Whatever It Is

Just because I was thinking about this song in reference to how I feel about our Austrian governor. More on that crucial topic … later.

Whatever It Is, I’m Against It

By Harry Ruby (music) and Bert Kalmar (lyrics)

Performed by Groucho Marx in “Horse Feathers” (1932)

(Sound file here.)

I don’t know what they have to say,

It makes no difference anyway —

Whatever it is, I’m against it!

No matter what it is or who commenced it,

I’m against it.

Your proposition may be good

But let’s have one thing understood —

Whatever it is, I’m against it!

And even when you’ve changed it or condensed it,

I’m against it.

I’m opposed to it —

On general principles I’m opposed to it!

Chorus: He’s opposed to it!

In fact, in word, in deed,

He’s opposed to it!

For months before my son was born,

I used to yell from night till morn,

Whatever it is, I’m against it!

And I’ve kept yelling since I commenced it,

I’m against it!

So Where Are the Strong?

Apropos of my bro’s comment last night:

(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding

by Nick Lowe

As I walk through

This wicked world

Searchin’ for light in the darkness of insanity.

I ask myself

Is all hope lost?

Is there only pain and hatred, and misery?

And each time I feel like this inside,

There’s one thing I wanna know:

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding? Ohhhh

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding?

And as I walked on

Through troubled times

My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes

So where are the strong

And who are the trusted?

And where is the harmony?

Sweet harmony.

‘Cause each time I feel it slippin’ away, just makes me wanna cry.

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding? Ohhhh

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding?

So where are the strong?

And who are the trusted?

And where is the harmony?

Sweet harmony.

‘Cause each time I feel it slippin’ away, just makes me wanna cry.

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding? Ohhhh

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding? Ohhhh

What’s so funny ’bout peace love & understanding?

Louisiana 1927

NPR just played Aaron Neville’s beautiful cover of the Randy Newman song (lyrics as they appear on the original (1974) cover of Newman’s album “Good Old Boys,” which Kate pulled out of her stack of old records while we debated whether the words I found online were correct. Oh, for the record: She was right.):

“What has happened down here is the winds have changed

Clouds roll in from the north and it starts to rain

Rained real hard and it rained for a real long time

Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

“The river rose all day

The river rose all night

Some people got lost in the flood

Some people got away alright

The river has busted through clear down to Plaquemines

Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

“Louisiana, Louisiana

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

Louisiana, Louisiana

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

“President Coolidge come down in a railroad train

With a little fat man with a note-pad in his hand

The President say, ‘Little fat man isn’t it a shame what the river has done

to this poor cracker’s land’

“Louisiana, Louisiana

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

Louisiana, Louisiana

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away

They’re tryin’ to wash us away”

(I note that Neville says “farmer’s” instead of “cracker’s.”)

A couple days ago, CNN published a little somewhat drippy backgrounder on the song and the events it’s based on. The occasion for NPR playing “Louisiana” was an interview with John Barry, author of “Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America.” The Wikipedia has the bare-bones facts about the disaster, which was a big topic during the 1993 flood.

Back at the Crossroads

In yesterday’s New York Times: A review of the first of Cream’s reunion concerts in London. Without going too far down memory lane again — though I have to mention that where I heard Cream the first time was in Randy Robinson’s basement on Monee Road, the setting for many then-avant-garde rock moments — the review, by Times staffer Jon Pareles, was a joy to read for both its historical appreciation of the band and its music and for its close examination of why the show the other night was less than ecstatic:

“…The neatness and order of the music were precisely what made Cream’s first return engagement underwhelming. It wasn’t unity that made Cream one of the great 1960’s rock bands. It was the same friction – of personalities, methods and ambitions – that would soon tear the band apart. …

“… In its most incendiary 1960’s shows, Cream played like three simultaneous soloists, relentlessly competitive and brilliantly volatile. Back then Mr. Clapton didn’t need Robert Johnson’s hellhound on his trail; he had Mr. Baker and Mr. Bruce snapping at his heels, goading him with bass countermelodies and bursts of polyrhythm. It was the brashness of youth in sync with the experimental spirit of the era. Cream played with reckless intensity, as if sure that all the risks would pay off; most often, they did. ”

The soundtrack I hear when reading this: “Crossroads.”

The Music Thing, Again

So tonight, in between watching “Survivor” and “CSI” on TiVo and wallowing in other popular culture activities, I’m loading some more music into my iTunes library. This way, my Top 25 will show my to be a more well-rounded person. Except: I realize that the pile of albums I’ve picked out so far mark me as a fossil — a real classic-rock FM kind of guy.

Already loaded: Bob Dylan — “Nashville Skyline” and “Highway 61 Revisited.” Bob Dylan and The Band — “The Basement Tapes.” B.B. King — “Blues is King.” Van Morrison — “St. Dominic’s Preview.” Frank Zappa — “Hot Rats.”

Still to come: James Taylor — yes, yes, I’m not holding anything back. The White Album. Let It Bleed. Jimi Hendrix.

What does any of it have in common? Virtually none of that stuff was recorded after 1969. I see in my stack still to go on the computer that I have a couple real hot recent numbers that spoil the trend — a Dire Straits compilation and an album from Susannah McCorkle, a wonderful jazz singer who met a tragic end a few years back.

But for the most part, it’s like my ears and musical taste ossified at age 15.

Whipping post!

That Sound You’re Hearing

The Apple iBook I bought last year came with iTunes. As far as I was concerned when I got the computer, iTunes was a service to buy songs online. And iTunes does facilitate that. But I didn’t get that it was also an application to manage your music library, listen to MP3 streams online, and do other things I haven’t figured out yet.

One of the things iTunes does in its library-managing function is keep track of how often you’ve listened to your music tracks; based on that, it builds your own personal Top 25 list. I don’t have a big collection of stuff on my machine — fewer than 100 songs. That’s OK, because I grew up in the AM Top 40 era and got in the habit, never broken, of listening to favorite songs over and over and over again. So that’s why my timing on that little break and screams on The Young Rascals’ “Good Lovin'” (6th grade, June 1966) was so perfect when I sang along. I played the 45 about 500 times in a week and listened for it nonstop on the radio. So having fewer than 100 tunes to listen to — no problem. Many are handpicked for obsessive repeat listening.

So here’s what the Top 10 (edited to omit artist repeats) of my Top 25 looks like, according to iTunes. It’s an odd collection. I’ll only explain that what has gotten the Number One song played as much as it has is the studio band, especially the bass player, James Jamerson. Oh, yeah, the Prokofiev thing, sandwiched between Shuggie Otis and Aretha Franklin: That’s the only classical stuff I have on my machine. It’s good, though.

1, I Was Made to Love Her — Stevie Wonder

2. Gardening At Night — R.E.M.

3. Strawberry Letter 23 — Shuggie Otis

4. Alexander Nevsky, Op. 78 — Prokofiev/Chicago Symphony Orchestra

5. Until You Come Back to Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do) — Aretha Franklin

6. Crazy — Seal

7. The Pretender — Jackson Browne

8. Ray Of Light — Madonna

9. Daughters — John Mayer

10. Happy Valentine’s Day — Outkast/Andre 3000

Popstrology

Thanks to Kate, who actually looks at The New Yorker that arrives at our home each week, I know about popstrology. To quote the item in the magazine:

“Popstrology is a system for achieving self-awareness through the study of the pop-music charts—specifically, by determining which pop song was No. 1 on the day of your birth. If, for example, you happen to have been hatched during that brief, blissful period in October, 1976, when the airwaves were ruled by ‘Disco Duck,’ you may have inherited from its creators, the opportunistic d.j. Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots, an ability ‘to parlay simple needs and even modest gifts into the precise degree of greatness to which you aspire.’ (As it happens, 1976 was the Year of Rod Stewart.) Popstrology is no parlor game; its methodology is elaborate and broad—the book is almost four hundred pages long. [Popstrology creator Ian] Van Tuyl identifies forty-five constellations (Lite & White, Mustache Rock, Shaking Booty), and, for each No. 1 artist (or ‘birthstar’), he provides a chart, which maps the birthstar’s signature qualities on a matrix of sexiness, soulfulness, and durability, among other variables. (Van Tuyl has no truck with coolness; popstrologically, there are no bad pop songs.) In the introduction, he writes, ‘Popstrology is a powerful and flexible science, and where its adherents take it in the years ahead is anyone’s guess.’ “

The piece goes on to give Van Tuyl’s popstrological analysis of several names in the news, including the current president of the United States, Condoleezza Rice, Dick Cheney, Paul Wolfowitz, Michael Eisner, and Robert Iger. He had to do special readings for these people since the formal borders of popstrology cover only the era from April 1956 (the First Year of Elvis Presley) through August 1989 (the Year of Paula Abdul).

About Wolfowitz, Van Tuyl says: ‘He’s a Mills Brother. “Paper Doll.” ‘ He began to recite from the song: ‘ “I’d rather have a paper doll to call my own than have a fickle-minded real live girl.” ‘ A meaningful look. ‘Reality can be complicated. Real life can be sticky. On the other hand, two-dimensional representations of reality never change. They never betray you. Commitment to beliefs, whatever those beliefs may be, is probably common among Mills Brothers.’ ”

If you’re a true child of the popstrology era, you probably need to track down the book to look up your sign (sadly, the old Popstrology.com site appears to have turned into a Vietnamese-language betting page)

If you weren’t born in the magic years, you have to look up your own Number One. Here’s a good place to do it: the Wikipedia’s “Years in Music.” In my year, Elvis had his first recording session and Bill Haley released “Rock Around the Clock.” But those were just the faintest glimmers of the rock-and-roll dawn. The Number One song when I was born, it turns out, was “Make Love to Me,” by Jo Stafford.

Hmmm. I’ll have to find that somewhere.

Free (from Rhapsody) at Last

[Updated April 2005]

First, let me just say that to cancel your Rhapsody subscription, call 1 866 834 5509 (the message on that line announces you’ve reached the "Rhapsody Cancellation Team"). Per a comment below, 1 866 311 0566 also works; the number currently listed online is 1 866 563 6157. All three appear to work. The listed hours of operation are 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. U.S. Eastern Time from Monday through Friday and 10:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. U.S. Eastern Time on Saturday and Sunday. 

Now to our story:

I subscribed to Listen.com’s Rhapsody music service sometime early last year. I was done with my free ("illegal") music downloading, still wanted to listen to stuff on my computer, and for one reason or another wasn’t into any of the other paid alternatives. So I signed up for ten bucks a month and streamed music to my heart’s occasional content (the absence of Aretha Franklin’s "Until You Come Back to Me" from the Rhapsody library was a near-fatal flaw). But late in the spring, the TechTV layoff separated me from my Windows laptop, and I bought a little iBook as its more-than-capable replacement. Alas, Rhapsody doesn’t play on the Mac. Although I could still use the service from Windows machines installed at Infospigot World Headquarters, I decided to cancel the service. …

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