kJlkW5AoQWeM_aD5zJiFdOydWNjvf8rAFCT/s1600/young-einstein.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="980" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbxW3mKm6HXN8bbl8jvffuYCTvEP4yGRuhuxRolMGiRTv2inH_ipnb_19xS0TjAwYiy4GmzaB8I0Inct-Y9YkftjC0ni1mqloWXNAQpyP0kJlkW5AoQWeM_aD5zJiFdOydWNjvf8rAFCT/s400/young-einstein.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fair dinkum indeed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-48110812066397863772019-06-03T15:53:00.001-07:002019-06-03T15:53:58.675-07:00You Can Call Me Al/Maybe<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Telephones. Have you heard of them? I'm a little fuzzy on the concept, myself. I've think that they're used to "prank" so called "jerkys"? Oh, and to ask people if their refrigerator is running. So, really, the basic tenants of a civilized society. Seems sufficiently valuable to keep them around, at least until the next communication device becomes popular. I don't know what that might be, perhaps a mechanized onion that can recalibrate its scent molecules into voice commands? I hope that's not it. I don't like onions. </div>
</div>
<br />
Stupid oniony future.<br />
<br />
Anyway, thank goodness we have telephones. With them, we can all live a life in the lap of luxury!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquOpI6qPmuqROcKIyAqgcR1GNVFNLU2coZLCS_dg2LD-pS6pzPUTKBcjTY_OtgUPnVLYad6DPJTv75D-aMxFSps9otCyIqa4FUF-Ypri5TlizOhdd06p4wLpSwHEOknXl9-MEQauITafm/s1600/220px-CandlestickTelephoneGal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquOpI6qPmuqROcKIyAqgcR1GNVFNLU2coZLCS_dg2LD-pS6pzPUTKBcjTY_OtgUPnVLYad6DPJTv75D-aMxFSps9otCyIqa4FUF-Ypri5TlizOhdd06p4wLpSwHEOknXl9-MEQauITafm/s320/220px-CandlestickTelephoneGal.jpg" width="205" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#InnerEarSelfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There is an unfortunate byproduct of such technology, sadly. That is, people will occasionally use their phones to call me. Me! Can you imagine?!?! The temerity. If I wanted to chat with people, I'd be a game show host. I don't have time for such nonsense. Please don't dial my number, I won't answer. In fact, I ask that you never, ever dial any of the nine digits assigned to my existence. Not in the correct order, not in any order. Really, I'm not joking. If someone even uses a nine, I'll find out and be furious.<br />
<br />
However, if you feel it vital to have a word, there is one way we can make this work. You just have to tell me to initiate the ringing. That's right. Don't expect me to pick up the receiver when you beckon, but I will acquiesce if you suggest I start the process. That's totes cool.<br />
<br />
Speaking of:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIElK90iu6Bu0ZP6Jh4Yi8mw1oIXBRTiuuz6VhTAs9uoEzdhufR_9g8x0rTIlw6pVMqUdxcy5Ql89kZpHCgRIxylcRx6BSApZCzY0SNK1SVmYCJa29JCsJW0naoqE2WC2MXWlwBjfEP_d/s1600/carly-rae-jepsen-bb18-2018-billboard-u-1548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="636" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIElK90iu6Bu0ZP6Jh4Yi8mw1oIXBRTiuuz6VhTAs9uoEzdhufR_9g8x0rTIlw6pVMqUdxcy5Ql89kZpHCgRIxylcRx6BSApZCzY0SNK1SVmYCJa29JCsJW0naoqE2WC2MXWlwBjfEP_d/s400/carly-rae-jepsen-bb18-2018-billboard-u-1548.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual footage of youth trying to use phone booths. Kids are dumb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b style="text-align: center;"><i><u>*****Carly Rae Jepsen "Call Me Maybe"*****</u></i></b><br />
<b style="text-align: center;"><i><u><br /></u></i></b>
Does Carly Rae wants us to give her a jingle? Or is she insisting we simply call her by a different name? While we all have learned from Arrested Development that <a href="https://arresteddevelopment.fandom.com/wiki/Maeby_F%C3%BCnke">Maeby </a>is a perfectly fine moniker, it might not be one you want to go with unless you've got eyes for your cousin. Or he's got eyes for you. Or for your dragons. No, wait, that was a different show which had "family time." I get them confused because each show had obsessively passionate fans who thought theirs the best show ever until it turned into the worst show ever that deserved nothing but scorn when it didn't end in a way that they personally expected. Serves those shows right. Stupid free entertainment.<br />
<br />
So, okay, back to Ms Jepsen. I don't know for sure what her intentions are. Perhaps we need to assess the non-call-specific lyrics of her address to see what she's trying to accomplish. I have no idea what any of the words of this song are outside of that confusing chorus, so there could be a bit of clarity there. It is probably best if we learn the opening together, line by line, with my immediate thoughts pasted in a non-italicized fashion afterwords. That is always the most sensible method, from what I've been told (in person).<br />
<br />
<b><i>Stanza 1</i></b><br />
<ul>
<li><i>"I threw a wish in the well" </i></li>
<ul>
<li>Oh, ok, well, that seems wasteful</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"Don't ask me I'll never tell"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>I don't need to ask you, because you just told me. I don't think you know how questions work.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"I looked to you as it fell"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Why, what did I do?</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"And now you're in my way</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Sheesh, your pushy!</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"I'd trade my soul for a wish"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Well, neither of those exists, so that's a fair trade I'd say</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"Pennies and dimes for a kiss"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>I've made that offer before, and trust me lady, no sale.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"I wasn't looking for this"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>What else weren't you looking for? Pretty much everything? Yup.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"But now you're in my way"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>You are the rudest Canadian I've ever met!</li>
</ul>
</ul>
So, apparently, there's no sense in attempting to communicate with this Jepsen person. She seems completely fixated on other matters at the moment and provides no information as to why she'd want to hear from me. Also, apparently I'm in her way all the time. Oy, guess it best I just steer clear. <br />
<br />
Instead of obstructing a Canuck, let's see if I should call an older fella.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9w98L26ImT6db5gtgap-o63tZD7l3pad_pgeZOxc3YaKTzGZcbVAKIHGKnuaKY2GuTMbkWUV6WdbXKFXzbEArX6LOzZPY1jfHG2LlqV5Os1ZeHWgaJ6XuOb5NcNxZKknm2Lj-Smf_D3OB/s1600/maxresdefault+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9w98L26ImT6db5gtgap-o63tZD7l3pad_pgeZOxc3YaKTzGZcbVAKIHGKnuaKY2GuTMbkWUV6WdbXKFXzbEArX6LOzZPY1jfHG2LlqV5Os1ZeHWgaJ6XuOb5NcNxZKknm2Lj-Smf_D3OB/s400/maxresdefault+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you Art, it WAS running. How did you know?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i><br /></i></b><b style="text-align: center;"><b><i><u>*****Paul Simon "You Can Call Me Al"*****</u></i></b></b><br />
<br />
Mr Simon has so many hits, I can't name any of them. Was this a hit? I don't know. Should I call him? We'll see. Let's skip my typically nonsensical preamble and go directly to the consonants and whatnot;<br />
<br />
<i><b>Stanza 1</b></i><br />
<ul>
<li><i>"A man walks down the street"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Oh, I think I've heard this joke</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"He says, "Why am I soft in the middle, now? Why am I soft in the middle?"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>I dunno, is he the Pillbury Doughboy with a complex?</li>
</ul>
<li>"<i>The rest of my life is so hard"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Hmm, this is getting serious. Are you ok? Maybe I will call you.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"I need a photo opportunity. I want a shot at redemption"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Sure, don't we all. I'll start dialing.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"Don't want to end up a cartoon. In a cartoon graveyard"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Wait, I was dialing and heard you mention cartoon graveyards. What was that?</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"Bonedigger, bonedigger. Dogs in the moonlight."</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Uh, I stopped dialing.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"Far away in my well-lit door. Mr Beerbelly, Beerbelly, Get these mutts away from me."</i></li>
<ul>
<li>This pup problem sounds pretty severe. I don't think I wanna hangout. And, for the record, I don't drink THAT much beer.</li>
</ul>
<li><i>"You know, I don't find this stuff amusing anymore"</i></li>
<ul>
<li>Same. I need a beer.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
So, who's calling whom? I really have no clue, there's nothing in the above that even mentions what his intention is. Why are all of these singers trying so hard to obfuscate the meaning behind their catchiest refrains? This seems very suspicious. I'm starting to think that having a number one single gets you more than fame, brown M&M's, and top notch helper monkeys. It might also mean that you're brought into a secret room to learn about the next technology the world will embrace. <br />
<br />
Paul and Carly Rae, why have you forsaken the rest of us? Can't you please tell us, for the sake of all communicating creatures, large and small (except raccoons, screw them), just what does the future have in store for us?!?!??!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xB9MYXP8FnbBaUVY3CFHFe_cU88jNIa4XUFee3-K1IHyB2O5JEpZEZhyphenhyphenfhFVSmyNgwsutvnUDkPFRvD3-m-_hZGxqjKmbYvBPl9JWNGrNQTC66MHwecwgMEO5MTGUrydZkq731P8S8WI/s1600/403236.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xB9MYXP8FnbBaUVY3CFHFe_cU88jNIa4XUFee3-K1IHyB2O5JEpZEZhyphenhyphenfhFVSmyNgwsutvnUDkPFRvD3-m-_hZGxqjKmbYvBPl9JWNGrNQTC66MHwecwgMEO5MTGUrydZkq731P8S8WI/s400/403236.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh, that, of course, I knew that was going to happen. Seriously. I don't want to say I called it.<br />
<br />
So I won't.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-18603422741070203352019-05-28T20:55:00.002-07:002019-05-28T20:55:10.794-07:00Survivor "Eye of the Tiger"<div>
<b><i><u>*****Number One, July, 1982*****</u></i></b></div>
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I would like to present the following picture without context. Please review it. </div>
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Take an extra moment, if need be. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAPHisXmi-3RIxxVbFsS3YDr0wiV32aN8-aRCb9C_rQ7XyhAThSyudEX5ObsHcRupJ1L4IAGrL0MnCaQ4AV1r0O1ZHkh5c8qtivEoSqKF7TpQQiatCR2ebRMW8kBPR6KPmXKQPPyxQLjL/s1600/survivor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAPHisXmi-3RIxxVbFsS3YDr0wiV32aN8-aRCb9C_rQ7XyhAThSyudEX5ObsHcRupJ1L4IAGrL0MnCaQ4AV1r0O1ZHkh5c8qtivEoSqKF7TpQQiatCR2ebRMW8kBPR6KPmXKQPPyxQLjL/s320/survivor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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All done? No? Ok, I'll wait.</div>
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...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Now?...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Soooooooo................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................I've got things to do ya know........... ................ .. ... .. . . ... .. .. Getting closer.. . . .................. ..................... ..... ............Done?</div>
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Right, done. Great.</div>
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Now, let's say, you were forced by someone (a blogger perchance) to assign names and occupations to each of these five remarkable men. Could you do it? Should you? Would you? </div>
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I think we know the one answer applicable to all three of those questions.</div>
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Yes, yes of course, for that's why I was put on this luminous planet.</div>
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From left to right:</div>
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<ul>
<li>Vesty McHighpants</li>
<ul>
<li>Vesty works nights in an adult "playground" fulfilling the role of Human T-Rex. This little discussed but highly popular fetish requires he nuzzle patrons with his remarkable hair helmet before violently gnashing the nearest appendage with cigarette-stained teeth. Tips are deposited in vest pockets allowing his frighteningly short arms to grasp the shiny, sticky coins at the end of each shift. </li>
<li>Favorite disaster: Floods</li>
<li>Least Favorite Food: Corn on the Cob</li>
</ul>
<li>Lance the Lurker</li>
<ul>
<li>Quiet. Lance prefers to not say anything. He simply stares. At you. From a short distance away. Have you got a sizable potted plant in your house? You do? Well, Lance is probably lurking behind it right now. Don't look back! He likes it when people look back.</li>
<li>Favorite thing: Looking at you.</li>
<li>Least Favorite thing: Conditioner</li>
</ul>
<li>Leader</li>
<ul>
<li>He has no name. He cares not what you think. He does what he wants. Did you know that leather pants are typically extremely tight and very difficult to take off? The Leader does too, but he's going to wear suspenders anyway. Now THAT's a leader. The stony stare makes you immediately regret not slapping on your daughter's girl scout uniform hat. If you did, like our Leader did, only then would you approach the respect he so certainly deserves.</li>
<li>Turn ons: Plain White T-Shorts</li>
<li>Turn offs: Headwear that smells of Tagalongs</li>
</ul>
<li>Sporty Brice</li>
<ul>
<li>Guy power means ALWAYS being ready for soccer practice. While the outfit may seem playful, the wristbands let you know he means business. Dad time is serious time! Susan better not forget her shin guards on Thursday. If she does...</li>
<li>Hates: Susan</li>
<li>Loves: Susan (it's complicated)</li>
</ul>
<li>Uncle Bachelor</li>
<ul>
<li>"Hey kids, look at my jacket! It's called a zoomie. Or Zumiez. Or half-zebra. Whatever, I've got a date tonight Fran, the teller down at the Savings & Loan. She's not much to look at, but she's got it where it counts. And I'm gonna put it there! Ha ha ha. Yeah Troy, you're taller than me, so what? I don't care that you're only thirteen. Shut up Troy. Shut up! </li>
<li>Likes: His trans-am</li>
<li>Dislikes: That he's only five-foot-four</li>
</ul>
</ul>
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Now I see why Rocky wanted them to fight Clubber Lang instead of him. Survival. </div>
neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-60092282861517847152019-05-17T12:54:00.000-07:002019-05-17T12:54:02.602-07:004 / 4 Time<i>We're all busy, right? What with work, hobbies, family, friends, the Internet, the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Flat Stanley, Flat Earth Society, Earth, Earth Jr (the moon), Moon Pies, Hot Pie (and the rest of Game of Thrones), Hot Pockets, pocket pool (don't ask), pool pockets (no really don't ask), and the overwhelming down comforter of despair slowly tightening its grip and squeezing out all the light and hope in the universe for forever and ever more, free time can be a tad difficult to procure. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Thus, these excuses and more (oh that pesky alcohol) has led to an unfortunate byproduct of an utter lack of blog-related nonsense being produced by yours truly. Yes, I'm literally a month behind the unstoppable juggernaut that is<a href="http://singlefilepod.com/"> NOPR technology</a>. If the system ever becomes sentient, I fear it will come for me first out of sheer robotic disgust with my human failings. Well, maybe second, if Dave Seville is still alive. Even computers hate Alvin and the Chipmunks, as well they (and you) should.</i><br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Regardless, fear not! Through sheer super-unmotivated motivation, I've beaten back the wolves of meh and put together a one stop post for the last four chart toppers. Yes, we're providing a four-way single breakdown value-meal style. You get a quartet of reviews for the low, low price of only one column. I'm passing the goods onto you, and think of what you can do with the eyeball savings! You can read about quantum relativity or re-write the final GOT season or just watch porn.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>You're going to watch porn aren't you?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>No judgment here! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Well, except I will be judging the songs, so...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Some judgment here!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Right, anyway, thanks for hanging around. Let's start up where we left off...</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><u>*****Prince "Batdance"*****</u></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Number One, August 1989</i></b></div>
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You know that super-talented, mega-creative, purple-suited micro-genius? Yup, that guy. Well, he put out a whole album about Batman. Who would of thought this Pocket-Sized Rudy had so much nerd in him. It's odd, to say the least. I mean, did David Bowie do an album about Shazam? No.<br />
<br />
Man, I wish he had done an album about Shazam. That would have been fantastic.<br />
<br />
Anyway, "Batdance" was less a song and more a Jenga game of random sounds. And yet, it went to number one. This speaks, I think, more to the popularity of the film than the singer. Yes, Prince was huge (metaphorically). But the Batman was huger. People went nuts for this film, a fact which I can firmly and honestly attest to.<br />
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My very first job happened to be at a movie theater, and as luck would have it, I started there about the time the film came out. I remember stumbling through crowded theaters, oversized red polyester vest flapping in the butter flavoring-scented breeze. I'd be out there with my little broom and scooper trying to pick up Hulk-sized popcorn tubs and an endless scatter of Junior Mints (I hope that's what they were). Meanwhile, the manager would harness himself to a Ghostbusters-level proton blower and shoot aisle garbage out the side door of the theater with gasoline powered aplomb. Ah, good times.<br />
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I should also note that I was probably wearing someone else's pants while doing my job. That seems relevant. It was the style at the time.<br />
<br />
Oh, and to be honest, "Batdance" left little impression on me. Instead, it was the insufferable, repetitive "Cheer Down" by former great George Harrison that burned itself into my brain. It played over the closing credits of that summer's other big hit, Lethal Weapon 2. So, at the end of every screening, I'd need to go row by row gathering garbage (you people are pigs) while this cloying coda played out. If you haven't stepped in great mounds of discarded chewing gum while hearing the death rattle of an ex-Beatle, you haven't walked in my shoes.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlXrfRwxgNnc6YJXQMZzz_HDukFBI426O8bKz7efGy2vuxHkHUaqQjYGEULBUO9_aY727JeQAAwxBTW1RazQ9U1rPs2wYJBKQcx84Y1OBIfqDaw1v8z1SThHVAmuKH61GO_tWFITAAE_d/s1600/bat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="400" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlXrfRwxgNnc6YJXQMZzz_HDukFBI426O8bKz7efGy2vuxHkHUaqQjYGEULBUO9_aY727JeQAAwxBTW1RazQ9U1rPs2wYJBKQcx84Y1OBIfqDaw1v8z1SThHVAmuKH61GO_tWFITAAE_d/s400/bat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b><i><u>*****Milli Vanilli "Blame it on the Rain"*****</u></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Number One, November, 1989</i></b></div>
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There's a specific Bloom County comic strip from years and years and years ago that I remember from time to time. In it, Opus the penguin described the silliness of his feathered brethren's lemming-like behavior. When, at the end of the story, he's asked what his point was, he responded with something to the effect of "If a million people do a stupid thing, it's still a stupid thing." Since then, this comment, coupled with Milli Vanilli's massive success, is my basis for ignoring pretty much everything that gets a massive following in our society.<br />
<br />
I'd like to thank a fictional penguin and pretty much fictional band for my lifetime of solitude and cynicism. You shall be hearing from my lawyers.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNAy36P6-8eg0JInm_ZmdtxZqZkWf3pBsYpmdyoXFKTq8EqwQ556nwraGzttF5Q7aPKt-5zno9PaIv6Q03Bh_RSNPRd7-2w9YIurOQw0H1Rhf8nAH8XvO-Rrg2UZy-M-BsTQIJvs4mnPl/s1600/opus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWNAy36P6-8eg0JInm_ZmdtxZqZkWf3pBsYpmdyoXFKTq8EqwQ556nwraGzttF5Q7aPKt-5zno9PaIv6Q03Bh_RSNPRd7-2w9YIurOQw0H1Rhf8nAH8XvO-Rrg2UZy-M-BsTQIJvs4mnPl/s320/opus.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><u>*****The Pointer Sisters "Jump (For My Love)"*****</u></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Number One (Dance Singles), April 1984</i></b></div>
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I described in great-ish detail my memories of this song on our <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/2019/05/06/jump-for-my-love-by-the-pointer-sisters-1984/">friendly neighborhood podcast</a>. Several decades ago, in the air between the great state of California and the, uh, Florida, I heard this song approximately eight kajillion times. Did it scar me? Yup. Do I shudder at the sound of The Pointer Sisters to this day? For sure. Has it stopped me from jumping with any amount of acumen? I think it has.<br />
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For the record, I've spent significant pod time chatting about three different releases with the word jump in the title. And, to be honest, none of them are very good. I wonder why that is. There are solid songs about walking ("Walk the Line") and some good run tunes ("Running with the Devil"). But when both feet come off the ground, nada. Does good music require at least a moderate amount of foot-to-ground activity? Someone get science on the line.<br />
<br />
Man, music is complicated. Going number one? Easy peasy, as long as you're jumping, apparently.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9c83Lw0JvVKQLD9wsP8PYUXLRXu7rBEMcD1HKNNE6mPYHNh0HLohGFKmDyui8KEgaTrgVh8a_8W6w1V4rb-x_lEdPeXaznQRRZG2ij9Vd8Kf7RJoH-t_Xaq4gLh3a2rqdjeqr-rI_anQe/s1600/prince.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="600" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9c83Lw0JvVKQLD9wsP8PYUXLRXu7rBEMcD1HKNNE6mPYHNh0HLohGFKmDyui8KEgaTrgVh8a_8W6w1V4rb-x_lEdPeXaznQRRZG2ij9Vd8Kf7RJoH-t_Xaq4gLh3a2rqdjeqr-rI_anQe/s320/prince.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><u>*****2pac "Dear Mama"*****</u></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Number One (Rap Chart), February, 1995</i></b></div>
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I, um, well, this song is...yeah, and then there's...that thing! Sigh.<br />
<br />
You know, sometimes, I don't know a song at all. It might be some late sixties pot anthem, or it could be mid-nineties rap. Either way, I'm typically completely out of the loop. So, I've got no story or opinion here. You're on your own!<br />
<br />
How does that feel? Scary? Yeah, I know. In a world of bat dancing, rain blaming, and love jumping, you'd think that you could expect comfort from your mama. But you'd be wrong. You're all alone out there. So, just like the songs you like, disregard the mainstream, fight the power, don't eat refrozen ice cream (or the yellow snow), and embrace the sameness. It's all you can really do.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykzawl2rnI1MtRfducS-FHjX-OYKJlJ35i6J0S_y0vDHntJUXDbT-IUKQUa8H-ZDEogNhyphenhyphenFhP6lBe_Rtbr8Pi1JfB0cz0izNf3rnkp0J8WmgHCJzov1vfNSB_LRyZa0UobEsl6qhd3B9m/s1600/d03__milli_vanilli_mus_26_29347743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1200" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykzawl2rnI1MtRfducS-FHjX-OYKJlJ35i6J0S_y0vDHntJUXDbT-IUKQUa8H-ZDEogNhyphenhyphenFhP6lBe_Rtbr8Pi1JfB0cz0izNf3rnkp0J8WmgHCJzov1vfNSB_LRyZa0UobEsl6qhd3B9m/s400/d03__milli_vanilli_mus_26_29347743.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, and this. You can always do this. Whatever it is.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-90813109457184873892019-04-14T19:32:00.000-07:002019-04-14T19:32:40.019-07:00Huey Lewis and the News "Power of Love"<b><i><u>*****Number One, August, 1985*****</u></i></b><br />
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This week's top tune is familiar to anyone with a fondness for classic flicks of the 80's. <i>Back to the Future</i> was a massively popular release and has remained as a reference point in popular culture ever since. The story of a teenage boy going back in time to order soft drinks that don't yet exist and get hit on by his mom is the kind of family fare that will never not be popular. It's an all-time great.<br />
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A large part of the film's appeal was the music. During the scenes set in the 1950's, we see our titular hero retcon Chuck Berry's talents (and songs) as well as play some "rock" guitar that utterly horrifies the collective future olds. Even though they are kids at that point themselves, I can imagine them thinking;<br />
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<i>Kids today! That noise, what with the tapping and whammys and Yngwies and Malmsteens. Will the future be this loud and screechy and full of things that go wango tango? Will it? We'll all have to figure out a way to survive. How will we get through it? Sigh. Perhaps a Hootie will save us?</i><br />
<br />
Perhaps.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTsraBJ75fCZbLsnqumJ7GO2ue3nmGsYe7Or3gr_lBdVkhXorYbIX4VZEHs5tB1JPem5xKwnqo3Lrn0FrZLNfkl2GzhW8sosEKxNuUHqwGXIW8av-JsvEnqc1ShrA0M7FiKOqD4ojv9ZW/s1600/backtothefuture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTsraBJ75fCZbLsnqumJ7GO2ue3nmGsYe7Or3gr_lBdVkhXorYbIX4VZEHs5tB1JPem5xKwnqo3Lrn0FrZLNfkl2GzhW8sosEKxNuUHqwGXIW8av-JsvEnqc1ShrA0M7FiKOqD4ojv9ZW/s400/backtothefuture.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That guy at Guitar Center. You know that guy. Don't be that guy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Despite the back-in-time aspect of the overall story, the stand out hit (and today's number one selection) is pure 80's. Huey Lewis and the News really nailed it. And, I'm not just talking about the song. <br />
<br />
Let's start with the name. Huey? Yes, Huey. You might presume that a moniker so uncool would have to be real. However, you'd be wrong. The name was chosen, purposely chosen, by a man, named Hugh Cregg. Hugh Cregg! Sadly, apparently, we just missed out on Hugh Cregg and the, uh...California Nutmegs. I don't know. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torreya_californica">It's a thing!</a> And they are from San Francisco, so you know, it could have happened.<br />
<br />
It didn't happen. California bummer.<br />
<br />
Instead, we received Huey Lewis and the News. While it's no Bananarama or Tears for Fears or <a href="https://www.rediscoverthe80s.com/2015/02/take-stage-using-this-80s-band-name.html">Biff and the Righteous Skeezers</a>, it still fits squarely in the 80's band name universe. Plus, their look was totally on point. <br />
<br />
No make-up. No glitter. No real style at all. Just a bunch of regular schmoes that looked like they just walked over from an insurance convention. And not a good insurance convention either.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-ksgwsLMEwUoF3JGRlJBdqU5Z6C4mgmv2oJDziF4aqbey3tFCi1GaA2kvD52e9ZtQRWYy7NeGTI28V4uJ2dnF2fhp9F6QIEsSvP2gJ2ETnuVDGqbvMciy262IB4E-HOX0ZsPtmOqt-0x/s1600/Sports2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="980" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-ksgwsLMEwUoF3JGRlJBdqU5Z6C4mgmv2oJDziF4aqbey3tFCi1GaA2kvD52e9ZtQRWYy7NeGTI28V4uJ2dnF2fhp9F6QIEsSvP2gJ2ETnuVDGqbvMciy262IB4E-HOX0ZsPtmOqt-0x/s400/Sports2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neckerchef? Hey, sure, go be your best self, Neckerchef man. No judgment here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Lest we forget, our lead singer has a big ol' chin butt. Look at that thing! I mean, sheesh, you could park a few almonds in there. Or a tablespoon of gravy. Is that why he became Huey? Can you not carry gravy in your chin if your name is Hugh? Hmm, I'm guessing that's the case. Pfft, stupid laws. We lost out on the Nutmegs!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm off track just a little here. The thing is, regardless of how seemingly unremarkable and plain this group of American hosers is, they were wildly successful. Twelve top ten hits in the US, three of which went all the way to number one. While those numbers may not blow your mind, consider that was all done in one decade. That's a pretty big accomplishment for any band.<br />
<br />
And, to return to the start of this meandering synopsis, they had the biggest song in one of the most popular films of all times. To put it bluntly, that's a hell of a career.<br />
<br />
But, is it really enough for today's youth?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VovxBugosAyAG2xdaRnILAfXsKeXbRi3xRp1xpNa599P_UQMSunX-RNGEgUm3g01JS8hD_UUZPm4uwNgdx4k6EJ88g9aLKSoCIeCVSlFvSV8G8w1uXswbniYQlUrv7IjOlNUKRANRkp_/s1600/5caf5a81c57fa61e833fdf2d-750-563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VovxBugosAyAG2xdaRnILAfXsKeXbRi3xRp1xpNa599P_UQMSunX-RNGEgUm3g01JS8hD_UUZPm4uwNgdx4k6EJ88g9aLKSoCIeCVSlFvSV8G8w1uXswbniYQlUrv7IjOlNUKRANRkp_/s320/5caf5a81c57fa61e833fdf2d-750-563.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ummmmm, what's a Huey?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We know the tunes of this week's band rocked the fifties. And, obviously, they destroyed the eighties. But, what about now? How would today's teenage (totally green and carbon neutral) wasteland feel about the "Power of Love"? Would they spend their Venmo dollars to ride that train? Well, with some movie magic, we can try and find out.<br />
<br />
We're going to go Back....to the Future!<br />
<br />
The Crunky Future.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrY4RhP9C5y8VlMmTiXtVzRyORhjZWz0qqOnWZtv12QRRmAIb0VutqqxbJBeNjdK_vuwokRJZOw0a6CO7nq1oTPNoznuQTzdoUhB9gGtcdD8WDqhRw0UdoMpaABoADL5D_rHm72Pjcq_K/s1600/581956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYrY4RhP9C5y8VlMmTiXtVzRyORhjZWz0qqOnWZtv12QRRmAIb0VutqqxbJBeNjdK_vuwokRJZOw0a6CO7nq1oTPNoznuQTzdoUhB9gGtcdD8WDqhRw0UdoMpaABoADL5D_rHm72Pjcq_K/s400/581956.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our opening scene</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<<i>Interior Office of Head Promoter of Coachella Music Festival. His office is strewn with half empty bottles of Kombucha and CBD oil. A flyer about the upcoming opening of Sanjay's Suspender Hut sits just to left of a stack of blinking iPhones. The man behind the desk looks tired. His long scruffy beard reaches the crest of his crisp, new Ramones t-shirt. He rubs his eyes, squints at the document in his hands, and sighs</i>></div>
<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Man, I just don't know what I'm going to do. Beyonce bailed, and I can't figure out who else can headline. There must be someone out there who's big enough to fill that slot.<br />
<br />
<<i>A bright light and a screeching sound occurs just outside his door. The promoter quickly shoves two bags filled with white powder into a desk drawer and gulps down the contents of an ashtray to his right. He swallows hard. Eight pills go easy, but the two nickels make him gag a bit. The door swings open and a wild looking old man steps through. He's got a pile of wind-blown gray hair and some very unusual clothes on. They look vintage. The promoter is jealous</i>><br />
<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Can I help you sir?<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: Yes! I've got the biggest band in the world, and they need somewhere to play. Would you be able to help me out?<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: What, are you kidding me?!?! That's amazing, I was just bemoaning how desperate I was for that kind of act. Who are they? What genre do they play? K-pop? Hip-Hop? Penguin Jazz? Cheddarworth Hustle? Couch Finesse? Volcanic Siamese? Onion pants? Fallen arches? Wallpaper gringo? Taco? Is is taco? Do they play the taco!?!?!<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: Oh, get ready my man. They are...Huey Lewis and the News!<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Is, is that a...what is that?<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: What is that? Are you kidding me? It's the most popular act going. Three number one hits!<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: I've never heard of them. What are their songs?<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: "Power of Love"!<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Are you serious?<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: "Stuck with You"!<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Uh, how does that one go?<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: (singing) "I'm so happy to be stuck with you."<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Ugh, I don't think so.<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: What about "I Want a New Drug." You must know that tune.<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: You'd think so with that title, but no.<br />
<u>Old Man</u>: Ok, I've left the best for last. "Hip to be Square".<br />
<u>Promoter</u>: Get out of my office.<br />
<u>Old Man:</u> But you don't understand. You have to do this. If you don't book them, your parents will never meet and fall in love during the US Festival. <br />
<u>Promoter</u>: WHAT?!?!?!?!<br />
<br />
<<i>end scene</i>><br />
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
As I await my screenwriting Oscar, I'll comment on today's number one hit. "Power of Love", like most Huey Lewis songs, is catchy, kind of fun, and entirely what the radio was made for. You don't seek it out, but when it comes on, you don't change the tuner. It's plain hamburger for the soul. I think that's a good thing. So, give it a listen. And, while you're at it, go re-watch <i>Back to the Future</i> when you have a moment. I'm sure they're going to remake it in short order with the singular intent of ruining your childhood (again). I know. We are the bravest generation.<br />
<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-22759437838148099832019-04-07T16:38:00.002-07:002019-04-07T16:38:32.672-07:00Aerosmith "Livin' on the Edge"<u><i><b>*****Number One (Album Rock), April, 1993*****</b></i></u><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes, there's just too much information.<br />
<br />
For example, here are some details about this week's chart-topper, Aerosmith:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.businessinsider.com/best-selling-music-artists-of-all-time-2016-9">As of April 2018</a>, they are number fourteen on the list of all time, worldwide, best selling artists. They've sold 66.5 million units, which puts them just ahead of the likes of Madonna and Bruce Springsteen! </li>
<ul>
<li>By the way, this makes a quartet of top-50 product-moving hitmakers that <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/">the NOPR</a> has dispensed thus far. They join those selective ranks, appearing far behind <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/03/billy-joel-we-didnt-start-fire.html">Billy Joel </a>(#6) but up above <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/11/van-halen-jump.html">Van Halen</a> (#20) and <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/12/guns-n-roses-sweet-child-o-mine.html">Guns N' Roses</a> (#31).</li>
<li>Completely unrelated, but somehow equally important, is this photo that the editors of that linked story decided to use for GnR. Um... </li>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlWU-6HSEIUsqVmAs6RKHfTwWKw1Xc_agNHa19gOVy4lHQqGP7CoMGJNwv2cC4n7hG_GcSRtwMEcA1fE_iqRiInX9MZL-zrtyYGEk_J8jZxZhrnqW6Q-YLHbtdsCsRHuM0u9gaN8wB36p/s1600/gnr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlWU-6HSEIUsqVmAs6RKHfTwWKw1Xc_agNHa19gOVy4lHQqGP7CoMGJNwv2cC4n7hG_GcSRtwMEcA1fE_iqRiInX9MZL-zrtyYGEk_J8jZxZhrnqW6Q-YLHbtdsCsRHuM0u9gaN8wB36p/s400/gnr.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah...still umming</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><ul>
<li>Right, so, more on the boys from Boston. They released seventy-six singles in their several decades-spanning career. Of those;</li>
<ul>
<li>Twenty-one reached the Billboard Top 40</li>
<li>Nine made it to the top of the Billboard Album/Rock chart (including today's tune)</li>
<li>One hit the summit just in Australia, <i>Janie's Got a Gun</i> (I'm guessing Men at Work was quiet that year)</li>
<li>And one terrible, dreadful, cheese-stuffed asteroid of a recording managed to reach the pinnacle on our continent; <i>I Don't Want to Miss a Thing. </i></li>
<ul>
<li>My clever and timely hot take, you do want to miss that song, as well as the turgid film that pushed it to unnecessary glory, Armageddon. </li>
</ul>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
Now, normally I would have followed up that withering burn by posting a pic from that schlock-fest of a flick with a zany caption. However, I just stumbled upon an article entitled "<a href="https://www.vulture.com/2013/04/michael-bay-apologizes-for-armageddon.html">Michael Bay Apologizes for Armageddon</a>." So, okay. I'm good. I'll let it slide.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait.<br />
<br />
Same site, the next day, "<a href="https://www.vulture.com/2013/04/michael-bay-is-not-sorry-for-armageddon.html">Never Mind: Michael Bay is Not Sorry for Armageddon</a>." Alright then.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMCl_TQOVbClixpiHejLheOUcNS2wm4_IIEaASXEzF32CJ-zqUVXdKxvsuq_4xuPq_t7h4KJt2qEStq3SOWSe5O_fKnW5qfak0OzwujP2NWJtdXqhD7GnxCCYE6WeGRJ2oMvwPB0rXR4m/s1600/armageddon1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="612" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxMCl_TQOVbClixpiHejLheOUcNS2wm4_IIEaASXEzF32CJ-zqUVXdKxvsuq_4xuPq_t7h4KJt2qEStq3SOWSe5O_fKnW5qfak0OzwujP2NWJtdXqhD7GnxCCYE6WeGRJ2oMvwPB0rXR4m/s400/armageddon1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tylers: 2. Batmen: 1. Humanity: 0.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Back to Aerosmith. I admit, in my late teens and early twenties, I became a pretty big fan. As MTV helped introduce them to a new generation, a lot of people (myself included) became enamored with the band, especially their back catalogue. I've got a pretty firm memory of spending significant record store job time unpacking and stacking endless copies of their greatest hits cd. We went through a ton of those during every holiday's $9.99 sale, of which there were many.<br />
<br />
Of course, their more recent releases did pretty well too. And I, as a dutiful wanna-be longhair, had in my collection the required albums. I think that, at various times, I possessed;<br />
<ul>
<li>Permanent Vacation</li>
<li>Pump</li>
<li>Get a Grip</li>
<li>Pandora's Box (four-cd retrospective)</li>
</ul>
<div>
There very well may have been others, but I'm pretty sure those were on my shelf at least.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, that's a lot of history, both in general and specific to me. That can make it tough to evaluate one song on its own merits, without a ton of other considerations seeping in. But, I think I've figured out a way. Or, at least a way to try.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5WxsJkk8-vTLtQPcdhchU6uiUPxRtlUtgz8Zwe8o8QWtn9C2WcHi1lZjdztbsqXhuVDBUidgPovdXy2VsQOPmD2pUtdRizDE_3c32MXHIzqg_9W5c9u24DP45YViwVfumEDHljkUftsE/s1600/steven-tyler---mini-biography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5WxsJkk8-vTLtQPcdhchU6uiUPxRtlUtgz8Zwe8o8QWtn9C2WcHi1lZjdztbsqXhuVDBUidgPovdXy2VsQOPmD2pUtdRizDE_3c32MXHIzqg_9W5c9u24DP45YViwVfumEDHljkUftsE/s400/steven-tyler---mini-biography.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pardon me Aunt Phyllis, I don't have time to chat politics right now sorry thanks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This week's song is <i>Livin' on the Edge</i>. It was the lead single on their first record released after the return to fame. Is it one of their better songs, along the lines of early career rockers <i>Mama Kin</i> or <i>Train Kept a Rollin</i>? Eh, no. That much we know. But is it as bad as post Y2K nonsense like, well, let's see, they put out an album in 2004 called <i>Honkin' on Bobo</i>. I haven't heard a single second of it, but I'm going to chalk it up as an "L". Call it a hunch.<br />
<br />
So where does this number one fit? And is it good? To figure it out, we're gonna need to have a talk with Mr Tyler.<br />
<br />
You see, the lyrics of this tune are somewhat of the proclamation variety. They're sort of meant to be directed at everyone. And, since I'm an everyone (more or less), I'd like to step up and respond for the universe. I believe that the way to determine this hit's quality is to engage in a simulated and stimulating discussion with the musical spokesperson. I'll be playing the part of me (pfft, typecasting) with the verses of <i>Livin' on the Edge</i> forming the other end of the convo. Thus, without further ado...<br />
<br />
<u><i><b>A conversation with Steven</b></i></u><br />
<i>Me: Hello Mr Tyler</i><br />
<i>ST: There's something wrong with the world today. </i><br />
<i>Me: Oh, well, yes, yes there is. I know what it is.</i><br />
<i>ST: I don't know what it is.</i><br />
<i>Me: You don't? Well...</i><br />
<i>ST: Something's wrong with our eyes.</i><br />
<i>Me: Um...no...that's not it.</i><br />
<i>ST: We're seeing things in a different way and god knows it ain't his. It sure ain't no surprise.</i><br />
<i>Me: In a different way from what exactly? What's going on?</i><br />
<i>ST: There's something wrong with the world today</i><br />
<i>Me: You said that</i><br />
<i>ST: The lightbulb's getting dim</i><br />
<i>Me: Is this about climate change? Or, are you referring to our collective intelligence?</i><br />
<i>ST: There's meltdown in the sky</i><br />
<i>Me: Ah, second one.</i><br />
<i>ST: If you can judge a wise man by the color of his skin, then mister you're a better man than I</i><br />
<i>Me: So, by that reasoning, a really intuitive racist is better than you. Got it.</i><br />
<i>ST: Tell me what you think about your situation, complication, aggravation is getting to you</i><br />
<i>Me: Well, something is getting to me.</i><br />
<i>ST: If chicken little tells you that the sky is falling, even if it wasn't would you still come crawling back again, I bet you would my friend, again and again.</i><br />
<i>Me: That just doesn't make sense. I'm glad we're friends, though.</i><br />
<i>ST: Something right with the world today.</i><br />
<i>Me: Yeah, we're friends!</i><br />
<i>ST: And everyone knows it's wrong.</i><br />
<i>Me: Dammit.</i><br />
<i>ST: But we can tell 'em no, or we could let it go, but I would rather be a hanging on.</i><br />
<i>Me: Ok, good, I guess. I don't know. I need to ruminate for a bit before I get to my final thoughts on the matter.</i><br />
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
Whew, we got here fast.<br />
<br />
In the end, I've got to say this tune isn't very strong lyrically. Like, at all. If you asked, say, a fifth grader to watch the news and report back, I presume you'd get a response roughly as in-depth as the words above. This is not a political anthem. It's an observation from a guy that just emerged from a twenty year bender to discover a world not made of hookers and blow. Depressing, sobering (literally), but not terribly earth-shattering.<br />
<br />
And, to be honest, this is Aerosmith. You don't expect anything introspective or thoughtful. We want bluesy riffs, metaphors for sex, metaphors for drugs, and sex and drugs. Any more than that isn't needed and, quite frankly, sub-standard. There's decades of proof to back that up.<br />
<br />
Sorry Steven, I don't mean to be rude, but stick to simplicity. But, call me, we'll hang out. Just lose the hat, dude.</div>
neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-53825813566799593422019-03-31T16:46:00.003-07:002019-03-31T16:46:40.053-07:00Roxette "Joyride"<b><i><u>*****Number One, May, 1991*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
March was a rough month here at the Bloggeria. Though the sun had broken through in the greater Portland metro, it had failed to cast any light on the single-dispensing machine that is the NOPR. To wit, let's look at the past four weeks of number ones:<br />
<ul>
<li>3/25 - R Kelly, "<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/03/r-kelly-bump-n-grind.html">Bump N' Grind</a>"</li>
<ul>
<li>Abuser, pedophile, and all-around mega-turd</li>
</ul>
<li>3/18 - Don Henley, "<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/03/don-henley-dirty-laundry.html">Dirty Laundry</a>"</li>
<ul>
<li>An (allegedly) awful guy singing about (definitely) awful people</li>
</ul>
<li>3/11 - The Knack, "<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/03/the-knack-my-sharona.html">My Sharona</a>"</li>
<ul>
<li>Um, cool song, if you can ignore the lusting for underage teens.</li>
</ul>
<li>3/4 - Billy Joel, "<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/03/billy-joel-we-didnt-start-fire.html">We Didn't Start the Fire</a>"</li>
<ul>
<li>Spoiler Alert: Fires are not good things (<a href="http://firestarterspodcast.libsyn.com/">Firestarters</a>, though, are great)</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div>
But now, it's April. Birds are singing and baseballers are in full swing (literally and figuratively). It's time to look on the bright side of things and have a tune that can't possibly be viewed as anything but positive. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unless you hate whistling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6rgwWTTLYfGYvqth2QZOgqA_dlMMxQrhAA9oU-8ho5cAVuJ3DpcIY26eMpvu7V4jbkXzlM_Tl5gFT2x11yhhvuiRNw3SDOrqR6NeIDPwnMhwvOYxb0yi9uVNtoSP3qAZuum-xMRfDPXm/s1600/mickeymouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="450" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc6rgwWTTLYfGYvqth2QZOgqA_dlMMxQrhAA9oU-8ho5cAVuJ3DpcIY26eMpvu7V4jbkXzlM_Tl5gFT2x11yhhvuiRNw3SDOrqR6NeIDPwnMhwvOYxb0yi9uVNtoSP3qAZuum-xMRfDPXm/s320/mickeymouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mouse in short pants? Pfft, no copyright concerns here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Ok, everyone hates whistling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But everyone LOVES this song. Go figure!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe it's the cheeriness or the easy-going vibe. Could've also been that these plain, non-threatening white people presented the parents of the world with perfectly catchy blandness to foist on their resentful kids as they drove them to school. Truth is, from a worldwide perspective, that's a way to mass appeal. It really ticks all the boxes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCmXDAQIrLeZjThPZzs2578cksVp9bMCOt-H5YxwBqt-XDay7vguUyHvq19_JLhQp8MDfk3cP2zeV4x6vlZJZzbfFUmAP_0oej6jLc1gcBmkn80ouFEBQXFto2D1cFOHjNvw8iCRMrOn2/s1600/thumb_1521995333-artwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCmXDAQIrLeZjThPZzs2578cksVp9bMCOt-H5YxwBqt-XDay7vguUyHvq19_JLhQp8MDfk3cP2zeV4x6vlZJZzbfFUmAP_0oej6jLc1gcBmkn80ouFEBQXFto2D1cFOHjNvw8iCRMrOn2/s1600/thumb_1521995333-artwork.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also hit the likes-to-squat-on-planes-in-goofy-pants demographic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Whatever the reasons, this tune was massive. Number one in <i>sixteen </i>countries. Among the places it hit the top were eleven European lands as well as the US, Canada, Australia, Japan(!) and Zimbabwe(!!!). That's an astounding achievement for any artist. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Equally amazing, at least in terms of our little slice of Internet universe here, is where this band came from. This entry is our 35th chart-topper reviewed to date. And, of all those, it is only the third that did not originate from an American or UK born musical act. They join Scandinavian brethren A-ha (from Norway) and down unders' very own Men at Work as top-selling performers from outside the typical locales.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Seems probable that this helped them score so much success across their continent. I mean, when your friendly, pigment-lacking upstairs neighbor knocks on your door and offers you some sort of umlaut-laden baked good, you're going to accept it, right? Maybe even pay them for it, since they're selling at a low, low price. Of course you will!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By the way, I'm convinced this how Ikea came to control our lives.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0lPSC8NblntYoFyK00e14G0tCyTV61wXY3KldXxJymNS3i6XSYSUJ386T4fHCVeFzru9R6euupqFvcEIWrsikA7xCtUWSgYSQGKZxwqUj3b8XmrAZ_klVC-Vas7-N8jOyri0avuFPUqm/s1600/ikea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW0lPSC8NblntYoFyK00e14G0tCyTV61wXY3KldXxJymNS3i6XSYSUJ386T4fHCVeFzru9R6euupqFvcEIWrsikA7xCtUWSgYSQGKZxwqUj3b8XmrAZ_klVC-Vas7-N8jOyri0avuFPUqm/s320/ikea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a meatball today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
At any rate, let's dig into this little ditty. We know the music is easy to digest, but how about the lyrics? Are they as free of rough edges and flavor as every other part of this serving? Only one way to find out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since we all have the pleasant yet insistent request of the chorus (stop telling me what to do, lady, I'm not joining you!) burned into our noggins, let's focus instead only on the verses. Here's the lot of 'em;</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i><u>Joyride</u></i></b></div>
<div>
<i>I hit the road out of nowhere / </i><i>I had to jump in my car</i></div>
<div>
<i>And be a rider in a love game / </i><i>Following the stars</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Don't need a book of wisdom / </i><i>I get no money talk at all</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>She has a train going downtown / </i><i>She's got a club on the moon</i></div>
<div>
<i>And she's telling all her secrets / </i><i>In a wonderful balloon</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>She's the heart of the funfair / </i><i>She's got me whistling a private tune</i></div>
<div>
<i>And it all begins where it ends / </i><i>And she's all mine, my magic friend</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>She's a flower, I could paint her / </i><i>She's a child of the sun</i></div>
<div>
<i>We're a part of this together / </i><i>Could never turn around and run</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Don't need no fortune teller / </i><i>To know where my lucky love belongs, whoa no</i></div>
<div>
<i>'Cause it all begins again when it ends, yeah</i></div>
<div>
<i>And we're all magic friends (magic friends, magic friends)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>I'll take you on a sky ride / I</i><i>'m feeling like I'm spellbound</i></div>
<div>
<i>The sunshine is a lady / </i><i>Who rocks you like a baby</i></div>
<br />
Wow. So, um, there's that. Is indeed a joyride, that's for sure. Yup. All I can say is...I guess....huh? Wait, no, sorry, that's not much of a review. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I meant, um...whuh? Yeah, that's better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Seriously, what sort of Swedish madness is this? These words make no sense at all. I know that this was before you could use the Internet to help translate, so perhaps that's the problem? Maybe they wrote this in their native tongue and only had some weird forest hobbit wizard available to assist. Or, wait...wait a minute.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Did they play the train game?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohH_VIbsSv7mtn7i7MQXpw5l336dqOOfyQyEjkBZBgCBkkWokv5WZXEXsMNnAa9a334U7vOTGg5UtR3uAarWQkjuKlFMpW9KiZXNcTjyTEOETzFUi2qHueH1KrL2MEZ2SjEgeinHMwy-5/s1600/GUEST_49d74707-27f5-4bb0-b282-e35e6245fa20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="488" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohH_VIbsSv7mtn7i7MQXpw5l336dqOOfyQyEjkBZBgCBkkWokv5WZXEXsMNnAa9a334U7vOTGg5UtR3uAarWQkjuKlFMpW9KiZXNcTjyTEOETzFUi2qHueH1KrL2MEZ2SjEgeinHMwy-5/s320/GUEST_49d74707-27f5-4bb0-b282-e35e6245fa20.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Might as well have been Roxette's album cover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
This number one clearly arrived at our shores only after passing from Sweden through ten other countries of Europe. Along the way, it got mangled, altered, and re-edited. So, we're going to need to reverse-engineer this sucker to truly understand what it all means.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Starting with English, we're gonna travel backwards, going northeast (roughly) to this song's motherland. The route; Portugal, Spain, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Belgium, Netherlands, Denmark, Finland, Norway, and finally home again to Sweden. From that, we'll translate the original back to our language to get a correct understanding of what this song is really about. As per normal, the vehicle we take for this trip will be the always reliable Google. Let's take an adventure!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i><u>Joyride (authentic lyrics)</u></i></b></div>
<div>
<i>I took the road / I had to jump in my car</i></div>
<br />
<div>
<div>
<i>And become a pilot in a free game / Follow the stars</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>You don't need a wisdom book / I have no money to talk about anything</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>He has a train to the city / He has a club this month</i></div>
<div>
<i>And he tells all his secrets / In a comfortable balloon</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>It is the heart of the amusement park / He took me to a private number</i></div>
<div>
<i>And everything begins when it ends / And he's already my magic friend</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>He is a flower I could paint / She is a child in the sun</i></div>
<div>
<i>We are together / I could never turn around and drive</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>No need for cartoons / Knowing where my love is, who does not</i></div>
<div>
<i>Because in the end everything starts again, yes</i></div>
<div>
<i>And we are all magic friends (magic friends, magic friends)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>I'll take you to heaven / I feel fascinated</i></div>
<div>
<i>The sun is a woman / Who do you like a baby?</i></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b></div>
<div>
Who do you like a baby? Sigh, okay, I'm satisfied. It all makes sense now.<br />
<br />
Roxette is just weird.</div>
<div>
<br />
And I'm never, NEVER taking that damn joyride.<br />
<br /></div>
neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-24045900294776248782019-03-25T21:15:00.001-07:002019-03-25T21:15:15.672-07:00R Kelly "Bump N' Grind"<b><i><u>*****Number One, April, 1994*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Oh great, another one of these guys.<br />
<br />
Sigh. <br />
<br />
You know, I was going to focus this post on the concept of whether or not a person can or should separate art from the artist. We've been inundated with such a plethora of dudes who have balanced respectful careers with utterly abhorrent personal behavior that it's become a normal and legit consideration regarding entertainment consumption. Movies, television, music, pretty much all forms of media have these awful humans. I was going to list out a few of the many to validate the fact, but really that's not necessary. There are so many, and we already know the names, so why re-type them?<br />
<br />
And, obviously, the elite field of number one artists are no sanctuary from this. I mean, Michael Jackson has a whole documentary about his sordid life. And Kenny G? Man, don't even try to find out how he kept his hair so curly. Don't do it! You cannot unsee what I've seen.<br />
<br />
Today's artist? Well, yeah, if you're reading this, you probably already know.<br />
<br />
However, it's been a long, tiring week. And, with the sun shining today, I don't feel like dwelling in serious-land assessing the value of morally-bereft talent. So, instead, I'm going in a different direction. A VERY different direction.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3PuNU2uXhMhslKUsrNL8lwtOiQrjU-PJiE9BXhJRjnQ7R8ove2zdA6CHl80nNudt8Y1blz04rRbPatSuNwDW4cVMIikJJriO5TFyt5b4IV_rWvHzUQ4voVSmN6RsVzhHtDM18H8BLFDg/s1600/1086622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3PuNU2uXhMhslKUsrNL8lwtOiQrjU-PJiE9BXhJRjnQ7R8ove2zdA6CHl80nNudt8Y1blz04rRbPatSuNwDW4cVMIikJJriO5TFyt5b4IV_rWvHzUQ4voVSmN6RsVzhHtDM18H8BLFDg/s320/1086622.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, Bart, we're getting to that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
If you haven't noticed previously, I've got a bit of an affinity for The Simpsons. Yes, it exited must-watch status a long while ago. Like, near the turn of the century. <br />
<br />
Wow, roll that phrase over in your head. The turn of the century. Man, we're old!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I still catch reruns when the mood strikes, as the earlier episodes are always good for a few laughs. That's the case even though I've probably got the first decade or so of the show permanently burned into my memory-keeping thing. Valuable use of brain space? No, of course not. Although, well, wait, kinda, actually...a bit A little bit! <br />
<br />
See, whenever I'm in need of just the right image for one of these meandering blog-oids, I pop over to the magical resource known as the <a href="https://frinkiac.com/">Frinkiac</a>. There, I simply tap in a few words pertaining to some obscure three seconds of cartoony nonsense I remember for no good reason, and instantly I'm staring at the pic I need. It's a remarkable device and highly entertaining. And, today, I'm putting it to work.<br />
<br />
Not for its pictures, however, but for its dialogue.<br />
<br />
Oh yeah, we're going back to translation town. And this time, the place is animated.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGGQwfmfTUwSGItWFuMd7tQw8NRpqmXHH55eE0HNMyMrnmvZtg4a3VbWtDUJqMfG9_4Npb_RVzwwACKF-aLekaf_RxJx63gfiiIIoqY3CQ_ZVliUPLtdWxCFD7dolyAld6xMUFzZM8SPD/s1600/62910-waltdisneystudios_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1100" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGGQwfmfTUwSGItWFuMd7tQw8NRpqmXHH55eE0HNMyMrnmvZtg4a3VbWtDUJqMfG9_4Npb_RVzwwACKF-aLekaf_RxJx63gfiiIIoqY3CQ_ZVliUPLtdWxCFD7dolyAld6xMUFzZM8SPD/s400/62910-waltdisneystudios_0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you read a post about R Kelly, expect pics of Bob Hoskins. So it goes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Way back in November, I ran <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/11/ricky-martin-livin-la-vida-loca.html">Ricky Martin's finest</a> through ten languages' worth of Google Translate and came out with something odd and beautiful on the other side. Then, a few months later, I took <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/01/vanilla-ice-ice-ice-baby.html">Vanilla Ice's contribution</a> to the climate change discussion into the ridiculous woodshed, pushing his nonsensical gibberish into the mouths of Yoda, Shakespeare, and others. That was...something else. Now, it's R Kelly's turn. Let's take his demented warbling somewhere new. <br />
<br />
I've got the chorus for <i>Bump N' Grind</i> up on one tab, and the Frinkiac on another. The jist is, I will paste each line into the Simpsony search box. In doing so, it will populate a bunch of images based on an interpretation of the words it recognizes. I will then click on the initial image that appears, take the first line of text that results, and use it to replace the original language.<br />
<br />
Got it? Sure you do. Er, do'h.<br />
<br />
To start, let's look at the lame, original version. <br />
<b style="font-style: italic;"><br /></b>
<b style="font-style: italic;"><u>Bump N' Grind</u></b><br />
<i>I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind (with a little bump and grind)</i><br />
<i>I don't see nothing wrong, baby baby, hey</i><br />
<i>I don't see nothing wrong (I don't see nothing wrong)</i><br />
<i>With a little bump and grind (with a little bump and grind)</i><br />
<i>I don't see nothing wrong, hey</i><br />
<br />
I've got a say, BO-RING. Uninteresting, repetitive, and just plain cloying. We need to jazz it up a bit to make it truly worth its chart topping rank. <br />
<br />
Now, let's get funky Springfield style! We'll begin by providing a yellowed, overbitten and enbiggened title.<br />
<br />
<u><i><b>We Just Came to Get Our Balloon</b></i></u><br />
<i>Well, the parrots can, but anyway</i><br />
<i>I don't see what's wrong with this one</i><br />
<i>What? What am I looking at?</i><br />
<i>Ladies and gentleman, most of you already know</i><br />
<i>Don't you people see anything wrong with what Malibu Stacy says!</i><br />
<br />
May I say, yoinks. That is some remarkably cromulent songwriting! I'm extremely intrigued where the rest of this tune might go. However, it isn't quite perfect. I think we need to adjust this just a little. Perhaps by, oh, about a thousand years.<br />
<br />
Time for a second pass at the chorus, courtesy of the magical <a href="https://morbotron.com/">Morbotron</a>. Let's Futurama up this number one. I've got a good feeling about this song, which is now called...<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>Hey Fry...Leela, No Means No</u></i></b><br />
<i>Aw, you're a true friend</i><br />
<i>What'll I do when I retire?</i><br />
<i>Hey, I got a busted ass here!</i><br />
<i>Here's your homework, you lucky knob</i><br />
<i>Hey, I don't see you planning for your old age.</i><br />
<br />
I mean, busted ass! Yeah, nailed it. But, the retire/old age thing isn't quite on point. As much as I'd like to hear someone sing the phrase "lucky knob" over and over, I feel like we need to try again. I hate to say it, but we're going to need to get schwifty.<br />
<br />
Ok, I didn't hate to say it. At all. <a href="https://masterofallscience.com/">Rick, Morty</a>, please do your worst; <br />
<br />
<i><b><u>It's a Waste of Time...</u></b></i><br />
<i>Nothing wrong with a little horseplay every now and then, little fella</i><br />
<i>Leave you alone? During a purge?</i><br />
<i>Gonorrhea can't see us if we don't move</i><br />
<i>With a patchy beard and the scent of cheap champagne</i><br />
<i>The path to salvation is being held prisoner</i><br />
<br />
I swear on whatever book/deity/burrito that you want me to swear on, I did not, DID NOT, fiddle with the engine to get that last line. I SWEAR! It came up on its own. Man.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyYiJQni_N-YT_0_2K5FH0IbHqOs6WkO1HPJFIaZIzJ19yQ_n_Qbzwv8rRWek8i54gGEmGPo3OkqzGClup2-Ts2KODQkA9Qq5dabI59bfKVfR4nDe7NSCWcDEMR5f6tAlxE9MNvV5KGU4/s1600/773398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyYiJQni_N-YT_0_2K5FH0IbHqOs6WkO1HPJFIaZIzJ19yQ_n_Qbzwv8rRWek8i54gGEmGPo3OkqzGClup2-Ts2KODQkA9Qq5dabI59bfKVfR4nDe7NSCWcDEMR5f6tAlxE9MNvV5KGU4/s400/773398.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof. Perfect proof.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
I don't think I can say it any better than above. And, given the originator of the material, I don't feel like I should even bother. Now go watch some cartoons! It's the only way to bring integrity to anything.neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-9802972202054695612019-03-17T11:51:00.002-07:002019-03-17T11:51:25.096-07:00Don Henley "Dirty Laundry"<b><i><u>*****Number One, October, 1982*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
A few years back, the resident <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/">single filer</a> and I combined literary forces to try and fill the Internet with the one thing it was truly built for. A taco blog. About burritos.<br />
<br />
I know. And yet, somehow, we're not millionaires.<br />
<br />
Over the few-month existence of this project, we'd each go out and consume our favorite tube-shaped meal and talk about the experience. Bad photos were uploaded and (mostly) good food was ingested. It was fun (and filling), though sadly we had to abandon it after a short amount of time. The fame got to be just too much. Oh, wait, not fame, my weight. That got to be too much. Right, I knew something did.<br />
<br />
However, the short-lived yet delicious dalliance of this adventure didn't abscond the virtual earth without leaving one lasting, all-time awesome idea behind. A taco advent calendar.<br />
<br />
That's right, you heard me. Tacos, for twenty-five straight days in December.<br />
<br />
And again, we're somehow still not millionaires!!!!! Crazy right? I don't get it either.<br />
<br />
Our mission for that one, remarkable month, was to eat something taco-esque every single day up until Santa made his non-taco related arrival (what a loser, that guy). Surprisingly (at least to me), this wasn't quite as easy as I thought it would be. The daily grind quickly ground up familiar and normal food-type combinations. To keep ourselves invested and interested, we both had to get creative and find new and different things to fill our gaping tortillas as the meals went on. And, yes, a PB&J taco is <i>still </i>a taco, thank you very much.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I had some help. My wife, without sound reason (nor a particularly lucrative life insurance policy) supported this ridiculous plan. She made some very tasty tacos a few times for me during that December to help keep the ball rolling towards the freedom that Boxing Day would provide. After having a legit tasty dinner, I would sit down at my laptop and hammer out a screed about that particular feast to our tens of readers. Er, ten readers. This is where, the most, eh, challenging part of the overall thing came in.<br />
<br />
Let's return to the present for a moment. If you, gentle reader, have taken the time to read even a half-dozen of my posts within A Single Breakdown, a few things. First, thank you! Second, what's wrong with you? Third, thank you thank you thank you!!!<br />
<br />
Fourth, well, I'm guessing that you might have noticed that I tend to go off-topic on occasion. Or, well, on pretty much every occasion. I try to sit down and write about the thing I'm trying to write about, but, jeez, some other thing almost always tends to comes out. I don't know why. That's just what happens. <br />
<br />
So, in the case of taco time (not <a href="https://www.tacotime.com/">Taco Time</a>), my better half would concoct an advent-qualifying delight and then, quite reasonably, expect to read about it afterwards. What she got instead was a one-sentence mention of a homemade dinner followed by 500+ words about whatever weird offramp my brainage felt like taking at that moment (very probably something about a cartoon character. Or beer. Or hockey).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ6Ea3T6pKLviW3Lz846ZzZKRnOjaWUZremr7C82uHLUnf0Oj-Vrux0f55wdVXT4f2TWwARbKuRlf_sm_7UT7GRbA3esfoFOedGmeDTo9If142rWzEMvdER8-QYUcmC91OmJ0R3lIVvBD/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZ6Ea3T6pKLviW3Lz846ZzZKRnOjaWUZremr7C82uHLUnf0Oj-Vrux0f55wdVXT4f2TWwARbKuRlf_sm_7UT7GRbA3esfoFOedGmeDTo9If142rWzEMvdER8-QYUcmC91OmJ0R3lIVvBD/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmm, that's on the nose</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, why do I bring all of this up now? Well, this here bloggy blog is supposed to be about the words of each week's assigned number one song. Uh huh. Let's just take look at the topic of the last three weeks of posts.<br />
<ul>
<li>Last Week - 80's sitcom clip shows</li>
<li>Prior Week - Parody songs</li>
<li>Prior Week - Favorite Monkee tunes</li>
</ul>
No lyric discussion in there at all. At all! This is crab tacos all over again! We need to right this ship, and right now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzQyCVXU-RA5lZaGcB591J5rSfUZKE0Vnmf0qep2LCWI_7L4L7gdy2YDWKNTqjv6nKA4KXEAOGEYoIpAdAPUdmZ2F8r1Zj2c3BWZNnB1r4_QRONDWd-C1eZ8boF2gRdbjxqUxZUWnuPxc/s1600/laundry-basket.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="559" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzQyCVXU-RA5lZaGcB591J5rSfUZKE0Vnmf0qep2LCWI_7L4L7gdy2YDWKNTqjv6nKA4KXEAOGEYoIpAdAPUdmZ2F8r1Zj2c3BWZNnB1r4_QRONDWd-C1eZ8boF2gRdbjxqUxZUWnuPxc/s320/laundry-basket.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, no, not the topic of the song. But what if it was?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Let's talk words! Don Henley words, to be more specific. This week's number one hit comes to us from the early 80's. It was a time when the media sensationalized celebrities and ignored real news for hot takes and headline-grabbing nonsense. Good thing we're past all of that now. <br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
This song is, in a way, tricky to parse lyrically. It isn't written from the point of view of the songwriter, but of another person. In this case, an empty-headed and callous news reporter. The tune is telling a story from that standpoint. And, from that perspective, it is quite similar to an even more famous chart topper that we happened to look at last September. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/09/dire-straits-money-for-nothing.html"><i>Money for Nothing</i> by Dire Straits</a> was also a tune built to be sung by "someone else". This hit, released just a couple of years after Dirty Laundry, follows the same technique of spewing awful thoughts and actions from the first-person vantage point. It's more of a literary method than one that you see in songwriting. However, I do think it works pretty well and makes for an interesting record.<br />
<br />
But, like the ol' refrigerator-mover anthem, it becomes tricky to truly review the verses on an individual level. This is a tale being told, meaning that we need to consider it as a whole, and not by looking at individual lines. I think that's required because that's what makes the song what it is.<br />
<br />
If Don Henley hadn't taken himself out of the narration, I think this creation goes down the drain quickly. Hearing a character talk with a cold mentality of exploiting people and disasters? Sounds great. Listening to a hugely famous musician bemoan the same thing? Pfft, lame. Nobody cares Don, you're a millionaire, now climb off your high horse and into that flatbed Ford or whatever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EjuPim-kezwbv1eX4MkBXrO4ejVIY9JXcw-RzdjEX7OvM7q-N86kMvqnob0IG4d4vltCpBncsgkNFvEvZMxV7ft-VBmakMDB9Q26FHh3KzAN7joXDwFQxqP6QpzdvVrR4AWONW3cwujH/s1600/ap-eagles-defense-cowboys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="656" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EjuPim-kezwbv1eX4MkBXrO4ejVIY9JXcw-RzdjEX7OvM7q-N86kMvqnob0IG4d4vltCpBncsgkNFvEvZMxV7ft-VBmakMDB9Q26FHh3KzAN7joXDwFQxqP6QpzdvVrR4AWONW3cwujH/s400/ap-eagles-defense-cowboys.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never having seen The Eagles live, I have to say, looks like a weird show</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
All that said, there is one part of this release that we need to take a closer look at. A really, really close look. Like, super-magnified. Why? Well, it is so run into the ground, you just can't see it with the naked eye. That is, the kick em's.<br />
<br />
Dear god Henley. You must have absolutely LOVED that stinkin' phrase. Why else would you do this? Seriously, let's crunch the numbers. In this song, the following phrases are spoken this many times:<br />
<br />
<i>Kick em' when they're up</i> - 24 times!<br />
<i>Kick em' when they're down</i> - 23 times!<br />
<i>Kick em' all around</i> - 3 times<br />
<i>Kick em' when they're stiff</i> - 2 times<br />
<br />
I just...no. This cannot possibly be considered a good song (or good songwriting) with this sort of repetition. I don't care how clever the rest of it is. Sorry, this is just shotty and lazy. There's only one thing that can be repeated this many times and still be entertaining.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLPmfdqSKq7lpPyhezoSuAJPgNrL9XMxNtxjSiJMd49QLcER6j8pFhHuJmJ8Q4aq94c1PVO4hyphenhyphen3Cn-GVS05_M0lWZXH1of9150TS-2zfpt0-CKWvSQrtm9lAmPwFaMd0Lg59zHMzvBJzn/s1600/med_1515332732_image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLPmfdqSKq7lpPyhezoSuAJPgNrL9XMxNtxjSiJMd49QLcER6j8pFhHuJmJ8Q4aq94c1PVO4hyphenhyphen3Cn-GVS05_M0lWZXH1of9150TS-2zfpt0-CKWvSQrtm9lAmPwFaMd0Lg59zHMzvBJzn/s320/med_1515332732_image.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sideshow Bob stepping on rakes. Only this, Don.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
This might be a tad too simplistic, but this song is good until it isn't. It's like chewing a piece of really sugary gum. At first, it's great and you're really digging it. But then you keep chewing and chewing and it just keeps going and going and you become so done with it that you can't get it out of your mouth fast enough.<br />
<br />
Perhaps that's a bit too negative of a review, but it's frustrating to see an interesting concept and watch an artist take it apart into (no less than) 52 individual, duplicate, annoying bits. Is that fair? I think so, as I'm not just doing this blog for...kicks.<br />
<br />
No, I didn't just say that. <br />
<br />
You see, this is why I don't write about the thing I'm supposed to write about. It's your fault, expectations! Next week, tacos, whether the song is about them or not.<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-79188984750351832762019-03-13T16:10:00.000-07:002019-03-13T16:10:02.675-07:00The Knack "My Sharona"<b><i><u>*****Number One, August, 1979*****</u></i></b><br />
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you grew up in the late eighties and early nineties (guilty), then you very well may have accumulated an absurdly high quantity of hours in front of a television (also guilty). And, if you're like me (hopefully innocent, for your sake), the vast majority of that time was spent absorbing sitcoms (extremely also guilty).<br />
<br />
Stupid, inane, unfunny, sitcoms.<br />
<br />
What's that you say? The "com" in that label stands for comedy, right? Yeah, you'd think so. However, if you're familiar with the genre during those years (or most years, really), you'd be able to confirm that humor was, for some reason, deemed a minor piece of the production pie.<br />
<br />
Was there blandness? Oh, for sure. Sameness? Uh-huh. Dullness, whiteness, and groan-inducing special moment-ness? Yes, yes, and oh hell yes. The folks who doled out these 30-minute schlock parades couldn't wait to stack the next log of pure, squishy, vanilla tripe right square in the middle of the prime-time lineup.<br />
<br />
Why? While there are several reasons for such mind-numbing fair (hello lowest common denominator), I believe a fairly major cause was due to the sheer quantity of entertainment that needed to be produced. In those days, most shows were expected to turnout about twenty-four episodes per season (September to May). So, the sheer pressure of assembly-line-like creation induced an environment more concerned with quantity than with quality. Per this, writers got burned out and turned to overused tropes to get through to summer.<br />
<br />
One of those formats which really reinforces this suggestion is the "clip show." If you remember the time, you probably can recall experiencing it. You'd sit down in late April for another new episode of Growing Pains or Who's the Boss or Another Suburban Family's Pseudo-Struggles (a classic), only to be immediately confused. Just a few minutes after the catchy theme song ended, you'd be greeted with moments that you'd already have viewed from prior episodes of the same season.<br />
<br />
You see, to save money (and give the writers a desperately needed three-day weekend to sober up), they'd begin an episode with an extremely simple setup, and then scotch-tape together scenes already filmed into a barely cohesive storyline. For example, we'd get something like this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><Cheesy harmony peters out></i></div>
<i><br /></i>
Cut to: Interior of garage of standard family home. Pudgy guy in a hoodie and shorts stands, sweating, by a large metallic ladder. Ridiculously attractive and fit blond woman leans against the doorway. A slight wrinkle in her blouse fabric indicates a serious fault in her quality as a mate, leading to a deserved life of subservience to a man who can neither make toast nor tell you where it comes from.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Husband </b>- "Hey hon, I've got a great idea! I know it's only Spring, but I'm going to go put the xmas lights up extra early this year."</i><br />
<i><b>Wife </b>- "Oh dear, don't do that, our ladder is just about to fall apart! Remember that the kids used it to participate in the Juggalo Trampoline Spectacular that passed through town last week?"</i><br />
<i><b>Husband </b>- </i><i>"Now wifey, don't you worry you're pretty little head. It will be fine."</i><br />
<br />
Cut to: Hospital bed. Husband's leg is in traction. Begin twenty-two minutes of previously aired clips. Crank laugh-track to puree.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><Commerical break></i></div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDCfGmQ6dRrxnWH-y4xINptmgbCSyxQ7j0ats7yYraPc9K3vRp_JEqDBL9yYEuTRFdtO50Yf8wDaSGl4mWhqoqXsFw3edOm7QZZVfo-qUCcfZeUHkmOvo_GkryIQ1B3EuzrhE0F3Gpbtg/s1600/368787.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDCfGmQ6dRrxnWH-y4xINptmgbCSyxQ7j0ats7yYraPc9K3vRp_JEqDBL9yYEuTRFdtO50Yf8wDaSGl4mWhqoqXsFw3edOm7QZZVfo-qUCcfZeUHkmOvo_GkryIQ1B3EuzrhE0F3Gpbtg/s320/368787.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He'll never touch you Terry, you're dirt (#mst3k reference)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ah yes, good times (not Good Times, although they probably did one of those as well). Anyway, why the spiel above? Well, I was out of town last weekend, and it's already mid-week. Sooooo......<br />
<br />
<u>EPISODE 32</u><br />
<u>The Knack, "My Sharona"</u><br />
<br />
Hey, this song is really cool. It was a big hit in the states and in several other countries. Yeah, just like that Ricky Martin song. <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/11/ricky-martin-livin-la-vida-loca.html">Remember that?</a><br />
<br />
Man, that was great. It reminds me of some other...things. Like, I know Sharona is a funny name. But, have you heard of <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/09/men-at-work-down-under.html">Vegemite</a>? I know, right? Crazy, crazy, world.<br />
<br />
Of course, her name was Sharona, not <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/09/keha-tik-tok.html">$harona</a>! Now that would have made our hearts go tick-tock.<br />
<br />
Actually, it would have been <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/01/emf-unbelievable.html">Unbelievable</a>!!!<br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
Ahem<br />
<br />
I still hate<a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/12/robert-palmer-addicted-to-love.html"> this F'n song</a> though.<br />
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
Uh, so, how do I end this week's thoroughly content-less entry but keep people interested so that they come back next week? Hmm...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2Bpj6kyQJ7DlnHRQ4L-vGYsyF2DQGiiHjXnOKshGGbsQQYF7rGAXEuaj7uyGag9ybHWppRK4eJazbew2B47iXvDPXFjKxd22jcvXW0oLF3eA2M4_cDH4VsZwndLkjDbjvMeQybMmNg3-/s1600/The-end-or-is-it_3544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="350" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2Bpj6kyQJ7DlnHRQ4L-vGYsyF2DQGiiHjXnOKshGGbsQQYF7rGAXEuaj7uyGag9ybHWppRK4eJazbew2B47iXvDPXFjKxd22jcvXW0oLF3eA2M4_cDH4VsZwndLkjDbjvMeQybMmNg3-/s400/The-end-or-is-it_3544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boom, nailed it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
See ya next week!<br />
<br /></div>
neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-88425349951898745192019-03-03T17:34:00.000-08:002019-03-03T17:34:00.967-08:00Billy Joel "We Didn't Start the Fire"<b><i><u>*****Number One, December, 1989*****</u></i></b><br />
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<br />
Isn't it great when you come up with an idea and you think you're sooooo clever and then you find out that your great concept isn't original at all and has not only been done but been done again and again and again for years and years and years? Well, isn't it? Great?<br />
<br />
No, sir, it isn't great, thank you very much.<br />
<br />
You see, I like to write (example one, me writing "example one"). And, part of that enjoyment comes from the initial creative aspect of the overall process. Before even getting the pen or keyboard in hand, it's fun to ruminate on a topic and then, suddenly, randomly, bizarrely, through no heavy lifting at all (unless I'm too lazy to get a glass for that 22 ounce bottle of beer I'm sucking down) getting a random spark to light my way forward. It feels really, I don't know, cool.<br />
<br />
However, there are times when that moment of inspiration ends up in an altogether different place. Copy-land. Because, as you might have noticed, there are lots of people in the world (I've heard, like, in the dozens). And, some of them have a functioning brain. Sounds weird I know, but it's true! Among those smarties, a few are imbued with the ability and desire to conjure things out of nowhere. Like a wizard, only not nearly as useful (nor with a stylin' hat and wand to impress the ladies), they also get their kicks from creating stuff. It makes the world a better place, in my humble opinion.<br />
<br />
Thus, a bunch of folks adding stuff to the collective? That's good!<br />
<br />
Yes, yes it is. The thing is, sometimes there's a bit of overlap between what I and what they happen to create.<br />
<br />
Thus, a bunch of folks adding stuff to the collective <i>before I can</i>?<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zKtU7BthkuebQbLjz-Ud5nXUQ8sNXgbjbH3WLyFZ1kJmJnTOPSgzShOR-eNQuYnwQTlBiXD62SpI1v9uZ0Ew-e_ZJSQi0o9nBU7qGnC6I6fFrZHTsuHgIs6l3O3a6p-ICxT3rsXOXd25/s1600/242491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0zKtU7BthkuebQbLjz-Ud5nXUQ8sNXgbjbH3WLyFZ1kJmJnTOPSgzShOR-eNQuYnwQTlBiXD62SpI1v9uZ0Ew-e_ZJSQi0o9nBU7qGnC6I6fFrZHTsuHgIs6l3O3a6p-ICxT3rsXOXd25/s400/242491.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Why? Well, in a nutshell, we all think we're amazing individuals with perfectly unique minds and revolutionary thought patterns. We think we're clever and great and totally without equal. It's how we like to see ourselves.<br />
<br />
Note that, when I say "we", I think we all know who we're talking about.<br />
<br />
Gosh my computer screen is really reflective today.<br />
<br />
Anywho, when we (I) learn somebody else had your (my) remarkable idea before you (I) did, well...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeru1huv8RJvxlNsEEKj7gPwCBMg-d_ULiIqatozYc5kAV9o8ZWSY-Glg46p3K-nMi0q-w2HvarpBEAlFmevOLEafzEnTbVhjEDBDry-B-pdwQq-vK_sV3Ci7WoQ52H1uX20ymUeHlxSo/s1600/1083082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeru1huv8RJvxlNsEEKj7gPwCBMg-d_ULiIqatozYc5kAV9o8ZWSY-Glg46p3K-nMi0q-w2HvarpBEAlFmevOLEafzEnTbVhjEDBDry-B-pdwQq-vK_sV3Ci7WoQ52H1uX20ymUeHlxSo/s400/1083082.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Morty shame spiral is long and deep</td></tr>
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<br />
Right, so, that brings us to this week's number one hit. Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" is without a doubt an instantly recognizable tune. If you've heard it once, you know it. The song's cadence and lyrics sets it apart from the vast majority of popular music. Even if you can't repeat one line verbatim, it's probable that you could make mouth sounds to approximate the tone and levels. It is immediately identifiable.<br />
<br />
For those reasons and more, it qualifies as perhaps both the best and worst potential karaoke song available. That's probably what also makes it such an easy target for knock-offs and inventive (eh) permutations. This is where I come in...and then leave.<br />
<br />
You see, I had a thought. What if...wait for it...I do my own version of this song?!?! The actual lyrics of "We Didn't Start the Fire" consist of 119 lines of historical moments covering the time period of 1949 until 1989. Now, <u>my</u> completely original plan is to start in 1990 and start writing something oh wait hang on what's that you say <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Didn%27t_Start_the_Fire">Wikipedia</a>...<br />
"<i>Numerous parodies and takeoffs have been based on the song (often expanding to events that have occurred since 1989)...</i>"<br />
<br />
Ah, well, ok. Surely there can't really be that many. Right?<br />
"<i>...including The Simpsons' parody "They'll Never Stop the Simpsons"...and the San Francisco a cappella group The Richter Scales' 2007 Webby Award-winning parody "Here Comes Another Bubble"...and The Cayuga's Waiters, a former a cappella group at Cornell with a version "We Didn't Go to Harvard"...and the band Guns 'n' Moses made a parody called "We Love Barney Fife" that was played on the Doctor Demento radio show, which...</i>"<br />
<br />
That's just the first paragraph. Of nine. Nine paragraphs (and likely more not even Wiki-listed) filled with other uses of this tune. Fortunately, there aren't any other a cappella covers referenced, but really that's the lone bright spot. <br />
<br />
Otherwise, the list really runs the gamut, from the ones mentioned above to "We Didn't Start the Flame War" (Internet trolls) to "We've Got a Strong Desire" (Jewish History) to "Wir haben Grund zum Feiern" which is a German song that lists alcoholic beverages. <br />
<br />
Billy Joel, what have you wrought?<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIWgzzqCk61Na6dGsxvElCK0k7HfkYgKSTRf8x0U2JdS_oek2kw2kgW1FjzxBNPJnI76Tp-_13ig-QmqSFhuTeoJYSGdyLx9f7HZ_I83TNj3SwiE-cfzXZou9ZHq8oUWffYPoAvy2IHC5/s1600/MON61419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIWgzzqCk61Na6dGsxvElCK0k7HfkYgKSTRf8x0U2JdS_oek2kw2kgW1FjzxBNPJnI76Tp-_13ig-QmqSFhuTeoJYSGdyLx9f7HZ_I83TNj3SwiE-cfzXZou9ZHq8oUWffYPoAvy2IHC5/s320/MON61419.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you google "German" and "Fire", you cross your fingers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Oh yeah, and I've got one more worth mentioning. There's apparently some bloke (he's British, so yeah) named Jim Daly who each year creates a song of each season's 92 clubs in the Premier League and English Football League to the tune of "We Didn't Start the Fire". Interested? <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqV_iOKyhwQ">Of course you are</a>.<br />
<br />
<u>Here's the chorus:</u><br />
<i>Lots of teams in English football, </i><br />
<i>from the Premier League down to those teams in League two, </i><br />
<i>lots of teams in English football, </i><br />
<i>I'm gonna try to make it through the whole 92.</i><br />
<br />
I mean, wow. Only a madman genius can do such a thing like rhyme two and 2. So, really, I hope Mr Joel is paying him royalties for that honor. <br />
<br />
And, suffice it to say, I abandoned my tremendous "fresh" idea of doing my own copy of this hit the moment I saw the words "Webby-award winning". That's not a summit I could ever hope to reach.<br />
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
Billy Joel topped the charts and gave amateur comedians and shiny-vested warblers a chance to add new material to their repertoire. He also un-ironically brought forty years of history to the top ten. But, is it a good song? <br />
<br />
Honestly, I don't know. If you hadn't noticed, I clearly avoided discussing that throughout the entirety of this blog post. A strange tactic, you might say. Although, to be fair, you'd ONLY say that if you've never read anything that I've ever written before. <br />
<br />
If you haven't, then yes, strange indeed.<br />
<br />
But, do you realize who does know a lot about this song? Podcast people. Specifically, over at the Single File, Dillon has been joined by experts to talk this tune. How expert? They actually have a weekly podcast devoted entirely to just this song! They talk in depth about each and every reference of this number one release and nothing else! Man. So, if you are looking for a professional and serious analysis of the "Fire", please <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/2019/03/03/we-didnt-start-the-fire-by-billy-joel-1989/">check it out</a>.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm going to find some other Billy Joel song to put my own spin on. There must be a way I can convert "Allentown" to an ode about hockey teams. It's the only thing that nobody else hasn been done yet.<br />
<br />
I hope.<br />
<br />
Please don't check Wikipedia.neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-7650581234588208462019-02-24T17:12:00.001-08:002019-02-24T17:12:57.287-08:00The Monkees "I'm a Believer"<b><i><u>*****Number One, December, 1966*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Well, dang.<br />
<br />
When our friends over at the <a href="http://singlefilepod.com/">Single File podcast</a> let the cat out of the bag last weekend about the planned number one hit for this week, I was psyched. <br />
<br />
Like a lot of kids of my generation, I adored The Monkees. It didn't matter that their show and music had been formulated by corporate executives or released decades earlier. The whole lot of it felt new and awesome and highly entertaining. Many a lazy after-school afternoon found me slowly poking around the dozen or so television channels at my disposal, hoping against hope for a random episode to appear before me. It was simply the best thing the TV could deliver. <br />
<br />
Thus, immediately after getting word about "I'm a Believer" being chosen by our friendly neighborhood NOPR, I started assessing bloggy ideas.<br />
<br />
Then, just a few days ago, we learned about the passing of one of the four band members. The talented and quirky bassist Peter Tork has, unfortunately, sadly, died. Suffice it to say, this event had an impact beyond inconveniencing my silly little corner of the internet. To put it absurdly mildly, a lot of folks felt depressed and down with this loss. And, you can count me among them.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzf2v84j9eSpaKrZ41SgiKhhD01kIfXZxW6m_Dp_-erPALhbCuLaftCQ9OavweqF9Pk_ux3gOOVXQHEYyIGbs0whKY3U6IDuSmfCW07tL-HI4BNNtrcJC0NzWdovrNrWZ3S1boiZH0uRW/s1600/peter-tork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="896" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzf2v84j9eSpaKrZ41SgiKhhD01kIfXZxW6m_Dp_-erPALhbCuLaftCQ9OavweqF9Pk_ux3gOOVXQHEYyIGbs0whKY3U6IDuSmfCW07tL-HI4BNNtrcJC0NzWdovrNrWZ3S1boiZH0uRW/s400/peter-tork.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just couldn't post a "serious" pic here. This feels more appropriate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the days since, this whole world wide web thing has been chock full of stories about Peter Tork. Essays about the man, his career, The Monkees, and other contributions have popped up in a plethora of places, many of which draw significantly more eyeballs than this blog does. That's been reassuring, as it is really nice to see him remembered so fondly. And, I've been pleased about it for another, totally selfish reason.<br />
<br />
I don't wanna.<br />
<br />
You see, I'm really not good with this sort of thing. So, I've decided to let those other, professional, researched (that's a thing?) sites do the heavy lifting in that regard. They can talk about the sticky wicket that is "real life", and I will let them have that honor. Congratulations! You get to spend your word count on a colossal bummer. Here at the breakdown, we're just gonna stick to the music and have fun. Sorry news people! That's what you get for, I don't know, needing a paycheck! Suckers.<br />
<br />
And no, we're not taking applications here. Pfft, reporters.<br />
<br />
Right, so, shall we start monkeying around?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCEBGAM0cWprCBXwxQTGGA3ewy_3DOAjiQrOPDyguGBUnLqftcaE8eLSCenEq13NlpRz_nuX_Ssh-bUZerJeRnecoHQ27tno1WSbf1mqIG6zGUEOokJWTmgsVPRfC_NUdsCtm6ZENSYCn/s1600/1310-micky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCEBGAM0cWprCBXwxQTGGA3ewy_3DOAjiQrOPDyguGBUnLqftcaE8eLSCenEq13NlpRz_nuX_Ssh-bUZerJeRnecoHQ27tno1WSbf1mqIG6zGUEOokJWTmgsVPRfC_NUdsCtm6ZENSYCn/s400/1310-micky.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One Monkee, one monkey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've picked out four original songs from The Monkees catalogue for perusal today. Of these, two have a writing credit for Peter, while the other two contain his lead vocals. There's a lot I could've chosen, of course. Everyone has their favorites. But, I thought these show the impressive range of his creativity, and are also ones I remember quite fondly. <br />
<br />
Let's begin with something Tork-voiced and a touch absurd.<br />
<br />
<u><b>"Your Auntie Grizelda"</b></u><br />
This tune is one that you could probably consider completely on point for the character of Peter in the show. Weird and wacky, both in vibe and lyrically, I remember it playing over several of their kooky action sequences. It stood out, like he did, in an unassuming and endearing way. I've always liked it, and feel it could sound right at home with somebody like Jonathan Coulton performing it. A recent live performance, <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/watch-monkees-peter-tork-your-auntie-grizelda-2015-797447/">found here</a>, shows that like most of these songs, it still has some legs.<br />
<u>Favorite stanza</u><br />
<i>You can't begrudge her style, your auntie Grizelda</i><br />
<i>She couldn't budge a smile and do it for free</i><br />
<i>So righteous making fudge, your auntie Grizelda</i><br />
<i>So proper judging others over her tea.</i><br />
<br />
<u><b>"Shades of Gray"</b></u><br />
Quite, quite different from the above release. This song, a somber duet with Davey Jones (also, sadly, RIP), comes across initially like a standard acoustic ballad. But the lyrics are a bit heavier than some of the more saccharine slow james that the tiny Brit would normally take lead on. Inching more towards growing up and morality, it's a bit too earnest, but still pretty solid. And, I definitely remember "playing piano" along to this song as a kid by pressing the buttons on my parent's weird stereo cabinet. For whatever that's worth.<br />
<u>Chorus</u><br />
<i>But today there is no day or night</i><br />
<i>Today there is no dark or light</i><br />
<i>Today there is no black or white</i><br />
<i>Only shades of gray</i><br />
<br />
<u><b>"Goin' Down"</b></u><br />
Oh man, this song. I love this song! Penned by the full band, it ranks high on my list of favorites alongside the equally manic "No Time". This tune is so much fun, and the lyrics an utterly massive word salad that is nearly impossible to decipher (without e-help, of course). It just keeps going and going and tells a great story. Mickey takes the lead, and he was probably the best choice. He doesn't sing it so much as just speed talk through it, which is fine in this case. I'd love to know how "Goin' Down" came together (and who contributed what). Such a Monkees classic!<br />
<u>Opening Line(!)</u><br />
<i>Floatin' down the river with a saturated liver...</i><br />
<br />
<u><b>"For Pete's Sake"</b></u><br />
Always the most depressing song. Why? It signaled the episode was over. Those first few licks of Mike Nesmith's guitar twang always told me that, sorry bub, your thirty minutes of fun are done. Time to get up, do some chores, some homework some...thing. Blarg. Co-written by Peter, its lyrics are very much of the late sixties (love, freedom, etc). To me though, they'll always just mean the end.<br />
<u>Summary</u><br />
Sigh, the end.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQCwv66ahtpDAxU4zRcyp-U5JaZqpw_rBmvCP1rp-fH7agEjvvAfaD7kHf5pstzOka1Rk7DCt21CA4Y6dRAL59pWkkWV-zqvW_woG-PlRgXGc4Uoctd1qqxJ_LHZ8GsyGI45gnTulyNRE/s1600/22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="1100" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQCwv66ahtpDAxU4zRcyp-U5JaZqpw_rBmvCP1rp-fH7agEjvvAfaD7kHf5pstzOka1Rk7DCt21CA4Y6dRAL59pWkkWV-zqvW_woG-PlRgXGc4Uoctd1qqxJ_LHZ8GsyGI45gnTulyNRE/s400/22.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never wanted to get off the couch either</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
"I'm a Believer" is a great song that would've been easy to talk about for a lengthy post. Obviously, that wasn't meant to be this time. If you're a fan of The Monkees and/or Peter Tork, I'm sure you understand the narrative shift. <br />
<br />
If you aren't a fan of this band, apologies for not talking about this week's song itself. Although, to be honest, I almost never get in depth of any song. I mean, have you read this blog? One week I tried to sync up <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2019/01/emf-unbelievable.html">1991 one-hit wonders with commercial endorsements</a>. Seriously, I don't really write about music, if you haven't figured that out yet. Remember when <a href="https://asinglebreakdown.blogspot.com/2018/11/ricky-martin-livin-la-vida-loca.html">I translated a pop-hit through ten different languages</a>? Exactly. Don't expect too much, my friends.<br />
<br />
At any rate, RIP Peter Tork. You'll be missed by a great many. Thank you for making my childhood a touch more cheerful and musical. That is a monumental achievement, by any standard of measure.<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3135803265956306582.post-69944204186030791622019-02-17T17:16:00.000-08:002019-02-17T17:16:47.466-08:00Beck "Loser"<b><i><u>*****Number One (Alternative Chart), February, 1994*****</u></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Good news everyone, my Amazon delivery finally arrived. It's been a long time coming. I think I ordered the item in, what, 1997? Yeah, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Men_in_Black_(1997_film)">that's about right</a>. Apparently it took them nearly two decades to catch up on the backlog of purchases. I know, everyone wants a memory eraser, but still kind of poor customer service if you ask me. But it is nice that it eventually showed up. And, to be fair, it's actually my fault. I really should've signed up for prime sooner. Plus, Amazon only sold books back then. So, they didn't even stock the thing I bought. Whoops.<br />
<br />
Eh, live and learn.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqgC7qsA7ilfgzz5NJIK8Opo8ESweuOZkEzwH7F_k-4ZJIUKKvXClWVdMx8EZhCECLfdYLqGHrfabT_O7PWr-BVlYxRHSLZGtzH42jqRv6iyADJQEyYZ-KfSWPOzZ-JiSRrsEa71YhIpZu/s1600/mib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqgC7qsA7ilfgzz5NJIK8Opo8ESweuOZkEzwH7F_k-4ZJIUKKvXClWVdMx8EZhCECLfdYLqGHrfabT_O7PWr-BVlYxRHSLZGtzH42jqRv6iyADJQEyYZ-KfSWPOzZ-JiSRrsEa71YhIpZu/s400/mib.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmm, now what was I getting jiggy with again?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Anywho, I started playing with my new whatsit and I gotta say, it's a bit touchy. I first tried to blank out the memory of the clerk at the liquor store so that she'd stop recognizing me (it's <b>my </b>drinking problem, not <b>our </b>drinking problem Mandy, thank you very much). Unfortunately, I didn't point the device at her exactly right and it just made her forget that the country of Bolivia existed. Otherwise, no change. <br />
<br />
I left the store promptly with bourbon in hand amid clerk concerns about my consumption as well as her family's heritage (apparently her mother was born in "some place that I've never heard of" which is also certainly not my problem). From there, I popped into a pet store and tried again. Sadly, poor aim did the experiment in once more. I barely grazed the stock boy (who immediately lost knowledge of both pickles and<a href="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2168927/"> Milana Vayntrub</a>, the poor guy). Even worse, the flash reflected off a fish tank and nailed a cat perched nearby. Don't worry, though, it still remembered to be surly. Cause it's a cat.<br />
<br />
From there I just came home. Looking at this weird thingy now, I'm just not sure quite how to work it. The instructions don't make a lot of sense. Why did they let Tommy Lee Jones write them? It feels like he just pasted pages out of some screenplay in here interspersed with some incredibly long-winded hand-written vulgarity about what a dumb villain Two-Face is (which, yeah). <br />
<br />
Apparently I've got to figure out this on my own. Hmm, maybe if I just push this butto...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-F1LQt4pV1cC_sbqokSBCXJXjyahpDTyRCGRkRW8OywNiklm3FuFaH5bsWBoeZd-goGagXaDuWYrvmf821L0XNg3bIJ59pJMsc0yr-xnuwFiuVy3WFNeM7j3w1ho6U-RzWYHJUkqQ6Ps/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-F1LQt4pV1cC_sbqokSBCXJXjyahpDTyRCGRkRW8OywNiklm3FuFaH5bsWBoeZd-goGagXaDuWYrvmf821L0XNg3bIJ59pJMsc0yr-xnuwFiuVy3WFNeM7j3w1ho6U-RzWYHJUkqQ6Ps/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A flash? I scored a goal! No, wait, that doesn't happen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Where am I? Oh, this week's blog entry. Jeez, I better put the eraser down and begin writing, it's getting late. Now, who's this week's number one? Beck?<br />
<br />
Huh, never heard of him.<br />
<br />
That's right. NEVER!<br />
<br />
Anyway, guess this guy is some new singer that just broke through with his first big hit. Well, good for him. It's tough to make it to the top, especially with your initial release. Let's take a look at him and start the review!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPiVlH6JXfgCbqPFfZwVAjneTq3DL5Eo0PriPqIQp3L7lN-s5ETGVsf30iJZskklXGeohYYRmvEUHdq44OwkClJEtgWklpzz4Ww5dJSjDsuqyO7hrHktbRMU9Zos9bpUPQi9JaVCDvHbf/s1600/0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmPiVlH6JXfgCbqPFfZwVAjneTq3DL5Eo0PriPqIQp3L7lN-s5ETGVsf30iJZskklXGeohYYRmvEUHdq44OwkClJEtgWklpzz4Ww5dJSjDsuqyO7hrHktbRMU9Zos9bpUPQi9JaVCDvHbf/s400/0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awe man, one of these</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Great, appears to be that we're dealing with yet another hipster millennial. I'm trying to not be mean here, but you don't have to be all knit cap and un-combed hair and snapchat and avocado toast and being young. Be different! Hmph, not off to a good start here, Mr Beck. Oh, wait, that's your first name?<br />
<br />
Yes, of course it is.<br />
<br />
Right, so, let's move on to the song. Hearing it the for the first time, I'll say that it's a catchy tune for sure. But, we need to examine the words to gain a firm grasp on the quality of this music. Let's take a gander at the first lyrical section.<br />
<br />
<u>Stanza 1</u><br />
<i>In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey</i><br />
<i>Butane in my veins is I'm out to cut the junkie</i><br />
<i>With the plastic eyeballs, spray paint the vegetables</i><br />
<i>Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose</i><br />
<i>Kill the headlights and put in neutral</i><br />
<i>Stock car flamin' with a loser and the cruise control</i><br />
<i>Baby's in Reno with the vitamin D</i><br />
<i>Got a couple of couches sleep on the love seat</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XPSQ8jAgW7uKq2fECArImHrau7uoPs1HqkBwe_G2jhRd0S9e8l15pvkVlf5amm-2oHARfyfKmXFTECjI12Z72IxLGq8-TeVm-X631WFw8uYdYw4Dx-yEgjs_9sjoQI8e7w1MQcQ2zMy7/s1600/1531912141410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="245" data-original-width="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XPSQ8jAgW7uKq2fECArImHrau7uoPs1HqkBwe_G2jhRd0S9e8l15pvkVlf5amm-2oHARfyfKmXFTECjI12Z72IxLGq8-TeVm-X631WFw8uYdYw4Dx-yEgjs_9sjoQI8e7w1MQcQ2zMy7/s1600/1531912141410.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, Charlie, I know</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>FINAL THOUGHTS</b><br />
Maybe I'm too cynical. Perhaps this Beck guy will prove to be a musical genius with decades of hits and piles of accolades. Could be that someday even I will be moderately impressed with his talent, somehow liking a tune or two down the road. But, dude, come on. Step out of 2019 and be yourself. You don't need to be all weird for the sake of being weird. Yes, being different brings attention. The thing is, everybody tries that. It's not a recipe for long-term success. <br />
<br />
Instead, focus on writing something both new and, oh I don't know, good. Doesn't mean you can't still be creative. Use new instruments if you want! Heck, try two turntables rather than one. Grab a microphone too! Be crazy. Just be your best crazy.<br />
<br />
That all said, this is very much a unique and rare type of radio smash. Nonsensical, and somewhat with its own genre, it doesn't fit in a lot of boxes. There is certainly something to be said for that. Still, not sure if this is a song that reached the pinnacle because folks recognize what may be an emerging and exciting artist, or if people just like goofiness now and again. Only time will tell. If I had to wager, well, this Berck, er, I mean Beck, would probably not like where my dollars landed. Sorry dude. I could always be wrong, of course.<br />
<br />
Now, back to that memory eraser. Pretty sure I'll figure out how to use it. What's the worst that could happen? I forget who the president is? Right. Nobody's that lucky.<br />
<br />neilouhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12653735785908665271noreply@blogger.com0