Category: music

baby i'm a star

baby i'm a star

Posted on by wrekehavoc

this week, miss thang is the classroom star of the week.

star student
the kids listened with rapt attention about how girlfriend has been in the washington post (twice!), likes to play softball, has an annoying little brother (who, contrary to what one child thought, is not wearing a skirt in the picture on the board), has pet a snake at busch gardens (in tampa, not williamsburg), has walked the plank on a pirate ship off grand cayman (where’s the plank? the boys wanted to know), has a bunny named ba-ba (because that’s how she pronounced it back then, even though he’s really Pat The Bunny), has a poem that took second prize at the county fair, and knows that there’s a place called hell. in grand cayman.

(her teacher promised to direct all parent inquiries about BC’s use of a bad word to me.)

she also showed a picture of herself at club med in florida. and, of course, we showed the video of her dancing with X. the resident beatles fan in the class came up to me afterwards. that’s hard rock! he annouced authoritatively.

and of course, i am a music snob to the end, even with a nine year old. no, sweetie, it’s punk. hard rock leans more toward metal.

he looked at me slightly puzzled. i know what he was thinking: uh, yeah BC’s mom. whatever.

anyway, madam did a great job answering questions and taking comments. of course, every day, she’s a star around here. along with hellboy, of course.

not a bad life, eh?

guilty pleasure monday: nervous night (the hooters)

guilty pleasure monday: nervous night (the hooters)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

guilty pleasure monday time!

this week, we’ll meander down memory lane with a band i listened to as a wee tike of 15. the hooters were a band out of philly, and in 1980, they started to get a ton of airplay on my beloved station WMMR (rrrrrrockin’ phil. a. delphia. pity how bad the station sucks today.)

ah yes. there’s always some weirdness when you like a band, and yet no one outside of your listening area has ever heard of them. no one in miami had a clue who the hooters were; no one except for the few south jersey/philly refugees, that is. but i just knew there was some sort of chutzpah in a band that actually played a melodica (or hooter) in their songs. (yeah. i’ll be the one cheering on the person who raps to bach. just you wait.) besides, some of the guys were cuuuuute. (which matters to the average teen. even the ones who tell you it doesn’t.)

that all ended when they somehow got HUGE in the mid 1980s. Nervous Night exploded on the charts, and suddenly, everyone had heard of them. drunk frat boys were bouncing to And We Danced. i nearly swatted my friend leifer every time Hangin on a Heartbeat came on, as he repeatedly uttered the line: this ain’t no quiz game, ya know like some meaningful mantra. people especially loved to tout that two members of the band had co-written Cyndi Lauper’s monster hit Time After Time. admittedly, i cannot stand to hear All You Zombies (although i did rewrite the lyrics to describe the family of someone i didn’t like very much at that time — and yes, teen-aged moi used very ignorant words at the time. i’ll refrain.

now then.

my very favorite on the album is actually a cover of an old arthur lee and love song, She Comes in Colors (which was subsequently ripped off by madonna (listen and you’ll see) with Beautiful Stranger.) yep. loved them, and actually love that energetic cover (and those of you who follow my musical rants know i am highly critical of covers.) loved when i saw them play at Live Aid in the city of cheesesteaks phreindly phans little bill brotherly love. (yes. i. was. there. in. the. thousand-degree. heat.)

where did those children go?

apparently, they became big in europe, akin to the musical equivalent to jerry lewis. (or would that be david hasselhoff?) they split for awhile. one member, eric bazilion, basically put together a kick-ass album for joan osborne in 1996, including writing One of Us, prompting me to look at people to this very day wondering whether they might be G-d, especially if the person is just a slob (like one of us.) others continued in music. then bam! they got back together. they are currently supporting their newest album on tour. bummed i missed them; it would have been a fun night.

but i’m no longer some teenybopper who can just go off and see a show. had i trekked out without a babysitter lined up, it would have been my own personal nervous night.

sigh.

my girl

my girl

Posted on by wrekehavoc

of course, resolution is necessary after a post like that, is it not?

i picked someone up from school today. who? oh, i dunno. some blustery nine year old girl. and before i could open my mouth, the apologies spilled out, along with a little bouquet of buttercups she had collected and taped together. for me.

mom, i’m so very, very sorry. i cried as i tried to walk the second mile because you weren’t there. i was the only one who didn’t finish three miles.

of course, the human is not easily separated from the mother. the human was furious at being treated like crap. the mother was feeling terrible because she made her girl cry, and she never, ever likes to do that. but she is the mother, not the friend. and she has to buck up at times, as it is her job to teach.

i took a deep breath. and i put my arm around her.

i’m sorry you were upset. i was upset, too. you really hurt my feelings when you dismissed me.

those big eyes, the same ones her dad has, glanced upward at me, slowly and sadly. mama, you misunderstood. i thought you wouldn’t want to do the stretches, so i was telling you to go away over to the other side so you wouldn’t have to do stretches.

another deep breath. pull the other one, little girl. i need to stretch just as much as anyone else, honey. you know, BC, i hate running. i came here because you asked me. and then, when you told me to stand on the other side, i was very angry. i don’t need to do these things; i do them because you ask me to. if you don’t want me there, don’t ask me. i have plenty of other things to do.

girlfriend is not a teary-deary like her mom. it was her turn to take a breath. i know, i know. i’m really, really sorry.

okay honey. i was about to tear up. that’s my job. i love you, even when i’m upset with you or mad at you. you’re my girl, and i love you no matter what.

we smiled at each other. and we proceeded on with the rest of our afternoon. we were together, and we were happy. i was happy. i needed to be happy, and sometimes, the way into unhappiness for me is also my way out: my children.

sometimes, i like to milk an apology for all it’s worth by adding something random for which my child ought to be thankful. is it a jewish mother thing? no. a me thing? probably. i’m so evil.

so tonight was no different. i pulled up youtube, as madame was in a dancing mood and we love to dance around here.

i pulled up some pink floyd. a n c i e n t pink floyd. the floyd BS doesn’t like, thanks to the inclusion of one syd barrett, a guy i adore not just because he would probably be secret boyfriend material for me (if he were: 1) about 40 years younger; 2) not mentally fried; and 3) not dead) because he truly is one crazy diamond. and i started in.

now see, if you didn’t already have a cousin named emily, you might have been named emily, all because of this song.

BC pricked up her ears and listened to the weird psychedelia. EWWWWW! she squealed. did she hate it? were the roaming piano lines, the groovy organ runs, the sudden percussive loudness too much for her? was i going to squeeze out another you’re the best mom in the world; thank you for not naming me after a crazy, drugged-out syd barrett song?

nope. girlfriend proceeded to do a floaty, 1960s swim move. and she beamed her thousand watt smile my way.

that’s my girl.

guilty pleasure monday: choo choo boogaloo (buckwheat zydeco)

guilty pleasure monday: choo choo boogaloo (buckwheat zydeco)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

it’s official: i have lost my mind.

and what better day to lose your mind than guilty pleasure monday!

today’s guilty pleasure selection, choo choo boogaloo by buckwheat zydeco, is with us thanks to the fact that i’m a mom. you can’t not love this one, even if it is a kiddy song.

when i first became a parent, i swore up and down that my children would listen to all sorts of music. never would they listen to music that was dumbed-down for children: i wanted my kids to hear the straight dope. why, i even agonized over julian’s first mix CD before he was born. the kids are reared on the classics: the beatles, bruce springsteen, the clash, and that sort of ilk.

when you have a baby, you get all sorts of presents, and some of them are CDs. at least, some of mine were. and i don’t know whether it was hormones or something else, but i actually grew to love some of the music i heard. for example, one compilation, the planet sleeps, has a song i think is absolutely haunting, Chi Mi Na Morbheanna, by canadian band the rankin family. another compilation featured a song i will always love, good night by the roches.

but probably my favorite song from all of these compilations — and i have a few — is choo choo boogaloo. when i hear my kids sing:

well, it’s one for the money
two for the show.
the name of this music is zy-de-co.
three for the singing,
four for the dance.
put on your dancin’ pants!

i simply crack up. the kids have always loved to dance to this one, and it offers both a geography lesson (from lafayette to new orleans we sing!) as well as a genre lesson (the name of this music is zydeco!).

i picture myself at 90, hearing this song and tapping the ground with my toes. or perhaps my walker. we’ll see.

so yes. i like some music that’s really meant for kids. which must mean that i am inherently a kid.

a really big kid.

guilty pleasure monday: making time (creation)

guilty pleasure monday: making time (creation)

Posted on by wrekehavoc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtPeEt8-oDM&color1=0x5d1719&color2=0xcd311b&hl=en

i know, i know. you’re expecting another song from 30 years or so ago to be primed for the guilty pleasure monday pump. to be sure, picking on 1970s songs is like shooting fish in a teacup… or something like that. to prove i am an equal opportunity offender, i’ll pick something that i bet 95% of readers will look up from their keyboards and say wtf huh?

let me jog your memory in case you’re experiencing a senior moment prematurely. how many of you saw the wes anderson movie rushmore? (bet you didn’t remember that owen wilson was the co-writer of that screenplay. he’s pretty, he’s suicidal, and he’s very talented. can you say dream date pour moi?) perhaps you’ve lost the plot, but you could not forget the kickass soundtrack. (okay. well, i didn’t forget the soundtrack. BS and i actually wait at the end of every picture we see to read the music credits.)

i get it. you’re still not with me. okay.

the creation was one of the more underrated bands of the sixties. they started out mostly sounding like a cross between the kinks and the who during the mod era. they experimented with making pop art while on stage. eddie phillips, their lead guitarist, experimented with a violin bow and his guitar long before jimmy page made it famous.

unfortunately, they never had tremendous chart-topping success, which is just plain odd to me. if you listen to making time, it just s c r e a m s hit. just goes to show you – if you don’t have the right promotional people behind you, you can be a bloody genius and you still won’t gain financial success.

ah well.

i wonder if the surviving members got royalties from the film?

::scratches head::

::gets depressed thinking about it::

just listen to it, okay?

4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

danny federici, longtime keyboard player for bruce springsteen and the e street band, passed away yesterday from melanoma. it’s a tremendous loss, and i’m tearing up looking at the video on springsteen’s site, which shows phantom dan playing accordion on sandy one last time, weeks before his death:

i play piano, so i have always paid close attention to the keyboard players out there. and federici was a class act, whether he played glock, organ, or piano. and no one will ever play that solo in sandy like he did. it may be done note-for-note, but as far as i’m concerned, that’s his.

i will miss him.

garden state parkway boogie

garden state parkway boogie

Posted on by wrekehavoc

the Post offers up a mini travelogue of New Jersey diners… well, those up Route 130, anyway. it’s amusing for me, as i have passed a zillion tour busses at Mastoris a gazillion times and i have eaten with my parents, kids, nieces, nephews, etc., at the Americana. (nice to know that the place i’ve taken my kids is the place with the good diner food. like there’s any difference?) i feel it’s part of my cultural legacy to take my kids to real diners when i’m up in the Garden State (home of my birth); otherwise, all they know of diners is the Silver Diner, a place for which i had high hopes but which i currently loathe.

when i’m doing the garden state parkway boogie in my mind, i think about my favorite diners. i remember olga’s diner in marlton, halfway between nowhere and somewhere. as i’ve mentioned in older posts, we drove to my grandparents’ in florida a few times a year, a 26+ hour drive back then. we’d start before dawn, and if we were really, really lucky, we’d stop at Olga’s for breakfast. yummy, yummy baked goods. all at 5 a.m. or whatever ungodly hour we showed up.

i think of the tick tock diner in clifton. i bet jimmy hoffa is gone because he ate here. i imagine that martha stewart has eaten here, considering she grew up not too far away. i know i’ve been here with friends; i think i stopped here with my cousin after we went on our ill-fated trip to studio 54. (i know. me + disco. what a combo.) i’m not entirely sure. it’s kind of a landmark of sorts of jersey diners.

all those diners on route 18 and route 9. you all looked alike. you all had similar menus. then, in the 1980s, you all renovated to look more like restaurants. all you did was end up becoming these mauve, stainless steel behemoths. i never understood why. perhaps it was your response to the reaganization of the nation.

in any event, i’ve eaten in them all.

but probably my favorite diner, bar none, is the somerset diner. every single rutgers student — and there are probably 50,000+ each year — has eaten here. come here at 3 a.m. and you’ll likely find it packed with drunk, formerly drunk, or the designated drivers of said drunk students, chowing down. having been among them, i am wildly proud to announce that i once ordered the happy waitress special one night at some insane hour of the morning. (it’s an open-faced grilled cheese sandwich with bacon, tomatoes, and fries, but memory fails. yes, i ate bacon once upon a time.) at the time, i was deep in my existential phase of english major life. (i was also probably deep into several fuzzy navels.) i remember looking the waitress in the eye and asking her: why is it called the happy waitress special? does it make you especially happy to serve it? is it lighter to carry? or is there some other deep reason behind the nomenclature?

see, there’s this thing about diner waitresses (or waitrons?). they don’t exactly have a sense of humor. they don’t exactly suffer idiot college students gladly. (nor should they.) that woman glared at me, holding the plate near my head. and glared. and glared.

i am very lucky that the happy waitress special didn’t turn into the drunk college student hair accessory.

guilty pleasure monday: ballroom blitz (the sweet)

guilty pleasure monday: ballroom blitz (the sweet)

Posted on by wrekehavoc

Are you ready, Steve? Aha.
Andy? Yeah! Mick? OK.
Alright, fellas, let’s gooooooooooooooooooooo!

it’s guilty pleasure monday! yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!

recently, BS and i watched in horror as a man butchered sang his way through ballroom blitz, a classic mid-70s single from glam rockers the sweet (and then ultimately just sweet, which is what we all called them back in the day.) (why we were watching don’t forget the lyrics is a whole other question. but we love wayne brady and hope he finds a better outlet soon.) lots of people have covered this one, to be sure — i was surprised to learn that even the buzzcocks did. but on the bright side, it got me thinking about the sweet and all of the great hits we enjoyed back in the 1970s.

of course, sweet never became as huge here in america as they did in the UK, but i loved all of their bizarre hits, like little willy and one of my other faves, fox on the run (with it’s little synthesizer line. you gotta love when synthesizers jump into the world of glam. to me, mod is the ancestor of glam. wonder what would have happened if a very young pete townshend had gotten hold of one of those thangs in 1964…)

but i digress. per usual.

all of these, plus love is like oxygen, always seemed to be playing in the game room of the contemporary hotel at walt disney world. we managed to stop at WDW several times in the mid-late 1970s, as it was on our way to my grandparents’ home in south florida. somehow, my brothers and i always ended up playing pinball or air hockey there, back in the days when parents could actually allow their kids to wander around a hotel without worrying that their kid would be kidnapped by some nasty bastard. i even remember watching the disney movie song of the south, a racially insensitive film, there one evening. back then, people didn’t really think it was much more than the gentle musings of uncle remus, but i don’t think that movie has seen the light of day in at least 20 years, thanks to some nasty stereotyping which even i, a young lady of 9 or 10, could figure out, zip-a-dee-doo-dah not withstanding.

when we were at WDW last december, i saw that the game room has been closed. they’re going to use the space to make some sort of eatery. how sad. but if i ever return there, i will overlook the tired parents getting chicken nuggets for the wired children and instead, i’ll recognize sweet in my head, pounding out:

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
And the man at the back said
Everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz
And the girl in the corner said
Boy, I wanna warn ya, it’ll turn into a ballroom blitz
Ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz, ballroom blitz
Ballroom blitz

friday i'm in love

friday i'm in love

Posted on by wrekehavoc

somedays, a song follows you around for an entire day. and somedays, when you’re really, really lucky, you find out why in the end.

today, friday i’m in love followed me all around. (note to self: they’re preparing a bed for you at bellevue.)

i heard it on the radio around the time when i dropped BC off at school.

i heard it when i set rhapsody on random while i scrubbed the kitchen for the better part of the day. (i found evidence of a mouse yesterday. BS found an actual ex-mouse behind the stove. if that isn’t enough proof to all that i’m a terrible cook, then i just don’t know what. in short: move over, Raid. my cooking kills rodents. dead.)

i swear i even heard it at some point when i was driving BC to get a chest x-ray. or maybe it was just playing in my head, over and over. but i heard it. i know because i started mindlessly singing it:

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn’t even start
It’s Friday I’m in love

i remembered thinking, why the HELL am i singing this song? it’s not friday; not even close. i’ve spent most of my day cleaning my kitchen, crying because i had to discard some of my children’s artwork (i need to stop collecting every single piece of paper before i drown in it), freaking out wondering when the familia rodentia were next going to pay a visit, going to the doctor for some much needed antibiotics, and shuttling children for x-rays and afterschool classes. not a whole lotta love there to be felt.

in fact, based on my experience thus far, it should be something closer to:

Monday — yay, they found my vein,
Tuesday, Wednesday such a pain
Oh, Thursday won’t hear me complain
It’s Friday I’m on drugs

(yes, the week’s going swimmingly. and yours?)

and then, bedtime. thought i’d made it through the day and that i was safe from robert smith’s gothic clutches. but listen: i hear a tiny little voice:

I don’t care if Monday’s blue
Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too
Thursday I don’t care about you
It’s Friday, I’m in love

it’s jools. somehow in his travels, he heard it, probably on BS’s mp3 player. (sometimes, those two listen to that instead of the radio when they commute together.) there was something so utterly weird and yet so utterly charming listening to a little boy singing those words.

we listened again — this time, on his rockabye baby: the cure CD. maybe looking at the cure might give a kid a nightmare, but somehow, their songs work so beautifully as nighttime treasures. especially, of course, when sung by my little dude.

it’s wednesday. and i’m in love.

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