imagine the sound of me trying to hit an extremely high note here. a sound not unlike a cat screaming for help.

the talented, multi-octave ms. riperton left this world all-too-soon after a fight with breast cancer. i have absolutely no quarrel whatsoever with her, and i know the world lost an amazing talent when she passed.

that being said, loving you is not a song i remember fondly. at age 10, i didn’t like anything mushy. this song is all bells and flowers. birds sing; angels take wing; all that sappy crap that i’ve never bought into.  (i was pretty much dumbfounded when my 1st rutgers roommate, jean jean the dancing machine, played depeche mode’s somebody for me. now THAT hit my ideas about love a lot more closely. jean. wherever you may be, you were right.) all that jingly, magical bell-like sounds in the background — it sounded to me like something the muppets might sing. and the birds?? who trained the birds to chirp on cue??

moreover, i didn’t appreciate the sound of a person screaming in my ears. riperton may have had a whistle-octave virtuouso voice, but when i was 10, i thought that someone was having their fingernails pulled out during the song. or maybe she was screaming because a bird crapped on her? in any event, someone kindly put together a bunch of her whistle-octave moments in case you want to break a few windows or annoy your dog. (or even fish. as i play this, Hellboy’s fish is literally beating himself against his fishbowl. do fish have ears?)

so for me, the song is a juxtaposition of moods — mushy gushy or screetchingly excruciating. it just didn’t compute for me. and the la la la la la‘s drove me over the edge.

i will say, though, that now that i’m a mother, i can appreciate one part of the song. it’s hard to hear, but riperton is singing to her little daughter, maya, who is there with her during the recording. maya, for you trivia fans, would be SNL comedian maya rudolph.

if this kind of love will keep the captain and toni tennille together, then someone had better call PETA.

muskrat susie, muskrat sam, do the jitterbug with some purloined ham. i guess dancing rats are less magical than some muskrats jamming to glenn miller. i mean, when i think of romance, i always think that muskrats truly capture the imagination in a way that, well, gerbils just cannot.

[note to any gerbils out there: don’t flame me. and while you’re at it, leave richard gere alone, too, you furry little bastards.]

in all fairness, captain and tennille didn’t write this mellow song about romantic rodents; they, like their soft rock compadres america were merely covering a song written in 1972 by whatcha talkin’ bout willis alan ramsey (the original title: muskrat candlelight. no. not making that one up, either.) as an english major, i am compelled to find the metaphorical meaning in everything. however, i am sad to report that this song is actually about muskrats in love. and no, it apparently was not written for a cute little cartoon, either.

we may never know what inspired this song. i don’t want to think too hard about it myself. i think it could be too disturbing.

but one does wonder: with all the choices out there to cover, why on EARTH did they choose this one? with their connections to the beach boys, to elton john, to pink freakin’ floyd for cryin’ out loud, why did they choose this clunker? and what did the american public find it so charming?

my fellow americans, i think there must be some scary-ass people out there.

quite possibly the worst of the worst.

well, i’m not having anybody’s baby at the moment, but i am probably in surgery having my gallbladder removed. (ah, the glamorous life.) so instead of blathering on about how bad this song is (and i defy any of you to tell me, in 50 words or less, why this song rocks your world), i am linking to jason hare’s adventures through the mines of mellow gold. he explains, so much better than i ever could, why this song is awful piled atop awful.

read it. it will make you lose control of your bladder. in a good way.

props to college pal and indie musicologist mike for the suggestion.

and don’t be a hater. i had to write this in advance.

have a nice day.

cheaterpants, cheaterpants, i know! originally released in 1977, it didn’t become a monster hit until 1982. and still, it’s here, nestled among the 70s freaks, as i feel it’s the ultimate 1970s trainwreck of a song, and, by gum, it’s the ultimate assault on the ears.

let’s break down this lovely song, shall we?

Hey lady, you lady, cursing at your life
You’re a discontented mother and a regimented wife
I’ve no doubt you dream about the things you’ll never do
But, I wish someone had talked to me
Like I wanna talk to you…..

yeah, cos i’m about to rub in all the insane things i’ve had the chance to do while you spent your 20s or 30s barefoot and pregnant with that boring guy with the 9-to-5 down at the hardware store. hang on to your milk of magnesia, sister, cos your life really blows in comparison.

Oh, I’ve been to Georgia and California and anywhere I could run
I took the hand of a preacher man and we made love in the sun
But I ran out of places and friendly faces because I had to be free
I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me

remember that miniseries, thornbirds? yeah, that was me, and sheee-yit, i was hot. only the guy wanted to get married. what a bourgeois bore. i made like a priest and got the hell out of there. pity. those religious sorts are the freakiest, i tell ya.

Please lady, please lady, don’t just walk away
‘Cause I have this need to tell you why I’m all alone today
I can see so much of me still living in your eyes
Won’t you share a part of a weary heart that has lived million lies….

wait. i’m not done belittling you yet.

Oh, I’ve been to Nice and the Isle of Greece while I’ve sipped champagne on a yacht
I’ve moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo and showed ’em what I’ve got
I’ve been undressed by kings and I’ve seen some things that a woman ain’t supposed to see
I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me

have you been to europe? oh, it’s lovely. the mediterranean is just delightful during the warmer seasons. and i’ve gotten men to buy me all sorts of things. designer clothes. fine wines. amazing times. oh, sure, i had to compromise a little and go out with some of the old, rich farts, but still. they are so grateful, you know?

[spoken]
Hey, you know what paradise is?
It’s a lie, a fantasy we create about people and places as we’d like them to be
But you know what truth is?
It’s that little baby you’re holding, it’s that man you fought with this morning
The same one you’re going to make love with tonight
That’s truth, that’s love……

oh, i’m sorry. did i upset you while regaling you with my glamorous life? really, your life is good, too. i hear your husband is up for promotion as assistant clerk at the hardware store. that’s really great. uh, really great.

oh. you’ve got baby spit on your shoulder.

Sometimes I’ve been to crying for unborn children that might have made me complete
But I took the sweet life, I never knew I’d be bitter from the sweet
I’ve spent my life exploring the subtle whoring that costs too much to be free
Hey lady……
I’ve been to paradise, (I’ve been to paradise)
But I’ve never been to me

yeah, i could have chosen your path, but i’m just not cut out for that daily grind of normalcy. oh sure, i am sorry i don’t have kids, i’m sorry i don’t have a steady paycheck mealticket, er, husband. Dog forbid i go out and support myself. why do that when there’s an army of men out there who can do it for me. of course, i’m not getting any younger…

(I’ve been to Georgia and California, and anywhere I could run)
I’ve been to paradise, never been to me
(I’ve been to Nice and the isle of Greece while I’ve sipped champagne on a yacht)
I’ve been to paradise, never been to me
(I’ve been to cryin’ for unborn children that might have made me complete)
I’ve been to paradise, never been to me
(I’ve been to Georgia and California, and anywhere I could run)
I’ve been to paradise, never been to me

damn. i think it’s time i looked into plastic surgery.

bet you thought i was going to talk about modest mouse. psyche!

one-hit wonders the floaters enjoyed the sweet smell of success with float on, a song that came to singer james mitchell in a dream. you know, lots of things come to me in dreams, but you don’t see me inflicting that crap on anyone other than my husband, now, do you?

does anyone else think the song sounds like it could be background music in a porno?

anyway, lucky us, we got the chance to familiarize ourselves with each member of the group — and their astrology. i especially loved to make fun of my brother, who shares the name with the last singing member of that group:

Cancer and my name is Larry, huh
And I like a woman
That loves everything and everybody
Because I love everybody and everything
And you know what, ladies,
If you feel that this is you
Then this is what I want you to do

yeah, i see the big gold necklace, too.

tell me, what woman in her right mind would want to hook up with a guy who talks about astrology? where i come from, that sets off your gaydar, or at least an alan alda alert. hmph. a man who loves everybody and everything? does that include animals?

please.

pisces. and my name is wrekehavoc

and i think any man who writes a song like this

should be forced to listen to it forever

while tied up in a cigar box.

and you know what, gentlemen?

if you feel this is you,

then you need serious professional help.

b j thomas has some fodder for this here cannon. but i think i picked the winner.

look at that sea of white, christian folk. it’s holiday time, and they have voluntarily gathered together to listen to mr. thomas. all i need is rudolph lighting the way to the exits and i’m in the catbird seat! actually, thomas is well-loved in the christian music circuit. and nothing says happy christmas to the faithful like a song sung by a guy named B J about your girlfriend banging someone else.

he also is big in brazil.

hey! did you have to write a song with a title so G-d damned long it made it impossible for people to actually fit in on a record label? of course, it isn’t as long as the song Guinness has credited as having the longest song title, courtesy of hoagy carmichael:

I’m a Cranky Old Yank in a Clanky Old Tank on the Streets of Yokohama with my Honolulu Mama Doing Those Beat-o, Beat-o, Flat on my Seat-o Hirohito Blues

but STILL?

okay, so it also was on the country charts (and paved the way for thomas for some more country hits as well), but the ROCK chart? what about this sound actually rocks? the chair he’s sitting in while he’s strumming his GE-tar and crying into his coffee? how the hell did the american public go from philadelphia freedom one week to this masterwork? gahhhhh.

i know what you’re thinking: she doesn’t like country, and it’s coloring her choices. damn right.

wait til you see the earmworm i unleash tomorrow. it’s part of my family lore, even.

::smacking head into wall to try and remove the thought::

this one gets personal.

don’t get your panties in a twist. i’m not talking about the 1967 masterpiece. i’m talking about the 1978 film, sgt. peppers lonely hearts club band starring the bee gees and peter frampton.  a movie the bee gees begged to not be in. a movie i actually could not bear to watch with a soundtrack of beatles covers i could never stomach (save for aerosmith and earth wind and fire.)

a movie my cousin — rock critic, rock biographer, and all-around amazing writer — wrote.

using beatles songs to tell a story is an idea that gets revived every so often. there is the nearly-forgotten 1976 film all this and world war II (which is only available to collectors these days but which has a lovely version of strawberry fields forever done by peter gabriel). and of course, there’s 2007’s across the universe, a movie you’d expect me to like, as i’m a huge beatles fan — and which i loathe.

and there’s this mama-jama.

in 1978, i was 13 years old and at the height of my will-the-beatles-ever-get-back-together mania. i even bought magazines dedicated to that very topic. (no lie.) i would read anything and everything beatle-related. in fact, when the $64,000 question was revived on television as the $128,000 question, my brother suggested i try out, as i probably knew the length of ringo starr’s eyelashes. (i don’t.) in short, i liked EVERYTHING BEATLES. plus i had glasses. AND i was a smart girl. (yes, intermediate school was not fun for me.)

so you can imagine i was extremely excited to see this picture, especially since i knew the person who had written the movie. (i still have the paperback he autographed for me 🙂 i wanted desperately to go to the premiere, to which my cousin had invited me. i wanted to see peter frampton (the hell with the bee gees, i thought.) but my mother refused to let me go (probably afraid i’d be hanging around with coked-up grownups with no one probably looking after me. a few years later, when we visited my cousin henry in venice, ca, she also wouldn’t let me meet my cousin’s friend timothy for fear i’d end up running away to some far-flung place. like insanity-land, f’rinstance. sigh. moms can be such killjoys.)

so i saw the picture like everyone else did: at the theater. it was excruciating. the movie was filled with people i didn’t know in a story that leapt around in ways my little teen-aged brain couldn’t follow. and the music? i have written aplenty about how picky-picky i am about people covering other artists’ music. my idea of a great cover does not involve george burns. i also had the album (i think my brother larry has it now), but it didn’t get much airplay in my house beyond earth wind and fire’s cover of got to get you into my life (which i actually thought was catchy and interesting) and aerosmith, whose cover of come together still gets airplay even today on classic rock stations everywhere.

i always wish i could sit down and talk with my cousin about this whole era, not to mention his entire career. i think it would be fascinating. but i have not yet had that opportunity, and i’m not sure i ever will. he’s really a fantastic person; and while he may never know this, he is the person who inspired me — at age 13 — to be a writer. his advice: write every day. doesn’t matter what it is about, if you’re a writer, you simply need to write. it’s some of the most meaningful advice i ever got.

i don’t know for certain, but i imagine when this project was brought to his attention, my cousin was told: hey you, take this album, and a few songs from the other albums, and try to string a story together. considering the psychedelic nature of the material it couldn’t have been an easy task. the story of tommy is fairly improbable (and the movie is bizarre), but that story was woven as the songs were written. doing it in reverse, well, that’s got to be a nightmare.

everyone is entitled to have an off-year. not everyone has the opportunity to have their off-year so very publicly visible, i imagine.

poor henry. if you’re out there, i love you 🙂