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.

The Pointer Sisters, "The Pinball Song"

Happy 40th birthday, Sesame Street. You were my favorite block to hang out on through most of the '70s.

And happy 11/10/09 to the rest of you. Here's a fitting Sesame Street tune for the date. Betcha didn't know this was the Pointer Sisters singing these pinball songs, huh? Molto grazie to the fan who linked them all together as one long clip.

Norman Connors, "You Are My Starship"

Barry Scott's weekly Lost 45s show yesterday reminded me of a number of songs I neglected to include the Friday before last in my moon/space celebration set. Rather than miscontextual fluff like "Desert Moon," I should have gone with Bobby Womack's splendid take on "Fly Me to the Moon." And how did I forget Paul Revere & the Raiders' whimsical confection "Mr. Sun, Mr. Moon"?

Another bit of Barry's space travel last night was Norman Connors' R&B hit from 1976 "You Are My Starship." The smooth-jazz drummer had his sole pop crossover moment with this Michael Henderson-sung ode to a love that liberates. "Starship" is a bit crass in places - "and don't you come too soon" can mean only one thing in this context - and in the unedited album version, it seems implausible that someone would repeat the refrain twice before plunging into the verse of self-doubt: "I just can't say / It's here that you want to be." But once that doubt's reassured, once the beloved is here willfully and here to stay, "You Are My Starship" reveals itself to be a soft seduction - nothing more, nothing less, and sometimes that's all that's needed.

C.W. McCall, "Convoy"

Welcome back to "Baby I've Been Thinking." I needed some time away from writing to clear my head; now, I'm sufficiently empty-headed to blog again.

In my weeks away, I missed a few musical anniversaries. The third of June is memorialized in song as the day Billie Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge (as well as the day Neil Diamond lost his virginity to "Desiree," mistakenly thinking that June 3 falls in summer). And June 6 - D-Day, and one may well wonder if that detail was chosen for the gruff patriotism the date connotes - was the day C.W. McCall, a character created by an ad exec, led a group of rebellious truckers (and 11 long-haired Friends of Jesus in a chartreuse microbus, and what a great detail that was to include) on what was then called a "Convoy." Truckers banding together, too fast to stop, too big to fail. A successful example of sticking it to the man - except, for some reason, as they celebrate their victory in the final refrain, they sound a hell of a lot more like Muppets than truckers. I almost expect the trucks to start flinging furry and feathery livestock skyward.

"Convoy," which debuted in December 1975 and hit the top of the charts in early '76, then a year or two later was made into a movie, is one of the very first songs I heard as a child - we had the 45 and were keyed into CB culture, which Will Ferrell was absolutely correct to liken Twitter to. So when does someone write the first Twitter anthem?

PS: If you're new here, or just haven't visited much, this blog is now exactly 1 year old, and I hope you'll take a look through the archives and let me know what you've been thinking.

Tom Robinson, "Glad to Be Gay"

"You are very angry today!" a friend recently chided me on my Facebook page. I'd posted a couple of expletive-laden comments, and she was a bit concerned. Well, when the CEO of America's largest grocery retailer is revealed to have been a petition signer for the Arkansas initiative passed in November that prohibits unmarried couples - that is, gay couples - from adopting or foster-raising kids; and when a somewhat randomly chosen "people's" representative with a pretty big fan base blithely tells a publication he won't allow his "queer" friends to go near his kids; well, yeah, I get a little angry.

I get a lot angry, in fact. Joe the Fake Plumber, sit your ass down and give up this reality-TV flying carpet you've been riding on the past few months. You seem like an intelligent enough guy; please be intelligent enough to know when you don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You've managed to live 35 years not knowing the difference between homosexuality and pedophilia. That's not acceptable. How dare you call these people, whom you consider less trustworthy and less moral and less human than you, how DARE you call them your "friends." You cannot be a friend to a person you think so little of.

Why do I give a shit what you think, Joe the Fake Plumber? Because there are a lot of people in America like you. (That's why you're famous, innit?) They have been told by their parents and their churches and their communities a lot of horrible things about homosexuality. A lot of lies. About how we act, what we believe, what dangers we present, how much of a man or woman we are, how much of a human we are. They're passing these lies down to their kids. Your kids. My kids. OUR kids. And look how some of these kids are taking the lessons we're giving them: Charles M. Blow, "Two Little Boys."

Did you see that, Joe? Kids 11 years old killing themselves because their classmates have been taught that gay is bad and the best way to crush a kid is to call him gay. Blow says it well: "We, as a society, should be ashamed. The bodies of these children lie at our feet. The toxic intolerance of homophobic adults has spilled over into the minds of pre-sexual children, placing undue pressure on the frailest of shoulders. This pressure is particularly acute among young boys who are forced to conform to a perilously narrow concept of masculinity. Or else."

They're 11, Joe. The sins of the fathers are the sins of the sons already, because people like you are afraid of what is different.

And people like you do not fully understand what it means for a person to love a person. You continue to fight against our rights to legally wed and raise children and be full and equal partners and look after each other in our waning years. You continue to form organizations with absurd names like the National Organization for Marriage and make ominous-thundercloud warnings that "gay marriage has consequences." You continue to claim, as John Feenery did in this CNN.com Op-Ed, that gay marriage is "a victory for family values in a strange way." (Emphasis mine.)

Fuck that. This is for all y'alls: Tom Robinson, "Glad to Be Gay."

PS: Hope no one minds the non-observation of Cinco de Mayo. I have nothing musically to offer the day except the War song of that name, and that ain't even up on YouTube.

Eric Carmen, "Sunrise"

Because this is how the world should sound when you've just completed a work all-nighter and you don't have to do a damn thing all day today. (Fast-forward to the 1:45 mark if you don't want to hear uploader Music Mike's intro.) Eric Carmen may not have known what the eff to do with his hair, but he knew his way around power pop better than damn near any of his contemporaries. Cleveland rocks!

David Bowie, "Stay"

January 8 is the birthday of both David Bowie and Elvis Presley. (And Robbie Krieger of the Doors, who, as my friend Mark pointed out today, always gets lost in the shuffle.) The KFOG radio station used to do a contest every year on this day, in which listeners would call in and sing either a Bowie song in the style of Elvis or an Elvis song in the style of Bowie. The results could be anywhere from cringeworthy to mad genius. Alas, the contest has gone silent these past couple of years.

Now, I'm not a big Elvis fan; I have no need for "Hound Dog" in my life, though I love some of his later material ("Suspicious Minds" and "Kentucky Rain," especially, the latter overdue for an entry on this blog). But I'm always happy to offer a slice of Bowie tribute.

His Station to Station album is one of my deserted-island discs: only six songs, but each of them masterly conceptualized and performed. "Golden Years," the hit, wonderful as it is, is actually my least favorite of the lot; I'd much rather hear his pained anguish on "Word on a Wing" or "Wild Is the Wind." (Who says coke kills emotion?) But best of the bunch is "Stay," a plea to another to be reconsidered - as well as a plea to the self to have the courage to say something, to do something, to not let this person slip through overly cautious fingers. The album version features some absolutely incendiary guitar work from Earl Slick that elevates the song's emotional hit to crisis level; this live clip, with Adrian Belew taking Slick's role, doesn't have quite so much magic but it still gets the message across. "Stay ... I really meant it so badly this time / 'Cause you can never really tell / When somebody wants something you want, too."

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.

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.

Bee Gees, "Fanny (Be Tender With My Love)"

A tribute to Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Lehman Brothers, AIG, and the glories of underregulation of a free-market economy, since Wall Streeters can be counted on to do the right thing in the absence of oversight. Fannie, be tender with my loan!

(If you still think deregulation of Wall Street and privatization of Social Security are good ideas, I'd love to hear you explain away this decade of nonsense.)

PS: A word or two about the song itself: What a glorious absurdity it is. Thanks to the wonders of multitracking, I think I hear six or seven Bee Gees on this, each soaring higher and higher like a vocal Icarus. And who doesn't love a tender Fanny?