50 Years of Song Project: 1974

1974.  I turned two years old in September.  Was I about to become terrible?  I imagine that some of the few faded images that still remain with me from this time when I lived in the house in which my dad grew up on Market Street in Burgettstown, PA, were being formed during this time.  There are certain things that I can remember, like dropping clothespins from my nose into a basket, playing slap-jack and eating wax beans.  I only lived there for a few years.  These days, it's not that often that I return.  However, any time I'm back in Burgettstown, I drive by that old house, and it still gives me a sense of being home.  

Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings

I was surprised to see this song dated all the way back to 1974.  I would have guessed that it had been released in the early 80s.  Of course, as with any of these songs from my first few years, I don't remember them with any kind of full consciousness from that time.  My associations are connected with the time of my life in which I can remember becoming aware of them.  And like with all memories, I fill in the gaps with stories, real or imagined.  For whatever reason, this song evokes a specific image of my family and I visiting friends in Ft. Madison, Iowa.  Maybe it played in the background on one of these visits?  Maybe it's a more intricate series of associations, memories bleeding with other memories in the labyrinth of whatever combination of gray matter and spiritual essence that makes up my 'self'. 

Recently, I watched Peter Jackson's 'Get Back' documentary (strongly recommend), which was made up mostly of raw footage from a late-Beatles recording session over several days.  It was a fascinating insight into the creative songwriting process and the dynamics between the different members of the band, who even then, on the verge of breakup, were all still only in their mid to late 20s.  

Annie's Song by John Denver

In my estimation, one of the greatest love songs of all time.  One of the few songs that can literally bring tears to my eyes.

The litany of somewhat pedestrian similes that describe how Annie 'fills up his senses' are infused with transcendence by the earnest way in which they are sung.  This is the magic of music.  It can turn what otherwise might have been a bad poem into a testament of gratitude for love. 

Not that I think the lyrics are bad, per se, but when you have the voice of an angel, your lyrics don't have to be on the level of Shakespeare. 

And, of course, unless we want to come off as some kind of detached philosophical bore, the rhetorical figures are necessary when we try to articulate something about love.  After all, we can only attempt to describe the impact of love in terms of other things more concrete, like spending a night in a forest, or taking a walk in the Spring.  

I still remember reading about John Denver's death in the Noon News while on lunch break in the cafeteria of UIHC in 1997.  I should remember to plant more trees.

The Joker by The Steve Miller Band

This song opens with probably one of the most famous and instantly recognizable basslines in rock/pop history.  

The enigmatic lyric 'pompatus of love' is exactly the type of thing I would expect to hear from a joker after some midnight toking.

'I really love your peaches want to shake your tree': one of my favorite lyrics of fun-loving eroticism.  Probably caused some headaches for the record executives at the time.

I'm embarrassed to say that I don't know much of Steve Miller's music outside of the songs that are ubiquitously played on the radio stations I listen to (or used to listen to).  I didn't even know, for example, until relatively recently, that his reference to being called a 'space cowboy', 'gangster of love' and 'Maurice' were references to some of his earlier songs.  Some years back, Steve was a guest on The Big Interview with Dan Rather.  Given my impression of him as a laidback stoner, I was somewhat surprised, for whatever reason, to learn of his deep ties to great musicians throughout his childhood.  He has truly been a student of music throughout his entire life.  More importantly, he's been an ambassador for music.

Radar Love by Golden Earning

I bought a used Golden Earning CD from The Record Collector in Iowa City sometime around 1997.  It still has the $5 sticker on the case.  The only two songs I knew were Radar Love and Twilight Zone, but they were both anthems.  A few years back, I was visiting Iowa City and was pleased to see that The Record Collector was still there.  As we move incessantly into our digital future, I hope little shops like this never fade completely away.  Indeed, the comeback of vinyl has shown that people have a hunger for analog.  I think it goes beyond simple nostalgia.  People like imperfections in their art.  

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John

'maybe you'll get a replacement, there's plenty like me to be found, mongrels who ain't got a penny, sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground'

Sara Bareilles performs a blues-infused jaw-dropping cover of this song that puts me in mind of Eva Cassidy.  You can find it on YouTube by searching for Sara Bareilles/Atlanta/Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Is the yellow brick road ever anything more than a gilded gravel path?

Would I really leave all this fame and fortune behind?

Can I remember what life was like before all these trappings?

Of course, I'll never know what it's like to feel fame as a burden.  But the best artists sing about this dilemma in a way that makes it feel like I'm experiencing it myself.

Presumably, stars can remember the time before they were stars, so they can remember the yearning to break free of anonymity.  And they are the only ones in a position to compare and contrast this longing with something that they once might have thought of as fulfillment.  

I watch Sara Bareilles cover of this song, and all I can think of is that I wish I could create one thing this beautiful in my life.  I watch the rapture of the audience, and I long to be able to create a moment such as that.  Would it truly be enough for me?  Would I be satisfied?  Or, would I simply always want more, like I do with money, food, and other 'good' things?

I want to say that it 'would' be enough because it is an authentic spiritual connection, something so deep I can't even clearly articulate what it is that makes me want it so much.  There is no form of art that makes me feel this longing more than music.  I'm actually embarrassed by the earnestness it evokes within me.

Music has always been important to my friends, my family and me, as I assume it is to most of humanity.  I only wish I would have participated in its creation more than I did, and that someone would have walked alongside me encouraging me to pour all of my heart and soul into its experience regardless of whether or not I was any good.