Roxette "Joyride"

*****Number One, May, 1991*****


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:

• 3/25 - R Kelly, "Bump N' Grind"
• Abuser, pedophile, and all-around mega-turd
• 3/18 - Don Henley, "Dirty Laundry"
• An (allegedly) awful guy singing about (definitely) awful people
• 3/11 - The Knack, "My Sharona"
• Um, cool song, if you can ignore the lusting for underage teens.
• 3/4 - Billy Joel, "We Didn't Start the Fire"
• Spoiler Alert: Fires are not good things (Firestarters, though, are great)

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.    

Unless you hate whistling.

A mouse in short pants?  Pfft, no copyright concerns here.

Ok, everyone hates whistling.

But everyone LOVES this song.  Go figure!

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.

Also hit the likes-to-squat-on-planes-in-goofy-pants demographic

Whatever the reasons, this tune was massive.  Number one in sixteen 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.  

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.

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!

By the way, I'm convinced this how Ikea came to control our lives.

I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a meatball today

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.

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;

Joyride

I hit the road out of nowhere / I had to jump in my car

And be a rider in a love game / Following the stars

Don't need a book of wisdom / I get no money talk at all

She has a train going downtown / She's got a club on the moon

And she's telling all her secrets / In a wonderful balloon

She's the heart of the funfair / She's got me whistling a private tune

And it all begins where it ends / And she's all mine, my magic friend

She's a flower, I could paint her / She's a child of the sun

We're a part of this together / Could never turn around and run

Don't need no fortune teller / To know where my lucky love belongs, whoa no

'Cause it all begins again when it ends, yeah

And we're all magic friends (magic friends, magic friends)

I'll take you on a sky ride / I'm feeling like I'm spellbound

The sunshine is a lady / Who rocks you like a baby

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. 

I meant, um...whuh?  Yeah, that's better.

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.

Did they play the train game?

Might as well have been Roxette's album cover

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.

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!

Joyride (authentic lyrics)

I took the road / I had to jump in my car

And become a pilot in a free game / Follow the stars

You don't need a wisdom book / I have no money to talk about anything

He has a train to the city / He has a club this month

And he tells all his secrets / In a comfortable balloon

It is the heart of the amusement park / He took me to a private number

And everything begins when it ends / And he's already my magic friend

He is a flower I could paint / She is a child in the sun

We are together / I could never turn around and drive

No need for cartoons / Knowing where my love is, who does not

Because in the end everything starts again, yes

And we are all magic friends (magic friends, magic friends)

I'll take you to heaven / I feel fascinated

The sun is a woman / Who do you like a baby?

FINAL THOUGHTS

Who do you like a baby?  Sigh, okay, I'm satisfied.  It all makes sense now.

Roxette is just weird.

And I'm never, NEVER taking that damn joyride.

R Kelly "Bump N' Grind"

*****Number One, April, 1994*****


Oh great, another one of these guys.

Sigh. 

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?

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.

Today's artist?  Well, yeah, if you're reading this, you probably already know.

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.

Yes, Bart, we're getting to that.

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. 

Wow, roll that phrase over in your head.  The turn of the century.  Man, we're old!

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! 

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 Frinkiac.  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.

Not for its pictures, however, but for its dialogue.

Oh yeah, we're going back to translation town.  And this time, the place is animated.

When you read a post about R Kelly, expect pics of Bob Hoskins. So it goes.

Way back in November, I ran Ricky Martin's finest 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 Vanilla Ice's contribution 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. 

I've got the chorus for Bump N' Grind 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.

Got it?  Sure you do.  Er, do'h.

To start, let's look at the lame, original version. 

Bump N' Grind
I don't see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind (with a little bump and grind)
I don't see nothing wrong, baby baby, hey
I don't see nothing wrong (I don't see nothing wrong)
With a little bump and grind (with a little bump and grind)
I don't see nothing wrong, hey

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. 

Now, let's get funky Springfield style!  We'll begin by providing a yellowed, overbitten and enbiggened title.

We Just Came to Get Our Balloon
Well, the parrots can, but anyway
I don't see what's wrong with this one
What? What am I looking at?
Ladies and gentleman, most of you already know
Don't you people see anything wrong with what Malibu Stacy says!

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.

Time for a second pass at the chorus, courtesy of the magical Morbotron.  Let's Futurama up this number one.  I've got a good feeling about this song, which is now called...

Hey Fry...Leela, No Means No
Aw, you're a true friend
What'll I do when I retire?
Hey, I got a busted ass here!
Here's your homework, you lucky knob
Hey, I don't see you planning for your old age.

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.

Ok, I didn't hate to say it.  At all.  Rick, Morty, please do your worst; 

It's a Waste of Time...
Nothing wrong with a little horseplay every now and then, little fella
Leave you alone?  During a purge?
Gonorrhea can't see us if we don't move
With a patchy beard and the scent of cheap champagne
The path to salvation is being held prisoner

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.

Proof.  Perfect proof.

FINAL THOUGHTS
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.

Don Henley "Dirty Laundry"

*****Number One, October, 1982*****


A few years back, the resident single filer 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.

I know.  And yet, somehow, we're not millionaires.

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.

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.

That's right, you heard me.  Tacos, for twenty-five straight days in December.

And again, we're somehow still not millionaires!!!!!  Crazy right?  I don't get it either.

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 still a taco, thank you very much.

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.

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!!!

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. 

So, in the case of taco time (not Taco Time), 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).

Hmm, that's on the nose

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.

• Last Week - 80's sitcom clip shows
• Prior Week - Parody songs
• Prior Week - Favorite Monkee tunes

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.

Sorry, no, not the topic of the song. But what if it was?

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. 

Ahem.

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. 

Money for Nothing by Dire Straits 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.

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.

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.

Never having seen The Eagles live, I have to say, looks like a weird show

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.

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:

Kick em' when they're up  -  24 times!
Kick em' when they're down  -  23 times!
Kick em' all around  -  3 times
Kick em' when they're stiff  -  2 times

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.

Sideshow Bob stepping on rakes.  Only this, Don.

FINAL THOUGHTS
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.

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.

No, I didn't just say that. 

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.

The Knack "My Sharona"

*****Number One, August, 1979*****

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).

Stupid, inane, unfunny, sitcoms.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

<Cheesy harmony peters out>

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.

Husband - "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."
Wife -        "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?"
Husband -  "Now wifey, don't you worry you're pretty little head.  It will be fine."

Cut to: Hospital bed.  Husband's leg is in traction.  Begin twenty-two minutes of previously aired clips.  Crank laugh-track to puree.

<Commerical break>

He'll never touch you Terry, you're dirt (#mst3k reference)

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......

EPISODE 32
The Knack, "My Sharona"

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.  Remember that?

Man, that was great.  It reminds me of some other...things.  Like, I know Sharona is a funny name.  But, have you heard of Vegemite?  I know, right?  Crazy, crazy, world.

Of course, her name was Sharona, not $harona!  Now that would have made our hearts go tick-tock.

Actually, it would have been Unbelievable!!!

Yeah.

Ahem

I still hate this F'n song though.

FINAL THOUGHTS
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...

Boom, nailed it.

See ya next week!

Billy Joel "We Didn't Start the Fire"

*****Number One, December, 1989*****


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?

No, sir, it isn't great, thank you very much.

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.

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.

Thus, a bunch of folks adding stuff to the collective?  That's good!

Yes, yes it is.  The thing is, sometimes there's a bit of overlap between what I and what they happen to create.

Thus, a bunch of folks adding stuff to the collective before I can?

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.

Note that, when I say "we", I think we all know who we're talking about.

Gosh my computer screen is really reflective today.

Anywho, when we (I) learn somebody else had your (my) remarkable idea before you (I) did, well...

The Morty shame spiral is long and deep

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.

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.

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, my completely original plan is to start in 1990 and start writing something oh wait hang on what's that you say Wikipedia...
"Numerous parodies and takeoffs have been based on the song (often expanding to events that have occurred since 1989)..."

Ah, well, ok.  Surely there can't really be that many.  Right?
"...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..."

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. 

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. 

Billy Joel, what have you wrought?

When you google "German" and "Fire", you cross your fingers

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?  Of course you are.

Here's the chorus:
Lots of teams in English football, 
from the Premier League down to those teams in League two, 
lots of teams in English football, 
I'm gonna try to make it through the whole 92.

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. 

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.

FINAL THOUGHTS
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? 

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. 

If you haven't, then yes, strange indeed.

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 check it out.

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.

I hope.

Please don't check Wikipedia.