Author: brucehhackett

Hate’s going around breaking many hearts

Posted on by brucehhackett

“Hate is too great a burden to bear. It ultimately injures the hater more than it injures the hated.” — Coretta Scott King

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It’s a very strong word, hate.

Psychologists tell us hate is typically caused by things or people we’re afraid of, don’t know about, don’t understand, or make us angry. It’s easier, they say, to simply dismiss them and say we hate them than to learn about them and conquer whatever it is we fear or don’t understand.

I try not to use the word these days. We have too many hate groups, hate crime, hate speech. Our political scene has turned into a breeding ground for hate.

God knows I’ve used the word a lot over the years, often about things I don’t truly hate. It’s just easier to say “I hate Brussels sprouts” when all I really mean is “I don’t like how they taste.” I used to say, “I hate Pittsburgh Steelers fans,” but in truth, I respect their love for and loyalty to their team, and only hate them when they beat up on my team, the Cleveland Browns.

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“Hate is only a form of love that hasn’t found a way to express itself logically.” — Li’l Wayne

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I recently saw a book whose title made me laugh: “I Hate New Music.” It’s a tongue-in-cheek “Classic Rock Manifesto” from 2008 by a British music writer named Dave Thomson who disparages any music made after about 1980. I wouldn’t say I recommend it, but it’s fairly amusing in its own hateful way.

In this blog, I discuss rock music of the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, otherwise known as the “classic rock” era. Some have teased (accused) me of not liking more recent music, which is absolutely not true. I buy and listen to quite a lot of music from the 1990s, 2000s, 2010s and 2020s. I’m just not as passionate about it nor as well versed in it to write about it as confidently as the music of earlier decades.

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“When I hear music that parents hate, I know that’s the new music. When I hear older people say, ‘I hate rap or techno,’ I rush to it.” – George Clinton

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Jeff Tweedy, the prolific songwriter and frontman for the popular alternative rock band Wilco, wrote a recent essay with this provocative subject: ”Can we hate, truly hate, music? And if so, why?”

Here’s what Tweedy has to say about it:

“It’s important to admit when you’re wrong. And though I once bristled at the notion that there could ever be such a thing as a wrong musical opinion, I have since come to accept that there is, in fact, such a thing. I know because I had one: I was colossally wrong about the song “Dancing Queen” by Abba.

“In a way, I blame the time and place where I grew up. The mid-1970s, when “Dancing Queen” came out, was a time when there were very strict lines being drawn between cultural camps. As a kid who liked punk rock, this tune was situated deep in enemy territory, at the intersection of pop and disco.

“In particular, my group of friends and I despised a lot of music and, by extension, the morons who would dare admit that they liked something we hated.  (Music! Can you believe it?) 

“Why did we feel this way? Mostly, I think, it was because hating certain music gave us a way of defining ourselves. Our identities were indistinct, and drawing a line in the sand between what we liked and what we hated made our young hearts feel whole.

“But I had, in fact, chosen to deny myself an undeniable joy. Countless fantastic records and deep grooves were dismissed and derided out of ignorance. To this day, whenever I think I dislike a piece of music, I think about “Dancing Queen” and am humbled.

“That song taught me that I can’t ever completely trust my negative reactions. I try to never listen to music now without first examining my own mind and politely asking whatever blind spots I’m afflicted with to move aside long enough for my gut to be the judge. Even then, if I conclude I don’t like something, I make a mental note to try it again in 10 years.”

This is good advice. 

I, too, recall being a rather obstinate teenager when it came to deciding which bands to hold dear and which to disparage. With some artists, I rushed to judgment without really having judged at all. I hadn’t even listened to the music in question. I just assumed I wouldn’t like it, and in so doing, I cut myself off from things without ever testing/experimenting.

Consequently, I can’t say I truly hated these groups. I just wallowed in my ignorance about their music, choosing instead to confine myself to a more narrow list of artists. Maybe it seemed overwhelming to me at the time to try every item on the menu, so to speak. I could afford to buy only so many records, and I would choose based on what I heard on the radio or from friends’ recommendations. 

I developed preferences for certain musical genres — rock ‘n’ roll, blues, R&B, folk — and within each genre, I embraced maybe a dozen artists/bands and dismissed the others. 

I still am not a big fan of certain musical styles — hip hop, or opera, or death metal — and I probably never will be. I’m also not wild about country, but I’ve come to enjoy some artists, or a few of their songs, anyway. Hey, my tastes are not rigid; they have changed over the years.

All this reflecting on “things we hate” prompted me to research the word “hate” and how often it turns up in song titles. It’s probably not surprising that you’ll find far more “hate” songs in recent years than you’ll find in the catalog of ’60s and ’70s songs. Lyrics these days can be so nasty and hate-filled, sometimes simply to demonstrate youthful rebellion, but also sometimes to demonstrate bonafide hate for something or someone.

Let’s take a cursory look at 15 songs with “hate” in the title, from the mid-’60s to the present, and another nine runners-up. I’m hoping that when you listen to the Spotify playlist at the end, you won’t find any that you really, um, hate. But I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that.

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“Thin Line Between Love and Hate,” The Persuaders, 1971

The New York-based R&B vocal group The Persuaders had a #15 pop hit (#1 on the R&B chart) in 1971 with this iconic tune, which tells the story about a man coming home early in the morning to his understanding wife one too many times. She loves him, but when pushed to the brink by his selfish, neglectful behavior, she snaps, and he finds himself lying in a hospital, bandaged from head to foot: “It’s a thin line between love and hate, she’s gonna fool you one day, /It’s a thin line between love and hate, /Every smilin’ face ain’t a happy one…”

“I May Hate You Sometimes,” The Posies, 1988

Singer-songwriters Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow were the core behind the underrated Seattle-based power pop group The Posies, who made only the smallest of blips on the U.S. music scene in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Their 1988 debut LP “Failure” includes this catchy track that captures the mixed emotions when you seem to be loving and hating someone at the same time: “I don’t want to have to sacrifice to have to get along, /I don’t ever want to be the one to say I’m wrong, /I may hate you sometimes, but I’ll always love you…”

“I Love You Honey But I Hate Your Friends,” Cheap Trick, 1980

Combining elements of ’60s guitar pop, ’70s hard rock and the emerging punk rock sound, Cheap Trick emerged from Illinois in 1977 and enjoyed several commercial successes, particularly in 1978 (a live version of “I Want You to Want Me”) and 1979 (“Dream Police”). On their 1980 release “All Shook Up,” the band wrote a track that addressed the age-old problem of falling in love with someone and then finding out you don’t like your heartthrob’s friends: “We shouldn’t give them the time of day, /They don’t give a damn if we sink or swim, /I love you, honey, but I hate your friends, /They love your money, but they’ll be the end of me, oh yeah…”

“Hatred,” The Kinks, 1993

Except perhaps for Liam and Noel Gallagher of Oasis, there is no greater sibling rivalry in the history of rock music than Ray and Dave Davies of The Kinks. As frontman and chief songwriter, Ray called almost all the shots, but guitarist Dave always bristled at his brother’s need for control. Ray finally wrote about their dysfunctional relationship for their final LP, 1993’s “Phobia,” in a track ironically titled “Hatred (A Duet)”: “Now, I’m willing to accept this fate, you and me just can’t cohabitate, /We agree to hate and that’s our fast decision, /Hatred, hatred is the only thing that keeps us together…”

“Eye Hate U,” Prince, 1995

Released as the lead single from his 1995 album “The Gold Experience,” Prince said he wrote “Eye Hate U” with actress Carmen Elektra in mind. He’d been growing close to her but found out she was seeing someone else and felt betrayed enough to write this R&B piece with vitriolic lyrics (some sung, some spoken), and recorded several versions. I chose the one with the prettiest arrangement to offset the bitterness of the words: “Say U’re sorry if U wanna, but it’s all in vain, /I’m out the door, sweet baby, that’s right, we’re through, /I hate U because I love U, /But I can’t love U because I hate U…”

“Hateful Hate,” 10,000 Maniacs, 1989

Whereas 10,000 Maniacs’ previous LP, 1987’s “In My Tribe,” explored series issues with a prevailing sense of hope and optimism, their “Blind Man’s Zoo” album in 1989 was dominated instead by a bleak worldview as expressed by chief lyricist/singer Natalie Merchant. In “Hateful Hate,” she explores the subject of slavery as a brutal betrayal of the human spirit: “Captured like human livestock, destined for slavery, /Naked, walked to the shore, where great ships moored for the hellbound journeys, /Bought and sold with a hateful hate…”

“Hateful,” The Clash, 1979

According to one critic, The Clash’s double LP “London Calling” from late 1979 “finally validates the acclaim received up to that point because of how their serious political themes and vital playing were retained in innovative music with a broad appeal.” The LP captures the band’s primal energy within a more creative context barely suggested by the band’s previous work. Here’s a sample of lyric from “Hateful”: “Oh, anything I want, he gives it to me, /Anything I want, he gives it, but not for free, /It’s hateful, and it’s paid for, and I’m so grateful to be nowhere…”

“I Will Forever Hate Roses,” Dolly Parton, 2008

For a woman who has composed 3,000 songs and recorded more than 50 albums in her extraordinary career, you might expect her creative muse to have dissipated by the time of her 42nd LP, “Backwoods Barbie,” in 2008, but you’d be wrong. Consider her heartfelt emotions in this tune when she received a bouquet of roses as a farewell gesture: “You sent me roses, I thought it was nice, /Opened the card and it read ‘goodbye,’ /You’re movin’ on as this chapter closes, and I will forever hate roses…”

“We’re Gonna Hate Ourselves in the Morning,” Clifford Curry, 1967

Arthur Alexander — who also wrote “Anna (Go to Him),” which was covered on The Beatles’ debut LP — was a cornerstone of the Muscle Shoals sound, part gospel and part country, that was ideally suited to gritty, confessional storytelling. His classic song about infidelity reached the charts in Betty Wright’s version, and was also deftly covered by country soul artist Clifford Curry: “We’ll just hate ourselves in the morning, /We’re gonna hate ourselves, I know, /We’re gonna hate ourselves in the morning, /But right now, it’s still the night…”

“Hate This Place,” Goo Goo Dolls, 1998

From their founding in Buffalo in 1986 until the late ’90s, The Goo Goo Dolls struggled to find an audience. Their breakthrough came with their polished sixth LP, 1998’s “Dizzy Up the Girl,” which yielded two multiplatinum singles, “Iris” and “Slide.” On a mostly upbeat album, the closing tune, “Hate This Place,” is decidedly downbeat and pessimistic: “Gone away, who knows where you been?, /But you take all your lies and wish them all away, /I somehow doubt we’ll ever be the same, /There’s too much poison and confusion on your face…”

“I Hate Music,” The Replacements, 1981

Although they are lionized as pioneers of the alternative rock genre in the mid-to-late 1980s, The Replacements’ debut LP in 1981, “Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash,” was squarely rooted in punk. Guitarist/singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg wrote 18 frenetic tracks, most lasting less than two minutes each. One of its most nihilistic tunes was the self-deprecating “I Hate Music,” in which he pillories his school, his father and music in general: “I hate music, sometimes I don’t, /I hate music, it’s got too many notes, /I hate music turnin’ me on, I hate music…”

“I Hate to Love Her,” Sly & The Family Stone, 1967

The psychedelic soul, funk and R&B that Sly and The Family Stone was known for was largely effervescent, fun and positive (“Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Dance to the Music”) when they started out in San Francisco in 1967, which makes this darker track from their debut album rather surprising in contrast. “I Hate to Love Her” is full of self-doubt, loathing and a dead-end relationship: “It’s all about my baby, It’s all about my…, /Why won’t she be honest and leave me behind to get over her, /I hate to love her, I must hate myself, /I hate to love her, it’s bad for my health…”

“If You Would Hate Me Less, I’d Love You More,” Billy Squier, 1998

From 1981 to 1985, Squier was an arena rock star with multiple Top Ten albums and ubiquitous singles like “The Stroke,” “My Kinda Lover” and “Rock Me Tonite.” He fell out of favor after that, and soured on his label and the industry in general. After a period of inactivity, he released “Happy Blue” in 1998, a stylistic and sonic departure which featured Squier alone on acoustic guitar doing blues-based tunes. One of the best was the reflective “If You Would Hate Me Less, I’d Love You More,” on which he yearns to be treated better: “Your daggers wound me deeply, but if you would hurt me less, I’d soothe you more, /I would give myself so cheaply, if you could hate me less, I’d love you more…”

“I Hate My Frickin’ I.S.P.,” Todd Rundgren, 2000

You’ve gotta love Rundgren, one of the most inventive, quirkiest artists in the rock music pantheon. While he had his share of commercial successes, especially early in his career, he has championed a fierce individuality and experimental nature in the studio that didn’t always sell well. He was in the vanguard of digital recording and interactive art, and on his 2000 album “One Long Year,” he opened with the whimsical “I Hate My Frickin’ I.S.P.” to express his early frustration with the Internet: “And I hate my frickin’ I.S.P., /He ain’t got no bandwidth left for me, /And I’ll never get back, never get back the time that I waste, /That’s what I hate…”

“Hate For Sale,” The Pretenders, 2020

Chrissie Hynde has always been widely praised as a rock ‘n roll badass, writing chip-on-her-shoulder music that alternated between hard-edged and sweetly melodic. She and The Pretenders haven’t exactly been prolific, releasing only 12 albums in 40 years, but they have toured relentlessly, and their 2020 LP “Hate For Sale” finds Hynde as relevant and talented as ever. Consider the lyrics of the title track, which seem to describe a certain political candidate: “Call it luck or inherited title, a guy like that is arrogant, idle, /He won’t get hung or go to jail, he’s got a curly tongue and a curly tail, /But mostly, he has hate for sale…”

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Honorable mentions:

“When Love and Hate Collide,” Def Leppard, 1995; “You Love Me to Hate You,” KISS, 1989; “I Hate Boys,” Christine Aguilera, 2010; “High Price of Hate,” Toto, 1999; “Wasting My Hate,” Metallica, 1996; “Cool to Hate,” The Offspring, 1997; “I Hate My Generation,” Cracker, 1996; “I Hate Rock ‘n Roll,” Jesus and Mary Chain, 1995; “I Hate Everything About You,” Three Days Grace, 2003.

Not just me, not just you, it’s all around the world

Posted on by brucehhackett

Rock and roll is, without question, an inherently American musical genre, born in the mid-1950s as a hybrid of blues, country, jazz and R&B.  But it very quickly developed a global reach.

Britain and Canada eagerly accepted it almost right away, and other European countries and Australia soon followed suit.  People in other regions of the world — Central and South America, the Far East, Africa — had very strong allegiances to their own vibrant, indigenous music, so they took a little longer to join the party.  Communist governments refused to allow their people to be exposed to free-thinking pop music until well into the 1980s.

It’s a different ball game these days.  “Best World Music Album” is a Grammy category.  Certain artists have enthusiastically embraced and pushed rhythms and instruments (reggae, ska, sitars, wooden flutes, etc) that have expanded American pop music like never before.  Paul Simon’s “Graceland,” with its infusion of South African vocal and percussive elements, won Album of the Year in 1987.  Peter Gabriel has shown a deep interest and appreciation for the music of other cultures — African, Asian — evidenced by numerous tracks on his solo LPs, most notably 1980’s “Biko.”  Many dozens of artists in the ’90s and beyond have given credit to musicians like Simon and Gabriel for leading the way, and influencing their music and their interests.

One of these days, I’ll assemble a set list of pop songs from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s that show the obvious and subtle influence on American pop music of musical genres from around the world, but today, my focus is simpler.  In this blog post, I offer a sweet sixteen playlist of songs that pay tribute to various major and minor world cities.

Rock and roll is all around the world!  

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“Leningrad,” Billy Joel, 1989

When Billy Joel appeared in concert in Russia in 1987 as the first major Western artist to shoot an in-concert video there, he befriended a performing clown named Viktor, and they shared common experiences growing up in the USA and the USSR.  The lyrics compared the wildly disparate lives of Russian and American kids growing up in opposing cultures, and how they became friends despite these differences:  “And Cold War kids were hard to kill, under their desks in an air raid drill, haven’t they heard we won the war, what do they keep on fighting for?…  Viktor was sent to some Red Army town, served out his time, became a circus clown, the greatest happiness he ever had was making Russian children glad…  We never knew what friends we had until we came to Leningrad…”   

“Free Man in Paris,” Joni Mitchell, 1974

You might think Joni was singing about a boyfriend, or some fictional guy, but in fact, the “free man in Paris” is manager/mogul David Geffen, who guided her mid-’70s career and those of many others.  She thought he worked too hard and enjoyed seeing him relax in the carefree “City of Lights” environs, and wrote about Paris from his point of view: “If I had my way, I’d just walk through those doors and wander down the Champs d’Elysees, going cafe to cabaret… I felt unfettered and alive, there was nobody calling me up for favors, no one’s future to decide, you know, I’d go back there tomorrow but for the work I’ve taken on, stokin’ the star-maker machinery behind the popular song…” 

“Katmandu,” Bob Seger, 1975

“It’s a song of exasperation,” Seger said. “It was written for my ‘Beautiful Loser’ album in 1975 at the end of that seven- or eight-year period when I was going nowhere fast. I was in that defeatist mentality and you can hear it in there. It’s like: ‘I’m never gonna make it, I’m just gonna go to Katmandu, the remote city in Nepal.” “I’m tired of lookin’ at the TV news, I’m tired of drivin’ hard and payin’ dues, /I figure, baby, I’ve got nothing to lose, I’m tired of being blue, /That’s why I’m goin to Katmandu, up to the mountains where I’m going to…” It’s a solid rock ‘n roll song with Chuck Berry-style guitar and Seger’s vocal growl lasting more than six minutes on the LP, but the single was edited down to 3:16 and stalled at #43, which frustrated him no end. Within a year, though, he formed The Silver Bullet Band and went multi-platinum with his “Night Moves ” album, kicking off a strong career arc over the next two decades.

“Only a Dream in Rio,” James Taylor, 1985

Soft-rock balladeer Taylor was a hugely successful artist on records and in concert throughout the 1970s and into the 1980s, but underneath, he struggled with drug addiction.  When he performed at the inaugural 10-day “Rock in Rio” festival in early 1985, he was overwhelmed by the ecstatic adulation of the million-plus crowd, and had an epiphany that motivated him to quit substances for good.  He wrote about the experience in this stunning song from his underrated LP “That’s Why I’m Here”:  “Well they tell me, it’s only a dream in Rio, nothing could be as sweet as it seems on this very first day down, they remind me, ‘Son, have you so soon forgotten?’, often as not, it’s rotten inside, and the mask soon slips away…”

“Marrakesh Express,” Crosby Stills and Nash, 1969

David Crosby of the Byrds, Stephen Stills of Buffalo Springfield, and Graham Nash of The Hollies knocked the rock music audience on its collective ear with their spectacular “Crosby Stills and Nash” LP in the spring of 1969, with the single “Marrakesh Express” modestly leading the way before conceding chart time to Stills’ masterpiece “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.”  Nash’s song tells the story of his 1966 train ride from Casablanca to Marrakesh, noting that he enjoyed the friendly commoners in the steerage section much more than the stuffy patrons in the first-class compartment to which he’d been assigned: “Take the train from Casablanca going south, blowing smoke rings from the corners of my mouth, /Colored cottons hang in the air, charming cobras in the square, /Striped djellebas we can wear at home, well, let me hear you now, /Wouldn’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express…”

“Runnin’ Back to Saskatoon,” The Guess Who, 1972

One of Canada’s most successful pop acts, The Guess Who did very well on the charts in the US for several years (1969-1974) with guitarist Randy Bachman’s songs (“Undun,” “These Eyes,” “No Time,” “Laughing”) as well as vocalist/keyboardist Burton Cumming’s tunes (“Share the Land,” “Albert Flasher,” “Rain Dance,” “Star Baby”).  Cummings wrote “Runnin’ Back to Saskatoon,” a Top Ten hit in Canada but a dud on US pop charts in the fall of 1972. It appears on their live LP of that year, “Live at the Paramount,” which peaked at #39 in the US. The lyrics talk of the dead-end life in the small towns of Canada’s Western provinces, name-checking several of them: “I been hangin’ around grain elevators, been learnin’ ’bout food, /I been talkin’ to soil farmers, been workin’ on land, /Moose Jaw saw a few, Moosomin too, runnin’ back to Saskatoon, /Red Deer, Terrace and Medicine Hat, sing another prairie tune…”

“London Calling,” The Clash, 1979

The British punk rock movement exploded in 1975 but petered out by 1977, and by 1979, The Clash was frustrated that perhaps their moment had passed. But they chose to adopt a less chaotic hard rock style for their double album “London Calling” that finally found favor outside the UK, particularly in the US, where it reached #27 on the album charts. The single “Train in Vain” reached #23 on US pop charts with the title track as its B-side. The phrase “London calling” comes from the BBC World Service’s station identification used during WWII to occupied countries, underscoring the concern Joe Strummer and Mick Jones were feeling about world events. “We felt that we were struggling, about to slip down a slope or something, grasping with our fingernails,” said Strummer, “and there was no one there to help us.” “London calling to the faraway towns, now war is declared, and battle come down, /London calling, now don’t look to us, phony Beatlemania has bitten the dust…”

“Still in Saigon,” Charlie Daniels Band, 1982

The veteran Nashville picker/fiddler has always been a very vocal patriot, particularly when it came to supporting military veterans.  In “Still in Saigon,” Daniels took a song written by a Vietnam vet named Dan Daley and recorded a moving country rocker that reached #22 on US pop charts in 1982. The lyrics spoke of the anguishing PTSD and other nightmarish flashbacks the soldiers unwillingly brought home with them from the the jungles and rice paddies of Southeast Asia, where Saigon (long since renamed Ho Chi Minh City) served as the only thing remotely close to the civilization of home the US soldiers longed for: “Every summer when it rains, I smell the jungle, I hear the planes, /I can’t tell no one I feel ashamed, /Afraid some day I’ll go insane, /All the sounds of long ago will be forever in my head, /Mingled with the wounded cries and the silence of the dead, /’Cause I’m still in Saigon…”

“Loco in Acapulco,” The Four Tops, 1988

In 1988, Genesis drummer Phil Collins, by then well into a very successful solo career, tried his hand at acting when he starred in the British comedy-crime drama “Buster,” which met with only mixed reviews, but the soundtrack did very big business.  Collins and Motown songwriting/producing titan Lamont Dozier teamed up to write Collins’s #1 hit “Two Hearts” as well as The Four Tops’ alluring comeback, “Loco in Acapulco,” which was a big success in the UK and elsewhere. Curiously, it didn’t do much in the US, despite its tempting words:  “You can hear voices bleeding through those warm Latin nights, memories are lost and found, leaving broken hearts all over town, ’cause you’ll be going loco down in Acapulco if you stay too long…”  

“Woman From Tokyo,” Deep Purple, 1973

This groundbreaking British band, credited with helping create the heavy-metal genre, worked their butts off for five long years, touring relentlessly and recording whenever they could.  By 1972, they added Japan to their itinerary, becoming one of the first Western rock bands to perform there, which inspired the minor hit “Woman From Tokyo” in tribute to their enthusiastic welcome there: “Fly into the rising sun, faces smiling everyone smiling everyone, /Yeah, she is a whole new tradition, I feel it in my heart, /My woman from Tokyo, she makes me see, /My woman from Tokyo, she’s so good to me…” Deep Purple recorded “Made in Japan,” their Top Five live album, during a concert there, which spawned the huge hit single “Smoke On the Water.”

“Roads to Moscow,” Al Stewart, 1973

A master storyteller through song lyrics, Stewart has a robust catalog of material that develops fictional characters while relating factual historical events. One of his most ambitious pieces is “Roads to Moscow,” an eight-minute piece from his 1973 LP “Past, Present and Future” that recounts the various phases of the German invasion of Russia in the 1940s, Russia’s defense and eventual successful counterattack that captured Berlin and defeated the Nazis. It ends with the protagonist soldier returning home only to be imprisoned by Stalin’s forces. Despite its length, critics praised its melodic structure and production, and Stewart often included the epic song in concert over the ensuing years: “And all that I ever was able to see, /The fire in the air glowing red, silhouetting the smoke on the breeze, /All summer they drove us back through the Ukraine, /Smolensk and Viasma soon fell, /By Autumn we stood with our backs to the town of Orel, /Closer and closer to Moscow they come…”

“Jerusalem,” Emerson, Lake and Palmer, 1973

This dramatic piece from ELP’s 1973 top-seller “Brain Salad Surgery” is, to the surprise of most progressive rock stoners who made up the band’s audience, a remarkably effective rock-era amalgamation of William Blake’s 1808 poem set to music by Hubert Perry in 1915.  The original piece has been regarded in some circles as an unofficial alternate national anthem to “God Save the King,” although ELP’s inventive synthesized updating was not widely embraced (it stalled at #56 in the UK and made virtually no impact on US listeners). Technically, it’s not about Israel’s Jerusalem at all, but it hints at the idea that Jesus revisited Earth in 19th Century England:  “I will not cease from mental fight nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, ’til we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land…”

“Funky Nassau,” Beginning of the End, 1971

The Bahamas haven’t exactly been known as an exporter of music to the degree of, say, Jamaica and Bob Marley’s reggae, but Caribbean strains can prove irresistible, as “Funky Nassau” proved in the spring of 1971, when indigenous group Beginning of The End took it to #15 on the US pop charts.  The remake/sequel film “Blues Brothers 2000” made use of the song in its popular soundtrack LP.  The lyrics may be a bit cheesy, but great fun when juxtaposed against the contagious funky beat:  “Miniskirts, maxi-skirts and Afro hairdo, people doing their own thing, don’t care about me or you, Nassau’s gone funky now, Nassau’s gone soul…” 

“Berlin,” Lou Reed, 1973

Reed was known for dark, even suicidal songs when he was with The Velvet Underground (1966-1971) and in his solo career as well, and his 1973 LP “Berlin” may have been his bleakest of all.  The title track was written after an early 1971 visit to Germany, when he was hounded by nightmarish thoughts of failed relationships and family deaths.  Reed was a troubled kid, with plenty of justifiable anxiety and difficult challenges that he transformed into startling musical statements like the album’s title song:  “In Berlin, by the wall, you were five foot ten inches tall, /It was very nice candlelight and Dubonnet on ice… /You’re right, oh and I’m wrong, you know I’m gonna miss you now that you’re gone, one sweet day, baby baby, one sweet day…”

“Budapest,” Jethro Tull, 1987

In addition to his skills as rock’s premier flautist, Tull’s Ian Anderson has always been a superlative lyricist, telling stories of British folklore as well as personal reflections of life experiences.  During a European tour in 1986, he and his band were mesmerized by a statuesque beauty working behind the scenes at a concert in Budapest, Hungary. Anderson was moved to write this 10-minute beauty about the unrequited lust and longing he and his bandmates felt for the young woman:  “She was helping out at the backstage, stopping hearts and chilling beers, /Yes, and her legs went on forever, like staring up at infinity, /Through a wisp of cotton panty, along a skin of satin sea, /It was a hot night in Budapest…”

“Kashmir,” Led Zeppelin, 1975

Geographically, Kashmir is not actually a city but a region in the northernmost part of the subcontinent of India. The four members of Led Zeppelin, who recorded the song in phases over a two-year period in 1973-1975, were unanimous in their regard for the eight-minute track as “probably the best thing we ever did,” as Jimmy Page put it. It appears on their sixth LP, “Physical Graffiti,” and was performed at every concert they did following its release. Vocalist/lyricist Robert Plant said no one in the group had been to Kashmir at that point, but he was inspired during a drive across a remote desert area in southern Morocco in 1973, and took a few liberties when he wrote: “My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return again, /Sure as the dust that floats high in June when moving through Kashmir…”

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