the series formerly known as "saturday song"

I'm not sure whether or not this series has any real future past November, however I know I have at least one more of these in me and since the in-laws will be here in just a few hours it's coming today rather than tomorrow. Trust me; it's better this way.

Growing up I wouldn't call us poor exactly, but there were times when even "middle class" was a stretch. Our most threadbare moments came when I was too young to fully realize them. Dad's job was in a viciously cyclical laid-off/hired back on phase, and mom - who would have loved nothing more than to stay home with her two little ones - had no other option than to go back to full-time employment at the bank.

It wasn't until much later in life that the details of this time were fully explained to me, when I learned that a much-needed new winter coat came from Grandma Margaret and that Uncle Jim and Aunt Rosemary (themselves not exactly wealthy) often helped provide toys and clothes during the times when money was especially tight. Or, that during a particularly long jobless spell, my dad had to swallow his pride by taking a late-night shift bagging groceries in my uncle's store. And I certainly didn't know that grocery store was located in a neighborhood so bad that dad took to carrying a handgun to work in order to safely manage brazen shoplifters, loitering gang bangers, and the short yet scary walk to and from him car.

Understandably so, Bruce Springsteen got some pretty heavy rotation during this period.

And although unaware of these details at the time and despite a generally happy childhood, I did have a vague sense that things weren't always the way mom and dad wished they could be. Even still - and whether due to love, luck, displays of false bravado, listening to The Boss singing about believing in "The Promised Land", or some combination of all of the above - I remember having the utmost confidence that things would eventually work themselves out.

And you know what? They did.

saturday song: vol 4

When I really think about it, Pat Benatar was my introduction to feminism. (You're going to have to just hear me out on this one, and yes, I am being serious.)

Like most little girls born in the late 70s/early 80s, I took far too many of my cues on what it meant to be a woman from pop music. Aside from my own family members, women like Tiffany, Madonna and Debbie Gibson were the ones responsible for teaching me what society expects from a woman, and to the best that I could figure, those things were sweetness, a pretty face, fashion sense, being fun, sexy, and either happily in love, frustrated about love, or utterly heartbroken. Unfortunately, little attention was given to traits like intelligence, independence, nobility or general badassery.

And then I found Pat Benatar.

Benatar was everything Madonna was - sexy, pretty, talented, creative - but she was something else too. That woman was fierce. Yes, she sung about love, but when she did it it was different. Angrier.

Pat Benatar showed me that being a woman don't necessarily mean hiding some of the uglier emotions such as rage, bitterness, and dissatisfaction. Furthermore, she showed that women could and should stand up for ourselves, demanding fair and appropriate treatment because it's an unfortunate truth that some men are "heartbreaker(s), dream maker(s), love taker(s)," but if and when I stumble upon one of these sorts I need not take their abuse. Instead of being sweet, understanding and "standing by my man" I could stand up for myself.

I found the clearest representation of this point in "Love is a Battlefield", and as corny as the video looks today just try watching that moment when she reaches her breaking point and leads her gang of "had it up to here" girlfriends in a coup to breakaway from their sleazy, sweaty, male oppressor (a little over three minutes in for those who like to get directly to the point) and just try not being inspired to rebel against...something.

saturday song: vol 3

I've never been a particularly huge fan of the Beatles - "moderate" is a more appropriate adjective, I suppose - however I, like 75% of people born after 1965, would have to credit them as being the first "grown-up" music I remember appreciating.

I heard my first Beatles song when I was five. It was featured in a movie ("When I'm Sixty-Four" in Oh God, You Devil, if I remember correctly) and although this was right around the time when I was still listening to my The Muppet Show and Bert and Ernie records, the song was happy, sweet and catchy enough to have me immediately hooked. My father - who was probably thrilled that I liked something that didn't involve talking puppets - nurtured that appreciation by digging his old vinyl copy of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band out of the basement so I could add it to my tiny music collection.

I have a particularly vivid memory of being in my bedroom with my mother, terribly sick from a horribly bad bout of the stomach flu, while this song played in the background. My mom was doing her best to comfort me, and I remember being hit with the realization that, at some point, she would be sixty-four years old. That, eventually, I would be too. And that when that time comes, I knew that I'd still love her and she'd still love me, even if that meant that we'd be feeding each other baby food while sitting in wheelchairs.* To a sick four-year-old, this revelation was equal parts comforting and terrifying.

So, I suppose you could say that "When I'm Sixty-Four" was not just my introduction to "real" music, but it also made me realize the depth of love one was capable of having for another person while simultaneously making me come to grips with my own eventual mortality.

Not too bad for a silly little pop song, eh?



*Keep in mind that to a five-year-old, being sixty-four means having one foot in the grave.

saturday song: vol 2

My Simon and Garfunkel phase fell somewhere between the Muppets and Nirvana. I was probably twelve or so and finally growing dissatisfied with the bubble-gum New Kids on the Block-ish crap that was popular with most late-eighties teenage girls. At the time, I was living in a small, rural town that only seemed to get three radio stations: two country and one that built its entire playlist around Kacey Kacem's weekly top 40 list. Let's just say that good music wasn't exactly falling into my lap.

Knowing I wanted something better but not yet knowing how to go about finding it, I raided my dad's old record/cassette collection. It was there that I tried on bands like The Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and Bob Dylan; however, it was in Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends where I found my best fit.

I remember listening to that album on repeat for the better part of the next three years, and it was there that I developed the love for harmonies, poetic lyrics and folksy singer/songwriters that I still have today.

(It's also probably where I developed a taste for sweet, bookish, unconventionally handsome boys, but I suppose that's beside the point...)

Though it's difficult for me to pick my favorite S&G song, "A Hazy Shade of Winter," being the most accessible song on that particular album, served as my gateway into the duo, and this is why I'm choosing it over the rest. Enjoy!

saturday song

As I mentioned yesterday, I made a very impulsive decision to participate in National Blog Posting Month (or, NaBloPoMo), which means that I'm vowing to post something every bloody day during the month of November. As I'm sure you can agree, this sounds easier than it is.

I read over at the NaBloPoMo website that some people, in order to meet their daily post goal, have admitted resorting to "cheating" - reposting old posts, etc. I must admit that certainly sounds tempting, but I'm not a cheater and am dedicated to doing this thing right. Still, I need a sort of system if this is going to work.

Hence, I came up with "Saturday Song." For the month of November (perhaps even longer if we're both enjoying it) I'm going to post a song. But I want it to be a bit more meaningful than posting just any old song that I'm liking at this particular moment. And so, my "Saturday Song" series will include pivotal songs that met me at the perfect moment.

Today's song is "Cottleston Pie" and it comes from The Muppet Show Album, one of the first albums I remember owning and loving. I have very fond memories of being four-years-old and singing and dancing around my pink bedroom to this entire album, but in particular to this song. Looking back on it, I think that "Cottleston Pie" is one of the reasons I love the sound of pianos, riddles, and dogs so much as an adult; and for what it's worth, I still insist that Rowlf was always one of the most underappreciated characters on the show. Enjoy!