Dear Biggie, Tupac, 50Cent, Jay-Z, Nas, Ice Cube and all of the others who’ve argued over petty issues,
You should’ve listened to KRS ONE when he told you to Squash All Beef.
Sincerely,
Nat Andreini
Tagged: beef
Dear Biggie, Tupac, 50Cent, Jay-Z, Nas, Ice Cube and all of the others who’ve argued over petty issues,
You should’ve listened to KRS ONE when he told you to Squash All Beef.
Sincerely,
Nat Andreini
Tagged: beef
Tagged: 1977 Ford Ranchero GT, art project, dudes, engine, flocking, manly, muscle car, Sincerely John Head, stripes, tribute
The year 1977 (MCMLXXVII) was a common year starting on a Saturday. In many countries where Sundays are holidays, Saturday is part of the weekend, and is traditionally a day of relaxation. However, in western culture, parties are held on Saturdays because it precedes Sunday, a day of rest.
Born from a party atmosphere and aesthetic, the year 1977 produced an appropriate musical soundtrack. Legendary bands like The Sex Pistols, The Clash, and the Talking Heads made their debuts in 1977; the same year Elvis Presley died, and Led Zeppelin played their final concert in the United States. Within this grave wound, our popular culture beckoned for one last great rock’n’roll album to negotiate the end of an era, and with it came Foghat LIVE.
Tagged: 1977, classic rock, era, Foghat LIVE, party atmosphere, Saturday
Having read the recent New York Times article, Sinatra Song Often Strikes Deadly Chord, about the handful of karaoke-inspired murders in the Philippines, I continue to marvel at how one song has the power to compel people to kill each other. It’s as if the “My Way” lyrics hold a latent code of explosives that, once triggered, insight riotous behavior in men.
I do not entirely agree with the article’s slant toward Filipino violence. The Philippines is a rough place, yes, but chocking up the ‘My Way killings’ to a society full of proud men who do not tolerate bad karaoke singing is a bit of a stretch. Though the article was well researched, I think it lacked one last ingredient that may contribute to the situation. For instance, it made no mention about the two highly influential performers who have covered and recorded “My Way” in the past: Sid Vicious and Nina Simone. Clearly, the song attracts strong personalities.
The Paul Anka song, written for and popularized by Frank Sinatra in 1969, begins in crooning balladry, as a man lies upon his deathbed facing the final curtain. The song is about looking back on life with absolutely no regret, however adulterous. I imagine that people who sing “My Way” might feel empowered when the lyrics, once applied to their own lives, wash them clean of their past misconduct. Singing it might in fact be more redemptive than attending the confessional booth, especially for the non pious.
The triumphant final verse affirms self-righteousness:
For what is a man what has he got If not himself then he has naught To say the things he truly feels And not the words of one who kneels The record shows I took the blows And did it my way
In 1979, after his break with the Sex Pistols, Sid Vicious made his solo debut at age 22, posthumously, with a handful of poorly recorded cover songs on the album Sid Sings. I first heard this version of “My Way” on a mixtape that an old friend made for me in the early 1980’s. Sid used Sinatra’s song as a template, but tailored some of the lyrics to define his own life, adding a pinch of heroin references to spice things up. Though his version of the song arrived quite early in his music career, he was already looking back on his past with a middle finger. Not only did he alter the original lyrics, but his version was a bit faster and vocally mocking, too. Try to imagine the sound of Tarzan swinging into the boxing ring as Rocky Balboa screams for Adrian after the big fight. It’s the perfect collision of sincerity and parody that makes this song so good.
On the other hand, Nina Simone recorded “My Way” in 1971, when she had more than a decade of her best albums behind her. Like Sid Vicious, however, her song made its debut on an album of cover songs. Known for her deeply moving and heart-wrenching songs, as well as her outspoken views on racial issues during the Civil Rights Movement, Nina Simone’s “My Way” is up-tempo and tinted with African rhythms that evoke a much cheerier disposition than both the Sinatra and Sid Vicious numbers.
While doing research for this piece, I went to a karaoke bar to sing “My Way” to see if any sparks would fly. Oddly, the only thing that revealed itself was my Inner Beatle.
Tagged: Frank Sinatra, Inner Beatle, karaoke, lyric interpretation, My Way, New York Times, Nina Simone, Paul Anka, Philippines, Sid Vicious
The first time I heard The Beatles was in the living room of my friend’s house in San Mateo, CA, in 1983. I was in the 3rd grade and had made an unlikely friendship with a kid who had no other friends. He was a little different. I’ll just say that he was the only kid at age 9 listening to heavy metal and mimicking, by mouth, speed metal guitar solos at recess. Before we became friends, I remember him air guitaring and air drumming on the back of my chair (he sat right behind me).
Anyway, his dad, an old Hungarian with a penchant for collecting music on reel to reel, had a few songs from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. We used to sit in the living room, shades drawn in the middle of the day, drinking juice boxes while listening to “Strawberry Fields Forever” and “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”, just enjoying the melodies, too young to comprehend the lyrics steeped in drug references. We enjoyed the reel to reel’s whirring in the background and the sound the tape made as it filled the take up reel, smacking to a halt when the two songs finished.
It was also at Istvan’s house where I was introduced to the white album. The house behind his mom and dad’s place was being rented by a guy named Rory, a super tall and toothy antique limo driver (Cadillacs), who wasn’t afraid to chat it up with dirty little kids with potentially sticky fingers. On weekends, he was always in the driveway washing and waxing his two cream-colored beauties. One summer day, Istvan and I were skateboarding in the driveway when Rory approached us holding a battered and yellowed copy of the white album. He asked Istvan if he wanted to have the record, and Istvan thought for a second before saying, ‘no, my dad already has a nicer copy in his collection’. Then Rory turned my direction saying, “What about you, Nat? You want it?” with a horse grin that stretched the width of his face. Before I could manage to really see what he was giving me, I’d said “yes, thanks” and he was gone. I stood there holding the 12×12 inch square that was precariously hanging together by various shades of sun bleached Scotch tape, the cover stained with something brown and splotchy. I couldn’t tell if I was the butt of a joke, at the wrong place at the wrong time. What I didn’t know was that I was holding onto what was to become my all-time favorite record, in fact, the record; faded and scratched and skipping all over the place. The only way to listen to an entire song without skips was to balance a stack of quarters on the tone arm, but the hissing and crackling of that old record only enriched the music.
For years, I refused to ‘update’ my version of the white album. I couldn’t bring myself to purchase a crisper version of it on CD. I held onto the record Rory gave me that bright day, repeatedly listening to it in its scratchy condition. It sounded like reaching into a brown paper lunch bag that had been at the bottom of a sandy backpack all day, crammed amid folders and heavy textbooks. The warm, concaved PB&J sandwich at the very bottom, pinned beneath a green apple.
Tagged: LP, memories, personal history, reel-to-reel, The Beatles, turntable, White Album