Simple past tense — September 4, 2019

Simple past tense

Except for Eastern Kentucky’s own Chris Stapleton, I don’t actively listen to current country music. Sometimes, however, the music is forced upon me. This usually occurs when I’m in someone else’s car or inside a store.

That’s exactly what happened recently while I strolled the aisles of the Super Dollar. As I compared the prices of tea, I caught snippets of a song that recalled the halcyon days gone by when everything wasn’t automatic.

I would later learn that the song, by Miranda Lambert, is aptly-titled “Automatic.” Although it was released in 2014 and won oodles of awards, I heard it for the first time in August 2019.

According to Lambert, the song is “about slowing down, taking a breath and remembering what it’s like to live life a little more simply.”

Although I agree with those sentiments, Lambert and I don’t have the same definition of living a simple life.

For example, in the song, she reminisces about using an atlas to find the way to Dallas. I’ve never been to Dallas, but I once consulted an atlas for a trip up north and, let me tell you, that was a disaster. Thankfully, a 10 year old used her wits to get me on the right track or I would still be driving around the backroads of Delaware.

Also in the song, in a nod to Polaroid cameras, Lambert muses about taking the kind of pictures you had to shake. My sister had a Polaroid and we enjoyed posing for photos and then watching our images come to life.

But you know what I didn’t enjoy? Watching those images come to life only to realize that we wasted film on a photo that made us look like rejects from a horror movie.

For some reason, Lambert also suggests we roll down windows, the kind with cranks.

I’m not sure if this means we should keep crank-less windows shut. Heck, I’m not even sure what kind of windows she’s talking about, but if it’s car windows, it makes me wonder why anyone would miss rolling a car window up and down by hand. Maybe the cars we drove required a healthy dose of WD-40, but if my memory serves, it was no easy feat to crank those windows. Indeed, I was usually so tired after rolling them up and/or down that I had to take a nap.

Anyway, I’m sure the song has millions if not billions of fans, and I can appreciate feeling nostalgic for times gone by. But it’s not the tools, be they atlases, cameras, or windows, that made the times so worthwhile.

It’s the people we did them with.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

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For the record — August 12, 2018

For the record

Recently, I saw merchandise at the Supercenter the likes of which I haven’t seen in a store in more years that I care to admit.

No, I’m not talking about cherry cake mix and frosting. (Actually, I found and bought that a few months ago and, unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as good as I remembered.) I am, instead, referring to vinyl albums.

When I stumbled across albums amongst the fitness trackers, smart phones, and smart TVs, for a moment I thought I had discovered a time machine. Oh, I’ve been aware of the revival of vinyl for a while. In fact, some of my friends collect vinyl while others invest in it because they like the sound.

Apparently, they are not alone. According to Nielsen Music, more than 14 million vinyl units were purchased in 2017, marking the 12th consecutive year that vinyl had experienced a sales growth. The Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” and “Abbey Road” were the two top selling vinyl albums last year. Prince’s “Purple Rain” and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” also ranked in the top 10.

This resurgence, however, is not just due to nostalgia. Millennials represent a key vinyl demographic.

Although seeing the album versions of “Thriller” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” made me smile, I was not tempted to so much as check out the prices. For starters, I don’t have a record player.

What’s more, why would I buy something I already have? Of course, I’m not actually in possession of “Born in the U.S.A.,” but I’ve had “Thriller” since Jackson’s death. I didn’t have a record player then, either, so I’m not sure why I insisted on digging it out of my parents’ closet just so I could put it in a closet at my house. (If you think I could sell the albums for big bucks, think again. My research indicates that used versions of these albums could yield enough for me to fill up my car with gas and maybe, just maybe, have enough left over for a Wendy’s berry burst salad.)

Anyway, I haven’t listened to the albums in more years than I care to admit. This is due to, firstly, greatest hits compilations on CD and, secondly, digital music. Indeed, I listened to the entire “Born in the U.S.A.” album just the other day on a computer. And I didn’t have to walk across the room to change sides or worry about the music skipping because of scratches.

Don’t get me wrong. I miss the hiss of vinyl and the appeal of album cover art. Yet, in an age where people (not me, though), own devices that turn on lights and lock doors at the sound of a voice, I don’t understand why oodles of folks are returning to something that’s, at best, inconvenient. What’s next, the return of 8-tracks?

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

Every which way but iTunes — June 9, 2014

Every which way but iTunes

I started this blog three years ago to commemorate the 20th anniversary of “Thelma & Louise.” And, for nearly a year, I posted regularly if not religiously.

Then, right after I vowed to pen 40 movie reviews in 40 days, life intervened and I quit blogging. If you’ll allow me to quote “We Need a Little Christmas,” in the ensuing time I’ve “Grown a little sadder, grown a little older.”

Regardless of my past situation, I’m back to blogging. At this point, you might be asking yourself, “What event of epic proportions has awakened her from this slumber?”

That’s simple – the theme from “Every Which Way but Loose” is not on iTunes. As everyone no doubt knows, the late great Eddie Rabbit recorded the song, which served as the theme to the Clint Eastwood/Clyde the orangutan flick of the same name. It’s a beautiful song that explores the fears of commitment and heartache – and in under three minutes.

But you can’t find it on iTunes. Oh, you can find Eddie Rabbit wannabes warbling the song, but it’s either Eddie or nothing as far as I’m concerned. iTunes also offers other Eddie Rabbit releases, but until I can download “Every Which Way but Loose,” I’ll find a way to survive without “I Love a Rainy Night” and “Driving My Life Away.”

Somehow, the song is available for download on Amazon, but I refuse to buy it on principle and because I don’t know if the mp3 version will be compatible with my iPod.

I guess I could always give in and buy Eddie Rabbit’s greatest hits, which includes the song, but this is 2014. Should I really be forced to buy a CD?

Put on your thinking caps and dust off those ’80s CDs — August 21, 2011

Put on your thinking caps and dust off those ’80s CDs

The characteristic I appreciate most about ’80s music is that it doesn’t require much from me. I realize some people return to the music for nostalgia’s sake or because they believe the recording industry mysteriously ceased producing quality tunes when they – the listener – finally conquered acne.

I like that the music doesn’t make me think.

Well, except when it does. Continue reading

And the Big Man left the band — June 20, 2011

And the Big Man left the band

The news of Clarence Clemons’ death called to mind a conversation I had with my friend, Jimmy, during Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s last tour.

Jimmy, who has seen Springsteen in concert eight times, said that tour would probably be the band’s final hurrah.

His statement perplexed me and I asked, “Why? Is Bruce going out on his own again?”

“He might,” Jimmy answered, “but they won’t be playing together much longer because of Clarence’s age and health.”

As Jimmy filled me in on Clarence’s health issues, I considered the Big Man’s age. I guess I always knew he was older than Bruce and that Bruce wasn’t much younger than my parents. Continue reading

Years have come and gone since we heard the news ’bout Billie Joe — June 3, 2011

Years have come and gone since we heard the news ’bout Billie Joe

“It was the third of June, another sleepy dusty Delta day.”

Bobbie Gentry’s soulful, sensual opening to “Ode to Billie Joe” launched one of the most enduring mysteries in musical history.

As soon as Mama tells her family about Billie Joe jumping off the Tallahatchie Bridge, you want to know more about this Billie Joe McCallister and why he took the leap.

By song’s end, you have other unsolved mysteries to unravel: Continue reading