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Feeling under the weather

I went to work today really feeling it. Nope not in a good way. I was stiff and sore,  not unlike most mornings, and not unlike many people in their late 50s.

But  I was extra sore.

And I had some other problems that I won’t go into detail about. Let’s just say gastrointestinal, which is what people say when they don’t want to go into detail about it.

As I talk to more and more people, they seem sincere in their inquiries about what I feel like, um, maybe not so much the GI stuff. You may  remember, I did a whole post about saying I was fine.

Well, i’m still fine, the good fine, and sometimes the bad fine — Feeling Insecure Nervous and Emotional.

Today was, I have to say, the acronym FINE.

So, I’m taking some time to do some pondering. Hope you will ponder with me.

The big question I sense people having but may be too polite to ask: What’s going on inside my head? After all I have an oversupply of proteins in my head,  is killing my neurons (my mind). What’s going on in my head from the perception of someone’s whose head it is happening to.

I write this on a Monday under the threat of severe weather, including tornadoes.

I spent a lot of time on the road in 2011 talking to victims of one of the most explosive tornado outbreaks of all time. I spent nearly a year covering everything from search and rescue to funding issues to FEMA, most importantly stories of the people.

An aside: If you want to sit down for a nice  spell and read about the April 27 event, here’s something I wrote on the first anniversary. If you get to the bottom of that one and want more,  click the link to Part 2.

I wrote a lot after talking to people in Hackleburg, Pleasant Grove, Joppa, Pratt City, Smithfield Estates, Rainsville, and many other small and larger communities. There was something like 340-plus killed across several states,  with the most (more than 240) in Alabama.

In my interviews that  question was always in my mind: ‘What’s going on inside your head?’ How are you  going to cope with the total annihilation of everything you own, or the loss of loved ones?”

I’m not sure I was that direct in asking the questions but I believe I found the answers: in the sound  of bulldozers, funeral processions, hammer on wood. and chainsaws. The rescue personnel, again from here and out of state.

That was the answer. But as those, who follow my blog know, I keep  looking for bigger, different answers as well. What is our purpose? Why is there such suffering in the world?

Is it like what T Bone Burnett  sings in the song, ‘Trap Door?’

You’ve got to suffer to know compassion
You can’t want nothing if you want satisfaction

What’s going on inside your head Mike?

Today wasn’t the best day as noted earlier. My brain function feels sluggish. My head is buzzing a bit, which it is prone to do. My memory is fair. I’m shuffling when I walk.  My basketball game? Not good at all.

It’s happened before and it will pass.

As long as I am chronicling this. I often get what feels like a low-tiered burning sensation on the right side surface of  my ever-growing belly. I’ve kind of written it off as my skin reacting–stretching — to accommodate my new size. (Which, I am working to get off — about 20 lbs.)

I had fallen to one basketball game a week and am now back at 2 a week. Progress. My diet needs to get better. I have so many tips on diets, it’s like I blend them together and pretty soon I’m eating more, not  less. (Thanks for the lemon meringue pastry Chez Fon Fon, dessert after eating what appeared to be a half-pound burger). So good. So not so good for me right now. (Of course, my internal argument spurred on by my remaining neurons is this: ‘You want some meringue pastry lavished with whipped cream, you should get it.’ I am quite susceptible to that argument.

Catherine took me to the Southside restaurant for my memorial ‘Porter Heatherly’ birthday on March  9. See my post

So what’s inside my head? Fear.

Not going to lie.

Fear of leaving my grown-up children, Hannnah, Emily and Claire, my super supportive wife, Catherine, my siblings Julie and David, my parents, friends. Gus my dog. Nieces nephews. Inlaws, outlaws. The Earth!

There is fear, fear of losing.

Tornado victims can lose it all in a moment. Lewy body dementia takes it all away bit by bit.

At least  I have the bits. And pieces. I am thankful for that.

I’m looking outside as I wrap this up. It’s still clear and pleasant outside. No sign of bad weather here in Birmingham.  Good weather for now to be under it.

Prayers that all remain safe tonight.

Relationships are fragile I once wrote. Life is fragile too.

What’s in my head right now? No, wait, what’s in my heart?

A movement. A movement toward: Peace.

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Dolly Parton — 555, 554, 553

ALBUMS: The Best of Dolly Parton (1970); Best of Dolly Parton (1975); Dolly Greatest Hits (1982)

MVC Rating: Best (’70) 4.5/$$$; Best (’75) 5.O/$$$$; Greatest (82) 4.0/$$$

I’m jealous. My friend and colleague Greg Garrison, AL.com’s religion reporter for decades, drove to Dollywood Thursday night and had an interview Friday with Dolly Parton.

I’m Greg’s editor and he did the smart thing to call me AFTER he was on his way lest I would have ordered him to pick me up. I would have brought my three Dolly albums  with me of course and asked her to sign them. Obnoxious that would be — at the least. So Greg, thanks for waiting on that call.

For my part, I am going to move Dolly Parton up the alphabetical scale of myvinylcountdown.com .

I’m almost up to the D’s anyway, which would make a good fit. You know, D for Dolly.

Dolly Parton is 72 and I  am 58. About 50 years ago I became a fan. As young boy, about 8 or 9 or so, I saw her on TV, on The Porter Wagoner Show. Dolly was kind of a sidekick to Porter, the sequin jacketed country singer with slicked back hair.

As I said, I was about 8 watching B&W TV as Porter introduced Dolly singing her new song. ‘I Will Always Love You.’  That song become a minor hit at the time. And it was embedded in my 8-year-old brain.

Years later Whitney Houston took it to worldwide fame and many people thought it was a new song.

I like Dolly’s version better. Whitney could definitely power through with a voice almost too good to be true. But I blame Whitney, (rest in peace) for all of the vocal gyrations that led to and became overused on vehicles such as ‘American Idol.’

Couple things I learned or my memory was refreshed about: Dolly Parton has an incredible natural voice and sings songs like she means them which is the point of singing, no? Connecting with an audience.She sings with the right emphasis and uses the right inflection.

Her voice is the real deal. But not only that, she played many instruments, guitar, banjo and piano. And maybe more impressive than all; she wrote nearly all of her songs, some of which have become classics.

She had 25 No. 1 Billboard country hits. She did movies, some good, some not so much. But I enjoyed ‘9 to 5.’

The three albums I have are about the perfect snapshot of her career in music. The 1970 best-of covers the early years and has a startling version of ‘Mule Skinner Blues’ complete with yodeling. Dolly makes you love yodeling even if you hate yodeling. This record also may have the definitive version of ‘How Great Thou Art.’

The second best-of  (from 1975) has her signature songs that led her to the big time. ‘Jolene,’ ‘I Will Always Love You’ and ‘Coat of Many Colors’ and ‘Love is Like a Butterfly.’

The third album 1982’s Greatest  Hits chronicles her crossing over from mostly pure country to a more pop sound that garnered bigger audiences but I didn’t like it as well as the earlier two albums.

It has such megahits as ‘Islands in the Stream’ and ‘9 to 5,’ from the movie soundtrack of the same name.

Videos below include a surprising cover of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ a classic 70s rock tune that few artists ever attempt to cover because the multi-layered original is considered definitive. And the  early introduction of ‘I will Always Love You.’

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.

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The Cure –556

ALBUM:  Standing on the Beach – the Singles (1986)

MVC Rating: 4.0/$$$$

This one appears nearly new, but I know it’s not. I remember buying this in  Birmingham in 1986. Critically acclaimed, the band is in the same musical neighborhood of XTC and the Smiths, both of which I have on vinyl and will be reviewed later.

The Cure, led by Robert Smith, use personal song lyrics and create a dark ethereal sound that at times nears the neo-Gothic space of Sisters of Mercy.

I can see why my record  looks so new: It is, taken overall, depressing and angst-filled, which I could only take in small doses. A renewed listen to this however reveals some strong musicality.

The Smiths provide a  touchstone. Only the Smiths had a  keener grasp on irony and humor. Also, the Smiths had  Johnny Marr’s strumming and  jangly guitar sound which  was more suited for my earbuds anyway. The Cure are a bit icier, a little more electronic (in a punky way).

This is a compilation album of songs over time with some shifts in band members. (I think Robert Smith is the only remaining original member). As they evolved, some of the darkness went away for cheerier tunes, if not lyrics. Probably not lyrics.

An example is the Close to Me video below: The lyrics are not sunshine and light. At least from what I can understand. But the tune itself is quite poppy and catchy.

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.

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Rodney Crowell, Burton Cummings (Two-fer)– 558, 557

ALBUMS: Street Language (Crowell, 1983);  Burton Cummings (1976)

MVC Rating: Crowell 3.5/$$; Cummings 3.5/$$

What a surprise to play both of these again. Remember I’m doing this in alphabetical order (sort of). So as I wind down the C’s I find these disparate but not so disparate albums.

I got my money’s worth, probably $3 each in 1980s dollars because there is some good music here.

Randy Crowell

Crowell may best be described as a country rocker. A little too commercial country for my taste, but there’s good singing and some good guitar and sax and a some really good, if not overproduced, songs. I’ve heard this is not his best album, which the  consensus seems to be is ‘Diamonds and Dirt. But in a used record store, I think it retains its $3 value, maybe $4 if we gotta do the inflation deal. The opening two cuts are worth $3 alone. My favorite song, though, is Oh King Richard a catchy homage to legendary race car driver Richard  Petty. Pretty good song.

Oh and Crowell covers a song (She loves the Jerk) by John Hiatt, who also plays on the record.

Burton Cummings on the other hand is a  different cat. Lead singer of the Canadian band the Guess Who, he is  often thrown in as one of the top rock vocalists in the biz, at least in the 1970s realm. Judging from the album cover and the video below, he also probably had the worst taste in jackets of any singer in Canadian history anyway. The video, with Burton in his pink jacket, does show off his storied vocal skills. (You’ll have to click twice to get to the video on YouTube but it’s worth it.)

But before he went solo, he and Guess Who bandmate Randy Bachman wrote an incredible string of hits (These Eyes, American Woman and Share the Land to name a few). Last I heard they were in a dispute over royalties, which Bachman claims benefited  Cummings at the expense of himself. Not that Bachman should be hurting for cash. His post-Guess Who band, Bachman Turner Overdrive, had some major hits. (You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet and Taking Care of Business.)

So, Cummings’ solo album? Fair to middlin’. Voice is strong and he shows it off  in a jazzy way.

Interestingly, Cummings covers ‘You ain’t seen Nothing Yet’ deconstructing it down to a piano bar lounge song. That takes away everything that was good about the song, namely the crunch of electric guitar introducing the stuttering title line.

This album, however, stands (get it) on ‘Stand Tall’ the song, anthem that was a wordwide bestseller. And if you sung it like Cummings, you’d probably keep the money too.

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.

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What existed before the Big Bang

NOTE: I wrote this humor piece on Monday March 12, 2018, and published it on my website www.myvinylcountdown.com Tuesday morning. Hawking died Wednesday, March 14  (on Albert Einstein’s birthday. Wink wink.) RIP Stephen. I hope you now know the answers to the  questions you’ve been seeking. 

My blog post:

Perusing my news sources on the Internet, I came across this headline.

Stephen Hawking reveals what existed before the Big Bang

Finally, I thought.

Reading …Oops wow, there it is in the second sentence. The answer the headline promised us. What existed  before the Big Bang:

Stephen Hawking says: Nothing.

Nothing? Nothing existed before the Big Bang. Really?

Clickbait headline for sure.

Physicist Stephen Hawking

What is nothing? Nothing is something, right? At least in my mind. If nothing was not something, why would there be a name for it? And why would we say ‘nothing’ is what was there before something? To ‘be there’, one would surmise that it’s something.

The story  on Inhabitat.com was short but did offer the famed quantum physicist Hawking explaining a bit further. So Hawking goes on to explain that “The Euclidean space-time is a closed surface without end like the surface of the Earth.”

He was, of course,  referring to the four-dimensional conceptual model that incorporates the three dimensions of space with time. He goes through a few more quantum physics hijinx like ‘imaginary’ and ‘real’ time before concluding that:

“There is nothing south of the South Pole so there was nothing around before the Big Bang.”

Apparently this was a widely reported interview. Did you hear the collective expression:  ‘Oh, now I get it.’

Neither did I.

Come on Hawking. Use your words to explain — not alienate.  (Which literally means communicate with aliens).

What if I wrote a story about the news business and  how social platforms are shaping the future of social engagement including virtual reality and messaging apps in order to better monetize content. Don’t like that I bet.

So back to your answer. Nothing.

And your follow-up explanation which I boil down to that last sentence: There is nothing south of the South Pole so there was nothing around before the Big Bang.”

Ok, I don’t want to mess your theory up but did it surprise you there is nothing south of the South Pole?

Stephen, it’s cold.

I’m sure there’s not much north of the North Pole either, no?

Confused? Me, too.

Albert Einstein

So that’s why I decided to call Bert Einstein, third cousin, twice removed from Albert, the world famous scientist who discovered the equation for the theory of relativity, E=MC squared.

Bert, an accomplished scientist in his own right, discovered the equation for the theory of relatives at Thanksgiving:  E=MYaSS, which asserts that the mass of any given relative’s rear end will grow proportional to the  length of  the buffet line, number of desserts, energy not expended and length of stay  (LOS).

(It’s a complicated formula that also incorporates family squabble intensity and gravy.)

So, here’s how my conversation with Bert Einstein went.

ME: Good morning Dr. Einstein. We were hoping today you would sit down and talk about some big physics like your relative Albert pioneered.

BERT: Yes, yes,  Albert had some good ideas. But he was dumber than  a box full of hammers when it came to common sense. Never owned a hairbrush you know.

ME:  OK, Bert, what about this whole Big Bang and what existed before the Big Bang. Scientist Hawking says there was nothing before the big bang, indicating a beginning and end to our universe. But we wanted to see if perhaps you heard Albert discussing this particular question at any time.

BERT: Oh Albert knew all about what existed before the Big Bang. He just never really got around to putting it on paper. You know Albert had 300 socks and none of them matched? He’d spend hours looking for a  matching sock.

ME: Really?  Forget the  socks. Are you saying he knew about what preceded the Big Bang but never wrote it down? This is a big deal. What did he say was there before the Big Bang?

BERT: Well, let me see if I can remember exactly. He said that before the Big Bang there was ‘nothing’ and ‘something’ and ‘everything.’

ME: Wait, wait a minute. He said there was nothing AND something AND everything? How can that be?

BERT: Well it’s a pretty goddamn big universe. Whaddya expect there to be, a  mustard seed?

ME: Well, I guess I still don’t see how something can come from nothing or how there can be everything and nothing.

BERT: That’s why they were all there before the Big Bang, something, nothing and everything.

ME: All where? Where were they?

BERT: Here. And elsewhere.

ME: Your not helping. I got nothing here.

BERT: Well that’s something.

ME: I want everything. I want to know.

BERT: Well, I’ll leave you with this. It’s a circle. God or the universe or the cosmos, it’s a circle. There’s no beginning or end.

ME: Oh. Well,  now that makes some sense. Did Albert say that?

BERT: No I did, after watching Albert all the years doing laundry. No beginning, no ending. Laundry’s never done.

ME:  Well, Bert, you’ve been a big help.

BERT: De Nada

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

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Cream –560, 559

ALBUMS: Wheel of Fire (1968);  Disraeli  Gears (1967)

MVC Rating: Wheels 4.0/$$$$;l Disraeli, 4.5/$$$$$

Listening to these now after all these years, they sound to my ears  like historical archives.

It’s like finding old Da Vinci sketches that were mind blowing at the time. But now while those flying machines are fun, they don’t really take you anywhere.

Hearing and evaluating these albums properly would be to project yourself to the late 1960s and so you could hear it for the first time. That electrified blues rock  must have been mind blowing upon first and early listens.

But it’s a little bit like when I was around 9 or 10  hearing Wilson Pickett and James Brown for the first time. This was so foreign from the bubblegum music of the day such as the Partridge Family, the Osmonds and Bobby Sherman. (I put the Jackson 5 in a category by themselves, beyond bubblegum.)

Still, you will notice, I give these records high grades because, well, they deserve them. Disraeli being my favorite gets 4.5.

‘Strange Brew,’ and ‘Sunshine of your Love’ were the two hit songs off of Disraeli Gears. ‘White Room’ off of Wheels of Fire was their second biggest selling single after Sunshine.

Listening to them as historic artifacts doesn’t mean they can’t be loved, but for me it’s more that I admire and wonder about some of these. Less blues on Disraeli and more of the  psychedelic tinge that for better or worse would go on to influence groups like Deep Purple, Sabbath and, even, Jimi Hendrix. Or was it  Hendrix, with a 3-piece band as  well , influencing Cream?

But no matter  the song, there was always the expectation Eric Clapton’s stinging guitar would come slip and lash. Jack Bruce on bass, Ginger Baker on drums and Clapton could surely make some noise for a three piece. I remember one of the Beatles responding to the question about how the Beatles got to be the best rock band in the world.

And one of the Beatles said Cream might  be doing some thing better or more progressive than the Beatles. Nice political humble answer.

Based on what I hear here?

Nah.

 

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Words, don’t fail me now

Words fail me.

Or should I say: I fail words.

You know that feeling you get when you lean back on two legs of a four-legged chair and suddenly you realize you’ve gone too far? You know that feeling? A split second of feeling totally out of control?

I feel like that all the time.

That joke reformulated by me from deadpan comedian Steven Wright is essentially about words.

There is not  a word for that feeling.

Sure you can say ‘out of control’ or you can say ‘scared’ but none of that matches or encompasses the specific instance of leaning back in a chair and nearly losing it. There’s no one word for that.  In fact, it takes several sentences to explain.

My own word for that? Yikes!

But that doesn’t exactly capture everything. And that’s also the word that describes the feeling you have as the roller coaster begins its descent.

There is a word (or phrase) for a feeling that people report to have that they feel like they have been in a place they had never been or are in a situation that they feel  like they have already lived through.

English speakers  appropriated  the word from France: deja vu. 

(Technically that’s two words but those two words, six letters total, go together to represent a complex idea. See how long it took me to explain it.)

Words are symbols formed by assembling letters. What are they symbolic of? Thoughts?  Are we not thinking in words, already? Take away the words, what do we have?

A frustrated person.

Catherine told me the story of a 100-plus year old nursing home  resident, barely 5-feet-tall, who attacked the staff. I mean she hit and kicked the staff. She had a urinary tract infection and that hurt. But she  could not communicate that. Getting physical at a century old was all she had to fall back on. The need to communicate is a strong one. One wonders if our world leaders could better communicate, we might avoid the violence that stains humanity.

Someone asked my daughter what her biggest fear was. And she couldn’t think right away what it was,  but eventually hit on one that is  a big one for many: Fear of failure.

That  used to be my biggest fear, and I think a lot of people live with that.

My greatest fear now? It’s  losing my words.

Unfortunately with Lewy body dementia that’s a key symptom. I already find myself struggling to come up with some words. This occurs mostly during speaking and not as much when I write.

In conversation with my colleagues and friends it is subtle but I realize it is there: my struggle for words. It’s like in my brain I am searching a cavernous warehouse for one little item, one little word.

It’s  an Amazon.com warehouse only when they push a button to  have a robot/machine fetch the item from among a million things, the robot sighs. Like the robot  in Lost in Space with its plug pulled. I’m left rummaging through this warehouse. I find a ladder, go up to the top shelf and there it is. My word.

I’ve done this before, it’s deja vu.

Actually, my word is ‘restorative.’

“The ocean’s waters are really …., um, really …) I start this sentence in a conversation about the beach, but I can’t finish because I can’t think of the word. Amazon warehouse thing kicks in. I’m on my ladder looking. Why is it always on the top shelf, I mumble to myself.

Cold? someone offers, you mean the ocean is cold?

RESTORATIVE, I finally answer a little too loudly. Everyone sighs with relief.

I have an aunt who has brain damage from unknown origin. Could have been a high fever as a young child, we don’t  know. But she’s been this way as long as anyone remembers and currently lives in a group home.

She can  talk but does so only if you ask her questions and typically they must be yes or no questions. She’s now in her 70s but seems like a child. She, now and again, will  have a little crying jag, clearly out of frustration that she can’t communicate. She’s got  so much to say, she just can’t find the words.

Painting by Jean Gill.

She’s  a voracious painter. She has won awards. Here’s one of her paintings.

You may remember my stories about Porter Heatherly the little boy who died at 4 of a rare genetic disease. He never uttered a word in his short life but he was loved by many and spurred fund raising and research to find a cure for GM1.

And you may remember me writing about my former boss, now in a memory care unit. I hadn’t seen him in decades, he recognized me and wanted to talk newspapers. But what came out was word salad. He couldn’t string the right words together. And he knew it. And his eyes showed the frustration.

I don’t want that.

But with me, realistically, it will happen. Hopefully some years from  now. But some cases I have read about say it can escalate quickly.

So now, while I can, I want to express myself as I have done all my life through the written word. To those who have cared for me, family, friends, colleagues, parents, cousins. Those I never met or haven’t seen in forever who have offered prayers, contributed to my bucket list trip, my Mike Madness tournament. To all those who have put up with my sometimes morbid sense of humor (to Hannah, Emily, Claire and Catherine.)

I give you these three words:

I love you.

\

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Jim Croce — 561

The little sticker says “Time In A Bottle” from the ABC TV Movie starring Desi Arnaz Jr. “She Lives”

ALBUMS:  You Don’t Mess Around with Jim (1972).

MVC Rating: 4.0/$$$

The title cut, not to be confused with his hit, Bad Bad Leroy Brown, who if  you will remember is the ‘baddest man in the whole damn town’ (and we are talking Chicago here.)

These two well-done novelty-like tunes are very similar in tone and plot. But funny as they are, they don’t really reflect the bulk of his life’s work. It was a life crammed into a very short time. He was 30 when a small plane he was on crashed in Natchitoches, La., Sept. 30, 1973 upon take off. It clipped a pecan tree in darkness. He was headed for a show in Austin, Texas.

According to bio info, in no certain order, born in South Philly of Italian-American parents in 1934, married wife Ingrid, converted to Judaism, worked as a welder and contruction worker in  college, attended Villanova, enlisted in Army National Guard to avoid being drafted, had to go  through basic training twice due to his “authority’ problem.

He once said, the nation will be prepared, “If ever there was a war where we have to defend ourseles with mops.”

The table-turning bravado in his two ‘mess around’ songs notwithstanding, the body of Croce’s songs was bittersweet and nostalgic and tear inducing, especially when falling on  the  right person’s ears at the right  time. OK, Croce almost made me cry here with a couple of his sad songs on this, his third album.  He was a deft writer.

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I’d save every day like a treasure and then,

Again, I would spend them with you

Tears.  And then there’s this from Photographs and Memories:

Photographs and memories

All the love you gave to me

Somehow it  just can’t be true

That’s all I  have left of you

Gulp. And that’s not even including the song about asking his Mamma and Daddy to send him some money to Sunday Mission, Box Number 10. Or asking the operator to help place the call.

Maybe  all that heartbreak was behind why he had to write lines like:

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape

You don’t spit into the wind

You don’t pull the mask off the old  Lone Ranger

And you don’t mess around with Jim

Jim Croce never got to see his full success.

Many of his songs were released or went big after his death. He’s one of those artists where we say (sadly) if only they had lived, what music we would have.

Well, we were lucky that we got some very good music.

P.S. (Local note) Big Jim met his match in Croce’s song from Slim, a country boy from Alabama.  

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.

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The Cramps — 562

ALBUM: A Date with Elvis (1986)

MVC Rating: 3.5/$$$$

OK so it’s spicy rockabilly.  Extra spicy. Hot sauce, dirty rice.

It’s actually an Elvis parody record. Except for the fact that there is some good music on here, it’s a novelty record. With Howard Stern humor that was funny as heck in the 6th grade. Only thing that saves it is some searing rockabilly guitar and some artless Elvis vocal ticks.

From the song ‘Aloha from Hell.’

Gonna take a week off
Gonna go to hell
Send ya a postcard
Hey I'm doin' swell
Wish you were here
Aloha from Hell.

That song is one of the tamer songs. I hope I didn’t really think record was all that funny even when I was 25 or so. But there is some demented rockabilly, for sure.

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.

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Elvis Costello — 566, 565, 564, 563

ALBUMS:  KIng of America (1986); Imperial Bedroom (1982); Get Happy (1980);  Armed Forces (1978)

MVC RATING: King 4.0/$$$$; Imperial 4.5/$$$$; Get Happy 4.0/$$$$; Armed Forces, 4.5/$$$$

I may have mentioned this before but Elvis Costello substantially opened my world to another kind of  music. The Beatles first moved something inside and paved the way for this growing interest, or  love, of music.

Because of the Beatles I found the Rolling Stones, the Who, CCR, Clapton, etc. Other paths, including my Dad’s records,  led me to Louis Armstrong, jazz, and later different paths led me to  Motown, Stax, Johnny Cash, the 11-year-old Michael Jackson, and  so on. My Mom, I remember liked folk music, such as Peter Paul and Mary, and some Top 40  off the car radio in the 1970s. I actually remember singing along with mom and siblings to How Do You Do as we were driving. That song you may remember is one I have declared the Best Worst Song of all time.

By high school I was listening to mixed-tape cassettes I made, painstakingly, often on a theme. “Soft Rock” or “Hard Rock” or Best of Southern Rock” or, and this is true, I had one mixed tape called “Eclectic Mix.”  As  you can see my imagination was boundless. Not. My  Eclectic Mix probably consisted of country rock and folk, a Rolling Stones song and a Dylan cover. With maybe an Al Green song. (No, that would be saved for my “Love songs” tape.)

But when I was in my last year of high school — “78 is great”– I somehow came across Costello. I actually had a store-bought tape of Costello’s debut and arguably his best — but that’s a big argument. “My Aim Is True’ was not radical in that it was busting new barriers, like the Beatles or the Clash for that matter.

This is melodic, angry, catchy and highly literate pop and rock coming out at a time when punk was making a lot of noise. I didn’t really get the Sex Pistols’ appeal  beyond screaming about being pissed off.  Now Costello was pissed in a literate and often amusing way.

While we, HS seniors, were playing air guitar to Stairway to Heaven,  Dream On, Free Bird and Frampton Comes Alive, along comes a guy bold enough to steal the King’s name. Wearing thick black ugly glasses, mind you. Damn.

As a songwriter he’s near genius.

But it was like nothing I had heard; I couldn’t get enough. Besides the cassette, I  bought five albums over time of Costello. One, This  Year’s Model, is missing from my collection, and it may have been the best. But the four (above) that I still have are excellent. And they are all different, even though marked with his distinctive vocals and artful lyrics. (Last thing, whomever I lent This Year’s Model to, just leave it on my porch, no questions asked. Come to think of it I’m missing a number of albums over the years, such as Bob Marley’s Natty Dread, and Deep Purple Made in Japan which had Highway Star and a scorching performance by Ritchie Blackmore. As usual, I digress).

Back to Costello, listen to  these songs in video. The ‘Detectives’ video is, if you hang with it through the opening loud distortion, a pretty remarkable live performance of a clever song.

Memorable line:  ‘I don’t know how much more of this I can take;

She’s filing her nails while they are dragging the lake.’

Counting down my 678 vinyl records before I die of brain disease.