A music series for our ailing hearts

American Crisis Playlist #11

Rising Tides

After a trip to Edisto Island, where my family and I were decidedly socially distanced and conscious, it’s back to the ongoing new reality of life. The semester at our college started yesterday, and so far, so good. At least for my Creative Nonfiction class and me. Like most people, I wake up every morning hoping that our lives have remained as regular as possible. I saw some people on the beach who likely don’t worry, except in that crazy QAnon sort of way.

I would ask, “Who believes that weird shit?” but do I really want an answer? Likely not.

I miss my daughters terribly, and I know we just had nine days together. It’s never enough and the house is too quiet again. Don’t worry, music is coming to fill our fevered void.

I do have to say that I watched the DNC last night, and among all the wonderful speeches — especially by Amy Klobuchar, Bernie Sanders, and of course Michelle Obama — I was heartened by the Republicans who spoke out against the orange plague and for Biden/Harris. Love you John Kasich.

I probably haven’t been going as high as Michelle would like, and so I hope my better angels emerge here and now. No promises, but here’s to trying, and to ousting orange plagues come November, and other viruses as soon as humanly possible.

Wear your mask (we got a RollTide version) and figure out how to vote and:

#BLM.

AMERICAN CRISIS PLAYLIST #11

“Dead of Night,” Orville Peck, from 2019’s Pony. C’mon, you know you love him. Listen to this dirge-country ballad and tell me why he isn’t in your steady and heavy rotation? Those guitar notes at the beginning perfectly complement his voice. “We laugh until we cry.” That pretty much sums up life, unless you want to do it backwards, which sometimes happens. How many other past traditional country stars do you think were gay? Not to out anyone, but it’s something to ponder in the …
“Dreams (for Layla),” Fleetwood Mac, from 1977’s Rumors. Something else that happens in the dead of night to many of us. I keep dreaming about my lost cats — the ones who passed naturally and the ones who left in other ways that I’ll never understand. Why do I keep dreaming about them? My therapist said it was because I loved them so and they’re assuring me that they are still with me and know that I loved them. So. Do I believe that? Why shouldn’t I? If only those crystal visions, which I don’t, apparently, keep strictly to myself, were real. I guess you’d say, who’s to say they’re not?
“Hey Baby (They’re Playing Our Song), The Buckinghams, 1968, from Portraits. This one came to me at the beach. Originally, it came to me by mistake. I was 12 in ’68, and went downtown to Pizitz to buy the latest Paul Revere and the Raiders 45, a picture sleeve of “Don’t Take It So Hard.” When I got home, I did take it hard when I discovered that the record I wanted was not there and in its place, this great Buckinghams tune. I could have whined until my mother drove me back and exchanged it, but instead, I put it on our stereo. Still have it, too: “It’s the one with the pretty melody.”
“Get Ready,” Rare Earth, 1970, covering The Temptations’ hit on their debut record of the same name. Now, if you have that album, you alone know that the title song clocks in at 21+minutes. What on this rare earth? I saw them in the summer of 1970 at the WVOK Shower of Stars, with Mary Jane, Jimbo, and Mary Jane’s cousin, “Wheatie.” Not sure how she spells it, nor do I remember what it’s a nickname for. No matter. Neil Diamond was the headliner that night, but no matter, too, for listen to the moment the bass and tambourine kick in. You’ll remember summer romance, if you ever forgot it, that is.
“Bizarre Love Triangle,” New Order (1984), which you may find on their Singles LP. We used to dance to them at The Factory in Knoxville, though on our first date, my future wife also invited her boyfriend. He was a nice guy, and maybe neither of us knew what on this rare earth was happening. She was only 21, so all wrinkles should have been expected. I almost gave up after that night, but a month later, there she was again. Without him. With me, dancing still.
“Beds Are Burning,” Midnight Oil (1987) Diesel and Dust. We definitely danced to this one in our first Greenville apartment. Then we actually got to see the band in Atlanta, though I don’t remember the name of the venue. Maybe because we got so stoned before going in, after we had consumed Ethiopian food at The Blue Nile in Virginia Highlands. Anyway, this song won’t go away because the issues it addresses won’t either. “The time has come, a fact’s a fact…” Dump the orange plague. How can we dance when our earth is turning?
“Fool on the Hill,” Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’66, which you may find on their 1970 Greatest Hits record. I had this 45, too, inherited from an older guy named Jim Snyder, though I could have garbled that last name. He and his wife let us have our high school graduation party at their house. I don’t know when or why he gave me his 45’s. I remember him talking to me that night, like he needed to let me know that life would go on, though we both knew that more than we could say was ending. I appreciate it, Jim, and thanks, wherever you are. Bet you thought this song was for the orange plague?
“Los Angeles,” Haim, from Women in Music Pt III. I guess you have figured out that I love this record and keep finding new standout songs from it? “These days, these days.” I love how jazzy they’ve gotten, these sisters. I’m thinking a lot about sisters these days and am reading a great novel about sisters, too: Silas House’s The Coal Tattoo. I’ve only been to LA once, but hope my daughters make it there some day — not to live, but to see what others know and write about. A peaceful, easy feeling, this one.
“The Rising,” Bruce Springsteen, from 2002’s album of the same name. Maybe you heard this a time or two if you were watching the coverage last night from the convention. A good choice, I think, and for once, Bruce was taken by the right party. Man, I’d see him for the sixth time if he’d come back to Greenville like he did a few years back. We could celebrate, and he’d play this song, and this time I’d beg my wife to be with me for the show. Why’d you decline last time, honey?
“Believe in Humanity,” Carole King, from 1973’s Fantasy. It’s an odd choice to name your album one thing and to include this song, which was a minor hit. But I think it’s a fitting ending for this week, because I do. Believe. Another jazzy number to help me along as I try to not get too anxious over things like my dog’s ear infection. My buddy. While I believe, I also think dogs and cats are more humane than we are, by far. Did you know that the orange plague doesn’t care for dogs? Says it all right there.

Thank you for listening, and I hope this playlist triggers good memories and newer old songs.

And Noah Levy, here’s to you!