parodies of my past

I've been on a mini-jag about parodies recently, so -- what the-hey-- let me mention a couple parodies that schoolmates wrote years ago.

The first mention goes to Matt Ruff -- I am not changinmg the name since he is a public figure. Matt is a novelist whom I knew in high school. Maybe that's too strong. Matt and I were mutually aware of each other's existence. We were in at least one class together -- a creative writing class taught by Frank McCourt (who would go on to win a Pulitzer prize for his memoir, Angela's Ashes. I doubt that Matt would remember me.

Anyway, many of the school's clubs published annual or semi-annual magazines (I was on the staff of The Straphanger, which was published by the school's subway club). One of the magazines -- I think it only published one issue -- was a creative writing compilation called The Mag Bag because it was distributed as loose sheets of paper in a plastic bag. What I mean is, if you bought a copy, you got a clear plastic bag with a stack of paper in it.

That one issue contained a few (song parodies that Matt wrote. All of the parodies were of Billy Joel songs. I remember one of them, a parody of "Don't Ask Me Why," was titled "Don't Ask Me Why." I remember nothing alse about it. There was at least one that I recall nothing about. The one that I have some real memory of was "Only The Smart Die Young," which was a parody of "Only The Good Die Young." By way of background, this was Stuyvesant High School, and the conceit at the school was that we were the smartest kids out there. Admission was granted via exam, and we, the students, were told from day one that we were the best. I wish I could remember all of the words to "Only the Smart..." but -- 30-plus years later, some elude me. I do remember the following:

Come out Virginia, don't let me wait.
You Stuyvesant girls start much too late
Ah, but sooner or later it comes down to fate.
I might as well be the one.

Well, they showed you a classroom and told you to learn
[something something] or you're gonna burn

You might have heard that I run with a neanderthal crowd.
We ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud.
We might be cheating a bit too loud.

She never cared for me
But did she ever fix a grade for me?

They say there's a college for those who will wait.
Some say it's better but I say it ain't

You got a nice black gown and a party on your graduation.
You have a brand new school, and a golden rule.
But Virginia they didn't give you quite enough education.
You didn't count on me.
You were counting on your SAT.

You get the picture. It was really a well-done parody.

I'm not quite sure what would be an appropriate video to accompany the post above, since Matt never did record this song (to the mest of my knowledge). So, what the heck, here's a video of Frank McCourt (mentioned above), sharing his memories of me.

The second song parody I want to mention was from my college years. Every year the Student Association would have a talent show. I had a friend, Steve, whom I had known since high school, who liked to put together a song-and-dance routine centerred on a song parody. During our sophomore year he (and the two others he got to perform with him) won first prize. But they had some kind of dispute over how to divvy up the cash prize. One of his coperformers thought it should be split evenly. He, having written and choreographed the routine, felt that he should get the lion's share. I have no idea how it all turned out in the end.

At any rate, during our junior or senior year (I forget which), Steve asked me to be part of his act. It was three of us in costumes (I was the milk carton), singing  a medley of "You Give Lunch a Bad Name" and "Living on Bayer." These were parodies of the Bon Jovi songs "You Give Lunch a Bad Name" and "Living on a Prayer." These parodies were about the food in the cafeteria. The parodies were very well-written, though I can't remember any lines. Unfortunately the sound system wasn't loud enough, so wehen we went on I couldn't hear the background music, and that threw us off. We recovered, but that false start cost us points and we didn't win.

At least there was no prize money to fight over.

guitar vs. piano

A while ago I posted something about songwriting lessons I have learned. I made a point about soft rhymes -- the fact that rhymes in lyrics don't have to always exactly rhyme. In doing so I used the Billy Joel song, "You May Be Right" as an illustrative example, and included the video. I mentioned the post to a coworker who is a big Billy Joel fan.

I was surprised by his reaction to it. He noted that "You May Be Right" is not one of his favorite Billy Joel songs (this surprised me because it is one of mine). And he particularly didn't care for the video, in which Joel is standing, and singing into the microphone instead of sitting at a piano. I din't remember his exact words, but it was something to the point that the video showed Joel doing a Mick Jagger impression, and he prefers Billy Joel, the piano man. That, by the way, meshes nicely with my colleague's interest in Elton John as well. He likes piano-based rock and roll. I note for the record that I don't know if his preference explains his liking of Billy Joel and Elton John, or if it is a result of his exposure to Joel and John and forming his taste around them.

As my taste goes, piano is fine and all, but I really prefer the guitar as the driving instrument in rock. That goes for early rock -- I've always preferred Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins over Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis. And in the realm of the more modern, my favorite performers and bands have sounds that are built around guitars.. All guitar based. And even with Billy Joel, who is a pianist, I prefer the tracks where the piano is downplayed -- "You May Be Right" (as noted above), and "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me."

Just for the hell of it, here are a couple of videos.

"Heat Treatment" by Graham Parker and the Rumour

"Semaphore Signals" by Wreckless Eric

''נתתי לה חיי'' by כוורת

lovely wrapping on an icky present

One of my favorite songs is "Marie Provost," from Nick Lowe's debut album, Pure Pop for Now People (for purists or Brits, that would be Jesus of Cool). It's got such a pleasant sound -- jangly guitars, bouncy beat, and harmonies on the vocal. And I don't sing it or play it if my wife's around, since she loathes the song.

Why? Well, there is the subject matter. "Marie Provost," tells the story of a silent film actress who can't make the transition to talkies. She dies destitute, and is eaten by her hungry dog. The signature couplet is "She was a winner / Who became her doggie's dinner." The song is based very loosely on the life and death of actress Marie Prevost. Her dog didn't actually eat her, her legs did have tiny bite marks when her body was found. Presumably her dog was trying to wake her. I provide that detail only to avoide impugning the collective reputation of dogs.

You can hear the song here:

"Marie Provost" is one of many songs that sound very pleasant but are, well, icky, if you pay attention to the lyrics. A better known example is Billy Joel's "Always a Woman":

"And she'll promise you more than the Garden of Eden / And she'll carelessly cut you and life while you're bleedin'"? Not exactly a great character reference. But he's singing softly, almost wistfully. The piano is pleasant. So it's easy, if you're not paying attention, to miss how truly angry the song is.

One more example... "Every Breath You Take," (AKA The Stalker Song) by the Police. In interviews, Sting has said that occasionally he hears of couples using this as a wedding song. Now that's creepy.

If anyone has other examples of this, songs that sound all pleasant but are actually icky, I'd be curious to have them brought to my attention.

I ahve to wonder, sometimes, if listening to unpleasant messages like this affect the way one views the world? Is such an effect mitigated if one isn't really paying attention? Or is it actually reinforced because it takes on a subliminal quality?

Anyone out there studied the psychology of music?

a backward view due to weird al

I was at the supermarket, and the radio playing background music started playing "I Want It That Way" by the Backstreet Boys came on. I didn't recognize it as the Backstreet Boys. I just new it as the song that "Weird Al" Yankovic parodied with his song, "eBay."

Earlier in the day I was with my daughter in the waiting room at doctor's office and Billy Joel's "Vienna" came on the radio. I pointed out to my daughter that the song was by the same guy who did "Piano Man," which Weird Al parodied into "Spider Man." Let me note for the record that I am aware that the Weird Al song is called "Ode to a Superhero." But for reference I find it easier to just call it "Spider Man." We had been talking about royalties, and how songwriters get paid when people put their songs on records. She asked me if Weird Al gets royalties for "Piano Man." She was surprised to learn that "Spider Man" was based on "Piano Man," and not vice versa.

As background, I should explain that we have most of Weird Al's work, and we keep copies of his albums in the car. We didn't used to. But on a family road trip in 2010 our youngest child (who was then two years old) took a strong liking to Weird Al, a few of whose songs were on Doctor Demento compilations that we had brought along. At one point he decided that he liked "Smells Like Nirvana," and had us play that over and over again for hours straight. Mostly he would say "again" every time the song ended. Sometimes he would be distracted when the song ended, and we would hear the beginning of the next song. But eventually he would notice and insist that we go back. At other times he wanted repeated playings of "Weasel Stomping Day," and at others it was "Amish Paradise."

But this past year, on roadtrip 2011, it was "Spiderman." He loves the character and anything about him, so of course he wanted repeat playings of the song. And more repeat playings of the song. And still more repeat playings of the song. At one point I put on the radio and we heard "Piano Man." It was during the instrumental break, and he was all happy until we heard Billy Joel's vocals.

So we, as a family, have a backward view of Weird Al. There are a bunch of his parodies that we are very familiar with, while we have at best a passing awareness of the original work. I love "White & Nerdy," while being unfamiliar with Chamillionaire's "Ridin'." And I can't say what "TMZ" and "Party in the CIA" are parodies of. Admittedly, though, there have been cases where an appreciation of one of his parodies led me to look up and appreciate the original work. I have a new appreciation of Coolio after hearing his song, "Gangsta's Paradise." I only found interest in that because of "Amish Paradise."

Now, part of that is a function of age. At 46 I am not as up on what's cool as I was at 18. When it comes to the songs he parodied on In 3-D, which was released when I was 18, I was pretty familiar with all of those. Of course, in a bunch of cases I still liked the Weird Al parodies better.

i was in the club

I was in high school when I joined the Columbia House Music Club. That was the one that advertised on TV and in magazine? They sent you, what was it? Eight? Twelve? records or tapes or 8-tracks for a penny. But you committed to buying eight more (I don't remember the exact number) at regular club prices. Oh, and when you bought your first album at club prices they sent you another eight. And to make sure you really thought you were getting away with something, the TV adds let you in on the secret -- that you could writte the numbers of additional items you wanted in those extra unmarked blank boxes. So, all in all, you got like twenty-zillion albums for the price of one. Or so it seemed.

My purpose here isn't to look at how the club worked or how it made money. I'll let Mental Floss do that.

I was in high school, with a growing interest in music, and a Walkman (technically, a Toshiba portable stereo). So I joined Columbia House, and chose to get music on cassette tape. Yeah, choosing cassette was stupid -- the sound quality on prerecorded cassettes was pretty awful. But what did I know?

I remember having all sorts of fantasies of joining under a fake name, then (after getting the free tapes) claiming that I never signed up. It must have been some prank. And, no, I'm not sending you back these tapes. Thank you very much. But I didn't do that. What I did do was cancel my membership after my obligations had been met and freebies had been received. Then I rejoined to start the process over again. I bthink I only once ended up buying something I didn't want (because I forgot to return the monthly featured album on time).

I remember a lot of the albums that I got, though I don't recall much about the order.

I got a bunch of Barry Manillow tapes -- my sister liked him, and so I, worshipful little brother, felt that I had to as well. Don't get me wrong. I still kind of like a few of his songs -- "Mandy" (hey -- she came and she gave without taking, but I sent her away) "Copacabana (Disco)" and "I Write The Songs." But my tastes have gone elsewhere. Now, I'd be satisfied with a greatest hits package.

I got three Supertramp albums (because I liked "The Logical Song"), Being With You by Smokey Robinson (because I'd heard the title track on radio a bunch of times), The Captain and Tennille's Greatest Hits (remember "Love Will Keep Us Together"? Apparently it did, since they're still married), something by Dionne Warwick (I must have recognized a song title or something), and a compilation of The Lettermen (I have no idea why). No, that'snot the complete list. But it gives you an idea of what I was interested in.

So I listened to these tapes on my Walkman, and brought them with me on shabbatons (weekend trips with Jewish youth groups) with Young Judea. I still remember one of them. While the cool kids were listening to AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" on a huge boombox, I was hanging out with my friends and a small Radio Shack tape recorder (that usually stayed with my TRS-80 computer), playing "Rainbow Connection" from the soundtrack to The Muppets Movie. I still remember Miriam going through my box of tapes, and then asking dissapointedly if I didn't have any Billy Joel? Years later, we were hanging out and I told her I had Billy Joel. She just kind of looked at me funny. The moment was gone.

I still had those tapes years later, long after I had lost all interest in most of them, bought vinyl versions of the ones that still interested me, and bought CD versions of most of those. Those old cassettes, with their hissing background noise and their cracked and broken cases still sat on my shelf, mocking me. With my wife's encouragement, I eventually threw them out. She knows that I have Billy Joel.

songwriting lessons i have learned

I have previously mentioned that I do a little songwriting on the side. I'm not particularly prolific. If you look at completed songs, I have three -- and two of them involve co-authors.

There was a time that I wrote prolifically. Back in high school I wrote dozens (maybe hundreds) of songs. But, to be charitable, they weren't very good. I think my more recent efforts are better. There are a lot of reasons for the improvement. But I'm going to focus on three lessons I've learned. Let me note that I am focusing here on the lyrics rather than the melody. There are two reasons for that:

1. I think of myself more as a lyricist than composer; and
2. I know very little formal music theory, and so can't express concepts of melody or chord progression in written form. At least not well.

I try not to be too rigid. In many of my early attempts at songwriting, I thought that verses had to match each other syllable for syllable. If the first verse had ten syllables in the first line, then each verse had to have ten syllables in the first line. So I spent a lot of time counting syllables, and trying to add or delete in order to make the count right. This led to many awkward turns of phrase, and many words that were pronounced with the emphasis on the wrong syllable. I have since learned to rely on feel rather than syllable counts. If it sounds right, then it doesn't matter if two syllables are squeezed together or one is drawn out a little longer. Consider, for example, the Lennon/McCartney classic, "I Saw Her Standing There":

The first line of the first verse has seven syllables: "Well she was just seventeen." The first line of the second verse has five: "Well she looked at me." But it works because "she was just" in the first verse is pressed into the same musical space as "she" in the second.

When rhyming, it's more important that the sounds please the ear than that the rhyme is perfect. Take, for example, the first two lines of Billy Joel's "You May Be Right":

That's right. He rhymed "party" with "sorry." But it worked.

Finally, I have learned not to try to spell out every detail. This one I only learned recently, and it was a real epiphany that allowed me to finally make progress on a song I was working on called "Do You Think of Me (Now and Again)?" It's a song about remembering a former significant other. I had been having trouble for the longest time, trying to figure out the details of the past relationship and how to put it in words. Then it hit me: I don't have to. I can be vague, provide enough information to provide context, and let the listener imagine the details. A good example is the Elvis Presley song "Teddy Bear" (written by Kal Mann and Bernie Lowe):

It's a great song. It gets the idea across. But there's not really much detail.