Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
With the thermometers teasing one hundred four degrees, I was returning home in the car. The DJ said, “This song is about air conditioning.”
Air conditioning? I puzzled what he could mean.
He continued, “This is “Need You Tonight.” With this weather as hot as it is, they have to be referring to air conditioning.”
Here it is, INXS, from nineteen eighty-seven.
Today’s song was a staple of our neighborhood air group. Energetic, enthusiastic, and easy to learn – important for nine-year-old air musicians – we loved getting up on our chairs in a basement with our air-guitars and air-mics, beating our air-drums, and performing “Good Lovin’.” I struggled with the group’s name; I always wanted to call them the Little Rascals, but that was a different group.
Here’s the Young Rascal’s recording of “Good Lovin’,” from nineteen sixty-five. Wow, fifty-two years ago. It aged well, don’t you think?
As I’ve aged and semi-matured, I’ve developed fondness for certain performers. (Semi-matured; sounds like an adjective for a wine or cheese.) For example, when I used to hear Dame Judi Dench’s or Helen Mirren’s name attached to something, it automatically dialed up my interest level. I thought they were sensational actresses, and I thought they were more adept at selecting scripts and projects. Same with books and music.
In music, Billy Preston was one of those names for me. No matter the venue or music genre, I always enjoyed Preston’s performances. He had several high-charting songs, including this one, “Will It Go Round in Circles.” He has co-writer credit on the song with Bruce Fisher. Bruce and Billy also co-wrote, “You Are So Beautiful,” and “Nothing From Nothing.” A talented guy, but he seemed to deliver an energy to his music, and I admired that.
For your Monday listening pleasure, streaming from a television appearance recorded in nineteen seventy-three, Billy Preston.
The stream flowed into nineteen eighty-four, and the prophetic song, “Round and Round,” by Ratt. “What goes around, comes around. Dig.”
I was young when I encountered this. Working as the NCOIC of the 9AF Reports Section, I daily briefed the 9AF Commander and his senior staff on the preceding day’s operational activities. We were part of the now defunct Tactical Air Command, supervising fighter wings. 9AF included the area east of the Mississippi in the U.S., and Southwest Asia, often referred to outside military circles as the Middle East. This was during the Iran-Iraq War. They were all about reciprocity. Reciprocity is the essence of round and round. “You attack my shipping, I’ll attack your shipping.” So it went.
Sure. History repeats, doesn’t it? Especially in politics and war.
It also repeats on personal levels. Every year, I feel more like everything goes round and round. I get desperately tired of it. I frequently encounter people who seem to think what’s going around is being experienced for the first time. Others did not learn.
Yet, as I age, I understand, we can learn, but sometimes it’s beyond us to apply the lessons learned. We become too hard-wired into expectations and behavior developing from routines and rituals, fears and reactions, and failures and shortcomings. We’re looking for the end of the rainbow, and it stays elusively distant. Our bodies betray us, our minds betray us, and our memories betray us. Dreams fade, and goals collapse.
I’ve seen this in older generations, too. The latest craze becomes yesterday’s fad. Today’s star is tomorrow’s memory, and the next generation(s) are generally bemused by our quaint opinions about hip, cool, technology, and politics.
Round and round.
The Alan Parsons Project was a progressive rock band. I enjoyed them, but honestly, lots of my friends didn’t care for them. Apparently the music the Alan Parson Project released was too mellow for that lot. The heyday of their music was in the late seventies, when groups like Kiss and other glam rockers were deafening stadiums of people.
So, I seemed mostly alone in my Alan Parsons Project admiration. One particular song was “Eye In The Sky.” Using this song as inspiration, I wrote a short story about the eye in the sky watching humans. No, it was never sold. It’s probably in a drawer, somewhere, though. I don’t throw writing out. I leave that to others.
Take a listen and see what you think of the song. It came out a little later, in nineteen eighty-two. Let me knows if it moves you to sleep, as it moved my friends. Cheers
A friend asked, “Have you tried asking Siri, “I see a little silhouetto of a man?””
I’ve tried it, and it’s a hoot.
The line is from the well-known song, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” by Queen. It came out in nineteen seventy-five, a year after I graduated from high school, and remains an eminently powerful and enjoyable means to rock out. Queen also created one of the earliest and most memorable music videos, years before MTV was launched.
That makes it today’s theme music. Listen along, and do the fandango.
Life is but a roller coaster, you know? One hour you’re up, the next hour finds you on the ground. We flutter from ecstasy to frustration, coping with drugs, alcohol and other escapes.
Love, wow, love can be the wildest roller coaster. The Ohio Players covered it in song, “Love Rollercoaster,” in nineteen seventy-five. I enjoyed the song when it came out, along with a few other million people. It became one of those ubiquitous songs, played in clubs and on the radio twenty-four/seven.
Besides being one of the anthems of nineteen seventies America, “Love Rollercoaster” is burdened with an urban myth. Not too long into the song is a scream. I never thought much about the scream, considering it part of their presentation, but others assigned serious reasons behind the scream, like people or animals being killed or injured. After explaining what caused the scream (one of the singers – surprise!), the Ohio Players embraced a vow of silence about the song, refusing to talk about the scream.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers later covered it. I enjoy their version, but, being a traditionalist, I stayed with the Ohio Players.
In nineteen seventy-seven, I was a long, long way from home. It feels like I’ve been a long way from home every since. It’s funny how often we refer to the place where our parents live, or where we were raised, as “home.”
As an aside, my wife and I were talking about a friend’s plans. She was flying to SoCal for her elementary school reunion. This astonished us. My wife was certain that if she went to a elementary school reunion, she wouldn’t recognize anyone except family. I agreed, I wouldn’t, either. My other problem was that I attended several elementary schools, because my family moved around America. Mom finally settled in Pittsburgh, and now calls that home. I lived there for about a while in my youth, so I call it home.
Anyway, this Foreigner song came out in nineteen seventy-seven. Twenty-one years old, I was in the Philippines, ending a military assignment, and heading for Texas, for my next assignment. I was going by way of Pennsylvania and West Virginia to pick up my wife. The song, “A Long, Long Way from Home,” starts out with its second line, “I left a small town for the apple in decay,” a reference to moving to New York. The song is subsequently about feeling lonely and being far from home. And although it was my choice, I often felt the same as I traveled the world, even while enjoying myself and seeing historic sights.
This is one of those songs from my second spring.
The song came out in nineteen seventy-three, which was the spring of my adulthood. Seventeen, I was living in West Virginia with my father. He was newly retired from the U.S. Air Force. Then entering my senior year of high school, I was finding love and thinking about the future beyond classes. Nothing was working out as planned, so I was winging it, the process by which I’d end up living my life: just wing that mutha.
“Ballroom Blitz,” by Sweet, nicely captures and conveys the chaos and pathos of that period as hormones and emotions took over, and I impatiently pursued life.
