Bobbie Gentry, "Ode to Billie Joe"

It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day when Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Bobbie Gentry never explained why the title character committed suicide in "Ode to Billie Joe" - unless an explanation was buried in one of the six or so verses she was said to have excised from the song for Top 40 radio consumption.

Which gave author/screenwriter Herman Raucher free rein nine years later to come up with his own reasons why the kid might have jumped off the bridge and his gal pal lobbed inanimate things off it. In the slightly renamed film Ode to Billy Joe, Raucher and director Max Baer (yup, Jethro) presented Robbie Benson as a BJ upset about a BJ. Billie Joe's developing relationship with a too-young girl appropriately named Bobbie takes a weird turn when he comes of age in an unpleasant way: a jamboree with equal parts food, fighting and fucking gives way to a makeshift bordello where people have their way with holes for hire. It's too much for the unsure lad, who in his drunken state finds he prefers a man's company. This being set in 1953 - not to mention filmed in 1976, eons ago in terms of gay visibility - there was no way Billy Joe could be OK with that ... so he kills himself. A thoughtful YouTube poster has made the entire movie available in pieces for viewing; it's not terribly well acted, but it's interesting.

I'm glad the young generation is so, so better aware of their options where their budding sexualities are concerned. Gawd - if every essentially straight guy who had a dalliance with another guy offed himself, the human race would shrink noticeably.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Becomes an Oldie

Back in the mid-'80s, when I began listening to retro radio on a devotional basis, the local golden-oldies station, WWSW (3WS), used 1970 at its unofficial cutoff point: Shocking Blue's "Venus" and the Beatles' "Let It Be" were the most "recent" songs in its playlist. So I developed a working definition of an "oldie" as being a song that was at least 15 years old.

This definition served me well until the end of the '90s, when I discovered that songs I loved at the time of release by bands like Culture Club and ABC and Men at Work had become "oldies," rendering me a saddened and decrepit old man before I'd even hit middle age.

I bring this up because today is the 15th anniversary of my college graduation: a triumphant moment for me in my cap and gown (or, to be precise, top hat and gown), but now a worryingly distant memory. Yours truly is now an oldie even in the sense of achievement of adulthood, I guess. In commemoration, here are 10 other things that felt kind of new in 1995.

1. Smashing Pumpkins, "1979"
2. Sophie B. Hawkins, "As I Lay Me Down"
3. Martin Page, "In the House of Stone and Light"
4. TLC, "Waterfalls"
5. Nicki French, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
6. U2, "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me"
7. Seal, "Kiss From a Rose"
8. Rappin' 4-Tay f/ the Spinners, "I'll Be Around"
9. Boyz II Men, "Water Runs Dry"
10. Oasis, "Champagne Supernova"

Roxy Music, "Out of the Blue"

If this blog post were a Facebook status update, it would read: Pop Argot is overwhelmed by what electric violin can do in a rock context.

But to elaborate, I'm also overwhelmed by the aptitude of everyone else onboard the space shuttle Roxy Music - especially the oboe player, and how often do I get to say that? - on "Out of the Blue." Even if I think Bryan Ferry's sartorial reputation is rather overstated, at least if this clip is evidence.

Lady Gaga, "Telephone"

Few artists today are as polarizing as Lady Gaga - you either absolutely adore her or are absolutely mystified by her overwhelming success over the past 18 months. I'm not on board with her - didn't she learn from Elton John and Madonna that costumes only go so far, that you have to have some lyrical meat on your glittery bones? - but I appreciate that she's affected a number of lives for the better.

Including, apparently, several among the U.S. military in Afghanistan: members of the 82nd Airborne made a video for Gaga's "Telephone" that's been setting the blogosphere abuzz. No dialogue about killing cows and making burgers (what does that line even mean?), just gyrations and choreography and three minutes of implorings to "stop talking."

I haven't yet decided, though, if it's preferable to the 10-minute Tarantino-inspired epic video Gaga and Beyonce did, though.

Marie Osmond, "This Is the Way That I Feel"

Ever wonder what Marie Osmond would have sounded like if she had mashed up two Diana Ross hits, "Love Hangover" and "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"? Then you should be aware of absolutely sweet Marie's final Top 40 chart appearance as a solo artist, "This Is the Way That I Feel." It spent a single week at #39 in June 1977 before disappearing into the Land of Lost Pop Songs. Thankfully, people like YouTube poster Music Mike remember them. (Check out his YouTube channel for an immense number of forgotten gems.)

Hootie and the Blowfish, "Can't Find the Time"

At last, we complete our exploration of a too-forgotten oldie. Over the years, a few obscure bands took cracks at recording "Can't Find the Time." The members of the Orpheus Rising incarnation of the band have archived a few snippets by groups with names like Wasabi and Wits End. But the one notable rendition in the past decade was by a very unlikely act: Hootie and the Blowfish, who had just begun their exit from the national stage but placed their cover of "Can't Find the Time" on the soundtrack of 2000's Me, Myself and Irene, a typically manic Jim Carrey comedy. Directors the Farrelly Brothers, or whoever was responsible for the soundtrack, peculiarly opted for mostly newly recorded covers of Steely Dan songs. What the Dan had to do with multiple-personality Carrey was anybody's guess, much less why Hootie and the Blowfish would chime in with a non-Dan cover.

(There is a connection of which the Farrellys were probably unaware, though: Chevy Chase, who was a drummer before he was a comic actor, played in an early version of Steely Dan as well as in a Boston-area band that impersonated Orpheus on a handful of tour dates.)

Darius Rucker and the boys didn't make much of an impression with their languid and faintly countrified take on the chestnut, but it did return the song to the public eye for a short period of time, and in hindsight, it makes a bit more sense of Rucker's country moves to come.

Rose Colored Glass, "Can't Find the Time"

After poor distribution from record label MCA prevented "Can't Find the Time" from becoming the hit it deserved to be, a few more singles came and went for Orpheus. "Brown Arms in Houston" grazed the singles chart, and "By the Size of My Shoes" gave "Rhinestone Cowboy" songwriter Larry Weiss some of his earliest visibility, but there were cracks in the armor. Principal lead singer and songwriter Bruce Arnold, dissatisfied with the touring version of the band and desirous of new collaboration, broke up the group in late '69 and formed a new Orpheus in '71 for one album; he now disavows all connection with the outfit presently gigging as Orpheus Reborn.

"Can't Find the Time," meanwhile, found new life in the hands of Rose Colored Glass, a pop quartet who took it to #54 in the spring of 1971. I'd never have known about it had it not been for a Dick Bartley compilation, Collector's Essentials: The '70s, that I reviewed in the early 2000s for the All Music Guide. (Ignore the typo in the first sentence; it's bugged me for years.) I love that, according to the 45 on this YouTube clip, the strings were arranged by Hoppy Hallman. One more reason to enjoy this chipper rendition of "Can't Find the Time."

Orpheus, "Can't Find the Time"

In the late '60s, a band arose from Worcester, MA, named Orpheus, after the Greek god of songs. Orpheus was ultimately a tragic figure in the Greek pantheon - his wife Eurydice was killed by a snake at their wedding, and his attempt to retrieve her from Hades ended in an even sadder fashion - and Orpheus the band didn't have the happiest ending either.

At the time Orpheus the band was making regional waves, popular media were taking note of the "San Francisco sound" - a convenient buzz phrase identifying all the hippie jammers shaking things up in '67, from the Airplane to the Dead to Quicksilver and so forth. The scene had grown organically and helped drive thousands of young folks to head West and apprehend a new way of life. So, of course, a guy got the bright idea to manufacture a similar "scene" in Boston, another city with a thriving crop of youthful musicians. That the bands in the "scene" were of wildly divergent styles and barely knew much less jammed with one another mattered little - they would be "the Bosstown sound," the kids would like it, and that was that.

But the kids recognized contrivance for what it was, so a lot of those Boston-area bands got a bad rap for the disbelieved hype. And Orpheus may have been the most shafted of them all. Sure, their lyrics could be possessed of hokey, dated catchphrases ("baby, remember when we turned on to a rainy day"), but their music was sophisticated, jazz-informed, with unexpected chords and tasteful orchestration augmenting their sweet melodies. They made the nether reaches of the Hot 100 twice, with the songs "Can't Find the Time" and "Brown Arms in Houston."

Happily, the former retains some cachet among oldies connoisseurs - even clocking in at #2 in a recent music-fanatics poll of the all-time "shouldabeens" (as in, shoulda been a bigger hit) - and remains in rotation on Boston oldies radio. It's an all-time favorite of mine, and I hope you'll enjoy it too - since later this week I'll spotlight another version or two of "Can't Find the Time." Enjoy.

Everything Is Everything, "Witchi Tai To"

On America's infamous Tax Day, I'd like to remind everyone that to be taxed is a privilege. It is a remarkable achievement that the U.S. has been able to pave roads, deliver mail, put out fires, police streets, educate children, and in so many other ways "provide for the common defense and promote the general welfare" of its people. I fail to understand how all the Tea Partiers and people threatening to "go Galt" can claim to love America and yet hate Americans so. Seems to me that a truer patriotism is to help ensure that our fellow countrymen have a fighting chance of survival.

But let me offer something ameliorative rather than confrontational regarding the day when the big bill comes due. "Witchi Tai To" was a #69 hit in 1969 for Everything Is Everything, featuring songwriting and vocals from the late saxophonist Jim Pepper, who apparently said once that the seemingly Native American phrase witchi-tai-to doesn't actually mean anything. Still and all, it's a nice, soothing song that evokes the utopian we're-all-in-this-together warm fuzzy feeling that one only gets these days in San Francisco or on drug excursions.

Enjoy.

Wilco, "Any Major Dude Will Tell You"

Someone I know is presiding over the dissolution of a relationship this week. The relationship in all but name ended some months ago; the only difference is that now the separation will be physical as well.

I'm not an unbiased observer, and I don't know the whole story - which makes me the worst person to chime in, except to say that I considered posting for today's entry a number of kiss-off songs on my friend's behalf, motivated by a bitter need to pitch a snit: Teddy Pendergrass's "I Don't Love You Anymore" (nah, too vindictive); Elton John's "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" (too melodramatic, and no Sugar Bear in the storyline); New York City's "I'm Doin' Fine Now" (close, but too many differences in the details). I considered "I'll Be Alright Without You," Journey's last good single, and an appropriate sentiment (but holy period hair, Batman!).

But instead of snapping at a third party second-hand and making a tough situation worse, I'll offer some words of consolation for someone who once sent me the same words when I underwent a rough patch years ago. "Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you, my friend / Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again." We undergo changes. Maybe we melt down, dissolve; but even if so, from that salt and water and our essence we rebuild. At least, that's the optimism I pull from Becker and Fagen's logic on one of their prettiest tracks. But since I assume you've heard the Steely Dan original plenty of times, let me give a spotlight to Wilco's gentle cover of "Any Major Dude Will Tell You." It appears, along with a number of other Dan covers of wildly varying quality, on the soundtrack to Me, Myself and Irene, a Farrelly Brothers comedy I've never been the least bit curious to see. But I bought the soundtrack, since it has the aforementioned Dan covers, and what else should it have but Hootie and the Fricking Blowfish doing a cover of one of my all-time favorite songs, and a true obscurity at that, "Can't Find the Time." But that's a story for another day.

Brooklyn Bridge, "Blessed Is the Rain"

Rock 'n' roll heaven got a bit more crowded over the past week: first, Alex Chilton - who's a topic for another day - and today, Johnny Maestro, whose fame came in two acts spaced a decade apart. As one of the Crests, he scored at the end of the '50s with "Sixteen Candles" and other soppy oldies; a decade later, his then band the Del Satins got together with a group called the Rhythm Method (ahem) to form the Brooklyn Bridge. (So named because the 11-piece unit that resulted from the merger was said to be "as easy to sell as the Brooklyn Bridge.")

The BB are best known for their Top 5 rendition of Jimmy Webb's forlorn wedding-bell blues "Worst That Could Happen," but today I'd like to spotlight one of their forgotten follow-ups. From the same year, here's the big Bklyn bunch singing "Blessed Is the Rain", a #45 charter that deserved better. (Ignore the YouTube poster's mistitling of the song as "Yesterday the Rain.") RIP, Johnny.

The Music Scene Singers, "Sugar Sugar"

As Mike alluded in his response to yesterday's post, James Brown's stunning "World" performance came on a short-lived ABC show from late '69 titled The Music Scene. Wikipedia tells me that the show, though it was groundbreaking and featured several of the day's biggest musical performers, failed promptly - one, because The Young Generation wasn't considered a prime target market for advertisers, and two, because it clocked in at an unusual 45 minutes. (It was paired with another 45-minute show, a pre-Lost stranded-on-an-island fantasia called The New People.)

I need to learn more about The Music Scene - if only because the people behind it were daring/insane enough to turn the Archies' too-bubblegum-for-the-Monkees "Sugar Sugar" into a gospel- and daishiki-soaked soul shout from what I take to be the show's house band. In our continuing musical education, I present: The Music Scene Singers, "Sugar Sugar." I hope you're as fascinated as I was.

James Brown, "World"

I've been trying for a long time to track down a long-forgotten James Brown charting single from the fall of '69 that showed off his social consciousness rather than his funky strut. It wouldn't have been out of place on his Christmas albums that offered universal, nondenominational sermons on the need for peace and love, where it would sit alongside such songs as "Let's Unite the Whole World at Christmas" and "Hey America."

Making this tune even harder to find, beyond its being funk-free and thereby less radio-friendly for retro R&B stations, is that a search for "James Brown World" invariably points one to the far more famous "It's a Man's Man's Man's World." But at last, the object of my desire up on YouTube - in a very well lip-synched performance whose silent participants' studied, impervious disdain takes JB to a very new performative level. One might very well imagine James making this plea to the Americans who did not want health care to reach everyone in America. Or to these assholes.

In any case, I'm happy to at last present James Brown's "World," and hope that you find it as powerful as I do (despite its crappy production). As the man says: "Please, please give a damn."

Helen Reddy, "Emotion"

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm pleased to introduce a guest blogger taking the reins today. Mike Schaefer is a longtime friend of mine - a fellow KFOG 10@10 time traveler - who spent years in New York radio before moving to San Francisco, where he shares my love of pop/rock music and the charts and trivia therein. L&Gs, here's his history lesson on a pretty melody from the early '70s that surfaced in a few different iterations - and then surfaced again this weekend. Take it away, Mike!

Last weekend I was listening to the '70s version of "Classic Casey Kasem." It was a chart from March of 1975, and what popped up but Helen Reddy's lovely, forgotten "Emotion," a ballad that peaked, shockingly, at only #22 - breaking Ms. Reddy's then-hot streak of 7 consecutive Top 15 singles. I was reminded that the song was the endpoint of a series of versions of the tune. And so today, a musical history lesson: the evolution of a song.

In 1972 Véronique Sanson recorded (in French) a song about a young woman who's just lost her virginity: "Amoureuse." You may recognize the melody. The following year, a pre-Elton Kiki Dee took a more-or-less literal English translation (also titled "Amoureuse") into the U.K. Top 15.

Sanson then recorded the English version herself, and it garnered some U.S. airplay, becoming something of a "turntable hit" in 1974 at NYC's prog-rock powerhouse WNEW-FM, where it was a fave of deejay Dennis Elsas. That version - I had not yet heard the previous two - instantly became one of my favorite "shouldabeen" hits. (I just love that line about feeling "the rainfall of another planet.") Olivia Newton-John would also record this version.

In the meantime, however, a woman named Patti Dahlstrom wrote a new and different set of English lyrics to Sanson's melody and called it "Emotion." Dahlstrom was a friend of Paul Williams - who had a major connection to Helen Reddy, who'd just had a huge hit with his "You and Me Against the World." That got the song to Helen, who recorded it. When it popped up in the Top 40 in early '75 I was confused, since I recognized the melody but not the lyrics. It would be decades before the interwebs afforded me the opportunity to put the above pieces together in the proper order. Thank you, Wikipedia!

The Irish Rovers, "Wasn't That a Party"

It was inevitable that I'd go Irish today. So if you haven't had your fill of green shakes, green Sno Balls, green beer, and green people overindulging in some or all of the above, here's an Irish band that got together in Canada and spaced its two hits 13 years apart. My friend Mike prefers their traditional-style 1968 novelty Top 10 hit "The Unicorn," but I'd like to highlight the Irish Rovers' minor 1981 charter "Wasn't That a Party." It's driving, yet a bit repetitive - but then, so is drinking on St. Pat's.

And speaking of my friend Mike, he'll be occupying this space tomorrow as my first guest blog of 2010. He'll be providing a musical history lesson that I think you'll really like.

Ides of March, "L.A. Goodbye"

Well, who else would you play on March 15? Ides of March are best remembered for the horn-heavy lecherous hit "Vehicle," but I've come to prefer their mellower follow-up, "L.A. Goodbye." It's a refrain I've sung many a time.

PS22 Chorus, "Lisztomania"

I just learned today via a friend on Facebook about an incredibly inspired music instructor and his marvelously gifted kids at a public school on Staten Island. The PS22 Chorus, consisting of what look to be fourth graders, have made a name for themselves doing covers of contemporary hits, and their latest effort has already hit the blogosphere hard. So this likely isn't the first you'll be reading about them, nor will it be the last.

L&Gs, some amazing kids and their gem of a teacher performing Phoenix's "Lisztomania." It was one of my favorite singles of last year, and I like it even better in the sound and vision of young boys and girls singing together with such obvious joy. (I was going to say "glee," but that word's been co-opted for the moment.) I wish my own days of classroom chorus had been such pleasant experiences.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Shuffles Songs, Shares

The Facebook meme-o'-the-week is "Shuffle Song Share": people on the social-networking site put their iPod or iTunes on "shuffle" setting and post the first 20 songs that come up. It's a way to find out one another's tastes and collections.

I sent one of these lists to some FB friends, and thought I'd share it with you as well. Or at least, the ones that exist in the semi-Alexandrian library of pop culture that is YouTube. This set isn't perfectly representative of my collection - it defies the odds that none of these 20 songs are by the Beatles, Monkees, or Jefferson Airplane/Starship - but I hope it's entertaining.

1. The Subways, "Rock & Roll Queen"
2. Blues Image, "Ride Captain Ride"
3. Curtis Mayfield & the Impressions, "It's Hard to Believe"
4. Matthew Sweet, "What Matters"
5. Yaz, "Don't Go"
6. Blackbox, "I Don't Know Anybody Else"
7. George Michael, "Secret Love"
8. Level 42, "Tracie"
9. Rod Stewart, "Tonight's the Night" (Gonna Be Alright)
10. Fountains of Wayne, "Hackensack"
11. Rock Stars, "Red Room Anthem"
12. Sonny & Cher, "You Better Sit Down Kids [Live]" (Ed. note: This live version featured Sonny singing instead of Cher. Alas, it's not on YouTube, so here's Sammy Davis Jr. warbling it instead.)
13. Chris Connelly and the Bells, "Blonde Exodus II"
14. Kim Wilde, "Love in the Natural Way"
15. Donna Summer, "Dim All the Lights"
16. Starsailor, "Counterfeit Life"
17. Stories, "Brother Louie"
18. Frankie Goes to Hollywood, "Born to Run"
19. Alex Dolan, "Give 'em What They Want"
20. Bruce Springsteen, "Loose Ends"

Belle Stars, "World Domination"

Here are some words of encouragement for those struggling to march forth on March 4th, in a forgotten track from the underrated Belle Stars: "I don't mind working hard. But not too hard." So they declare in "World Domination." (Buyer beware: The song, one of their very last, drags on quite a bit. But that style - ain't they clean?)

As a bonus, here's another blogger's far more interesting take on the song.

Friday Funtime: Oh, Canada!

I don't get personally excited about the Olympics, but I hope the athletes and fans in Vancouver are having the time of their lives right now. Here's a celebration of some Canadians who have contributed memorable pop and rock to their neighbors to the south.

1. Nikki Yanofsky, "I Believe"
2. Bob and Doug McKenzie f/ Geddy Lee, "Take Off"
3. Paul Anka, "I Don't Like to Sleep Alone"
4. Kon Kan, "I Beg Your Pardon"
5. Alanis Morissette and Barenaked Ladies, "Call and Answer"
6. Bran Van 3000, "Drinking in L.A."
7. Anne Murray, "A Little Good News"
8. Bryan Adams, "Do I Have to Say the Words?"
9. Mother Lode, "When I Die"
10. k. d. lang, "Hallelujah"

Go West, "We Close Our Eyes"

Reasons that Go West's "We Close Our Eyes" is perhaps the worst video of all time:

1) The storyboard, or lack thereof.

2) The resulting stage directions to the duo: "Mug with this giant wrench." "Knock yourself and your mullet out with this hair dryer."

3) The duo's willingness to do so.

4) Their forced fun, which by comparison makes Wang Chung look outright mirthy on the despicable "Everybody Have Fun Tonight."

5) The inexplicable presence of a faux Pope amidst all that forced fun.

6) The insistence of the lead singer (the unfortunately named Peter Cox, who, I must admit, looked not unlike handsome former MLB pitcher and current announcer Al Leiter) on wearing worn, overtight tanks - even when wearing his leather jacket, which produces the chicken-and-egg question, Does his jacket smell like his armpits, or do his pits smell like his jacket?

And that's not even getting into the awfulness of the song, whose lyrics defy description and whose instrumentation defies taste. How this made it as high as #41 in '85 I'll never understand, but at least it missed the 40.

To think that Godley & Creme directed this. Will blunders never cease.

Pretenders, "Hymn to Her"

Two friends of mine in recent days lost strong women who were important to them. With my condolences, I offer the Pretenders' "Hymn to Her", a goddess tribute of sorts from their 1986 album Get Close. I hope it offers some comfort in difficult days. "She will always carry on / Something is lost, but something is found."

Pilot, "January"

I'm running out of days to appropriately play this. Here's "January," Pilot's barely charting follow-up to the smash "Magic," which I think deserved better. Aren't they just jolly?

They Might Be Giants, "I Palindrome I"

A Facebook friend reminded me of a song very appropriate for today's date. But what I really love about TMBG's "I Palindrome I" is its beautifully bitter opening line: "Someday Mother will die and I'll get the money / Mom leans down and says, 'My sentiments exactly, / You son of a bitch.' "

At any rate, happy 01/11/10.