ABBA, "Happy New Year"

Just as Charlie Brown had a unique ability to "turn Christmas into a problem," so are ABBA capable of turning New Year's into remorseful melodrama. In their world, New Year's is a gray-morning'd look back at foolish choices, lost loves, misguided lives - and mispronounced champagne. (Soft ch, Agnetha.) But it's nevertheless a memorable melody; and in "Happy New Year" they ultimately do get up, dust themselves off, pick the confetti off the floor and move on to a new starting over. "May we all have our hopes, our will to try."

(And not to overthink that video, but interesting that Benny doesn't stop fake-playing his piano long enough to toast his bandmates at the end, a scene followed by a shot of three candles instead of the four at the beginning. The walrus was Bjorn?)

I want to thank all of you for reading what I've been thinking in 2008 and wish you peace, health and happiness in '09. (Any requests for music to cover here next year?)

Yvonne Elliman, "Everything's Alright"

My friend Jeff and his wife run a Christian retreat/conference center in the state of Washington. It's rewarding work, but often exhausting to give and give to other people, to be in perpetual service. So he came to visit this weekend for some relaxation and recharging of the batteries.

The visit could not have been more perfect. Sightseeing, good food and drink, blissful massages, and lots of laughs. And late at night, viewings of Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas (a perpetual favorite of mine, new to him) and Jesus Christ Superstar.

JCS has long played a significant role in my apprehension of the life of Jesus - or, more precisely, the life of Judas, whom I've long found to be a misunderstood character. But we weren't there to theologically sort out whether Judas was right to mortalize and de-Messiah-fy Jesus. We just wanted to watch a story effectively told through powerful acting and a crazily dramatic score.

"Everything's Alright" was the moment that summed it all up perfectly for us. Yvonne Elliman may be a whinyface, but she knocks this one out of the park with her selfless, all-encompassing concern for Jesus' life and comfort. Judas and Jesus each get a verse to ramp up their interpersonal drama a bit - their tension is the most underappreciated part of the movie - but by the end, what predominates after three minutes of waltz-time singalong is that warm, silent feeling that everything actually is all right.

Let the world turn without you tonight, Jeff. And happy birthday.

Kenny Loggins, "Celebrate Me Home"

Somehow I managed this holiday season to not hear "Celebrate Me Home" one single time. I'm remedying that now.

It's one of the most mawkish of Kenny Loggins's efforts, and that's saying a lot for someone who's easy to mawk. But I'm a sucker for every manipulation in it - the gospelly builds, the hush moment as the backing vocalists come back in, and most of all, that simple feeling of warmth and security that comes from being greeted home by loved faces. Hearing "Celebrate Me Home" makes me pine for the days when your family and friends could actually greet you at the gate at the airport. The beautiful drama of re-entry loses something in the yards and yards of that other kind of security.

I hope that as you read this entry and listen to the song, you can look back at a holiday moment when you saw someone you don't see often enough, and smile.

PS: I've been thinking that George Michael really could've sung the hell out of this one in his prime.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot's Holly Jolly Christmas

Sorry, didn't mean to go a week between posts - I spent much of this week in the Pittsburgh area visiting family. Had a delightful time, actually, and I must admit that although I do not identify as a Christian, it was liberating to be able to say "Merry Christmas" to people without wondering if I was offending anyone. (Very few people actually mean "Merry Christmas" with a malice of domineering their religion over anyone else's, I find. It's just that those who do, are disproportionately vocal about it.)

But whatever holidays one chooses to observe this month, with my wishes for peace and good will among all men and women, here are 10 songs of the season I enjoyed this past week, beginning with James Brown's fascinating intersection of social-justice finger-wagging, Christmas cheer, black liberation and multiculturalism. (If by multiculturalism we mean random shouts of "Volare," "Hava nagila," and "Danke schoen!")

1. James Brown, "Hey America"
2. Clay Aiken, "Mary, Did You Know?" (Ed.: Yes, Mary, we did.)
3. Vince Guaraldi Trio, "Christmas Time Is Here"
4. Several renditions of "O Holy Night," all better than this one
5. Vanessa Williams, "What Child Is This?"
6. Boney M, "Mary's Boy Child/Oh My Lord" (for the OMGWTFLOL files)
7. John Denver and the Muppets, "The Peace of Christmas Day"
8. South Park cast, "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel"
9. Alison Moyet, "Coventry Carol"
10. Darlene Love, "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Salutes Dave Morey

Today was the final broadcast day for longtime KFOG DJ Dave Morey, who'd been a San Francisco daytime staple for well over 20 years. In that time, he popularized the "10 @ 10" conceit - "10 great songs from one great year" - that has since caught on in many other radio markets.

KFOG was one of my first cultural discoveries upon moving to SF in September 1996. A coworker suggested the station to me, and I was instantly hooked. Over the next few years Morey introduced me to a plethora of musicians whose catalogs were unfamiliar to me - not just obscurities, but hit artists who'd fallen out of radio fashion, like Barry White and War.

Morey's promised to continue recording 10 @ 10 shows during his retirement, which is indeed comforting to me, but still, it feels like losing a friend. Lest I get sentimental, here are some onetime Dave faves that subsequently became faves of mine as well.

Happy retirement, big guy.

1. Joni Mitchell, "Coyote"
2. Barry White, "I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little More, Babe"
3. Squeeze, "Take Me I'm Yours"
4. Ramsey Lewis with Earth, Wind & Fire, "Sun Goddess"
5. Marvin Gaye, "You're a Wonderful One"
6. War, "Galaxy"
7. Stevie Wonder, "Don't You Worry 'Bout a Thing"
8. Les McCann & Eddie Harris, "Compared to What"
9. Four Tops, "Yesterday's Dreams"
10. Julie Driscoll with Brian Auger and Trinity, "This Wheel's on Fire"

Joe Dolce, "Shaddap You Face"

My favorite DJ is retiring tomorrow. I'll pay tribute to him then. For now, my self-indulgent reaction to news that I knew for some time but is only now hitting me: "Shaddap You Face," from the adorable Joe Dolce. Guaranteed to put a smile on ya.

And if that's not enough to cheer a person up, here's Samuel L. Jackson's reading of the song.

He make-a me cry, iss so sweet.

The Byrds, "Eight Miles High"

Here's a metaphor being thrown down the middle of the plate: No matter how talented or gifted you are, there are some moments where you must be in harmony with others to reach your potential.

L&Gs, I present a 1973(? - commenters suggest it may be '74-'75) performance of "Eight Miles High," a 1966 Byrds hit that genuinely spooked me when I first heard it as a kid - the vocals, as heard on oldies radio, seemed oddly layered and futuristic (it preceded the Airplane in my grasp of psychedelia). Here, in this performance with Roger McGuinn singing it all by his lonesome, it is brittle, hollow like decaying bone - in the words of Rolling Stone's McGuinn bio, that "pinched, adenoidal quality" ruins it for me. Whoever he was paying to be his Byrds at this point obviously weren't being paid enough - they couln't be less interested to be onstage, much less engaged enough to be singing along.

I offer the original for contrast.

Jefferson Starship, "Miracles"

On this date in 1972, at 3:32 in the morning, I showed up for a few spins around this ol' karmic wheel on earth. Since then, I've always taken the day with considerable reverence. I disagree with the cultures that don't celebrate birthdays - I think it's healthy for everyone to have one day out of the year where they can be king of the hill, where they can be the center of attention and hear the joy of their life being celebrated.

So today's entry is purely a self-indulgence for me: my all-time favorite song, "Miracles" by the Jefferson Starship. I love the little details within the song - Marty Balin's cooing delivery, Grace's sharp and intricate fill-ins, the tight rhythm combo of Kantner, Chaquico, Freiberg, Sears, and Barbata, the chorus's subtle strings, even the dated language ("I picked up your vibe") - but there's something intangible about it that goes beyond what I can explain. "Miracles" just touches me to the core in a way few things do.

And I've been thinking it's a nice, hopeful thing to hear today as I revel in the kind words from so many people today and this past weekend, both in person and through the Intertubes. Thank you all.

ETA: Meant to add a special mention to David Freiberg's electric piano work on "Miracles" as a source of my love of the song. That pearly sound gets me every time (cf: my semi-illogical love of Rod Stewart's "You're in My Heart").

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Takes a Field Trip to Amoeba

Amoeba Music is the greatest record store in America. No discussion of the matter needs to be had. Over the years I've spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars there - some of the best money I've ever spent. Before the Internet streamlined my tastemaking and discovery procedures, it was Amoeba's vast stacks of used oldies compilations and fastidious maintenance of the works and side projects of the Jefferson Airplane/Starship that gave me so much of my musical education and appreciation.

In tribute and gratefulness, here's a sampling of what I picked up in my latest visit - this one, in the company of dear friends, which always makes shopping more fun.

1. Tanita Tikaram, "Twist in My Sobriety"
2. Michael Nesmith and the First National Band, "Joanne"
3. Jerry Reed, "Amos Moses"
4. Howard Jones, "Everlasting Love"
5. Stone Roses, "Love Spreads"
6. Social Distortion, "Ball and Chain"
7. Eric Carmen, "Never Gonna Fall in Love Again"
8. David Gray, "You're the World to Me"
9. Odyssey, "Native New Yorker"
10. Pet Shop Boys, "Go West"

The Commodores, "Just to Be Close to You"

Tales of my latest travels will have to wait for another day; I've had too little time to process. Meantime, on we go with more pop ephemera.

"Just to Be Close to You" was one of the first signals of the Commodores' transition from funk party band to Lionel Richie-dominated ballad outfit. It's a finely arranged and sung tune once they get past the intro - but people, that intro is something. On hearing it a few weeks ago, a friend and I laughed about the excesses of Lionel's Southern, preacherly drawl. "Ah! You know, I been through so many changes in my life, girl ... Aw'nah founndat mateer'l thangs I thought had so much valyah - aw girl, didn't really have any valyah at all! Then I was a lonely man. A man with no direction, with no purpose. No one to love and no one to love me for me. Aw girl ..."

So I was listening to the song again today and started thinking: Who does that voice remind me of? Finally I realized who it was:

Reverend Brown, the preacher who introduces Randy Watson in Coming to America.

Village People, "San Francisco"

I'm going offline for several days, gonna see some good friends and have some good times. While I'm gone, enjoy this clip that disproves the axiom that "the more things change, the more they stay the same."

Because nothing stayed the same as this.

L&Gs, I present a very awkward and not ready for prime time Village People stumbling their way through their joyous, vibrant, rapturous celebration of America's greatest city: "San Francisco."

Little Anthony and the Imperials, "Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop"

Pop Argot's mom celebrates her birthday today! In her honor, I've reached back all the way to 1960, when she was something of a 45s collector. I was 3 or 4 in the mid '70s when I figured out how to work her record player, and "Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop," a near-novelty record from the usually hyperdramatic Little Anthony and the Imperials, was the first of her 45s I gravitated to. (Followed soon after by the Miracles' "You've Really Got a Hold on Me," and then by ... um, "Convoy.") It's a little silly, but finely sung - and what great modulation!

Happy Birthday, Mom.

Frankie Goes to Hollywood, "The Power of Love"

Mere hours after posting an intent to be less vituperative and more understanding in resolving my anger at various injustices, I received a test - and promptly failed.

I'd just come home from buying a Christmas tree - that's how full of reconciliatory cheer I was - when I got word of a friend's cousin having been ejected from a Madonna concert (of all places!) and arrested for unwarranted reasons of outright homophobia, the arena security and Denver police being all too willing accomplices. Suddenly the holiday cheer evaporated and all I wanted to do with that Christmas tree was to ram it up a certain Denver policeman's rectum.

So much for "Right Thought."

Earlier that day I'd been listening to a British Christmas-music station called Play Xmas UK: its playlist is heavy on A Very Special Christmas but with its share of novelties and oddities, and a few songs one wouldn't necessarily think of as holiday tunes. Among them: "The Power of Love" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, a dramatic, sweeping ballad that followed after the nihilistic bombast of "Relax" and "Two Tribes." It's in the setlist in large part for its birth-of-Jesus video, and probably in part because it was a Christmas #1 in the U.K. But if Christmas is a time of love and forgiveness and coming together - a notion I'm distrustful of, given what I've seen of the nominal "Christians" of Middle America - I would like to think it was included as well because its message of redemption, of love transcending barriers and impediments, is just as much a part of the season. And it's made all the stronger by its delivery from a group of unapologetic homosexuals - not the easiest path to have trod in 1984. Now that's what I call reconciling.

The song's is a powerful message, however one takes it. And I hope that my friend's cousin has a chance to listen to "The Power of Love" and draw from it spirit as well as the song's equally palpable note of defiance. "Make love your goal," Jerome, and don't let the bastards get you down - if you can do this, live this power of love, you'll be a better man than I.

Dionne & Friends, "That's What Friends Are For"

A few of you noticed my absence over the past couple of weeks. Nothing of concern; I put the blog on temporary hiatus because I was diverging from what Buddhists with their Eightfold Path would call "Right Thought." There's a righteous anger, which is good and useful, and a destructive anger, which is not; I've been slipping toward the latter, and that ain't good.

I'd been reacting so vituperatively to stuff like this defense of Prop. 8, with the sad URL of "preserving marriage dot org": "Proposition 8 isn't about hating gay couples or their lifestyle. It's about protecting the institution of marriage." That sentiment remains baffling to me, but I shall try to not respond with hate. Instead, I respond with a simple question that probably cannot be answered by anyone who has stuck with me as a reader here: From what, precisely, are you "protecting" marriage? You've chosen the word protect very consciously, but not very carefully: protect implies danger is afoot, and I'm not clear on what danger I bring. Please, anti-gay-marriage people: tell me how I am dangerous.

Or instead, pro-8ers, we can agree to this compromise: I'll keep the Christ in Christmas if you'll keep the Christ out of the Constitution. Fair enough?

On a related note, I observe that today is World AIDS Day: a day on which we are reminded how much compassion and research are still needed to address a disease that's affected millions and millions; but also a day on which some of us are reminded of the extent to which we were vilified in years past for the disease's very existence. But again, no anger for ignorance of times past and present; instead, this song of reconciliation, which debuted on the charts this week in 1985: "That's What Friends Are For," originally a duet between Dionne Warwick and Stevie Wonder; then, spurred by a suggestion from Liz Taylor, transformed into a charity record with assisting vox from Gladys Knight and Elton John*. The song's a bit cloying, sure - and was a surprising revisit for anyone who knew it from its playing over the closing credits of Night Shift a few years prior - but it's a great bit of Bacharach songwriting, and it was marvelously effective in making AIDS a subject of compassion rather than revulsion. For someone who had to be educated on AIDS via Rolling Stone magazine rather than through the news, parents, or school, that's kind of an important point.

In good times, in bad times, may we heed the lesson of this song and be friends to each other in a time when AIDS is still very much among us, amid throes of other worldly ills.

* Knight's and John's roles are sung by Luther Vandross and Whitney Houston in the powerful clip I've linked to here.

Suzanne Vega and DNA, "Tom's Diner"

Some months ago, I learned the story of how the hit version of "Tom's Diner" came to be. Its author, Suzanne Vega, told the tale in a wonderful New York Times blog entry.

But "Tom's Diner" is not just a tale of two dance-remix mavens finding an a capella track and inserting a very 1990 beat behind it to score a very unlikely Top 10 hit. The more interesting story is that behind the lyrics themselves: turns out Tom's Diner is the very real Tom's Restaurant on 112th Street and Broadway in NYC - the same spot where Jerry and his friends hung out over coffee in Seinfeld. What are the odds of one restaurant having two distinct entries in the Pop Culture Vulture catalog?

Getting back to the song, a few enterprising fans heard her description of the songwriting process and got to wondering: Who was the dead movie star ("no one [Vega] had heard of")? They were able to piece together from her location of the horoscope and funnies that the paper she was reading was the New York Post, and from there deduced that the actor in question was William Holden, who had died in November 1981.

(Suzanne Vega had never heard of William Holden?)

It was November 18, 1981, that the Post reported the death of Holden, giving Vega something to read, and thus something to write about, and thus something to sing, and thus something for DNA to remix and send to the Top 10. In honor of such serendipity today, go have a cup of coffee at Tom's Restaurant.

Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo ...

Machine, "There But for the Grace of God Go I"

The passage of Proposition 8 in California brought me great sadness. I was not affected personally, materially; but its passage was an affront to all of us who either enter into or simply believe in the validity of same-sex unions. I'm fatigued by the rationalizations for Prop 8's support:

The Bible says, Thou shalt not lie down with a blah blah blah. Separation of church and state: it's not just a good idea; it's the law.

I believe in protecting the institution of marriage. From what? Last I checked, no one was imperiling or trying to invalidate any straight marriages.

Marriage should be for a man and a woman because that's how procreation happens. Specious logic; do we then invalidate marriage for those who physically cannot have children? Marriages of the elderly?

Gay men have the right to marry - they have the right to marry women. Great, so you want more Jim and Dina McGreevys. Wise.

Gays are promiscuous. Not more so than other guys. But even if we were - you wouldn't want us to marry and change that a little bit?

I don't want to have to explain to my child why those two men are holding hands or those two women are kissing. Your parents in the 1960s probably didn't want to have to explain to you why that black woman and that white man were holding hands and kissing. Sorry, but it's an increasingly diverse and multicultural world, and your fear of complication does not trump my civil rights.

Now, I would be OK with a compromise that leaves "marriage" for religious faiths to decide and legitimizes "civil unions" for the legal aspects. In fact, I think that's the compromise that ultimately we as a culture will come to. But until then, I refuse to sit silently and countenance those who believe my love to be inferior to another's, who believe inferior or illegitimate my ability to commit heart and soul to another person, to raise a child, to be a devoted parent and upstanding member of my community, to be fully human and fully American.

No, I am not inferior, and neither is my love.

So I spent part of this weekend with thousands of others in a rally at City Hall (one of several in cities throughout the U.S.) that served less as a protest against Prop 8 and similar discriminatory measures than as a declaration of civil rights and a reminder that love is what is needed right now - but also as a message to the Mormons, Catholics, and other religious groups behind the antigay movement that we will stop their juggernaut before it threatens to trample us in other states. The nearly impromptu gathering was warming, reassuring, dare I say triumphant.

"Legalize Our Love," a call for marriage equality from the husband-and-wife duo Timbuk 3, might have been a better reflection today of the partnership longings expressed at Saturday's rallies. But instead I've gone with "There But for the Grace of God Go I," a too-clever-for-its-own-good slice of discofied social commentary written by August (Kid Creole) Darnell. Buried in its squeaking groove was the story of a family who have decided to move out of the Bronx so their daughter can grow up in a presumably safer place "with no blacks, no Jews, and no gays." But you can't control who and what a person will become, and the daughter (a "natural freak") gets pregnant and takes off with some guy at 16.

I like that they call the daughter a natural freak: it's a sly reminder that we are all individuals with sexual selves, and some of us have a natural sexuality that deviates from the norm. We outliers are not products of failed parenting or of corrupted morals - we're just not the norm.

This shouldn't be so difficult to understand. But enough people are having trouble with it that they've passed laws in California (and 28 other states!) to prevent us from marrying and in Arkansas to prevent us from adopting children or being foster parents. It's frustrating to be deprived of rights by people waving their Bibles instead of opening their hearts; we who are gay in America will need our own Loving vs. Virginia to be fully integrated into society. And I hope when it happens, it has as fitting a name.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Declares, "Let There Be Drums!"

The death this week of Jimi Hendrix Experience drummer Mitch Mitchell occasions a celebration of some of my favorite drum performances in rock and soul. (Disclaimer: My leanings are far more toward four-on-the-floor pop than surf music or hard rock, so this will be a peculiar list to true drum aficionados.) I have sometimes criticized Mitchell for being all over the place, but when he was on, he was ON - as were the performers on these great tracks.

1. Jimi Hendrix Experience, "Fire" (drums by Mitch Mitchell)
2. Sandy Nelson, "Let There Be Drums" (drums by Sandy Nelson)
3. Billy Stewart, "Summertime" (drums by Maurice White)
4. The Four Tops, "7-Rooms of Gloom" (drums by Benny Benjamin, I think)
5. The Dells, "There Is" (drummer unknown, sorry)
6. The Doors, "Strange Days" (drums by John Densmore)
7. Steely Dan, "Aja" (drums by Steve Gadd)
8. Lighthouse, "Pretty Lady" (drums by Skip Prokop)
9. The Turtles, "She's My Girl" (drums by John Barbata)
10. The Beatles, "Got to Get You Into My Life" (drums by Ringo Starr)

The Nightmare, "Riverbottom Nightmare Band"

Christmas hit midtown NYC this week.

Like an anvil.

The decorations are beautiful for the first couple of weeks, especially in the Radio City/Rock Center neighborhood. But it's really all a bit much, especially when the throngs of gawking tourists make it nigh impossible to cross the street to get to work.

Still, the weather and the strings of lights make it clear that Christmas is a-coming, so I'll kick off the season with one of the many fabulous songs from Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas, a longtime Pop Argot household favorite. Alice Otter should get an entry of her own someday for the winsome "When the River Meets the Sea," but for now, here's the Nightmare, the unlikely winner of Frogtown Hollow's talent show with their self-descriptive ditty "Riverbottom Nightmare Band." As a friend once pointed out to me, it really strains credibility to think that a group of antagonistic glam rockers would actually win a sleepy town's Christmas talent show. But "Barbecue" and "Brothers" and the rest are in fact inferior tunes to RBNB. (Hat tip to friend Vern for inadvertently suggesting its acknowledgement.)

And I've been thinking a Behind the Scenes/where-are-they-now treatment of the RBNB is long overdue.

[ETA: I fixed a couple errors in this after posting - really oughta go back and watch that in its entirety.]

Linda Ronstadt, "Hurt So Bad"

Linda Ronstadt is one of those artists I've known since my very earliest musical memories began. But my appreciation of her has waned over the years, ever since realizing that (a) nearly all of her hits were covers (I hadn't realized this in the '70s and early '80s, not that it would have been so important to me then), and, more pertinent, (b) she harbored a grating tendency on her rockers to shout instead of sing.

Indeed, she yells her way through the second half of "Hurt So Bad," a song I've adored for a very long time in its many incarnations, from Little Anthony & the Imperials' superior original to the Lettermen's combed-over softie take (which I knew early on via my mother's 8-tracks). And I have to say, Linda's insistence on forcing her eyes shut throughout the video was a questionable decision - I figure she was overacting the idea that she can't bear to see him again. Still and all, it's a phenomenal piece of succinct songwriting, and no matter who's singing it, it's chills down the spine to hear that desperate staccato pleading: "Please. Don't. Go. Please. Don't. GOOOOO!"

I've been thinking that that one line is where it's at today.

Freda Payne, "Bring the Boys Home"

I am on the whole a pacifist, but I respect the tremendous sacrifices made by the men and women of our military, and the best way I can express my appreciation for those currently in service is to offer a wish that they return home soon. President-elect Obama, I'll trust the judgment of you and the military leaders to sort out the details, but please, as soon as it's safe, heed the words of Freda Payne* and Bring the Boys Home. Meantime, I thank all our veterans for making what in many cases were the ultimate sacrifices to ensure our liberty here.

* Or, as a friend likes to call her, "she-took-two-aspirins-and-now-she's Freda Payne."

Todd Rundgren, "Hello It's Me"

Hello, it's D*: Please give a warm welcome to my friend Dave*, on whose blog 40 Years Ago Today I guest-blogged last year. He's a close friend and a fellow miner in pop-culture arcana, and here he provides a terrific take on a song that debuted on the charts 35 years ago this week.

_____

10 years ago this fall, That '70s Show debuted. Pop Argot and I were both very curious to see it, to see if the producers had accurately depicted a time we're both very interested in. As it happens, PA couldn't see the first episode, so I gave him my impressions.

"They did a good job," I said, "except the plot centered around the protagonists going to a Todd Rundgren concert."

"Well, that's a good thing," PA answered. "They put some thought into it. They didn't go with the obvious choice like Frampton or KISS."

"Yeah, but ... they were using "Hello, It's Me" as a love song!"

We agreed that was pretty messed up, and looking back now on what became a very successful series, I still wonder what they were thinking - having Jackie claim she and Kelso were making out to the song, or playing it the background as Eric lounged on the Vista cruiser in lovebliss. Though it is a very '70s song, "Hello, It's Me" is not that kind of song. At all.

When I think of the '70s, the first image in my mind's eye is people wearing unattractive clothes during autumn. I know in theory that only one-quarter of the decade occurred during the fall, but for some reason, that's the way I'm predisposed to see it. Partly it's because the decade’s primary colors were all earth tones, the kinds of yellow, orange and brown that dominate fall. But largely it's because I think of the '70s as an autumnal decade. A decade of regrets. A decade of people trying to forget failed dreams. A divorce decade.

The '70s were a divorce decade. The divorce rate began rising the late '60s and then started soaring the early '70s, eventually hitting a double peak in '79 and '81 and declining steadily thereafter. All kinds of people were getting divorced in the '70s: Members of the GI generation who found once the kids were gone, there was no reason to stay married; Silents who discovered the social context for the marriages no longer existed; Baby Boomers who had gotten together during the optimistic '60s and found their love disappeared with that spirit of that era.

"Hello, It's Me" is a divorce song. That's why it I found it baffling the writers of That '70s Show used it as a love song. For me, it's more than a standard breakup song. It's about that sense of giving up, of losing the past, about something that is being given up at great cost.

When I hear the song, I see a story. It's sometime around 1972. They were a Movement couple. They marched together, worked together and eventually fell in love.

But then the Movement ended and they began drifting apart. One of them tried a career; the other didn't support it. One of them got into TM or est; the other thought it was bullshit. Money and sex became faultlines, as they often do. The house began to fill up with the frost that comes from realizing your least favorite person in the world is the one on the other side of your bed.

After one more screaming fight, he stormed out and took a long walk through the grey-cotton November afternoon. On the way, he had a moment of clarity. He knew what he had to do. It would be hard, but at least they wouldn't have to hate each other anymore.

He went back to the house and told her.

It's important to me
That you know you are free

Then he packed a suitcase and left, shuffling his feet through banks of fallen leaves.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Gives the Gas Face

OK, not so "fun" this time. But while I'm delighted and relieved by the election of Barack Obama to be our next President, I'm displeased with other voting results of this week and I remain disgusted by the behavior of a lot of people in recent weeks and months. If I may call out a few of them, here are some people who get the Gas Face from me:

1. The voters of Arkansas who approved a ballot measure that forbids nonmarried adults living together from being adoptive or foster parents. The ban was specifically aimed at gay men and lesbians. Congratulations, Arkansans, on deciding that a child is better off homeless than in the home of a gay person.

2. The voters of California who said Yes on 8, deciding that gay marriages are sufficiently threatening to their own that they Must Be Stopped Now. Especially of note is a quote from Pam Anderson, an unfortunately named Mormon who, with her husband, donated $50,000 to the ban-gay-marriage cause - because it's for the children!

"It was a decision we made very prayerfully and carefully," said Pam Patterson, 48. "Was it an easy decision? No. But it was a clear decision, one that had so much potential to benefit our children and their children."

Ms. Patterson, fuck you. I hope all five of your sons turn out gay. And proud.

3. The guy who threatened me on Facebook because of a pro-Obama comment I made there. Fucking psycho.

4. Elizabeth Dole, you shameless harridan. Calling your opponent "godless" is low, even for a modern-day Republican. How do you sleep?

5. Michelle Bachmann, you lunatic McCarthyite. Same question. I see that you've been re-elected; so will you now go forward with investigations of your own President?

6. Sarah Palin, I am so very grateful we won't have an End Times dominionist a heart attack away from the presidency.

7. All investment bankers. We made fun of you twerps for spending thousands of your own dollars on the "bottles & models" lifestyle, but we didn't realize how many of OUR dollars you pissed away. Pop those collars, assholes. (And hey, Donald Trump, you fraud, I'll lump you in here too.)

8. The AIG executives who treated themselves to a high-end spa-resort weekend immediatey after the taxpayers bailed out their goddamned company. You're a great symbol of why there's so much distrust right now that the bailout is actually going to help hardworking Americans.

9. Bill O'Reilly, you're another great symbol of all that's wrong today: you and your ilk have poisoned the national dialogue, which is to say that it's no longer a dialogue but people trying to out-bluster each other.

10. And finally, George W. Bush. You illiterate, uncurious hack. You inherited an America that was admired and revered throughout the world, and dissipated every last drop of international goodwill. Start packing, you goddamned power-mad drunk. America will be better off without your misguided influence.

Marvin Gaye, "You're the Man"

President Obama.

Er, President-elect Obama.

Ah, hell. President Obama. It's got a nice ring to it, hasn't it?

Congratulations, Senator Obama, on the campaign you've run, on your ability to persuade a majority of the nation's voters that you are the right man to be running this country. I am one of the millions who believed you. Please lead with wisdom and prove us right.

But first, if I may, a word to the people running the Republican party: Please don't pretend McCain's was the best campaign that could have been run. Yes, it's a difficult economic climate, never a good thing for the incumbent party, but if you had persuaded the nation that you had a finance plan superior to Obama's, a whole lot of suffering Americans would have gotten in line behind you. Instead you focused an entire campaign on distractive elements, let your worst side show. Please take this opportunity to work with the Democrats over the next four years; we will need not only your support but your active assistance.

Now, to be honest, I have a hard time believing we can get our debt under control, reassert the stability of our banks, maintain our infrastructure, make universal health care a reality, and develop a green-tech economy, all by gingerly upticking the tax rates of the $250K-plus class. That number's gonna have to come down, far down, to include much more of the middle class, I suspect - but I'm behind Obama anyway. If that's what it takes, then that's what it takes. Best we can hope for is that getting corruption and fraud in government spending under control will give us a lot more to work with.

But let us have one night of celebration before we start setting down to business. I watched Obama's victory speech with a great sense of pride; he validated everything I've valued about him. "I will listen to you - especially when we disagree," he promised America. And to those who did not vote for him: "I hear your voices; I need your help - and I will be your President too."

Barack Obama, that's why You're the Man.

Arcadia, "Election Day"

A long national nightmare finally approaches its close. Thank you in advance for doing your civic duty on Election Day.

I voted for Barack Obama.

I voted for Barack Obama because I believe in intelligent guidance. Because I believe in leaders who seek wise counsel yet who can also draw upon themselves for wisdom and courage. Because I believe that intellectualism is a virtue.

I voted for Barack Obama because he has been courageous in addressing head-on the complex issues of race and class. Because I believe that we're about to suffer some hard times - many of us are already - and the only way we'll get through them is if we look out for each other. Because I believe that America must be America for all Americans, not only those of privilege.

I voted for Barack Obama because I don't want to bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran.

I voted for Barack Obama because his is a future of green technologies, of energy independence, of renewed and restored relationships with nations that must be our allies if we are all to live together. I believe that I will be disappointed by my utopian thinking, but I believe Barack Obama's future is far more where I'd like to be for the next four or more years than John McCain's or Sarah Palin's future.

I voted for Barack Obama because I believe in the future.

I voted for Barack Obama because he values nuance, values careful consideration. Even on an area where I disagree vehemently with him - he's opposed to gay marriage - he has indicated a willingness to discuss the matter and perhaps be persuaded. This is not "flip-flopping"; this, I believe, is a facet of true leadership. I believe in leaders who listen, and listeners who lead.

I voted for Barack Obama because the Republican party has lost its way; its goals of small government and restrained spending have given way to the wants and demands of warmongers, theocrats, dominionists, ivory-tower-jailed knobs, chicken hawks, Christianists, money worshippers, and End Times harbingers, producing a concoction of greed and fear that is utterly uglifying to many of us citizens of the world who believe in peace and freedom.

I voted for Barack Obama because this land was made for you and me.

Bruce Springsteen, "A Night With the Jersey Devil"

Some post-Devil's Night fun:

"On a stormy night in 1735, Mother Leeds gave birth to her 13th child. The child was born normal, but transformed into a creature with hooves, a horse's head, bat wings, and a forked tail. He inhabits the Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey."

Where Bruce Springsteen tells a good old-fashioned ghost story. Nice work from a guy whose impulses are impeccable. And really: Does anyone have any business looking as good at 59 as Bruce does? Don't know what he's doing, but he must be living right.

PS: Please vote smart tomorrow, everybody.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Wants Candy

Happy Halloween; may your costumes be flattering and your candy melamine-free. You can find "The Monster Mash" on your own time.

1. Screamin' Jay Hawkins, "I Put a Spell on You"
2. Edgar Winter Band, "Frankenstein"
3. Guess Who, "Clap for the Wolfman"
4. Kristin Hersh, "Your Ghost"
5. Crash Test Dummies, "The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead"
(don't worry; the superior XTC original is on tap for another day)
6. Oingo Boingo, "Dead Man's Party"
7. Stevie Wonder, "Skeletons"
8. R. Dean Taylor, "There's a Ghost in My House"
9. Ministry, "Every Day Is Halloween"
10. Bow Wow Wow, "I Want Candy"

ETA: Y'all didn't need to see "Thriller" again, didja?

Grace Slick, "Theme From the Movie 'Manhole'"

It's a day for cake. Happy birthday to my old friend from college Dave, who opened the door for my very first chance to write about music for a living. Happy birthday as well to Young Christopher, whom I met at that job all those years ago and has remained a treasured friend despite being far across the pond.

And more germane to the purposes of this blog, happy birthday to Grace Slick, one of my very favorite people who is not a personal friend. Slick, the former co-lead vocalist of the Jefferson Airplane/Starship, has been retired from the music world for several years, now living on her own schedule in Malibu and doing the odd painting of Jerry Garcia or Janis Joplin. But the elder stateswoman of rock had a profound effect on me in my teenage years - with her uncompromising judgments and piercing vocals, it wasn't for nothing that she was nicknamed "the Chrome Nun," and I have long been drawn to that powerful personality and powerful voice.

Indeed, it was a great thrill to briefly meet Grace roughly 10 years ago, when she issued Somebody to Love?, her memoirs of life in rock. She was giving a reading at the Booksmith on Haight Street in San Francisco, and one thing I'll always remember was her entrance: she immediately showed herself to be one of those exceedingly rare people who, when they walk into a room, all the light casts upon them. A wonderful and rare charisma.

And her musical chops were pretty sharp, too. Beyond that domineering vocal style, she had a knack for wordplay and a playfulness with block chords that could have sent her into '70s Carole King territory if that had been what she wanted. If I ever find a YouTube clip of "Ballad of the Chrome Nun" or "Come Again? Toucan," you'll see what I mean.

For now, in tribute, here's a relative obscurity from her uneven solo catalog, one so long it had to be broken into two parts. "Theme From the Movie 'Manhole'" isn't from that nonexistent movie; the title was just Grace having some fun (fellow feminists weren't necessarily amused by the term). It's awfully indulgent, but "Manhole" offers some of her most intriguing poetry:

The North Wind sounds like freezing horns
Sailing through the East Wind, and the East Wind has winding, unwinding strings
South Wind sounds like skin on drums, skin on skin,
Ah, but the West Wind moves like memory ...

And then, finally around the 13-minute mark (late in clip #2), she hits upon her declaration of independence:

Don't tie me down, I want to run, give me the sun
Don't tie me down, I want to run, give me the sun
And if you see - ah, you think I'm just about to leave?
You can follow me - but I'm already gone.
Give me the sun!

Words to live by - and at times, I have, to my frequent gratitude. Thanks, and many happy returns, Grace.

Poe, "Haunted"

Way back in 1996, an ingenue calling herself Poe scored a modern-rock hit with "Angry Johnny," a delicious revenge fantasy in which a self-described "Jezebel in hell" details the various ways she could kill the title character. Hell hath no fury, etc. The densely produced song couldn't have been better timed; Alanis Morissette (and to a lesser degree, Meredith Brooks) had confirmed an audience for fiery female fulminations, we hadn't yet exited the golden era of alt-women (Juliana Hatfield, Tanya Donnelly, et al.), and 1997's last great burst of modern pop was just around the corner.

Problem was, Poe was not prolific. Indeed, she's only released one album since that bright debut. But what an album it was: Haunted, issued appropriately on Halloween in 2000, was an audacious artistic statement, a concept album of sorts (Poe's found some old recordings of her deceased father and uses them to communicate with him and put some ghosts to rest) that both rocked and danced hard. Alas, it flopped since it didn't have The Hit Single (tm), she lost her record deal, and she's remained silent ever since.

But listen to the title track and tell me this isn't some of the more vital music of the 2000s - spooky yet spacious, vibrant and vivid, honest, melodic, possessed of both brains and heart. Perhaps this album could have fared better under the new media distribution of the late '00s. But without that viral kick, Haunted exists as a cult classic - in my mind if no one else's.

Jane Child, "Don't Wanna Fall in Love"

On some level, Jane Child is the queen of the near-misses. Her sole Top 40 chart entry, "Don't Wanna Fall in Love," peaked at #2, losing out in one of the closest battles in Billboard chart history to Tommy Page's "I'll Be Your Everything," an appropriately forgotten New Kid trifle. Child's follow-up, "Welcome to the Real World," narrowly missed the Top 40, topping out at #49.

But her whinnying visage lives on: Who could forget that mohawk adjoined by cornrows flailing like a beaded curtain, that nose ring making a dangling conversation with its connected earring, that fever dream of Ann Coulter scoring on St. Marks Place? Child's was a memorable moment, and it's to her credit that "Don't Wanna Fall in Love" sounds so much better than its lyrically embarrassing chorus might suggest:

I don't wanna fall in love
Love cuts just like a knife
You make the knife feel good
I'll fight you to the end

Whitman could hardly have said it better.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Goes Strictly Instrumental

I haven't been terribly verbose this week, I know. Distracted with work. So continuing in that vein, here are some musical moments for which no words are necessary: 10 of Pop Argot's very favorite instrumental tracks. The riff-based three-minute instrumental is a lost art, and I honor those practitioners who did it well.

1. Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, "A Taste of Honey"
(Oh, hell, a bonus track: "Spanish Flea")
2. Paul Mauriat, "Love Is Blue"
3. Electric Indian, "Keem-O-Sabe"
4. Cliff Nobles & Co., "The Horse"
(Another bonus track: Didja know "The Horse" originally had lyrics and was to be released as "Love Is All Right"? The licks were just too hot, I guess. Nobles was the outfit's vocalist, giving him the dubious distinction of not appearing on his only Top 40 hit.)
5. Hot Tuna, "Water Song"
6. Booker T. & the MG's, "Hang 'em High"
7. Mason Williams, "Classical Gas"
8. Jefferson Airplane, "Embryonic Journey"
9. Incredible Bongo Band, "Apache"
10. Chuck Mangione, "Feels So Good"

Interested to hear others' favorites.

Gil Scott-Heron, "The Bottle"

Cautionary tales are always interesting things. Especially when they're spot on in their message. Especially especially when they have such danceable grooves as "The Bottle" has behind them.

And even when their authors ultimately fall victim to some of the same ills they're railing against. Which is why I always flinch a little bit when appreciating the drug-and-alcohol warnings of Gil Scott-Heron, an immensely talented poet and musician (best known for "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised") who now only makes the news when he's busted for coke - which has happened at least twice this decade. Guess we can't expect perfection from our truth tellers and village elders.

Sting, "Fields of Gold"

Pop Argot did a bad, bad thing: while carousing out of town with one friend this weekend, he completely forgot about the birthday of another. To remedy that, for the lovely Leah, here's a song that makes me think of her every time I hear it. Happy birthday, toots.

PS: Eva Cassidy may well have done the superior version of "Fields of Gold." But she'll come up another day.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Goes to the Doctor

I'm heading out of town Saturday for a long weekend to celebrate with a dear friend his successful defense of his Ph.D. dissertation. In honor of a good friend and good man who is doing good work, I present 10 "Doctor" songs:

1. The Beatles, "Doctor Robert"
2. Thompson Twins, "Doctor Doctor"
3. Men at Work, "Dr. Heckyll and Mr. Jive"
4. Doobie Brothers, "The Doctor"
5. Steely Dan, "Doctor Wu"
6. Carol Douglas, "Doctor's Orders"
7. Peter Tosh, "Bush Doctor"
8. Aretha Franklin, "Dr. Feelgood"
9. Kool Keith as Dr. Octagon, "Dr. Octagon"
10. KISS, "Calling Dr. Love"

Liz Phair, "Whip-Smart"

Someday I'll tell the story of how "Supernova" - and more precisely, the line "and you fuck like a volcano" - was instrumental in my falling head over heels in love with someone. (Unrequited, as usual.) For now I just want to say that when they do the double dutch, that's them dancing.

Calexico, "Quattro (World Drifts In)"

I'm slowly catching up on some podcast listening; yesterday's nighttime work commute offered a recent episode of "All Songs Considered""Morning Becomes Eclectic" fully devoted to the latest album from Calexico. Funny thing, Calexico: every time I hear something from them, I think to myself, "hey, I really like that," and then promptly forget about it, and them. I think it's because the vocals are always so meek, even when the music's risible.

Case in point: "Quattro (World Drifts In)," which actually made my year-end Top 10 Singles list in 2003, and yet I could not for the life of me remember the name of it until conducting a YouTube search. It may not be "memorable," but it's certainly marvelous. No one today mixes staccato horns into their grooves quite the way they do.

PS: Here's the rest of my list from that year - evidence of my chronic musical incompatibility with people I know, at least as contemporary stuff goes.

1. Dandy Warhols - "You Were the Last High" - Capitol
2. Alison Moyet - "Do You Ever Wonder" - Sanctuary
3. Wayne Wonder - "No Letting Go" - Atlantic
4. Junior Senior - "Move Your Feet" - Atlantic
5. Calexico - "Quattro (World Drifts In)" - Quarterstick
6. Queens of the Stone Age - "No One Knows" - Interscope
7. Fleetwood Mac - "Peacekeeper" - Warner Bros.
8. Floetry - "Say Yes" - DreamWorks
9. Flaming Lips - "Fight Test" - Warner Bros.
10. Robbie Williams - "Feel" - Virgin

Orlando Riva Sound, "Indian Reservation"

Because I didn't feel like celebrating Columbus Day on Columbus Day either.

Now, I was going to be serious about this and post the #1 hit version of "Indian Reservation" by the Raiders (Paul Revere was still with the group but didn't get a lead credit on this track; note how Mark Lindsay lip-synchs through clenched teeth here - he took the lyric personally), or maybe the original minor hit by Don Fardon. But YouTube directed me to this unintentionally humorous clip from German disco group Orlando Riva Sound, with sound effects right out of the Star Wars Christmas TV special and outfits that Tommy Seebach would have killed to use in his "Apache" vid.

Makes Cher seem downright consequential, dunnit?

Randi Driscoll, "What Matters"

National Coming Out Day came and went over the weekend. I must acknowledge that for the most part, the day doesn't carry the personal import for me it did in the early '90s, when coming out was still a novel and sometimes dangerous thing no matter where I went. For most of us in the bubble of urban America today, being out as gay, lesbian, or bisexual has reached mundane status.

But the day still carries at least one level of deep and grave importance, as it's also (give or take a day) the anniversary of the brutal murder of Matthew Shepard, a young, slight college student who'd befriended two young men with malicious intent at a Wyoming bar. Ten years ago, Shepard was found tied to a fence, beaten to within an inch of his life; he would not survive the ordeal. His death has become a symbol of the ongoing struggle for us GLBTs to live our lives proudly and without fear; and the Matthew Shepard Foundation carries on in his name the work of spreading a message of equality and understanding. Randi Driscoll, an independent singer-songwriter, provided the foundation with "What Matters," a pretty ballad reminding us all that what matters is not WHOM we love and are loved by, but simply THAT we love and are loved.

I wish that were enough. But when Matthew's mother Judy Shepard laments openly as to the lack of societal progress in the 10 years since his death, and when the city of Chicago thinks it may be necessary to open an explicitly gay-friendly high school because GLBT teens are being harassed out of their existing schools, it's obvious there's still a lot of work to be done. From where I stand, the primary onus must be on the nation's religious leaders to decry discrimination against and harassment of people on the basis of their orientation - and alas, I don't trust the kings and queens of Biblevania to rise to this task. So I shall simply salute all the people I've known who have had the courage to live as themselves no matter where, no matter when. They are true heroes of mine, and I hope I share in setting an example through the conduct of my own life.

PS: Here's what I wrote about the murder 10 years ago:


Matthew Shepard ... (although it may be too late)


Coming out is billed as kicking open closet doors,
entering emerald sunshine, jubilance, singing
a snappy little show tune from Judy Garland;

but some become Scarecrows instead.
Thrown headlong onto a fence, beaten with the
butt of a gun, swallowing blood rivulets and burned

to within a hair of a soul, left crucified
like some forsaken son, left to rot
in the thirty degrees of a deep Wyoming night;

Perhaps you can imagine this. This is Coming Out
when you’re not ascending an Emerald City,
when rainbows are distant like freedom

and you’re catching your breath continually
just to keep it from being stolen.
This is what makes us so bitter, so often.

Someone is kicking open a closet door as I speak and
someone is thinking about redemption while huddling over
Matthew Shepard’s carcass and I am choking on this brittle air.

Friday Funtime: 10 "10" Songs for 10/10

(First, if I may rant, let me say that when I open a fortune cookie, I want it to be a fortune inside. I didn't buy an aphorism cookie or a maxim cookie. And I really didn't buy a chastising cookie - of which I got my first the other night. "Perhaps you've been focusing too much on yourself," it told me. I was insulted. I yelled at the cookie: "Bitch, I work hard!")

(Maybe the aphorism cookies aren't so bad after all.)

Now, a celebration of the number 10:

1. Dusty Springfield, "I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten" (Gesticulate, Dusty, Gesticulate!)
2. Jayhawks, "Ten Little Kids"
3. Jefferson Airplane, "3/5 of a Mile in 10 Seconds"
4. Notorious B.I.G., "Ten Crack Commandments"
5. The-Dream f/ Fabolous, "Shawty Is a 10" (rest assured that you won't find any more Fabolous on this blog)
6. Harvey and the Moonglows, "Ten Commandments of Love"
7. Third Eye Blind, "Ten Days Late"
8. Beautiful South, "Perfect 10"
9. Led Zeppelin, "Ten Years Gone"
10. Aerosmith, "Big Ten-Inch Record"

John Lennon, "#9 Dream"

Happy birthday to someone this world really could use today (though I wonder what he'd think of life in the post-idealism age), whose life and musical output have approached mythic status. Even if we'll never know what "bawakawa pousse pousse" means.

PS: I hear there's a new book about John, Philip Norman's The Life, but have never heard of the author and am not sure there's anything left to learn about him that hasn't been covered in other bios already.

Raphael Saadiq, "Love That Girl"

I still visit record stores once in a while, but I don't often buy CDs in them anymore - usually only when I'm salivating for a brand-new release or buying birthday and holiday gifts. But I scored two great new ones this week, giving me reason to think I may be able to compile a Top 10 list of the best albums of '08 after all.

The Jefferson Starship, for whom my longtime love and appreciation are well documented, have their first new release in years, Jefferson's Tree of Liberty. It's a collection of mostly covers, many with folksy or political (or both) vibes, with the Weavers as Paul Kantner's avowed inspiration. The selections include the nicely obscure ("Santy Anno"), the familiar to folkies ("I Ain't Marching Anymore"), and one undeniable classic (Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom," which benefits here from thrilling harmony vocals from David Freiberg and new Starship passenger Cathy Richardson). I'm glad to see Kantner having fun again.

But even better - and completely on another corner of the musical map - is The Way I See It, the latest album from former Tony! Toni! Tone! and Lucy Pearl member Raphael Saadiq. His Way is straight-up Motown this time around, full-on retro, smartly written and sweetly sung. It's not as calculatedly dated as a Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings record; neophyte Ryan Shaw actually makes for a better reference point. Felix Hernandez (of local Rhythm Revue fame) should be rushing to add the colorful Saadiq to his radio playlist, as should all the U.K. purveyors of Northern Soul (a term I only fuzzily understand, genre-wise). Check out the Temptations-worthy "Love That Girl" and tell me I'm right.

The Spinners, "How Could I Let You Get Away"

Everyone's got the one that got away. Here's mine.

It was late October 1997. I was celebrating Halloween in the Castro district of San Francisco with a gaggle of friends from work. As we flowed through the merriment, a guy caught my eye. I was in a wizard's outfit; he was uncostumed as best as I can remember. We made instant deeply connecting eye contact - which to that point had never happened to me before. "What's your name?" I stammered, trying to be heard above the din. "Christopher," he replied. "I'm --" ... but before I could continue, the swollen crowd pushed me along. And since I got no phone number or other information from him, I forgot about that moment not long after.

Flash forward to early May 2001. I'm back in SF after having spent the prior year in Southern California - but not for long, as I've just made the decision to move back east, to Boston, a move that will take place in only a week or so. It's a Friday night, and I'm looking forward to meeting up with my visiting friend the Princess of Cairo for karaoke and then to hosting a visit from another out-of-town friend the next morning.

So I'm waiting for PoC at a bar called the Pilsner, getting tipsier than I intended, and then. It happens. I'm in the way of a stool at the bar, and this guy comes to reclaim his seat; we look at each other and immediately melt into each other's eyes, smitten immaculate. His name? "Christopher." We've already moved on to our first kiss by the time my late-arriving Princess makes it in, and so we become a party of three as we proceed to the Mint for song and drink.

PoC and I, at my insistent urging, perform Steely Dan's "Do It Again," trading lines in a Mamas-and-Papas fashion (it sounded better in my head than it ultimately did on the stage). I'm not paying her the attention she deserves, but she sees how well Christopher and I are connecting and magnanimously suggests that I go take advantage of the situation.

Which I do. And we do. We spend a marvelous night together at his nearby place, and I awaken the next morning to find him out on the deck in his underwear, smoking a cigarette. It's all perfect, except for my situation: in the words of Grand Funk, I'd picked a bad time to be in love. I remind him that I'm moving in a week. "Don't go," he swiftly and softly replies.

Now, I've moved a lot over the years, to many cities. No one before or since has ever said to me, "Don't go."

But go I did. And I didn't have the good sense to stay in touch with him. I'll probably never know if it was the same Christopher I met on both occasions. I'll probably never know if we were as tight a connection as we seemed for one night. All I know is that I think about him every once in a while - and I did so this morning, humming a Spinners chorus: "How Could I Let You Get Away?"

Frida, "I Know There's Something Going On"

Anni-Frid Lyngstad had only one moment of note on the U.S. charts after leaving ABBA, but what a note it was: "I Know There's Something Going On" is fembot pop at its absolute finest, Frida maintaining a steely figure for over 5 minutes of Phil Collins' monstrously drummed production. Grace Slick once called herself the Chrome Nun, but the appellation's more applicable here. I heard the tune this weekend and have been thinking that the Pussycat Dolls could have a hit with it if they sped it up and doubled the beat. (Of course, they'd throw a shitty guest rap in the middle - welcome to the 2000s.)

Friday Funtime: How Pop Argot Won on a Game Show

It was just about exactly 10 years ago (yikes!) that yours truly appeared on Rock & Roll Jeopardy, a short-lived game show on VH1 that helped launch the career of Survivor host Jeff Probst. I'm happy to report that I won; here are some of the responses that helped me do so.

1. Who is Emerson?
2. Who are the Funky Bunch?
3. Who is Grace Slick?
4. Who are the Heartbreakers?
5. Who is Daryl Dragon?
6. Who are the Playboys?
7. What is "Fun, Fun, Fun"?
8. What is "Counting Blue Cars"?
9. What is "Bittersweet Symphony"?
10. (Final Jeopardy response) Who is Ricky Nelson?

Bill Popp, "Stone to Throw"

I was talking the other day about Jim Croce having pop success without looking like a pop star, and how we don't have the benefit of that today. Here's a present-day example: Bill Popp has been shuffling around in indieland for quite some time, creating concise power-pop nuggets that ring nicely in the ear. But he's an older guy who looks more like Matt Pinfield than a Jonas brother, so our music media have no use for him.

And that's a damn pity, because his new album, My Lonely Mind, is a treat from nearly start to finish. The vocals don't soar, but they hang on for the ride just well enough - perhaps mid-'70s George Harrison tunes like "You" make for a good reference point. The music is immediate, catchy; and the lyrics reflect the confidence of a guy who's old enough to not have time for indecision. It's the sound of someone getting what he wants, or at least getting on the path to that. I haven't recommended much new music on this blog, but I'm recommending this album now. Check it out at CDBaby (I'm partial to "Heartbeat," "Garden Wall," and "Love Many, Trust Few," myself). And since none of those are up on YouTube yet, here's an earlier effort from him: 1996's "Stone to Throw."

You're welcome.

PS: I've been thinking tonight's VP debate is going to make me very, very sad.

Christie, "San Bernardino"

My friend Mike is a fan of the retro chart shows on a British radio station, Capital Gold, that simulcasts on the Web. The cool thing about British charts of the '70s is that you get a lot more OMGWTFLOL inexplicability: sauced football anthems, aging crooners, and glammy covers share the space with the more anticipated pop stars. So, for example, for the show airing this week, from November 1970, you get some things you might expect of the time (Edwin Starr's "War") along with some you may have forgotten (Dave Edmunds, "I Hear You Knocing") and some you never knew to forget (Jimmy Ruffin, "It's Wonderful"; Andy Williams, "Home Lovin' Man").

Decidedly in the latter camp is the pleasantly melodic if hardly memorable "San Bernardino" from Christie, a follow-up to their only hit in the U.S., "Yellow River." Now that's one hell of a long road trip. Hooray for British acts laying claim to random parts of California without knowing the lay of the land! (A list for another day.)

ETA: The Web suggests that they consistently misspelled it as "San Bernadino." Until I get tangible confirmation of that, I'll err on the side of correctness.

Grant Lee Buffalo, "Mockingbirds"

There are some days when it feels kind of pointless to maintain a music blog. When a vice presidential candidate deems it "gotcha journalism" when she's called out for not knowing shit about anything national or global in scope. (Yes, Ms. Palin. You don't know shit. Get the fuck off the stage before you hurt America irreperably.) When the Dow endures its largest single-day point loss as a near-direct result of GOPers throwing a fit of pique over Nancy Pelosi speaking unkind truth to unkind power. When the Chinese dilute their milk products with a substance that sickens if not kills thousands (and successfully kept that fact hushed throughout their PR campaign of an Olympics). When Robert Mugabe still mystifyingly is permitted to remain in power in a land where he murders his own people (c'mon, tell me how long before Tsvangirai is murdered too).

Some days this stuff hits harder than others and it becomes difficult to extol the virtues of sunshine pop. So I'll just post something I was listening to a lot in the darker days of 1995-96, though it came out in late '94: some intricate lyrical craft hidden behind an overly college-artsy video (Anton Corbijn would later do far better work than this). Grant Lee Buffalo's Mighty Joe Moon remains one of my favorite albums of the decade, and "Mockingbirds" is a primary reason why.

Jim Croce, "I Got a Name"

There's a temptation to look for date hooks when posting almost-daily blog entries. But I don't want this blog to be "On This Day in Music History." Still, many anniversaries deserve to be noted, and I missed one a little over a week ago: September 20 marked the 35th anniversary of the death of the wonderful Jim Croce.

Croce was as unlikely as pop stars get: with a nose and a mustache his face could barely contain, and a stage outfit of worn dungarees, he looked more like someone who'd spent the day painting houses than someone who was sharing the charts with Bowie and McCartney and Stevie Wonder and Cher. And that's one of the glories of the early '70s in pop and rock: you really could rise on the quality of the songs. And Croce, in his short chart career, had a magnificent quality to his.

"Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" is one of the very first songs I ever remember hearing. (Helps that its chorus mentioned a junkyard, at a time when I owned a board game called Junkyard and was watching a lot of Fat Albert and Sanford & Son - junkyards were a frequent theme in the mid '70s in my world.) It's a wonder of storytelling, as are its related "You Don't Mess Around With Jim," and on the other side of the coin, the gentle "Operator" and the seemingly Spanish wind of "Time in a Bottle."

But my favorite was, and is, "I Got a Name," a declaration of independence and identity that has guided me through many a moment of self-doubt. Jim knew the value of keeping one's dreams at the front of one's heart, even if it means walking a path alone while trying to actualize those dreams. He went there proud, and succeeded fabulously, even if he tragically did not get to reap the rewards of his work, his songcraft. Life did not pass him by, and I hope we can all say the same for ourselves.