You can rely on the old man’s money

In the 5-1/2 years I’ve been writing this weekly blog, I’ve compiled quite a few playlists of classic rock songs with lyrics about various topics.  Songs about various holidays and the four seasons.  Songs about cars and driving.  Songs about animals, birds, dogs.  Songs about sleep, doctors, sex, rain, morning.  Songs about cities, states, countries.  Songs about fire, friends, food.

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Somehow I’ve missed an obvious one:  Songs about money.

I’ve found nearly 30 songs from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s by songwriters who have explored the way money affects people, both positively and negatively.  I have put together my selection of a dozen songs with money in the title, and another 16 “honorable mention” choices.  I realize this leaves out certain songs that are clearly about money, but they don’t mention it in the title.  Hall and Oates’ “Rich Girl” is a prime example (but I’ve used a lyric from the tune as the title of this post).  No doubt there are others my readers can think of that ought to be here.  My apologies for the omissions.

In these strange times, if you’re about to review your finances, maybe stop first and check out this playlist, just to escape for a bit.  Hack’s Back Pages hopes for better financial news for everyone as we look to the future.

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“Money (That’s What I Want),” Barrett Strong, 1959

Unknown-498Written by Motown founder Berry Gordy and Janie Bradford in 1959 specifically for Strong to record, the song grew from a spontaneous session with Strong on piano and, incredibly, a couple of anonymous neighborhood teens on guitar and bass.  It became Motown’s (actually sister label Tamla’s) first hit, a #2 smash on Billboard’s R&B charts, and it reached a respectable #23 on the pop charts in early 1960.  Several other artists have recorded “Money” over the years, most notably The Beatles, whose cover version appeared on their “With The Beatles” LP in 1963 in the UK and “The Beatles’ Second Album” in 1964 in the US, which was my introduction to the song.

“For the Love of Money,” O’Jays, 1973

Unknown-500Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, songwriters and producers for their own Philly International label, came up with this song for The O’Jays to record for their “Ship Ahoy” LP, and it became their fourth Top Ten hit on the pop charts in early 1974.  The single version was only 3:42, but the album version (included on the Spotify playlist below) clocks in at over seven minutes.  The title comes from the oft-cited Bible verse:  “For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith…”  The tune’s lyrics warn about how money can turn people greedy and selfish:  “I know money is the root of all evil, /Do funny things to some people, /Give me a nickel, brother, can you spare a dime, /Money can drive some people out of their minds…”  Other artists who have recorded the song include Defunkt, Erroll Starr and Todd Rundgren’s Utopia.

“Money Machine,” James Taylor, 1976

Unknown-506By the time he was writing and recording his sixth album, “In the Pocket,” Taylor was doing pretty well for himself, with four Top Ten albums and three Top Five singles.  He was now wealthy, and it occurred to him it might be interesting to write an energetic, whimsical song about how money can have an addictive pull to it.  A rollicking beat, a horn section and a chorus of voices made “Money Machine” easily one of the LP’s most compelling tunes, complete with plenty of self-deprecating humor in the lyrics:  “When I began the game, see me singing about fire and rain, /Let me just say it again, I’ve seen fives and I’ve seen tens, /It was a strong hit from the money machine, sitting on top, on top of the world…”

“You Never Give Me Your Money,” Beatles, 1969

Unknown-499In early 1969, The Beatles were struggling to keep it together.  Too much of their time, it seemed, was spent in business meetings discussing financial matters when they would have preferred to be creating new music.  Paul McCartney poured his frustrations into this unforgettable track that kicks off the famous “Beatles Medley” which fills nearly all of Side Two of “Abbey Road.”  The lyrics succinctly capture McCartney’s sinking feeling of an impending break-up, and hoping he can avoid the negotiations and investigations about the “funny paper” and instead just “step on the gas and wipe that tear away.”  Within the year, the band would be no more…but the financial entanglements continued for several more years.

“Take the Money and Run,” Steve Miller, 1976

Unknown-497Miller certainly has shown he knows how to write “earworm” tunes that get a ton of airplay.  One of them is “Take the Money and Run,” a road song about Billy Joe and Bobbie Sue, perhaps the most famous pair of robbers since Bonnie and Clyde.  I can’t help but mention what I think is one of the worst rhymes in pop music:  “Billy Mack is a detective down in Texas, /You know he knows just exactly what the facts is…”  Groan.  In Miller’s tale, crime paid off — “They got the money, hey, you know they got away, /They headed down south and they’re still running today…”  No doubt they’re still playing the song somewhere today too — it reached #11 in 1976, the first of three hits from the band’s Top Five LP, “Fly Like an Eagle.”

“Money’s Too Tight to Mention,” Simply Red, 1985

Unknown-501John and Billy Valentine were a soul duo from Ohio who had moderate success in the late ’70s and early ’80s.  They wrote “Money’s Too Tight to Mention” about their financial woes and made it into a minor hit on the R&B charts.  When British soul singer Mick Hucknall and his band Simply Red were preparing their 1985 debut LP, “Picture Book,” they recorded mostly originals but so loved the Valentines’ song that they made it their debut single, peaking at #28 in the US and #13 in the UK.  The group’s #1 ballad, “Holding Back the Years,” got all the attention, but I prefer the vibe of this track and its lyrical focus on making ends meet:  “I been laid off from work, my rent is due, /My kids all need brand new shoes, /So I went to the bank to see what they could do, /They said, ‘Son, looks like bad luck got a hold on you, /Money’s too tight to mention…”

“Money,” Pink Floyd, 1973

Unknown-9In 1993, on the 20th anniversary of the release of Pink Floyd’s legendary “Dark Side of the Moon,” Roger Waters was quoted as saying, “Money interested me enormously at that time.  I remember thinking, ‘Well, this is it.  I have to decide whether I’m really a socialist or not.’  I’m still keen on a general welfare society, but I became a capitalist that year.  You have to accept it.  I remember coveting a Bentley like crazy.”  The song, which  includes multiple sound effects of coins jingling and cash registers, reached #13, the band’s first appearance on the US singles charts.  (The album, of course, went to #1 and has sold an estimated 45 million copies.)  In the lyrics, Waters only half-jokingly sings about now being able to buy a football team or a Lear jet.

“Money Changes Everything,” Cyndi Lauper, 1983

Unknown-503This song was written by Rob Gray, keyboardist and lead singer of an Atlanta-based band called The Brains, who first released it as a single in 1978 and then re-recorded it for their debut LP in 1980.  Gray said he wrote it after being dumped by his girlfriend, who left him for a wealthier guy.  Three years later, as Cyndi Lauper was gathering material for her solo debut album, “She’s So Unusual,” she came across the tune and decided to turn it into an alluring piece of synth-pop that would be the album’s leadoff track.  As a single, it stalled at #27, far less successful than four other singles from the LP, but the album stayed on the charts for 77 weeks.  The lyrics tell Gray’s tale of how money does indeed change things:  “We swore each other everlasting love, /She said, ‘Well yeah, I know, /But when we did, /There was one thing we weren’t really thinking of, /And that’s money…'”

“Lawyers, Guns and Money,” Warren Zevon, 1978

Unknown-502The late Zevon, who died in 2003 at age 56, was critically acclaimed for his pointed, often macabre lyrics, which are in full evidence on “Excitable Boy,” his third album and biggest commercial success, peaking at #8 in 1978.  He wrote almost gleefully about serial killers, werewolves and headless gunners, and in “Lawyers, Guns and Money,” he described the danger that a young American man might confront in Cold War-era Latin America:  “I was gambling in Havana, /I took a little risk, /Send lawyers, guns and money, /Dad, get me out of this…  Now I’m hiding in Honduras, /I’m a desperate man, /Send lawyers, guns and money, /The shit has hit the fan…”

“Money for Nothing,” Dire Straits, 1985

Unknown-496Singer/songwriter/guitarist Mark Knopfler was in an appliance store in New York one day when he heard an employee who spent all day moving refrigerators and dishwashers complaining to himself about the rock singer he was watching on the TV.  “That ain’t workin’,” he said, but added enviously, “That’s the way you do it — get your money for nothing and your chicks for free!”  Knopfler was amused by this and thought it would be appropriate subject matter for a song on Dire Straits’ album in the works, “Brothers in Arms.”  Sure enough, “Money For Nothing” ended up becoming one of the biggest singles of 1985, spending three weeks at #1 in the US.  Just like the guy in the MTV video, Knopfler made himself a pile of money — not for “nothing” but for writing and recording the hit song based on that overheard conversation.

“Blue Money,” Van Morrison, 1970

images-287Urban Dictionary defines “blue money” as “money that a person or business spends with poor management or accountability.”  In other words, it’s spent frivolously on fun things.  We all fall prey to that temptation on occasion, and Morrison chose to write about it in his catchy tune from the 1970 album “His Band and The Street Choir,” the great follow-up LP to “Moondance.”  You’ll notice the lyrics talk about spending “her blue money,” not his.  He said the song is based on the theme of the 1950 #1 hit by Lefty Frizzell, “If You’ve Got the Money, I’ve Got the Time.”  Morrison’s tune reached #23 on the US charts in early 1971, one of only four times he made the Top 40 in his lengthy career as a recording artist.  He’s still releasing albums of new songs nearly 50 years later.

“She Works Hard for the Money,” Donna Summer, 1983

Unknown-504Keyboardist/producer Michael Omartian, known for his work with artists like Christopher Cross, Steely Dan, Seals and Crofts and Johnny Rivers, co-wrote this song with Summer, which became a #3 hit on the pop and dance charts in 1983 and one of her signature tunes.  Summer said she was inspired by an encounter with a restroom attendant in a high-end L.A. restaurant who struggled to get along on tips alone.  The music video featured Summer as a leader of a troupe of women dancing in the street in their work uniforms, proudly seeking recognition for the work they do every day.  The verse about the restroom attendant explains her sense of purpose:  “She’s seen a lot of tears of the ones who come in, /They really seem to need her there, /It’s a sacrifice working day to day for little money, just tips for pay, /But it’s worth it all to hear them say that they care, /She works hard for the money…

 

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Honorable Mention:

Money, Money,” Grateful Dead, 1974;  “Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money),” Pet Shop Boys, 1986;  “Money Talks,” Rick James, 1982;  “It’s Only Money,” Thin Lizzy, 1974;  “What Do You Do for the Money Honey,” AC/DC, 1980;  “Easy Money,” Billy Joel, 1983;  “Take the Money and Run,” Crosby and Nash, 1975;  “Bag Full of Money,” The Byrds, 1971;  “It’s Only Money,” Robin Trower, 1975;  “I’ve Got Money,” James Brown and The Famous Flames, 1962;  “I Don’t Want Your Money,” Chicago, 1971;  “Easy Money,” King Crimson, 1973;  “It’s Only Money,” Argent, 1973;  “Shake Your Money Maker,” Elmore James, 1961;  “Made of Money,” Adam Ant, 1982;  “Easy Money,” Lowell George, 1979; “Money Can’t Save Your Soul,” Savoy Brown, 1970.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2d6bArBINaxFPsPfmrUCoK?si=YIelJjV3QNitKNHhzxMoUQ

We should be grateful for The Dead

Periodically, I use this space to pay homage to artists whom I believe are worthy of focused attention — artists with an extraordinary, influential, consistently excellent body of work and/or a compelling story to tell.  In this essay, I delve into the work of one of rock music’s most legendary bands that emerged from San Francisco in the ’60s and seemed to tour almost non-stop for nearly thirty years, playing for arguably the most fanatical base any rock band has ever known:  The Grateful Dead.

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Twenty-five years ago this week, the great Jerry Garcia died of a heart attack at the age of 53.  It brought to an end not only the life of a magnificent guitarist, songwriter and images-286spiritual figurehead but also his band.  So crucial was Garcia to The Grateful Dead’s sound and vibe that the remaining members concurred they really couldn’t go on without him.

“Captain Trips,” they called him, an obvious reference to his experiences with LSD and other psychedelics, and also his position at the helm of his group, steering them along on their long, strange trip from ragged blues outfit to one of rock music’s most traveled, storied bands.

images-279Funny thing, though:  While I admire their musical chops and what they were able to achieve in their three decades in the business, I would say I’ve been no more than a modest fan of The Dead over the years.  I own the two marvelous LPs from 1970, “Workingman’s Dead” images-280and “American Beauty”; the awesome triple album, “Europe ’72”; and their surprising commercial comeback in 1987, “In the Dark.”  But if I were to list my favorite rock artists, I don’t think The Dead would make the Top 30.

Part of the reason, I think, is that I feel like I’m not really part of the one-of-a-kind bond the band shared with its core audience.  I feel like an outsider, even though I’m sympathetic to the sweet devotion, sharing and general kindness that were the hallmarks of the relationship between the band and its fans, who are lovingly referred to as Deadheads.  I feel as if I missed that era.

images-285I’ve always found it fascinating that Garcia, considered one of the most expressive electric guitarists in rock history, began his musical journey as a banjo player in a jug band in the early ’60s.  He loved bluegrass, “old-time” music and country, but he also enjoyed blues and rock ‘n’ roll, so in 1965, he liked the idea of forming an electric band with his friends Ron “Pigpen” McKernan, guitarist Bob Weir, drummer Bill Kreutzmann and bassist Phil Lesh.

In the “anything goes” San Francisco community of the mid-to-late 1960s, The Dead thrived on, and fed off of, the free-thinking mindset of the music lovers who attended their shows.  The band had been involved in the notorious Acid Tests sponsored by counterculture author Ken Kesey and his “merry pranksters,” where everyone was eager

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The Dead at a free concert in Haight-Ashbury

to experiment with mind-expanding psychedelic drugs, mostly LSD.  The Dead’s music provided an ideal background, and became a sort of soundtrack to the trips (good and bad) everyone was taking.

The band existed as a fun-spirited collective, always in partnership with the audience.  In the early days, they dedicated their time and talents, often for free, to their community, offering food, lodging, music, even health care to those who needed it.  It has been said that the band performed more free concerts than any band in the history of music.

Garcia was always saying trippy things like, “I think every human being should be a

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Garcia with Bob Weir

conscious tool of the universe.  That’s why I think it’s important to get high.  I’m not talking about getting zonked out, I mean being fully conscious.  I think of The Dead as being a crossroads or a pointer sign, and what we’re pointing to is that there’s a lot of universe available, a whole lot of experience available over here.  We’re a signpost to new space, and that’s the function we should be filling in society.  In our own little society, that’s what we do, even though in the popular world, we’re just a rock and roll band.”

It’s fairly amazing, therefore, that a staid, mainstream recording company like Warner Brothers would sign a band like the Grateful Dead to its label.  And sure enough, the Unknown-492band’s first three albums — “Grateful Dead,” “Anthem of the Sun” and the puzzling palindrome “Aoxomoxoa” — were about as uncommercial as you could get.  When Warners asked for a single they could promote on the radio, they responded with “Dark Star,” a valiant attempt at a sing-songy tune that degenerated into loose instrumental noodling that simply didn’t go over outside the Bay Area.

But here’s the thing:  That “loose instrumental noodling” was exactly what the band did in their live performances, and the fans ate it up.  Indeed, “Dark Star” in its original format lasted just 2:42, but on “Live/Dead,” the song and the jam that ensued from it went on for 23 minutes.  (You can hear both versions on the Spotify playlist below.). As Lesh once said, “Recording albums in the studio felt artificial.  The end result felt like making ads for the band.  We always just wanted to play live, to images-275experience that collective improvisation together with the audience.  That was the fundamental thing for us.”

And that’s why The Dead released more live albums than studio albums over the course of their career.  And that’s why they began a tradition of recording just about every show they ever did.  And that’s why fans who attended dozens, even hundreds of Dead performances took to making their own bootleg recordings, eventually spurred on by the band, who cheerfully permitted the practice.

It’s astounding to me that there have been nearly three hundred live albums officially released through the band’s own label or on Rhino Records.  Any but the most ardent fans would find this excessive, even overwhelming, but Deadheads get off on picking out subtle differences in the way the band performed a given song, the way Garcia might shape his solos, the interchange between the drummers, the impact of the vocal images-281harmonies, the exceptional bass playing that seemed to connect it all.

A huge traveling entourage (musicians, road crew, managers and their families!) and a spirit of largesse took its toll on the band’s finances, but somehow they made it work.  “We really weren’t interested in making money,” said Weir.  “We just wanted to play every night.”  A large portion of the money they earned was spent on building an insanely large “wall of sound” system to give their audience the best possible experience of hearing live music.

The band’s lineup changed over the years through death and attrition.  Drummer Mickey Hart was added to give the band a two-drummer approach that served their improvisational format very well.  Robert Hunter and John Barlow, both perceptive lyricists who worked with Garcia and Weir respectively, were considered “non-performing members” who brought a friendly sensibility to the band’s repertoire.  McKernan died of alcoholism in 1973 and

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The Dead with Bob Dylan, 1987

was replaced by Keith Godchaux, whose singing wife Donna became the band’s first and only female member.  They lasted until 1980 when Brent Mydland took over on keyboards, and by the late ’80s, they collaborated with the great Bob Dylan on a few tours.  The talented Bruce Hornsby was an unofficial member of the group for a couple of tours in the early ’90s.

While everyone in The Dead dabbled in drugs, Garcia was of the “if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing to excess” philosophy.  This took him toward the darker drugs like heroin, to which he became severely addicted in the ’80s and ’90s.  Eventually it affected his health

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1987 LP

and his energy level, which affected his performances, and the Dead family started gently pushing him toward rehab, which he accepted but only half-heartedly.  He suffered a diabetic coma that frightened him into clean living for a while, but in the end, the drugs had their way with him.

The band may have officially called it quits once he was gone, but the members have reunited periodically for one-off concerts, and various configurations — The Other Ones, Phil Lesh & Friends, Rhythm Devils, even Dead & Company — toured at various times through the 2000s and into the 2010s.  As Lesh put it, “Some music was meant to be heard live, and we were dying to play it.  So we did.”  And of course, the recording of live shows has continued to the present day.

Currently showing on Netflix is “Long Strange Trip,” a remarkable six-part documentary on the Grateful Dead that I highly recommend to anyone even remotely interested in knowing more about this band, its members, its history, its culture, its name.

And what about its name?  How did they come up with that?  It’s an amusing story, well known among fans, but not among the music-loving public at large.

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The Dead as The Warlocks

In 1966, Garcia and company were known as The Warlocks, but when they learned of another band also called The Warlocks (who, by the way, later changed to The Velvet Underground), they knew they needed a new name.  “We were over at Phil’s house one day, and he had this big Funk & Wagnall’s Dictionary,” Garcia recalled.  “I opened it at random, and my eyes first fell on ‘Grateful Dead’, those two words juxtaposed.  It was one of those moments, you know, like everything else went blank, and there was GRATEFUL DEAD in big, black letters, such a stunning combination.  So I said, ‘How about Grateful Dead?’ And that was it.”

Not everyone embraced it at first, but once they learned its meaning, they were on board.  The phrase refers to folk tales in which “a dead person, or his angel, shows gratitude to someone who, as an act of charity, arranged for their proper burial.”  They found this act of kindness in keeping with their overacting spirit of community.

images-276Stumbling on that phrase in a book was just the sort of cosmic randomness that fascinated Garcia, and it came to dominate how the band would exist throughout its lifetime.  “Every night that we went out on stage, you never knew what might happen,” said Lesh.  “We rarely had a prepared set list.  We just played what felt right at that moment.  God, I just loved that about us.”

An article in a music magazine once stated, “The real medium of rock and roll is records.  Concerts are only repeats of records.”  Lesh noted, “The Dead represent the opposite of that idea.  Our records are definitely not it.  The concerts are it, but we’re not in such images-277total control of our scene that we can say, ‘Tonight’s the night, it’s going to be magic tonight.’  We can only say we’re going to try it again tonight.  Each night was like jumping off a cliff together.”

Dennis McNally, the band’s biographer and publicist, summed up The Dead’s magic this way:  “They are the most American of all bands because each musician that started that band came from a completely different space musically.  You had a bluegrass banjo player on lead guitar, a blues harmonica player on keyboards, a folky rhythm guitarist, an R&B drummer, an avant-garde classical composer picking up the bass, a marching band drummer, and a genius lyricist  — you mix all these streams, dissolve the egos with acid, and stir vigorously.  That’s Grateful Dead music.”

I, for one, am delighted to have their vast recorded repertoire available for my listening pleasure.  You might call me grateful for The Dead.

 

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Because of the huge number of live recordings in The Dead’s vault, I found it too much to absorb to determine which tracks belong on a setlist.  Since I am most familiar with the older “Live/Dead” (1969) and “Europe ’72,” the live cuts culled for this Spotify list are from those albums.  Otherwise, you’ll hear my favorite selections from their studio LPs.