It’s J. Eric Smith’s fault that I’m doing the Honest Playlist. He is an old blogger buddy of mine—well, he is not that old—who used to live in the Albany area but now resides in Arizona.
He explained the setup, which you can read here. It involves, in part, Flight of the Conchords, which I have never seen, but that is not required for this exercise.
“The premise of the recurring feature is that artists are given a set of song-based questions which they must answer, honestly.” And I have to do this because Eric namechecked me, curse him.
The first song I remember hearing: I don’t really know, but it is likely one of my father’s 45s. It may also be Be Kind To Your Parents. I’ve written about this before, but the previous link is the correct version. It was on a red 45 that my sister Leslie and I played on our record player all the time.
The first song I fell in love with: From my father’s singles, 45 Men a Telephone Booth by The Four Tophatters.
The first album I bought: Beatles VI from the Capitol Record Club, which I paid for with proceeds of my newspaper route delivering the Evening and Sunday Press in Binghamton, NY circa 1966.
The song I do at karaoke: I seldom do karaoke, but it’d be Talking Heads’ version of Take Me To The River.
Party!
The best song to play at a party: I initially thought of songs my daughter and I know and like. The first thing that came up: Motown Philly by Boyz II Men; she was jealous when her mother and I saw the group at Chautauqua in 2024. Then I thought, maybe some Motown, such as the obvious Dancing In The Street by Martha Reeves & The Vandellas or the obscure, though it went to #2 on the pop charts, I Heard Through the Grapevine by Gladys Knight and the Pips. How about Twist and Shout by that Liverpool group? Ultimately, I landed on Sledgehammer by Peter Gabriel, which is slower than the video suggests.
The song I inexplicably know every lyric to: The Ballad of the Green Berets by SSgt. Barry Sadler. It WAS the song that spent the longest at #1 pop in 1966, at five weeks, when I turned 13 and was listening heavily to the radio. (The Monkees’ I’m A Believer started their run in ’66 but most of it was in ’67.)
The third and final verse and chorus:
Back at home, a young wife waitsHer Green Beret has met his fateHe has died for those oppressedLeaving her his last request
Put silver wings on my son’s chestMake him one of America’s bestHe’ll be a man they’ll test one dayHave him win the Green Beret
Even then, I wondered about rhyming oppressed with request – I’m pretty sure Stephen Sondheim would not have approved – but after hearing Defying Gravity from Wicked pronounced “gravidy,” I’ve surrendered on the point.
Ick
The song I can no longer listen to: Oddly, I don’t think there is one. After making lists of songs that hit #1 from the first third of the 20th century and listening to songs that are boldly racist, I have tough skin on this.
Now, I do hear songs that have changed for the worse. I’m thinking of The Homecoming Queen’s Got A Gun by Julie Brown, which appears on a Dr. Demento CD I play every April for his birthday. It makes me reflect that it was supposed to be funny in 1990—it really wasn’t—but in the last quarter century of school shootings, it’s even less comfortable.
Back in 2019, Arthur asked: About your Rolf Harris song [Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport] – it raises a question: Are we under any obligation to erase performers or songs we once liked because it later turns out that they were either allegedly or actually terrible humans or allegedly or actually did terrible things, like Rolf?
I was disinclined broadly, though Eric was eloquent in dismissing several artists, notably Michael Jackson. He is incidentally correct that Off The Wall is better than Thriller. I think of all those Phil Spector-produced songs I wouldn’t want to give up. Generally, music is a multifaceted endeavor.
Non-musical sidebar: I STILL remember chunks of Bill Cosby routines verbatim from repeated listening.
But it’s weird because if I were watching films, I might experience a greater ick factor. I’m thinking Woody Allen’s Manhattan or American Beauty with Kevin Spacey.
Guilty Pleasures?
The song I secretly like: I have a soft spot for Seals and Crofts. I saw them with my then-girlfriend on November 12, 1971 in New York City. (Why do I remember that date? Because it was the birthday of Baháʼu’lláh’, who founded the Baháʼí Faith. Anyway, I was listening to them recently, and i think Yellow Dirt is a hoot.
The best song to have sex with: Eric wrote, “I’m a gentleman, yo. That’s none of your business. Sheesh.” Sure. That said, I can’t think of an answer anyway.
The song I’ve always hated: You Light Up My Life – Debby Boone, You’re Having My Baby -Paul Anka, several others. But I can easily avoid them.
The song that changed my life: Quintet/Tonight from West Side Story. Can you do multiple melodies like that? This is why this musical was my favorite.
The song that gets me up in the morning: Never a single album or artist fits the category. Generally, it’s something my wife wouldn’t mind, so John Hiatt/Ella/the Duke/world music (I’ve been listening to Playing For Change a lot)/my wife’s K girls (her designation) Alison Krauss and Diana Krall rather than Led Zeppelin/the Who/the Kinks.
That’s enough because the last question in particular took up a lot of space. I’ll finish it next week.