Another Who offering has hooked into my streaming memories.
This one, “Join Together,” was released in 1972, while I was in high school. I remember hearing it and thinking, that’s the Who, because they always had a distinctive sound, especially with Daltry’s voice. Like a lot of Who songs, interesting sounds, instruments, and arrangements lend Who songs thickly textured melodies. I like that. I prefer complications in books, movies, and music. At the same time, I’ve always been invested in guitar sounds. That’s why the guitar draws me to a lot of southern urban rock, and blues, or blues-rock, and classic rock. But even with Townsend’s synthesizers, the Who prevail and maintain a hold as one of my favorite rock groups.
Confession: I didn’t know who sang this song. Nor do I remember the first time I heard it. After looking up the artist, I still didn’t know who he was, but I knew the song from AM radio.
“Down in the Boondocks” apparently came out in 1965. I was nine. The performer with the hit was Billy Joe Royal. After googling him, I found I knew several of his songs, like “Cherry Hill Park.”
“Down in the Boondocks” started streaming in my head while I was talking to Tucker (one of my cats) and emptying the dishwasher. Yeah, I don’t see the connection either.
Tom Petty did some good rock and roll, with and without the Heartbreakers, keeping the beat alive. This particular song is one that streams into me once in a while without any connection to anything else. It was released in 1981, just before we left America for an extended tour on Okinawa, but I don’t remember it making an impression on me at the time. Honestly, REO Speedwagon’s album, High Infidelity, which came out the year before, was still the hot album for people like me.
This song is one of my defacto songs that I start streaming when I’m walking. Several walking songs are plugged into my streaming library. There’s a Nancy Sinatra offering, where she sings “These boots are made for walking,” and a song less about walking but about getting there from Grand Funk, “I’m getting closer to my home,” and some song by some guy named Miller who sings, “King of the Road.” Which one pops into my stream seems dependent on my mood.
Today’s classic is offered by Edwin Starr. Here is “Twenty-five Miles,” from 1969.
This song popped into a dream last night. It wasn’t streaming when I awoke, but as I was in the kitchen making coffee and considering breakfast options, the song began streaming.
Won’t you take me back to school
I need to learn the golden rule
Won’t you lay it on the line
I need to hear it just one more time
Portions of the dream drifted in with the smell of coffee brewing. The dream had been about school. Not many fragments endured the transition to consciousness. The gist of what was recalled was that I was a distinguished person teaching people. I don’t know what the hell I was teaching them, nor where. I do recall it was more of a Socratic method, and that the dream ended, and the song began, like it was part of the closing credits. I felt joyous, liberated, and satisfied at that point. As I think about it, I could characterize my reaction as triumphant, as I felt like I’d achieved something that I’d worked on for a long period.
And how many words have I got to say
And how many times will it be this way
With your arms around the future
And your back up against the past
You’re already falling it’s calling you
On to face the music
And the song that is coming through
You’re already falling
The one it’s calling is you
The song’s title, “The Voice,” is apropos to the dream, as it seemed like an ethereal voice was instructing me on how to teach the others. Not enough survived to do more than ponder the shards like a forensics team seeking clues. It’s odd how many times I seem to dream of others instructing me, or of me, passing on instructions. I also dream frequently of receiving and passing on warnings. Nothing ever comes of them, at least in this dimension.
Another loopback to my early teen years. Donovan’s music, with its psychedelic, flower-power, folk-rock influences and sounds. I stream several of his songs in my head, sometimes slipping into whole albums. Today, though, I’m stuck on “Hurdy Gurdy Man.” You can imagine how the repetitive words and guitars can mesmerize someone like me, who seems attracted to such noises. Such sounds were especially enticing to me when I was twelve, when I theoretically first heard this song on AM radio. I have no clear memory of the first time I heard it, only that I enjoy all those “hurdy gurdy” and “roly poly” lyrics.
So I’m posting “Hurdy Gurdy Man,” today, but not with an eye toward stopping its looping. It fits in well with my mood, and I’m pleased to have its company.
They – the omnipotent, omniscient, slightly mysterious and ill-defined ‘they’ – say that the best way to rid yourself of an earworm is to pass it on. That’s what I plan to do today.
On the other hand, I said to myself, perhaps I’m part of a chain. I’m streaming an old song – hell, I was six years old when it became a hit – but the fates put the song there knowing that I’d post about it to rid myself of it. There’s no earthly reason for streaming this song. It just popped into my head. It’s not my sort of music, and I don’t own, and never have, owned an album by these performers.
But maybe someone out there needs to hear this song. I don’t know. How this whole thing called life works is almost as complex as “A Game of Thrones”, or the definition of a catch in the N.F.L.
Here we go, with the Lettermen, from 1962, with “Turn Around, Look At Me.” Others have done it and had hits with it, but this version is the one looping in my stream.
Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer
The future’s uncertain, and the end is always near
And with that, today’s song goes into its final minute.
I always liked singing “Roundhouse Blues” at work. A rousing, rowdy song, it was a great defiant response when bosses would say, “Let it roll.” Well, alright, let it roll.
I’d also sometimes sing, “The future’s uncertain, and the end is always clear.” I was divided about what Morrison was singing. Wasn’t till the net came about and I could look it up that I was satisfied. But my misheard word fits as well. The future for us all ends the same way, so it’s always clear. It’s all those damn little steps in between now and then that cause us problems.
Here are the Doors, from way back in 1970. That was a pretty good year to be a Pittsburgh Pirates fan, until they ran into the Big Red Machine, and the year turned sour.
“Time,” by Pink Floyd, was one of those songs that I liked to listen to while laying flat on my back in the dark with headphones on. I did that with of the entire album, Dark Side of the Moon.
The discordant beginning of alarm clocks and bells ringing that starts “Time” is a satisfying, *ahem* wake up call. Then the heartbeats begin….
Later in life, I often streamed it in my mind as I awaited events, made plans, or traveled.
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say
Of course, I always continue listening (or streaming) on through the next two songs.
Several good results emerge from being able (and maybe allowing myself) to stream music in my brain.
A power supply is always available. Don’t need to worry about AC/DC, plugging in anywhere, or recharging anything.
No headphones, speakers, or ear buds required.
They’re already paid for, so financial expenditures are limited to acquiring new materials, if and when I’m required to pay for them.
A lot of my favorites are played.
Some negatives do exist.
It’s hard to turn some songs off.
The mental streaming algorithms seem to favor repetition.
It’s a limited library of songs.
And of course, free will is often derailed. For instance, right now I’m streaming this.
The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody’s out on the run tonight
but there’s no place left to hide
Together Wendy we can live with the sadness
I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul
Oh-oh, someday girl I don’t know when
we’re gonna get to that place
Where we really wanna go
and we’ll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us
baby we were born to run
