MORE COWBELL!
How about songs about putting on pants, preferably one leg at a time?
Spike ,'Get It Done'
There's a lady plays her fav'rite records/On the jukebox ev'ry day/All day long she plays the same old songs/And she believes the things that they say/She sings along with all the saddest songs/And she believes the stories are real/She lets the music dictate the way that she feels.
MORE COWBELL!
How about songs about putting on pants, preferably one leg at a time?
loving sue SO MUCH. My work AIM says "I gotta have more cowbell" everytime someone logs on. AWESOME.
I don't own anything and I would love to hear more.
Cool, I'll put some on a mix for you.
All the songs would have cowbell in them.
OK, I'm in.
I call dibs on "Un Poco Loco".
Can we finish the unusual love songs one first? Or am I standing here with the paddles while Corwood is saying, "Call it." </ER>
Can we finish the unusual love songs one first? Or am I standing here with the paddles while Corwood is saying, "Call it."
Oh, hell. It got stalled with me, because I'm a lazy git.
Okay, I'm going to post my song right now to Buffistarawk. I mean it. Go check in a few minutes.
Go check in a few minutes.
She does not lie. Although I was really hoping it would be a paean to Pete Rose. Or maybe Ken Anderson. There was a quarterback. Nice mustache, too.
Although I was really hoping it would be a paean to Pete Rose. Or maybe Ken Anderson. There was a quarterback. Nice mustache, too.
Ah, all the paeans around town are about Marvin Lewis these days. (Quite possibly deservedly so. We'll see this season.)
And combining two recent thread themes, Robert Christgau's review of 69 Love Songs (note the first line):
69 Love Songs [Merge, 1999]
Accusing Stephin Merritt of insincerity would be like accusing Cecil Taylor of playing too many notes--not only does it go without saying, it's what he's selling. I say if he'd lived all 69 songs himself he'd be dead already, and the only reality I'm sure they attest to is that he's very much alive. I dislike cynicism so much that I'm reluctant ever to link it to creative exuberance. But this cavalcade of witty ditties--one-dimensional by design, intellectual when it feels like it, addicted to cheap rhymes, cheaper tunes, and token arrangements, sung by nonentities whose vocal disabilities keep their fondness for pop theoretical--upends my preconceptions the way high art's sposed to. The worst I can say is that its gender-fucking feels more wholehearted than its genre-fucking. Yet even the "jazz" and "punk" cuts are good for a few laughs--total losers are rare indeed. My favorite song from three teeming individually-purchasable-but-what-fun-would-that-be CDs: "The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure," who has the savoir faire to rhyme with "closure," "kosher," and "Dozier" before Merritt murders him. A+
OH MY GOD, THE KNITTERS ROCKED SO HARD.
Yes, I am still sick. But I believe that hearing John Doe and Exene rampage through "The New World" -- with a hell of a solo by Dave Alvin that threw in a couple bars of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" (plus a couple of lines of the Beatles's "Revolution" sung by John for good measure) -- cured me of ailments I didn't even know I had. My God, that was a blisteringly good show. Tina, thank you for the extra nudge to go see it.
This article is interesting:
"The enduring bond between Huey Lewis and the developmentally disabled" [link]