Chuck's birthday

Today is (would be) my dad’s birthday, and before work I was listening to Bob Marley. I had to dig up Legend anyway because I wanted to put the live version of "No Woman No Cry" on a mix I’m making for Farah and Jim and their new baby, Eloise. I remember listening to this tape in my dad’s truck, over and over, starting from seventh grade when it joined our/my essential music oeuvre. I guess I was thinking about this song as sadder than it actually is, as a song of grief instead of comfort. Then I realized that’s because I’m thinking of it as a song for “my peeps who passed away”—but the Fugees album with their version on it came out that fall after my dad died, and I guess is one of the first albums I think he would’ve really appreciated that I never got to play for him, me being one of his “cool” daughters and him the “cool” dad I played “cool” music for, with an enthusiasm that wasn’t cool, really. Neither of us ever were—-not in the least (nor you, really, sister dear--though you probably came closer than I ever did, ms. indie guitar girl).

My music has gotten less cool, or anyway I'm more aware that it's less cool. I think my dad would be into all the old gospel I've been obsessed with, and he'd understand how I'm fascinated by this as a... secular obsession? to coin a term he'd appreciate. And we could talk about it. I'd like to talk to him about it. Plus I know he'd love my recent fascination with all things Johnny Cash and Carter Family--I have a couple Johnny Cash records from my dad's collection, though the eight CDs are from the library.

"No Woman, No Cry" is a song about remembering and anticipating—okay, this is not about to deteriorate into a line reading of a Bob Marley song. Enough. See quote at end.*

Anyway. Thinking about a CD for the new Eloise, I’m realizing, of course, how many of the songs you sing or dance to with little kids are love songs. Most songs are, of course, but…yeah. Three notable exceptions that were top sing-alongs when I nannied were Etta James’ “Pushover,” Roger Miller’s “King of the Road," and Magnetic Fields' "Papa Was a Rodeo." The first is a kickass “fuck you, you can’t play me,” song and the second is a traveler song—much like “City of New Orleans,” which Farah wrote about Eloise’s grandfather singing to her, just like he’d sung it to Jim. (Okay, “King of the Road” isn’t MUCH like “City of New Orleans.” But--yeah.) "Papa Was a Rodeo"--okay, maybe it's a love song. Not debating that right now. Anyway can't argue it's a great sing-along, period. "Nashville Skyline Rag" is also going on the baby mix--I was going to make a case for that not being a love song, but I caught myself--just because it doesn't have words doesn't prove anything.

On the bus to work, listened to Abbey Road. The whole second half of that album-—side B of the record I grew up dancing to—-starts with "Come Together" and gets better from there. I still have my dad’s record. I’ll go home tonight and listen to the album again—or at least side B of the record I grew up dancing to.

*Good friends we have, good friends we have lost, along the way.
In this great future, you can’t forget your past;
So dry your tears, I say.

P.S. Bec, Derek, and the kid-to-come: you'll be getting your own version of the mix, of course. We go so far back with the mixes.