Ain't Life a Brook

(Song written by Ferron, performed by Bill Morrissey and Greg Brown, from the album Friend of Mine.)

Now that I have my entire CD library digitized, I've been listening to it alphabetically while at the gym. I don't listen to every song -- It's more that I'm browsing, finding something to fit a particular mood.

The other day I came across "Ain't Life a Brook." The album that it's on came out in 1993, and I probably haven't listened to it for at least 10 years.

But on this particular day at the gym I was trolling for love songs. I am compiling the best of them in an iTunes playlist.

I didn't remember this song at all when it came on, and the first two lines piqued my interest.

I watch you reading a book
I get to thinking our love's a polished stone

Ah, this could be good. But then it continues . . .

You give me a long, drawn look
I know pretty soon you're gonna leave our home

Oh, never mind. It's not a love song. It's a breakup song. Maybe I need to have a file for those in my ITunes as well.

You say you hope I'm not the kind
To make you feel obliged
To go ticking through your time
With a pained look in your eyes
You give me the furniture, we'll
divide the photographs
Go out to dinner one more time
Have ourselves a bottle of wine
And a couple of laughs

This is an exquisitely drawn breakup song. Simply written, but the words convey the emotions so well, the stages of recovering from a breakup, moving on from a failed romance.

When first you left
I stayed so sad I couldn't sleep
I know that love's a gift, I thought yours was mine
And something that I could keep

We follow the fate of the furniture and the photographs as the narrator copes with the breakup, which he or she did not choose, and eventually becomes at peace with it.

I won't spoil it for you. Listen for yourself. Hear how it ends.

The refrain contains a truth one we all need to be reminded of every so often.

But life don't clickety clack
down a straight line track
It comes together and it comes apart.

Listen here:

1320 Days of Music (and growing)

Well I've finally done it. I've imported all of my CDs to iTunes, storing the 263 GB archive on an external hard drive, with plenty of room to grow. I have attained my goal -- being able to have ALL my music on Shuffle Play. And I have to say, it's pretty darn cool.

I began this project in January (it is now mid-November). It went quickly enough, especially when I got my new super-fast iMac. But it slowed down tremendously at the end, when all I had left to import was burned CDs like mixes from friends and homemade compilations culled from the library and from the days when I worked at Sound Chaser and could borrow used CDs whenever I liked. In most cases, for those, I had to type in all the song names, artists, etc. Slow going.

But now it's done! Hooray, hooray! As of today, I have 38,229 songs in my archive, representing 1320+ days (that's 3.5 years) of music.

I expected that putting it all of shuffle play (now the iTunes DJ) would make for some diverse listening, digging up some long-forgotten gems. But so far, it's been more mundane. I suppose when you digitize every song from every album, you hear a lot of music that never made an impression on you in the first place -- filler tracks from less-than-classics albums, for example.

But on the other hand . . . what fun to hear, in "random" order (I know there's some kind of science to how iTunes creates its randomness) selections from the music I've enjoyed enough to collect thus far.

Here's what iTunes Dj came up with today.

Water - Dionne Farris
I Don't Want to Wait - Paula Cole
Here I Am - Lyle Lovett
B-Boy Bouillabaisse - Beastie Boys
Shelter - Sarah McLachlan
Blue Skies - Harry Connick Jr.
Cold Hands (Warm Heart) - Brendan Benson
Full of Life - John Gorka
Idiot Wind - Bob Dylan
Honey Bee - Stevie Ray Vauhan
Beethoven: Symphony # in D Minor, Op. 1 . . .
Ol' Man Rossi - Franco Godi
Mother _ Tori Amos
Tell Her Tonight - Franz Ferdinand
Beatnik Fly - Johnny & the Hurricans
River We Run - Louise Taylor
Farewell My Summer Love - Michael Jackson
Y.M.C.A. - The Village People
Funny How Time Flies - Stanley Clarke
The Worst - The Rolling Stones
Let's Do It - Billie Holiday

To me, that just doesn't seem very random, nor very representative. But still, I like it. I can't wait to hear what tomorrow will bring!

Sweet Soul Dream by World Party

Back in my high school and college days, I had a bad habit of buying a CD, not quite loving it, then selling it used so I’d have more money in my pocket to buy new CDs. My motivation was lack of funding more than anything else (well, occasionally it was embarrassment). If I hadn’t “needed” the money so badly, I would have just let the CD get dusty on a shelf until perhaps I was ready to appreciate it more.

The unfortunate thing is that in many cases, I ended up buying the CD again, years later, when I realized how good it was. Here’s a sampling of some of the discs I have purchased twice.

Leonard Cohen – Greatest Hits
Peter Holsapple & Chris Stamey – Mavericks
The Cumberland Three – Songs of the Civil War
Lindsey Buckingham - Out of the Cradle
The Eagles – Greatest Hits Volumes 1 & 2
Billy Joel – The Stranger, Glass Houses, An Innocent Man, The Nylon Curtain
Bob Dylan – Under the Red Sky
Joni Mitchell – Blue (Yes, really.)

World Party’s “Goodbye Jumbo” is another one on the list. When I worked at Strawberries, the record store chain, each month we were given two 90-minute cassette tapes called The Playlist. On them were songs from the new releases featured in the store that month, along with deejay-like banter introducing each track. These tapes were the only music allowed on the store’s sound system during operating hours. As you can imagine, my fellow employees and I learned every melody and every word, and by the end of the month generally hated – or sometimes loved – those songs.

The two tracks off Goodbye Jumbo were “Put the Message in a Box” and “Way Down Now.” I still enjoyed them at the end of the month, and used my better-than-nothing, 15% employee discount to purchase the disc. But after putting those tracks onto a mix tape (I didn’t have a CD player in my car until at least a decade later), I let the disc languish on my steadily-growing CD rack. Eventually it got sold back.

I rediscovered “Goodbye Jumbo” in 2002, twelve years after my initial purchase. Despite plenty of “real” work in my weekly schedule, I had taken a clerk’s position two nights a week in a local, independent CD store called Sound Chaser. Dave, one of the store’s owners, put “Goodbye Jumbo” on one night while we were shelving the latest batch of used CDs.

For the first “side” of the album, I was enjoying the flashback to my days at Strawberries (and thankful that Sound Chaser didn’t require me to wear a hideous red vest and name tag). For the second half, I listened more closely. I wasn’t as familiar with these songs. When “Sweet Soul Dream” came on, I knew I had to buy the CD all over again. (This time at an inflated, out-of-print price – but at least I got an employee discount).

The melody caught me first, as is often the case. But it was the lyrics that sold me. As a student of yoga and meditation, my interest is generally piqued when a rock star starts singing about his quest for enlightenment.

I don't need a body
A body's nobody to me
It's just a cell
And I'm leaving well
When I get you to give me the key
You can take all my postcards and letters
My loves and my good memories
Well I'd lose them all
Burn them all
Go without all of it
Give up the chances I see
If you'd raise me up
Take me up
Let me know the heart of it
Give me your sweet soul dream

It’s a sweet little gem of a song. Nothing mind-blowing, but a good track that stands the test of time.

Somehow I managed to forget about the song all over again, though. Life gets in the way, I guess. But at least this time “Sweet Soul Dream” had made it into my iTunes. The other night, it came up on random play. I marked it as a favorite, so it’ll keep reminding me of its presence.

For the record, I never, ever sell off my CDs anymore. It's just not worth the risk.

p.s. Some CDs I sold off that ‘d really like back again, please.
Del Fuegos – Smoking in the Fields
Traveling Wilburys – Volume 3

p.p.s. Hooray! Just found them both for 80 cents each on amazon.com.

Greg Brown - Two Little Feet

This song, from Brown's 1996 album Further In, seems to pop into my head every fall. This year it was Ken Burns's National Parks series on PBS that triggered it, profiling John Muir, and making me sing to myself

John Muir
Walked away into the mountains
In his old overcoat
A crust of bread in his pocket

"Two Little Feet" pops into my head a lot when I'm walking too. It has the steady but relaxed rhythm of an outdoor stroll.

Two little feet
To get me 'cross the mountain
Two little feet
To carry me away into the woods

It's a song about freedom -- the freedom of leaving your stuff behind, and walking away into the mountains, perhaps, or into the woods. Maybe you're leaving for an hour. But maybe you're leaving for good.

It's the lines about "stuff" that really resonate for me. Such an apt critique of American culture these days -- how we go shopping to entertain ourselves, an empty exercise that soothes our longing temporarily, but doesn't do much for us in the long run.

We have no knowledge
And so we have stuff
And stuff with no knowledge is never enough
To get you there

And sometimes, even when we do go outside and go for a walk or climb a mountain, we're in danger of acquiring more useless stuff. Especially if it's a National Park, with ever-present gift shops.

A culture exploded into
Knicknacks and memories
Eagle and Bear trinkets
I don't think it's good

I love how Brown can make such a blunt pronouncement, but then immediately lighten it up with an "it's not such a big deal" type of comment.

It's a messed up world
But I love it anyway

Being outdoors can bring us freedom, but so can the thrill of a big new love.

Tumble us like scree
Let us holler out our freedom
Like a like a wolf across a valley
Like a kid lost in a game
No time no name
Gonna miss that plane again
I'm gonna stay here with you baby
And kiss you to a good dream

Further In seems to be an album that's all about leaving a marriage and starting a new relationship. Actually, even more so, it seems to be about the overlap of the two -- one love affair starting before another, earlier, one has ended. In general, it's about longing, sex, and freedom. Eloquent songs, but sometimes they are done so well that it makes you squeamish.

When Brown is not fantasizing about how "someday when we're both alone we'll get together," or explaining how "if you don't get it at home you're gonna go looking," he makes some spot-on observations of American culture. In a way, with all the love and sex in the songs, you don't see it coming. But then, almost off-handedly, he sneaks in a little nugget of wisdom. A pearl.

That's why I like his music.

Listen here.

John Stewart's "Runaway Train"

It's been a while since I've posted anything here. I try to write something every Friday night, but over the past few weeks, I've felt overwhelmed by all the choices available -- to the point of not being able to write anything at all. There are too many noteworthy songs out there.

This one popped into my head while I was folding laundry. My son's favorite toys are his Thomas trains, and with trains on the brain, I found myself humming.

John Stewart is one of those great songwriters that few have even heard of. My high school English teacher turned me on to his music, and while in college, I became a tad obsessed. With more than 40 albums in his discography, there's a lot to digest. I've never been able to select a single one as my favorite, let alone a particular song.

Twenty years old now, this song certainly stands the test of time. It's basically an extended metaphor about a relationship on the skids.

I'm worried about you
And I'm worried about me
The curves around midnight
Aren't easy to see
The flashing red warnings
Unseen in the rain
This thing has turned into
A runaway train.

Rosanne Cash famously covered "Runaway Train" not long after Stewart recorded it on his own album, "Punch the Big Guy." While Stewart's relationship with his wife, Buffy Ford, may have endured ups and downs, we the audience weren't really privy to any drama (and they remained married for decades, until his death last year). But around the same time she recorded this song, Cash suffered a very public break-up with her then husband (and fellow musician) Rodney Crowell. So when you hear Cash sing this next verse, you really get how hard it can be to be married to someone whose job is to be on the road (and for Cash and Crowell, it was both of their jobs).

Long distance phone calls
There's a voice on the line
Electrical miles that soften the time
And dynamite too is hooked on the wire
So are the rails of American flyers

I love the instrumentation on this song. On both recordings, there's a subtle chugging quality -- nothing overwhelming, but more like the steady rhythm of a train on a wide open track. It really drives the metaphor home.

Steel rails and heart lines
They are always in twos
I have been here before, yeah
And now it's with you

Really, it's a sad song. "This relationship is out-of-control and ending, and it's not the first time I've been through this." But it's so expertly written that it doesn't bum out the listener as much as make him/her think "Yes, that sums up a derailed relationship quite succinctly."

Listen here.

Or Rosanne Cash's version here.

Cowboy Junkies - Ring on the Sill

This song is from one of my favorite Cowboy Junkies albums, Pale Sun Crescent Moon, which was released in 1993. So I've been listening to the song for more than 15 years, and I'm still not quite sure what it's about.

This is a moody, intense album, dark and brooding. It was a departure from the CJ's first four, softer-sounding, more countrified albums. The songwriting is stellar.

Here's what I know. The song is about a married couple, settled into domestic life. The first snow of winter is imminent.

Here's what I think I get from the song: The passion the couple felt when their relationship was new has now cooled. What's unclear is if they're okay with this, because it seems to happen with every relationship, and it by no means signals the end of the affair, only a change in its chemistry -- Or if they are preparing themselves for their union to dissolve. I tend to think it's the former.

But this verse could be taken either way.

Do you remember when you'd pray
To never see the day
When someone would make you feel this way
'Cause you knew
They would cut right through you
And once inside, you were afraid they'd find
Nothing to hold on to

What I think that means is that when we fall in love, it can be a frightening time, because we want that love to be reciprocated. And we worry that our partner's feelings might not be as deep or as long-lasting as ours. It takes time for our feelings to mature and take their full shape.

There's more:

They're thinking of the long road ahead
And the strength that they will need
Just to reach the end

What is the "long road ahead?" Are they breaking up? Does one of them have cancer? Are they expecting their first child? Or is it simply the prospect of spending the rest of their lives together? As much as you love someone, it's is not always easy. You never know what life is going to throw at you and even if you have a strong, loving marriage, there are still plenty of challenges you're likely to encounter -- health, finances, loss. But to describe your life together as a "long road ahead" -- well, I suppose, it depends on how you feel about the road in general . . .

But then there's this:

There in the silence they search for
The balance between this fear that they feel
And a love that has graced their lives

To me, this is a happy ending, especially when you hear it in the context of the music, which seems to lift up at this point, to indicate that all is well. (The song concludes with an instrumental verse.) But it's always driven me a little crazy because I want to KNOW what this song is about. And I think it's purposely vague.

Hey, nothing is guaranteed, right?

If You Leave by OMD

Movie writer/director John Hughes died a couple weeks ago, and thus there's been a flood of tributes and remembrances on the internet and elsewhere. Although not "of" my generation, John Hughes certainly spoke "for" my generation -- or more specifically, he did so when I was in junior high and high school, in the 1980s.

I'm talking about his teen movies here -- Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful -- and not the grown-up ones like Mr. Mom, or the kiddie ones like Home Alone. Those movies spoke to me, made me feel understood and less alone. They also cracked me up and gave me endless hours of entertainment, either from repeated watchings or relentless quoting (my sister claims to have once had the entire screenplay of Sixteen Candles memorized). Better still, my parents didn't see the appeal. It feels good to have something of one's own, especially at, say, age 13.

I don't have a favorite John Hughes movie. They each suit different moods and needs. But the one that I identified the most with at the time of its theatrical release is Pretty in Pink. Ninth grade. What a hellish year. Dumped by my boyfriend and dropped inexplicably by the popular crowd over the summer -- and amidst a surge of insecurity that made me quit band and choose to take classes that weren't challenging enough academically -- I started high school gaining weight, wearing braces that pulled my front teeth apart, and otherwise feeling crappy about myself. Enter Molly Ringwald, back for her third John Hughes incarnation, this time as Andie Walsh, a girl from the wrong side of the tracks with a flair for secondhand fashion and a mad crush on a cute preppy boy.

Andie's family life wasn't like mine -- her mom had abandoned her and her depressed, unemployed dad (Harry Dean Stanton) -- but I identified with her, even idolized her. She worked in a new wave record shop and her closest friends were Duckie Dale (a male version of Andie, socially) and Iona, the kooky, thirty-something owner of the record shop. She got harassed by the "richies" the same way some sophomore girls made fun of me for my wardrobe choices. But she was cool. Even when she was falling apart, she seemed cool to me.

Andie and the preppy boy, Blaine, start dating, and they seem to like each other a lot despite their social and economic differences, but then he dumps her, right before the prom. He can't handle the opinions of his friends and family. Andie goes to the prom alone. Duckie meets her there, and then Blaine comes back with his ail between his legs. Cue "If You Leave." The producers of Pretty in Pink got the band Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD) to write it especially for the end of the movie. And it fits, sonically, even if the lyrics sometimes leave me scratching my head.

If you leave
Don't leave now
Please don't take my heart away
Promise me
Just one more night
Then we'll go
Our separate ways

We've always had
Time on our sides
But now it's fading fast
Every second
Every moment
We've got to
We've got to make it last

Add in some synthesizers and a drum machine and pow! You've captured the drama and urgency of teen romance.

I touched you once
I touched you twice
I won’t let go
At any price
I need you now
Like I needed you then
You always said
We'd still be friends
Someday . . .

I don't know why, but despite the desperation in the lyrics, and the fact that Blaine comes back for Andie at the end of the movie (but we still think he's a dink), the song made me feel good; hopeful.

Pretty much all of my romantic relationships in junior high and high school lasted exactly one and a half months. By then, either I would have tired of my boyfriend or he would have tired of me. But the one who dumped me over the summer between eighth and ninth grade was different -- we had dated for months. It felt serious and real, so when he broke up with me I was surprised and devastated. (In fact, the immediate result was that I got mononucleosis). But I had my Duckie Dale too, my quirky male friend who made me laugh . . .

The soundtrack albums to the John Hughes movies were disjointed and flawed, but each contained at least one gem. Sixteen Candles had "If You Were Here" by the Thompson Twins, The Breakfast Club had "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds (originally intended for Billy Idol), Ferris Bueller had "Oh Yeah" by Yello, and Pretty In Pink had "If You Leave." To this day, hearing the opening chords of that song brings me right back to freshman year. Despite the angst and sadness I felt back then, the song still makes me feel good.

Listen here.