Category: pop culture

Wednesday’s Theme Music

I must have heard this somewhere recently. As is my norm, my stream picked it up and added it to the mental jukebox and it randomly popped up today.

Fiona Apple’s “Shadowboxer” is lazy, slurred, and haunting to me. I attribute my impression to the beat, lyrics (and material), and the volume’s slow rise, as if she’s been thinking aloud about a relationship and is reaching a conclusion. It’s a song that goes well with dimly lit rooms and a glass of wine at a weary day’s end.

Here she is, from way back in the last century (1996).

 

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

A fraction of this song got trapped in an eddy of my mind stream. “Who is this?” I kept asking myself, but could only remember some words, and none of it seemed connected to a place and time in my life.

Not fully recalling it bugged me so I did searched until it was resolved. (I’m peculiar that way.) The song is “Ordinary World,” performed by Duran Duran. That’s what kept me confused. As a Duran Duran song, it’s not associated with anything else of their music that I’ve heard. It came out in 1992, so I was back in America, stationed at Onizuka Air Station and living in Mountain View.

The lines that kept going through my head this morning were,

And I don’t cry for yesterday
There’s an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive

h/t azlyrics.com

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Sunday’s Theme Music

I was walking this morning when this one streamed out of the ether.

“Mississippi Queen” by Mountain was one of our art class staples in high school in my senior year, 1974. Scott had a large rock vinyl collection, and brought in a huge number of albums. I don’t recall how other students reacted to it, but Scott and I really enjoyed it.

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Her Memory

She’d found herself forgetting everything. It was, she explained to friends and families (who didn’t seem interested), like a wall or chasm existed between the answer and the question. She knew the answer was on the other side, but she couldn’t reach it.

This infuriated her. She’d been a five-time champion on Jeopardy! Ask her anything about culture, politics, arts and literature, physics and chemistry, or geography and history, and she could give you a quick, correct answer. Or could. Now it was changing.

She would not accept this. She adapted, because that was her nature, first keeping copious notes on calendars and notebooks about everything that happened. Nothing was too mundane. Updating her calendars and notebooks took from fifteen minutes to an hour every day, and was done as part of her ritual of preparing to retire for the night. Memories of more personal matters were augmented via recordings. The first recordings were done with a small Sony tape recorder. She switched to digital as the technology matured and became cheaper and more reliable. Eventually, she started making digital video recordings and storing them on the cloud. Then she could see and hear herself, reassuring herself of who she was and who she’d been.

By then, she’d retired. By then, her hair was wispy and white, and she wore wigs, out of vanity. By then, she’d buried her third husband and second child, and her parents and siblings. By then, she’d gone through cancer in her cervix and successful treatment, and had a hip replaced after a fall, and was treated for glaucoma, and celebrated her ninetieth birthday. By then, many friends had died or moved away, or were in hospice, or couldn’t remember her. By then, new technology emerged for an augmented digital memory, something like Keanu Reeves’ character had in Johnny Mnemonic. She’d enjoyed the book (by William Gibson) (because she loved science fiction and fantasy), but didn’t like the movie. But then, she’d never been a huge Keanu Reeves fan, outside of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, although he wasn’t bad in the first Matrix film.

Technology improved. She gave her memory a name, George, after her first husband. George would chat with her about what she needed to know and do, and what had happened, who said what when.

A new product, “Your Best Friend,” emerged. Using smart technology embedded in phones, computers, cars, houses, and businesses, her memory could have a holographic presence and a voice outside her head, almost everywhere, almost all the time.

She loved this aspect. She named her new memory Jean, after a friend she’d lost in her past. She and Jean had shared many good times together, and she thought it would be better to have a dead girlfriend as a faux companion rather than a dead husband.

She and Jean went everywhere together. It was initially a little strange to others and she was self-conscious about it, because it was all new, and others didn’t have virtual holographic friends. Others thought it odd, or that she was weird, or demented, you know, delusional. She was on the cutting edge. If her husband(s) could see her now. Hah!

Technology improved and became cheaper and more prevalent. Soon, many people had such companions, nannies, guards, and mentors. Eventually, she forgot that this was her memory.

Her memory had become her best friend, which, if she thought about it, was how it should be.

 

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Saturday’s Theme Music

My wife and I were driving home when John Mellencamp’s “Authority Song” played on the radio. We knew the song and sang along. It’s from his Uh-huh album. It came out in 1983, when he was John Cougar. We saw him perform a few years later, in Germany.

As the song wound toward its end, my wife said, “This song doesn’t have many words to it, does it?” No, but that’s how a lot of pop songs are, to me. I was thinking more about these lines:

“I said, “Growing up leads to growing old and then to dying
“And dying to me don’t sound like all that much fun.”

The idea that death is bad — or not fun — has been weaponized, something to use keep us in check. “You might get hurt if you do that. You might even die.” Yes, as if we’re all living forever on this world, in these bodies.

I thought, Heaven as a concept must have been invented to comfort people who are dying or has lost someone. I always liked that idea of Heaven, that another place is beyond death where we live on. Maybe it’s like living in this sense in that mythical next existence, but suppose it’s not? Yet, we’re coached and socialized to fear death because this is life.

Come on, we’re all going to die. Life might be a spectrum, and this slice of life is just another frequency band. Thank of how wonderful it could be in the next band.

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Disaster Mind

Does an early morning telephone call kick a worried hiss into your mind, “Oh, no, what’s gone wrong? Who died?” Do you sit and think, if there’s a disaster here, how will we survive? Do you ever wonder if you left something on, such as the oven, after you departed the house, or if you closed the garage door, or locked the doors after leaving?

If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, you might be suffering from disaster mind.

Disaster mind is a chronic condition that afflicts millions of Americans. It can strike at any time. Recent studies conducted on the Internet estimate over ninety-nine percent of Americans suffer disaster mind. Although the middle-aged and elderly suffer disaster mind more often, students, professional athletes, sales managers, single people, married couples and parents are frequently prone to disaster mind.

Disaster mind affects more women then men, except during football season. Symptoms include worrying, anxiety, and eating comfort food to cope with worries. Extreme cases of disaster mind cause some people to drink more than one glass of wine or beer a night, complain, and wish for the “good old days.” People suffering from disaster mind tend to dawdle, read a great deal, and watch television and movies. Disaster mind sufferers often follow politics, and self-label as “political junkies.”

If you think you might be suffering from disaster mind, doctors suggest you try not to think about it. If that doesn’t work, indulge in wine or beer with pizza, followed by ice cream or pie, and lose yourself in a good book or movie. Chips with guacamole and cheesy foods also work well.

That’s what works for me.

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Friday’s Theme Music

I enjoyed Bowie and his music, and lament his passing. Fortunately, technology and memories serve well to keep the music playing.

Today found my mind shuffling and streaming old Bowie songs like “Diamond Dogs,” “Suffragette City,” and today’s offering, “Rebel, Rebel.” No particular reason for singing it today, except I like the song for its laid-back approach and the amused, disdainful sense of observation and discovery heard in the lyrics.

You’ve got your mother in a whirl
She’s not sure if you’re a boy or a girl

Hey babe, your hair’s alright
Hey babe, let’s go out tonight
You like me, and I like it all
We like dancing and we look divine
You love bands when they’re playing hard
You want more and you want it fast
They put you down, they say I’m wrong
You tacky thing, you put them on

h/t azlyrics.com

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Thursday’s Theme Music

The opening words to this song streamed through my thoughts last Saturday, when I participated in a women’s march in Medford.

Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
‘Cause summer’s here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy

Hey! think the time is right for a palace revolution, but where I live the game to play is compromise solution

Hey, said my name is called Disturbance; I’ll shout and scream, I’ll kill the King, I’ll rail at all his servants

h/t to Wikipedia.org for lyric and historic context

Of course, when I thought of this song, it was winter, and I was in a women’s march, organized by women to remind the POTUS and America that they’re here and displeased, and want to continue the agenda of change in America that’s been going on, an agenda that includes equality regardless of gender, age, sexual orientation or preference, religion, ethnicity, skin color, and many other things that America claims to be free and equal about.

It was ironic, and a little disappointing when thinking of protest songs, that “Street Fighting Man” came to mind. Where’s the street fighting women? I was surrounded by them.

Mick Jagger said that events in the United States and France inspired the song when he wrote it. It seems like an indictment of the pervasive male oriented society that only men were mentioned from that era of protests in the 1960s. Despite its inherent sexism, the song, with its driven rocking beat and discordant sitar and guitars, is a powerful protest anthem, powerful enough that Chicago radio stations didn’t play it in the summer of 1968, fearful that it would incite more rebellion and violence in a city that was already struggling with the violence emerging in the shadow of Democratic National Convention as anti-war protesters and police clashed.

Stream forward through time a few years, and the publication of the Pentagon Papers display the American Government’s hypocrisy and cynicism, a reminder that emerges through the recent film, “The Post.” Watching that film, the calls for change and to shake up business as usual sharpen with understanding, along with the bitter taste arising from the belief that our government, no matter which party dominants, is failing us. Those parties apply lip-service to our demands, but their actions often sustain the status quo and business as usual. Most Americans want change, but often split about the shape of change desired. It’s the struggle of democracy. The path seems clear, but it’s messy an slippery.

“Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

~ Frederick Douglass

That’s why I joined those women and marched to demand change. I want change. I served in the American military to forward the ideals of freedom, democracy, and equality, with the simple truth that all people are created equal. I slowly learned how those words and sentiments are often more of a propaganda slogan and less of a governing ideal, and that many people, including our leaders, lack the principles and moral courage to fully embrace the ideals behind these words.

In the song, Mick asks, “What else can a poor boy do,” and adds, “There’s no place for a street fighting man,” a suggestion about the frustrations of limited options.

What a wheel of history we ride.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

1973 wasn’t the best of years for me.

I became seventeen that year. I’d moved in with my father the year before, 1972. He retired from the Air Force, and we moved to West Virginia. We bought a place, and it burned down. Just about all the few possessions I had when I quit living with Mom were gone. We didn’t have insurance. The paperwork and payment were on the dining room table, and burned.

I was hoping for better with 1973. It went great for a while, but then I cut off the end of my big toe while cutting the grass with a gas-powered lawn mower. That took me out of sports and doing many things. Frequently a loner, I retreated into art, music, and reading, which were always my natural sanctuaries.

Fortunately, ’73 was a good year for music. This song, “Drift Away” performed and released by Dobie Gray, summed up the year for me.

Beginnin’ to think that I’m wastin’ time
I don’t understand the things I do
The world outside looks so unkind
Now I’m countin’ on you to carry me through

Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Yeah, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away

And when my mind is free
You know a melody can move me
And when I’m feelin’ blue
The guitar’s comin’ through to soothe me

h/t to elyrics.net

 

 

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Don’t know about you, but Gospel music often talks to me. Aided by a dream, this song streamed into my consciousness from the year 1972. “I’ll Take You There” was a great song for the time because its slow beat allowed a close, swaying slow-dance with a girl, something that I sought when I was a sixteen year old boy. It’s like a feel-good song of hope, not for love alone, but for progress and civil rights.

Here are the Staple Singers with their 1972 hit.

 

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