We were uncertain whether to blog about Michael Jackson’s death since we’re in the business of flambéing tabloid-fodder celebs whenever we have the opportunity (though we must stress how much we also relish poking a stick in the common man’s ribs).
Michael Jackson was the king of the tabloids (who until yesterday were referring to him as “The Self-Proclaimed King of Pop” – get ready for more shameless post-mortem backstepping than after Diana’s death), the wellspring of more checkout-aisle drivel than anyone who has ever lived – yes, we stand by what would be hyperbole about anyone else – and the punchline to more late-night monologue jokes than OJ Simpson and any two American presidents you got combined. Hell as recently as Monday, we were pulling out of the gift-that-keeps-giving Jacko joke bag.
But we’re also children’ of the 1980s, a decade that thankfully preceded the YouTube generation. Had somebody’s mobile phone camera been trained on us back in those days you might have seen one or both of us in those leather jackets with zippers, pitting a Michael Jackson doll in an uneven fight with a Mr. T action figure, or wearing one glove (doing so and coming through Canadian winters with all fingers accounted for was just good luck). Neither of us would ever own up to behind-closed-doors moonwalking, but let’s just say that Michael Jackson was as much a part of 80s childhoods as He-Man, bad cinema, and insatiable yuppie greed that shat on the hopes and ideals of the two decades that preceded it.
Chris remembers hearing Thriller for the first time at his cousin’s house and it blowing his mind. Noel remembers a running feud with an older neighbor kid who ridiculed him for saying (in the chirpish voice of youth) that Thriller and Bad were awesome. The neighbor insisted that Michael Jackson was just a poor man’s Lionel Richie and was not afraid of doling out a noogie to get his point across. (If that guy’s reading today, let’s just say that, Thriller, the best-selling album of all time – which in effect is an untouchable record because computer piracy has killed the album – well, it wasn’t put out by Lionel.) What we both remember are sounds that will forever be there in our minds. We think back to our childhoods and remember this music and – unlike the majority of 80s television and the second Terminator film – it stands the test of time, and we give ourselves credit for not having tin ears at that age.
Of course, then there were the 1990s. Michael Jackson’s musical output deteriorated and things got from cute weird – who wouldn’t want a pet chimpanzee (though maybe not to hang around with an aged Liz Taylor) – to the kind of weird that made liking him as a musician an awkward thing to admit.
It seems that if you’re a celebrity from a humble start, that included in the welcome gift bag you get upon entry into the club of the super fabulous is a posse of bloodsuckers incapable of giving advice other than “I think it’s time you sign the monthly pay slips, boss.” Throw in a mind that is not exactly a specimen of sound health and the results are inevitable – Howard Hughes insane and pissing in specimen bottles while his fortune crumbles, Mike Tyson boxing tomato cans for the minimal cash that’s in it, Michael Jackson building the Neverland Ranch, and inviting children into a world that screamed, “We find on behalf of the plaintiff”.
The charges against him lose some steam when you look at those making them. What manner of person sends their kids for pajama parties at the home of a pop star who is, at best, a troubled middle-aged man who thinks cotton candy should be available on demand?
We’re not the types to look back on Annie Hall or Hannah and Her Sisters with a perspective skewed by the Soon-Yi affair – they remain classics… though we will drop Woody like a turd from a tall horse if he does another film with Scarlett Johansson. (Some things are just unforgivable). A creative work of merit stands above and apart from the personal shortcomings of its creator. Thank the pharaohs for that or we’d be in trouble.
For those of us who grew up with his sounds causing us early ear drum damage, his music gets the first two or three tracks of our life soundtracks.
Michael Jackson produced more great music between the ages of six and eight than any of the Idol programs will produce in their entire run. R.I.P.
Most songwriters will at some point pen an ode to the place that gave them the early inspiration to pursue a career in music — i.e. the taunts of jocks or the realization that guys who can play guitar stand a better chance of getting laid than even the most advanced Dungeons and Dragons master.
As Spinal Tap made clear, few things can rouse a crowd out of a beer stupor more effectively than shouting out “Hello ___ [insert name of podunk town here]” and if you can actually work a place name into your song, then you have a sentimental favorite that will last as long as there are DJs picking songs who have not gone beyond a 50-kilometre radius of their birth homes in their entire lives.
Something appeals about state songs — Shark Guy Noel is still looking for the right chanteuse to get behind his St. Catharines, Ontario-inspired toe-tapper, “Pardon My Garden City”. There is mileage to be had out of the state song whether it is coopted as part of a state tourism campaign or used in an ironic, mocking way by some smart-ased filmmaker exorcising the demons of his teenage years. In Part One of Our US State Song list, we brought you from Alaska to Mississippi, hope you weren’t stung by anything too horrific on that trip, and today it’s the more boring sounding trip of Missouri to Wyoming.Here is Part Two of Our Rundown of Songs for Every State!
Missouri: Missouri Moon, Rhonda Vincent. Across the Wide Missouri, Weavers. Rejected license plate slogan: Missouri Loves Company. One of the best movies ever set in Missouri, (though admittedly, this is a list about as long as your arm if you fell asleep during workplace safety classes at the saw mill) is Roadhouse. This movie we feel, gives us a fairly accurate representation of what it must be like to live in the state when you cannot pay your bar tab.
Montana: Montana Skies, John Denver. Montana, Frank Zappa. Stephen Colbert would not like Montana, home to the largest grizzly bear population in the lower 48 states (In Alaska, they drive cars and can vote in municipal elections). Montana did not fare too well in the state song sweepstakes with these two. We guess all that wide open space can drive a man to think some crazy things, as evidenced in Zappa’s “Montana”, which he calls the perfect place to… uh… grow a crop of dental floss. The song does however have the distinction of offering the strangest ever reference to wrangling in a song: “With a pair of zircon-encrusted tweezers in my hand/every other wrangler would say I was mighty grand.”
Nebraska: Nebraska, Bruce Sprinsteen. Nick Nolte, Marlon Brando, Fred Astaire and Montgomery Clift were born in Omaha, which is also the subject of an awful Counting Crows song. These random births in a little-heard-of state have whatever significance you may attach to them — in our case that is no significance whatsoever. But they were born there, unless someone edits Wikipedia within the hour you’re reading this and proves us wrong.
New Jersey: Jersey Girl, Tom Waits. New Jersey is my Home, Bruce Springsteen. New Jersey is consistently referred to as the Armpit of America, and who are we to judge having only been to Jersey City, Newark…er…as far as ‘judgability’ goes, we could probably be given a gavel and robe. On the plus side (the New York side), we hear Hoboken is nice and nowhere near the place Frank Sinatra refused to acknowledge as his home town. Here’s a list of 5 Reasons Not to Move to New Jersey.
Nevada: Sands of Nevada, Mark Knopfler. Stop in Nevada, Billy Joel. The name Nevada means ’snow covered’ in Spanish and ‘brothel’ in Esperanto. Both of these are right on the money in their own way. Knopfler’s gambler’s lament tells of a pain felt by many visitors of Nevada, the unofficial state motto of which is, “Supporting children — the government can always help you out.”
New Hampshire: New Hampshire, Sonic Youth. Ten points to the first person who can explain to us what the hell Sonic Youth is going on about in this song. New Hampshire is a lovely place — one of us visited stately Mt. Washington and has the “This car climbed Mt. Washington” bumper sticker (mint condition) to prove it — but few things rhyme with Hampshire and this state hasn’t exactly inspired a musical treasure trove.
New Mexico: New Mexico, Johnny Cash. Taos, New Mexico, Waylon Jennings. Cash’s song is unlikely to feature at state sporting events or beauty pageants. Here’s the ending: To all you happy people/This much I have to say/Go back to your friends and loved ones/Tell others not to go/To the god forsaken country/They call New Mexico
New York: New York New York, Frank Sinatra. New York State Police, UK Subs. Old Jersey Frankie might have been singing about NYC, but an exception will suffice — after all, it’s the city so nice they named it twice. As Ontario residents, we have yet to hear a good song about cross-border pillaging when currency fluctuations allow… we may just pen such a ditty ourselves.
North Dakota: North Dakota, Lyle Lovett. Another state that wants to think it’s Germany before the Berlin Wall came down. When Julia Roberts married Lyle Lovett, it was a weirder romantic match than Celine Dion and that creepy svengali she hooked up with at an age that would have even Woody Allen say, ‘Meh, she should have a few miles on her first’. Still, Lyle is a great talent, and while the same cannot be said for his ex-wife, we wish her all the best and hope she makes a movie one day that doesn’t remind us in graphic and immediate fashion of what we had for breakfast.
Ohio: Ohio, CSNY. Look at Miss Ohio, Gillian Welch. As young fellas, we joined a couple of buddies and made a lemon out of a rental car by putting 3,800 kilometres on it on a road trip from Toronto to New Orleans. We stopped in Ohio, where the snow made it look like Canada, and caught the wonder of Mansfield’s Denny’s in a blizzard. We also saw John Lennon’s broken death glasses at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and one of Bono’s creepy, small-sized stage costumes, and later we remarked that Cincy looked nice from the bridge. Such is our knowledge of Ohio. And for those who want to follow Gillian’s advice and look at Miss Ohio, well she’s on the left.
Oklahoma: Oklahoma. Oklahoma Borderline, Vince Gill. Okie from Muskogee inspired Asshole from El Paso. And anybody who has ever watched a Broadway musical and thought “That could have used more chaps,” will enjoy this one. The Shark Guys wrote a song for a revival of this musical called “Idle Thoughts of a Singing Shit-Kicker”, but, sadly, it was rejected.
Oregon: Portland, Oregon, Jack White Loretta Lynn. Jack White’s band, The White Stripes always wear, black, red and white, “the most powerful color combination of all time, from a Coca-Cola can to a Nazi banner” and for some reason this makes sense coming from Mr White, a former upholsterer. This song doesn’t have a whole lot to do with Oregon as you can get shamelessly drunk and sleep with a stranger in any state of the union — though watch what laws you’re violating in Utah — such is the beauty of cheap booze. “Next day we knew last night got drunk/But we loved enough for the both of us/In the morning when the night had sobered up/It was much too late for the both of us in Oregon.” That might be the best defence of drunk sex we’ve ever read “loved enough for the both of us”. Must be all those great microbrews they have in Oregon.
Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania 6-5000, Brian Setzer, Pennsylvania, Bloodhound Gang. Pennsylvania is home to three much-maligned cities, Scranton (because of the good, but not as good as the UK version of The Office), Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, but Steeltown is Shitsburgh no more and Philly is the kind of place where it’s fun to get silly. We’re in a rhyming mood today, what of it? Here we offer you two songs from different hemispheres of the musical globe. First person to inform us what a wawa is gets 10 points.
Rhode Island: Road to Rhode Island, as heard on Family Guy. Family Guy undoubtedly is a comedic fart in the wind compared to the Simpsons’… chronic gastro-intestinal condition of animated situation comedy? Not as well written or heartfelt as the Simpsons in its heyday, but pretty good nonetheless at least in the “throw as many jokes at the viewer even if the majority don’t stick”, school of comedy, here is a musical number on the Griffin family’s home state.
South Carolina: Cocaine Carolina, Johnny Cash and David Allan Coe. South Carolina, Archers of Loaf. We won’t get into the whole why North/South state divisions will be banned in the new order, but South Carolina did get recognized in these two songs. Cocaine Carolina features the amazing lyric: “Feeling like my belly was a warehouse for the blues.” For those of you interested in reading our list of our fave Cocaine Songs, click here
South Dakota: South Dakota, Liz Phair. South Dakota Morning, Bee Gees: One of these songs is filled with the angst of telling off big city folk without mincing words, and the other one is something that a poncey git wrote down when he saw an eagle fly above him while out on the patio in some godforsaken South Dakota backwater. Lyrics from the first: “Born in South Dakota /Hey, we’re going to a rodeo town/I’m gonna get drunk and fuck some cows/Hey all you city fucks, it’s a praireman’s world.” Lyrics from the second song: “The eagle flies on a South Dakota morning/And I don’t see my eagle anymore/Now stranger, I must kill you/You must survive, but will you.” The Bee Gees are only slight less threatening than bakery icing, so we’ll go with Liz Phair for giving the better tribute to the state that is still home to Deadwood, wellspring of the best damn television series in the history of the medium. Deadwood that is.
Tennessee: Tennessee Stud, Jimmie Driftwood as performed by Doc Watson. Lebanon, Tennessee, Ron Sexsmith. The Mercy Lounge in Cannery Row, Nashville, is one of the greatest live music venues you’ll ever come across, and this is in a city that boasts the Grand Old Opry and the Ryman Auditorium. Lucky bastards. Tennessee Stud is a travelling tale, telling of horses won on bets and a lonesome cowboy travelling back to Tennessee to find his true love (and he also matches up his horse with his woman’s, which is damned convenient. He describes his hurdles getting back: We loped on back across Arkansas/
I whipped her brother and I whipped her pa/I found that girl with the golden hair/And she was ridin’ on a Tennessee mare.
Texas: T for Texas, Jimmie Rodgers. Texas Flood, SRV. Luckenbach Texas, Waylon Jennings. On that southern road trip many moons ago, we pulled into Meridian, Mississippi to find a greasy spoon and fortuitously happened upon the birthplace of the brilliant Jimmie Rodgers, who noted in this tune, that T is for Texas. We defaced something in the park there and moved on.
Vermont: Moonlight in Vermont, Billie Holiday. Vermont, Cursive. Vermont is often stereotyped as a bastion of sandal-wearing, roller blading, wool sweater-clad, Vegan, detoxing, ‘Eat more kale’ bumpersticker sporting, scented candle & patchouli paintywaists. Well that’s no so bad. British Columbia is like that, but there’s more chance of tumbling down a bigger mountain there.
As we noted in our Top 10 Bar Songs of All Time, many musicians have adopted the ‘write what you know’ credo, and given that they spend a considerable part of their waking hours in taverns (this isn’t nearly as much as it might seem as they sleep in until well into the afternoon), they looked around, put pen to paper and gave us the decomposed remnants of organic matter from which our Top 10 List could grow.
If you’ve taken this ‘write what you know’ phrase to heart (even though it’s more worn than a yogic flier’s drawers), and find you’re still staring at a blank screen, you may in fact, not know anything. Luckily, there are plenty of people who can write what they know and who are more than capable of picking up your slack, you lazy, untalented hack.
Some of these people, though not nearly as many as those who’ve found inspiration at the bottom of a beer/wine/whiskey glass, have chosen Mother’s Ruin, as their muse.
Why is that, you ask? Well, gin, simply put, has a lousy reputation and the phrase ‘bathtub gin’ likely came about it’s the first thing that would spring to mind if you had to clean a ring around yours. The juniper berry spirit has its origins in 17th century Holland, where it was believed to alleviate gout and its popularity, not surprisingly, spread quickly, as abandoning a diet rich in fat and booze was beyond comprehension, especially when the antidote could be guzzled cheaply and plentifully from the comfort of one’s armchair.
The potable soon spread to England, and from there, to mask the flavor of quinine so that English soldiers could spear colonials, unfettered by malarial concerns, while domestically, like reality television or the internet these days, it was blamed for every prevailing social ill. [Editor’s note, a strong case can be made for blaming every prevailing social ill these days, on the internet, please see our Top 10 Drinking and Driving Songs of All Time and Battling the Red Menace: Happy Kick a Ginger Day]
On these shores, and we’d like to think everywhere else, gin forms the basis of the only martini a man should be seen drinking (if you have one with cranberry juice or chocolate, you might consider arranging a fitting for a dress) and as a result, has seen its reputation improve, though you’d never really know it from some of the songs we’ve compiled here. So here, because to the best of our knowledge, it hasn’t been done (and if it has, carpal tunnel has prevented successfully Googling it) is our Top 10 Songs about Gin.
10. Gin & Milk Dirty Pretty Things
Choice Gin Lyrics: I’m in to myself, On uncertain terms, I put gin in my milk, To kill all the germs
Muddy: Well I been drinkin’ gin like never before, I’m feelin’ so good… honey that’s for sure, One more drink… honey I wish you would, Take a whole lotta lovin’ to make me feel good
8. The Night I Stole Old Sammy Morgan’s Gin, Hank Snow
Choice Gin Lyrics:
Listen folks and I will tell a funny story
You may think it sad but I was in my glory
Twas a cellar I crept in cobwebs brushing by my chin
On the night I stole old Sammy Morgan’s gin.
7. Love is Like a Bottle of Gin Magnetic Fields / Gin Soaked Boy Divine Comedy (tie)
Choice Gin Lyrics:
Love is like a bottle of gin
but a bottle of gin is not like love
Choice Gin Lyrics:
I’m the ruby in the dust
I’m the trust in the mistrust
I’m the Trojan horse in troy
I’m the gin in the gin-soaked boy
6. Gin & Juice Snoop Dogg
Choice Gin Lyrics:
Rollin down the street, smokin’ Indo, sippin’ on gin and juice
Laid back (with my mind on my money and my money on my mind)
And I’m gonna get tough
you been lying to me
How could you crawl so low
with some gin-soaked boy?
2. That Woman Got Me Drinkin’ Shane McGowan and the Popes
Choice Gin Lyrics:
That woman’s got me drinking, look at the state I’m in/Give me 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 bottles of gin”
1. Misery and Gin Merle Haggard
Choice Gin Lyrics:
But here I am again, mixin’ misery and gin.
Sittin’ with all my friends and talkin’ to myself.
I look like I’m havin’ a good time but any fool can tell,
That this Honky Tonk Heaven really makes ya’ feel like hell.
Almost Made the Cut
Somebody Put Something In My Drink The Ramones Tanqueray and tonic’s my favorite drink/I don’t like anything colored pink
Supersonic Oasis I need to be myself, I can’t be no one else, I’m feeling supersonic, Give me gin and tonic,You can have it all but how much do you want it?
It’s Like That Handsome Boy Modelling School ‘Cause I can flow like Donovan bro sound supersonic
Pouring gin and tonic with some chronic to blow
I Believe in You Frank Loesser (as performed by Frank Sinatra) I take heart to see the cool clear eyes of a seeker of wisdom and truth,
Yet there’s that slam, bang, tang, reminiscent of gin and Vermouth
Tangueray Johnnie Johnson Hey bartender, there’s one thing I gotta say.
Hey bartender, it’s tryin’ to rain on my parade.
Gonna have another drink, another drink of Tangueray.
We were uncertain whether to blog about Michael Jackson’s death since we’re in the business of flambéing tabloid-fodder celebs whenever we have the opportunity (though we must stress how much we also relish poking a stick in the common man’s ribs).
Chris remembers hearing Thriller for the first time at his cousin’s house and it blowing his mind. Noel remembers a running feud with an older neighbor kid who ridiculed him for saying (in the chirpish voice of youth) that Thriller and Bad were awesome. The neighbor insisted that Michael Jackson was just a poor man’s Lionel Richie and was not afraid of doling out a noogie to get his point across. (If that guy’s reading today, let’s just say that, Thriller, the best-selling album of all time – which in effect is an untouchable record because computer piracy has killed the album – well, it wasn’t put out by Lionel.) What we both remember are sounds that will forever be there in our minds. We think back to our childhoods and remember this music and – unlike the majority of 80s television and the second Terminator film – it stands the test of time, and we give ourselves credit for not having tin ears at that age.
It seems that if you’re a celebrity from a humble start, that included in the welcome gift bag you get upon entry into the club of the super fabulous is a posse of bloodsuckers incapable of giving advice other than “I think it’s time you sign the monthly pay slips, boss.” Throw in a mind that is not exactly a specimen of sound health and the results are inevitable – Howard Hughes insane and pissing in specimen bottles while his fortune crumbles, Mike Tyson boxing tomato cans for the minimal cash that’s in it, Michael Jackson building the Neverland Ranch, and inviting children into a world that screamed, “We find on behalf of the plaintiff”.
