Some days, it seems, the highway of life crawls to a stop due to an ill-placed on- and off-ramp, a la the stretch of Pennsylvania turnpike between the suburban-Philadelphia enclaves of Willow Grove and Fort Washington. For those unfamiliar with that portion of the toll road, the powers-that-be installed an EasyPass-only exit-entrance about halfway between the two stops, which are only four or five miles apart, years ago. The idea, I imagine, was to reduce congestion. The result for those who get on at or before Willow Grove, however, has been quite the opposite thanks to two or three streams of cars now merging into traffic within a few miles.
In fact, that short stretch of highway usually takes half my commute. On a good day, I travel two or three miles in 20 minutes, and then the next 15 (or so) more miles in about the same amount of time. But that madness is routine madness, the kind of thing I and every other commuter has come to expect and begrudgingly accept.
But the madness that happened outside of Manchester Arena on Monday night is of another, horrific dimension. Ariana Grande’s fanbase is, I imagine, mostly teens and preteens; and I’d wager that, for many, the show was their first concert. The lights dimmed, the band kicked in and then Ariana appeared to applause, screams and shouts, and for the next hour and half (give or take) she commanded and directed the hearts and souls of everyone in attendance. I can say that without knowing much about her or her music, actually; anyone who’s been to more than a few shows knows the basic outline. And by night’s end, the 20,000+ fans were undoubtedly happy, content and ecstatic – stoned, in a sense, though not from drugs or drink but the experience.
A fan is a fan is a fan.
The idea that such a venue was a target for attack? It scorches the soul.
While driving home tonight, I listened to the CBS Evening News; KYW-1060AM, Philly’s all-news station, simulcasts it. What struck me was the night’s final report, about the response in Manchester, how everyone of every faith and color came together. The story spotlighted a Pakistani-Muslim cabbie who ferried 20+ young concert-goers wherever they wanted/needed to go at no charge. His own daughter had thought of attending the show, he said, but decided against it due to its proximity to school exams. That response, the outpouring of love and affection, is why those who hate will never win.
With all of that in mind, here’s today’s Top 5: Love, Peace & More. (One note: I’d hoped to start with the obvious, the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love,” but it’s not on YouTube.)
1) Bobby Darin – “Simple Song of Freedom”
2) Rumer – “What the World Needs Now Is Love”
3) Lady Lamb the Beekeeper – “All I Really Want to Do”
Today’s top 5 tackles the most Freudian of topics: dreams. Except I’m expanding the topic to include conscious musings in addition to the Dali-esque adventures that come with sleep. Of the former: If I ever win the Powerball, in addition to retiring, Diane and I plan to rent a concert hall and invite our musical favorites to play for us, our family and friends. Of the latter: The other morning I found myself on an uncharted desert isle reminiscent of Gilligan’s.
I don’t remember much, mind you, beyond this: a tiger observed me from the edge of a clearing. And then I awoke… and found my ferocious feline splayed beside me, fast asleep.
Anyway, onward…
Bobby Darin & Petula Clark – “All I Have to Do Is Dream”
2) Dusty Springfield – “Come for a Dream”
3) Paul McCartney – “Country Dreamer”
4) Fleetwood Mac – “Dreams”
5) Sandy Denny – “I’m a Dreamer”
And a few bonuses…
6) Blondie – “Dreaming”
7) The Jam – “Dreams of Children”
8) Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers – “Runnin’ Down a Dream”
Favorite movies – everybody has some. Mine include Almost Famous, American Beauty, Billy Jack, Casablanca,Grease, Rear Window, Serenity, Some Like It Hot, the Bourne trilogy and last year’s big-screen Veronica Mars flick, among others. A few are stone-cold classics. Others – some might call them mediocre or even dreck. But, so what? I enjoy them.
Beyond the Sea, the 2004 Kevin Spacey film about Bobby Darin, is yet another favorite. It’s flawed, for sure – and something I may never have seen save for my mother-in-law, who loves going to the movies. As a result, for a time last decade, we did just that. In this particular instance, the film before had been a bore – a French film that should have been called Ennui. Ennui, Part II, was next on the docket – if my mother-in-law had her way, that is. Diane, however, suggested we see the new Kevin Spacey movie instead as a way of placating me.
Understand, all I knew about Darin at the time was “Splish Splash” and “Dream Lover”; and only from hearing them on Happy Days and Michael St. Johns’ Saturday night oldies show in the mid-to-late 1970s. Darin made his mark, of course, when he graduated from pop ’n’ roll to “Mack the Knife” and became an adult-contemporary/supper-club performer with a knack for making every song he sang his. That’s how I describe him now, mind you. In December 2004, however, when presented with the option of seeing Beyond the Sea, I simply figured: It’s Spacey. Non-French. Why not?
Suffice it to say, the movie proved to be a revelation. Spacey’s performance led me to buy the soundtrack, and then an actual Darin best-of, which in turn led to various live sets and studio albums. The movie also led, indirectly, to more than just Darin. Prior, I gave short shrift to the supper-club musicians of yore – I was a kid of the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, after all, raised on rock, pop, country, folk, R&B and soul. I’d been led to believe that Darin and what (I mistakenly thought) he represented just weren’t cool.
Beyond the Sea taught me that I was wrong.
That’s a rather long-winded introduction to this next bit: One day, while browsing Bobby Darin CDs on Amazon, I noticed a Peggy Lee collection listed under the “Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought…” recommendations. I made a mental note, moved on. I’d seen her name from time to time, as most of a certain age have, and was familiar with her classic “Fever”…
…but that was it.
A year-or-so later – yes, that’s how long it can take me to pull the trigger on a purchase (I am great at not making up my mind) – I plunked down $33 for the 4-CD Singles Collection. The sales price was too good to pass up.
My short-and-simple review of the set, then and now: There aren’t enough superlatives to describe it. At her best, regardless of genre (and the collection veers from big band to swing to late-‘60s/early ‘70s adult contemporary), she’s living the lyrics as she sings them – happy, sad, sensual, world-weary, what have you. Over time, the set led to other Peggy Lee albums, both on CD and iTunes and/or Amazon downloads – especially the latter, due to Amazon’s (at the time) frequent sales. One download, from Amazon, was her collaboration with legendary jazz pianist George Shearing, Beauty and the Beat! At $2.99, it was a steal; and it quickly became my second favorite Peggy Lee set, with only the sultry Black Coffee ranking ahead of it.
Those were the days, I hasten to add, when I couldn’t discern a difference between CD-quality and downloads – not because of my ears, but my speakers. Most of my listening, then and now, comes here, at my desk – and my desktop computer speakers at the time, while decent, just weren’t good enough. CDs, downloads and YouTube videos sounded the same; and because I made mix CDs from what was on my computer for the car, what I heard on my car’s speakers sounded as good (or bad, depending on how one looks at it). It wasn’t until I upgraded the speakers in 2010, after a year-plus of deliberating, that I realized how foolish I’d been.
The thousands of CDs that I’d encoded at 256kbps and 320kbps became a figurative albatross around my neck. Mind you, the sound is akin to FM radio – decent, if somewhat distant and thin. And the albums and songs I’d bought at those bit-rates were… a sign of my ignorance. That’s why, in 2010, I began encoding everything as ALAC (the Apple equivalent of FLAC). Sure, they took up more room – but the sonic results were more than worth that (small) sacrifice.
Well, last night, thanks to a birthday gift (certificate) from my friend Luanne a few weeks back, I downloaded Beauty and the Beat! from HDTracks.com in full 24-bit, 192kHz glory – that means the master tape (or close equivalent) was encoded into digital at those settings and, for download purposes, not dumbed down to 16-bit/44.1kHz CD settings (or worse). I.e., it’s as close to the original as possible. I loaded the album onto my Pono Player and…wow. Just wow. The Amazon download sounds decent – like I said above, akin to FM radio. The high-res download, on the other hand, sounds like Peggy Lee is singing in my ear.
The set, I should mention, is billed as live, but is actually a studio set with the applause spliced in. Shearing and band have some wondrous instrumentals – especially “Mambo in Miami” and “Isn’t It Romantic”; Shearing’s piano reverberates as if you’re in the room with him, and the percussion…have I said “wow”? Check out the bass run on “Satin Doll.” The reason for purchasing it, though, is Peggy Lee. Her vocals are beyond belief. “Do I Love You,” “I Lost My Sugar in Salt Lake City,” “Blue Prelude,” “Always True to You in My Fashion” and “There’ll Be Another Spring” sound – well, I already said it’s like she’s singing in your ear. If you close your eyes, you’ll swear that’s the case.
It makes me yearn to hear Black Coffee – both the album and title track – in high-resolution.
And, listening to “Blue Prelude” as I type, I realize that I have none other than Kevin Spacey – and my mother-in-law, of all people – to thank for introducing me to Peggy Lee. If not for her penchant for movies, and Spacey’s decision to make Beyond the Sea, I never would have discovered Bobby Darin and, through him (and Amazon), Peggy Lee. And if not for Peggy Lee, my discovery of Melody Gardot – her modern-day heir, in my opinion – might not have happened.
The point of this too-long post? Don’t discount the decades that came before one’s birth; nor genres of music you assume you’ll dislike. There are too many good sounds to be enjoyed; and history to be learned.
