My Ever Changing Moods isn’t earth-shattering, but it is a lovely little song. It’s got a very sublime melody with some excellent lyrics, and Paul Weller’s guitar is nicely understated and very eclectic.
And of course, the lyrics:
Daylight turns to moonlight - and I’m at my best
Praising the way it all works - gazing upon the rest
The cool before the warm
The calm after the storm
I wish to stay forever - letting this be my food
But I’m caught up in a whirlwind and my ever changing moods
Bitter turns to sugar - some call a passive tune
But the day things turn sweet - for me won’t be too soon
The hush before the silence
The winds after the blast
I wish we’d move together - this time the bosses sued
But we’re caught up in the wilderness and an ever changing mood
Teardrops turn to children - who’ve never had the time
To commit the sins they pay for through - another’s evil mind
The love after the hate
The love we leave too late
I wish we’d wake up one day - an’ everyone feel moved
But we’re caught up in the dailies and an ever changing mood
Evil turns to statues - and masses form a line
But I know which way I’d run to if the choice was mine
The past is knowledge - the present our mistake
And the future we always leave too late
I wish we’d come to our senses and see there is no truth
In those who promote the confusion for this ever changing mood
Ah, the irrepressible Bootsy Collins. Where to begin?
As a child, I did not like that “race music”. I found it (and still find the vast majority of it) boring, repetitive, close-minded, and I just didn’t like the way it sounded. Then I heard Bootsy…
Bootsy was fun. Bootsy was silly. Bootsy was really, really cool. And Bootsy can definitely play some bass. But don’t just take my word for it. From Rolling Stone:
Bootsy’s Rubber Band has about as much intellectual content as a Saturday morning cartoon show, which really doesn’t separate it from most other funk and grind bands (or power-rock groups). What makes Bootsy stand out is a low-grade, comic-book sense of humor that producer George Clinton is able to fuse with some of the most lyrical post-James Brown funk this side of Parliament/Funkadelic. In fact, it’s impossible to mention Bootsy Collins without bringing up Parliament/Funkadelic, the band Bootsy has helped shape since his departure from James Brown.
If that isn’t a good reason to like a performer, I don’t know what is.
Mind you, it wouldn’t matter if the music weren’t any good. Thankfully such is not the case. What’s a Telephone Bill? is actually sort of a nice romantic sentiment–until you realize how incredibly silly and funny the song is. Bootsy’s spoken word delivery is way over the top, and his asides are reminiscent of Popeye’s from the 1930’s black and white cartoons. Plus, even if you take Bootsy out of the equation, it’s still a damned good song. In fact, it would quickly end up on the “music to get laid to” mix CD.
Here’s a link to a tribute video
And of course, the lyrics:
Hello baby
Yes, it’s your friendly phone fanatic again
Oh yeah I’m loaded
With verbal rap ability, baby
You know you inspire me to poetry
So listen while I recite naughty nothings
That’ll wet your eardrums
I’d like to, I’d like to, I’d like to
Yeah yeah yeah
Oh, can I make sweet love to you baby?
What I’d like to do would be good to you
And if you hang up on me now, I’ll be through
I’m just living and loving, waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
According to way the way you make me feel
I guess you’d call it obscene phone call
I’m not a storyteller though baby
I’d rather be with you, me to me
Oh, a sort of physical love, like, bubba
Oh, you’re the sweetest fantasy I know
YOU
Excuse me if I seem obscene to you
I’m being real and that seems the thing to do
I’m just living and loving, waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
Oh baby, uh, just wanna hang on
I’d like to, I’d like to, I’d like to yeah yeah yeah
I’d like to make sweet love to you
Oh no, not that baby
I wanna be real with you
Let me just breathe in your ear hole baby
(Ohhhh ohhhh)
Don’t fake me out
I love you baby
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
Let me see if I can hit that note again
I love you baby
(Ohhh ohhh doo doo doo doo doo doo doo)
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
Can you just explain to me what key are you in, baby?
I’d like to get real funk-kay
(I’d like to make sweet love to you)
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
I’m just living and loving waiting for the moment
When you got time to kill
And if I can’t get your love, then
What’s a telephone bill?
Oh, oh
I’d like to make sweet love to you
Maybe I’ll manicure your toenails
And uh, make sweet love to you baby!
Rub my body with yours
Wait a minute operator, I’m not talking to you!
Young Americans is a great song with some great performers playing on it, including David Sanborn and Luther Vandross. It’s a rollicking piece of urban style rhythm and blues, with stream of consciousness lyrics, an excellent series of church choir vocals, and just good old funk. Not to mention that it’s got one of the great lyrics of all time: Ain’t there one damn song that can make me break down and cry…?, which he delivers beautifully.
Here’s a link to a tribute video or if you prefer, here’s a link to Bowie performing the song on The Dick Cavett Show.
And of course, the lyrics:
They pulled in just behind the bridge
He lays her down, he frowns
‘Gee my life’s a funny thing, am I still too young?’
He kissed her then and there
She took his ring, took his babies
It took him minutes, took her nowhere
Heaven knows, she’d have taken anything, but
All night
She wants the young American
Young American, young American, she wants the young American
All right
She wants the young American
Scanning life through the picture window
She finds the slinky vagabond
He coughs as he passes her Ford Mustang, but
Heaven forbid, she’ll take anything
But the freak, and his type, all for nothing
He misses a step and cuts his hand, but
Showing nothing, he swoops like a song
She cries, ‘Where have all Papa’s heroes gone?’
All night
She wants the young American
Young American, young American, she wants the young American
All right
She wants the young American
All the way from Washington
Her bread winner begs off the bathroom floor
‘We live for just these twenty years
Do we have to die for the fifty more?’
All night
He wants the young American
Young American, young American, he wants the young American
All right
He wants the young American
Do you remember, your President Nixon?
Do you remember, the bills you have to pay
Or even yesterday?
Have you have been an un-American?
Just you and your idol singing falsetto ’bout
Leather, leather everywhere, and
Not a myth left from the ghetto
Well, well, well, would you carry a razor
In case, just in case of depression?
Sit on your hands on a bus of survivors
Blushing at all the AfroSheeners
Ain’t that close to love?
Well, ain’t that poster love?
Well, it ain’t that Barbie doll
Her heart’s been broken just like you have
All night
You want the young American
Young American, young American, you want the young American
All right
You want the young American
You ain’t a pimp and you ain’t a hustler
A pimp’s got a Caddie and a lady got a Chrysler
Black’s got respect and white’s got his soul train
Mama’s got cramps and look at your hands ache
(I heard the news today, oh boy)
I got a suite and you got defeat
Ain’t there a man you can say no more?
And, ain’t there a woman I can sock on the jaw?
And, ain’t there a child I can hold without judging?
Ain’t there a pen that will write before they die?
Ain’t you proud that you’ve still got faces?
Ain’t there one damn song that can make me
Break down and cry…?
All night
I want the young American
Young American, young American, I want the young American
All right
I want the young American
(Repeat 3 x’s to fade)
This is just a good old fashioned shake your booty get down get back up again get funky with your bad self jam. It’s almost impossible for this song to not elevate your mood. Just listen to it and enjoy.
Here’s a link to a live performance
And of course, the lyrics:
Freddie: Feeling’s gettin stronger
Larry: Music’s gettin longer too
Rose: Music is flashin me
Sly: I want to take you higher
Baby baby baby light my fire
All: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka
Freddie: Feeling’s nitty-gritty
Larry: Sound is in the city too
Rose: Music’s still flashin’ me
Sly: Don’t ya want to get higher
Baby baby baby light my fire.
All: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka
Sly: Harmonica solo
All Repeated: Higher!
Sly: C’mon light my fire
Want to take you higher
All: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka
Freddie: Feeling that should make you move
Larry: Sounds that should help you groove
Rose: Music still flashin’ me
Sly: Take your places
I want to take you higher
Baby baby baby light my fire.
Freddie: Guitar solo
All: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka
All Repeated: Higher!
Sly: Let’s take you, do you wanna go, etc.
Cynthia: Trumpet solo
All Repeated: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka, Higher!
Larry: Bass solo
All Repeated: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka, Higher!
Jerry: Sax solo
All Repeated: Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka
1960’s style Rhythm and Blues has never gone out of favor in the UK, as a great many songs you hear seem to be plucked out of that time period no matter what year it might be. This is one of those songs.
Sign Of The Times could just as easily have been performed by the Supremes or Martha and the Vandellas as the Belle Stars. It’s got that great funky guitar sound, the cool girl group style vocals, and a pretty cool beat. I always thought it was a great song.
And of course, the lyrics:
As I lie here thinking of you
I realize that nothing is new
Lying in my bed thinking of you
I realize nothing is new
You say you love me but want success
I say you’re lying, nothing has changed
This is the sign of the times
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
We’re strong in bed
You’re weak in love
You give me nothing
More than a shove
I walk alone now thinking of you
I realize now nothing is new
This is the sign of the times
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
Why do we go on with this useless love-affair?
When it seems to me that you don’t really care
I realize now nothing is new
Time to live my life without you, without you, without you
I sit alone now wondering about you
I’m living my life, what do you do?
You say you want me but need success
I want your love boy, want nothing less
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is the sign of the times (The sign of the times)
Piece of more to come
This is the sign of the times
Time to be alone
This is just your basic, fun little toe-tapping, booty-wagging swing daddy rockers. It’s very straightforward, but it also has some really cool lyrics courtesy of Difford and Tilbrook. It’s a sad tale of a poor girl who’s had bad luck with a man once again, and everything just keeps going wrong. Still, you can’t help smiling while the song plays.
There’s a really nice honky tonk piano solo as well, followed by a neat guitar solo. Just a good old fun song, and I love it.
Here’s a link to a live performance
And of course, the lyrics:
She wants to give up love for good
She kicks the fence and splits the wood,
She cries her eyes out in the rain
She swears aloud and so again,
She feels messed around.
She takes her coat off as it pours
The passing daytime she ignores,
Sits with a problem on a bench
And with her heel she digs a trench,
She feels messed around.
She rips her skirt and tears her dress
Climbing over his garden fence,
Mud on her mourning as tears still fall
She’s in no mood for his love at all,
She feels messed around
Her door won’t shut, her match won’t light,
The bulb went out, her skirts too tight,
She feels messed around.
The words don’t match, her heart won’t heal,
The phone won’t pip, her fruit won’t peel,
She feels messed around.
She left herself open for him all the time
But always kept off of his cloud,
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Have come to mess her around
I fell in love with this song from the first time I heard it. It’s a cool jam with a cool message and I think it’s just cool. Cool?
Okay, it’s got more going for it than that. I think it has a really good rhythm, and the violin really adds some extra flavor.
From Wikipedia
In 1997 Coppola had a big hit with “Legend of a Cowgirl,” a pop hit that mixed a sample lifted from Donovan’s “Sunshine Superman” with “with a sassy rap and a catchy hook.”[6] Coppola said at the time she recorded “Legend of a Cowgirl” that it was a fantasy about doing whatever she wanted and that now she was stuck with it.[9] “In ‘Legend of a Cowgirl,’ I talk about riding a horse. It’s a metaphor for doing whatever I want, about having sex with whoever I want and not feeling guilty, and riding on to the next town and starting all over again,” said Coppola.[9] “The song began as an idea for a movie: a fantasy about women who love ‘em and leave ‘em and ride off into the sunset. It was just a fantasy I was having for about a week,” she says with a sly grin, ‘and now I’m stuck with it.’”[9]
Part of Coppola’s marketing included a music video for “Legend of a Cowgirl,” that received heavy rotation on MTV.[7] The video showed Coppola in dream sequences as a a biker chick, a catsuit-wearing alien-type and a diva in heels and a huge afro.[7] In one scene Coppola dismounts her bike, marches up to a hitchhiking cowboy and plants a major kiss on him.[7] “It wasn’t that good of a kiss,” says Coppola.[7] “It was just like a big joke.”[7] In another scene Coppola, clad in a skintight, shiny black catsuit, is surrounded by nearly-naked dancing men in silver bodypaint and Speedos[7]. “It was very uncomfortable ’cause we had no room and their penises and their buns are just flopping around,” says Coppola.[7] “It was like, ‘Whoops, sorry. Didn’t mean to touch you!’ But they were all gay, so it didn’t really matter. They were cute though. It was a shame.
And of course, the lyrics:
I’m gonna drink my whiskey
I’m gonna have my man
I know you got nothing to say
I’m gonna have my man
Gonna steal their hearts
and save them for another day
Ain’t gonna hang my hat
Ain’t gonna take off my boots
Ain’t nothing gonna stop me in my pursuit
My stage, time to rehearse
Gonna see all the wonders of the universe
CH: Pack my bags and mount my horse
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Spend all my money on absolutely nothing
Need no man to pay for anything
Ain’t got no shame, nobody knows my name
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Pecos Bill, couldn’t hang for long
A female legend with a song
Such a beautiful day, Such a beautiful day
I think I’ll wear my brand new negligee
I’ll probably change my mind
It happens every time
Just speak to my ex-fianc¨¦
I’m gonna hunt the hunter, gonna serve’em well done
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run
Up goes the moon, down goes the sun
Cook my dinner while I shine my gun
CH: Pack my bags and mount my horse
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Spend all my money on absolutely nothing
Cause there ain’t no thing like chickenwing
Ain’t got no shame, nobody knows my name
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Pecos Bill, couldn’t hang for long
A female legend with a song
I’d give my life to be her
I’d give my live just to be her
I’d give my sight to see her
I’d give my sight just to see her
So here’s the way I’m gonna break it down
Speak my mind any time ’cause I got the master plan
Power in my soul, strength from my hand
I’m going up north to claim my land
Won’t settle by river, might make me shiver
So look out and hide your fans
I’m a woman on fire with huge desire
To be as good as any man
CH: Pack my bags and mount my horse
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Spend all my money on absolutely nothing
Need no man to pay for anything
Ain’t got no shame, nobody knows my name
I’m gonna ride on into the next town
Pecos Bill, couldn’t hang for long
A female legend with a song…….
Okay, I have to admit that I’ve heard this song way too many times–but I still love it.
There’s tons of arguments about this song at SongFacts and SongMeanings but it’s mostly people screaming about whether the song is about drugs or not, which is why I’m not linking directly to those particular conversations.
In all honesty, if this song is about anything, it really doesn’t matter to me. I love the contrast between Damon Albarn’s laid back vocals and Del the Funkee Homosapien’s relaxed rap, and the beat is nice and steady–probably a great song to walk to.
And of course, the lyrics:
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on,
It’s coming on, it’s coming on.
Yeah, ha ha.
Finally someone let me out of my cage.
Now time for me is nothing ’cause I’m counting no age.
No, I couldn’t be there. No, you shouldn’t be scared.
I’m good at repairs and I’m under each snare.
Intangible, bet you didn’t think, so I command you to.
Panoramic view, look I’ll make it all manageable.
Pick and choose, sit and lose, all you different crews.
Chicks and dudes, who you think is really kicking tunes?
Picture you getting down in a picture tube,
Like you lit the fuse.
You think it’s fictional? Mystical, maybe.
Spiritual hero who appears in you to clear your view when you’re too crazy.
Lifeless, to those the definition for what life is.
Priceless to you because I put you on the hype shit.
You like it? Gun smoking, righteous, with one token psychic
Among those, possess you with one go.
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.
The essence, the basics, without it, you make it.
Allow me to make this childlike in nature.
Rhythm, you have it or you don’t, that’s a fallacy.
I’m in them, every sprouting tree, every child apiece,
Every cloud at sea, you see with your eye.
You see destruction and demise, corruption in disguise,
From this fucking enterprise, now I’m sucking to your lies
Through Russel, not his muscles, but percussion he provides
With me as a guide.
Y’all can see me now ’cause you don’t see with your eye.
You perceive with your mind. That’s the inner.
So I’m-a stick around with Russ and be a mentor,
Bust a few rhymes so motherfuckers remember
Where the thought is. I brought all this
So you can survive when law is lawless.
Feelings, sensations that you thought was dead.
No squealing, remember that it’s all in your head.
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
The future is coming on.
I ain’t happy. I’m feeling glad.
I got sunshine in a bag.
I’m useless, but not for long.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future is coming on.
It’s coming on, it’s coming on.
My future
This is probably my favorite Beck song. It’s just funky, funky, funky and I like it like that. A simple tale of the feeling of liberation after quitting a dead end job.
And of course, the lyrics:
Alcohol on my hands
I got plans
to ditch myself and get outside
dancing women
throwing plates
decapitating their laughing dates
swirling chickens caught in flight
out of focus
much too bright
coming down
shiny teeth
game show suckers trying to bleed
but I got a drug and I got the bug
and I got something better than love
How you like me now
pretty good
going on,feeling strong
I quit my job blowing leaves
telephone bills up my sleeves
choking like a one man dustbowl
freedom rock slimeball
talking in code
we went down
lit up the shack
grab me a beer out of the sack
everybody bent over twice
painting the walls throwing some dice
leaping up into the air getting juiced up beyond belief
and they were singing like this
winos throwing Frisbees at the sun
put my soul between a bun
now I’m hungry now I’m drunk
now I’m running like a flaming pig
oh yeah
scraping off the attitude
old man eating all my food
don’t be kind
don’t be rude
just shake your boots and let it all get loose
oh yeah
my goodness
fluffy clouds
jumping rainbows
fluffy clouds
I’m sad
jumping rainbows
a soft and snuggly place
[repeat]
fluffy clouds
I’m sad and unhappy
winos throwing Frisbees at the sun
put my soul between a bun
now I’m horny now I’m drunk
now I’m running like a flaming pig
oh yeah, I like it like that
oh that is cold
somebody put a flame-thrower on that
oh my goodness
take me down to the depot
buddy put me down on the bus
oh yeah
I like it like that
somebody bring me a plate of sassafrass
hey hey hey
uh-huh
what’s happenin’
B-Movie is a really cool sounding song from the Get Happy! album, punctuated by some excellent bass work by Bruce Thomas. The song seems to be about a short-term affair that gets a little more serious than the singer intended, as he develops feelings for the girl.
And of course, the lyrics:
I found America hiding in the corner of my wallet
It’s a well kept secret, thought that I had better swallow it
Before they make me spit out the truth
Before they find you’re lying about your youth
B movie, that’s all you are to me
Just a soft soap story
Don’t want the woman to adore me
You can’t stand it when it goes from real to reel
Too real too real
You can’t stand it when I throw punch lines you can feel
All the time, there’s a rule book in Brittania
That no one ever waives
And everybody’s on the make
It’s not your heart I want to break
Turn out the lights
I’m thinking that I want to go to sleep now
Just give me a promise that I’m supposed to keep now
I don’t want some fool asking me why
When I find you’re finally making me cry