SMM has done Leftovers at this season every year since its inception back in 2008. That theme, something Christmassy, followed by our In Memoriam theme are our traditions.
With ony two in the house for "turkey day" this year (in Istanbul, Turkey no less), we had no leftovers besides the pumpkin pie and a dab of cranberry. To compensate, I cooked a second batch of stuffing and turkey the next night. Want some more? Yes, please. Gotta have those leftovers.
But ... the music ... No leftovers here. Does Village Voice critic Robert Christgau like James Taylor? His comment about Taylor's version of this song are a pretty clear: "No, thanks". He labelled it "disgraceful". Further remarks he has made about Taylor indicate that it is not just this song. He writes: "I am no more likely to enjoy a James Taylor concert than an Engelbert Humperdink concert, and [...] this prejudice is not primarily musical."
In almost a rebuttal to Christgau's "no way, thanks", Taylor's version of the lyrics of Marvin Gaye's original, again and again sing "thank you baby" - to Carly SImon.
I kind of side with Christgau -but not as vociferously - Sweet Baby James was a good album. I'm mildly prejudiced because I had one foot in Chapel Hill, NC in those days, so Taylor was a home-town hero (and the songs were provocative in their own genre for the time). After that ... we discovered the true baby james.
For contrast, there's narry a thanks in Marvin Gaye's lyrics, The song "vibe" itself is thanks enough. Christgau is right.
There's much about him that I don't really approve of, but he was amazing in many ways. Alas, I do not profess to be well-versed about the man or Queen- I think I'm moderately informed (and despite the previous remark - don't consider myself biased. I like what I like. Period.)
So .. a search for songs about <no thanks> turned up a Queen song that I wasn't aware of. Perhaps - if I had purchased their 1984 <The Works> album, I would have been informed. After all, that's the album with "Radio Ga Ga" and "I Want to Break Free". Very muchly my bad for this ignorance. But that ignorance is in the past and it is not the fırst tıme I have ignored some great music that I shoud not have. Do it again? No, thanks. But that's easier said than done, isn't it? There are so many factors that bias us before we even give things a chance.
1984 is officially history. Sadly, Freddy Mercury is, too. One apsect of a historical perspective look back at the 1980s is the main stream adoption of digital [synthesized] sound. Sure .. we had "Switched On Bach" at the end of the 60s, but here ... we're moving to rock bands doing "fake" sound live - it's gone commercial/practical. Beyond this point, all "sound" is potentially an invention * to the extent that digital is manıpulated. This song is one of those inflection points.
The first part of the song is "machine" dominated. (Remember that the Apple Mac (ad) came out that same year). Make of it what you will in terms of techno-message, it's the music that matters. When the technobabble (yes, homage to Alan Parsons) dies down a bit, we are left with a song almost as pwerful as the tracks from this album that did make it to the charts.
No place. No soul. No regard. No conception. (But no <no thanks> except for the main message: machines? No, thanks.)
Another crappy thing that happened this year, totally unrelated to the COVID pandemic, was that I had eye surgery, and it hasn’t really gotten better yet.
In November, 2019, I stopped a very hard soccer shot by a very good player from very close range with my left eye. Being the weekend warrior that I am, I shook it off, because, really, I felt fine. That my contact lens was dislodged, and could not be found on the turf field, didn’t faze me, and I finished the game.
Months later, as the coronavirus became a thing, I started seeing flashes in my eye, which I ignored. Because sometimes, I can be an idiot, and the world was going crazy. Then, one day, at the end of April, the vision in my left eye was partially obscured. I quickly went to my eye doctor, who, after a brief examination, hustled me off to a retinal specialist, who diagnosed a retinal detachment and started treatment by putting a bubble of gas in my eye. That was followed by lasers to tack down the retina. Unfortunately, I then developed a macular hole, which required surgery, followed by a period where I had to stay face down as much as possible, facilitated by what looked like a massage chair, and a similar headpiece for bed to allow me to "sleep" face down. It sucked. That’s me, right after the surgery. You don’t want to see what’s under the bandage. So, "No Thanks," eye surgery.
My vision remains imperfect. Not only is it slightly distorted (although it appears to be healing, but verrrrrry slowly), the surgery has caused or accelerated the development of a cataract in the eye, making my vision blurry. Despite some souped up glasses, things are not back to normal, although I can do pretty much everything except read really small print on the TV screen. I’m even playing soccer again, with goggles, and a “no heading” policy. I’m back to the retinal doctor on Friday for another report, and some guidance as to when I might be able to arrange to have the cataract removed, to bring me closer to my pre-damage vision.
I know that Kkafa wrote about this song in February, 2019, but it seemed like the right one. It’s a good song—probably the first Jackson Browne song I heard (I think back in my sleep away camp radio days), and still probably my favorite. It isn’t about eye surgery, but instead about a man who has suffered, but comes to accept his fate. So, maybe it works for my situation, anyway. It also features David Crosby and Graham Nash on harmony.
One positive thing was that because of COVID, most doctors and hospitals only took emergency cases, and I qualified, so I probably got treated a little faster than I might have had there been no pandemic. And I got a COVID test—which was negative, not that that means anything now.
For a long time after I started writing for this blog back in 2011, I tried not to repeat artists, but eventually I stopped worrying about that, because sometimes a song by an artist I had already written about called to me. And it shouldn’t be surprising that I’d want to write about bands that I like. So, I hope that you overlook the fact that not only is this the fifth time that I’ve written about the Old 97’s here, but this is actually the third song off of their great Fight Songs album that I’ve highlighted. You can read the last time I wrote about the band and album here, and it links to the three other times I’ve featured them.
It goes without saying that we just finished the strangest Thanksgiving in a long time—maybe ever. If you want to read more about the history of the holiday—which, like so much else in our country is tied to the Civil War—read this post by the great Heather Cox Richardson.
I’ve also written about my familyThanksgivingtraditions, which were mostly blown up this year by COVID-19. Instead of a big family dinner at our house, my wife and I cooked almost as much food as we usually would, but sat down to dinner on Thursday as a couple. On Friday, we brought a bunch of leftovers to my mother-in-law for a socially distanced lunch, met my mother, brother and a nephew at a restaurant for dinner under a tent on the way back, and on Saturday, my son and daughter-in-law visited for another socially distanced meal of leftovers. Between the three meals, and the care packages distributed to our family members, we actually don’t have an enormous amount of food left over.
So, while in some sense, it was a lonely holiday, we made the best of it. But “No Thanks,” to this sort of serial celebration, and I can’t wait until we can gather together as a family to celebrate. I’m pretty sure that Christmas will also be a lonely holiday.
At this point, I really don’t have much more to say about the album. The song is a very typical Old 97’s song, in which a peppy melody is used to deliver some dark lyrics--this time about about loneliness, suicide and love.
I’m going to switch things up here, and keep it short, and not get into politics.
If no, thanks is the answer, what, I wonder, was the question? For that's the thought that always enters my mind when this song crops up. The lyric casts some broad, if vague, hints. Is this something for consenting adults, for behind closed doors? Or is it something far worse? I'm thinking that both Daryl Hall and John Oates must be fairly broad minded individuals, men of the world even. Yet?
I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)
But let's stack up the evidence, it wasn't the first time they had been caught on the hop and out of their depth. All talk and no trousers is the english phrase for it. Right back at the beginning of their career they were already pushing the envelope further than the price of the stamp, with the evidence here. Did the experience leave some wound, some scar on their collective conscience?
I'm Just a Kid (Don't Make Me Feel Like a Man)
So, Daryl, what's the story? Anything to say, John?
Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid
Oho, the old 5th amendment trick, eh? You don't have to say, but we'll find out. O, yes, and if not the truth, something better. Live with that?
I Don't Think So
Hmm, well, you would say that anyway. With all your fancy vids and prancing about, what do you think you are? Popstars?
(You Know) It Doesn't Matter Any More
That old one! Always the same, string us along, keep us all none the wiser and then, pffsh, nothing, nada, the brush-off.
I Ain't Gonna Take It This Time
Calm down, calm down, keep your shirts on, just a bit of fun.
I really love Hall and Oates, but, y'know, don't you ever wonder who the F was making their wardrobe and coiffure decisions.
As in, yes, if you are asking me whether I won't, no thanks, I will survive. I will, rather than rejecting the alternative option, but this song offers so much that is apt to this theme that I will disregard any earlier appearance, a decade ago. (Even if it uses up my favourite version ever.) But this is where we all, the survivors, or most of us, stand on 2020, defiant and steadfast against the tide of badness, with light beginning to seep through the cracks. Covid 19? The vaccine beckons. Donald aka Agent Orange? The back door is open and waiting. The economy? Hmm, well, we'll have to see on that one. Boris and his chumocracy of cronies? That too.
It's true, the song was originally a sturdy polemic against a returning suitor, or as wiki puts it so neatly: "the narrator's discovery of personal strength following an initially devastating breakup". The assertive lyric, carried by and coupled with an uplifting and anthemic tune, guarantees for a sea of raised hands on the dance floor, and not just by righteous rejectees. I love it.
Gloria Gaynor introduced us all to the song, an astonishing 42 years ago. I was not, it's fair to say, a fan of disco in 1978, but I could see this was one terrific song. Indeed, even the stuffy old Library of Congress put it up, in 2016, for the National Recording Registry, alongside such essentials of every collection as Alan Sherman's Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah and Swanee, by Al Jolson. (I jest: they have a cracking selection!) VH1 gave it the accolade of the Greatest Ever Dance Song in 2000, Rolling Stone only managing it a number two in their 2012 Best Disco Tracks of All Time.
Over the years many have tried to bring their bit of something to the song, many, most, in truth, poor and lucklustre facsimiles, but some have been really rather interesting. A rule I have is that, if it includes the rolling piano intro, I will listen to no more. Here's a few that don't:
Dig a little beneath the initial hit of gruyere, and this, by the Puppini Sisters, is actually a delight. I don't go a whole bundle of the recalibration of songs into a faux-forties Andrews/Beverley Sisters style, but this transcends my prejudice, by playing rather more with the arrangement, some glorious walking bass and aan unexpected choral middle eight and coda.Who the Puppini Sisters? A clue; they ain't, but one actually is Puppini by name and they were doing this sort of thing way ahead of Scott Bradleee, if from downtown London rather than New York. (Has Bradlee tackled the song? Of course he has.......)
Much as I adore R.E.M., I confess to finding their throwaway b side live/impromptu covers a slightly less than intrinsic need, but, against that odd, this one conveys just enough charm to make it, Stipe's stumbling through the lyrics a little haphazardly falls just the right side of endearing.
SMM used to have a gentleman's agreement not to include anything too new, mainly then a naive hope that it would keep the RIAA off our case, from the days we put up mp3s. This is barely a couple of months old, but in the spirit of survival, or its flip, given we may not be here next year, mankind, not the site, I feel I have to place it. A terrific version, a slow chant of faith. Lykke Li is a Swede, one of a bevy of Nordic artists firmly finding their feet in the world of electronica and ambient.
And so finally to Anohni, or, as she still was at the time of this recording, Antony, a song so suited on so many levels, not least the comments on youtube, made to proclaim the ownership of this wracked performance. Some say she overeggs near all she touches. I say bring it on.
So, my new year resolution: survive!
(OK, you want the Cake one too? We all need Cake in these dark days, the darkness potentially deeper ahead the dawn.)
There are so many things not to be thankful for in 2020, which will go down in history as a particularly bad year. Maybe not as bad as during the Civil War, or the Great Depression, or other periods of strife and struggle, but I think that the sheer number of different bad things that have happened during the year is unprecedented. I know that I’ve written a few political pieces on this music blog recently, so I hope that this one is the last for a while, but as I put figurative pen to paper, our political system is being bent to the point that there is real concern about it breaking. I’m confident that it will not snap, but like most things that are stressed to the breaking point, it will be weakened, maybe permanently.
So, why, “Sound of Lies?” Because one of the things that I will not miss from 2020 is worrying that every time I turn on the radio, or TV, or check social media, I will be barraged by a steady stream of lies from the president and his henchpersons, sycophants and enablers. I mean, we all knew that most politicians shaded the truth when expedient, and that some lied, outright. But the sheer volume of dissembling and BS from this crowd has been astonishing and exhausting. I fully expect that, shortly after January 20, 2021, there will be stretches of days where I don’t even think about the President, and don’t have to get angry about his lies, which I expect to improve my mental health.
“Sound of Lies,” the song, is the title track of the Jayhawks’ 1997 album, which followed the departure of co-leader Mark Olson, and the resulting primacy of Gary Louris as singer and songwriter. And the album also marked a shift in the band’s Americana-based sound to include more pop influences, although the twang wasn’t completely eradicated. It’s an album that received mixed reviews at the time—in fact, they were “mixed” not in the sense that reviewers thought the album was mediocre, but in the sense that some reviewers loved it and others hated it. I suspect that many of the “haters” were the folks who object to bands that change and grow over time. And, in fact, many writers, often in pieces discussing the album’s reissue in 2014, noted that it had held up well over the years. In an interview from 2014 about the album, Louris said:
It’s probably our favorite album as well. It is the 'fuck you' record. It really is the fuck everybody record, I really remember Olsen had left, he had quit, I was going through a divorce, I was a mess, I was drinking too much, I was unhappy… I really felt this was the last Jayhawks record, and why not go out with a bang, so fuck it?
The song, though, is not a glossy pop song, but is, instead, a quiet, heartbreaking ballad, which is consistent with the dark place he was in. And while the lyrics to the song don’t really relate to the current political situation, these lines do resonate:
The sound of lies rings funny Against the truth
Despite Louris’ belief, it was far from the Jayhawks’ last album (it wasn’t even their last album with Olsen), and despite the despair and exasperation, they’ve gone on to continued creative success.
Hopefully, next year, at this time, we can all put aside our current despair and exasperation, and move on to be thankful about the truth.
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