Roger O Green

Music Throwback: Valentine

Introduce your heart to mine
And be my valentine

One of my very favorite albums of the 1990s, and indeed in my top 100 or so all time, is Across the Borderline by Willie Nelson, a 1993 release, produced by Don Was, Paul Simon, and Roy Halee. It is filled with a bunch of covers by Paul Simon, John Hiatt, Peter Gabriel, Bob Dylan, Lyle Lovett, plus songs by Willie himself, including Valentine.

It’s a very simple lyric:

Valentine, won’t you be my valentine
And introduce your heart to mine
And be my valentine

Summertime, we could run and play like summertime
With storybooks and nursery rhymes
So be my valentine

Candy heart, if anyone could, you could have a candy heart
You’re the sweetest of all sweethearts
Won’t you give your heart to me, can’t you see

This was not a terribly successful album commercially, getting only to #15 on the U.S. Billboard Top Country Albums, and #75 on the U.S. Billboard Top 200, though it fared better in Norway and Canada, where it was a Top 5 album. It had only one charting single, Graceland, a duet with Paul Simon, that only got to #70 on the country singles charts.

The album was, I thought, out of print for the longest time, but now is currently available on Amazon at a reasonable price. I found that the more I listened to it, the more I enjoyed the collection; it washed over me, emotionally.

Less romantic is Heartland, written and sung by Nelson and Bob Dylan, where an “American dream fell apart at the seams.”

Listen to
Valentine here or here.
Heartland here.

Also, read (and listen to)
Is an ex’s photo worth ten chicken wings?

Music Throwback Saturday: Cool Jerk

“Look at them guys looking at me like I’m a fool
Ah but deep down inside they know I’m cool… “

For whatever reason, I just never much a singles (45) buyer when I was growing up. I preferred albums, LPs, some of which I have to this day. The infrequent 45 purchase was of songs by groups I didn’t know, when the song was SO infectious, I just HAD to have it.

Such was the case with the song Cool Jerk by the Capitols, a group out of Detroit. One thing I did not know: “The backing track for this song was actually recorded (secretly) by the Motown house band The Funk Brothers.”

It was released on tiny Karen Records and was likely distributed by Atco (Atlantic Records) because it was the group’s only Top 20 record. “Released in 1966, it reached No. 2 on the American R&B chart, No. 7 on the pop chart, and No. 9 on the Canadian Singles Chart.”

But what did it MEAN? “Per one of the Funk Brothers, the song was originally to be called ‘Pimp Jerk.’ This was taken from watching neighborhood pimps, who would dance in the clubs, but were too ‘cool’ to do the jerk [a popular dance] like regular folks… The producer was afraid that a song with the word pimp in the title would be banned or not receive much positive attention, and had the title changed…”

There’s some disagreement about the lyrics, but one source says:

“When they see me walkin’ down the street
all the fellas they want to speak
on their faces they wear a silly smirk
‘cause they know I’m the king of the cool jerk”

“Look at them guys looking at me like I’m a fool
Ah but deep down inside they know I’m cool… “

The song was written by the trio’s guitarist Donald Storball, and was later covered by several artists. Unfortunately, lead singer Samuel George was stabbed to death in 1982 at the age of 39.

I have this CD collection of soul oldies that is quite disappointing, actually. It’s the original artists, but it’s mostly rerecordings. Cool Jerk, though, is the original track.

Listen to Cool Jerk:

The Capitols; The Capitols; The Capitols

The Go-Go’s, whose version hit #60 on the UK charts

Todd Rundgren, in 7/8 time, of course

Human Sexual Response

The La De Da’s

The Creation

The Tremeloes

The Coasters, with a Latin flavor

Bootsy Collins and the Funk Brothers, from the film Standing in the Shadows of Motown

A version of the song with different lyrics (“Do the Cool Whip”) used in Cool Whip commercials, c. 1999

What is the information?

When I could not blog the last week in December, my brain got overloaded with stuff I wanted to offload.

Mark Evanier noted an article about information:

Anne Pluta says that the trouble with Donald Trump voters is not that they are uninformed but that they are misinformed. Biggggg difference. Uninformed people just plain don’t know. Misinformed voters think they do but they’re wrong — and they’re usually determined to never admit it.

Then Alan David Doane pointed to Frank Santoro, who wrote:

I asked my editor and comics scholar, Dan Nadel, about this occasionally quoted sentiment of younger makers
towards older makers and he said, “Here’s the thing about ‘knowing your history’ (you can quote me): It’s soooo easy. It’s a short history, there’s less than like 50 essential works that would take you about a week to digest, and, y’know, if you’re ambitious as an artist in the sense that you care about making good art (as opposed to making books, making Twitter, making a persona etc. etc.), it’s useful to know what was done before you in the medium of your choice. Only in comics (seriously) can one find a streak of self-hatred so strong that people would proudly talk about not knowing the history of the medium.

I realized why ADD’s rant about Facebook, on Facebook, made sense to me. A lot of those misinformed, or deliberately uninformed, people seem to gravitate there. “I am trying to wrestle it to the ground and preserve its usefulness while eliminating as many annoyances and aggravations as possible.” At the same time, I get less the value of, as one of his friends noted, “like a good cocktail party. You want interesting, stimulating conversation and a wide range of opinions.”

Chuck points to something Pat Robertson said about David Bowie. Except he didn’t say it. (And if he had, who cares? But that’s another issue, about online OUTRAGE.)

Some people are just mean, usually trolls, which is why SamuraiFrog doesn’t allow anonymous comments on any of his social media. “Mean” is a kinder word than what I’m really thinking.

I posit that if there’s a story about a firefighter saving a cat from a tree, it’ll be attacked by trolls. Some will think government money shouldn’t be spent on such minor activity, someone else will suggest the tree was harmed, some dog owner will suggest preferential treatment for felines, a person will note that it was a white cat and ask whether a black cat would have gotten equal treatment, and yet another person will declare that there must have been a payoff by the evil cat lobby.

Plus Facebook is just a time suck. I don’t even comment as much because, even when pleasant, is a degree of back-and-forth I don’t seem to have available. Some people seemed to get ticked off with me when I haven’t caught all their latest news, much of which is some boring memes.

Beyond FB, there’s a LOT of social media I have joined, such as GoodReads and Pinterest, which I find benign at worst, but simply cannot fit into the calendar. Those things that reward you for writing on your blog every day: I do the writing, but can’t be bothered to let “them” know.

But the blog stays. When I could not blog the last week in December, my brain got overloaded with stuff I wanted to offload. And it is, as as Arthur notes, an aid to memory. My memory. It is an information resource for ME. And, optimally, you too.
***
The Novel is Dead, Celebrity is a Disease, and More

Movie review: Carol

The movie Carol is adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel “The Price of Salt”,

I hated reading the audience reviews of the movie Carol before seeing it. My wife went to see it one day before I did at The Spectrum Theatre in Albany, and she told me how this older couple at the cinema complained how s-l-o-w the film was.

Interesting that the audience reviews at Rotten Tomatoes, which often find the film too understated, are quite a bit less favorable than the critics. But we agree with the bulk of the critics, who thought this was a fine, subtle, sensitive film by director Todd Haynes.

When the situation is boy-meets-girl, there’s a broad tableau of reactions that are possible. But when it’s girl-meets-girl, in the 1950s, even in New York City, there’s a lot more at stake, with more nuanced responses required. The alluring Carol Auld (Cate Blanchett) wants to buy a present for her little girl when she meets the young sales clerk, and aspiring photographer, Therese, “not Theresa?” (Rooney Mara) at a department store.

The relationship between Carol and Therese is all quite chaste, though Carol’s friend Abby (Sarah Paulson, who I didn’t recognize right away) sees the potential for more. The relationship between the two woman is confounding to Therese’s boyfriend. Meanwhile, Carol and her estranged husband Harge (Kyle Chandler) have their own tussles, trapped in a loveless, convenient marriage.

Some have predicted an Oscar for Mara. I wonder, though, because it’s not a flashy role, but rather quite controlled, like much of the film, which is the antithesis of an action flick.

The movie is adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel “The Price of Salt,” and I know not how close the film is aligned with the book. I do know that the film look of elegance has garnered it several Oscar nominations in the technical categories.

Pictorial blast from my past

Photo booths use a direct positive process, imprinting the image directly to the paper — creating a one-of-a-kind artifact.

Here’s a pictorial blast from my past. I used to have this red photo album where I stored pictures of my childhood. It was lost many years ago, and virtually all the photos I now have prior to turning 18 I scrounged from my parents’ house, duplicates of some, but hardly all of my childhood memories.

Then my high school friend Steve – it was at his Unitarian church’s basement where I first heard the Beatles white album – started digging through boxes that have been in storage for 40 years, and found these.

Here’s a high school prom picture. The front row was Cecily, Michele, Karen, and Lois. The back row was Roger, George, George, and Steve.

We, along with a few others, were the socially liberal, antiwar demonstrating, civil rights marching section of the student body. Most of these folks weren’t dating each other. This would have been the 1970 high school prom of Cecily, Michele, and the Georges; Karen, Lois, and I, who went to kindergarten together, graduated the following year. Steve left to go to the Oakwood Friends School in Poughkeepsie, NY, which he described as a “Quaker version of Woodstock.”

These were pictures, undoubtedly taken at a Woolworth’s, not terribly far from Binghamton Central High School, which is now, and since 1982, Binghamton High School. This is Michele, Steve, and I doing what one does in a tiny room, the camera flashing every ten seconds or so. I probably never saw these since they popped out of the side of the booth over 45 years ago.

In the era of the selfie, if you never had a photo booth picture taken at a Woolworth’s or like venue, I should explain this process. There’s a booth, with a curtain, and you would get three or four photos for 25 or 50 cents. For years they were always in black and white, though the latter years had color. It didn’t take very long to process, although the three minutes waiting seemed like an eternity.

And the pictures were unique. “There are no copies, no negatives. Photo booths use a direct positive process, imprinting the image directly to the paper — creating a one-of-a-kind artifact.”

I understand that there are photo booths that are currently for rent at parties.

This is me with Cecily, a few blocks from the high school. What the heck was I carrying? The setting, undoubtedly, was meant to be ironic. This is a picture I once DID own, but was lost for decades.

Finally, a page from my high school newspaper, in which I had a column as Pa Central. There were various people who were Pa Central or Ma Central before me.

I think I wrote four columns, the first three in which I took myself far too seriously, I realized even at the time. The last one, which is shown, was lighter in tone. To that end, I snatched this pic from my mom and asked them to run this instead of what I usually used. It is POSSIBLE that I have a copy of this periodical in my attic, but I would be hard-pressed to find it.

Thanks, Steve.
***
WOMEN TAKING PHOTOBOOTH ‘SELFIES’ FROM THE 1900S TO THE 1970S (AND BEYOND)

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
			1	2	3	4
5	6	7	8	9	10	11
12	13	14	15	16	17	18
19	20	21	22	23	24	25
26	27	28	29	30