My Favorite R&B Tunes Steven would have Hated

I Got You (I Feel Good) - LIVE in Edinburgh - James Brown

9/5/06 - NSA Email Intercept ['Routine'] - (region - NYC)

The Doctor (aka drbopperthp):

"So, you don't like R&B Steven???"

The Big Fella (aka Steven Gilliard):

"Couldn't stand it as a kid or now. Boring as a Methodist church service."

The Doctor (aka drbopperthp):

"Well, I still love you even though this revelation adds fuel to the rumors about you butt-fucking your neighbors poodle on nights when there is a full moon.You want hot funky metal type grindage that's very likely to bring the ambient humidity level of your girlfriend's thong into the moist-to-wet zone? Try these two tunes on for size, Good Buddy!"

"The Doctor - Wishing you good playlisting!!!"

http://www.nsa.gov/KIDS/ - Join Up Today!! Be a patriot and a super duper trooper sleuth for your country!! Turn in your parents and/or next door neighbors and you'll win an all expenses paid trip to Disneyland!!!


Without further ado, here are 60 - count 'em - 60 of my all time favorite R&B songs that my beloved friend Steven would've (pretended to have) hated. I miss him dearly. The big anti-sentimentalist phony...


Reasons - Earth, Wind & Fire's
Would You Mind - Earth Wind and Fire
I Can't Stop Loving You - Kem
You Make Me Feel Brand New - The Stylistics
Oh Girl - The Chi-Lites
My Girl - The Temptations
Breathe Again - Toni Braxton
Hold On, I'm Coming - Sam & Dave
Shining Star - The Manhattans
I Heard It through the Grapevine Marvin Gaye
If This World We're Mine - Luther Vandross & Cheryl Lynn
A House Is Not A Home-Luther Vandross
Sweet Love - Anita Baker
Don't Turn Around - Black Ivory
Cowboys To Girls - The Intruders
Fortunate - Maxwell
If I was Your Girlfriend - Prince
Let's Stay Together - Al Green
Just To Be Close To You - The Commodores
A Love Of Your Own - AWB
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - The Platters
Through The Fire - Chaka Khan
If You Don't Know Me By Now - Harold Melvin And The Bluenotes
You Are Everything - The Stylistics
I'm Your Puppet - James & Bobby Purify
Love...Can Be So Wonderful - Temprees
Dedicated to the One I Love - The Temprees
If You Think You're Lonely Now - Bobby Womack
Distant Lover - Marvin Gaye
It's a Man's Man's Man's World - James Brown
I Got You (I Feel Good) - James Brown
Lonely Teardrops - Jackie Wilson
Dedicated To The One I Love - The "5" Royales
Where Is The Love - Donny Hathaway (with Roberta Flack)
I Stand Accused - Isaac Hayes
Hypnotized - Linda Jones
Any Day Now - Chuck Jackson
Fire And Desire - Rick James/Teena Marie
Reach Out - I'll Be There - Four Tops
Ooh Baby Baby - Smokey Robinson & The Miracles
You're Still A Young Man - Tower Of Power
Close the Door - Teddy Pendergrass
Turn Off The Lights...Teddy Pendergrass
Ain't No Sunshine - Bill Withers
Forever Mine - The O'Jays 3.
Love You Down - Ready For The World
Overjoyed - Stevie Wonder
How Can You Mend A Brokenheart - Al Green/Bee Gees
I Only Have Eyes For You -- The Flamingos
La La (Means I Love You) -- The Delfonics
You're All I Need to Get By - Marvin & Tammi
'Cause I Love You - Lenny Williams
Do Me Baby - Prince
Let's Stay Together" -- Al Green
That Girl - Stevie Wonder
Ebony Eyes- Rick& Smokey
For the Love of You - The Isley Brothers
In Between the Sheets- Isley Brothers
Sexual Healing-Marvin Gaye
Try a Little Tenderness - Otis Redding

-- DrBopperTHP

"The one thing that can solve most of our problems is dancing"---James Brown

There's more...

More Mike. This one for our own amazing, wonderful, smart, funny, beloved Jen! She's the one.

There's more...

Final Theme Song

DrBopperTHP asks a great question:

What specific song do you want played at your funeral as your "final theme song?"

My favorite tune of all time is Vienna Teng's Lullaby For A Stormy Night (live version; poor recording).

However when it happens I'll be dead. I have no wishes for those who are there except my ashes's eventually being released on both Mt. Lemon (north of Tuscon) and Mt. Rainer. No marker; let my body return to the earth.

I love music, so whatever music is there -- except religious hymns, other than classic music such as Bach -- would be fine. What might be even better is simply paying attention to the music of the birds, the trees and the wind. Just being present would be perfect.

Followed by everyone going somewhere and having a big-ass party. With lots of Margaritas. 'Cause otherwise people might think life and death was fracking serious. *laughs*



How about you? Do you have a song you want played at your memorial?

We're taking last requests.

There's more...

Liz Phair Rocks

As long as we're throwing up music...

There's a reason Liz Phair meant so much to so many, back when.

Everyone I hung with burned out at least two, maybe three of her albums.

Warning: Flower is NOT safe for work. Not not not. Neither are the others. All three however, rock hard.

Enjoy.


Fuck and Run -- Live in London 10/07/03


Flower -- Live in London 10/07/03


Divorce Song -- Live at Tower Records

Lyrics
Fuck and Run
Flower
Divorce Song

There's more...

Violinist Viviane Hagner (Age 14)

Zubin Mehta Conducts Israel Philharmonic with Viviane Hagner
Zubin Mehta conducts the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra along with 14 year old violinist Viviane Hagner performing a piece by Camille Saint-Saens. This concert was in Tel Aviv in 1990.

There's more...

Sarah, Matt, Ben & Stars on Jimmy Kimmel

NOT SAFE For Work. Really. No kidding.
Sara Silverman and Matt Damon.


NOT SAFE For Work. Really. No kidding.
Jimmy Kimmel, Ben Affleck & Stars

And in the same mood, if you missed it some years ago...


Also NOT SAFE For Work. Not as rough, but still not safe.
Scotty Doesn't Know

There's more...

“We Are The Ones” Song

Wonderful.

There's more...

Musical Moments That Change Your Life—The Remix

The Days Of Vinyl and Roses...

As I fire the boilers up for what looks like a fearsome, fright-fraught, and in the case of John McCain's Arizona brother-in-less-than-ethical behavior—flat-out felonious week's worth of doings, I find myself using music to keep me from walking the streets looking for creeps to slap down. That's how silly the “Silly Season's” getting lately with talk of Manchurian Candidates and other candidates being deemed one minute as a GOP enabler, and the next as a bereted, leather-jacketed second coming of Bobby Seale and Fred Hampton.

Great Balls O' Stupid!

But music is a saving grace for me. It gets me through. Takes the edge off—and in a sensory way, simply transports me. My ears tune in closely and my brain itself opens up. I “hear” the music in an enjoyable as well as an analytical manner. My nervous system is primed to a high sensitivity. There are chills and shudders. The hair will stand on end on note trills, and certain bass lines sock you in the gut and waggle your pelvis against your will.

And oftentimes—the music will key in emotionally. It can support or provoke a moment. Our dear and talented littlest gator wrote about this beautifully about two weeks ago. It was a popular post and a thought-provoking one. From it, I got an e-mail from one of my oldest friends—an artist, teacher and writer who read the piece and got him to thinking about his musical moments.

And maaaaaaan, has he got some. As I've known him for over 25 years. I've been a witness to some of 'em—so I figured I'd share them with you, as he's just a damned fine writer himself, funny,and as much a music “head” as I am. You'll be hearing more from him in the future as he's also a wonderful military historian capable of tying in classic tales of Spanish armadas into modern-day doings. And be on the lookout for some special music posts I'm whipping up with the help of a few friends who boast impeccable Rock, Pop and Funk chops. Trust me...you'll love it!

Thus without any further ado, my pal—who shall go by the moniker “The King Of Pain” for now, and his musical moments, followed by my own “Ten”.

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Music.

When it’s good, music can be uplifting. Energizing. Unforgettable. Timeless.

And when it’s REALLY good, music can inspire a timid soul to plan, and do, magnificent feats, to express feelings of great joy, or to be a balm in time of sorrow. Oh yes, that is the power that music, good, nitty-gritty, down-to-the-bone, make you wanna slap your mama music has, regardless of genre, or race or culture of it’s creator. GOOD music is all that, and more:

It can be Magical.

My best bud in the world's post prompted me to list the ten most magical memorable songs I know. Songs that, for whatever reason, have left their mark on my psyche. As an avid music man, this was no small task, and the list here is no way fully inclusive, but these ten are the first I always think about. And since this list involves going down “Memory Lane”, because I’ve been in enough trouble lately, the names of the innocent have been changed, but the songs remain the same.


10.) “Sweet Love”—Anita Baker, (1986)

From the dramatic and powerful first eight chords, you get the sense that something new was dawning. And when the instrumental intro subsides and Anita’s dusky alto takes over, the new sound is complete. A different strain of torch love song had been unleashed, one that would become a staple of—and one of the only actually enduring examples of what would soon be known as “Cool Jazz.” For me, this song also ushered in the dawn of a new and unfamiliar era for me personally: the Era of (finally!) Getting Laid.


9.) “Sideshow”—Blue Magic, (1974)

70’s R&B melancholy at its best. “Sideshow” always evokes a far more innocent time, of being in 5th Grade at PS 335 in Brooklyn, of a young, skinny lad with big glasses and bad teeth trying to dredge up the nerve to ask the school Goddess, one *Felicia Packer, to be his girl, hanging around her block on Park Place and Utica Ave. for hours every Saturday, hoping to get a glimpse of her magnificence (today, this would be known...as stalking). “Sideshow”, along with The Stylistics’ “You Make Me Feel Brand New” was the soundtrack of that time, forever blaring from someone’s apartment or car radio as I maintained my weekly vigil. And though I did intercept her several times, I ultimately gave up the ghost, figuring a geek like me never would have a shot, only to realize twenty years later, when events would play back in my mind, I belatedly, and heartbreakingly realize that every time I did Intercept The Goddess, she was always, ALWAYS happy to see me.

Idiot.


8.) Pop Pop Pop (Goes My Mind)—Levert (1986)

You fucked up. Be a man. Admit it. You. Fucked. Up. You had a diamond, and you traded her in for rusty, shedding Brillo pads. Could’ve had a Lexus, but you went for the Le Car instead. Friends call me “The King of Pain”, due to all the sad love stories that I’ve had the misfortune to live. But not all of them are those that cast myself as the victim of a wily woman. No…some are self-inflicted pain, the result of bad choices (or in some cases, no choices made at all). “Pop Pop Pop” is a signature song for those times that I blew it, when I gummed up the works, when I did bad. A haunting song coolly delivered by the late, great Gerald Levert and company, it’s what I always played when all I could do was mope and wallow in self-pity. Good times. Gooooooooood times.


7.) “If Loving You is Wrong, (I Don’t Want to Be Right)—Luther Ingram (1972)

And speaking of haunting, this tune is as good as it gets. As a child I loved this song (I was eight when it came out). But it wasn’t until I became an adult —a married adult, that this song’s power and pain was fully understood. And what pain there is!

“Am I wrong to fall, so deeply in love with you?
Knowing I got a wife and two little children depending on me too.
And am I wrong to hunger for the gentleness of your touch,
Knowing I got someone else at home who need me just as much.”

“OOOOHHHH!!!! ” As Dr. Smith (from Lost in Space) would say— “The pain, the PAIN!” ”

What grabs me about this song is its simplicity in lyrics. It goes right to the point, without trying to be clever or cute. It’s raw, it aches, and Mr. Ingram (who wrote the song) delivers with a smoky, down-home chit'lin-style that tells me this ain’t no make believe shit; this is the real deal, this motherfucker lived this mess, and he is oh-so-torn. And it's made even more evident to me as a married man who has felt…well…um...let’s just move on, shall we?


6.) “Sucker MCs” (Krush Groove One)—Run-DMC (1983)

Much acclaim has been heaped upon Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” as the first mainstream rap record, and “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five for giving rap a social conscience, and it is all deserved. But in my estimation, there is a third nascent rap song that completes the holy trinity, and that is Run-DMC's “Sucker MCs”. After “The Message, which came out in ’82, rap really was just meandering along, still a novelty waiting to expand its beachhead. Then came the Spring of ’83 when “Sucker MCs” burst upon a sleeping population, bringing the oomph back in to the Hip-Hop Nation. Simple and sparse, with only an addictive, repetitive percussion beat mixed with mad skill by the late Jam Master Jay, Sucker MCs harkens back to a time when you could actually play a rap song that wasn’t angry, or filled with hate, self-hate, misogyny or abounding with words that sane parents try desperately to shield their little ones from. It’s a flat-out fun record, with a funky little beat that 25 years later, is still a crowd pleaser in the clubs.


5.) “I Feel Good All Over”—Stephanie Mills (1987)

Are you into doing acts of evil? Not EVIL on the scale of Hitler, Stalin, Dahmer, or bin Laden, but rather, lower-case evil, Reggie Miller giggling and throwing up “dagger” three-pointers in the final seconds sort of wickedness? Then play this song, or if you’re at a party that I’m present for, get the DJ to play this song. For then you will see a man, a steady, secure, confident man be reduced to a glob of goo—struck catatonic by the first five bars of this love anthem. It never fails; that is always the reaction I have when I hear this song. I could have Beyonce sitting on my lap, with Gabrielle Union caressing my shoulders while Catherine Zeta-Jones is pleading with me to free her from the hell that is her craggy grandfather of a husband, and it would still be the same; instant transportation to a time gone by, when I still had “The One That Got Away”, in my grasp. The One with whom I shared the most glorious kiss, during an August sunset, in the life-guard tower at Coney Island, as this song played softly in the background, echoing from the lit-up amusement park behind us. I hear this song and I become a glassy-eyed mute, an arrow shot through my heart, because through my stupidity, that magical time ended far too soon (cue that damn “Pop Pop Pop Goes My Mind”). So go ahead, you evil little bitches, do the deed—play that song. I’ve long accepted it’s the penance I must pay for being a greedy bastard, for trying to make “The Seinfeld Switch” when I should have loved the one I was with.

Kleenex, please.

4.) “Tempted”—Squeeze (1981)

In December,1981, as a college freshman, me and my buddies went to a college party at F.I.T.—The Fashion Institute of Technology. This was still the time period when I was painfully shy, and probably only the third real party I'd ever ventured out to. Got to the party in the cleared out, darkened Student Lounge, and it was jumping, filled with hot babes of every stripe. Like barracudas sweeping through a school of tuna, my boys went to work, scoring dance, after dance, after dance. At first I held back, unsteady, unsure. But then after awhile, I reasoned, “What’s the problem? You’re handsome, looking sharp in your black slacks, black turtleneck and beige blazer, how hard could it be to ask a girl to dance?” And so I entered the fray. Asked a girl for a dance. She said “No”. Asked another. Again, “No”. Tried again.

And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.

By the seventh time—I was shot down in flames. I finally raised the white flag, and as the party kicked into high gear, I sauntered off to the TV room, my ego shattered, and head hung low. There I stayed for the rest of the party, looking at something called Cable TV, that had some program called MTV that was showing something called music videos. One of the songs played was “Tempted” by the British pop group Squeeze. A song about being tempted by the fruit of another, it instantly became my default song for every time I was tempted to give up in my pursuit of the “Fairer Sex”. Later, when I’d meet similar bad nights at the clubs or a horrible date, I’d loop this song, playing it over and over and over again, much like my rejections that cold December night in ’81. And I still love the song.

“King of Pain”...that's me.

3.) Red Light Special—TLC (1994)

In the waning days of my bachelor life (July ,1996) I found myself at a Manhattan club. There that night was a beautiful young lady whose name is lost to me in the mists of time, but not the image of her beauty. Model tall, with shapely long legs and the look and build of Garcelle Beauvais, the girl was but a casual acquaintance; someone I’d love to target, but she was a bit young, (maybe ten years my junior) and a tad too beautiful and popular with the fellas who were hawking her like mad that night. So I harbored no illusions. Well this night, as the joint was about to close down, I asked her for a Last Dance. She accepted and we danced thru a couple of songs. Then “Red Light Special” came on. Seeing it was a slow jam, I was ready to back off. To my surprise, however, “Garcelle” drew close to me and we started to dance. Really close. And in my head, cheering erupted, slowly at first but gaining in strength the longer the song blared thru the emptying club, and the closer that sweet, lean body was up on mine. Oh, shit! Could it be? Am I on the verge of a miracle? I wondered. As T-Boz crooned her tune, I switched gears, from passive to aggressive. I said something about “Garcelle” being beautiful. She buried her head in my chest. I looked over towards my wingman, LM who stared at me with wide-eyed wonder. Getting bolder, I tossed another line as we slowly danced in sync. No response. Launched another get over-line salvo. No response. I reared back a little to check on my silent, clinging partner, and in doing so, I got a whiff of reality.

The girl was drunk. Damn near out cold on her feet. And as a result, she had fallen asleep in my arms. That’s why she was all up on me—I'd been practically holding her body upright. The cheers quickly turned to groans, and as “Red Light Special” ended, I had the task of trying to wake my dance partner up, bitter that my dream had already ended. As usual.

2) “Over Like a Fat Rat”—Fonda Rae (1982)

Of all the songs on this list, this is the only one I don’t have great affection for. Yet it makes this list solely on the strength of something that happened that some folks believe I made up, but alas, it did happen.

Saturday, May 7th 1988, I was at a graduation party of an acquaintance up in the Boogie Down Bronx. I'd just broken up with “I Feel Good All Over” girl, and was out looking...for a replacement. Shallow? Yes…but I was young. At this party were three prospects, one of whom I’d met sometime before.

The party…was as we said then, wack,, and the three young ladies were bored. I suggested that we’d go to my crib to get some up-to-date records to liven the party up. The three agreed, and we drove to my apartment in the Murphy Houses off Crotona to grab some albums.

When we got there, the three were amazed at my album collection, which numbered over 1,000 discs at that time. So much in fact, that they seemed to not want to leave, but rather—stay at my pad. “How long can we stay?”, asked the cutest of the three.

“As long as you like.”, was my reply, and the three girls shrieked in delight.

So as they giddily became familiar with my record collection, I was in the kitchen making some snacks, trying to decide which of the three I was going to concentrate my efforts on. It was there, in the kitchen, where I heard it; a slight shuffling, crinkling noise, behind the refrigerator. Thought I was hearing things, but a minute later, heard the same noise again, and my heart froze, because I knew exactly what that rustling noise signaled.

A mouse
.
No Lord, not here not now! I remembered praying, already knowing the answer. My crib had regular flare-ups regarding mice infestations, and that night one decided to make a visit. But I didn’t have time to combat the bastard, I had guests to entertain; three seriously sweet female guests whom I was trying to impress. All I could hope was that “Mickey” would stay his ass in the kitchen, while action unfolded in the living room. Or perhaps …beyond?

With snacks in hand I gamely returned to the living room where the girls were playing jams by Salt & Pepa, Eric B, and Sybil, laughing and dancing and swapping club stories. I sat on the couch, trying to relax, but my ears were cocked, waiting to hear that noise again. The cutest girl then went to my pile of records and picked out, you guessed it, the NY club classic, “Over Like a Fat Rat”. Excitedly she put the needle to the record, telling us how she loved this song—a thumpy, bass-heavy, ass-shaker of a jam.

And that’s, I swear on my mother’s ashes, when the trouble began.

Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, I heard the same rustling noise over “Fat Rat”, but the girls didn’t catch it. I started talking really loud, desperately trying to drown out the sound. Then I heard a squeak. And one of the girls heard that squeak above the record. I tried to play it off like “I ain’t heard nothing!” But then...the motherfucker did it again, this time letting out a big squeak.

“Was that a mouse?”

As if to answer the girl’s question, there was a sudden flash of grey lightning, darting quickly from behind the sofa to behind the piano. And all three girls saw it.

“EEEEE! A MOUSE!!”
“A MOUSE?! Oh, FUCK no! FUCK no!”
“SHIT! A MOUSE!! I’M GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!”

And in a matter of seconds, as Fonda Rae was still singing about getting over like a fat rat—all three honies grabbed their jackets and cleared out of my crib with the quickness, leaving me with Fonda, and that mother-fucking, cock-blocking rodent.

It would be another TWENTY-EIGHT MONTHS (!) before I came CLOSE to getting some like I might’ve been close that night.

And in twenty years I’ve never played this song again. Ever.

1.) “We Must Be In Love” (The Wedding Song) —Pure Soul (1996)

In my opinion, one of the best wedding songs of all time, and to this day I am surprised this was not a bigger hit. Beautifully sung by women (and not little girly-girls) singers that could give a vintage EnVogue a run for their money, “We Must Be In Love” was me and my bride, “L.A.'s” first dance at our wedding reception nigh ten years ago, which more than made up for all the suffering and angst I went thru during my single days. If you don’t know this song, do yourself a favor and download it. Maybe it’ll be magic for you as well.

Peace.

From the King of Pain.

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Now, here are mine—pulled from the comments in TLG's original post, but here now to show some counter-balance and to give you a bit of insight into li'l ol' me.

My ten (LM's) moments:

1.) Hearing Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers “Moanin” at my dad's friend Lewis' home in Englewood, New Jersey. Lewis had a full-blown, high-end stereophile room in his basement. Big Quad channel stereo. Everything was perfectly balanced. I could pick out where each instrument was and the quality was simply magical. That dark, paneled audio womb was amazing to hear music in, and hearing that majestic Jazz classic—those thundering drums, Bobby Timmons' loping piano, and Lee Morgan's serpentine horn just transported me. I fell in love with Jazz that day. Lewis would give us one more treat that day. We were in his yard and he pointed down the block and said the song was recorded about three blocks away at the legendary recording engineer Rudy Van Gelder's house. Wow.

2.) Marvin Gaye's “What's Happenin' Brother” from the “What's Goin' On” album. When we got our first stereo—a huge, Sylvania console, one of the first things we ever played on it was that album. I lay on the floor underneath the speakers, entranced by the panoramic sound and when “What's Happenin' Brother” came on, I swear I got high from it. It was the bass line. James Jamerson's bass line to be precise. I'd heard his bass before, but not stereo separated like that. It was an almost organic thing, pounding like a pulse—almost alive. I lay there, eyes closed as I repeated the song four times or so. It was THAT song that got me listening to music closely—picking out the individual sidemen and training my ear. But every time I hear that song to this very day—I trance out. I'm 8 years old again, life is simple, and music is...transformative.

3.) Stevie Wonder's “My Cherie Amour”. I had a crush on a waitress at my father's restaurant. Her name was Eleanora—she was a beautiful. mocha-colored sister whose skin fairly glowed and she had the most magnificent legs. One day, I watched her loading cups into the take-out dispenser for what seemed like several minutes when someone put Stevie Wonder's “My Cherie Amour” on the juke box. Time seemed to slow. The jangling guitars and singing strings, coupled with Stevie's longing voice while looking at the beautiful Eleanora melted my very soul. It didn't help that a huge blast of sunshine broke through the window and illuminated her in almost golden light. Shit. I'm choking up writing this. Every time I hear that song, I feel an impossibly sunny day and I'm drunk with thoughts of dewy-eyed love.

4.) It was an unnaturally warm Spring day in '73 when I sat in school in Harlem. The windows were open and Lenox Avenue was quiet that day. And then I could hear coming 'round the corner a sound. Drums first—“Bum-ba-ba-bum”, then a trilling vibraphone with a piano. It was the opening of The Spinners “Could It Be I'm Falling In Love”. It sounded so beautiful, so pristine. Then the strings washed in and I was lifted on a cloud of happy. That song is so damned perfect that I can't describe it. I was so taken away that I leaned over at my desk to look out the window for where it was coming from. It was a pimped-out, copper-colored Buick Riviera slowly tooling down Lenox Avenue, and as that monster slowed behind other cars that song blared from the 8-Track. So perfect. So beautiful. The teacher saw me distracted and gave me demerits. I didn't care. I still don't. That song's sound just moves me something fierce and always will.

5.) Jimi Hendrix' cover of and subsequent claiming of Dylan's “All Along The Watchtower”. I heard this loopy, psychedelic, apocalyptic number during a terrible hailstorm while I was still living in Harlem. I was six years old. The song was petrifying enough—Hendrix's trippy, keening guitar lines and slurry voice fed through the heavy reverb. But the fearsome sound and dystopian imagery will always be punctuated by a visual that took place at that moment. I was looking out the window during his backwards-sounding solo when a huge, bloody, dead pigeon plopped onto the sill in a thud of feathers and ice-ripped wounds. Yikes. That song still scares the living shit out of me, but I can't stop listening to it. It's a sense memory of my youth I'll never forget. It just has that cool, spooky “end of the world” vibe. Brrrrrrrr!


6.) “How Deep Is Your Love” by the Bee Gees. Say what you want about the Brothers Gibb, but those S.O.Bs can turn out a ear-sticking pop song like very few in the modern era. Tuneful, catchy stuff that you can't shake. In the three year span of '76 to '79, you could not avoid them. I was at a sweet sixteen party for a classmate and in attendance was the most beautiful girl in our grade-Ann Marie. A statuesque, doe-eyed, elegant girl with a huge mop of dark brown hair. She was smart, beautiful, classy and I think at least thirty boys in our class were in love with her. I was among them. We were friends Ann Marie and I, and as a bunch of us lingered about holding up the walls at the party, The D.J. put on “How Deep Is Your Love” and the floor cleared except for the longstanding, and just hooked-up couples. I saw Ann Marie standing there off to the side and I impulsively made my move. The assembled fellas saw me making my way towards her and mouths fell open. I was gonna get shot down. NOT. Ann Marie said yes. We clinched on the floor in a soulful slow-dance and that song was magical. The warm Fender Rhodes, languid bass, and trilling guitars swept me away. The lyrics took on meaning and the sighing vocals finished the job. I was in heaven. I swear, when I hear that song nowadays, I can still smell the “Charlie” perfume on Ann's neck and feel myself getting dizzy from our little circle of dirty dancing there on that living room floor. I close my eyes when I hear that song, the same way I closed my eyes while dancing with the impossibly perfect Ann Marie. Maaaaaaan....

7.) First Choice's “Doctor Love”. I was still a teenager but it was my first time at a big-time Disco. It was Studio 54—early summer of 1978. A bunch of us had gotten in and found ourselves nervously standing near the shiny bar under the balcony when the man at the wheels of steel—D.J. Nicky segued from “Don't Leave Me This Way” into “Doctor Love”, disco music's magnum opus. I'd heard the song before, but never in a “club” atmosphere with the huge speakers everywhere and with a chance to dance. The bass was blasting through my mid-section as Rochelle Fleming's singing swooped and dipped like a wild bird on the wing. And then, a beautiful girl spun before me, stopped and then cocked her head, asking me onto the floor. For the next six minutes we danced—a bit of the Hustle, The Spank and The Freak mixed in. I was...for those brief minutes, an adult. Out for a night on the town, dancing my ass off with grown-ups. I can still feel every spin, every shoulder-swagger. My hands about this woman's waist, trailing off to her back, the toe-steps and shimmies. It was my coming-out party hang-out wise and that amazing, propulsive jam is what I think of when partying comes to mind. Sung by the mother of all Disco Divas—the amazing Rochelle fleming, NO song moves my feet more than that one does.

8.) Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach's Painted From Memory”. I was in the process of getting over my first post-divorce relationship's coming to an end, and I was an absolute mess. I couldn't think, I couldn't cope. My friend and trainer at my job's gym I guess had noticed my odd distance and depression and knew I needed a catharsis. I came out of the shower one day to find she'd left me a CD on my gym bag with the note “Just Listen”. So, as I left the gym (unable to find her), I headed home and put the CD in my Discman and listened to it. The whole thing was amazing, but that one song had me blinking back tears on the train. I couldn't blink them back any more, so I got off many stops before my intended one and walked home, with that song on repeat and tears flowing down. It is...one of the most heart-breaking songs about lost love you will ever hear. The combination of Bacharach's melody, and Costello's lyrics and gut-wrenching singing is like a punch in the chest. A real orchestra, swelling and receding along with my emotions—my God. By the time I got home I was exhausted. But it was a good exhaustion. I needed it. That song released me and I'll never forget it.

9.) “People Get Ready” by The Impressions. I've written on this song here before here. But I'll add this. It is one of my earliest audio memories, a song that sounded 400 years old—an ancient, soul-deep moan that I remember my dad giving me and my brothers haircuts to. I can still hear those ringing harmonies coming out of our cheap little phonograph as I watched the eerie ABC-Paramount label slowly spin around. I'm transported back to a simpler time. When I was a child, and while the world was tearing itself apart, a familiar song could actually soothe my soul. I still fall back on this tune for comfort today.

10.) Run-DMC's “Sucker MCs”. I heard this live at a block party three blocks off Hollis Avenue in front of St. Pascal's school on 109th Avenue in Hollis, Queens. Run, D and Jay freaked the assembled when they tore into this live version of their first hit for the locals. There were about a thousand people there with Jay's rig jacked into a light pole for juice. I'd listened to rap, mostly stuff done live at house parties by local would-be's, but when these three rocked the house that day it was amazing. Local boys made good, or, def as it were. The energy they radiated while performing was almost electric. People dancing, jumping, shouting and singing along as rap in essence was coming to life before the world's eyes, and we were there soaking it all in as guys from 'round the way were doing their part to spread it around. We knew something special was happening, but couldn't put our finger on just what—what we did know was that they were rockin' shit like we'd never seen it rocked before. The version they did was considerably extended and chock full of call-and-response stuff between the audience. We danced till our feet hurt and screamed along until we were hoarse. The late Jam Master Jay ended the jam with a two minute virtuoso bit of cutting and scratching. As an old rap song used to go, God damn that Dee Jay made my day!

Those are my ten. I could give you twenty, but those are the big ten that immediately come to mind here in LowerManhattaniteVille. :)

Heal up kiddies, get your music on—the “Silly Season” we're in the ever-lovin' middle of absolutely decrees it.

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More Japanese Music

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Musical Moments That Change Your Life

LM is the Musicman here, for sure, hands down, no contest. His posts about music have left me teary eyed, inspired, and better educated. I am awed by his writing about all things musical... But I was feeling sniffly and sick recently and between blowing my nose one too many times, and surfing through the late night music threads on C&L and others, I was reflecting more specifically on MY music.

What do I mean by MY music? Well, we all have it, the short list; the 5-10 songs, or artists that change it all for you. You were walking along minding your own business and just like in the beginning of Oz, a house came crashing down on your head. You, heard a musician, singer, artist that reached right inside you, and with an almost painful wrench they pulled you out of yourself. They took you somewhere you always wanted to go even though you never knew you wanted to go there.

I suspect it has happened to every thinking, loving, breathing one of us to some extent or another.

For me? Yes of course. (Why else would I be writing this post?)

There were jr. high flings with music, and high school crushes. But the real love affairs, the gut wrenching, house falling moments came in college and after.

There have been a few; Soul Coughing & The Story, some 13 years ago, Amp Fiddler more recently. However, the big one, the house falling out of the sky and knocking me flat, was Tori Amos. Her music quite literally change my life.

She is sexy, powerful, political, talented, and she owns the stage whenever she takes it. She sings from some place that pop-crap-musicians could never understand, even with a 101-for-dummies guide.

A virtuoso on the piano and an amazing lyricist and song writer, Tori spoke to me in a way that made me see the world from a totally different space. I listen to her new stuff much less than I did in the past, but Little Earthquakes is and always will be on my short list.

I would love to know you all better, and know who is on the short list for you. I don't mean who do you like? or Who is good?

Who changed it for you? Show and tell in the thread please.

as for mine, here you are...

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Morning Coffee

The Yoshida Brothers "RISING"

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Sing it Jennifer!

Academy Award winner Jennifer Hudson
(Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role for Dreamgirls [2006])
Sings Somewhere from West Side Story at the Movies Rock event.

Gang... you want to listen to this one.

Jennifer blows the house down. Damn, this woman can sing!

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Keep It Merry, Folks!

Sing it, Clyde!

Yes folks, I've been a little bit caught up with family and all the fun, travel and drama that the holiday season brings. But I have all sorts of fun stuff lined up for you post-Christmas Day. Until tomorrow, enjoy your holiday, and this wonderful animation of an R&B turn on a Christmas classic—as sung by the original Drifters, featuring one of Soul music's first great voices—Clyde McPhatter (who was also an old and dear friend of my father's from their showbiz days) on the falsetto solos.



ENJOY!

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Beattles Mashup

Stairway to Heaven, Oooooh

h/t Whatever via Boing Boing.

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“Christmas In Fallujah”

Cass Dillon premiers Billy Joel's new song live in the Sears Centre (near Chicago.)

“Christmas In Fallujah”
Words & Music By Billy Joel, Performed By Cass Dillon

It's evening in the desert
I'm tired and I'm cold
But I am just a soldier
I do what I am told

We came with the crusaders
To save the holy land
It's Christmas in Fallujah
And no one gives a damn

And I just got your letter
And this is what I read you said
I'm fading from your memory
So I'm just as good as dead

We are the armies of the empire
We are the legionnaires of Rome

It's Christmas in Fallujah
And we ain't never coming home
We came to bring these people freedom
We came to fight the infidel
There is no justice in the desert
Because there is no God in hell

They say Osama's in the mountains
Deep in a cave near Pakistan
But there's a sea of blood in Baghdad
A sea of oil in the sand
Between the Tigris and Euphrates
Another day comes to an end
It's Christmas in Fallujah
Piece on Earth goodwill to men

It's Christmas in Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
It's Christmas in Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
It's Christmas in Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
It's Christmas in Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah

Marry Christmas from Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Marry Christmas from Fallujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah [5x]

Oo-ra!

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The Master Blaster—Live In New York City!

The Blind Man Sees—While The Sighted Stumble In The Dark

We've talked here before about great American songwriters—folks like Willie Nelson and Curtis Mayfield. This post is about a not unsung songwriter/performer—one Steveland Hardaway Judkins, better known as Stevie Wonder.

Music fans don't have a lot to gripe about with the great Stevie—save for the fact that he's been so prolific and long-starred that there has really been no proper compleat anthology of his hits for at least 30 years. He's one of the very few living artists worthy of the Dylan “Biograph” treatment (believe it or not, Prince is one of the others). Stevie is a rare creature indeed—a product of the Motown factory system who spread his wings upon contract emancipation and graced the world with the raw, unfiltered brilliance of his talent. He reeled off seven consecutive phenomenal albums—1971's Music Of My Mind, '72's Talking Book, '73's Innervisions, '74's Fullfillingness First Finale, '76's Songs In The Key Of Life, the grossly underrated at the time Journey Through The Secret Life Of Plants from 1979, and 1980's Hotter Than July.

An unabashed romantic, there is just about no one who's penned more songs singing the praises of unconditional, un-dying love.

When I Fall In Love, It Will Be Forever

Overjoyed

My Cherie Amour

You Are The Sunshine Of My Life

I swear I could give you ten more.

But Stevie, like Curtis, and Marvin Gaye at the same time, could reach within himself and deal beyond the beautiful selfishness that is the love between two individuals, and hit the nail square on the head when it came to matters of people as a whole.

There was the rough, rural-urban mini-opera that was “Living For The City”, his scathing indictment of the Nixon administration “You Haven't Done Nothin”, and his tuneful urging for a Martin Luther King holiday (it worked!) “Happy Birthday”.

This past weekend though, Mr. Wonder came to New York City on tour for the first time since 1996—a rare treat for us in town, and all the more precious as there's a dearth of top-line live entertainment due to the Broadway stagehands strike.

According to several reviews, he did not disappoint. He was in fine voice, radiated ample energy and had as helpful onstage aides de damp, the performers Aisha Morris (his daughter, and the name-checked inspiration for 1976's “Isn't She Lovely”), and Tony Bennett who he duetted with on “For Once In My Life”, and he conjured up a surprise sideman in a “spectating” Prince—who supplied blazing, impromptu scratch guitar on “Superstition” (Goddamn!).

But it was this little bit of patter during a vamp in a song that stuck out for me in the New York Times' review of the performance:

Over a vamp in “Visions,” he opened up a long monologue, bellowing at the top of his pitch range. “I can’t believe it,” he shouted:

“Here we are in 2007, and we’re still practicing the same bad habits that we had centuries ago. We love the God that we serve, whether we are Christian, Muslim, Jewish or whatever we might be, and we still ask our God to give us the right to kill in his name. It’s unacceptable. I can’t believe it.”

He returned to this theme at the end of the show with equal conviction. “Hate is unacceptable,” he said. “If you can’t do nothing but hate, why don’t you go on and die and go to hell?”

And there you had the spectacle of a blind man from Saginaw, Michigan, schooled on the hard road during his teen years of touring by a tutor from the Michigan School For The Blind, seeing the world and how to make it better with a thousand times the clarity than the sighted Yale and Harvard educated, alleged “leader” of the free world. A thousand times the clarity of every sighted, backward-thinking supplicant and enabler as well.

The Malkinite/Ingraham-ette flying monkey squad like to screech between poop-tosses, “Shut up and sing!” to performers who dare challenge their hate-oozing, grand-high-exalted-mystic poobahs of prickishness.

Well, I vehemently disagree. For every lunk-head who croaks out a practically government-approved “Courtesy of the Red, White, & Blue (The Angry American)” there is a space for artist to sing, or say otherwise. Or, to quote the Bible—(oh, my wingnut brother's gonna hate me for this) specifically Ecclesiastes 3:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven...

Stevie found that time to say what had to be said. Never mind the rhyme, or meter—the key or pitch...it was delivered perfectly.

For all of us. From the “Jesus Children Of America” to “Big Brother” to the “Black Man” in “Village Ghetto Land”.

You said what had to be said...and that's NEVER wrong.

Workout Stevie, work-out.

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Things to do in Jail #2

Rico Mambo 2


Our original post: Thrill Me
(Things to do in Jail #1)

Documentary on the
Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center


Five, six, seven, eight.

And kick...

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The Ditty Bops

Angel With An Attitude


The bicycle tour (above) was in 2006.

As to the young ladies in question...

The tall one is Amanda Barrett. The not as tall one is Abby DeWald.

Amanda and Abby are partners in life (since 1999), as well as comprising the Ditty Bops. Amanda also is a really, well, tall, comedian (who's damn oh so funny in addition to the whole being tall deal), and can be seen doing awesome sketch comedy in the group Pretty Things. Here is some more stuff about Abby who while she seems overshadowed by Amanda (cause Amanda's tall; try and keep up please), but if Abby weren't to be there, you'd miss her about as much as oxygen. Yeah, she's that wonderful. Plus talented. I love Abby's voice.

Their 2007 tour went to farms. Cleverly it was named The Ditty Bops Farm Tour.

On August 12 at the Portland show, Abby tried to pull out her niece Lucy's loose tooth during the show. On camera.

Have you ever had a demo that went well? Imagine throwing in your six year-old niece Lucy, a live audience, a background piano accompaniment in mocking counterpoint to Lucy's laughter. And an audience hysterical on the floor.

Lucy's Tooth


Lucy -- A Day Later (Waiting for the Tooth Fairy)


Oh! And they also have their own video channel. Yea them!! They grasp THE AGE OF SHIFTING IDENTITIES (an entire additional post I wrote tonight right here for several hours yes, right here inside this very post. And then I pulled it so Sara and Hubris wouldn't scold me for writing too long [and The Littlest Gator too *waves*], 'cause really this other post, it's unrelated to the goodness of The Ditty Bops. Coming soon, and yes, I know I said I wouldn't promise more posts. Bad Jesse. *sighs* But it's like, 80% done. And you'll like it, it's even got most of the Trust stuff I've been promising you inside it! Just remember: "The Age of Shifting Identities." You heard it here first. Mine, mine, mine! But now I must go to bed. Because of the whole being needing to sleep business.)

Anyway, here is the link to The Ditty Bops TV Show #02: Exercise Routine. Where we see Abby teach us advanced jump-rope, and Amanda do jumping rope (she's a beginner), but then Amanda shows us her famous Parking Lot Workout. Hysterical. And very, very much them.

I like these ladies. Highly recommended.

Oh... and here are their albums:

• The Ditty Bops (2004)
• Moon Over the Freeway (2006)

Enjoy enjoy. Goodness and just pure fun.

h/t TBogg several weeks ago.

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Bound For Whoring

“Lame, Corporate Freeze-Out!”

Serendipity is indeed a strange bird.

Last night, I found myself up late watching perhaps my favorite TV channel—Turner Classic Movies, and their theme (which continues into today) is biopics of famed musicians. Last night they screened 1976's grossly unsung (at least nowadays) “Bound For Glory”—a phenomenally skillful depiction of the life of the late, great American songwriter/musician Woody Guthrie. Now, I was familiar with Guthrie's life —its up and downs, and the amazing art he created therein, but seeing the movie, one of the most beautifully shot films I've ever seen (thanks to the golden-eyed cinematographer Haskell Wexler), depicting dust-bowl America as a wonder of desolation, hopeful sunrises and bleary-eyed sunsets.

Guthrie's story itself was something that kept me thinking much of the night, too. David Carradine played Guthrie with a deft, naturalistic ease—conflicted and determined, but most of all, as a man of rich levels of empathy for his fellow man, and the state of world in general. His (and history's) Guthrie traveled with (via the rails along with the hoboes), and documented the travails of the millions of Americans left adrift in the economic hell that befell the Wsetern U.S. with the Dust Bowl and the latter stages of The Great Depression. He documented these American “voyages” through his songs—songs celebrating the American ideal that was not being put into practice by too many in power, and songs celebrating the spirit of the “little guy” worker at the mercy of his moneyed “betters” who ran everything that mattered in the U.S.

There's a key set of scenes in the movie where Guthrie, after receiving some fame for his musicianship and vocal styling nabs a job at a Los Angeles radio station. He sings a slew of the Okie standards of the time, but began to slip in more than a few of his decidely pro-“the little guy”, union and anti-corporate bully songs. He of course, runs into trouble with the station's boss who then asks Woody for a list of every song he'll perform before each week's broadcast because of fear of upsetting the sponsors—namely many of the farms and growers who took deep advantage of the poor migrants who came west seeking a way to survive. In one passage, Woody, who's ducked the angry station manager for days, finally shows up. The manager angrily demands the list of songs which Woody reluctantly produces. The manager goes over it, nodding his approval at the non-controversial tunes on the list until he stops at one and hesitates over the title. He's not familiar with it.

“This isn't one of them...union songs is it? I mean Woody, our sponsors...”

“Oh no.” Woody reassures him. “THis one's about a man who catches his wife cheatin' on him. He kills her.”

“Oh.”, says the suit. “That's okay, then.” And Woody looks at him with naked disgust.

Guthrie would battle constantly with that paradox of entertaining the masses, and remaining true to himself as a supporter of progressive causes, so much so that he is pretty much the avatar of that sort of putting one's self on the line that way. Not very many would follow him and be able to maintain a popular audience as he did. But a few have managed to do so.

One was the several posts aforementioned Curtis Mayfield. I wrote plenty on Curtis, but it's a comment by one the readers here that stuck out for me days ago, and even moreso today.

“Curtis always seemed to be relevant no matter what was going on.

To get the full flavor of that era, add Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder. Sly had his moments during the Psychedelic end of the Sixties, but never got as deep or as meaningful as the other guys. Perhaps he would have if he hadn't let his talent dissolve into the drugs.

Somehow, despite what must have been great commercial pressures to stay within the old "love and lost" formula of pop music, they were able to make music that spoke of the fight for freedom, to comment on the war, to say things that may have been a bit on the edge.”

Carol 10.28.07 - 3:45 am #

Carol hit that paradoxical “"ars gratius pecunirus” (art for money's sake—thank you, Amuseinc) note perfectly. Then, I saw “Bound For Glory” last night which dealt with this subject again.

And then in my blog trawling, this story today completed the serendiptous circle with a pen-jab right through the paper to the table top:

(Hat tip to Atrios for pointing the way to this at Down With Tyranny)

For all the kudos Springsteen's new Magic album is earning for the joyful rocking it delivers, it's rife with self-doubt, disillusionment, anger and acceptance of the disappointments and compromises life inevitably presents the thinking person.

A couple weeks ago the new album was #1 on the Billboard album chart. Kid Rock's new album knocked it down a peg and this week, Springsteen disposed on