Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I once read an interview with one of the pop members behind this hit. In the interview, he said (paraphrasing) the song was a hit because it had an odd novelty beat.
I’d always wondered why and how the song managed to become so popular and ubiquitous. That odd beat might explain it.
Here’s Devo with “Whip It” from 1980.
Thinking about music from 1974, the year that I celebrated my eighteenth birthday, I recalled “Smokin’ In the Boys’ Room”.
I like the song’s rocking simplicity of being in school, breakin’ rules, and our permanent records. Brownsville Station did it in 1974; Mötley Crüe covered it almost a dozen years later. Not bucking the normal status quo, the younger folks often prefer the Mötley Crüe version. That’s how it is, right? Newer equals better, or preferred. I, tsk, tsk, prefer the original. Not surprising, either; I’ve heard that from older people about things that my generation later re-interpreted.
(I like that cycle. Didn’t use to, but I’ve come to enjoy, admire, and respect it.)
But 1974 was the year I heard the song, my formative era, if you will, and all that I associate with it. That’s the year I graduated high school, became an adult, moved away from home, and joined the military, so I’m loyal to Brownsville Station’s version.
Let’s celebrate.
We’ve lost our twinkling star. It came (at last, we thought with some relief even as we mourned, because the last few years were so difficult for her and her family), but it came at last, a few weeks short of her hundred and first birthday.
We think and talk about the amazing person we knew, and all the things she did in the thirteen years that we’ve known her. She’d wanted to be a comedian when she was in her teens — that would have been around 1935 — and loved hamming it up for us, and we loved her for that humor.
She also loved ice cream, and family. If you wanted to fire up that twinkle in her eyes, just ask her if she’d like to have some ice cream.
She marched in parades for social justice and equality. She put her name on petitions for change. We thought about all the change and upheaval she saw in her hundred years, the wars that she witnessed, and the others that she lost through death, and wondered if upheaval isn’t our natural state.
She was such a cool, friendly, and happy person, but this is life. You meet people, and eventually one of you goes away, leaving the other to remember and wonder.
This one came from a cat incident last night.
I’d settled in to read and watch television. I wanted to read, but I was tired, so I had the television on. The book, Lincoln in the Bardo, is an interesting and easy read.
Naturally two cats were staking me out, awaiting me to settle so they could leap up onto my lap and read with me. After they established territory and settled, one announced they were going to refund some cat food (and probably fur) with ominous upchucking sounds. Responding with swift panic, I shooed the little feline off my lap and sought something to put under him to catch his discharge. Once all the drama was over, I told him, “You almost dropped a bomb on me, buddy.”
That triggered memories of The Gap Band and their 1982 technofunk offering, “You Dropped A Bomb On Me”.
This song, “Heatwave”, performed by Martha and the Vandellas, came out in July, 1963. I’d just turned seven, so I’ve known this song almost all of my life. It’s a terrific song, full of energy, pop, and harmonies, with some fat sax thrown in. Many other excellent covers have since been offered, but I’ll stay with the original, thanks.
Clap along, clap along.
Warm temperatures keep reminding me of songs about heat and the hot air. The late Glenn Frey performed this one as part of his solo act after the Eagles disbanded, and it was included in Beverly Hills Cop starring Eddie Murphy .
Here is “The Heat Is On” from 1984.
I walked two miles this morning prior to my writing session. As I did, I thought, man, it already feels hot. Sweat was soaking my shirt, hat, and shorts. I knew from checking the weather that it had already been in the seventies but that the heat index was about six degrees hotter.
It felt it. It fortunately didn’t feel like the one hundred nine degrees reported in Denver, thank the fates. As expected for me, I began streaming songs about heat, and ended up with this Billy Idol gem from 1982, “Hot in the City”.
I don’t know where I first heard this hit. It came out in ’63. I was seven. It’s not Mom and Dad’s style of music, and my older sister was only nine, so I discount all those sources. Later, of course, it was played on AM pop and FM rock stations, and wormed its way into movies like Animal House. I dig (catch that lingo) that the hit was performed by a band from Portland in my adopted state of Oregon.
Here is “Louie Louie” performed by The Kingsmen.
There’s a trio of nursing students who have been coming in and quizzing one another on terms, symptoms, treatments, etc., this week and last week.
Today, they were asking one another questions about ischemia, strokes, and other cerebral vascular events. I’m usually pretty good at zoning out and blocking out others’ conversations and exchanges, but today, their comments penetrated my walls and took me back to my time with coronary and peripheral angioplasty start-ups.
One of them hired me after I retired from the U.S.A.F. I began as the customer service/sales operations manager with a coronary angioplasty company developing coronary stents mounted on angioplasty, ended up a product manager, and then went into marketing services with a start-up trying to develop devices to treat chronic total occlusions. I worked with some terrifically intelligent and energetic people, and wound up wandering the Google “where-are-they-now?” path. I was only with those companies and that industry for a few years – 1995 to 2000 – before moving on to Internet security, but it was an exciting time. I learned a lot, and appreciate the opportunity that I had.
Okay, now that I’ve gotten that out of me, time to return to writing like crazy.
How ’bout a little ditty about “Jack & Diane”? I always thought I could hear a sneer in John Cougar Mellencamp’s voice when he sang, “Two American kids doing best they can.” The song captured so much of small town Americana and references, how and where they’re hanging out, hopes, dreams, attitude and clothing.
So let it rock.
Michael Seidel, writer 