Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
It’s been twenty years since this was recorded in concert, spit in the cosmic wind as far as time goes, but a chunk of living for humans on Eath. These humans are renown for their musical performances. These humans are David Bowie, with the Foo Fighters. These humans were performing this song, “Hallo, Spaceboy,” at Madison Square Garden in New York to celebrate Bowie’s fiftieth birthday.
Fun to watch. There will be drumming’.
Rising out of nineteen eighty-three came a mocking, damning tirade on behalf of the common person just coping with their chains of fucking moments. Called “Synchronicity II,” created, performed, and released by The Police, the song has a hard-edge beat to buttress bitter lyrics. Take these lines:
and every single meeting with his so-called superior
Is a humiliating kick in the crotch.
Few are the people of whatever gender, race, country, and vocation that haven’t sat in a meeting and thought, “These people are my superiors? My superior what? All they are is a superior pain in the ass.”
Can’t identify? How about,
Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance,
He knows that something somewhere has to break.
That’s how it feels: something somewhere has to break. If you listen, you can hear the deep groans of the wrenching cracks in the world. They’re just not yet visible. Or maybe I hear them in my head.
It’s a gorgeous fall day, smoke-free, with a cloudless blue sky. Our sun is bright, but the wind presents a chilly edge as it toys with leaves, tearing them from trees and sprinkling them over the streets, sidewalks, and yards. News, worry, and politics are aside. Memories of days like these are pulled from my youth in Pittsburgh.
It’s the weekend. At last! Freed for a day from the teachers’ drones, studying, quizzes, and tests, we’re out in the streets, chatting about girls, music, sports and television, bullshitting each other, John mocking Rick, complaining about school, wandering around, hanging around, playing football in the street.
Halloween is coming up. What are you going to wear?
Thanksgiving is next month. Thanksgiving, that amazing feast – stuffing, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy – and pies! Pumpkin! Apple! Or maybe cherry. With whipped cream. Family will be over. It will be warm, noisy, and crowded. But, wow, the food.
And then there’s Christmas. What do you want for Christmas?
The simplicity makes me sigh. That was our future. But we would tell each other –
I can’t wait until I’m older.
I can’t wait until I have my license.
I can’t wait until I have my own money.
I can’t wait until I’m done with school.
I can’t wait until I’m out of here.
Heard this on the radio this morning, and just thought I’d go with it, mostly because it stays in my head. It’s a song that my wife and I often crank up on the radio when it comes on in the car. Writing “crank up” creates visions of me turning this crank several times until the volume increases.
Anyway, here’s Pharrell Williams with “Happy,” from twenty-thirteen.
Warning This album contains extreme sounds which could damage musical equipment when played at high volume
That’s from Jesus Jones’ “Doubt” album, from nineteen ninety-one. It gave me pause when I read that. And yeah, there is some stuff on the album that prompts the eternal musing we each encounter, “What the hell?”
They are several songs on the album that I enjoy. I was streaming “International Bright Young” thing, for some reason, but the far more mellow song, “Right Here, Right Now,” came into play. I think it’s more known, at least in the U.S.A., so I’m going with it. I always like these lyrics from the song:
I saw the decade in, when it seemed
the world could change at the blink of an eye
And if anything
then there’s your sign of the times
A sidebar, probably only amusing to me, is that my friend, Randy, loves the Van Halen song, “Right Now.” Whenever I’d mention “Right Here, Right Now,” he’d be confused, and tell me, “I don’t know that song. Do you mean “Right Now,” by Van Halen?”
That always cracked me up.
Wow, Thursday already. October, already. The fifth already. Come on, let’s back off the time accelerator. It’s all moving too fast.
Today’s music is “Spooky.” It was originally an instrumental. I once heard the instrumental and thought someone was playing it that way. I later learned that the words had been added after the instrumental was written and performed.
I heard the original version with words, by the Classics IV, in the late nineteen sixties, on my trusty AM/FM clock radio. But I awoke with the A.R.S. “Spooky” version looping in my head today, so that’s what I’m posting.
As a sidebar, I wonder what happens in my brain that I awake with songs streaming in my head? I’ve researched this earworm (ohrwurm) or brain itch, as different sources label it, and found that researchers believe ninety-eight to ninety-nine percent of people endure earworms. A two thousand three news article cited a study found which songs afflict most people:
He found that some 98 percent of listeners were at one time or another bothered by a tune that wouldn’t leave their heads. The study also found some common offenders, including the Kit-Kat jingle (“Gimme a break”), “Who Let the Dogs Out,” Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” the theme to “Mission: Impossible,” “YMCA,” “Whoomp, There It Is,” “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” and “It’s a Small World After All.”
The study also showed that musicians and those with compulsive tendencies are the most afflicted. The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive, though the act of repetition — in popular songs on the radio and on the rehearsal floor for musicians — plays a role.
The 559 students used in the study had lots of trouble with the Chili’s jingle for its baby-back ribs and with the Baha Men song “Who Let the Dogs Out. ” But Kellaris found that most often, each person tends to be haunted by their demon notes.
Compulsive tendencies? Moi? Perish the suggestion. I guess I’m fortunate that my ohrwurms rotate and offer a variety.
I was in stationed in Germany when this came out. The album, “Full Moon Fever,” quickly became a favorite for home listening.
It’s ironic to think of that time. The U.S.S.R. was the United States’ towering enemy. Germany was divided, a creation established at the end of World War II. The Berlin Wall stood firm. A few years later, it, and the Soviet Union, were gone. We’ve just celebrated the anniversary of Germany re-unification.
The people I was stationed with in Germany were hard-working, patriotic, dependable, and loyal. Yet, two decades later, I’m on a the other side of a political divide from them. They’re angry with pro athletes who take a knee. They want a wall built. They fear refugees and distrust Muslims. A lot of them love Con Don Trump. Many despise Hillary Clinton for reasons they can’t explain, except it’s Hillary, and they don’t trust her.
It’s interesting to contemplate what’s come between us. Maybe it was just music, a common mission, and enjoying a good time that brought us together.
One more time, from the heart, Tom Petty, with “I Won’t Back Down,” co-written with Jeff Lynne.
Streaming to you live through memories of recorded music heard in my youth, here is Supertramp with “Bloody Well Right.” Seems appropriate as we wrestle with rights and bloodshed.
You got a bloody right to say.
Well, like Joe Walsh sang back in nineteen seventy-eight, “Life’s Been Good” to me so far.
There are a few wee differences between the life Joe sings about and my life. Like, I don’t have fans writing me letters telling me I’m great. No gold records on the wall. No Maserati. But to give credit where it’s all due, Joe Walsh is eight years older than me. I still have time to catch him.
On the other hand, I haven’t experienced any of the devastation many people of the world have endured, I’m not starving, ill, or on the edge of desperation. My miseries fall into the category of first world blues.
Can you dig it?
Crazy, but that’s how it goes
Millions of people living as foes
Maybe. it’s not too late
To learn how to love, and forget how to hate
Mental wounds not healing
Life’s a bitter shame
I’m goin’ off the rails on a crazy train
I’m goin’ off the rails on a crazy train
You might recognize those lyrics. They’re from Ozzie Osbourne’s song, “Crazy Train.”
When I first heard it, it struck me as right. Craziness was, is, a subject that’s avoided. It’s considered a perjorative, and a derogative expression. Ozzie fully embraced it, starting with that maniacal opening laugh, and that welcome, “All aboard.”
The song fits these days. Caught between political rails, we’re riding a crazy train. Everything is politicized and amplified. Political discourse is healthy, but too many of us hang onto hate and the past, refusing to open our eyes and look around. We just keep riding this crazy train. Sooner or later, it’ll all go off the rails. When it does — if it does — I expect few mea culpas. All of us are blaming the others. Liberals, progressives, conservatives, neo-Nazis, Republicans, Democrats, white supremacists, slaves, refugees, religions, history, wealth, privilege, ignorance, poverty, disease and war…we throw the blame around, and hang onto our new world slogan: Never Forget.
We, of any ilk, are loathe to forget anything. On the one hand, we must remember to learn, and not repeat our mistakes. But we need to find that balance between remembering, learning, and moving forward. Of course, to move forward, an agreed upon direction is required. We fail agreeing on where we should be in ten years. And sometimes, we remember one aspect of history to the detriment of other aspects.
I can’t forget. I try. Perhaps I don’t try enough. For example, I can’t forget the last election for POTUS. I despise Donald Trump. He represents the world’s worst qualities to me. By extension, I have a hard time with his supporters. I don’t understand their support. They don’t understand why I don’t support him. They don’t understand why I can’t forget. But I can’t forget how Trump and other conservatives treated Barack Obama, and Bill Clinton, long before this.
It’s not just politics, though. Old wrongs, bitterness, and resentment cling to me like cobwebs. I can never rid myself of them all. I try working and writing myself out of it. I bite my tongue, take a lot of deep breaths, and indulge in long counts to calm myself and move on. But I’m fighting the enemy I best know from longevity, yet one that I know the least. Because he knows me, too, and knows how to manipulate me.
Yeah, we’re often our own worst enemy. That’s how we end up on the crazy train.
Michael Seidel, writer 