
Tagged: 1977, graphic design, The Beatles, Yokoo Tadanori

Tagged: 1977, graphic design, The Beatles, Yokoo Tadanori
LOVE
Rumours – Fleetwood Mac
Rocky – Soundtrack
Marquee Moon – Television
Eddie Money – Eddie Money
Opposite People – Fela and Afrika 70
Water Babies – Miles Davis
Pink Flag – Wire
Aja – Steely Dan
Solid Gold – James Brown
77 – Talking Heads
Exodus – Bob Marley
The Clash – The Clash
Heroes – David Bowie
Nevermind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols – Sex Pistols
Animals – Pink Floyd
HATE
I’m In You – Peter Frampton
Fly Like An Eagle – Steve Miller Band
Hotel California – Eagles
The Stranger – Billy Joel
Boston – Boston
LOVE / HATE
LIVE – Foghat
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 would contribute to better understanding this song. For example, by touching upon some of the other 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 it might have been. I imagine that people who sing “My Way” feel empowered when the lyrics, once applied to their own lives, wash them clean of their past misconducts. Singing it might even be more redemptive than visiting the confessional booth.
The triumphant final verse affirms that it was all worth it in the end:
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 Nina Simone recorded “My Way” in 1971, when she had more than a decade of her best albums behind her. Known for her deeply moving and heart-wrenching songs, as well as her outspoken views on racial issues about the Civil Rights Movement, Nina Simone’s “My Way” is an up-tempo tune tinted with African rhythms that evoke a much cheerier disposition than both the Sinatra and Sid Vicious numbers.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 an old friend gave 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 giving the middle finger to his past hardships. Not only did he alter the original lyrics, but his version was much faster and vocally mocking. Try to imagine the sound of Tarzan would make 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.
While doing research for this article, I visited my local karaoke club to see if any sparks would fly during my rendition of “My Way.” With a pint of cheap lager in my left hand and the microphone in my right, I sang the lyrics with a sense of ownership and even let myself croon through the chorus with a British accent. And when I held the long final note, nobody laughed at me or shook their finger at me. Nobody plugged their ears or ran from the building. When it was all over, I let the experience wash over me with eyes closed, the words settling into their places within my personal history and I understood. Singing “My Way” in front of an audience was transformational; once I’d made it to the other side, I felt absolved of blame and ready to start anew.
Tagged: cover song, Frank Sinatra, karaoke, Philippines, violence
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 his 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 (vintage white Cadillacs). On weekends, he was always in the driveway washing and waxing his two beauties. One summer day, my friend and I were skateboarding in the driveway when Rory approached us holding a battered and yellowed copy of the white album. He asked us if we wanted to have the record, and I stood there silently as my friend said, “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 didn’t know it would soon 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 is to balance a stack of quarters on the tone arm. But the hissing and crackling of that old record only enriches 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 or buy new LP with liner notes and lyrics. I’ve held onto the record Rory gave me that bright day, repeatedly listening to it in its scratchy condition. It sounds 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