Oh, you sing of love and longing, the joy and the helplessness of it, better than anyone. That sweet, easy voice--stronger and more primal than actual memory, woven into my childhood mind and heart, even if it was coming out of a tinny Toyota radio.
These Tusk songs mean more to me than the formative stuff on WLAP when I was a kid, somehow. Maybe because they are (relatively) new discoveries, made in adulthood. And "Songbird" is too unearthly to even hear outside of life events.
Somehow, because I didn't hear her singing these out of the car radio or from vintage vinyl of their perfect, signature album, the songs are mine, to me, for me, from her.
A new series: Songs I Associate with Landsdowne Drive.
The bow-shaped sound of Meisner's bass fit just right with looping over the hills of Landsdowne Drive. We often drove that way to get to Fayette Mall from my grandmother's house.
And it was right here where these twin apartment buildings on either side of Landsdowne, at the top of (what seemed to be) a huge hill, each with swimming pools. To my five year-old mind, these were the height of luxury. A pool! At your home! I lived in a duplex at the time so I understood rental living. (Little did I know renting and I would have what feels like a lifelong relationship.)
But with a POOL! You could run out of your door and jump into it in time with the little diddle-dit-doo-doo guitar thing in the verse after Felder's guitar solo!
These were the goals: living in the sun-soaked "new" part of town, playing in the pool with the big, bright sky arching overhead, letting One of These Nights just happen to you.
Is anyone else surprised when they (re)learn that Zeppelin released an album in 1975? Aren't they indelibly of 1969-72? Or, my god, in 1979? I mean, I like thosesongs to be sure, but they are kind of the shadow of the former selves.
This one still has the hip-hugger pants magic, in a way, and the Green World/cheeseball lyrics ("We are eagles of one nest / The nest is in our soul"). Today, I think it just sounds like autumn time. And looking back at paths not taken.
This may be no one's favorite but mine. For me, it's the reason why.
"Hurricane"
Bob Dylan
Pistol shots ring out in the barroom night Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall She sees a bartender in a pool of blood Cries out my God, they killed them all Here comes the story of the Hurricane The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world
Three bodies lyin' there does Patty see And another man named Bello, movin' around mysteriously I didn't do it, he says, and he throws up his hands I was only robbin' the register, I hope you understand I saw them leavin', he says, and he stops One of us had better call up the cops And so Patty calls the cops And they arrive on the scene with their red lights flashin' In the hot New Jersey night
Meanwhile, far away in another part of town Rubin Carter and a couple of friends are drivin' around Number one contender for the middleweight crown Had no idea what kinda shit was about to go down When a cop pulled him over to the side of the road Just like the time before and the time before that In Paterson that's just the way things go If you're black you might as well not show up on the street 'Less you want to draw the heat
Alfred Bello had a partner and he had a rap for the cops Him and Arthur Dexter Bradley were just out prowlin' around He said, I saw two men runnin' out, they looked like middleweights They jumped into a white car with out-of-state plates And Miss Patty Valentine just nodded her head Cop said, wait a minute, boys, this one's not dead So they took him to the infirmary And though this man could hardly see They told him that he could identify the guilty men
Four in the mornin' and they haul Rubin in They took him to the hospital and they brought him upstairs The wounded man looks up through his one dyin' eye Says, wha'd you bring him in here for? He ain't the guy! Here's the story of the Hurricane The man the authorities came to blame For somethin' that he never done Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world
Four months later, the ghettos are in flame Rubin's in South America, fightin' for his name While Arthur Dexter Bradley's still in the robbery game And the cops are puttin' the screws to him, lookin' for somebody to blame Remember that murder that happened in a bar Remember you said you saw the getaway car You think you'd like to play ball with the law Think it might-a been that fighter that you saw runnin' that night Don't forget that you are white
Arthur Dexter Bradley said I'm really not sure The cops said a poor boy like you could use a break We got you for the motel job and we're talkin' to your friend Bello You don't wanta have to go back to jail, be a nice fellow You'll be doin' society a favor That sonofabitch is brave and gettin' braver We want to put his ass in stir We want to pin this triple murder on him He ain't no Gentleman Jim
Rubin could take a man out with just one punch But he never did like to talk about it all that much It's my work, he'd say, and I do it for pay And when it's over I'd just as soon go on my way Up to some paradise Where the trout streams flow and the air is nice And ride a horse along a trail But then they took him to the jailhouse Where they try to turn a man into a mouse
All of Rubin's cards were marked in advance The trial was a pig-circus, he never had a chance The judge made Rubin's witnesses drunkards from the slums To the white folks who watched he was a revolutionary bum And to the black folks he was just a crazy nigger No one doubted that he pulled the trigger And though they could not produce the gun The D.A. said he was the one who did the deed And the all-white jury agreed
Rubin Carter was falsely tried The crime was murder one, guess who testified Bello and Bradley and they both baldly lied And the newspapers, they all went along for the ride How can the life of such a man Be in the palm of some fool's hand To see him obviously framed Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land Where justice is a game
Now all the criminals in their coats and their ties Are free to drink martinis and watch the sun rise While Rubin sits like Buddha in a ten-foot cell An innocent man in a living hell That's the story of the Hurricane But it won't be over till they clear his name And give him back the time he's done Put in a prison cell, but one time he could-a been The champion of the world
Not only am I obsessed--obsessed--with this song (and it's been a long time since that has happened), I have developed a huge retroactive crush. An I'd-put-a-poster-on-the-ceiling crush.
My fantasy bf, BF. Can you blame me?
Sure, we might have started out shakily
and aged a bit, as we all must do
But, really, can you blame me for a crush on some essence that's some 39 years old?
