5/02/2006
You and Me Against The World
I often wonder how my life would be different if I weren't exposed to the music of Helen Reddy and Anne "Little Snowbird" Murray at such a young age. I think the pangs of massive depression I experience on occasion would all but disappear. I got a Helen Reddy Greatest Hits CD in the mail recently -- it is released today, as it has been about every 3-5 years for the last 30.
Pretty much every song depicts some kind of struggle that as a 5 year-old, I didn't know quite what to do with. All I know is it made me sad. And that it was on the stereos of any of my mom's friends who were divorced and whom occasionally came over and chainsmoked and drank coffee at our kitchen table for 1 to 16 hours at a time. Maybe people who were more savvy, say, anyone over about 15, knew what women's lib was, and could sort of contextualize Reddy's lyrics in the "cultural mosaic" of the 1970s. (I would never use this term, by the way) All I knew about women's lib in the 1970s was the show Maude. And that everyone on it was pissed off. The only other things I really remember about the 70s is that sharks were really popular. And that everything in the 1970s except the sky was burnt orange. Pants, sofas, cars, coffee cups. Unless of course it was plaid. And not a happy plaid. It was a plaid resembling what might be at the bottom of Lindsay Lohan's toilet after a night of heavy boozing. A-frame houses were really popular. So was beer. So was divorce, which my parents never did, but anytime the songs below came on, I pretty much felt it was coming. Here's a brief look at the Reddy repetoire:
"I am Woman" -- all I knew about this song was that women--and the only one I knew at the time was my mom--were being fucked with, and had to rise up "in numbers too big to ignore." Thanks a lot, world.
"You and Me Against the World" -- Speaking of the world, me and mom have no fucking allies anywhere. We're just a couple of fire hydrants that the world, and, most likely the entire universe likes to relieve themselves upon.
"Leave Me Alone" -- some guy from Tennessee raped a woman, now she is nuts.
"Ain't no Way to Treat a Lady" --detecting a theme yet? Again, a woman is being treated poorly. A relationship is ending.
Then the Anne Murray songs came on. Try listening to "You Needed Me" once without wanting to drink a whole bottle of bar rail brandy and doing a swandive off an overpass into rush hour traffic. Then hoping that the EMTs could save you so that you could pour a bottle of arsenic into each of your eyeballs and then wrestle a a grizzly bear with rabies. Helen Reddy is fucking DEVO compared to Anne Murray.
And it is not just women singers. Try Gordon Lightfoot, or Paul Williams (he was the 4'6" guy on Hollywood Squares and Muppet shows) or Leo Sayer. Leo Sayer is fucking satan. Who were the A&R people at record labels in the 1970s? And what type of meds were they on? The worst is Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. (even though "too good to be true" is alright) Frankie Valli is the kid who gets beaten every day in gym class. And it is not because he is different or cool. It is because he is annoying as shit. And people who bitch about music and lyrics today should really go and spend a little time with these classics. I would sooner fill my kid's sippy cup with crunk juice than play one second of Anne Murray to him. It is pornography in my household. He will not know it exists. Then, if he wants to rebel in later life, his wild and dangerous act will be to purchase a split-level ranch home and get some burnt orange berber carpetting and blast Helen Reddy or Anne Murray. I will of course begin smoking crack. Which I intend to do, either way, at age 65.
END
Pretty much every song depicts some kind of struggle that as a 5 year-old, I didn't know quite what to do with. All I know is it made me sad. And that it was on the stereos of any of my mom's friends who were divorced and whom occasionally came over and chainsmoked and drank coffee at our kitchen table for 1 to 16 hours at a time. Maybe people who were more savvy, say, anyone over about 15, knew what women's lib was, and could sort of contextualize Reddy's lyrics in the "cultural mosaic" of the 1970s. (I would never use this term, by the way) All I knew about women's lib in the 1970s was the show Maude. And that everyone on it was pissed off. The only other things I really remember about the 70s is that sharks were really popular. And that everything in the 1970s except the sky was burnt orange. Pants, sofas, cars, coffee cups. Unless of course it was plaid. And not a happy plaid. It was a plaid resembling what might be at the bottom of Lindsay Lohan's toilet after a night of heavy boozing. A-frame houses were really popular. So was beer. So was divorce, which my parents never did, but anytime the songs below came on, I pretty much felt it was coming. Here's a brief look at the Reddy repetoire:
"I am Woman" -- all I knew about this song was that women--and the only one I knew at the time was my mom--were being fucked with, and had to rise up "in numbers too big to ignore." Thanks a lot, world.
"You and Me Against the World" -- Speaking of the world, me and mom have no fucking allies anywhere. We're just a couple of fire hydrants that the world, and, most likely the entire universe likes to relieve themselves upon.
"Leave Me Alone" -- some guy from Tennessee raped a woman, now she is nuts.
"Ain't no Way to Treat a Lady" --detecting a theme yet? Again, a woman is being treated poorly. A relationship is ending.
Then the Anne Murray songs came on. Try listening to "You Needed Me" once without wanting to drink a whole bottle of bar rail brandy and doing a swandive off an overpass into rush hour traffic. Then hoping that the EMTs could save you so that you could pour a bottle of arsenic into each of your eyeballs and then wrestle a a grizzly bear with rabies. Helen Reddy is fucking DEVO compared to Anne Murray.
And it is not just women singers. Try Gordon Lightfoot, or Paul Williams (he was the 4'6" guy on Hollywood Squares and Muppet shows) or Leo Sayer. Leo Sayer is fucking satan. Who were the A&R people at record labels in the 1970s? And what type of meds were they on? The worst is Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. (even though "too good to be true" is alright) Frankie Valli is the kid who gets beaten every day in gym class. And it is not because he is different or cool. It is because he is annoying as shit. And people who bitch about music and lyrics today should really go and spend a little time with these classics. I would sooner fill my kid's sippy cup with crunk juice than play one second of Anne Murray to him. It is pornography in my household. He will not know it exists. Then, if he wants to rebel in later life, his wild and dangerous act will be to purchase a split-level ranch home and get some burnt orange berber carpetting and blast Helen Reddy or Anne Murray. I will of course begin smoking crack. Which I intend to do, either way, at age 65.
END
