a) a treasured instrument used by the likes of bassists like mccartney and sting
b) a fish found in the depths of the mississippi
c) an amazing soul singer who went without writing credits for her biggest hit for decades
well, duh.
fontella bass is still around and singing her heart out, especially in gospel circles. but the lady is best known for a song you’ve probably heard on commercials, movie soundtracks, and if you’re like me, in your head on days when your kids fight over who is breathing whose air. rescue me, released in 1965, is a fun song, with a thumping horn and drum section. for years, i thought it was aretha singing it — at the time, i didn’t know there were others with heart-stoppingly huge voices out there. but there are.
rescue me is also a song that gave bass a share of heartache for a long, long time. was it because she was a woman? was it because she was african-american? hard to prove, of course, but for a long time, no one was willing to give her credit as a co-author of the song, which resulted in financial losses for her, not to mention the fact that she notes (on her website) that she was known as a troublemaker for demanding her rights. (bet that made it hard to get work.) finally, in 1990, she started to get paid for the song, only to have to file suit against American Express (and Ogilvy & Mather, the ad agency) when she heard the song used on an Amex commercial without her permission.
i hope someone invents a typeface named after her. it would be bold, sans serif, that’s for certain.
oh. if only mike mills would marry me. then again, we both have sons with the same name. could make step-parenting a challenge. (not to mention the pesky fact i’m already spoken for.)
when i was 19, i wanted nothing more than to look like rachel ward as she looked in the movie against all odds. i thought she was (and is!) incredibly gorgeous, with her dark swirls curving around her porcelain face. i got an ill-fated perm, a perm which haunts me to this day in family photos, a perm second only in ridiculousness to the horrific perm i had in 1988, when my then-boyfriend (now BS) announced: you look like a poodle.
(for the record, he has since learned to make criticisms comments more judiciously for fear of incurring the wrath of G-d a flood of tears.)
but in 1984, i cut my long straight hair and permed it, and i listened incessantly to phil collins’ title film track against all odds:
(ah yes. is that phil singing, or is it the aztec? or is it mayan? incan? south and central american history has never been my strength, though i’ll still take it on Jeopardy! long before i take Calculus for $200, Alex.)
ah, phil. (not to be confused with the group BS refers to as phil and the phils.) this was the point when phil went from being cool to being hot. and without calling up the spirit of Dr. Fahrenheit, there is a vast difference, musically, in being cool versus being hot. when phil was with genesis up until about 1981 or so, he was cool. he took musical chances. he wrote interesting, non-vapid songs. like this. i even liked his first two solo albums. no lie.
but then, he got very polished, and he had a musical midas touch that lasted for years. genesis got MTV-friendly. his songs became utterly obnoxious. (if i have to hear sussudio any more in my lifetime, i may spontaneously combust.) he produced everyone and their dog (Frida, Philip Bailey, Eric Clapton), showcasing his exceptional and unique gated reverb drum sound. i wanted to cheer him on; there’s something so likeable about him. but once you start writing disney soundtracks, you often become less musically interesting (though probably incredibly wealthy. old rockers never die: they either write cartoon soundtracks (billy joel, elton john), broadway musicals (billy joel, pete townshend), or go classical (billy joel, elvis costello, paul mccartney.) (note to self: what is UP with billy joel?)
the last song i can recall that he wrote that moved me to tears is against all odds. sure the movie, a remake of out of the past, is murky and convoluted, in spite of the saving grace that is rachel ward’s hair. but the song is powerful and showcases phil at his best: singing about lost love. i’d argue the best work he has ever done is when he is in searing emotional pain (see: Duke, Face Value, Hello, I Must Be Going). of course, i would never wish that on anyone, let alone someone as nice as phil; but i think once his life got in order, his music became less emotional and less gripping.
after divorce #3, phil has formally announced his retirement from music, at least from center stage. he’s going to sit back and collect memorabilia from the Alamo. i think that’s a nice euphemism, sort of like how politicians retire to spend more time with their families.
it’s against all odds that he might write another amazing classic. but i’ll never, ever count the bald guy out.
after our magical day on wednesday, i granted BC a day off from cheerleading camp for good behavior. we ran errands, we chatted, we laughed, we took a grownup friend (of both of ours!) out to lunch, and generally had a lovely day. i know there’s a school of thought that would say that BC needed to get back on the horse that threw her — and i often do make her do just that — but i felt strongly that girlfriend needed to see that i was in her corner. no matter what.
PHOTO REMOVED BECAUSE OF CREEPS ON THE INTERNET. YOU SUCK, PERVS.
how could anyone be mean to this face?
so this morning, we started our drive to camp, both of us feeling pretty sunny. today is the last day of cheerleader camp. i knew i would call the camp office later and explain girlfriend’s situation so that when she starts another camp there in two weeks, girlfriend already has peeps looking out for her. my beloved mentor/former boss/second dad down here in DC taught me a lesson back in the day which i’ve never forgotten — don’t stress about bad stuff — DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT — then move on. (i love that Cool Pops guy.) so i knew i would feel better later after i did what i could do for Dog, Country, and Beloved Child.
but back to the ride in. as usual, i have my mp3 player blaring, which usually prompts BC, AKA my grandmother reincarnated, to tell me to turn it down!!!! (how’s that for role reversal?) my mp3 player, as noted in other places, is somewhat eclectic. but one of my favorite guilty pleasures came on, and suddenly, little miss backseat driver yells, turn it up!
we begin to sing:
clowns to the left of me,
jokers to the right.
here i am, stuck in the middle with you.
i look at my rearview mirror at little girl bopping to the music. this is pretty much our song, isn’t it? i asked.
summer in the southland especially makes me reach for two things: a cold drink (with or without an umbrella), and some nice rootsy, bluesy rock. and today’s guilty pleasure monday selection, while not well-known, is a special song for me.
all the time in the world, which you can also find on my muxtape as various (since it wouldn’t edit, for reasons i will never understand), is a song by the subdudes, a group from nawlins, looziana (i am learning to pronounce things properly). i cannot claim to have sought them out at first; i actually became acquainted with them, and this song in particular, thanks to a mixtape my best buddy murph made me in the mid ’90s. i never actually listened to the aforementioned mixtape until one fateful day.
i was in an untenable situation at work. i won’t go into details, but suffice to say, i was not in the right place, i was not being given any direction, and i had a lot of responsibility with very little authority. i knew things were wearing me down, and i knew this was probably not an optimal situation, but i didn’t quite know what to do.
one monday, i walked in, dressed in ratty jeans and t-shirt. i was going to pack up my office, as i was told i was going to be moving offices. precisely at 9, i was called into my boss’s office. he was seated there, along with the company’s VP of human resources. not a good sign. i sat down. my boss, who, i have to believe has a good heart in non-work situations, was a bit on the bombastic side, immediately barking at me: wreke: you’ve been terminated!
wha?????
then, the HR veep interjected, no, boss, wreke hasn’t been terminated. her job has been terminated and she has been restructured. wreke has not been terminated!
what????? i hadn’t even had coffee yet, and i was hit broadside with this one.
the HR Veep continued. you have an interview out at the new campus (about 15 miles away.) have you ever been there?
uh, no, i replied, still completely dumbfounded.
you have an interview there at 11. i’ll give you directions. you need to find a job within the company within 30 days or you really are terminated.
i’ll say it again: wha????
i put some stuff in jo-jo, my little-honda-that-could (theme song: jo-jo was a car who thought he was a honda, but he knew he couldn’t last), and looked down at myself. i wore my worst jeans and an old shirt today. i thought i was going to move boxes. and now i was going on an interview?
i was doomed.
in fact, i wasn’t. i later learned that i could have been terminated, like many other people that day, but my original boss at the company, whom i adore, knew my sorry situation and had arranged for me to have an interview over in the international division. lucky for me, my interview was with a person i knew, albeit only virtually and not in real life, a person who had helped me with some tech work remotely while the person was in germany and i was in the US. i wrote to said person and indicated that i owed him a beer when he returned to the US.
little did i know that the person had returned during the year and that he was a she 🙂 and in spite of the fact that i almost talked my way out of the job, she hired me. she ended up being a fantastic boss; a terrific and highly respected colleague; a person my kids call aunt; and a clutch, clutch friend i treasure to this very day. (also, no one sings hong kong phooey in german the way she can.)
but, back to the song, right? well. after i finished that fateful interview, figuring i had blown it, i went to make the long drive home and call BS. great news like this has to be shared, right? i put murphy’s mix for the first time into the tape deck (remember those, kids?), fast forwarded it to a random spot, and started to play. and d’ya know what song i was in the middle of?
yep. all the time in the world. and right out there, in scenic dulles, va, a place that doesn’t actually exist, i had an epiphany: i may be on the job hunt, but after two years of long hours, i had a break. i had breathing space.
and, for the first time in years, i had all the time in the world.
today’s lesson in parenthood: you’ll never know the fun you’ll have discussing middle eastern issues with a nine year old.
BC and i were driving to camp this morning. i didn’t have my mp3 player hooked up in the car, so we were at the mercy of the radio. i couldn’t bear to hear the mattress discounters commercial one more time, so i put on NPR. you never know what you’ll get on NPR, one of the reasons i like it so much. and lately, BC is interested in the stories she hears, so i turn it on every now and again.
once again, i was thrilled to be the parent who gets the good questions, not like BS, who gets questions like: daddy, why can’t i have candy in the morning? and: daddy, is it dessert night? nope, i have already (poorly) tackled evangelicals and abortion, homosexuality, and menstruation. why not middle eastern politics? it’s definitely a different tack than the other conversation we seem to be having this week: whether or not BC is chubby or too heavy, as the other little girls have a harder time picking her up at cheerleading.
of course, you know what i told her about that: those girls need to start lifting weights! (as if.) i also seriously told her about how its difficult when you’re a curvy and muscular tween girl. a lot of other girls haven’t started developing yet, and you feel bulky and cumbersome. i still remember thinking how huge i was in comparison to the other girls when i was her age. it was, essentially, muscular me versus the twig girls.
i worked myself into some borderline eating disorder moments because of it, and i’ll be damned if girlfriend goes down that path, too.
but back to iran, the topic most mothers and daughters are chatting about these days. well, i started out in a ::cough cough:: reaganesque tone, iran is a country in the middle east. for awhile, they were led by a US-backed ruler called a shah; i suspect he wasn’t nice to all of the people. then, some religious people kicked the shah out of the country. they took american hostages out of the US enbassy there. i still remember as a girl watching the news. as the announcer would tell you how many days the hostages were in captivity.
the president at that time, jimmy carter, tried to rescue them, but the attempt was a disaster. the day that ronald reagan became president, they released the hostages, which was great for them and obnoxious for president carter. i guess the people who took the hostages might have thought that reagan would have done something scarier to get the hostages out, so they released them.
anyway, there are a lot of very religious people there now who don’t like people who don’t follow their ways. (yes, i was very, very close to my separation of church-state speech here, but i hadn’t had coffee yet. i spared the child.) so right now, people are concerned about iran having missiles like these because if they have them, they can hit a lot more targets.
like us? she asked.
well, not us, i continued, but israel. they don’t recognize israel and don’t like israel, so people are afraid they might send those things toward israel. israel is surrounded by a lot of other countries that don’t like it, so israel would probably act pretty tough in return if iran sent missiles over.
well, that would start World War III, girlfriend said.
sometimes, i marvel at her ability to grasp things. yes, it could, i replied. but there are a lot of people who don’t want that to happen, and so people are keeping an eye on the situation.
where do they test them? she continued.
i don’t really know, honey, i replied. maybe the desert, maybe the ocean. i don’t know.
does it cause big waves in the ocean? does it hurt the fish?
there are so many questions you wish you could answer as a parent. and then of course, there are questions you have that are also sadly unanswerable.
with apologies to sting, i hope the iranians love their children, too.
lucky for me, i am related to none other than my middle brother larry (motto: no 1970s song is too sappy; no fiscally conservative wingnut is too crazy), dean of 1970s muzak music. one time, my darling big brother made a CD mix for me which included a crazy semblance of songs. one of them was treat her like a lady. i imagined at first the song made it on the mix simply because the lyrics are so uncomfortably sexist. see, the singer is giving his man-friends advice on the allegedly weaker sex:
All my friends had to ask me
Somethin’ they didn’t understand-a
How I get all the women
In the palms of my hand, now
And I told them, to treat her like a lad-ay
(You got-to, got-to treat her like)
Um-hum all the best you can do
(Treat her like, you got-to, got-to treat her like)
You got to treat her like a lad-ay, she’ll give into you
Ah-hum now who can see, you know what I mean?
oh, so THAT’S what those guys are doing in those classes! you know, the ones where they learn to pick up women? (oh, that’s going to give me all sorts of strange search results. all i need to use are words like naked and off we go into wacko land.) what a novel concept: listen to a woman and she might start to feel appreciated. only, silly girl, you thought he really was interested in you!
(of course, if we are the weaker sex, then how come you don’t see women going to classes learning how to pick up men?)
ahem.
anyway, back to the song. i thought at first my brother had put that song on the CD just to piss his feminist sister off. but no, he hadn’t. it’s just a song with a killer hook. no malicious intent. how it didn’t become a bigger hit, i just don’t know.
yep, i guess larry isn’t so bad. he also introduced me to the dead kennedys. [punk alert, punk alert: offensive language. don’t put on the speakers in front of the kiddies or the boss.] so sometimes, no matter how different, brothers and sister can work together and even learn from each other. maybe we never had a hit record, and maybe he’ll never see eye-to-eye with me on political issues, and maybe i’ll never forget how he used to use me as the human punching bag during 1971; but larry and i actually get along now.
just something i’ll have to point out to BC the next time she wants to put her brother in a headlock.
in honor of the US’s big birthday bash later this week, i’m sharing:
guilty pleasure monday: the patriot version.
(no, we’re not listening to god bless the usa; i think that song and lee greenwood should just be launched into iraq, where the people there will surely think of something suitable to do with them both.)
american tune, a song paul simon produced sometime just after he split with partner art garfunkel, is a very simple, but moving song. i often listen to it; i imagine if woody allen had been a folky, this would have been the song he would have sung. the narrator (who allegedly wrote this, depressed after Nixon won re-election in 1972) is world-weary, wondering what’s gone wrong, a thought sadly still relevant.
what some don’t realize is that the song is an old, old tune, a re-working of a J. S. Bach chorale from St. Matthew Passion (which J. S. ripped off from Hans Leo Haßler, who wrote it as Mein Gmüth ist mir verwirret, which of course translated means my ferret is on fire. kidding on the translation, though the ripoff is true. shame on you, johann.)
this, in turn, has been reworked throughout the ages for other purposes. one of my favorite reworkings, originally sung by the weavers and unfortunately only available as a 30 second sample, is peter, paul and mary’s because all men are brothers. despite the somewhat dated lyrics (yellow, white or brown? not sure where that would put me in the color lineup. someone hadn’t heard of estee lauder’s palette then, apparently), the lyrics still grip me and ring true:
My brothers and my sisters forever hand in hand
Where chimes the bell of freedom there is my native land
My brother’s fears are my fears yellow white or brown
My sister’s tears are my tears the whole wide world around.
(see, i like me some folks tunes about brotherhood.)
which brings us to rhymin’ paul simon, who apparently followed the tradition and ripped the tune off for himself, calling it now an american tune (because apparently early folk incarnations, citing brotherhood, wouldn’t do for america: brotherhood, apparently, is not american. ripping things off and calling them american? now, that’s as american as the original colonists themselves, isn’t it?)
and his tune is personal. it’s not about the greater community of humankind, like those early, dare i say it, socialistically-minded folkies sang. it’s about how he is sad. and tired. and introspective. it fits in nicely with the me generational thinking of the 1970s, which blossomed in the 1980s and which hasn’t quite progressed in much of our populace in modern days.
ah well. happy birthday, america; rest up. we’re not always on the side of right, but we’ve done okay historically, and there’s always time to change the road we’re travelling on today. we have a lot more fight ahead of us to make the world a better place. and we have a lot more fight in us to do the right thing and make it so.
let’s roll.
We come on a ship we call the Mayflower,
We come on a ship that sailed the moon
We come at the age’s most uncertain hour
And sing the American tune
But it’s all right, its all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s gonna be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest,
That’s all, I’m trying to get some rest.
AMERICAN TUNE
(words by Paul Simon music by JS Bach/Haßler)
Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken,
and many times confused
And I’ve often felt forsaken,
and certainly misused.
But it’s all right, it’s all right,
I’m just weary to my bones
Still, you don’t expect to be
bright and Bon Vivant
So far away from home,
so far away from home.
I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
Don’t have a friend who feels at ease
Don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
Or driven to its knees.
But it’s all right, all right,
We’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on,
I wonder what went wrong,
I can’t help it
I wonder what went wrong.
And I dreamed I was flying.
I dreamed my soul rose unexpectedly,
and looking back down on me,
smiled reassuringly,
and I dreamed I was dying.
And far above, my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty,
drifting away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying.
We come on a ship we call the Mayflower,
We come on a ship that sailed the moon
We come at the age’s most uncertain hour
And sing the American tune
But it’s all right, its all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s gonna be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest,
That’s all, I’m trying to get some rest.
i’ve just returned from lifting at the gym. it was uneventful, i am glad to report. the only one there from tuesday was the original man, who stared at me when i walked in. i grinned big and said, “HI!” and he left me alone after that. there were several other men in there, and eventually, one other incredibly fit woman. no one paid attention to me (though one guy was staring at the other woman at one point. i only noticed because i was waiting for the barbell, and he was waiting, in between reps with the barbell, watching her. still not wonderful, but whatever.), and i paid little attention to them.
it was a beautiful thing.
exercise lifts me up. i seriously end up sad when i cannot take care of myself the way i need to. if i keep this up for life, i may end up corraling some of you into becoming a sort of online workout club. i want you all to grow old with me and to feel as good as this 🙂 it’s great to do cardio, but i feel like women don’t get a strong enough message to do strength training. gaining muscular strength is where it’s at, as those old hipsters would have said. you help your bones, you help maintain (and obtain, in my case) a better weight situation (especially since muscle burns more calories than does fat), and you probably can kick someone’s ass in a dark alley.
(just kidding on that last one. well, at least for me, anyway.)
and no, you don’t have to spend your life on machines. in fact, when i am using machines, i am more likely to “cheat” and be too comfortable. (in other words, yes. i am actually doing pushups.) (commence laughter.) the workout i’m following, which uses few machines, lasts only about 35 minutes and a three-day/week commitment. it’s great to do cardio on two or three of the other days if you like. but i see these cardio bunnies on the elliptical, men and women. they spend an hour on a machine and don’t push themselves much. (there’s one woman who regularly reads the Washington Post on one of the machines. you should see her toss the sports section.) if you don’t push yourself to a higher intensity, you’re not really getting the full benefit of the time.
of course, i have my little POS hot pink sansa clip with me, loaded with my usual assemblage of weird songs. (who knew that i was thinking i could clean up for christmas would be an inspirational workout song?) at some point, i would love to start amassing suggestions for workout playlists which don’t include any current crappy pop. (i’m very open to new music; i’m just not open to the stuff that stuffs up the Top 40.) if you’ve any suggestions, drop me a comment.
after all, i need a change. i may be the only person who hangs out on the elliptical tripping to this:
i probably look like a complete dork, but it’s almost a religious experience 😉
as the school year closes (at least around here — most of the rest of the nation has been out of school probably for six months by this point, but not OUR schools, which stay open practically until the next millenium), i am inspired to revisit an old chestnut from the teacher-who-tames-the-unruly-and-impossible-class genre. it’s another one of my 4:30 movie favorites, to sir with love, starring brilliant actor sidney poitier and a host of other mostly-english actors you’ve probably never heard of.
in typical hollywood fashion, the movie completely bowdlerizes the novel, down to the fact that when the girls burn something in poitier’s classroom, no one ever tells what’s causing that smell. (it’s a sanitary napkin. used. yech.) not to mention the fact that london’s east end in the mid-1960s was a very rough place, thanks to kray-zee guys like these. (i, of course, follow the east end of london closely, the current bowdlerized version anyhow, via eastenders. so i should know. of course.)
but i rabbit on digress. and this is about guilty pleasure songs, not films. apparently, the american idol folks had lulu on in the not-too-distant past, reviving this old chestnut. i’m sorry i missed it but am glad i can still see it, for while i avoid AI like the plague, i do like seeing old singers trotting out their hits. and it is a lovely song, much better than the crap lulu ended up singing for eurovision a few years after.
