time machine

One cannot capture, not even experience an explosion in whole. It happens too fast, and moving in all the directions one knows and even some, one didn’t know. Like the connections forming through one’s brain that will be one’s memory of it: not under one’s conscious control. Not all of it, not even most of it.

Which is to say, one remembers more than one know. But only what one snatched out of that blast wave.

Time machine: one’s memory is a time machine, and flashback is the transport. Though it be only the snatches one holds of what one passed through. And though one need the keys to unspool what one remembers without knowing: one needs the songs.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse, Hey hey, my my (Into the black) [via CSNYmusic]

‘79 I remember as I remember Karen Black in a strange Canadian film called The Pyx. A thriller about a devil’s cult which sacrifices humans, and Karen is a junkie call girl that unknowingly hires out for that sacrifice. One scene where she has to strip in front of the proper, severe old man that is hiring her, let him scan her while an instinctual terrifying passes along the naked length of her, across her face.

The world was changing, hardening like that old man’s ownership of her once her high fee had been accepted too quickly. Like Karen, one sensed there would be human sacrifices.

Hey hey, my my
Rock and roll can never die
There’s more to the picture
Than meets the eye.
Hey hey, my my.

Out of the blue
and into the black
You pay for this,
but they give you that
And once you’re gone,
you can’t come back
When you’re out of the blue
and into the black.

The king is gone
but he’s not forgotten
Is this the story
of Johnny Rotten?
It’s better to burn out
’cause rust never sleeps
The king is gone
but he’s not forgotten.

Hey hey, my my
Rock and roll can never die
There’s more to the picture
Than meets the eye.

Dire Straits, Sultans of Swing [via dookofoils]

‘78 the guitars strummed a little tighter, the beats closed in. One’s escape was inside the roll of that thrum, the grace note sounded in passing. The best team money could buy had won the World Series, as if on cue from lucky 7 going to hard 8. While one tried to hang in, hang on.

You get a shiver in the dark
It’s been raining in the park but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold everything
A band is blowing Dixie double four time
You feel all right when you hear that music ring
You step inside but you don’t see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down
Competition in all the places
All but the horns keep blowing that sound
Way on downsouth, way on downsouth London town
You check out Guitar George he knows all the chords
Mind he’s strictly rhythm he doesn’t want to make it cry or sing
And an old guitar is all he can afford
When he gets up under the lights to play his thing
And Harry doesn’t mind if he doesn’t make the scene
He’s got a daytime job he’s doing alright
He can play the Honky Tonk like anything
Saving it up for Friday night
With the Sultans, with the Sultans of Swing
And a crowd of young boys they’re fooling around in the corner
Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles
They don’t give a damn about any trumpet playing band
It ain’t what they call Rock ‘n’ Roll
And the Sultans, yeah the Sultans played Creole
And then the man he steps right up to the microphone
And says at last just as the time bell rings
“Goodnight now it’s time to go home”
and he makes it fast with one more thing
“We are the Sultans, we are the Sultans of Swing”

Steely Dan, FM [via djthalie]

‘77 was a bye year, is the best I can put it. Must be from that double lucky 7: though the winter was very cold, what I remember is green, and a clear yellow sun shining down on one.

Worry the bottle Mamma, it’s grapefruit wine
Kick off your high heel sneakers, it’s party time
The girls don’t seem to care what’s on
As long as it plays till dawn
Nothin’ but blues and Elvis
And somebody else’s favorite song

Give her some funked up music, she treats you nice
Feed her some hungry reggae, she’ll love you twice
The girls don’t seem to care tonight
As long as the mood is right

FM – no static at all

Give her some funked up music she treats you nice
Feed her some hungry reggae she’ll love you twice
The girls don’t seem to care tonight
As long as the mood is right

FM – no static at all

One knew these guys were freaks. Fagen and Becker, pursuing the perfect note, every note. Even if it took 400 takes, or burnt out the best session musicians of their generation, and more than one sound engineer. One had to be careful who one told, that one liked what they wrought. Too perfect, understand.

The paradox of that relatively peaceful bye year: one already sensed how all had fissured and divided into too many tribes.

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band, Born to Run [via bruchee]

‘76 was a bicentennial. As if one could forget that, living next door to a celebrating elephant. But the strangest bicent, an elephant could have only two years after the summer “I’m not a crook” was about to be impeached so quit instead. And only a year after helicopters on an embassy rooftop, helicopters thrown over the side because aircraft carrier turned parking lot was full: Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, 3 defeats for the cost of one. Elephant on ‘ludes, best put, party and forget and party. While this guy tearing out his larynx with his soul, and this band, were already inescapable. One didn’t mind, though. Like a straight shot of oxygen to the brain, this went in, like something one needed.

In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream
At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines
Sprung from cages out on highway 9,
Chrome wheeled, fuel injected
and steppin’ out over the line
Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap
We gotta get out while we’re young
‘Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run

Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend
I want to guard your dreams and visions
Just wrap your legs ’round these velvet rims
and strap your hands across my engines
Together we could break this trap
We’ll run till we drop, baby we’ll never go back
Will you walk with me out on the wire
‘Cause baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta find out how it feels
I want to know if love is wild
girl I want to know if love is real

Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss

The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody’s out on the run tonight
but there’s no place left to hide
Together Wendy we’ll live with the sadness
I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don’t know when
we’re gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go
and we’ll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us
baby we were born to run

Bob Dylan & Rolling Thunder Revue, A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall [via sandypepe]

I missed a great many great shows through the 70s. But not this one: Bob Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue touring the Northeast in ‘75. And I got to see it the old-fashioned way, by standing in line out in bitter cold, for all of a long night. I remember how we pressed past the doors as soon as they were opening: as much for the warmth inside as for the tickets we were after.

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways,
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’,
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’,
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin’,
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’,
Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’,
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’,
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’,
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’,
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’,
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard,
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Like a Lazarus, understand, Dylan in ‘75. Re-energized, re-awakened as if from a too premature sleep, singing as if the songs mattered once more. And the sound out of that band was like a loud rolling thunder, playing the songs, old and new, from this one to Hurricane. With the encore as signature tune for this show, this tour, this moment in Dylan’s, our own lives: Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.

A clip won’t do, understand. One simply had to be there.

Genesis, Dancing With the Moonlit Knight [via Magog64]

I came to Genesis late, and because of love. A beautiful girl I knew liked their music. So for ever I must associate the two: her face, blond hair, who she was, with the subtle, languid beauty of this song.

“Can you tell me where my country lies ?”
Said the unifaun to his true love’s eyes
“It lies with me !”, cried the Queen of Maybe
- For her merchandise, he traded in his prize

“Paper late !”, cried a voice in the crowd
“Old man dies !” The note he left was signed
“Old Father Thames” – it seems he’s drowned
Selling England by the pound
Citizens of Hope & Glory
Time goes by – it’s “the time of your life”

Easy now, sit you down
Chewing through your Wimpy dreams
They eat without a sound
Digesting England by the pound

Young man says “you are what you eat” – eat well
Old man says “you are what you wear” – wear well
You know what you are, you don’t give a damn
Bursting your belt that is your homemade sham

The Captain leads his dance right on through the night
- Join the dance …
Follow on ! Till the Grail sun sets in the mould
Follow on ! Till the gold is cold
Dancing out with the moonlit knight
Knights of the Green Shield stamp and shout
There’s a fat old lady outside the saloon
Laying out the credit cards she plays Fortune
The deck is uneven right from the start
And all of their hands are playing a part

Captain leads his dance right on through the night
- Join the dance …
Follow on ! A Round Table-talking down we go
You’re the show !
Off we go with: You play the hobbyhorse
I’ll play the fool
We’ll tease the bull
Ringing round & loud, loud & round
Follow on ! With a twist of the world we go
Follow on ! Till the gold is cold
Dancing out with the moonlit knight
Knights of the Green Shield stamp and shout

‘74 was cataclysmic, understand. A president toppled, wars being lost, lineups for gasoline, stagflation, bankruptcies, profits and jobs disappearing down the same black hole. One needed the escape of beauty in music and love.

Rolling Stones, Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker) [via JBraden]

The Rolling Stones with and without Mick Taylor: one got to hear both sides of that through the 70s. Though it seems obvious in retrospect: better, much better with than without that singular talent. And in ‘73 it was still with that fluid fresh energy, the slashing, cascading guitar lines that this Mick added to their sound.

The police in New York City
They chased a boy right through the park
And in a case of mistaken identity
They put a bullet through his heart

Heartbreaker with your forty four
I wanna tear your world apart
You heartbreaker with your forty four
I wanna tear your world apart

A ten year old girl on a street corner
Sticking needles in her arm
She died in the dirt of an alleyway
Her mother said she had no chance, no chance

Heartbreaker, heartbreaker
She stuck the pins right in her heart
Heartbreaker, pain maker
Stole the love right out of your heart

Heartbreaker, heartbreaker
You stole the love right out of my heart
Heartbreaker, heartbreaker
I wanna tear your world apart

Doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo,…

And why it mattered, why one needed to hear that added edginess and wild: because the times were wild. Rebellions, the center not holding, all certainties and crafted illusions about the world being torn apart.

Al Green, Let’s Stay Together [via richradtylr2]

Soul music, is my belief, the music of souls, rises up when it is most needed. For the salve it offers, a space to breathe.

I, I’m so in love with you
Whatever you want to do
Is all right with me
‘Cause you make me feel so brand new
And I want to spend my life with you

Since, since we’ve been together
Loving you forever
Is what I need
Let me be the one you come running to
I’ll never be untrue

Let’s, let’s stay together
Lovin’ you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad

Whether times are good or bad, happy or sad

Why, why some people break up
Then turn around and make up
I just can’t see
You’d never do that to me (would you, baby)
Staying around you is all I see
(Here’s what I want us to do)

[Repeat to fade:]
Let’s, we oughta stay together
Loving you whether, whether
Times are good or bad, happy or sad

There was almost too much soul music in the 70s: a measure of the need, in those times of a too painful freedom with boundaries and restrictions dissolved, but with any certainty gone as well. The pure sweetness of this song for salve, in a year of election and defection, reaction and division. Imagine, Lennon had sung. But in ‘72, one could no longer imagine peace and love suffusing the world.

Marvin Gaye, What’s Going On/What’s Happening Brother [via Insightful]

Free, I have said, the time we were most free. And none quicker to take advantage than Marvin, free to compose and arrange as he willed at last in ‘71. With the result being this song, the record of the same name. Monsters of creation, both.

Mother, mother
There’s too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There’s far too many of you dying
You know we’ve got to find a way
To bring some lovin’ here today – Yah

Father, father
We don’t need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we’ve got to find a way
To bring some lovin’ here today

Picket lines and picket signs
Don’t punish me with brutality
Talk to me
So you can see
Oh, what’s going on
What’s going
Ya, what’s going on
Ah, what’s going on

Mother, Mother, everybody thinks we’re wrong
Oh, but who are they to judge us
Simply because our hair is long
Oh, you know we’ve got to find a way
To bring some understanding here today
Oh

Picket lines and picket signs
Don’t punish me with brutality
Talk to me,
So you can see
Oh, what’s going on
What’s going on
I’ll tell you Ya, what’s going on – Uh
Ah, what’s going on
Right on baby
Right on baby

Artists, I believe, are the receptors and distillers of their time. And Marvin’s soul, sensitive and vulnerable as he was, had the finer antennae, the underlying painfulness that must open it to that larger painfulness of the world. Though, I can’t describe it, it was too large and too wide. I can only let you see it.