Filed under: Inspirational Anthems, Night Drive Tunes, sing like no one is listening, Songs of Triumph, Songs to listen to with the windows down | Tags: Anywhere I Lay My Head, Rain Dogs, Scarlett Johansson, Tom Waits
My relationship with Tom Waits is not dissimilar to my relationship with meteor showers: I have a general background enthusiasm for both, but only really get excited about them every now and then. I acknowledge Waits’ musical genius and ingenuity, but some songs just don’t appeal to me on an aural level, either because of his acid-bubble baritone or simply the instrumentation. Nonetheless, I will always welcome the opportunity to listen to a Tom Waits song I’ve never heard before.
Ironically, my favorite all-time Tom Waits song appeals to me for exactly the reasons that other songs don’t. The reason is that the first time I heard “Anywhere I Lay My Head” it was sung by Scarlett Johansson on her 2008 album of Tom Waits covers.
Scarjo sings it beautifully. I love her voice, the tempo, the arrangement. I especially love the little percussive flourishes that pop up throughout the song.
Eventually, of course, I decided that if I loved this cover so much I should listen to the original, since, like I said, I really do like Tom Waits. The first time I played it was like being out on a night when you’ve been told to look for the Perseid meteor shower yet again. You’ve been underwhelmed in years past, yet here you are in your backyard at three a.m. hoping once again that maybe this time you’ll be amazed. “Anywhere I Lay My Head” starts off with a single note on a horn, and, for a brief moment you feel that this song will merely provide a few moments of pleasant watching. But the very second that Waits growls the opening lines it is as though the sky blazes with light.
This may be Waits’ top vocal performance, at least of what I’ve heard of his music. He sounds like a man who has gathered every last shred of energy to declare himself to the universe just before dying. Indeed, the music has the funereal quality of a New Orleans mourning procession, including the final upturn in tempo that might as well signal that this soul has entered the gates of Paradise. I play this song for people all the time, and nearly everyone is taken aback by the primal yowl of Waits’ vocals. Nearly everyone has to listen to it a second time. And who wouldn’t? It’s a song that makes you feel something you can’t define, some combination of joy, defiance, acceptance, and sorrow whose formula will never quite be worked out. I don’t know that I’d ever want to, though. Like watching the blazing trails of meteors in the night sky, few people will talk about the science of the thing. They sink into the moment and simply experience it.
Filed under: Night Drive Tunes, Rainy Day Songs | Tags: Jesus Was a Crossmaker, Romany, The Hollies
In 1971 singer-songwriter Judee Sill wrote “Jesus Was a Crossmaker” as a late addition to her debut album. She performed the song on piano reasonably well, but listening to it might make you wonder if your turntable is going just a few RPMs faster than it should. Apparently Graham Nash produced the song, and I can only conjecture that, given the appetite Sill and Nash had for cocaine in that era, they assumed they were recording the song at a reasonable speed.
Thankfully, in 1972 The Hollies covered the song on their album Romany. Ironically, Graham Nash had been a founding member of The Hollies before leaving the group in 1968. I’ve never listened to the full album, but AllMusic gave it only 3/5 stars. So maybe it’s a tepid album at best, but I believe at least one great song can justify a whole album, and “Jesus Was a Crossmaker” is an easy justification for anyone wanting to purchase Romany.
The slower tempo of The Hollies’ version, combined with the band’s harmonized vocals, make the song irresistibly haunting. It’s a good late-night song, almost pious, though when you read the lyrics apart from listening to the music, Jesus’ presence as a character isn’t exactly clear. Is it His sweet song that’s so enticing? Is He the bandit and the heartbreaker? Apparently not. He’s just a cross maker against whom Sill was contrasting her unidentified subject. The thing is, though, you won’t really care about any of this when you listen to The Hollies sing. It’s just too pretty for you to care.
Filed under: Inspirational Anthems, Night Drive Tunes, Rainy Day Songs, Songs for Contemplation | Tags: Deafheaven, Infinite Granite
Back in 2016 I wrote about Deafheaven, the San Francisco-based black metal band that I fell in love with thanks to their new-at-the-time album New Bermuda. I bought all of the band’s albums available: their competent debut Roads to Judah, and their masterpiece sophomore effort Sunbather. In 2018, Deafheaven released Ordinary Corrupt Human Love, which I probably rank behind Sunbather as their second-best album. All four of these are awesome, tough-as-nails-on-a-blackboard, screaming powerhouse assemblies of metal music. What I most admired were the melodic, beautiful elements that Deafheaven somehow maintained through blast beats, power fills, and throat-shredding vocals. Additionally, each album was obviously metal, but had a slightly different spin, so that the opening notes of a song could be identified immediately as to which album it belonged, even if the specific song itself remained a mystery.
In August, Deafheaven released their fifth album Infinite Granite. I bought the album right away, and when it arrived I eagerly placed it in the stereo and turned up the volume, prepared for more of that Deafheaven sound I’d grown to love. But instead of hearing vocalist George Clarke’s unintelligible scream, discernible, smoothly sung lyrics reached my ears. Was this a joke?
I was disappointed. Clarke’s demonic shrill had become my favorite part of the band’s sound, more to my ears like another instrument being played than a voice forming words. I wasn’t sure that I liked being able to understand him. Sonically, though I missed the frantic energy of the band’s previous music, I was happy with the instrumentation of each song as they played. I just couldn’t get over that voice.
With each listen of the album, though, I’ve come to respect it, and even find myself craving it a little. Whatever the band’s motivation for this dramatic shift in sound, I appreciate that Deafheaven are not content to be predictable. Though arguably a well-known band, these guys aren’t exactly radio staples, and so their shift in sound cannot be attributed to either selling out, or as a spiteful reaction to the protective, insular world of metal fans. I trust Deafheaven made exactly the record they wanted to make, expectations be damned.
This only reinforces my belief that they are a band you should listen to. Deafheaven make music with a self-sufficient integrity unique to them. It deserves our attention, and our admiration.
Filed under: songs that make you feel cool in uncool moments, Songs to listen to with the windows down, Time to Party Tunes | Tags: Cecil Otter, Fugazi, Swiss Andy, Wu-Tang Clan, Wugazi
I really love mashups with rap music. As hard as I’ve tried to like Jay-Z’s original albums, for example, I find myself listening way more frequently to his music when it’s combined with The Beatles (mixed by Danger Mouse), Radiohead (mixed by Max Tannone), or Linkin Park (mixed by Linkin Park). Max Tannone’s mashups of Mos Def and Talib Kweli with old-school reggae are absolutely celebrational. Years back I used to put a Jimi Hendrix/Snoop Dogg mashup on nearly every CD mix I burned. My current obsession is Wugazi.
In 2011, producers Cecil Otter and Swiss Andy, of whom I know absolutely nothing else, released a thirteen track mashup of the post-hardcore punk band Fugazi with the absolute legends of rap Wu-Tang Clan, called 13 Chambers. I’ve never listened to Fugazi on their own, and I’ve only dabbled in Wu-Tang, though I like what I’ve heard. So I’m not really able to speak to Wugazi from the perspective of how the songs are different from either band’s originals, but I can speak to the infectious energy of Wugazi.
And that’s it. I have nothing more to say, no more perspective to offer. You gotta listen, though. Maybe it’s not your thing, but who knew it would be mine, right? I’ll post the whole 13 Chambers Youtube video, but if you don’t want to sit through the entire thing, at least listen to track 1: “Sleep Rules Everything Around Me,” track 3: “Another Chessboxin’ Argument,” and track 6: “Shame on Blue.” Goddamn stunning stuff.
Filed under: sing like no one is listening, Songs to start your day, Sunny Dispositions | Tags: At the Circus, Groucho Marx, Kermit the Frog, Lydia the Tattooed Lady, The Muppet Show
I want to assure readers that I do listen to new music. I just streamed the new Killers album when it came out, and I’ve enjoyed the new Foo Fighters, the new Kings of Leon. I’m not as up to date on stuff as maybe you are, or someone like my brother is, though. Between work, projects around the house, and a child, my attentive listening time is significantly diminished. I’m opening with this caveat because I worry that the most recent posts on this website are wearying to you folks because of where I’m getting many of these recent songs for my days.
That said, if you’ll indulge me, let us once again turn to The Muppet Show. The second episode of season one opens with Kermit the Frog launching into one of my all-time favorite songs, a song which I’ve carefully memorized so that I can sing it to my son because it makes him smile.
“Lydia, the Tattooed Lady” was written by Yip Harburg and Harold Arlen, two men who have had a huge impact on popular culture, even if you’ve never heard of them. Among other classics, these are the guys who wrote the lyrics and music for The Wizard of Oz, including “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” ranked as the 20th century’s number one song by the Recording Industry Association of America.
Both “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “Lydia the Tattooed Lady” were written in 1939, which, based on those songs alone has become in my mind the most important year in music history. “Lydia the Tattooed Lady” appeared in the Marx Brothers movie At the Circus, and it became one of Groucho Marx’s signature tunes. Apparently Groucho brought the New York Stock Exchange to a standstill in 1950 when he commandeered a microphone on the floor of the Exchange and sang “Lydia the Tattooed Lady” before telling jokes for a quarter of an hour.
I think a lot about what it would have been like to witness certain historical events. Usually those fantasies are based on the solemnity or import of the moment, like Lincoln’s inaugurals, or the surrender at Appomattox Court House. Those would have been cool to see, but, man, I bet listening to Groucho sing at the NYSE is a memory that those who witnessed it treasured through all of their days.
That being said, I much prefer Kermit’s version of “Lydia the Tattooed Lady,” which comes complete with a tattooed pig Muppet demonstrating all of the lyrics in the song. It’s such a fun little tune, and there is something about the lyrics that makes them fun to sing in a physical way, akin to the pleasure of chewing on a delicious piece of taffy.
My only hope with any of these posts is that the music will make you as happy as it makes me. This song is one that I’m even more eagerly hoping you’ll enjoy, so that you, too, can make someone smile when you sing it to them.
Filed under: Inspirational Anthems, sing like no one is listening, Songs of Triumph | Tags: Day-O, Harry Belafonte, The Muppet Show, Turn the World Around
Harry Belafonte is easily one of the most talented, remarkable performers in history. The son of Jamaican immigrants, Belafonte was born in New York in 1927, but lived in Jamaica from 1932-1940. As far as I know, Belafonte is most famous as a singer, but I was fascinated to discover that he originally began singing in clubs in order to pay for acting classes that he and his good friend Sidney Poitier were taking. From these club gigs he eventually signed with RCA Victor in 1953 and went on to record in a variety of genres, though most notably in American folk and Caribbean Calypso music. His 1956 album Calypso was Belafonte’s second number one album, and became the first album in history to sell over one million copies. The track everyone knows from Calypso is, of course, the famous “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song).”
I didn’t know that that song was Belafonte’s until he sang it on The Muppet Show during his season three appearance in 1979. Belafonte’s episode is easily one of the greatest episodes of one of the greatest television shows of all time. After her first time seeing it, my wife turned to me and said, “Damn. That man has presence.”
The episode ends with Belafonte singing my personal favorite song of his “Turn the World Around.” The title track to his 1977 album of international folk songs, “Turn the World Around” is a kumbaya-style masterpiece of goodwill that Belafonte was inspired to write after speaking with a Guinean storyteller during a trip to Africa. As Belafonte puts it while explaining the song to Fozzie Bear, “All of us are here for a very, very short time. In that time that we’re here, there really isn’t any difference in any of us, if we were to take time out to understand each other. And the question is… do we care about each other? Because if we do, together we can turn the world around.”
I don’t care how sentimental or idealistic it is, I love it. And I love Harry Belafonte for writing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Filed under: Inspirational Anthems, sing like no one is listening, Songs for Contemplation, Songs of Triumph, Songs to listen to with the windows down, Songs to start your day, Sunny Dispositions | Tags: John Denver, Mother Nature's Son, Paradise, Prisoners, Rocky Mountain High
When I was a kid, for reasons I cannot entirely recall, I bought a John Denver’s Greatest Hits album. At that time, the only song I knew was “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” and maybe I bought the album because that song is supposed to be easy for a novice to learn how to play on guitar. I’m pretty sure this was before YouTube, so I couldn’t just sit down in front of the computer to watch the song on repeat. The point, though, is that after listening to his greatest hits I really didn’t think that much of John Denver.
Decades later, I discovered Toots and the Maytals, who do an outstanding version of “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” This, naturally, led me to revisit Denver’s original version of that song, and then to explore John Denver some more.
I will always be the guy who prefers to buy an album. I love having physical copies of music and books. That said, one of the things I love about streaming music is that I can explore an artist’s entire catalog to find my favorites before I buy an album.
Rocketing to the top of my ‘gotta buy soon’ list is John Denver’s 1972 masterpiece Rocky Mountain High. Denver had been playing in folk groups for years before going solo in 1969, and in three short years he released one of the greatest albums of all time. He adopted the stage name of Denver when he was eleven years old, because, as a military kid who moved his whole childhood, Colorado was his favorite state, embodying the wilderness, solitude, and independence that he valued. As a kind of paean to his favorite state, Denver put his whole soul and ambition into Rocky Mountain High and he hit right where he was aiming.
The actual song “Rocky Mountain High” has become one of the official state songs of Colorado. Track two, the wonderfully energetic cover of The Beatles’ “Mother Nature’s Son” seems, in Denver’s hands and with his outlook and background, as though the song was always destined to be Denver’s. Next comes the gorgeous “Paradise,” the sweet “For Baby (For Bobbie)” and “Darcy Farrow.” Side one then concludes with the pulsing romp of “Prisoners,” easily the best song I’d never heard. Side one of this record may be one of the best side ones of any record ever made. You have to listen to it.
Side two has the fantastic “Goodbye Again” and then a five-song “Season Suite” that is in no way as pretentious as it might appear when you read the track titles on the back of the record.
In short, this is an album bursting at the seams with energy and passion. Even if, musically, Denver’s ouevre wasn’t always your cup of tea, as it wasn’t mine, the personality of Denver leaping into your ears through these songs is absolutely irresistible. Every track will become a song for your days.
Filed under: sing like no one is listening | Tags: All Things Must Pass, George Harrison, What is Life
We were playing cribbage and listening to a Spotify mix my brother was curating in real time when I said, “Play ‘What is LIfe’ by George Harrison.” He looked up with a smile on his face and showed me his phone. “That is literally what I was searching for when you said that.”
Years ago I listened to George Harrison’s 1970 solo debut “All Things Must Pass” and thought it was meh. I must have accidentally slept through the song “What is Life” back then, because when it came up randomly on Spotify a few months ago I was floored by it. I remembered the album as a somewhat sleepy, sometimes dreamy set of philosophical songs. I had no recollection of the absolute pop masterpiece that is “What is Life.”
Opening bluntly with a tight guitar line, the song quickly piles on a blast of horns and drums that carries the same physical sensation as slamming on a gas pedal. Originally intended for a Billy Preston album Harrison was producing, between writing it and heading to the studio to show it to Preston, Harrison made the decision that it was too beautiful a baby to give up. I’m sure Preston would have done a good job with it, but thank Krishna Harrison recorded this absolutely amazing song himself.
My brother and I bobbed our heads while counting our cribbage hands and enjoyed that little moment of kismet we’d just shared, our minds mutually inclined toward the kind of joy this song brings.
Filed under: sing like no one is listening
Time is inconsiderate. No matter how much you want a moment to linger, or perhaps instead to pass, time just does it’s thing. Our perceptions of a moment change continuously depending on the type of moment, our reaction to its present, and our reaction to its memory.
One perception of time is as a celebration. We applaud record times for sports, we honor anniversaries. Personally, despite a certain antagonism to time’s insistence that I turn forty someday, I love how time, through its passing, has made precious many of my relationships, books, and records.
I think about time a lot, especially now. My son is one year old. I cannot in any capacity imagine him at my age. That time is inconceivable to me.
And there are many times that, while not totally incomprehensible, are nonetheless incredulous. For example, the time related to this website, Songs For Your Day.
Songs For Your Day was started twelve years ago. Twelve. A decade and then some. How?
The most remarkable thing to me is that people still read Songs For Your Day. The last post got a like and a comment. This despite the fact that there hadn’t been a post for two years until the one in March. And that post from 2019 was the only one that year. There were only two in 2018. One each in 2017 and 2016. Heck, from June 2011 to November 2014 nobody associated with this website wrote a single word. Yet the comeback post got at least one read and a comment just two days after it was written.
What I am trying to express through all this preamble is gratitude. On behalf of myself, the site’s founders, and every contributor: Thank you for every view, every like, and every comment.
But most especially, thank you for your patience and your enthusiasm. I doubt very much that people who don’t like music ever come here. I love music, I love talking about music, and the fact that other people who like music actually take the time read these imperfect words is a very humbling and satisfying thing.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
And again, with no irony at all, because I actually love this song, thank you
Filed under: sing like no one is listening | Tags: Jim Henson, Kermit the Frog, The Muppet Show, The Muppets
Neither my wife nor I watch a lot of television with my son. We don’t have cable or satellite, and in general, if he’s awake and active and we’re not busy, we try to play with him, or read to him, or take him outside. Sometimes, though, things need to get done and the boy needs to stay in one place while that happens. To prevent “baby jail” from feeling like imprisonment, that’s when we pull up the tablet and start streaming The Muppet Show. My son absolutely loves The Muppet Show. He laughed out loud at Steve Martin making balloon animals; sang along to the “la la la la laaaa” part of Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock;” and hugged the tablet with affection while Kris Kristofferson and Miss Piggy sang “Help Me Make it Through the Night.”
The most consistent reaction we get from him, though, is dancing and smiling during the theme song. I have loved the Muppets for a long time, and have certainly enjoyed the show’s theme, but watching my son go mad with joy every time the opening notes play has turned The Muppet Show theme into one of my all time favorite songs.
Jim Henson wrote the lyrics to a tune by composer Sam Pottle, who also composed music for original Sesame Street songs. The theme was tweaked slightly during the five seasons of The Muppet Show, but my wife and I agree, and I think my son does, too, that season one had the best version. Kermit the Frog has more lines in the season one theme, and my son definitely likes seeing Kermit on screen.
One of the unfortunate things about human memory is that we don’t recall the full experience of a particular emotion, especially those experienced in childhood. I have a particularly poor recollection of childhood experiences, much less the joy, fear, anger, or serenity of a precise moment. I often wish I could feel again the sense of pure trust that my son must feel every time he goes face first off the edge of the bed, giggling because he knows I’ll catch him.
The closest I can come as an adult, though, to the emotions of childhood, are when I watch my son stand up in excitement when I start a new episode of The Muppet Show. He climbs to the edge of his play-pen, hangs on to the side rail, and starts dancing back and forth, grinning with all six of his teeth as the Muppets start singing. Nearly everything he does brings me joy, but these moments are some of my favorites.
Songs For Your Day 