You Stole My Heart

Whenever I hear the opening strains of Maggie May by Rod Stewart, I always think:  Oh no, not again.  I mean, it’s been, like twelve million times, right?  And I’ve always thought the lyrics were, I dunno, a bit lazy or something.

But then, by the time the guitar solo comes around, I think: Actually, this is a pretty good song.

Then when the mandolin kicks off the coda I realize all over again that I’ve been listening to a masterpiece.

There’s So Much You Have To Know

If Cat Stevens added a verse or two to Father and Son, and added the perspective of the grandfather, well  …  I’m old enough to also relate to that.

But I’m still pulling for the son.

Well I Realize I’ve Been Hypnotized

OK, I know Hendrix played the Chitlin’ Circuit, and near the end he was getting into funk and all, but Jimi Hendrix did psychedelic, right?  I mean he embodied the words Far Out.

But listen to Gypsy Eyes.  Underneath the trippy exterior is a Motown song.  It could have been done by The Temptations, right?

That’s what’s so cool about great artists, great recordings, and great songs.  They keep giving up something new.

Hurry Hurry Hurry

I have this friend ...  he says he loves Rock and Roll, but he thinks punk is rubbish, and he can’t stand heavy metal, which - according to him - is exemplified by Led Zeppelin and AC/DC.

Yes, he is older than me.

I try in vain to explain to him that Zeppelin and AC/DC are Rock and Roll bands, but he won’t have it.

I say: “Listen.  There is no difference between You Shook Me All Night Long and Communication Breakdown and I Want To Be Sedated and Roll Over Beethoven (either The Beatles or Chuck Berry, take your pick).

The sound may differ, but it’s the feeling, right?

Take A Breath

I’ve been trying to think of something nice to say about the saxophone for most of my life, and I finally got it: on some of David Gilmour’s best guitar solos, you can tell that he also plays the sax.

It Happened Just The Other Day

I have been guilty of saying some unkind things about David Crosby, but I will say this: Almost Cut My Hair is one powerful tune.  Every single time I hear it, I stop what I’m doing and think: ‘Damn Right!’

I couldn’t even say what part of the lyrics grabs me ‘cause I’m not even sure I get them – but I’m not giving in an inch either if I can help it.

Like the Trembling Heart of a Captive Bird?

In case you needed more proof that computers should not be running our lives, check out this article, in which it is revealed that the saddest song of all time – as deftly calculated by clever computer algorithms – is Roberta Flack’s The First Time Ever I saw Your Face.

Nowhere To Run

No matter how many times I hear it, Born In The USA gets under my skin.  I’m not even American, but the story, the heartache, the anguish  … they’re universal.

It’s also kick-ass rock and roll.

Before You Accuse Me

I have heard and seen frequent criticism of Eric Clapton that when he performs live he makes no attempt to connect to the audience.

To which, I say this: Watch Eric’s face.  He is lost in the music, which is where you’re supposed to be.

So Many People In The Same Device

Have a listen to Nice Nice Very Nice by Ambrosia (and Kurt Vonnegut).

Here are the lyrics:

Oh a sleeping drunkard
Up in Central Park
Or the lion hunter
In the jungle dark
Or the Chinese dentist
Or the British Queen
They all fit together
In the same machine

Nice, nice, very nice
Nice, nice, very nice
So many people in the same device

Oh a whirling dervish
And a dancing bear
Or a Ginger Rogers and a Fred Astaire
Or a teenage rocker
Or the girls in France
Yes, we all are partners in this cosmic dance

Nice, nice, very nice
Nice, nice, very nice
So many people in the same device

Amen.