Around 1974

I was a sheltered girl. Much as I try to deny it, I knew nothing of real life at age eighteen. I'd reluctantly secured my first "real" job in 1973 right out of high school, because that's what I was expected to do. I'd never learned how to drive, so I depended on my dad or my brother to drive me to work every day. Why they agreed to it, I have no idea. I have a faint recollection of asking one of my co-workers, who had also been a high school classmate, if I could "carpool" with her and she said, "no.". I was taken aback; my sense of entitlement jarred. I'd been too scared to venture forth behind the wheel after one stressful outing with my dad and a short-lived attempt at driver's ed, during which the elderly instructor hyperventilated into a paper bag. So, I was helpless, frozen with highway fear.

It wasn't entirely bad. I made a friend at my new place of employment, a girl my age who actually knew how to navigate the world. She had a VW ~ not a bug, but some kind of passenger vehicle ~ a Golf maybe. I think it was yellow. Not that we drove much. Alice Two had an apartment about two blocks from the State Capitol where we worked, so we'd clomp down the sidewalk at lunchtime in our platform shoes to her place and she'd heat up a can of SpaghettiOs. I convinced myself I was sophisticated. I was an eighteen-year-old rube.

I can't even begin to describe the depths of my naivete. Even though my mom and dad were not model parents, I leaned on them as much as I could and allowed them to care for my needs, which essentially consisted of food and transport. It was a confusing time of transition. My best friend since sixth grade, Alice One, and I had begun to drift apart, despite my struggle to hang on. I desperately needed to maintain the mirage of normalcy, but nobody cooperated. It was almost as if I was being elbowed into maturity.

I was still living at home and not contributing any of my paycheck towards shelter, so I bought clothes and records. I obtained a JC Penney charge card (my very first!) that had a $75.00 credit limit and I ordered items from the catalog, took them home and tried them on; then returned most of them. It was, I guess, a semblance of the "grown-up game".  JC Penney, in fact, was the go-to store in town. It had clothes and shoes and a basement full of record albums. Montgomery Ward and Sears were a bit more low-rent.  There was also a local discount department store called Tempo, which was definitely inexpensive and definitely shoddy. Its tissue paper clothing almost disintegrated before my eyes as I lifted it from the shelf.

I had a boyfriend I tolerated, just so I could say I had one. I wasn't sophisticated like Alice Two, who had boys practically breaking down her apartment door, but then again, she did have her own apartment and I had a bedroom in my parents' house. My boyfriend wanted to get married, so I said okay. I was eighteen, after all ~ practically an old maid ~ and this might be my only chance.

My position with the State Health Department was called Clerk Typist II. The "II" was very important to me, because I was at least better than a "I", although the cache was imaginary. I began by typing up birth certificates for walk-in customers on an IBM Selectric; then toddling back to my director's office so she could emboss her official stamp on them. Sometimes the clients would want something that was stuffed inside a dusty file drawer in the back room, so I retrieved that. I must have either been a good retriever or a typist who employed Liquid Paper sparingly, because soon I was singled out to join a new project along with Alice Two; a vast undertaking to commit to microfilm every birth, death, and marriage certificate in the state of North Dakota from the beginning of time. It certainly sounded auspicious, but it quickly became as dull as dirt.

Alice Two and I and our new supervisor were cloistered inside a smoky back office, where we employed number two pencils to trace over the faded typeset (and in some cases, handwriting) of each document bound inside powdery albums dating back to 1889. Then we took turns inside the curtained microfilm booth sliding said records under the camera eye and clicking a button, over and over and nauseatingly over. It was scintillating work for a girl still in her teens. Worse, everyone else in the department grew to hate us, because we closed the office door behind us and smoked our guts out; carcinogens wafting out from beneath the door jamb.

We did have an AM radio for consolation and it buzzed out tunes all day long. 1974 was an odd year in music. There were breathtaking songs and then there were novelties. There were also tracks that were somehow taken seriously, but were actually revolting. In fact, 1974 most likely racked up some of the worst songs ever recorded.

I'll begin with the intentional novelties:





Then the unintentional:



It was AM radio ~ they weren't playing Led Zeppelin.

Not exactly sure what this was:



Don't care ~ I like this ~ and yes, it's strange;



The radio even played songs my little sister liked:







Ringo was trying to be relevant:



Then there were the good songs:



This one goes out to my little brother:



These are for me:









And most especially this:




Things did not end well in that little smoky back office. Alice Two's and my supervisor, an old married lady around age 26, insinuated herself into our friendship, desperate to regain her lost youth. As inevitably happens among a party of three, Linda did all she could to rupture Alice's and my bond. Fortunately for me, she focused her energies on Alice, setting up hapless blind dates and couples nights out. Alice was the cool one, after all. That experiment ended abruptly the night Linda's husband came a'knockin' on Alice's apartment door. While the whole imbroglio was never mentioned (expect in a whisper to me), the oxygen became heavy soon after. Linda turned brittle toward us. The AM radio was suddenly switched off. The three of us scribbled in silence.

Alice eventually met the man she would marry and we served as bridesmaids at each other's weddings.

And we simultaneously quit our jobs, leaving bitter Linda to sort out her life and find two new rubes to intimidate.

The joys of one's first job ~ little life lessons, even if we are merely innocent bystanders. We learn about allegiances and how much we're willing to assert them. And what the stakes are either way. Earning minimum wage helps in our decision making. I chose friendship over a job I didn't even actually like.

Nevertheless, for a time in 1974 we had the radio.

Lazy Radio

I don't actually listen to terrestrial radio, but I am addicted to Sirius XM. It could be partially habit, but I would find myself bereft and bewildered without my Friday night double shot of XM.

That said, Sirius has either become terribly lazy, or perhaps it always was and I was simply not paying enough attention.

Generally at the start of the weekend I'm in the mood for some tasty oldies, which I categorize as anything from the fifties through the eighties; and there does seem to be more care given to my oldie programming. Luckily. The 80's on 8 channel features some of the original MTV VJ's, and they at least pretend to care about what they play. Even the 60's on 6 puts forth some effort.

Country, on the other hand....

Willie's Roadhouse is pretty damn good, until the yodeling cowboys' show comes on, and then I have to switch channels. You know I love Dwight Yoakam, but I'm a bit disappointed in the Bakersfield Beat Channel. Dwight'd be better off simply adding his own songs to the playlist, because some of his choices are rather obscure (as in, not good).

Then we have the three main country channels for those of us who would rather dive headlong off the Golden Gate than listen to "new country".

"Prime Country" is Garth-centric (and he has his own channel!). Worse, the Garth songs played on the channel are the ones that people who don't like country music would choose.

The same can be said for "80's and 90's Country". Nobody who actually listened to country music in the eighties would cite Kenny Rogers as their most cherished artist. Nobody. I'm guessing whoever programs the channel figures, "Ehh, no one's listening anyway, so let's throw in some names I know...uh, Kenny Rogers?"

"80's Hits" ~ if I have to hear "All The Gold In California" one more time, I will flick that channel off my favorites list.

And that's the thing with the country channels ~ it's the same ten or twelve songs over and over and over. Do they have them on a loop?

Just think what a country channel could be if it was programmed by someone who actually likes...loves...country music. Where is Rodney Crowell, Mark Chesnutt, Faron Young, The Mavericks, Gene Watson, Highway 101, Marty Stuart, Lynn Anderson, Johnny Rodriguez? Where the hell is Merle? Oh, I guess we had to make room for Crystal Gayle instead...

Hey, Sirius ~ either have more guest country DJ's or just let me do it. And I would do it.

I find that my favorite channel on Sirius is "Yacht Rock", even though I find the name preciously pretentious.  I get to hear all those songs I once took for granted, like this:



I'll stay a Sirius fan, because what else is there? I'll just try to avoid the country stations. Until they realize that country fans buy subscriptions, too.

Gosh ~ Country Is Not Doing Well

In a new article in something called Country Aircheck, radio programmers are bemoaning the decline of country music in the Arbitron ratings. It seems that all the artists sound the same and the songs are too "poppy".

I'm flabbergasted.

My question is, who exactly is listening to "country" radio? Who are these freaks? Certainly not music fans. Do these listeners even know what country music sounds like? Do people even like music anymore?

When I gave up on country radio sometime around the year 2000, it was because I'd become disgusted with the amalgamation of country and thin, watery gruel. About the time that Faith Hill and/or her producer decided to countrify a Janis Joplin song, I threw up my hands and stopped. Stopped listening to radio completely. My last sad memories of country radio are some shredded electric guitar by Keith Urban and the last gasp of the Dixie Chicks.

Since then I have no idea who or what is popular in music, country or otherwise. My one country website, which is sadly bro-centric, tries to steer me toward nice new country, but everything I sample is a disappointment. I've almost given up trying. I would kill for a new shiny artist who was country and good. I don't think it's gonna happen. Because no one knows what country is. Granted, I've been around longer than most, but there is such a thing as recorded music. Anyone can listen, anytime.

I'm on the cusp of starting my own music podcast, just because people are idiots. Probably not the best tagline.

I would do mine differently, though. I don't exactly care about artists' backstories. I care about the music.

It's the least I can do.

Before it's too late.

My Latest Fake Album Has Dropped!

I haven't done this since 2007; and I felt like having some fun tonight. This is an old game that allows one to create their own album. Since my real band is in a dormant period, why not?

I've had to update the links a bit, due to a couple of the former sites dissolving into the ether.

Here are the rules:


1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/qotd.html
The last four words of the first quote is the title of your album.

3. https://pixabay.com/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

If you want to get fancy and add track listings, go here:

4. https://learnhowtowritesongs.com/random-song-title-generator/


Tonight my band is called, naturally, Mexico Fed Cup Team, and we've titled our album, "Computer Is A Moron".

One might think our cover art is a bit incongruous, but trust me, we have our reasons:

 
 Tracks on our album:


1.  Scrumptious Asteroids
2.  The Tall Movie
3.  She Dances Above Wine
4.  They Cleans He
5.  Female Beyond the Painting
6.  The History Come Back
7.  Shining Victor
8.  Speak Players
9.  Incredulous Development
10. Put

Funny story about track #10. The band was sitting around wondering what we should put as the last song, and that's how we came up with "Put". Don't dismiss it ~ it's probably the most profound track on the album. 

My personal favorite is "They Cleans He". I wrote that one and I think it says it all. I was inspired by some of John Lennon's more offbeat songs. 

Naturally we had to lead off the album with "Scrumptious Asteroids". It has such an ethereal vibe and really sets the tone for the tracks that follow.

You can, of course, sample our album on Spotify, but I will point out that "Shining Victor" has a bit of a hidden meaning. Our bass player's name is Victor and he's a bit of an exhibitionist. Everyone in our audience naturally gravitates toward Vic because he's just, well, shiny ~ with his floor-length lemon cloaks and feathered boas. The rest of us have taken to calling him Shining Victor. This song is our tribute to the baddest bass player this side of the Appalachians.

So, give us a try. You'll be "Dancing Above Wine"!

 




 

Fly Me To The Moon

(Stop thinking about MTV!)

It was fifty years ago that man landed on the moon. One could say they remember the day with awe, or if you were fourteen-year-old me, you would say, am I supposed to be watching this?

Granted, science was never my oeuevre (at all), but my blase reaction to the moon landing could only be chalked up to youthful ignorance. My life in the summer of 1969 was comprised of transistor radios, gabbing on the telephone, and swimming pools.

It was a Sunday night and I happened to trounce through the living room, where my dad was settled into his corner recliner and Mom was perched on the sofa, and Walter Cronkite was intoning through the console TV's speaker. Dad uncharacteristically decreed, "You should watch this." So, I obediently slumped, cross-legged, smack-dab in front of the screen, and tried to decipher what was happening. The picture on the tube was wavy; jagged white lines skittering across the black screen. I was frankly bored, but Walter was excited. I watched Neil Armstrong descend a little ladder onto the surface of the moon and say something like, "That's one (static) step for man; one (static) leap for mankind."

Okay! Can I go now?

I was as unimpressed as only a teenager could be. As I stood up to leave, I sensed my dad's disappointment in my apathetic attitude. And Walter was surely disappointed in me. At least he didn't whip off his eyeglasses. Although I'm pretty sure he shed a tear.

To be honest, I couldn't grasp the magnitude of the moment. My world wasn't that big. At fourteen, one's universe doesn't extend much further than three feet in circumference; much less two hundred thousand-some miles. I thought walking across the Memorial Bridge to the neighboring town was an expedition.

And I can't use the music of the day as an excuse. 1969 was a putrid year for music, especially during that particular week. The number one song was by someone called Zager and Evans (Ooh! Not the Zager and Evans!)



Here's the number two song (no live performance video, but it's vital that I demonstrate what a fetid band Blood, Sweat, and Tears was):



And it actually does get worse. But why dwell on that? Here are some better songs from that week's chart:





(People actually thought like that in '69.)



(People actually thought like that in '69.  And I'm aware that this is a poorly-synched video.)

(Don't you love how the lead singer dances? Sort of like Beto O'Rourke.)

The first time I saw this next group on TV, I thought, "What did these idiots do to that nice Mel Tillis song?". My second thought was, "Hey, loser with the tinted glasses and the earring ~ enjoy your career while it lasts."



It's a wonder I was preoccupied by music. I should have paid more attention to Dad and Walter. And my future science teachers would have appreciated my profound knowledge, as opposed to the befuddled looks I cast in their direction during lectures.

In hindsight, the moon landing was a pretty big deal. Sadly, I'm still not feelin' the love; but the mature me understands it was probably more extraordinary and earth-shattering than The Turtles' new hit.

A Look Back At Country Albums ~ 1969

(I used to subscribe to this ~ it had song lyrics!)

By 1969 I could afford to buy albums. Up 'til then I'd been solely a singles gal, because I was penniless. Of course, I was barely a teen, so jobs were hard to come by. Due to family circumstances, however, my mom frequently enlisted me to man the motel office (during the times she was off looking for my dad). Travelers were taken aback by finding a little girl waiting to check them in, but I just did what needed to be done ~ shove the heavy metal bar across the credit card swiper, tear the little side receipt off the registration card and hand it over, answer the beeping switchboard, make change for the Coke machine.

Mom reluctantly determined that I needed to be paid for those nights, when I really needed to be doing homework, so my paying wage became seventy-five cents per hour. Before too long I had enough money saved to buy an album!

Sometimes albums were the only means of obtaining songs I really liked, because our little town's selection of country singles was limited to the top ten. At least JC Penney's basement had a middling country album offering. Often my tastes were dictated by my best friend Alice's inclinations. I was still a relative country music novice; still feeling my way around this new musical world. I liked Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings, and Charley Pride (which essentially sums up sixties country music), but I was keen to spread my wings.

There was a pretty new gal on the scene, a beehived blonde who had teamed up with an old guy with a pale pompadour, and this was the album I bought by this duo:

There had been occasional duet pairings before Porter and Dolly, but none so successful or influential. In the "actual" country music world (as opposed to the faux New York/Hollywood lexicon), they were superstars. Any skim of country music charts from the late sixties will reveal a multitude of hit records by one or the other, or both.

In that vein:

 

 Snigger if you will, but Carroll County Accident was an enormous hit. Granted, Alice and I weren't enamored with it ~ we made up our own, politically incorrect lyrics. But it could not be avoided on AM radio or ignored.

Then there was:

The album cover included a distant shot of Dolly's real-life husband, Carl Dean; the one and only time Carl allowed himself to participate in Parton's musical world.

I fell in love with the sweet voice of Lynn Anderson sometime around 1967. She'd begun moving away from her mom's penned songs (although Liz Anderson was no slouch ~ she did write "Strangers" after all) and was still signed to Chart Records until 1970.

This was an album of covers, but Lynn sang the hell out of them.

No live video, unfortunately:

Not my favorite Hag album, but with few exceptions (see below) I always bought Merle Haggard LP's. I did like this one:

Here's one I didn't buy, and my reasoning is this (if I can remember): I'd heard the single ad nauseam and I didn't need a live version of it. I liked studio recordings, although I never bought this as a single, either. Looking back, I think I had an issue with the title song. At fourteen I was far from sophisticated, but the track seemed almost mocking, and I wasn't on board with that. As for live Haggard albums, "The Fightin' Side Of Me" ranks up there with my favorites of all time, so I had no bias against live recordings.

 

 

I also didn't buy this one, and again I will explain. Johnny Cash is the hip country artist that non-country fans always cite. Granted, he had a network TV show in '69 that featured acts that rarely got television exposure, and he had a great gospel group performance (thanks to the Statlers) at the end of each episode. But real country fans weren't real Cash aficionados. All his songs sounded the same, with their thump-thudda-thump beat, over and over.

And speaking of overplayed songs, what could top this?

These last two will get all the kudos, naturally undeserved, but I choose to remember the LP's that touched me as a fourteen-year-old kid, newly seeping herself in country music.

Ahh, fifty years. 

Really?

The Top One Hundred Songs ~ I'm On My Own!

In my quest to isolate the top one hundred songs of all time, I solicited feedback ~ got none. But it's never too late; you can still comment here.

I may have started with a false premise. I tried to simplify the process by listing the best, or most famous artists and asking for a favorite song by each. Maybe the top one hundred is not composed of the world's most renowned artists. Maybe every single one of the top songs is a one-hit wonder. It could be true. After all, everybody's got one great song inside them; am I right?

In fact, here's one:





In the cold light of reality, I started my own list.

Here's a category:

• Any Instrumental

I have three:











 

Admittedly, this is difficult. I can't even land on one instrumental.

But it's not impossible.

Slowly, we'll get there. And by "we", I apparently mean "me". But don't be shy ~ try it; it's fun!