I read about a Yemeni mother and her son. The Trump administration had separated the two-year old boy from his mother. The boy was dying. After months of separation, the mother was allowed into the country to see her son. He died shortly afterward.
Paul Simon’s “Mother and Child Reunion” (1972) played in my stream after reading the news.
Oh, little darling of mine
I can’t for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say “let it be”
But it just don’t work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again
This is a twofer Thursday post, featuring a dream and a song, because this song started in my dreamstream.
It was a turbulent stream, with multiple vignettes and one-act plays. I think the music made this one memorable.
“Conquistador” began playing in the dream. Hearing it, I said, “Hey, I know this song. “Conquistador”. Procol Harum.” After remembering hearing the song’s live version in high school in the early seventies, and talking to my friend, Bob, about it (in the hall in front of the art classroom, by my locker, where he was talking overly loudly and enthusiastic, trying to catch some girl’s attention), I thought about other Procol Harum music I know and wondered where the music was coming from. I couldn’t identify its source.
All that was backdream. I was in my most recurring dreamscape, which is dark green, slightly rolling hills. I seem to know or I remember such hills most often out of dreams. Accompanied by several friends, we were admiring two exotic hyper cars, a Lamborghini and Ferrari, that belonged to others, and discussing their styling, price, and performance capabilities.
My friends were envious, but I said, “Yes, but my car is faster than either of them, and costs more.”
They were skeptical. So was I. I thought my ride would be there by now. As it wasn’t, I didn’t think my ride was going to arrive, and was becoming anxious.
“Conquistador” ended, and my ride arrived, a stunning silver Aston Martin. “Wow,” I said, along with my friends. “Wow.” I never believed it would arrive.
Two songs are competing in my stream today. I can’t remember one of them. I remember two lines and a few guitar chords and licks. I hear the vocals, know the voice, but can’t remember the vocalist, song, or group. Using the few clues I have, I’ve hunted for its identification, and I’ve failed to find satisfaction. So, screw you, song.
The other is another Aerosmith song. Reflecting on that, a room mate was forced on me during part of my assignment in the Philippines (1976-1977). Forced is the correct expression because regulations forbid people in my specialty, which involved controlling nuclear launches, from having a room mate. Yet, most of my assignments found me with a room mate for part of the time, as the local commanders would sign a waiver to the reg. Of course, the waiver was usually rescinded after the command got wind of it, and the room mate was found another place to live.
This guy, Eric, was a large Aerosmith fan. He had a huge stereo, big speakers, amp, turntable, tuner, equalizer, tape player, but only four albums. Two of them were Rocks and Toys in the Attic, so I heard them a lot. I realize, that’s why I know those albums so thoroughly.
Anyway, today I’m streaming “Same Old Song and Dance” (1974). Sure, it’s December, a brand spanking new month, the last month of 2018. 2019 and January will soon be on us. But you know, it feels like the same old story, the same old song and dance, my friends.
Black Friday began a few weeks ago. I received word on a Tuesday when a mailer arrived announcing that every Friday was Black Friday was Black Friday. Others didn’t start Black Friday until Wednesday or Thursday, but many vowed to continue it until January 1, with one chain declaring that every day is Black Friday.
For some reason, all this Black Friday chatter delivered Steely Dan performing “Black Friday” (1975) to my theme song stream. Steely Dan’s version of the day is much different than the buying extravaganza of this year. Steely Dan’s song relates more to the Black Fridays of financial and social collapse.
A news article brought today’s theme music to mind. I was reading about Lucy McBath’s electoral victory in Georgia. Her son, Jordan Davis, was shot and killed in 2017 for being in a car where the music was being played too loud for a man with a gun and a grudge, Michael Dunn. Lucy McBath was running on a gun control platform, and the story about her victory included mention of Nena’s “Ninety-nine Red Balloons” (1983) (“99 Luftballoons”).
Naturally, my mind was hooked. Streaming the song immediately commenced. Well, I thought, this is clearly today’s theme music, just so I can push it back out of my head. I like the song, but I had other things going on in my head, and it was distracting.
I got into the car, and guess what was playing? Yarp, “Ninety-nine Red Balloons”. It ended. A Bee Gees song replaced it, so I flipped channels, where “Ninety-nine Red Balloons” was playing. First I thought, I wonder if that song was released on this day or this week, or if those folks read the same article that I read. Then I thought, well, that cements it. That song is destined to be today’s theme music.
Sly and the Family Stone gave us a lot of awesome music when I was young. Today’s theme song, “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) is a favorite. This song’s deliberate mondegreen in its title delighted me. I always knew it as just “Thank You.” When I bought the greatest hits album (actually, on an eight-track tape that the machine ate within a year, but not before torturing the sound into a strange warbling), the full title baffled me. I’d always heard the lyrics correctly, not something that always happened with songs, but did happen at the time. That’s when I was first introduced to mondegreens.
That greatest hits album deserved that title, and that’s why it was worn out. That was common for that time, to wear music out because of its medium, whether it was tape or vinyl. Digital has made a huge difference.
A week out from election day, 2018, I find myself streaming an old Stevie Wonder song from 1973.
His hair is long, his feet are hard and gritty
He spends his life walking the streets of New York City
He’s almost dead from breathing in air pollution
He tried to vote but to him there’s no solution
Living just enough, just enough for the city…yeah, yeah, yeah!
We’re at a crossroads in America, where the divisions are strong and stark. We have white supremacists insisting that things need to change, and they’re willing to change it by lying, cheating, intimidating, and killing. Their hate knows few boundaries, becoming directed at liberals, minorities, women, science, education, and just about every other nation in the world.
At the head of this monster is a clueless POTUS consumed with self-adoration, an empty vessel that mouths calls for unity as he leads chants for violence and threatens everyone who doesn’t support his claims. Instead of seeking a brave new world of social justice and equality, he promotes greater divisions of wealth, opportunity, and hope. He builds more borders with words and threats, and builds walls with his mindless rhetoric. He places his optimism in a time that’s passed him by, but bolstered by people living in a hopeless fantasy existence, he remains empowered.
We end up, again, with people barely hanging on, coping, as Stevie Wonder wrote and sang, with just enough for the city.
I have mixed thoughts and emotions about today’s theme music, “Bad Motor Scooter”, by Montrose (1973). It’s an energetic song, but when I listen to the lyrics, I sometimes cringe. Then again, escaping on my bad motor scooter is really appealing on some days. Just race up through the gears and away from cares and civilization.
What the hell. It’s music. Love the rock attitude (rockitude?) on display in this video.
In this throwback, I started streaming this song sometime yesterday afternoon. “Show Me the Way” by Peter Frampton, from the Frampton Comes Alive! album was a monster hit from a monster album. Nothing against Frampton, but this isn’t one of my favorites as an album, song, or performer, but I heard it often as I traveled throughout 1976-77. I always preferred edgier stuff, but edgier stuff in rarely heard on commercial radio in those years.
I’m not certain of the genesis for streaming this song yesterday or continuing it this morning. Is it the weather triggering memories of youth, or the jetsam of a lost thought? Perhaps it’s just echoes of mortality or mourning for another time. It could be just a misfired neuron setting others off.
Surfing my thoughts this morning as I thought of my dream and tended my dream, I began streaming a Rolling Stones song, “Beast of Burden” (1978). I always considered the song a defiant protest song, but also a pondering reflection of relationships’ complexities, asking at its base, what does it take?
This was in direct response to dealing with Quinn. I was giving him his meds. He doesn’t like them, and hides in anticipation of receiving them. Giving them to him is a small battle, but with experience, I’ve developed a winning technique. Afterward, Quinn takes off and hides from me, distrusting my approach. Yet, he returns in a little while, looking to me for comfort and food.
As an aside, the meds seem to be doing as hoped. His energy levels have gone up and he seems less miserable. While he’d been declining, he’d stopped grooming himself, and had lost his voice. Yesterday, I saw him wash his face after eating for the first time in weeks, and today, he’d found his meow, and his tall was pointed up in classic Quinn fashion when we went into the room for me to feed him.
Michael Seidel, writer 