"Like a Bird without a Song"

Okay, I’ll say it.

Knock it the fuck off 2016.

Seriously. This, taking all the artists in the same year thing is just cruel. I get it that people are born every day, that someone else will eventually grace us with the pleasure of their artistic contributions. I also fully understand that I didn’t know a single one of the magical beings who have left this earth since this calendar year began.

But it doesn’t matter. I knew many of them inside and out. Because they all gave pieces of their souls for the entire world to share. The characters they played, songs they wrote, all become the fragments of the part of the life we in the public get to experience.

So yesterday, 2016, when you just couldn’t resist robbing us all of another entertainer, I will admit that I absolutely lost it.

Prince actually brought me to tears.

Yes, I sat in my house, listening to Purple Rain, and I cried.

It might sound weird because, like I said, I didn’t know the man. Thing is, I don’t think I’m really crying for him. Which, again, might sound really weird since the guy just died.

What I’m mourning for more than anything is the loss of what we’ll never get to hear him produce in the future.

And, that sadness? Is something that can never go away.

I can listen to all 39 of his albums back to front, the songs he helped with for The Bangles, Sinead O’Connor, or Stevie Nicks, but it isn’t enough. The world was essentially robbed of future brilliance and that’s just wrong.

A friend of mine shared something yesterday and I’d like to share the text here because it essentially says what I’ve been bumbling over for 300+ words now:

“For people who don't understand why others mourn the death of artists, you need to understand that these people have been a shoulder to cry on. Our rock. They've been family, friends, leaders, teachers & role models. Many have taught us what we need to know and what to do when times get rough.They've helped us move on.They've pushed us out of bed.They've helped us live when nobody else had time to.Artists have inspired us in endless ways and have been with us through stages in our lives. We've made memories with them.So when they die, a part of us dies.”

As posted on The Hippies were Right

And that’s really what it all comes down to. It doesn’t matter to that person, they’re gone. It’s everyone left who have to grapple with that. Loss and mourning aren’t rational.

When something or someone leaves a lasting imprint on your heart, mind, soul, but then leaves the world far too soon, we long to find other people to surround us so we can share in the broken pieces and somehow try to put something whole back together.

I never had the pleasure of seeing Prince live. When he first hit big in the ‘80s I was a bit too young for a show like that. Hell, as I spent the day listening to Purple Rain yesterday I realized just how much I probably shouldn’t have been listening to that album on my 11^th birthday.

At age 43 I still blush at a few of his lyrics.

Okay, many of his lyrics.

But I digress.

When I was old enough to take myself to a show, I was mostly broke. And then I just sort of moved on into different music. Never away, because I always liked everything the man put out there, just on to something different.

But I still have this:

You’ll notice in the upper right hand corner is a puffy Santa sticker, indicating when I got the album back in 1984. Also, you’ll notice Apollonia’s face is missing. Yeah, I was an 11 year old girl, that’s the kind of shit we did when we were jealous of the beautiful woman on the album cover.

Sorry, Apollonia.

When I went to my iTunes yesterday and pulled up the soundtrack to listen straight through the entire thing (when I should have been writing), I pulled the vinyl out of the dusty recesses of my closet and smiled as I held it.

Our little family of three was still living in the apartment in east Arlington when the album and movie came out. My sister and I shared a bedroom, slept in bunk beds surrounded by the clutter of two tween girls, and shared a record player.

In the constant rotation? INXS, Jack Wagner, Toni Basil, The Police, The Stray Cats, Huey Lewis and the News, Duran Duran, Culture Club, The Grease soundtrack, Madonna, and Prince and the Revolution.

According to my record collection, 1984 was the year I discovered popular music.

In those days music was heavy on the synthesizer. Prince’s Purple Rain is very likely responsible for the first shredding of electric guitar I’d ever heard. Few could do it like he did.

And in honor of that guitar genius and eerily poignant songwriter, Rogers Nelson, I share this as my sign off, thanks, and Kiss to the Purple One.

Thank you for reminding us all back in 1984 that life is short and to strive to be the most excellent version of ourselves that we can be.

Every. Day.

 

Let’s Go Crazy

By Prince and the Revolution

Dearly beloved

We are gathered here today

To get through this thing called life

Electric word life

It means forever and that's a mighty long time

But I'm here to tell you

There's something else

The after world

A world of never ending happiness

You can always see the sun, day or night

So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills

You know the one, Dr. Everything'll Be Alright

Instead of asking him how much of your time is left

Ask him how much of your mind, baby

'Cause in this life

Things are much harder than in the after world

In this life

You're on your own

And if the elevator tries to bring you down

Go crazy, punch a higher floor

If you don't like the world you're living in

Take a look around you

At least you got friends

You see I called my old lady

For a friendly word

She picked up the phone

Dropped it on the floor

(Ah, ah) is all I heard

Are we gonna let the elevator

Bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Let's go crazy

Let's get nuts

Let's look for the purple banana

'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!

We're all excited

But we don't know why

Maybe it's 'cause

We're all gonna die

And when we do (When we do)

What's it all for (What's it all for)

You better live now

Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door

Tell me, are we gonna let the elevator bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Let's go crazy

Let's get nuts

Look for the purple banana

'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!

C'mon baby

Let's get nuts

Yeah

Crazy

Let's go crazy

Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Go crazy

I said let's go crazy (Go crazy)

Let's go, let's go

Go

Let's go

Dr. Everything'll be alright

Will make everything go wrong

Pills and thrills and daffodils will kill

Hang tough children

He's coming

He's coming

Coming

Take me away!

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

What do you Mean ‘Why?’

Last night in Glendale, Justin Bieber took to the stage. A few wonderful ladies I know were going to the show. I wouldn’t have remembered because, instead of seeing Biebs, I was at pool league watching Matt and the guys (sadly) lose last night.

But I was reminded of Justin’s stop in the Valley last night when I woke up to this picture in my newsfeed today**:

My first reaction?

“Yeya! Go Biebs!”

Then I started reading the comments and all I could do was sigh. Well, not all I could do. Because here I am, ranting away about Justin Bieber. You’re welcome.

WAIT! Before you click away because of the subject matter will it also help you to know I’m going to DJ my own blog and mashup all that Justin talk with stuff about hockey too?

Oh, no, that doesn’t help? Sorry, not sorry.

In a no-shock surprise, I’m a huge fan of pop music. I mean, I love to dance. Plus, sometimes it’s perfectly fine to loosen up with something light and fluffy – tons of sugar without one bit of nutritional value. After all, they don’t sell cotton candy at the fair for nothing.

Also, another shock-free admission, I pretty much love anyone who can make themselves into exactly what they want to be, no apologies, no holding back. A person with the talent, drive and determination to stick it out in their chosen field until they are doing what they love and supporting themselves while doing it.

That shit is rare, trust me. Most of the time we get one or the other. Either a paycheck from a job we don’t feel fulfilled doing, or a job we love minus the means.

Bieber is pop and proud. And, from all I’ve heard, living on what he makes as an artist.

I fully respect that. As a gal who has been on both sides of the job / money situation I’ll admit that doing what I love is the more important of the two. But nobody can live without at least some money. So, some money for all the hard work is always nice.

But Bieber and the brand he sells are worth probably somewhere into the billions. More? I can’t fathom that kind of paycheck. In any of my wildest ‘book writing for a living wage’ fantasies, I can’t for a second imagine that kind of cash flow.

Then to see a kid start down the path of that at only age 10, or thereabouts, makes me shake my head.

Say what you will but the kid is a fucking genius at marketing. Or, at least, the people around him are.

They’ve been selling this kid (who by the way is talented which certainly helps, you try singing on key while dancing high-impact aerobics-style moves on cue for two full hours almost every night of your life and let me know how long it takes before you pass out and die) for over ten years now.

And it doesn’t look like the kid will be slowing down anytime soon now that he’s got his young and dumb phase behind him.

So to see Bieber rocking a Max Domi Arizona Coyotes jersey at his show in their arena last night kind of made me proud to be a fan of both. But, then like I said, I foolishly went and read the comments. All these people asking why that happened, why Biebs was wearing a sweater of our team.

Okay, I’m just going to point out some facts.

• Ice hockey, as birthed on March 3, 1875, was invented in Canada.
• The Arizona Coyotes are a professional ice hockey team.
• Justin Bieber, as birthed on March 1, 1994, was invented in Ontario, Canada.
• I feel like I don’t even have to say it, but here it is, Justin Bieber is a hockey fan.

Oh, not only that, but the kid plays hockey. Again, not sure I have to say it but, he’s Canadian. Of course he plays hockey. The kid was probably on skates before he could crawl. Don’t believe me? The ECHL Condors actually offered him a contract to play for them just a couple years ago.

Yeah. Because it’s like that sometimes.

So, all the commenters complaining to the Arizona Coyotes organization that they made a mistake letting Bieber put on that jersey, or that Max Domi is going to get a good ribbing from the guys in the room before tonight’s game, are idiots.

Because here are a few more facts:

• Our little hockey team out here in the desert isn’t exactly filling up the arena every night.
• The Arizona Coyotes need all the publicity and fan support they can get.
• An entire arena full of people (17K strong) just saw their musical idol sporting a ‘Yotes sweater.
• I can assure you that most of those people didn’t know about hockey before seeing him rocking the howling ‘Yote last night.
• Osmosis.

If Bieber wants to meet the team, rock a ‘Yotes sweater and encourage a whole crop of people to maybe buy Coyotes gear (advertising), go to a game (sales), or even write a blog post about how awesome it is to see a Canadian born pop star don a star player’s sweater during his concert last night (marketing), then I’m all for the mashup.

There’s no such thing as bad press, sometimes it takes some controversial growing pains in order to come out the other side more mature, wiser, and ready to get things back on track.

After all, if there’s one thing Justin and sports can teach us it’s this: Never say never.

**Image courtesy of the Arizona Coyotes Facebook page

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Never gonna say Goodbye

Day seven. Already? That’s so crazy. It feels like just yesterday it was day six!

Honestly though, I actually enjoyed taking part in this challenge for many reasons.

• I was essentially forced to write something every day.
• Writing creative non-fiction every day helped me to work on fiction.
• Music always inspires me.
• I’m glad I never tried to be a songwriter, I need way more words to convey my message.
• I started to understand which writing I enjoyed doing and which I want to let go.
• The battery in my laptop doesn’t last very long at all.
• Living room is better for writing blogs but the office cuts more distraction for fiction.
• I looked at everything with a different eye: one on telling and publishing the story.
• First thing in the morning is when my ideas are freshest.
• I sneeze a lot in the morning.
• Food is important but sometimes less so than getting the perfect words down.
• After the refinance check was deposited I pretended it was a royalty check.
• Now I’m just talking about random shit that has nothing to do with anything.

Ending a challenge like this is always a little weird. Mostly because I never really know how to “end” something like this. Especially because of the third thing in that list up there. And like I already told you on day 1, I wake up with a song in my head almost every day. So to me it seems weird that I’d abruptly stop writing like this. Because it still seems to hold value.

Then again, I’ve been known to stay too late at the party once or twice in my life and certainly don’t want to do that this time around. Which got me thinking about endings.

There are so many songs about the finality of something. Here are some better known tracks documenting a few different types of endings:

♪ Last Dance (Donna Summer)
♪ The End of the Innocence (Don Henley)
♪ It’s the end of the World as we know It (and I feel Fine) (REM)
♪ In the End (Linkin Park)
♪ Goodbye to You (Scandal)
♪ End of the Road (Boyz II Men)
♪ The Party’s Over (Nat King Cole)
♪ Wild World (Cat Stevens)
♪ Closing Time (Semisonic)
♪ I Heard it through the Grapevine (Marvin Gaye)
♪ Fade to Black (Metallica)
♪ My Happy Ending (Avril Lavigne)
♪ When the World Ends (Dave Matthews Band)
♪ Boys of Summer (Don Henley)
♪ The End (The Doors)

In fact I anticipated that last one on the list being today’s post inspiration. Yes, I planned to use a song by The Doors as my last hurrah.

There was no real reason for that other than a brief inspiration I had last night before going to bed. Scrawled a note on a scrap of paper, stuck it under my mouse and everything. It would be ready for today as soon as I woke up and started clicking keys.

My intention? Write a whole post about the lizards coming back onto our patio already. Temperatures being warm enough for their return.

Equating that to the Lizard King.

Doors tie-in.

Boom!

But now that I’ve looked up the lyrics I kind of realize that shit is creepy. Not that “creepy” never makes an appearance here but for my last day’s challenge I’d rather leave things on a high note.

Plus I hate goodbyes.

So in the spirit of that I leave you all with the determined anthem of everyone who ever wanted to pretend the end wasn’t real. And I know if there’s anything I can do about it, I Won’t Give Up on this daily writing.

To be fair, it may not happen every day but I’m sure as hell going to give it the old college try.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Phoning it in

Short and sweet is what I’m planning to do today.

For a couple reasons.

First, I got to bed really late last night, like 1:00 AM kind of late. A full three hours past my standard bedtime. And still two past my Friday night bedtime. Second, because even though I’m exhausted and kind of cranky pants this morning there’s commerce to visit.

Because, our coffee maker died. Do I even have to say the hell no that should accompany that phrase? Matt has been heating water in the microwave and pouring it directly over the grounds to brew our coffee the last two days.

And while I love him for helping me keep the inner monster at bay (READ: what I do before 10 AM while under-caffeinated would be a solid defense strategy), he can’t keep doing that.

It’s a pain in the ass for one, and also, the coffee is really weak.

The reason I long for stronger java this morning is because we went over to Phoenix International Raceway last night to spend time with Matt’s parental type folks. As NASCAR fans they come out from California twice a year and immerse themselves into the little city that the parking lot next to the track becomes.

With the grandstand holding about 67,000 people, seated, and thousands of people just camping to watch the race on television while day drinking and embracing general debauchery, things can understandably get a little wild.

Last night we spent about five hours hanging out and in that time I personally took part in, or at least witnessed:

• Too many trips to a port-a-potty.
• Hearing a story about a kid swimming inside the toilet of a port-a-potty and coming out looking like a Smurf.
• Both male and female boob grabs.
• Outdoor carne asada fajita consumption.
• Being in the “way back” of a golf cart and realizing that the girl driving the one behind us was too young to understand what I was doing when I made the internationally known symbol for “honk the horn, trucker!”
• Holding on for dear life while the golf carts raced each other out to the Busch Gardens stage and bar.
• A local musician, Harry Luge, with a pretty rockin’ band and a fun rock-country vibe.
• A guy dressed in overalls and a cowboy hat with a sheriff badge attached and matching silver, star shaped nipple covers (because, you know, some guys are modest).
• Leaving about 15 minutes too late as we walked back to the car in a wind-driven dust storm.

Between weak coffee, lack of sleep, and a sea of cowboy hats, I don’t have anything in my head right now (other than wanting to wake Matt up so we can get this show on the road, divide and conquer, and finish our shopping so we can get home and spend the rest of the weekend binging Fringe).

I’ll just leave you with the last song I remember hearing on the radio outside the RV last night while we talked and ate, Hello.

 

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Today, Tomorrow, Forever

When the movie Annie was released in 1982 I was a month away from turning nine years old. The perfect age to see the movie since the orphan characters are in the same general bracket.

I don’t think it was one I saw in the theatres but I definitely learned every single song in the flick after seeing it numerous times. It was my foray into learning a few things about movies, music, what I liked about both as a kid and how the mashup of the two became a staple in my life.

First, musicals. Annie was probably the first one I’d ever seen, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. From Disney gems like Aladdin to grownup plots like Grease, give me a movie with singing and dancing as part of the script and I’m in love.

And I’m also learning every single word so I can sing along.

Which of course prompts the question: Do I break out into random song and dance in my daily life because I watched musical movies or was I already predisposed to singing and dancing my way through life so the movies just feel normal?

So many of my favorite movies have a script punctuated by music that crosses over into the character’s lives.

Stand by Me. You may argue with me this isn’t a musical, which it isn’t in the traditional sense of the word. But the music of the time period in which the movie was set had such a heavy influence on the script and characters that I count it nonetheless. Go back and watch the movie and see how many times the kids break out into song or dance.

Another that falls into a similar category? Singles. A true ‘90’s classic with so much musical influence a bunch of the members of Pearl Jam co-star in the film. As another band who’s front man is one of the main characters.

My mom and I used to duet half of Xanadu. Okay, “used to” is a little overstated. I think the last time we did this was, what? Two years ago?

Rock Star? Without the music there would be no movie. Literally. The main character becomes the lead singer of his favorite band. Fame and all its tragic glory ensues. It’s awesome.

And that’s just scratching the surface because if my CD collection or iTunes are any indication, I have way more than a summer romance with soundtracks.

Because that’s the second thing I learned from musical movies: soundtracks are awesome. If I had to guess, I’d estimate 40 or 50 soundtracks exist in my CD/vinyl/digital collection. And that’s probably conservative because, of the seven movie posters hanging on my walls, I can say with 100% certainty I own four of the soundtracks.

Why?

Recently I finished binging Parks and Recreation and in episode 3, season 4, the characters Ben and April take a road trip. April, looking through Ben’s CD collection asks why he has so many soundtracks. The ones she listed off? I have all of them.

His character then sums it up so beautifully:

“I kind of look at it as your favorite directors making a mix tape just for you.”

Spot. On.

I mean, Guardians of the Galaxy wouldn’t have half of its plot if it wasn’t for the literal mix tape owned by the main character. And that’s a movie for dudes, right?

Many men wouldn’t admit to it but they love a good musical movie. Don’t believe me? Poll the men in your life, ask if they’re a fan of The Blues Brothers. Yup. That’s what I thought. Singing and dancing pretty much was their mission. They were so committed to music they tell the audience, through song of course, what type of music they’re representing in four little words: “I’m a soul man.”

What brings me back to today’s song choice is the last thing these flicks taught me. The promise of what musical movies provide. The knowledge that, after their final number, everything is going to work out okay despite the tragedies they face in the moment.

Annie almost dies on a drawbridge when another character chases her to the top and he’s got her hand then…okay I can’t talk about it, that scene scared the crap out of me as a kid. And the only thing that changed my mind about Tim Curry after that? You guessed it, Rocky Horror Picture Show.

But in the end, whether Annie was lamenting why It’s a Hard Knock Life or contemplating if Maybe her parents would be swell, the most poignant moment in her young life comes when she proves that she’s an eternal optimist.

Because no matter what dark cloud today throws at you, there’s always the promise of the sun coming out Tomorrow.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Overindulgence

Woke up. New song playing in the brain. Today’s choice: Dave Matthews Band Too Much.

For me this song is about greed and excess, making everything ours until there’s nothing left for anyone else. But somewhere in there is a self-awareness that it’s happening; the narrator knows he eats, drinks and wants too much.

The lyrics are a bit mysterious and trying to figure out what others think just makes me more curious what the real meaning is behind the song. But, as I’ve said before, I don’t really want to know.

Knowing has the potential to dull the meaning those words have to me on a personal level and I like to feel what a song evokes in me. Not someone else’s interpretation of what the prose means.

The thing is though, it really doesn’t matter what song I hear by this band. It could be the sweetest love song, overtly sexual in nature, about drugs I’ve never done, things I can’t even understand because the lyrics are so shrouded. Doesn’t matter.

Any song I hear reminds me of a time I’ve seen them live. Because, if you’re a Dave fan at all, you know that the live shows can be a life-altering experience if you let them into your soul.

I tried going back in my head to pull out all of the shows I’ve seen and where they were but for some reason the list feels too short.

Must’ve smoked those memories away.

Irony is I probably did so at one of their shows.

The first time I could afford to see the band live, their second album (the one that pretty much put them on the widespread pop music map), Crash, had already been out for a couple years. In fact, Before These Crowded Streets was also already out, released just months before I finally got to see them live.

Both discs I bought on the date they were released, because once I got my ears on Under the Table and Dreaming in the mid-nineties, I knew they’d be a band I followed for life.

So far, not wrong.

I loved the subtle nuances in Dave’s vocals, his ability to scat with a bluegrass accent. Plus, anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge sucker for a male falsetto. I loved that they mixed sassy brass with moody strings and drum beats so syncopated nobody but Carter could play those beats.

The only way I could describe them is to say they made folk/pop/jug band/bluegrass/rock fusion music. Sounds like a mess but what makes their style cool is that, every time I listen I hear, experience, something new.

And now, after 20 years since the release of Crash (almost to the day!) I’m sure it’s no accident I woke up tapping my toes to the first single the band released from that album.

Today, that song makes me think of nothing more than the current state of our country, the current state of the world. These are interesting times my friends. And these times make me wish there was some kind of teleportation device we could jump in to go back and warn ourselves of the impending doom we brought on ourselves by being greedy motherfuckers.

I know it probably sounds dark and morbid but I can’t help it. Three-quarters of the country is brainwashed into believing everything they hear on the news and the other 25% just want a simple life where all of the politicians and droning bobbleheads leave us alone to be the grown-ups we’ve become by thinking for ourselves.

A life where we get to do our jobs, live without fear, listen to some great music and prioritize love over everything else in this fucked up world.

Is that too much to ask?

Or, I guess I should rephrase that – why is that too much to ask?

This blog isn’t usually somewhere I get political or tackle major world issues. In fact, I tend to keep that stuff to the small circle of people that I feel comfortable enough to discuss those issues with without all of us flying off the handle and de-friending each other because our opinions might differ.

So I’m not about to start ranting about conspiracy theories or the like right now. Suffice to say, I love the song because it helps me understand when enough is enough. Like right now. Otherwise I’m just wasting breath, time, and frankly if I’m going to use my breath I’d rather be singing along to Dave.

“I mean, you never know, maybe you’re dreaming.”

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Snuggle Up for a Week

My sister-in-law nominated me to take part in this ‘seven songs in 7 days’ challenge.

Of course the thing is all over Facebook but, not surprisingly, I decided to make the most of the dare and reboot my blog posting schedule by sharing my choices over here instead, because that way I can get the full story related to each song out there (and apparently I’m also bringing back the ever popular run-on sentence so you’re welcome).

Now, because you know me, you already know I’m not about to write for 7 days in a row, share my innermost reasons for choosing certain music, and not write it with a purpose.

So before I reveal today’s song choice and subsequent story behind it I should back up and share some other information first.

When this post posts it will be the 502^nd post on this blog. I’ve been writing over here since September 13, 2007. Nine years as of this fall. Damn.

Even though it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long or that many posts, I recently started rereading all of my old stuff. And let me tell ya, there’s a whole lot of useless crap on this blog. But, the good news, at least for me, is that I’ve also shared a whole lot of fun and interesting stories.

Stories about my life, adventures in procrastinating my career path, and my past, um, let’s just call them, escapades with boys and booze and boredom.

As I sat here reading about those times in my life, my mind started piecing together many, many more stories that could be told to go with the ones already in existence. Stories that I believe could act as a warning to others. Advising readers how to avoid sabotaging your own life.

But reading all that stuff on a blog takes dedication and unless you’ve been here since the start the chance you’ll go back to try to locate any of those old posts is slim to none. That’s why I’ve decided to collect all of these fabulously embarrassing, revealing and sometimes head-scratching moments into one convenient package. A book. Actually, two books.

The first collection I’m holding a bit close to the vest. Sorry, but I promise as soon as the structure starts coming together I’ll fully share all the info.

But the other one.

Well, that book is what brings me full-circle to this week’s posting schedule.

After pulling together a bunch of the links I realized just how much of my past was punctuated by music. Loving it, buying it, hating it, going to see it live (but the act is the last thing that matters because life is happening simultaneously), avoiding it because it reminds me of the wrong person. Or people.

Who remembers the song that was playing when they lost their virginity? The song that made them break down, sobbing uncontrollably, while driving home on the Merritt Parkway after their grandfather’s funeral? Happy times. Sad times. All the times. Songs that have helped to define an entire life. Mine.

Countless moments surrounded by melody and lyrics. My iPod is like a living organism of stories about personal growth and change.

So my goal with this challenge is to share some of those stories. To use the song as the inspiration for the story I want to tell. And while not all of them will make the cut for the essay collection (like today’s for example), I look forward to at least getting some good stuff up here.

Today, like most mornings, I woke up with a song stuck in my head.

I never understand why that’s the case, if I was dreaming of the song or something related to the lyrics or maybe a time in life when that song was playing.

After I got the challenge from my SIL yesterday I went to bed thinking of what today’s song choice might be. I decided to wake up and open Pandora on my phone and write something amazing about the first song that came up.

But my brain, as per usual, had plans of its own.

Because today’s track isn’t one I listen to all that often, not a song I obsess over or even have a story associated with other than to say I think of a movie when I hear it.

Admittedly, the movie is one of my favorite RomComs for reasons I can’t even explain because I’m not a huge fan of the stupidity of the plot or even 2/3 of the actors who star in the thing.

But while I was thinking of the plot, setting and dialogue I had a flashback to this past weekend. I remembered we were talking about the great state of Hawaii for quite some time over the weekend and I nodded, knowing that this is just how my mind works.

The movie? Honeymoon in Vegas. The song?

(Let Me be your) Teddy Bear.

So this one’s for you Elvis fans. Or fans of Nicholas Cage, James Caan, Sarah Jessica Parker or Pat Morita.

Or teddy bears. Because who doesn’t love a good snuggly teddy bear? Am I right?

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In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

We'll Get a Table near the Street

Every time I listen to that Brad Paisley song “Letter to Me” I full-on cry. No, I’m not kidding. Despite the fact he sings about boy things solely applicable to himself – Playboy, chewing tobacco, dating girls – I still can’t help it.

The song reminds me of where I was at age 17, how far I’ve come, why all the drama of those days just doesn’t matter anymore, and how I wish I could go back in time to remind myself that everything is going to be fine if I just chill the heck out.

Oh hell. Just typing the premise of the song has me choked up (thanks again perimenopause!)

Anyway, I’ve talked in the past about this thing that happens to me with some songs. And, as a side note, this thing that happens is the very reason I never want to know what a song is really about. All the artists can keep that to themselves, thanks. I like to feel my music. And in cases like the Paisley song, though I can’t specifically relate to the words, I can relate to the overall feeling behind the words and music.

Best way I can describe what happens? The song lyrics will remind me of a feeling I have inside, not a specific time and place.

And “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” is another one of those songs.

I don’t know anyone named Brenda or Eddie (or more appropriately, as the song goes, BrenderenEddie because those two names are really just one word). I don’t know anyone who owns a waterbed, paintings from Sears, or enjoys rosé with their meal. Nor do I know a single person who hangs out with a group of people (called the greasers) at the village green.

The lyrics and references in the song tell us it took place in 1975. A year when I was 2 years old. Hardly wishing two crazy friends well on their doomed-from-the-start marriage.

But something about that song makes me long for those two people that Billy sings about to be the romanticized version of my parents.

BrenderenEddie are two people who once loved each other so much, but just couldn’t make it together, sitting across from each other at their old favorite place to eat, years after they divorced, catching up on how both of their lives went on without the other. That they’ll never forget who they were then but how much happier they are now.

The funny thing is that I have very few Billy Joel songs I can even tolerate anymore. Let me back up for a second and explain.

After living in LINY for a couple years I was SO burned out on hearing Billy Joel every 5 minutes that I pretty much stopped listening. (Seriously, I sometimes thought about staging a Billy Joel v Mariah Carey cage match to the death just so we could get some different music on the FM stations).

Last night revived my love for the man and his music. I’ve never heard him do “Scenes” live before. And I never stay up until 11:30 at night. But when Jimmy Fallon announced that was the song Joel would close the show with, I grabbed my toothpicks to prop open my eyelids and just listened.

May I just say, holy crap! He still sounds great even after 43 years in the business (fun fact: his first single “Piano Man” was released just 130 days after I was released!).

If you’re interested in checking out last night’s performance you can check it out here.

And, in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t cry last night. It was far too late for that much emotion.

But re-watching it this morning…

Image courtesy Microsoft clip art

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Best and Worst - The Concert Edition

So earlier today my friend Keith asked us Facebook friends to answer his curiosity question:

“Best & Worst Live band you ever saw? 1,2,3 Go!!”

I thought about it because I’ve seen a LOT of live music over the years.

Since my first concert at age 11 – The Cars where the people in front of us smoked weed during the whole show – to  the last show I’ve been to as of this moment – Banana Gun and Sugar Thieves January 2015 – almost every band/singer/songwriter I’ve seen perform has had a definite impact on my life.

But the reasons are almost as varied as the styles of music I listen to. Because it’s not always just about the music.

Music has permeated every aspect of my life. In fact, that scene in High Fidelity where Cusack’s character is filing his records autobiographically is just about right. So it’s no shock that live music will have an even greater impact on me because of where I am, who I’m with and what made that journey amazing.

Including, but not limited to, the music.

Those songs that remind you of another person can be a blessing or a curse depending on the person in question, am I right?

It kind of hit me that’s probably the real reason Keith and I have maintained such a strong friendship for so many years – we’re both music junkies. Bonding over music is a very powerful thing.

And our tastes, though different at times, are both pretty well varied. As a DJ my friend has to have a healthy appreciation for all kinds of music. Knowing the exact right moment to play the exact right tune is a talent. For me, a writer, I need to feel the music because it helps me with character and story development.

So there was no way my answer to his question would be short. In fact, I opened my comment with:

I could write a book on this (and I've actually considered it)

Starting with the best and then in no particular order, the concerts that came to mind today include…

Best - Jason Mraz at Irving Plaza in NYC 7/21/2006.

He’d been touring his second album, Mr. A-Z, non-stop and Irving was either the last or one of the last tour stops from that year. This was a while before he started getting healthy & quit smoking so the road had taken a definite toll on the poor guy.

I was a Jason live junkie back then – anything and everything I could get my hands on from his live shows I wanted to have it in my music collection. So I knew his usual personality on stage but that night at Irving his tank was empty. He went through the motions but anyone could tell he needed to stop and go home to sleep.

Despite his one big hit, he was still relatively unknown in 2006. There were only about 100 people in the place.

I was 10 feet from the stage, and feeling bummed that the show was so devoid of character, when someone yelled out 'Jason, have my Asian baby!' and he LOST it. He half chuckled then had to turn away from the mic for a second because of laughing. And it seemed to be just what he needed. He finished the set with a little more energy.

I like to think that Asian baby helped get him through when he just wanted to give up.

Because I like to wonder about those moments in an artist’s life. Moments that could have possibly been a turning point whether realized or not. What if that never happened and he barely held on for the rest of the tour, went home and decided it was too strenuous? What if he’d quit music?

That would have changed the material fabric of my life.

People I know as friends wouldn’t be in my life. Life experiences may never have happened – like one of my backup favorite shows when Matt and I went to see Jason opening for Dave Matthews Band in Hershey, PA. And we saw Centralia that weekend too. Would we have never done that either?

It’s crazy to think about but I like wondering the what if’s. Like I said, character development.

My best backup concerts in no particular order:

• Godsmack in Amherst, MA in 2000 or 2001. I won tix on WAAF and went alone because I was going straight from there up to Waterville Valley, NH where a group of work friends were skiing all weekend. Met a limo driver and convinced him to use my other ticket. We left before the end so he could get back for the clients at the end of the show and we hung out smoking a joint in the limo.
• Godsmack in Manchester, NH a few days after 9/11, every time a plane flew overhead the whole crowd cheered. It was flipping awesome.
• Ozzfest June 2,1999 in Charlotte, NC. It was about 115 degrees and I passed out from heat exhaustion, weed and exertion. I laid down on the lawn then woke up during Pantera, asked my friends for the keys and went to sleep in the car. Totally missed Ozzy! I got in a pit during Godsmack and came home with a bruise on my leg in the shape of Martha's Vineyard.
• DMB in San Diego 2013 . He played “Sister” and in 15 years I'd never seen them perform it before. I danced my freaking ass off all night and it was a really special show.
• Melissa Ferrick at the MFA. Matt and I met her after the show. I was a total fan-girl!
• Tony Bennett 8/23/2014 because who knows if that chance could come again, he IS about 1000 years old. But man, he’s still got it!
• Grownup Noise in Fountain Hills, AZ 2011 (this one is personal because I know the bassist so the band crashed at our apartment that night)

As far as Worst…

Keith knows I was the original Blockhead. New Kids on the Block fan to the nth degree. He even played “Hangin’ Tough” at our wedding. So I knew he wouldn’t believe it but two of the worst shows I ever saw were NKOTB back in the day, at The Garden & Great Woods.

I was 16 years old or thereabouts and getting to see them live was definitely an experience, shows sold out in like a millisecond those days. The problem? That’s 20,000 screaming girls in one place.

Of course they were cute and I was really excited to see them too but that level of squeal is probably the main reason I have tinnitus today.

Even all these years later after endless clubbing, seeing loud as hell bands like Limp Bizkit, Staind, Metallica, Disturbed, Pantera, Megadeath, Godsmack, etc. I have NEVER come home as deaf as I did after a New Kid’s show. Which sucked because I didn’t pay to hear girls scream, I couldn't hear a single thing the band was saying or singing so what was the point? Wasted money.

And the worst backup award goes to Fiona Apple at Jones Beach, LINY in July 2006. One of the reasons I always loved her is her jazz-smooth voice mixed with raw, emotional, angry lyrics. The juxtaposition of those polar opposite things is something few bands can pull off (think: Sublime).

From the opening word Matt and I were shocked and disappointed. She maintained ZERO control over her voice and I don’t think it was because she was sick or anything like that. She was just angry screaming every lyric. No melodic softening. No balance to the torture. It was too much. That was the only time we've considered walking out of a concert we paid to attend.

All in all this is just today’s list. Ask me again in a week, month, year, decade and my answers will likely change!

How about you? What were your best and worst live music experiences?

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