Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
This one dipped into the stream out of nowhere, but reminded me of a friend. A sweet, petite person, I was surprised when I discovered her favorite music came from Danzig and Samhein. She wasn’t as fond of Black Sabbath because she didn’t think they were really head-banging, but she liked Def Leppard and Scorpion.
So, thinking of her, hope she’s having a good day after enduring trying years.
Here’s Danzig’s “Mother”.
I’ve apparently upset my mind. I don’t know if I hurt its feelings or it’s angry at me, but it’s definitely upset. To get even, it’s playing games with me, looping a song in my stream. I have nothing against the song except that it’s not my cuppa. Harkening from 1971, it’s just a little too pop and saccharine for me.
So I have to put it out there, foist it onto the ROW, where it’ll find somebody else’s stream and vacate mine.
Please enjoy “Go Away, Little Girl” by Donny Osmond. Please. You’ll be doing me a yuuuge favor.
The song, “The Year of the Cat” (Al Stewart) was released in 1976. A mellow pop-rock song, I was stationed on an unaccompanied tour with the USAF when it came out. The song appealed to me, and I sometimes played it while sitting in my barracks room burning candles in a straw basket to create shapes.
On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolour in the rain
Don’t bother asking for explanations
She’ll just tell you that she came
In the year of the cat
I was a little bored. I’d usually sip wine or cognac while I was doing this.
Another’s post had reminded me of the song. As it streamed through my mind, I thought that cats measured time differently than we do. We establish a calendar and a clock based on what we observe. Cats declare, “This is my year,” and ignore the calendar. The year of the cat when we had Jade lasted twenty years. Pogo had a year that went for four, his year cut short by a car, while cancer ended Quinn’s year of the cat after twelve years. So it goes.
We have three cats. Each has declared their own year. Tucker’s year began four years ago, while Boo and Papi are each into about twenty-four months of their year. I hope each has a long year of the cat.
I’m once again streaming 1974, another year in which things happened, other things changed, and everything kept going almost as though nothing had happened. For me, I graduated high school, turned eighteen, joined the military and left home, in that order.
Today’s theme music, “Only Solitaire”, arrives via a miasma polluting the thinking stream. Jethro Tull’s Warchild album was being streamed, but thinking about a particular individual, the stream’s thread narrowed to “Only Solitaire”. It’s a short and simple song.
Brain-storming habit-forming battle-warning weary
winsome actor spewing spineless chilling lines —
the critics falling over to tell themselves he’s boring
and really not an awful lot of fun.
Well who the hell can he be when he’s never had V.D.,
and he doesn’t even sit on toilet seats?
Court-jesting, never-resting
he must be very cunning
to assume an air of dignity
and bless us all with his oratory prowess,
his lame-brained antics and his jumping in the air.
And every night his act’s the same
and so it must be all a game of chess he’s playing
“But you’re wrong, Steve: you see, it’s only solitaire.”
It’s a short song, a few ticks more than a minute and a half.
Today’s song came out in 1955, a year before I was born. Mom played it a lot, so I learned it.
The carries the sound of that era, with a heartfelt delivery of the song’s sentiments. The lyrics are timeless. It’s a song that I think everyone should think is about them.
Only you, can make this world seem right
Only you, can make the darkness bright
Only you, and you alone, can thrill me like you do
And fill my heart with love for only you
O-only you, can make this change in me
For it’s true, you are my destiny
When you hold my hand, I understand the magic that you do
You’re my dream come true, my one and only you
Read more: The Platters – Only You (And You Alone) Lyrics | MetroLyrics
I guess some nostalgia has slipped into my stream. Here’s the Platters with “Only You (and You Alone)”.
Today’s choice came right out my morning. Cats were hungry and wanted fed but my urine collection bag was full. So I was apologizing to the cats (of course), telling them, “Sorry, you need to wait. My bag is full.”
That invited ZZ Top’s “Just Got Paid” (1972) into my stream. There’s a line that riffs off a classic nursery room, “Black sheep, black sheep, have you got some wool? Yes, I do, man, my bag is full.” See how it all works?
Sorry if I’m sharing too much about the whole urine, bladder, catheter, pecker thing. My wife thinks I need to think about my boundaries.
I just shrug.
I greatly admire the late Prince (Rogers). Talented and creative, the world is better for his music.
I’d been reading about the 2019 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremonies. I didn’t watch anything but I recalled Prince’s performance one year. After watching the video of that again, I reminisced about his music. From that, this morning, I found myself streaming “Raspberry Beret” (1985). A song about teenage sex and a chance encounter that changed a boy, the imagery is evocative throughout the lyrics. It’s a story to music.
Its jaunty beat makes it an ideal walking song on a warming spring day.
A bizarre string of songs flowed through this morning’s stream. A brief sampling is “Snoopy and the Red Baron” by the Royal Guardsmen (1966), the Bee Gees with “Massachusetts” (1967), John Denver singing “Annie’s Song” (1974 ), and “Cumbersome” (Seven Mary Three, 1996). The rest included a song by ELO called “Telephone Line” (1977) and that’s what I went with. It won because of the lines, “Okay, so no one’s answering. Well, can’t your just let it ring a little longer? I’ll just sit tight, through shadows of the night, let it ring for evermore.”
I always think, wow, that’s persistence. I probably wouldn’t stay on that long. I mean, I don’t have Phoebe’s stamina for waiting to be served. Nor am I living in twilight like the guy in “Telephone Line”. I’m just streaming songs forevermore.
To clarify a little, each song was actually triggered by something that happened in the morning. For example, I was marching the cats to their feeding area (sure), saying, “Hup, two, three, four.” That’s used in the Red Baron song. A glance out the window at the sun and light rain introduced “Annie’s Song”. (“You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain.) A reflection on people being too rich invited “Cumbersome” in (“Too rich or too poor, she’s wanting me less, I’m wanting her more”). “Telephone Line” came by way of being on hold.
All that in an hour.
Going to the doctor’s today, so naturally my stream called up a song about doctor’s.
Here’s Mötley Crüe with “Doctor Feelgood” (1989).
Cheers
I’m a Weezer fan. Their music has a seventies rock sound to me.
Today’s Weezer song, “Hash Pipe”, popped into the stream, as it often does, because of that opening verse. I’m wearing a catheter in my pecker that drains the urine from my bladder. There are two bags. Smaller and lighter, the leg bag attaches to my leg and allows some mobility. The night bag is a bruiser that can collect over eighteen hundred milliliters. It sits in a lined trash can beside the bed while I sleep.
While I was changing bags last night, my wife called out to ask me what I was doing. My mind automatically channeled Bob Seger’s “Night Moves”, but the lyrics I sang were, “Changing to my night bag. Trying to clean the catheter tubes.” That was all to the “Night Moves” melody. I thought, geez, what a weird mind I have. From that streamed “Hash Pipe”.
I can’t help my feelings, I’ll go out of my mind
These players come to get me cause they’d like my behind
I can’t love my business if I can’t get a trick
Down on Santa Monica where tricks are for kids
h/t GeniusLyrics.com
Yes, it is a sadly weird mind at work. From 2001, join me in a little sumo wrestling with Weezer.
Michael Seidel, writer 