Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. CDII--Billy Swan: I Can Help

 Ooh, here's a surprise--another one hit wonder from the seventies, the era which just happened to mark my musical coming of age.  Who'd have ever guessed?

Billy Swan was born in Cape Girardeau, Missouri in 1942.  He learned guitar, drums, and piano and began writing songs as a child.  At the ripe old age of 20 he wrote his first hit, a song called "Lover Please" which became a #7 hit for the legendary Clyde McPhatter.  Swan spent a few years writing hits for other country artists, producing records, and playing bass guitar for Kris Kristofferson before signing a deal for a solo career in 1972.  He'd have one big hit (which, amazingly enough, just happens to be this week's featured tune) ...and as is often the case here on Friday Night Jukebox, he was able to turn it into a lifetime of making music.  For his career, Swan has released 12 albums and 46 singles, with the bulk of his successful releases appearing on the Country charts.  Since 2005 he has been mostly a backing singer and studio musician.

"I Can Help" was the first single released from his second album, the astutely titled I Can Help.  The single would hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 and on the Country singles chart.  The album would reach #21 on the Billboard 200 and #1 on the Country albums chart.  Surprisingly enough for a one hit wonder, those were the only #1 hits--actually hits of any sort on the pop charts--of his career.

Fun Fact:  "I Can Help" was number one on the singles charts in 13 different countries.  Man, if you're going to have one hit, that's the way to do it.

As I've noted a time or two before, every now and again there's a confluence of musical events that lead to a great song, and "I Can Help" is just one more instance.  From the opening rockabilly influenced guitars to the frat rock inspired organ, from the beneficent lyrics to Swan's blue-eyed soul vocals, everything comes together to form one country-tinged pop gem.  And the cherries on top?  Hand claps galore and a false ending!  Just another fine addition to the pantheon of tunes here on Friday Night Jukebox.

Lyric Sheet:  "It's a fact that people get lonely/Ain't nothing new/But a woman like you, baby/Should never have the blues..."

Enjoy:

Republican = Traitor

Peace,

emaycee

Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. CXLVIII--Janis Joplin: Me and Bobby McGee

Back in the day before there were computers and video games and a thousand TV channels, families used to entertain themselves in ways that may seem somewhat quaint today.  One of the ways my family entertained ourselves when I was but a wee lad was by singing together (and, no, in case you were wondering we were neither as cool, nor as talented, as the Partridge Family...if you're of a certain age).  And one of the songs I remember us doing was this week's tune, with my sister on guitar (she took lessons for about two years and even today, when she picks up a guitar once every fifteen years or so, she's much better than me) and the rest of us singing along to one of my Dad's favorite tunes.  In fact, for many years I was considerably more familiar with our rendition than with Ms. Joplin's much celebrated version.

If ever there was an artist who lived up to the ideal behind a "tortured artist" it was Janis Joplin.  Born and raised in Port Arthur, Texas, Joplin was ostracized and bullied in high school for being just a tad on the different side, and after a year of college got the hell out of Dodge and headed for the San Francisco Bay Area--where she quickly developed problems with both alcohol abuse (Southern Comfort) and drug addiction (heroin).  After a knockout performance (Joplin is still considered one or rock's truly great live performers) at the Monterrey Pop Festival in 1967 with Big Brother and the Holding Company (Joplin was also great at surrounding herself with bands with cool names--as the aforementioned band as well as the Kozmic Blues Band and the Full Tilt Boogie Band), Joplin's career went into the stratosphere and she released three albums over the next three years with varying degrees of success, though her star continued to rise.  Sadly, while in the midst of recording her fourth album, Joplin overdosed on heroin and died on October 4, 1970, just two weeks after Jimi Hendrix succumbed to the same fate.  Her last album, Pearl (and her nickname, one of rock's great nicknames), would go on to be the most successful of her career and add to a legacy that would end up with her election to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as well as being considered one of the truly great rock and roll female vocalists of all time.  It's easy to see why such flamboyant female vocalists as Stevie Nicks, Madonna, Amy Winehouse, and Lady Gaga (among several others) owe her a serious debt of gratitude.

Written by one of America's great songwriters ("Help Me Make It Through the Night," "For the Good Times," "Sunday Morning Comin' Down" and many others), Kris Kristofferson (who is really worth a listen if you give yourself some time to get used to his scratchy vocals), "Me and Bobby McGee" was released on her previously mentioned Pearl album in 1970, and would go on to become her only #1 (most assuredly with a bullet!) single on the Billboard Hot 100.  Recorded just days before her death, it would also go on to rank #148 on Rolling Stone's list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

Fun (if somewhat sad) Fact:  "Me and Bobby McGee" was the second single to reach #1 posthumously on the Billboard Hot 100--the first being the utterly delightful "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding.

Opening with just Joplin playing an acoustic guitar, "Me and Bobby McGee" weaves the tale of two ill-fated lovers roaming across America looking for a home who eventually part ways, leaving the narrator to spend the rest of her life ruing the day.  About a minute in, the Full Tilt Boogie Band kicks in and the song takes it up a notch, becoming a bluesy, spiritual, pop song ruminating on the nuances of lost love.  The song is notable for having one of the most memorable lines ever written for a song ("Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose..."), Joplin's beyond incredible vocals, and for being covered by literally thousands of artists.  The last minute of the song showcases the Full Tilt Boogie Band turning it into a, well, full tilt boogie--and at close the song becomes a masterful performance for a masterpiece of songwriting, and one of rock's quintessential numbers.

Lyric Sheet:  "Busted flat in Baton Rouge, headin' for the trains/Feelin' nearly faded as my jeans..."

Enjoy:

Fuck Donald Trump,
emaycee

Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. CIII--John Prine: Sam Stone

Fans of Friday Night Jukebox (all three of you) may remember that Christmas fell on a Friday last year, and as such, our featured tune was "Christmas in Prison" by one John Prine.  And where I noted that song was one of the most hopeful songs I'd ever heard, this week's tune, "Sam Stone," is one of the saddest.  In fact, in 2008 it was voted #8 in a Rolling Stone poll of the ten saddest songs of all-time.

Merry Christmas!

Anyhoo, since we've already done the half-assed John Prine bio. we can do a condensed version for those not familiar.  Discovered in 1971 by Kris Kristofferson, Prine has been recording and touring now for forty-five years, has never had an album chart higher than #55, has no Billboard Hot 100 singles, and has remained one of music's truly great unknown talents and songwriters to most of the general public.  Still, he has won a Grammy Award for best folks album (The Missing Years), and counts Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, Roger Waters, and the aforementioned Kristofferson (among many, many others) as fellow artists who consider him one of the best songwriters in American folk music history.

Released in 1971 on his aptly titled debut LP, John Prine (#452 on Rolling Stone's Five Hundred Greatest Albums of All-Time), "Sam Stone" is the tale of a war veteran (though it's never mentioned specifically, due to the date of release it's popularly assumed that Sam Stone fought in Vietnam) who comes home with a significant drug addiction (again, not noted but assumed to be heroin).  Prine chronicles his and his family's struggles with as much compassion as you'll ever hear in a pop song, and has as memorable of a chorus as you'll ever remember, especially the first two lines:  "There's a hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes/Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose...."  Complimented by a funereal organ (either a church or a funeral home, you decide), a lightly picked acoustic guitar, and Prine's gift for turning a phrase, "Sam Stone" takes us though Stone's crumbling life, and unlike most songs, there is no happy ending or moral to the story:  Stone O.D.s alone and his family is left to trade his house for his burial.  It's a vivid portrait, sung with empathy but not pity, and a fine addition as song #103 on this musical journey.

Lyric sheet (this is one of my favorite lines ever written, not just musically, but in every form the written word has ever taken):  "Sam Stone was alone/When he popped his last balloon/Climbing walls while sitting in a chair...."

Enjoy:

Fuck Donald Trump,
emaycee

Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. LII--John Prine: Christmas in Prison

Those who are unfamiliar with this week's tune and are perhaps thinking, based on the title alone, it was chosen for satirical reasons or as an indictment of the crass commercialization of Christmas, will be sorely disappointed.  No, it is my favorite Christmas song of all-time because it is one the most goddamned hopeful songs I've ever heard.

And isn't that what Christmas is all about?  Hope?

John Prine has been making music since 1971 (when he was discovered by one Kris Kristofferson), and yet I've met exactly one person in my life who was a John Prine fan.  While Prine isn't a household name, his songwriting has drawn praise from the likes of Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Roger Waters (and much critical acclaim) for its compassion, ability to turn a phrase, and sense of humor.  And although he's never had an album chart higher than #55 on the Billboard 200, he did win a Grammy for Best Folk Album for The Missing Years.  All of which is to say that Prine is one of those artists, like The Kinks or The Band, who should have had a lot more popular success but nonetheless added immensely to the pop music archives.  And any way you slice it, a 45 year career in the music business isn't too darn bad.

A song that starts, "It was Christmas in prison/And the food was real good/We had turkey and pistols/Carved out of wood..." has all the earmarks of a classic, and "Christmas in Prison" lives up to its intro.  Released in 1973 on Prine's Sweet Revenge album, the song is, despite its seasonal nature, a fan favorite at all of his shows.  Like many recent Jukebox featured tunes, "Christmas in Prison" is spare in setting--while there is some background instrumentation, it's primarily Prine's guitar playing and vocals, and really, the song doesn't need much more.  Prine tells the story, as he sings, of a Christmas in prison (surprisingly enough) wherein the inmate narrator expresses his longing and love for the woman whose "...Heart is as big as this whole goddamn jail."  The song never tells us whether the inmate is just serving a long stretch, or is there for the rest of his life, but it doesn't really matter because he can "...Wait awhile eternity/Old Mother Nature's got nothin' on me..."  Throughout, Prine never gets sappy or maudlin--he just sings a bittersweet tale of love and loss, filling it with as much hope as one supposes one can find when spending Christmas in prison.

No special words this week, just these lines, among my all-time favorite in song:  "The search light in the big yard/Swings round with the gun/And spotlights the snowflakes/Like the dust in the sun...."

There isn't much of a video for this, but it was the only non-live version I could find.  Nonetheless, enjoy:

Merry Christmas,
emaycee

Friday Night Jukebox, Vol. XLV--Bright Eyes: Lua

While I realize that great music can come from any old place, I have to admit that when I think of such places, Omaha, Nebraska isn't exactly high on the list.  It's possible, sure, but....

Fortunately, geography isn't a litmus test for great music--and as such, this week's featured song comes straight from America's breadbasket, right there in the great state of Nebraska, specifically, the city of Omaha, and one Conor Oberst, the (very) young man behind Bright Eyes.

I don't really remember what I was doing when I was thirteen (though it probably had something to do with baseball and the sinking feeling that I wasn't ever going to be any good at that whole girls thing), but I most certainly wasn't releasing my debut album.  Conor Oberst was.  And he has been at it ever since, in may different incarnations (Desaparecidos, Monsters of Folk, Mystic Valley Band), and at the age of thirty-five has had as full of a career as many acts pack into several decades.  He also has the distinction of being one of the few acts to have singles holding the #1 ("Lua") and #2 ("Take It Easy (Love Nothing)" on the Billboard Hot Singles Sales Chart.

Released on the most excellent I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning album, "Lua" ("Lua" is the Portuguese word for moon--most sensible definition I found) is basically Conor Oberst and his acoustic guitar (the guitar remains perfect lightly strummed background noise throughout).  The song belies the youthful age (24) of its songwriter--there's a maturity, especially in its resignation, that one doesn't usually see in someone so young.  There is no happy ending in "Lua"--both characters have fucked up lives and their lives are still going to be fucked up tomorrow.  There's also an honesty in both its portrayal and its truths (the line "you can count on me to split"  is a perfect example) that makes it work despite its rather depressing subjects.

The other strength of the song comes in Oberst's vocals, which are figuratively reminiscent of Kris Kristofferson's in "Help Me Make It Through the Night" (with a much similar subject).  His voice is full of sorrow but not defeat (yet), and he expresses it with some really amazing pregnant pauses and quirky inflections.  Vocally, Oberst is like an actor putting it all out there in a climactic scene--he's baring it all, and whether he succeeds or fails, he's going to do it magnificently.

Needless to say, Oberst succeeds magnificently.

Truer words and all that:  "'Cause what is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is...."

Enjoy:

Peace,
emaycee