Gus's Top 100 Bootlickin' Nonce Anthems
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WashYourHands
Cat Malogen
The music playing as children slowly pass out from babysitter Gus roofying their milk and cookies
sus
Moderator
(6/100) Harry Chapin, "Dreams Go By"
Two things reliably make me teary-eyed—fathers who lack relationships with their sons; people who have let their dreams pass them by. Both of these come from Harry Chapin songs.
It's hard to say what comes first—these songs meant a lot to my dad; maybe the soft-spots were already there, before the music—genetic— \and the music stuck around because it captured the soft-spot.
"Cats in the Cradle" is the more famous Chapin cut, but "Dreams Go By" has that happy-sad synthesis I'm a sucker for. That's what life is like: It's not a comedy or a tragedy, it's both at the same time. The same event, viewed from different perspectives. Being able to channel both, simultaneously, feels more true and more meaningful than either mode on its own.
I've linked the live album version, the one I grew up with, which means you have so sit through 30-60 seconds of corny stage banter and audience participation.
My dad was a casual whistler, but when I was a little kid I went all in, I couldn't be shut up. Practicing my scales, trying to develop good slurs and staccattos. Whistling constantly, my little personal musical instrument, with me everywhere. I'm sure I drove friends/parents/teachers crazy. But this is all hazy prehistory, before the invention of writing, and we can't be sure.
The way the tragecomedy works is this: A couple slowly let their dreams escape them, watch the years pass. The dreams change—he wants to be a ball player, she wants to be a poet, but they postpone it for school. They get married—she wants to be a doctor; he wants to be a painter, "a real artistic snob." But they guess they'll have their children first, find a home, get a job. "Listen to the seasons passing, the wind blow." Even as they let old goals and desires slip away, they build something else instead. Every gain bears a concomitant loss. Who can say what they really wanted? Who can say whether what they got was more or less than they hoped?
The honorary mention here is "Cats in the Cradle." I remember when I was four or five, in New Jersey at a family reunion with East Coast family, my aunt & uncle talked to me about this song. I don't really understand where it sits in the family culture, the family lore, the family history. My dad's dad had six kids and a busy job; I think his life looked a bit like a combination of "Dreams Go By" and "Cats in the Cradle." Grandpa was from Gary Indiana, now infamous for its derelict post-industrial ruins, and in the 40s and 50s he caught rides into Chicago to play sax in the jazz bands there. But six kids can't eat from music, and he quit to be a pharmaceutical rep.
"Cats in the Cradle" is about a dad who never made time for his kid, and how that kid grew up like him—unwilling to make time for loved ones. I think that's the saddest thing of all, when the tragedy is inherited, seems like it might just be passed on forever down the generations. But that's the story of the world, right? Trauma begetting trauma. "Hurt people hurt people." How much pain is caused by the transfiguration of pain into avoidance or anger?
I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, I'd like to see you if you don't mind
He said, I'd love to, dad, if I can find the time
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad
It's been sure nice talking to you
It's also a song about postponement. I think that might be what unites these songs. They're about failing to observe triage, and realizing it too late.
"When you coming home, dad?"
"I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then"
Two things reliably make me teary-eyed—fathers who lack relationships with their sons; people who have let their dreams pass them by. Both of these come from Harry Chapin songs.
It's hard to say what comes first—these songs meant a lot to my dad; maybe the soft-spots were already there, before the music—genetic— \and the music stuck around because it captured the soft-spot.
"Cats in the Cradle" is the more famous Chapin cut, but "Dreams Go By" has that happy-sad synthesis I'm a sucker for. That's what life is like: It's not a comedy or a tragedy, it's both at the same time. The same event, viewed from different perspectives. Being able to channel both, simultaneously, feels more true and more meaningful than either mode on its own.
I've linked the live album version, the one I grew up with, which means you have so sit through 30-60 seconds of corny stage banter and audience participation.
My dad was a casual whistler, but when I was a little kid I went all in, I couldn't be shut up. Practicing my scales, trying to develop good slurs and staccattos. Whistling constantly, my little personal musical instrument, with me everywhere. I'm sure I drove friends/parents/teachers crazy. But this is all hazy prehistory, before the invention of writing, and we can't be sure.
The way the tragecomedy works is this: A couple slowly let their dreams escape them, watch the years pass. The dreams change—he wants to be a ball player, she wants to be a poet, but they postpone it for school. They get married—she wants to be a doctor; he wants to be a painter, "a real artistic snob." But they guess they'll have their children first, find a home, get a job. "Listen to the seasons passing, the wind blow." Even as they let old goals and desires slip away, they build something else instead. Every gain bears a concomitant loss. Who can say what they really wanted? Who can say whether what they got was more or less than they hoped?
The honorary mention here is "Cats in the Cradle." I remember when I was four or five, in New Jersey at a family reunion with East Coast family, my aunt & uncle talked to me about this song. I don't really understand where it sits in the family culture, the family lore, the family history. My dad's dad had six kids and a busy job; I think his life looked a bit like a combination of "Dreams Go By" and "Cats in the Cradle." Grandpa was from Gary Indiana, now infamous for its derelict post-industrial ruins, and in the 40s and 50s he caught rides into Chicago to play sax in the jazz bands there. But six kids can't eat from music, and he quit to be a pharmaceutical rep.
"Cats in the Cradle" is about a dad who never made time for his kid, and how that kid grew up like him—unwilling to make time for loved ones. I think that's the saddest thing of all, when the tragedy is inherited, seems like it might just be passed on forever down the generations. But that's the story of the world, right? Trauma begetting trauma. "Hurt people hurt people." How much pain is caused by the transfiguration of pain into avoidance or anger?
I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, I'd like to see you if you don't mind
He said, I'd love to, dad, if I can find the time
You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, dad
It's been sure nice talking to you
It's also a song about postponement. I think that might be what unites these songs. They're about failing to observe triage, and realizing it too late.
"When you coming home, dad?"
"I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then"
linebaugh
Well-known member
@WashYourHands what else does babysitter gus do?
sus
Moderator
(5B: more Harry Chapin)
"30,000 Pounds of Bananas"
The epic poetry equivalent of a gag song, but eight-year-old me loved it. A drawn-out story to follow—there wasn't much music out there that told a full story, but Chapin reliably delivered. "Mr. Tanner," about a dry cleaner from the Midwest who tries to make it as a singer in the big city, and is shamed by critics into giving up. Affected me in the same ways as "Dreams Go By." So many songs about people who'd given up on their dreams, who'd somehow been broken by the world. "Taxi" and "A Better Place to Be" are beautiful, sad, adult stories that didn't click with kid-me, but resonate now. A little midnight watchman. "I wanted to a pilot / now I'm flying high in my taxi." If I were listing the Chapin songs that I stand by now "Taxi" would be there instead of "Dreams Go By." But this is a historical canon—it's about what past selves loved, not about what a present self endorses socially.
"30,000 Pounds of Bananas"
The epic poetry equivalent of a gag song, but eight-year-old me loved it. A drawn-out story to follow—there wasn't much music out there that told a full story, but Chapin reliably delivered. "Mr. Tanner," about a dry cleaner from the Midwest who tries to make it as a singer in the big city, and is shamed by critics into giving up. Affected me in the same ways as "Dreams Go By." So many songs about people who'd given up on their dreams, who'd somehow been broken by the world. "Taxi" and "A Better Place to Be" are beautiful, sad, adult stories that didn't click with kid-me, but resonate now. A little midnight watchman. "I wanted to a pilot / now I'm flying high in my taxi." If I were listing the Chapin songs that I stand by now "Taxi" would be there instead of "Dreams Go By." But this is a historical canon—it's about what past selves loved, not about what a present self endorses socially.
sus
Moderator
I find it very disrespectful to be talking about these kinds of things when someone is sharing stories about their family and childhood and grandpa who gave up on his dreams. This is a thread about American tragedy and settling and ideology and compromise, and what it means to be educated middle class in this country.
sus
Moderator
Yes you might actually learn something ya Texan ignoramus
linebaugh
Well-known member
do the words 'adult alternative' mean anything to you? thats what I think of when I think soundtrack to a middle class upbringing. My parents would put on the 'adult alternative' channel whenever they would invite people over
WashYourHands
Cat Malogen
he combs their hair saying he’s checking for nits, ben wa balls already greased and self inserted so his posture is slightly affected, hunched, sitting on one arse cheek with this expression on from all the tramadol
I love how being middle class in America is such a lamentable condition to be pitied. Totally different from the rest of the world.
linebaugh
Well-known member
well thats because there are no expectations. no one in the UK believes there is any higher high than having a shed exclusively to drink beer in
Clinamenic
Binary & Tweed
You mean “pints”
wild greens
Well-known member
Great phrase. i haven't listened to anything yet
tbf the American expectation is to consume more stimulants than a third reich soldier in WW II without exercising and become a diabetic, so compared to that, pint sheds look pretty sensible and classy.
WashYourHands
Cat Malogen
shed ted island
Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
I haven't listened to any of the tunes and to be honest I probably won't, but I've read some of the commentary for them and it's quite interesting and clearly heartfelt.
sus
Moderator
(7/100) Green Day, "When September Ends"
Growing up my best friend lived just down the street, which was unusual and lucky. Let's call him "B." Everyone else in the district seemed to live in the country club gated community at the edge of town, or the Arbors, a suburban development near the airport pictured below. Very Malvina Reynolds "Little Boxes" area. But we lived downtown, with not a lot of kids nearby.
B and I were inseparable most of grade school, playing with Legos on the porch, watching Star Wars movies together. When he was 7ish he ended up changing his name, after one of the Star Wars characters, and went by it for years. Then his dad got a job in Germany, and he moved away at the end of fourth grade, and there was a very Roman emperor style coup where, having lost my wingman, I was deposed of all blacktop power and replaced by a bully with a Napoleonic complex. That's its own long story, a real rise and fall epic complete with showdowns, duels betrayals, and figurative gang violence.
I think B was going through a Green Day phase and emailed this song to me from Germany and it stuck with me. We were probably 10 or 11. The official music video has a field scene that's very similar to Anakin & Padme on Naboo in Attack of the Clones, which would've come out right around this time, and I always associated the two.
(7B, honorary mention) Daniel Powter, "Bad Day"
When I was 11 I went to visit that friend in Germany for two weeks, and we traveled around a bit. Our family would watch American Idol with Paula and Simon and Randy every Tuesday night; the only TV was in my parents' bedroom, and we only got the public broadcasting service, PBS, the national broadcasting company, NBC, and FOX. So my TV growing up was pretty limited—I'd watch PBS's NOVA science series on Sunday nights, and join the family for Idol on Tuesdays. (Nor were we allowed to own gaming consoles—video games were played strictly at friends' houses.) For some reason "Bad Day" was a big part of the 2005/06 Idol run, and the music video was a big part of early YouTube—Wikipedia tells me it was briefly the eight-most-watched music video online with about 10 million views, which is pennies today. So that's how it probably entered my life.
(7C, honorary mention) Jason Mraz, "Lucky"
In 5th or 6th grade, deposed of social power and without my best friend, I turned to some notion of "high culture" as a refuge. I went to the budget department store Ross with my grandma and spent allowance money on a Claude Monet print and an ornate faux Chinese porcelain vase. I got obsessed with Egyptology. I'd always collected code books detailing different cyphers and semiophore systems, had always loved British spy books like Alex Ryder, but now I felt inclined to reject everything everyone around me loved, everything legible, everything childish. I asked for Shakespeare's complete works at Barnes & Noble for an eleventh birthday present, and I spent my lunch hour reading it under a small tree on the corner of the field. I fell in love with the film Amadeus and bought all the Collected Mozart CDs I could find on sale at the Ross department store. I wrote a book report on Saint-Saens. I'd already been playing trumpet in our school's band for a few years, but now I picked up the piano and ground away at Moonlight Sonata. One completely ridiculous moment I remember clearly: I'm with my family on a road trip, we're stopped at a gas station, "Lucky" is on and someone maybe my mom is gushing over it. I snarkily invent: "This melody is actually ripped off from Bach." A bizarre claim to make but my parents were uncultured enough not to second-guess it. I remember I told my mom once I wanted to see a Franz Liszt concert at the local Performing Arts Center; she asked if he was "coming through on tour."
Growing up my best friend lived just down the street, which was unusual and lucky. Let's call him "B." Everyone else in the district seemed to live in the country club gated community at the edge of town, or the Arbors, a suburban development near the airport pictured below. Very Malvina Reynolds "Little Boxes" area. But we lived downtown, with not a lot of kids nearby.
B and I were inseparable most of grade school, playing with Legos on the porch, watching Star Wars movies together. When he was 7ish he ended up changing his name, after one of the Star Wars characters, and went by it for years. Then his dad got a job in Germany, and he moved away at the end of fourth grade, and there was a very Roman emperor style coup where, having lost my wingman, I was deposed of all blacktop power and replaced by a bully with a Napoleonic complex. That's its own long story, a real rise and fall epic complete with showdowns, duels betrayals, and figurative gang violence.
I think B was going through a Green Day phase and emailed this song to me from Germany and it stuck with me. We were probably 10 or 11. The official music video has a field scene that's very similar to Anakin & Padme on Naboo in Attack of the Clones, which would've come out right around this time, and I always associated the two.
(7B, honorary mention) Daniel Powter, "Bad Day"
When I was 11 I went to visit that friend in Germany for two weeks, and we traveled around a bit. Our family would watch American Idol with Paula and Simon and Randy every Tuesday night; the only TV was in my parents' bedroom, and we only got the public broadcasting service, PBS, the national broadcasting company, NBC, and FOX. So my TV growing up was pretty limited—I'd watch PBS's NOVA science series on Sunday nights, and join the family for Idol on Tuesdays. (Nor were we allowed to own gaming consoles—video games were played strictly at friends' houses.) For some reason "Bad Day" was a big part of the 2005/06 Idol run, and the music video was a big part of early YouTube—Wikipedia tells me it was briefly the eight-most-watched music video online with about 10 million views, which is pennies today. So that's how it probably entered my life.
(7C, honorary mention) Jason Mraz, "Lucky"
In 5th or 6th grade, deposed of social power and without my best friend, I turned to some notion of "high culture" as a refuge. I went to the budget department store Ross with my grandma and spent allowance money on a Claude Monet print and an ornate faux Chinese porcelain vase. I got obsessed with Egyptology. I'd always collected code books detailing different cyphers and semiophore systems, had always loved British spy books like Alex Ryder, but now I felt inclined to reject everything everyone around me loved, everything legible, everything childish. I asked for Shakespeare's complete works at Barnes & Noble for an eleventh birthday present, and I spent my lunch hour reading it under a small tree on the corner of the field. I fell in love with the film Amadeus and bought all the Collected Mozart CDs I could find on sale at the Ross department store. I wrote a book report on Saint-Saens. I'd already been playing trumpet in our school's band for a few years, but now I picked up the piano and ground away at Moonlight Sonata. One completely ridiculous moment I remember clearly: I'm with my family on a road trip, we're stopped at a gas station, "Lucky" is on and someone maybe my mom is gushing over it. I snarkily invent: "This melody is actually ripped off from Bach." A bizarre claim to make but my parents were uncultured enough not to second-guess it. I remember I told my mom once I wanted to see a Franz Liszt concert at the local Performing Arts Center; she asked if he was "coming through on tour."