DAY 16 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 16: A song that’s a classic favorite

Glenn Frey said that originally "We decided to create something strange, just to see if we could do it," and that the song was meant to mimic the imagery of the 1965 novel The Magus by John Fowles, about a man in an unfamiliar rural setting who is unsure about what he is experiencing.

Don Henley has given a number of explanations about the song, ranging from "a journey from innocence to experience" to "a sociopolitical statement". In an interview with Rolling Stone, Henley said that the song was meant to be "more of a symbolic piece about America in general", and added: "Lyrically, the song deals with traditional or classical themes of conflict: darkness and light, good and evil, youth and age, the spiritual versus the secular. I guess you could say it's a song about loss of innocence."

The song has been described as being "all about American decadence and burnout, too much money, corruption, drugs and arrogance; too little humility and heart." It has also been interpreted as an allegory about hedonism, self-destruction, and greed in the music industry of the late 1970s. Henley called it "our interpretation of the high life in Los Angeles", and later said: "It's basically a song about the dark underbelly of the American dream and about excess in America, which is something we knew a lot about." In the 2013 documentary, History of the Eagles, Henley reiterated:

On just about every album we made, there was some kind of commentary on the music business, and on American culture in general. The hotel itself could be taken as a metaphor not only for the myth-making of Southern California, but for the myth-making that is the American Dream, because it is a fine line between the American Dream, and the American nightmare.

In a 2009 interview, The Plain Dealer music critic John Soeder asked Henley if he regretted writing the lines "So I called up the captain / 'Please bring me my wine' / He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since 1969'" because wines are fermented while spirits are distilled. Henley responded:

Thanks for the tutorial and, no, you're not the first to bring this to my attention—and you're not the first to completely misinterpret the lyric and miss the metaphor. Believe me, I've consumed enough alcoholic beverages in my time to know how they are made and what the proper nomenclature is. But that line in the song has little or nothing to do with alcoholic beverages. It's a sociopolitical statement. My only regret would be having to explain it in detail to you, which would defeat the purpose of using literary devices in songwriting and lower the discussion to some silly and irrelevant argument about chemical processes.

In his Encyclopedia of Great Popular Song Recordings, Volume 1, Steve Sullivan theorizes that the "spirit" that the Hotel California hasn't had since 1969 refers to the spirit of social activism of the 1960s, and how disco and the related pop music of the mid-1970s had turned away from it.

The metaphorical character of the story related in the lyrics has inspired a number of conjectural interpretations by listeners. In the 1980s, the Rev. Paul Risley of Cornerstone Church in Burlington, Wisconsin, alleged that "Hotel California" referred to a San Francisco hotel that was purchased by Anton LaVey and converted into his Church of Satan. Other rumors suggested that the Hotel California was the Camarillo State Mental Hospital, which was shut down in 1997, and redeveloped into California State University Channel Islands.

The term "colitas" in the first stanza ("warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air") has been interpreted as a sexual slang or a reference to marijuana. "Colitas" means "little tails" in Spanish; in Mexican slang it refers to buds of the cannabis (marijuana) plant. According to Glenn Frey, the "warm smell" is "colitas ... it means little tails, the very top of the plant." The Eagles' manager Irving Azoff appears to lend support to the marijuana hypothesis; however, Felder said: "The colitas is a plant that grows in the desert that blooms at night, and it has this kind of pungent, almost funky smell. Don Henley came up with a lot of the lyrics for that song, and he came up with colitas."

Other interpretations of the song include heroin addiction and cannibalism. On the various interpretations, Henley said: "Some of the wilder interpretations of that song have been amazing. It was really about the excesses of American culture and certain girls we knew. But it was also about the uneasy balance between art and commerce."

*(borrowed from Wikipedia)

[Dedicated to Kinsman Hall because you can check out anytime you want 

but you can never leave...]

A TASTE OF BANGOR MAINE

I'd like to introduce you to my hometown, Bangor, Maine and in doing so, you get to meet two talented people. Josh Landry is a chainsaw artist who was commissioned by Tabitha and Stephen King to do a sculpture at their home (now a writers' retreat) on West Broadway. An ash tree that was slated for removal due to a severe insect infestation instead was turned into a breathtaking piece of art depicting some of the characters from Stephen King's books.

You also are introduced to beer brewer, Cory Ricker owner of Two Feet Brewing who has established quite a name for himself in the area. Their signature Barn Burner, a roasted jalapeno-ghost pepper dark saison sounds interesting, but alas I don't drink beer so I'll leave it up to others to try out!

DAY 15 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 15: A song you like that’s a cover by another artist

THE ORIGINAL VERSION: American R&B, soul, rock & roll singer and songwriter Wilson Pickett recorded this popular version of "Mustang Sally" in 1966 that climbed to #6 on the R&B charts and #23 on the Pop charts. It ranks on the Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

THE COVER: The Commitments is a 1991 musical comedy-drama film based on the 1987 novel of the same name by Roddy Doyle. It was directed by Alan Parker from a screenplay written by Doyle, Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais. Set in the Northside of Dublin, the film tells the story of Jimmy Rabbitte (Robert Arkins), a young music fanatic who assembles a group of working-class youths to form a soul band named "The Commitments". The film is the first in a series known as The Barrytown Trilogy, followed by The Snapper (1993) and The Van (1996).

Producers Lynda Myles and Roger Randall-Cutler acquired the film rights to the novel in 1988, and commissioned Doyle, a first-time screenwriter, to write an adaptation. Doyle spent one year working on the script before Myles brought in veteran screenwriters Clement and La Frenais to help complete it. Upon reading the novel, Parker signed on as the film's director in 1989. An international co-production between Ireland, the United States and the United Kingdom, The Commitments was the first film produced by Beacon Pictures, which provided an estimated budget of $12–15 million. The film's young lead actors were mostly inexperienced, and were cast because of their musical backgrounds and resemblance to the characters in the novel. Principal photography took place in Dublin, from late August to October, 1990.

The Commitments underperformed at the North American box office, grossing $14.9 million during its theatrical run. Reviewers praised the music, performances and humour, while criticism was occasionally aimed at the pacing and Parker's direction. The film resulted in two soundtrack albums released by MCA Records; the first reached #8 on the Billboard 200 album chart and achieved triple-platinum status, while the second album achieved gold sales status. At the 1992 British Academy Film Awards, the film won four of six BAFTA Awards for Best Film, Best Direction, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Editing. It also received an Academy Award nomination for Best Film Editing. The film has since gained cult status.

* (borrowed from Wikipedia)

 

DRIPPING ON MY KEYBOARD

I first became aware of my grandparent's disappointment of me when I was a teenager. It was deserved, but it still hurt when my grandfather told me his dog was better than me. I had done some horrible things and yes, I had deserved scorn, but I didn't deserve cruelty.  Now, as an adult I look back on that part of my life and I wonder why no one stepped up and saw that I was in crisis. I was struggling. Jesus, I had my first overdose back then. Was it so hard to figure out I had some serious problems? I'm not excusing my behavior because I was incorrigible. I hurt many people and I'm deeply ashamed of that and always will be.

Whenever I would go "home" to Maine I always spent one day visiting my deceased relatives.  My brothers always thought this was rather morbid of me, but it never struck me that way.  I ways grabbed some lunch at a fast food place and ate lunch with my father, grandfather, grandmother and aunt.  They were all buried next to each other in the same cemetery.  On one such visit, I had had an emotional awakening the entire time I was in Maine.  My feelings were raw and I needed to vent so sitting there in front of my father and grandparents who were all non-participating entities in my life growing up I blasted them with everything I had.  I'm glad I was alone because if anyone had been in earshot, they would have thought I was crazy.  My final words to my father were, "Carl Goggins, are you listening to me?" Of course, he wasn't!  He had been dead for over 30 years at that time.  My words fell on deaf ears and my tears fell on stone marker bearing his name.

My next stop was to visit my mother's parents. My heart was so heavy because I knew what a disappointment I had been to them and I had just come from having "words" with my father.  I wish I had been able to say I'm sorry to them while they were still alive.  I wish they had known the turmoil I felt inside me growing up.  I wish they knew the panic I felt.  I wish they knew that I felt I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to and how trapped I felt.  I had to keep everything inside and for a child that's a huge burden.  Eventually it's going to erupt and it did erupt.  When it did, all everyone saw was a kid acting bad and not one person questioned why I was acting that way.  I don't think anyone cared or wanted to know because no one wanted to take any responsibility.

I pulled into the small cemetery where my grandparents are buried and got out of the car.  But instead of going to their grave, I stopped dead in my tracks. On top of their headstone was a huge roll of duct tape.  There wasn't a soul in the small cemetery and why would someone leave a roll of duct tape on my grandparents headstone?  I started laughing because I have a "thing" about duct tape and I took it as my father's answer that he was listening to me. I took the roll and sat down with my grandparents and told them I was sorry for being a disappointment to them and I wept.  It hurt to say that.  It hurts to admit that I hurt so many people that I loved and I wasn't able to tell them I was sorry while they were alive.

Now, let me fast forward to the present day...my mother is 92.  I love her dearly, but we've had a what I'll call a "ruffled" relationship my entire life.  It's never been smooth.  I'm her only daughter, but I've always wondered things like why she never sat me down at a certain age and showed me how to put make up on or how to style my hair, etc. when she herself dressed to the nines and looked like a model whenever she left the house. The other day I sat down in hopes that with the time we have left together that I might try to mend our relationship somewhat and make it smoother by offering an apology.  It was so difficult for me to hand her the olive branch, but I did it. I told her that I was so sorry that I wasn't the daughter that she needed and wanted me to be.  I told her that I really wanted us to enjoy what time we had left together and that I didn't want us to keep butting our heads together all the time (that's a story for another day.) I said I didn't want to be a disappointment to her any longer. My mother sat there without any reaction whatsoever while I wept and said nothing. She said nothing. She said nothing and she has said nothing about it since. End of discussion.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions that have flooded through me lately. I feel as though she continually punishes me for things I did long ago. I know karma is a bitch, but when is enough enough? When have you paid your dues? When are you truly forgiven? I can't help, but feel that my mother's silence is her way of being cruel because at 92 she's limited in what she can actually do now. I mean she can't whack the hell out of me with a hairbrush or a wooden spoon. Oh, I guess she could try, but I'm a little faster than her. I really hate to say that I think it's her way of being cruel  because I do love her. Jesus Christ! Now, I'm crying again! And I have to go find some meme to fit this stupid ass whiny post. Blah! Blah! Blah! Oh Mildred! Dry it up! Go get a Kleenex! You're dripping all over the keyboard!

By the way, I still have that huge roll of duct tape my father gave me and I use it quite often.  Each time I use it, I think of him and I actually thank him. The last time was to tape a hole worn in the fingers of my favorite pair of gardening gloves. Don't say "get a new pair!"  I've looked and they don't make that exact same pair and that's the pair I want so when I wear a hole in the fingers...duct tape it is! Thank you, Carl Goggins!

Can I get an Amen up in here?

Addendum: written 10/23/2022 Sunday morning - My mother passed away almost six months after I wrote this blog post on 6/1/2020. Although I'm much better now grieving has been a difficult process and finding purpose in life after being a caregiver for two elderly parents for the better part of two decades of my life has been challenging. When the options are limitless, how does one choose what to do?

DAY 14 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

I learned never to say never, but I'll say it's highly unlikely that I'll ever get married again because it's not something I desire or need for any reason but since it was on the list of 30 Songs in 30 Days, what the hell...

Day 14: A song you’d love to be played at your wedding 

Queen comments on the song:

I listened to a lot of soul music when I was in school, and I've always been interested in that sort of music. I'd been wanting to do a track like 'Another One Bites the Dust' for a while, but originally all I had was the line and the bass riff. Gradually, I filled it in and the band added ideas. I could hear it as a song for dancing but had no idea it would become as big as it did. The song got picked up off our album and some of the black radio stations in the US started playing it, which we've never had before. Michael Jackson actually suggested we release it as a single. He was a fan of ours and used to come to our shows. —John Deacon

A fantastic bit of work from Freddie really. I mean, I remember Deacy having this idea, but Deacy doesn't sing of course, so he was trying to suggest to Freddie how it should be and Fred just went in there and hammered and hammered until his throat bled, making... you know, he really was inspired by it and took it to a new height, I think. —Brian May

John Deacon, being totally in his own world, came up with this thing, which was nothing like what we were doing. We were going for the big drum sound: you know, quite pompous in our usual way. And Deakey says, "No, I want this to be totally different: it's going to be a very tight drum sound." It was originally done to a drum loop - this was before the days of drum machines. Roger did a loop, kind of under protest, because he didn't like the sound of the drums recorded that way. And then Deakey put this groove down. Immediately Freddie became violently enthusiastic and said, "This is big! This is important! I'm going to spend a lot of time on this." It was the beginning of something quite big for us, because it was the first time that one of our records crossed over to the black community. We had no control over that; it just happened. Suddenly we were forced to put out this single because so many stations in New York were playing it. It changed that album from being a million-seller to being a three-million seller in a matter of three weeks or so. —Brian May

[Freddie] would certainly fight for things he believed in. Like 'Another One Bites the Dust' which was a bit of a departure for Queen. Roger, at the time, certainly felt that it wasn't rock and roll and was quite angry at the way it was going. And Freddie said, "Darling, leave it to me. I believe in this." John had written the song. But it took Freddie's support to make it happen. —Brian May

I remember laying down the backing track with him and... he really wanted the drums as dry as they could possibly be, so I just stuffed it all with blankets and made it as dead as I possibly could and very low tuned. —Roger Taylor

Credit for the song should go to Michael Jackson in many ways. He was a fan and friend of ours and kept telling me, "Freddie, you need a song the cats can dance to." John introduced this riff to us during rehearsal that we all immediately thought of disco, which was very popular at the time. We worked it out and once it was ready, played it for Michael. I knew we had a hit as he bobbed his head up and down. "That's it, that's the gravy. Release it and it will top the charts," he said. So we did and it did. —Freddie Mercury

Use in medical training:

"Another One Bites the Dust" was used in a study to train medical professionals to provide the correct number of chest compressions per minute while performing CPR.] The bassline has close to 110 beats per minute, and 100–120 chest compressions per minute are recommended by the British Heart Foundation, and endorsed by the Resuscitation Council (UK).

 *(borrowed from Wikipedia)

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE?

It always amazes me that as a child I paid such close attention to my surroundings. For example, I vividly remember the leaves as they changed colors in fall and the smell of lilacs as they bloomed in the late spring. What amazes me even more than that is every once in awhile, but not very often as a child I did as I was told by the adults in my life. Because I paid such close attention to my surroundings, I have memories with vivid details of those surroundings. When I think back to my childhood, it's almost like being there again. I can almost feel the leaves scatter beneath me as I jump in a pile of freshly raked leaves or how a McIntosh apple smells when I pick it from an apple tree.

My exposure to horticulture started early on and the neighborhood flora seemed to have played a pretty significant role in my formative years and in some of the memories I still deeply cherish. When I remember the plants growing around my house it always makes me smile even though the plants themselves weren't anything super special or rare. At the corner of my house grew a lilac bush that bloomed every May (60 years later that same bush is still there). If I close my eyes I can still smell its sweet fragrance. Nameless, naughty children would eat the blossoms. Why? Just because they could! In fact, they did many things just because they could. It's a good thing I never associated with any of those hooligans! Along the front and street side of my house grew irises and day lilies. The purples and oranges were stunning when they were in bloom, but they always remained safe from the nameless, naughty children's wrath and veracious appetite.

Early on there were two bridal wreath bushes that framed the front entrance of my house. The lovely delicate white fluffiness never lasted very long and were quite messy as the blossoms were dropped on the concrete walkway. Those bushes were removed at some point in time, but I wasn't consulted on their removal so I don't have a clue as to why they were selected for elimination.  In the back along the alley between my house and the neighbors grew a few burdock bushes. Burdocks are no more than an invasive weed, but for nameless, naughty children they were a plethora of trouble and fun rolled into one. Many a burdock from those bushes found their way into the neighborhood children's hair. They would stick like velcro and tangle long hair in merciless, matted clumps and then cause quite a little hoopla when removed.

Dandelions are also considered weeds, but they were so beautiful blooming against the deep green color of the soft, velvety grass of my lawn. I never understood how something so lovely could be called a weed. As mentioned in a previous blog post, nameless, naughty children found mischievous uses for those lovely weeds like staining white porches with them. My grandmother used to dig up the dandelion greens from her yard in the country and cook them...OMG! They used to make me gag. Now, fiddleheads on the other hand are a great treat to eat.

In the neighborhood, I remember blue hydrangeas (no one ever seemed to add any chemicals to the soil in order to turn them pink). Chinese lanterns had a firm orange ball inside that always fascinated me. The naughty, nameless children thought they were great to pelt at each other because they hurt less than pebbles and didn't leave any marks. Buttercups (why don't you build me buttercup...sorry, I couldn't help myself from singing that song and now damn it, it's stuck in my head) were used by nameless, naughty children to make predictions.

If a yellow glow could be seen when holding the flower under someone's chin then that meant crazy things were going to happen. If I remember correctly, the predictions were as naughty as the children were. Of course, none of this ever pertained to me! The neighborhood maple trees turned brilliant shades in the fall and when the leaves started to drop, we raked them up into the huge piles to jump in and the cherry trees a few houses up from where I lived had gnarly diseased branches that nameless, naughty children used to chase other children around with claiming it was dog poop on the branches. Those nameless, naughty children seemed to be like the hoards of "walkers" from The Walking Dead...what a menace they were! I can't help, but wonder what naughty things they do now as naughty, nameless adults!

While I was looking at pictures of various plants that are indigenous to Maine, I discovered one of the weeds/plants from my childhood days that grew everywhere. Luckily, none of the nameless, naughty
children ever tried to do anything with the berries other than pick them and throw the ripe juicy berries at one another. I tend to think someone must have told us that they were poisonous, but I have no clear memory of any such warning. The bittersweet nightshade plant is in the tomato family, but is highly poisonous. Wow! I'm almost in a state of shock that I never pushed the envelope and tried eating one or that my brothers didn't hold me down and stuff a few in my mouth to chew to see what would happen. The possibilities really make me cringe! I guess it really is true...ignorance is bliss and what you don't know can't hurt you. Those naughty, nameless children were invincible!

*repost and edited from April 1, 2019