Susie Bright's Journal

Those Unforgettable Lesbian Love Songs

Lesbian Pop historian Rabdrake has posted a remarkable contribution to the rarefied world of lesbian erotic music and video: The G2G Love Song List.

All the songs are by female vocalists singing love songs to other women—  "Not friendship love, but undisguised sensuality, an open expression of same-sex attraction."

Every tune links to a video featuring the likes of Patti Smith, Lisa Lopes, Janet Jackson, Ani DiFranco, Laura Nyro, Melissa Ethridge, The Butchies, Katy Perry, Joan Jett, Amy Winehouse, and Marlene Dietrich.

It's interesting to look at that group of names, isn't it? Some are outspoken dyke activists, some are "it-ain't-no-big-thing" bisexuals, while others are persistent closet cases who nevertheless make these videos which reveal their true affections.

My personal favorites are Amy's "Valerie," Marlene Dietrich's montage, and the concert clip above from Sarah Jane Morris.

I was always interested in "straight" pop songs that crossed over into the once-dynamic lesbian bar scene. It often had to do with a play on words, like "Me and Mrs. Jones."

"I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)," with Aretha Franklin wringing it out wet, has to be at the top of that list. I just had another little gasp listening to Allison Crowe's cover of the same.

Rabdrake is the researcher behind the story of "Emmie," Pop music's first lesbian love song, composed by Laura Nyro, who wrote it for her lover, Maria Desiderio.

The reason Nyro must've been so secretive about her lover wasn't because they were gay in a not-so-friendly time— but because they were 13 and 18 when they met and fell in love. That's when Nyro wrote "Emmie."

Later, she wrote "Desiree," another devotion to her partner. Both women died, still together, in middle age, of ovarian cancer, just a few years apart. It reminds me of the rose and the green briar in the lyrics of "Barb'ry Allen:"

They grew and grew to the steeple top
Till they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love's knot
Red rose around green briar

 I wish we knew more of their story.

Tommy, We Hardly Knew Ye

This spring marks our first St. Patrick's Day without singer and storyteller Tommy Makem... since his birth in 1932. He died last August— and I bet a lot of people are toasting Tommy with more than a few tears this weekend.

Tommy Makem, and the Clancy Brothers, sang the songs I was put to bed with, as a child, my lullabies. Not all of them are sweet, or sad like this one— Tommy is just as famous for his dancing tunes. I remember my mother grabbing me up into the air and starting an Irish jig at the first chord of Finnegan's Wake, or O'Reilly's Daughter.

These Irish folk songs are the first lyrics I learned by heart, the kind of tunes a toddler warbles without having any idea what the words mean!

Mary Mack, Mack, Mack
All Dressed in Black, Black, Black
With Silver Buttons, Buttons, Buttons
Going Down Her Back, Back, Back

Now way down Yonder, Yonder, Yonder,
In the Jailbird Town Town Town
Where the Women All Work Work Work
When The Sun Goes Down Down Down

You know, it wasn't until I was 32 years old, and singing my infant to sleep, that I realized that song is the story of a singular streetwalker!

I was watching the Pete Seeger documentary the other night— The Power of Song— and contemplated his remarks on the fate of music's communal memory:

In 1943, when he was in the Army, Mr. Seeger conducted an experiment on his fellow soldiers, asking them to write down the names of the songs whose words and tunes they really knew. In his own memory file he counted about 300, but he was impressed by the competition.

“I was surprised how many the average person knew back then,” he said. He supposed that the number of songs crossing lines of generation, class and sex would be much lower today, outside of “Over the Rainbow” and “Happy Birthday to You.”

Ouch. That's sad but true. I think how many songs I know by heart, and they pale in comparison to my parent's musical memory. My mom not only sang all the songs, she knew all the dances that went with them.

Sometimes I get in a panic, when I realize that the days when I sang my daughter every night are long behind us. At a certain point, she became embarrassed by my singing— Mom! Stop it!—  and since the rest of the neighborhood wasn't crooning their own tunes, voices floating out the windows, kids singing harmony in the streets, there's been no peer support for it.

You have to go out of your way to find a singing group now— in my childhood, I can't recall going over to someone's house where people didn't dance and sing as a matter of course.

The other night I went to a dinner party followed by the roll-out of a home karaoke machine. I noticed that anyone who knew the song, would rather turn around to the crowd, and belt it out, without the lyric prompt. The microphone's the fun part, not following the bouncing ball. My friends were shocked that I knew so many  old country tunes, like "Your Cheatin' Heart," or "Jackson."

I don't know how I know these songs; I can't remember a time when I didn't know them. I realize they go so far back in my mind, because I learned them from my family's singing, not from a recording. I didn't know who "Patsy" or "The Carter Family" was. It was only when I when I got older, and bought my own 45's and records, that I learned lyrics from the original recording artist.

This song, The Butcher Boy, is the lament of a young girl who's found herself knocked up by the butcher's helper, who's abandoned her. She contemplates her and her baby's fate, and  hangs herself, with her last poem tucked in her pocket.

Tommy is singing it on Pete Seeger's wonderful old TV program, Rainbow Quest.

The tragic splendor, if not the narrative, of the tale, is an inspiration to Patrick McCabe's novel, The Butcher Boy, and Neil Jordan's movie of the same name. In the case of the McCabe's tale, it's as if the young girl had birthed her child after all, and named him "Francie Brady." His story makes his mother's look like a walk in the park— one of the most damning stories about religion, poverty, violence— and Ireland— I've ever read.

But back to Tommy. What a passion for life. His poems will be sung for very long time. I hope you don't mind if I change the lyrics to another one of his favorites, this time, a Scottish one:

Now Tommy is a bonny lad, he is a lad of mine,
I've never had a better lad and I've had twenty-nine...

And for you, and for you, and for you, my Tommy lad,
I'd dance the buckles off my shoes wi' you my Tommy lad!

The Cremation of Sam McGee

...With Real Canadian Sound Effects!

This is a performance of the famous poem by Robert Service.

Stay Warm, Baby!

Happy Scooter Libby Liberation Day

As bombs burst into air, I give you Allen Ginsberg's America:

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our filling stations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

Thank you, Caitlin Morgan, for inspiring me with your good example. I recommend reading America out loud yourself, but you can also hear Allen read it in performance, here. More Ginsberg Goodness here.

Photo: Thanks to Brain Map. Commie Propaganda here. Queer Shoulder painting here.

If You Want to End War and Stuff You Got to Sing Loud

Alice's Restaurant

by Arlo Guthrie

This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and the restaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,
that's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice's Restaurant.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in, it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on- two years ago on Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the restaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and Fasha the dog.

And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of room downstairs where the pews used to be in.  Havin' all that room, seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn't have to take out their garbage for a long time.

We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd be a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. So we took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the city dump.

Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across the dump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dump closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove off into the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.

We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of the side road there was another fifteen-foot cliff and at the bottom of the cliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile is better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up we decided to throw ours down.

That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid, we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." And I said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope under that garbage."

After speaking to Obie for about forty-five minutes on the telephone we finally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go down and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the police officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the police officer's station.

Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, and we didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again, which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's station there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was both immediately arrested.  Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think I can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." 

He said, "Shut up, kid. Get in the back of the patrol car."

And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to the quote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where this happened here, they got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars, being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to
get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.

They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and they took twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to mention the aerial photography.

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to put us in the cell.  —Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want your wallet and your belt." 

And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting my wallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you want my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." 

I said, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"

Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out the toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars, roll out the - roll the toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice (remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a few
nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back to the church, had a another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.

We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, sat down. 

Man came in said, "All rise."  We all stood up, and Obie stood up with the twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing-eye dog, and he sat down, we sat down.

Obie looked at the seeing-eye dog, and then at the twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog. And then at twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry, 'cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
blind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and the judge wasn't going to look at the twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. And we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but that's not what I came to tell you about.

—Came to talk about the draft.

They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street, where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination one day, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, so I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. 

'Cause I wanted to look like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wanted to feel like the All-— I wanted to be the All-American kid from New York, and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and all kinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gave me a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the psychiatrist, Room 604."

And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill.  I mean, I wanna, I wanna kill.  Kill.  I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth.  Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill, KILL, KILL." 

And I started jumpin' up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and he started jumpin' up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL." 

And the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me, sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."

—Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections, detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no part untouched. 

Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see the last man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there, and I walked up and said, "What do you want?" 

He said, "Kid, we only got one question. Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre, with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all the phenome... —and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you ever go to court?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty-seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W... NOW, kid!!"

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W's where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly looking people on the bench there.  Mother-rapers.  Father-stabbers. Father-rapers! Father-rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! 

And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the
bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest father-raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly 'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me and said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" 

I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay $50 and pick up the garbage." 

He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"

And I said, "Littering." 

And they all moved away from me on the bench there, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till I said, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand, and we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime,
mother-stabbing, father-raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on the bench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds of
things, until the Sargent came over, had some paper in his hand, held it up and said:

"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-
you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked for forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we had fun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there, and I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote it down there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down the pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on the other side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else on the other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the following words:

("KID, HAVE YOU REHABILITATED YOURSELF?")

I went over to the sergeant, said, "Sargent, you got a lot a damn gall to ask me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'm sittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench 'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." 

He looked at me and said, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprints off to Washington."

And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of my fingerprints.

And the only reason I'm singing you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similar situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in say "Shrink, You can get anything you want, at Alice's restaurant."

And walk out. 

You know, if one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and
they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them. And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in singin' a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walking in singin' a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out.

And friends, they may think it's a movement.

And that's what it is, the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the guitar.

With feeling.

So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and sing it when it does. Here it comes...

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

—That was horrible.

If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud. I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.

So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four-part harmony and feeling.

We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.

All right now:

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
—Excepting Alice
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in, it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

Da da da da da da da dum
At Alice's Restaurant

©1966,1967 (Renewed) by Appleseed Music Inc. All Rights Reserved.
The whole fabulous album.
The Best of Arlo Guthrie.
Hobo's Lullabye.

 

Keith's Little Mishap

Slightly Anxious Rocker Chick Asks: 

Is Keith Richards going to be okay? Do I need to do something besides play Exile on Main Street repeatedly?

They say: he fell out of a coconut tree, and then went on jet-ski rampage 'til his brain swelled up. But now he's "just fine."  SNORT!

I'm afraid no version of the story passes the believeablility test.

I am impressed that he is elderly and still completely out of control. Yet I worry..

He once said, "My epitaph will be: 'Fuckers! I told you I wasn't feeling well.'"

I've always wanted to knock out his infamous Shepherds' Pie recipe. Maybe we should all make one, and munch it down while casting a healing incantation:

Richards Shepherd's Pie

3 lbs. potatoes, "Tumbling Diced"
1 tablespoon butter
Salt and pepper to taste
2 lbs. ground beef
2 large onions, chopped
2 large carrots, grated
1 1/2 c. beef stock
1 T. cornstarch

Put potatoes in large saucepan; cover with water. Bring to boil, reduce heat, simmer until tender. Drain. Mash potatoes and butter. Season with salt and pepper. Set aside. Heat large iron skillet. Add beef and onions. Season with salt and pepper. Add carrots and stock. Mix in cornstarch, cook ten minutes. Pour meat mixture into pie dish and top with mashed potatoes. Place under broiler until potatoes begin to turn brown.

Let's have a toast to him, shall we?

Heck of a Radio!

Remember my little music box that I was so delighted to discover this winter? Yes, Pandora.

Well, now I have a new trick.

If you look at the bottom of my sidebar on the right, you'll see the "radio stations" I've programmed on Pandora. You'll find out all my craven musical habits. Play them all! I wish they would make a little comment box so I could hear what you think of them.

The way you make a "station" in Pandora, is to begin by picking a certain song to kick it off. The system starts to guess what other songs you might like, based on the original criteria.

Then the real fun begins. You train your stations on Pandora by ruthlessly hitting the "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" button every time a new song plays. Insomnia has never been so productive. Pandora WILL bend to my will.

Here's my radio stations:

Higher Ground was inspired by Stevie, Katrina, and some need for a soulful influx.

Leviticus: Faggot is that throat-gripping song by Me'Shell NdegeOcello, and this selection has been one of my fruitful and unexpected.

Bell Bottom Brew is my attempt to mine anything that reminds me of the Bluesbreakers.

Heck of a Radio! is my favorite station title. It started as Jolene, by Dolly Parton, but I was getting too many square country hits. I'm into the freaky roots side of Dolly, so I threw in a gigantic helping of Gillian Welch, and that got it on the right track.

Monk Please is my newest effort, which I haven't had time to instruct yet. The problem is I may want to listen to Thelonius ONLY, with no deviation.

Finally we have For No One Radio, which was my first experiment on Pandora, and still the most reliably pleasing. The name is from the song on the Beatle's Revolver, although I also cry my eyes out on the Rickie Lee Jones version as well.

If you are a music freak and a big smartypants who thinks you've heard it all, Pandora has you nailed.

Does Pandora have the ability to choose songs with sexy, erotic, or controversial lyrics? I don't think so— although by demanding Dylan, I found that I could conjure up what they call "meaningful" lyrics. I'd love to know how they'd characterize The Wet Spots.

Louise Brooks in Pandora's Box. Yum.

Papist Girl Sing-Out!

The Old Orange Flute

In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout-hearted blade.

On the twelfth of July, as it yearly did come
Bob played on the flute to the sound of the drum
You can talk of your fiddles, your harp, or your lute
But there's nothing could sound like the Old Orange Flute.

But the treacherous scoundrel, he took us all in
For he married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the Old Cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.

And the boys in the county made such a stir on it
They forced Bob to flee to the province of Connaught;
Took with him his wife and his fixins, to boot,
And along with the rest went the Old Orange Flute.

Each Sunday at mass, to atone for past deeds,
Bob said Pater's and Ave's and counted his beads
Till one Sunday morn, at the priest's own require
Bob went for to play with the flutes in the choir.

He went for to play with the flutes in the mass
But the instrument quivered and cried,"O Alas!"
And blow as he would, though he made a great noise,
The flute would play only The Protestant Boys.

Bob jumped up and huffed, and was all in a flutter.
He pitched the old flute in the best holy water;
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound,
When he tried it again, it played Croppies Lie Down!

And for all he would finger and twiddle and blow
For to play Papish music, the flute would not go;
Kick the Pope to Boyne Water was all it would sound
Not one Papish bleat in it could ever be found.

At a council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the Old Flute away;
They couldn't knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob another to play in its stead.

And the Old Flute was doomed,
and its fate was pathetic
'Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic.

As the flames rose around it, you could hear a strange noise—
'Twas the Old Flute still whistlin' The Protestant Boys:

"Toora-lay, toora-lee,
Oh, it's six miles from Bangor to Donnahadee."

YIP!

Wanna hear the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, with Pete Seeger, sing The Old Orange Flute, live at Carnegie Hall? This is a big download, so don't attempt it without a broadband connection. But it is FABULOUS. And here's Shamrock fruit crate label.

Music Toy I Can't Stop Playing With

Attention music lovers— and more importantly, music snobs! I have just discovered something very cool and sticky.

It's this music-discrimination radio service, called Pandora. It makes a unending playlist of songs based on your ear.

When you go to their page, they ask you to name a song you especially like. Pandora looks up that song, and runs it through a serious of musicology formulas they've devised.

A personal "radio station" pops up that delivers streaming songs based on the temperament of your original choice. It's rather uncanny.

You can make as many of these personal "stations" as you want, or add to the parameters of your first choice but naming additional songs.

I panicked, at first, at the idea of picking ONE favorite song. That's impossible!  But finally, the song "For No One," from the Beatles Revolver album, crept into my unconscious. I started typing.

I imagined that my "For No One" station would play a bunch more Beatles tunes, and I fully expected to be familiar with anything it came up with.

But that's not what happened. Pandora picks songs I've never heard before.

You can ask each song why it's been chosen. For example, on the song called "See You in the Fjords," by The Ebb and Flow, Pandora's rationale was: "mild rhythmic syncopation mixed with acoustic and electric instrumentation, major key tonality, brass instrument solos, and other similarities identified in the music genome project." 

Okay, then! Now I'm listening to "Don't Tell," by Michelle Shocked.

The other fun part is that you can click on each song and say if you like it, or to get rid of it. Which makes the DJ even more discriminating. It remembers what you advise.

I think my surprise comes from the fact that I thought I was a know-it-all. I followed popular music faithfully until the 80s sometime, before I got turned off by most mainstream programming. I sought shelter in my nostalgia, with only occasional enlightenment from live shows. I abandoned commercial radio entirely. I'm behind about fifteen years, and rather cynical about it.

The Pandora people, however mysterious, are obsessive, and have good taste. They don't load any old thing into their jukebox. Even with the songs I don't like, I have to admit they have integrity.

Now I'm listening to a Tom Waits tune I haven't heard in ages: "Fumbling With the Blues." 

"Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye," covered by Simply Red.

"Crossfire," by Pluto.

I need to make a test for some other genres. (They don't yet have classical music, or extensive Latin or "World" collections). I think I'm going to try "Jolene," by Dolly Parton, for a country taste, and maybe some Ohio Players for a funk excursion. What would happen if I crossed that with Public Enemy? Or cross Public Enemy with Dolly? I guess I'm going to be very busy.

Here's my For No One station, if you'd like to listen!

Painting from El Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Argentina.

Winston, Welcome to the Show

 
The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bones
I feel so suicidal
Just like Dylan's Mr. Jones

Video of John Lennon on Mick Jagger's shortlived 60's British TV show, The Rolling Stones' Rock and Roll Circus. Performs scorching "Yer Blues" with Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, and Mitch Mitchell. Yoko puts a black sack over her head. Audience goes wild in yellow ponchos. Priceless.

5 min 14 sec, from Google Video

The Music That Told the Story of 2005

Each year for Xmas, I make a soundtrack time capsule. This year's album:  When The Levee Breaks.

It's my own personal Tipping Point! This year has been something else, and we could all use bit of a catharsis.

My little project is just for my family and best friends... something to stuff in their stocking.  But this time, I realized that I could show you my soundtrack on iTunes, so  you can listen to my album yourself. When you click on the link, it takes you to the playlist on iTunes, and they let you listen to a sample of each track.

The playlist:

Sept Ans Sur Mer                         Elta, Mary, & Ella Hoffpauir 
When the Levee Breaks                 A Perfect Circle 
Wasted Days and Wasted Nights     Texas Tornados 
Gone Pecan                                 Sonny Landreth 
Oh Death                                    The Pine Valley Cosmonauts & Diane Izzo 
Black Minute Waltz                       James Booker 
The Levee                                   Jonny Lang 
A Change Is Gonna Come               Otis Redding 
Riding to New Orleans                   Andi Hoffmann & B-Goes 
Mama, You've Been On My Mind      Peter Mulvey 
When the Levee Breaks                 Robert Plant & The Strange Sensation 
Buck's Nouvelle Jolie Blon              Buckwheat Zydeco 
Wade in the Water                        Ellen McIlwaine 
When a Cajun Man Gets the Blues    Tab Benoit

A Change Is Gonna Come

I was born by the river
In a little tent
Oh, and just like the river I've been running ever since

It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come
Oh yes it will

It's been too hard living
But I'm afraid to die
Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come

Then I go to my brother
And I say brother, help me please
But he winds up knockin' me
Back down on my knees

There been times that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come
Yes it will

I don't know who took this photo; it's from New Orleans/Katrina.Let me know if you recognize the artist!

Cunt Dogmatic Snag Gram

I love Found Poems. I love playing Hangman. I will do almost any silly thing to get close to a word that I like. I lose at Scrabble because I get lost in the aesthetics, instead of counting those damn points. I once made a right angle of "SEMEN" and "NUANCE," but I came in dead last.

If you can relate to my word fetish, you are going to LOSE IT when you discover: Wordcount.

Wordcount, is, in their words, "an artistic experiment in the way we use language... It presents the 86,800 most frequently used English words, ranked in order of commonness. Each word is scaled to reflect its frequency relative to the words that precede and follow it, giving a visual barometer of relevance. The larger the word, the more we use it. The smaller the word, the more uncommon it is."

The fun part is searching for words you like, and then seeing what words fall before and after  them. For instance, if you look up "Susie," this is what the string looks like:

susie deftly dandy fundamentalists meek penultimate clowns 

Susie is word #22609 and clowns is #22615.  Is it not divine?

I liked what happened with my last name, too:

bright jesus rooms russian wild liverpool

That's word #1844 to #1849.

The possibilities are endless and surprising. They've got a devoted group of fans, but I'm sure they could use some more!

Look up your favorite word and sock it to me.

How to Make a Sailor Blush

Apropos of the House of Representives decision not to allow women soldiers use of emergency contraception or abortion—even in cases of incest, rape, or sexual assault— I found a weird tune circulating inside my increasingly beleagured brain.

When I opened my mouth to start singing, this is what came out—as is so often with my political opponents, I cannot take responsibility:

Well, after all, my dear friend...

I'm an ordinary girl.
I desire nothing more than just an ordinary chance,
To live exactly as I like, and do precisely what I want...

An average woman am I, of no eccentric whirl,
Who likes to live her life, free of strife,
Doing whatever she thinks is best, for her.
Just an ordinary gal...

BUT

Let a Fundie in your life— and your serenity is through!
They will shred your constitution, spew social disolution,
Then go on to the enthralling fun of overhauling you!

Let a Fundie in your life, and you're up against a wall,
Make a plan and you will find,
They have something else in mind,
And so rather than do either
You do something else  that neither likes at all!

You want to talk of Dworkin and Kinsey,
They only want to talk of vice!

You go to see a play or ballet, and spend it searching
for gay mice!

Let a Fundie in your life — and you invite eternal strife!
Let them buy their wedding bands, for those anxious breeder hands...

I'd be equally as willing for a dentist to be drilling
Than to ever let a Fundie in my life!

I'm a very gentle gal,
Even tempered and good natured
Who you never hear complain,
Who has the milk of human kindness by the quart in every vein,

A patient girl am I, down to my fingertips,
The sort who never could, ever would,
Let an insulting remark escape her lips
A very gentlewoman...

But, let a Fundie in your life— and patience hasn't got a chance!
He will beg you for remorse,
You will ask, “But what’s the source?”
Then he’ll listen very crudely, and go off
And prove so rudely he’ll enforce!

You are a dream of grace and polish
Who never once spoke above a hush,
All at once, you're using language that would make a sailor blush!

Let a Fundie in your life,
and you're plunging in a knife...

Let the others of my folk, tie the knot and watch it choke—
I see a new edition of the Spanish Inquisition
Than to ever let a Fundie in my life!

I'm a quiet living girl,
Who prefers to spend the evening in the silence of her room,
Who likes an atmosphere as restful as an undiscovered tomb,
A pensive lady am I, of philosophical joys,
Who likes to meditate, contemplate,
Far for humanitie’s mad inhuman noise...
A quiet woman....

But let a Fundie in your life— and your sabbatical is through!
In a line that never ends, comes an army of their friends,
Come to jabber and to chatter
And to tell all what the matter is with YOU!

They’ll have a booming boisterous congregation,
Who’ll descend on you en masse,
They'll have a born-again puppet motherfucker,
With a voice that grinds on glass!

Let a Fundie in your life—
Let a Fundie in your life—
Let a Fundie in your life—

I shall never let a Fundie rule my life!

If You Think You Can, Well, Come On, Man

When I posted my Guckert/Gannon story, one of the reactions I read was a commenter who said, "Joey Ramone said it all long ago..."

I've sung along with this Ramones song a hundred times, and never really listened to the words! But when I read them now, they sure do speak to a lot of history. This is Jeffie's Theme Tune isn't it?— His ancestry.  Except that Jeff got "picked," and now he's got a whole new round of troubles.

If you think you can,
Well come on, man
I was a Green Beret in Vietnam
No more of your fairy stories,
’Cause I got my other worries

53rd and 3rd— Standing on the street
53rd and 3rd— I’m tryin’ to turn a trick
53rd and 3rd— You’re the one they never pick
53rd and 3rd— Don’t it make you feel sick?

Then I took out my razor blade
Then I did what God forbade
Now the cops are after me
But I proved that I’m no sissy

53rd and 3rd standing on the street
53rd and 3rd I’m tryin’ to turn a trick
53rd and 3rd you’re the one they never pick
53rd and 3rd don’t it make you feel sick?

53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd
53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd 53rd & 3rd

Songs My Mom Used to Sing To Me

My mom used to sing songs to put me to bed when I was little. At the time, I didn't know two bits about the lyrics, I just loved my melodies and rhymes and requested the same few over and over again.

Later, when I was a mommy, I started singing these same tunes to my baby, and was I  was amazed when I considered the lyrics from an adult perspective.

One of my favorites is Miss Mary Mack. My mother  would sing this one to me with great suspense, with a torturous pause between the two "Hey Bob's" at the end, and scare the daylights out of me. Then I would shriek and beg her to sing it again.

Mary Mack Mack Mack
All Dressed in Black Black Black
With Silver Butttons Buttons Buttons
All Down Her Back Back Back

Now Way Down Yonder Yonder Yonder
In the Jay Bird Town Town Town
Where the Women all Work Work Work
When the Sun Goes Down Down Down

Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob
Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob
Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob
Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob a needle Bob
Hey Bob — — — — — —
Hey Bob!

Did Jesus Have A Baby Sister?

"Did Jesus Have a Baby Sister?"
Written by Dory Previn
Performed by Heather Bishop on her album, "Celebration"

Did Jesus have a baby sister?
Was she bitter; was she sweet?
Did she wind up in a convent;
Did she end up...
On the street?
On the run, on the stage, did she dance?

Did he have a sister, a little baby sister—
Did Jesus have a sister?
Did they give her a chance?

And did he have a baby sister;
Could she speak out by and large?
Was she told by mother Mary,
“Ask your brother,
He’s in charge—
He’s the chief—
He’s the whipped cream on the cake.”

Did he have a sister, a little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister?
Did they give her a break?

Her brother heard the announcement;
It was pretty big. pretty big, I guess.
But she got precious little notice in the local press.
Her mother was a virgin
When she carried him, carried  him therein...
If the little girl came later,
Then was she conceived...
In sin?
And in sorrow?
And in suffering
And in shame?

Did he have a sister, a little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister?
What was her name?

And did she long to be a Savior, saving everyone she met?
And in private, to her mirror, did she whisper,
“Saviorette! Savior Woman! Savior Person!
Save your breath..."

Did he have a sister, a little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister—
Was she there at his death?

Did she cry for Mary’s comfort
As she watched him on the cross?
And was Mary, too despairing,
“Ask your brother, he’s the boss—
He’s the man
He’s the chief— He’s the show.”

Did he have a sister, a little baby sister?
Did Jesus have a sister—
...Doesn’t anyone know?

The Day My Momma Socked It To the FCC

Today's lyrics are dedicated to Michael Powell and His Book-Cookers at the FCC. 

It turns out that Powell has been exaggerating just a teeny bit about how many Americans are mortally offended by the stuff they see on Monday Night Football and prime-time reality shows.

When he claimed that millions of Americans were rending their garments with moral anguish over the depths that television has sunk to, he actually only meant...

Three.

Three Americans.  And I bet they were just offended as all get out.  If you count Michael, that makes four. Why not speak for everyone else, when they so clearly know better?

Here's the evidence... read it and weep.

Meanwhile, I bet you remember this tune from 1967... a song that couldn't get airplay today because it's so damn indecent:

I wanna tell you all a story 'bout a Harper Valley widowed wife
Who had a teenage daughter who attended Harper Valley Junior High
Well her daughter came home one afternoon and didn't even stop to play
She said, "Mom, I got a note here from the Harper Valley P.T.A."

The note said, "Mrs. Johnson, you're wearing your dresses way too high
It's reported you've been drinking and a-runnin' 'round with men and going wild
And we don't believe you ought to be bringing up your little girl this way"
It was signed by the secretary, Harper Valley P.T.A.

Well, it happened that the P.T.A. was gonna meet that very afternoon
They were sure surprised when Mrs. Johnson wore her mini-skirt into the room
And as she walked up to the blackboard, I still recall the words she had to say
She said, "I'd like to address this meeting of the Harper Valley P.T.A.

"Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there and seven times he's asked me for a date
Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lot of ice whenever he's away
And Mr. Baker, can you tell us why your secretary had to leave this town?
And shouldn't widow Jones be told to keep her window shades all pulled completely down?

"Well, Mr. Harper couldn't be here 'cause he stayed too long at Kelly's Bar again
And if you smell Shirley Thompson's breath, you'll find she's had a little nip of gin
Then you have the nerve to tell me you think that as a mother I'm not fit
Well, this is just a little Peyton Place and you're all Harper Valley hypocrites."

No I wouldn't put you on because it really did, it happened just this way
The day my Mama socked it to the Harper Valley P.T.A.

What Did You Learn in School Today?

Tom Paxton

1964

What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?

I learned that Washington never told a lie
I learned that soldiers seldom die
I learned that everybody's free
That's what the teacher said to me
And that's what I learned in school today
That's what I learned in school

What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?

I learned that policemen are my friends
I learned that justice never ends
I learned that murderers die for their crimes
Even if we make a mistake sometimes
And that's what I learned in school today
That's what I learned in school

What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?

I learned that war is not so bad
I learned about the great ones we have had
We fought in Germany and in France
And someday I might get my chance
And that's what I learned in school today
That's what I learned in school

What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?
What did you learn in school today, dear little boy of mine?

I learned that our government must be strong
It's always right and never wrong
Our leaders are the finest men
So we elect them again and again
And that's what I learned in school today
That's what I learned in school

(I heard this today on the radio, and remember how much I loved to sing it when I was a kid, just because of the tune. I sang along with the Pete Seeger version on the "We Shall Overcome" album. Sounds brand new, doesn't it?)