Year: 2022

Ain’t nobody got time for that!

Posted on by brucehhackett

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie.  It ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings, and I ain’t lyin’…

Ain’t has been called “the most stigmatized word in the English language,” but its presence in verbal and written forms is now ubiquitous, especially in popular song lyrics, film dialogue and catch phrases.

I can still hear the Cowardly Lion in the 1939 film “The Wizard of Oz” proclaiming, “Ain’t it the truth!  Ain’t it the truth!”  In response to “Shoeless” Joe Jackson’s admission he had cheated in the 1919 World Series, a reporter forlornly said, “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”  Dozens of jazz and blues titles from the ’30s and ’40s used the term (“Ain’t Misbehavin’,” “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” “Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold This Body Down”).  

Countless rock ‘n’ roll and R&B songs from the ’60s and ’70s made prolific use of “ain’t,” not only in the title but in the lyrics as well:  “This ain’t no party!  This ain’t no disco!  This ain’t no fooling around!”…  

In 2012, a video clip of a woman being interviewed after having escaped a fire in her Oklahoma City apartment complex went viral, especially her use of the phrase “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” 

A little linguistics lesson is in order:

The contraction for “am not” was, at one time, “amn’t,” which proved too awkward, causing people to drop the “m” and say “an’t,” which evolved into “ain’t.”  The strong proscription against ain’t in standard English has led to the misconception, expressed ironically, that “ain’t ain’t a word” or “ain’t ain’t in the dictionary.”  In fact, “ain’t” is listed in most dictionaries, including the Oxford English Dictionary, although it says it is considered slang and “should never be used in formal or written contexts.”

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary states that ain’t “is “widely disapproved as non-standard and more common in the habitual speech of the less educated.  Still, it is found throughout the English-speaking world across regions and classes and is among the most pervasive nonstandard terms in English.” 

Using “ain’t” is basically just another form of rebellion against the rules and established order.  Let’s face it, a song title like “I Ain’t Got Nobody” has so much more attitude and emotional appeal than the more grammatically correct “I Don’t Have Anybody.”  

It was a challenge to whittle down a list of more than 100 songs with “ain’t” in the title to a “baker’s dozen” to feature in this blog, which is why the “honorable mentions” paragraph at the end is so long.  The Spotify playlist at the end includes the spotlighted tracks as well as the many other runners-up. 

Ain’t it grand? 

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“Ain’t That a Shame,” Fats Domino, 1955

White artists covering black artists’ songs was common in the segregated ’50s, so although it was Domino who co-wrote this song and recorded the original version in early 1955, Pat Boone’s cover, released two months later, was the one that reached #1 on the charts.  According to some sources, Boone suggested changing the title and lyrics to “Isn’t That a Shame,” supposedly to make it more appealing to a broader audience, but he was dissuaded by his producers.  Domino thanked Boone for his rendition, which brought him significant royalties.

“Ain’t No Sunshine,” Bill Withers, 1971

Withers said he had just seen “The Days of Wine and Roses,” a 1962 film about two alcoholics who fell in and out of love because they were a bad influence on each other.  The recording included “Duck” Dunn, Al Jackson and Stephen Stills on bass, drums and guitar, with Booker T. Washington doing a gorgeous strings arrangement.  It reached #3 in the summer of 1971, launching Withers’ career.  Dozens of major artists covered it, including Michael Jackson, Tom Jones, Kenny Rogers, Buddy Guy, Tracy Chapman and Aaron Neville.  In case you were wondering:  Withers intended to write another verse to take the place of him singing “I know” 26 times, but he was persuaded to leave it be.

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, 1967

After a half-dozen solo hits, Gaye found that he liked singing duets with female vocalists, primarily Tammi Terrell and Kim Weston.  With Terrell, he reached #19 on the pop charts in 1967 with this carefree, breezy, danceable love song that uses “ain’t” 17 times in the lyrics.  You’d never know it by listening to it, but producers Harvey Fuqua and Johnny Bristol recorded Terrell’s vocals first, then added Gaye’s parts at a later date.  In a completely different arrangement and tempo, Diana Ross recorded the tune in 1970, scoring a #1 hit in her first song as a solo artist after leaving The Supremes.  Give me the original any day.

“Ain’t She Sweet,” The Beatles, 1961

Two guys named Milton Ager and Jack Yellen wrote this song in 1927, and it became a Tin Pan Alley standard of that era.  (Little-known fact:  Ager wrote it for his daughter Shana, who grew up to become CBS political commentator Shana Alexander.) There are at least 100 recorded versions of the tune, most notably The Beatles when Pete Best was still on drums during their early years performing and recording in Hamburg, Germany.  Once the group became an international sensation, the recording was released in the U.S., where it reached #19 among the flood of Beatles product that dominated the airwaves in 1964.

“Ain’t That a Bitch,” Johnny “Guitar” Watson, 1976

Originally a jump blues singer and guitarist in the ’50s and ’60s, Watson transformed himself into a soul/funk performer in the ’70s, presenting his urban swagger in flashy fashion.  His 1976 album “Ain’t That a Bitch,” particularly its title track, have been described as “sharp and sassy, and some of the best sounding funk of all time.”  In the lyrics, Watson describes various exasperating situations and laments to no one in particular, “Ain’t that a bitch?”

“Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” The Temptations, 1966

Motown producer-songwriter Norman Whitfield collaborated with lyricist Eddie Holland to come up with this gritty soul tune, made especially urgent by arranging it in a key just beyond Temptations lead singer David Ruffin’s range.  “He was really straining for some of those notes, which made the guy’s plea to the girl for a second chance seem more desperate,” said Whitfield.  It reached #13 on pop charts and #1 on R&B charts in 1966 and is considered one of the quintessential songs of the entire Motown catalog.  The Rolling Stones’ cover from their “It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll” album made it to #16 on the US charts in 1974.

“Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More,” The Allman Brothers Band, 1972

In the immediate aftermath of Duane Allman’s tragic death, the band grieved as it tried to decide what their path forward would be.  Their spectacular live album “At Fillmore East” had just climbed into the Top 20 on the album charts, and they concluded Duane would’ve wanted them to soldier on without him.  Brother Gregg took a blues shuffle he’d been writing and added lyrics that focused on the need to move on:  “I still had two strong legs, and even wings to fly, /And oh, I ain’t wastin’ time no more, ’cause time goes by like hurricanes…”

“Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad,” Meat Loaf, 1977

The phrase that Meat Loaf and songwriter Jim Steinman used in this track from the mega-platinum hit album “Bat Out of Hell” is one of the most common usages of “ain’t.”  Steinman recalled being encouraged to write some songs with less complicated lyrics.  “I happened to be listening to the radio when the old Elvis hit ‘I Want You, I Need You, I Love You’ came on.  What I came up with instead was ‘I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you, /Now don’t be sad, ’cause two out of three ain’t bad.’“

“Ain’t No Way,” Aretha Franklin, 1968

The Queen of Soul was firing on all cylinders when she signed with Atlantic Records in early 1967 and started cranking out vibrant soul records.  When “(Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You’ve Been Gone” was released in March 1968, it became her sixth consecutive Top Ten hit on the US pop charts, and her fifth of six #1 hits on the R&B chart.  Almost as impressive was the fact that the single’s B-side, “Ain’t No Way,” reached #16 as well.  It was written by Franklin’s sister Carolyn, who sang background vocals along with the Sweet Inspirations, the girl group that included future solo artist Cissy Houston.

“It Ain’t the Meat, It’s the Motion,” Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, 1976

Written in 1951 by Henry Glover and Sad Nathan, “It Ain’t the Meat” was recorded as the bawdy B-side of the third single by the R&B vocal group The Swallows.  (Insert joke here.)  “Everybody liked that song everywhere we played it, but the radio wouldn’t touch it,” said first tenor Eddie Rich.  “We got blackballed for that.”  By the 1970s as sexual mores changed, the song was embraced by such artists as Maria Muldaur, and Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, who relished how the lyrics emphasize the importance of sexual technique over the size of the “equipment.”

“It Ain’t Me Babe,” Bob Dylan, 1964

Dylan’s 1964 LP, appropriately titled “Another Side of Bob Dylan,” put aside the social issues and protest lyrics he’d been writing in order to explore other areas of the human condition.  “It Ain’t Me Babe,” which later become a folk rock hit for The Turtles, was Dylan’s response to a woman who expected him to be “her invincible hero and all-encompassing provider,” as one writer put it.  “You say you’re looking for someone, someone who will die for you and more, but it ain’t me, babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for…”  Dylan often utilized phrasing that celebrated the common man, so”ain’t” worked better than “isn’t” here.

“He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” The Hollies, 1969

Songwriters Bobby Scott and Bob Russell partnered on this classic song that made use of an ancient parable about a young girl who struggled while carrying her chubby baby brother.  When asked if she could mange the challenging load, she replied, “He’s not heavy; he’s my brother.”  The songwriters chose to use the vernacular “ain’t” that had appeared in the headline of a recent newspaper column.  The Hollies recorded it in 1969 and took it to #7 on the US charts (#3 in their native England).  Neil Diamond had a Top 20 hit with his version in 1970.

“You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet,” Bachman-Turner Overdrive, 1974

Randy Bachman had the bones of a song he referred to as a “working track” that the band would use during soundchecks, utilizing riffs and chords from Dave Mason’s “Only You Know and I Know.”  It was kind of a joke, Bachman said, poking fun at his brother’s occasional stutter in the manner of The Who’s “M-m-m-my Generation.”  The producer loved it and urged the group to add it to the next album, “Not Fragile,” where it vaulted to #1 in the US and went Top Five in a dozen other countries as well, complete with the stuttering on “baby” and “nothing.”

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Honorable mention:

“Ain’t No Woman (Like the One I Got),” The Four Tops, 1974;  “Ain’t Got You,” Bruce Springsteen, 1987;  “We Ain’t Got Nothin’ Yet,” The Blues Magoos, 1967;  “It Ain’t Easy,” David Bowie, 1972;  “This Ain’t a Love Song,” Bon Jovi, 1995;  “I Ain’t Gonna Stand For It,” Stevie Wonder, 1980;  “Ain’t No Need,” Buddy Guy and Junior Wells, 1970;  “You Ain’t the First,” Guns ‘N Roses, 1991;  “Say It Ain’t So,” Murray Head, 1975;  “Ain’t Nothin’ Like the Real Thing,” Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, 1966;  “Ain’t Nobody,” Rufus with Chaka Khan, 1983;  “(Ain’t That) Good News,” Sam Cooke, 1964;  “Love Ain’t For Keeping,” The Who, 1971;  “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” The Byrds, 1968;  “Ain’t That Loving You Baby,” Elvis Presley, 1964;  “Ain’t No Song,” James Taylor, 1974;  “Ain’t That So,” Roxy Music, 1979;  “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now,” McFadden & Whitehead, 1979;  “You Ain’t Foolin’ Me,” The Marshall Tucker Band, 1974;  “Ain’t No Need to Worry,” The Winans with Anita Baker, 1987;  “Love Ain’t No Stranger,” Whitesnake, 1984;  “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head?,” Dean Martin, 1960;  “Ain’t Talking ‘Bout Love,” Van Halen, 1978;  “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough,” Patty Smyth and Don Henley, 1992;  “Ain’t That Peculiar,” Marvin Gaye, 1965;  “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,” The Walker Brothers, 1965;  “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution,” AC/DC, 1980.      

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A guy on my block plays records day and night

Posted on by brucehhackett

Although the visual above was created as a humorous meme, I must confess that I have often done this throughout my life.

Some people collect stamps, or coins, or model cars, or comic books, or baseball cards, or friggin’ Beanie Babies. Me? I’ve been a music collector since I was ten years old: 45s in the 1960s, vinyl albums in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s (and then again in the 2020s!), and CDs in the ’80s, 90s and beyond. Sure, I listened to the radio a lot (AM in the ’60s, FM in the ’70s and ’80s), and it was always a kick when a deejay played a favorite tune or artist, but there was nothing like owning the music I loved so I could play it whenever I wanted.

Of course, not everyone shared my passion for collecting rock music, but I had plenty of company. I’d find them at the local record store perusing the bins, shopping for something specific or maybe something brand new with an attention-getting album cover. I also had a few close friends who collected albums — Chris, Mark, Barney and others — and I recently solicited their thoughts and remembrances about when and why the album-collecting bug bit them.

In my pre-teen years, I collected several dozen 45s (maybe as many as 100), which was the primary format of marketing music to teens in the ’50s and well into the ’60s. Most of them were played on a very cheap record player, usually in stacks that ultimately damaged the vinyl surfaces, so only a few have survived all these years later.

Concurrently, I remember my father had a pretty good-sized collection of LPs, and even some old 78s from the ’40s. He favored the “easy-listening” crooners like Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Rosemary Clooney and Perry Como, plus movie musical soundtrack albums and some Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey big-band stuff as well, and hearing them whetted my appetite for starting my own collection a couple of years later.

Barney remembers getting his first quasi-decent record player in middle school. “It was an old hi-fi that was a piece of furniture with a turntable and one speaker. Generally, I didn’t buy LPs without hearing at least one track, either at a friend’s house or on radio,” he said. “Only rarely did I buy a record based solely on a recommendation without hearing a single track. Basically, everything I bought was based on wanting a song that I had heard.”

When I’d visit friends’ houses in my middle school years, I’d see their older siblings’ collections of rock/pop music albums and think, “Wow, that’s what I want.” So I started collecting albums in late 1968, which was, coincidentally, right around the time the record-buying public began buying more LPs than 45s. I received The Beatles “White Album” for Christmas, and Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bookends,” and treated them as my most prized possessions. I saved up and bought a used turntable, amplifier and speakers from a friend’s father who was upgrading, and that meant I was getting significantly better (and louder!) audio quality. That accelerated my weekly treks to the record store, hoping to find something to add to my collection.

Chris recalled, “When FM rock radio arrived, a whole new category of music was introduced to me. They would play long songs or whole albums, and I knew I had to have that! I’d often go to the store just to look at the album covers! Even if I didn’t know the artist, if the cover looked cool, with funky art or a beautiful woman, I’d consider purchasing it.”

Even better was if you had the chance to become chummy with one of the record store clerks who might play a track from an album you were considering buying. There was a store called Record Revolution near where I lived that had the most incredible Altec Lansing “Voice of the Theater” speakers, and they would always be playing new releases. I bought many new albums over the years after being blown away by hearing a few tracks there.

Mark concurs. “I was browsing in Record Revolution one day and remember hearing the opening salvo of ‘Yours is No Disgrace’ from ‘The Yes Album’ through those massive speakers. I’d never heard of Yes before, but Wow! They ended up playing the whole album, and I bought it the same day.”

By early 1970, my collection had blossomed to about 70-80 albums — Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?”, Judy Collins’s “Wildflowers,” Cream’s “Wheels of Fire,” Creedence’s “Bayou Country,” The Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper” and “Magical Mystery Tour,” Bob Dylan’s “Nashville Skyline” — that reflected my burgeoning musical tastes. I loved the melodies and harmonies that Simon and Garfunkel were offering, but I was also intrigued and energized by the harder rock of Steppenwolf, Jefferson Airplane and Led Zeppelin.

At my high school, there was equipment in the library for us to play an album while six of us could listen in with headphones. Upperclassmen would commandeer the turntable, so we’d hear whatever they wanted to play, which were sometimes eye-opening selections (Moody Blues, Canned Heat, Leonard Cohen, Genesis) that I would sometimes buy later.

(These are kids listing to educational material but you get the idea)

Record collectors often found each other and exchanged albums to turn each other on to their favorites. Says Mark, “An important resource was friends (like you) who introduced me to new material, and vice versa.  We would loan albums to each other, and the ones I enjoyed I eventually purchased.”

I was always on the lookout for new music that piqued my interest. In addition to listening to FM radio, visiting record stores and swapping albums with friends, we couldn’t help but notice the way the music business marketed their wares to us collectors out there through the media. Some record labels — like Atlantic Records (see below) — would use an album’s inner sleeve to advertise as many as 100 albums by other artists in the Atlantic stable. I would make note of many of these selections and examine them more thoroughly at the record store.

Readers who came of age in the 1970s will no doubt remember ads like the one shown below for Columbia House Record Club. They would hook us with “11 albums for $1.00” offers, which sounded too good to be true (which it was). We’d send in our dollar with a list of 11 albums (or tapes) we wanted from the list of titles, and we’d be overjoyed when they showed up in the mail a week or two later. But then they’d be after us to order more albums over the next several months, for which we’d be charged the retail amount. Some people tried to game the system; a guy in the 1990s was prosecuted for having received nearly 27,000 CDs, using over 2,000 fake accounts and 16 P.O. boxes!

“I very much used the record clubs, Columbia and BMG, for a large number of albums,” says Chris. “I just loved, loved, loved getting the big box of new albums in the mail!” 

When I headed off to college in 1973, my collection was up to 250 and growing. I became leery of loaning them out to people who didn’t treat them with the loving care I did, but I became known as the “go-to” guy as a source for great music. As the era of making “party tapes” on Dolby cassettes blossomed, I would borrow albums and record the individual tracks I wanted (or sometimes the whole album), but that didn’t stop me from adding to my collection with new vinyl when warranted.

Many avid record collectors also attended their share of rock concerts, where they would sometimes be treated to a great warm-up band they’d never heard before, which would often precipitate buying their latest LP. In Chris’s case, he not only worked at a record store and as a deejay for a spell, he also spent many years working at a popular Cleveland-area concert venue for many years, and was exposed to a lot of music he otherwise wouldn’t have learned about, and those albums often became a part of his collection.

By the late ’70s, stores that specialized in buying and selling used albums started sprouting up, which allowed vinyl fans the opportunity to greatly expand their collections. “There was a store called The Record Exchange that I patronized multiple times per month,” notes Mark. “I’d bring a very long list of songs I was looking for, and with cheap used albums, there wasn’t as much risk trying something new or unheard, or something old, to fill in my collection.   And I could exchange the albums I didn’t like, which I regularly did.”

Those of us who collected vinyl, and perhaps still do, believe they get more enjoyment out of their collections than do those who collect, say, baseball cards or stamps. Those things are fun to look at, and memorize, and maybe trade with fellow collectors, and they may hope to make money in the future when they sell them if they hang on to them long enough. But albums can be played over and over, giving many other people the enjoyment of sharing great music with those who might not otherwise hear the album, or that artist.

I guess the main point I’ve been driving at in this essay is this: I think you can learn a great deal about people by perusing their record collections. Does your friend own a lot of albums, or only a few? Or maybe none at all? One newer friend recently explained to me, “I like music, but I usually don’t know the name of the song or even who’s singing. It’s just something that’s on in the background. I certainly never felt the need to buy records.” Another said this: “I had a stereo and bought a handful of albums, but my best friend had a gazillion albums, and he let me borrow his now and then, which was good enough for me.”

A more important gauge of someone’s personality was the albums you found when riffing through their collection. This is all very much a subjective thing, but if you came across a Miles Davis album, you knew you were dealing with a discerning listener. What genres were represented or ignored? Was there a ton of Waylon Jennings but no Chuck Berry? Which artists were over- or under-represented? Did you find just “A Hard Day’s Night” and “Abbey Road,” or was the complete Beatles catalog there?

If you had any Captain and Tennille or Barry Manilow, I probably didn’t hang out with you much. If your stash was limited to Kiss, Thin Lizzy and Judas Priest, I questioned your ability to tell great rock music from garden-variety dreck. If you had the complete works of Pink Floyd and a couple Cheech & Chong albums, then maybe we shared a few joints at some point.

I suppose many record collectors, consequently, could be accurately described as snobs. We knew what we liked and didn’t like, and we spent our money accordingly. We spent nearly all our disposable income on music, and we loved every minute of it. Stamps? Rare coins? Antique furniture? Clothes? Please. Music, we firmly held, was how we spent our hard-earned dollars, and we felt sorry for you if you didn’t know about all this great music that we knew so well, and owned.

Over the past couple of decades, younger generations still listen to music, but their collections have been virtual, to be found on computer files. True, vinyl has made a comeback, and kudos to those in their 20s and 30s who have discovered the pleasure of holding a new album purchase in their hands. There’s nothing quite like it.

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