Lyrics

We’re alone now and I’m singing this song for you

Posted on by brucehhackett

Compiling playlists of classic rock songs that share a given theme is one of my favorite leisure pastimes. Researching and whittling down a sizable selection of tunes into a diverse yet reasonably coherent playlist can be a fun challenge.

Songs about sleeping, driving, dancing. Songs about cars, food, money. Songs about gambling, dreaming, forgetting. Songs about fire, sex, magic.

Seems as if I’ve made lists about every topic. Wait — singing! How have I not made a playlist of songs about singing??

I’ve chosen 15 songs, mostly from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, with “sing” or “singing” in the title, followed by another 15-or-so “honorable mentions.” At the end, you’ll find my usual Spotify collection that combines them all in one 100-minute playlist to listen to as you read.

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“Sing a Song,” Earth, Wind and Fire, 1976

Written by EW&F frontman Maurice White, “Sing a Song” was the second of seven Top Ten singles the group charted in the US. As with most of the band’s repertoire, the lyrics to this effervescent tune are brimming with optimism and positive attitude, in keeping with White’s life philosophy: “When you feel down and out, sing a song, it’ll make your day, /Here’s a time to shout, sing a song, it’ll make a way, /Sometimes it’s hard to care, sing a song, it’ll make your day, /A smile so hard to bear, sing a song, it’ll make a way…”

“Sing Me Away,” Night Ranger, 1982

In the mid-’80s, Night Ranger scored five Top 20 singles and a couple of Top 20 albums as well, but their 1982 debut didn’t get the attention they were hoping for. Still, it was the infancy of MTV, and the group’s first music videos — “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” and “Sing Me Away” — got airplay. Drummer Kelly Keagy took lead vocals on “Sing Me Away,” and it soon became a crowd pleaser during their live shows: “Sometimes I sit and I dream on for hours, sometimes my hours they turn into days, /I dream of a girl I once knew as a school boy, she is the one who could sing me away, /But she is a long ways away, and I want to be with her today…”

“And Your Bird Can Sing,” The Beatles, 1966

John Lennon said he liked the busy, twin-guitar arrangement of the music but was dismissive of the lyrics of this track from the band’s 1966 LP “Revolver.” “It’s one of my throwaways — fancy paper around an empty box,” he said in a 1980 interview. The words are certainly cryptic, and open to interpretation. Lennon’s ex-wife Cynthia claimed it was inspired by a gift she gave him of a clockwork bird inside a gilded cage, which Lennon saw as symbolic of their marriage and her failure to understand him. The song’s working title, by the way, had been “You Don’t Get Me.”

“I Shall Sing,” Van Morrison, 1970

When he was compiling tracks for use on his 1970 classic LP “Moondance,” Morrison wrote this exuberant song that, while infectious and fun, failed to make the cut for the album, but you can find it on the deluxe edition released in 2013. The vibrant horns and irrepressible beat are far more interesting than the simple lyrics, which are designed to be nothing more than, well, a singalong-type number: “I shall sing, sing my song, be it right, be it wrong, /In the night, in the day, any how, any way, I shall sing…”

“Sing, Sing, Sing,” Louis Prima, 1936

How ironic that a number entitled “Sing, Sing, Sing” is best known from its instrumental version as recorded by The Benny Goodman Orchestra in 1938, even though that outfit had the great Helen Ward as its vocalist. One of the quintessential examples of jump blues from the Swing Era, it was written and first recorded in 1936 by Louis Prima and his band, with Prima himself singing the lyrics, which are almost incidental to the musical structure and arrangement: “Sing, sing, sing, sing, everybody start to sing, /Like dee dee dee, bah bah bah dah, now you’re singin’ with a swing, /Sing, sing, sing, sing, everybody start to sing, /Like dee dee dee, bah bah bah dah, now you’re singin’ like everything…”

“When Smokey Sings,” ABC, 1987

The Europop dance band ABC had their biggest U.S. success with their 1987 single “When Smokey Sings.” Lead singer Martin Fry and guitarist/keyboardist Mark White co-wrote the soulful tribute to Motown singer/producer Smokey Robinson, who said in response, “Well, of course, it’s very flattering, and I really appreciate it.” The lyrics praise Robinson’s vocal delivery: “Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night, you know you’re right just to hold her tight, /He soothes it right, makes it out of sight, and everything’s good in the world tonight, /When Smokey sings, I hear violins, /When Smokey sings, I forget everything…”

“Sing Child,” Heart, 1976

Ann and Nancy Wilson, on their own and in collaboration with guitarist Roger Fisher and bassist Steve Fossen, wrote the songs that made up Heart’s impressive 1976 debut LP, “Dreamboat Annie.” The hit singles “Magic Man” and “Crazy on You” are self-explanatory, but the deeper track “Sing Child” is less clear. To me, it sounds like they’re speaking about a songwriter who is reluctant to give voice to the tunes, deferring to others to sing them: “Sing child sing, sing child sing, /Melody maker, giver and taker, heartbreaker, /He want to sing, I know, try it again, /Sooner or later, he gonna break down and sing…”

“She Sings Songs Without Words,” Harry Chapin, 1974

Chapin was, first and foremost, a storyteller, weaving lengthy, multi-verse tales out of real and fictional characters, set to winsome melodies. On his popular “Verities and Balderdash” LP in 1974, he included the seemingly oxymoronic “She Sings Songs Without Words,” whose heroine gets her message through via her emotional presence: “The morning comes smiling and I laugh with no sound, and snuggle in silence and the sweet peace I’ve found, /And she sings the songs without words, songs that sailors and blind men and beggars have heard…”

“I Got a Right to Sing the Blues,” Sam Cooke, 1959

I won’t lie, I’m a sucker for blues and swing standards from the ’30s and ’40s. Harold Arlen, the musical brains behind the songs of “The Wizard of Oz,” teamed up with lyricist Ted Koehler in 1932 to write this marvelous tune for the Broadway musical “Earl Carroll’s Vanities.” It has since been sung by dozens of popular crooners, from Ethel Merman and Lena Horne to Louis Armstrong and Judy Garland. I’m partial to the late great Sam Cooke’s rendition from his 1959 LP “Tribute to The Lady,” a collection honoring Billie Holiday. It’s a classic tearjerker about a woman whose unhappy love life brings her nothing but woe: “A certain man in this little town keeps draggin’ my poor heart around, /All I see for me is misery, I got a right to sing the blues…”

“Sing,” Annie Lennox, 2007

I don’t typically reach up into the 2000s for tunes to feature here, but Lennox, a 1980s icon with The Eurythmics, wrote an exceptional song designed to help empower women around the globe who have no voice of their own. She enlisted the help of other women, including Madonna, to add their strong voices to the verses and chorus. One critic described the song, found on Lennox’s “Songs of Mass Destruction” album, as having “a killer hook, a big bad soul/gospel refrain, and a beat that, once it gets into the spine, will not be easily dismissed.” Here’s what the chorus preaches: “Sing, my sister, sing! Let your voice be heard, /What won’t kill you will make you strong, /Sing, my sister… sing!”

“Sing a Simple Song,” Sly and The Family Stone, 1968

When life gets you down, what do you do? Sylvester “Sly” Stewart advises, “Sing a simple song!” One of the pioneers of funk music, Sly and the Family Stone, had us up and dancing while preaching a positive message to us. The Supremes, the Temptations, even Prince and Miles Davis lined up to cover this tune from Sly’s 1968 LP “Stand!”, but the original still holds up best, with each band member taking turns singing lead vocals: “I’m livin’ livin’ livin’ life with all its ups and downs, I’m givin’ givin’ givin’ love and smilin’ at the frowns, /You’re in trouble when you find it’s hard for you to smile, a simple song might make it better for a little while…” 

“Singing All Day,” Jethro Tull, 1969/1972

In the pre-“Aqualung” years, Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson was dabbling in a broad array of songwriting styles and genres. Some songs made it onto the two studio LPs of that time, “Stand Up” and “Benefit,” while others were singles in the UK only, or left unreleased. In 1972, Tull released the double LP “Living in the Past,” which gathered a smorgasbord of material from that earlier period. The quasi-jazz structure and arrangement of “Singing All Day” always appealed to me, though the lyrics seem a tad slight, talking about “singing ’bout nothing”: “Back to the house, maybe she’ll phone me, /Singing my song, feeling so lonely, /I’ll sing very softly, so if the phone rings, I can hear it, I can hear it, singing all day, singing `bout nothing…”

“Sing Me Back Home,” Merle Haggard, 1968

The first version I heard of this sad country song was as a deep bonus track on the 2000 compilation “Hot Burritos!”, a retrospective of the four-year career of The Flying Burrito Brothers, featuring Gram Parsons, Chris Hillman and Bernie Leadon. The Grateful Dead and The Everly Brothers also recorded it, but when I saw that it had been written by legendary country artist Merle Haggard (whose rendition was one of 35 (!) singles to reach #1 on the country charts in his lengthy career), I concluded I must defer to Haggard’s pretty original recording. Such a classic country lament by a prisoner on his way to the gallows: “Sing me back home with a song I used to hear, make my old memories come alive, /Take me away and turn back the years, sing me back home before I die…”

“The Song We Were Singing,” Paul McCartney, 1997

McCartney’s involvement in the successful “Beatles Anthology” albums and video project in 1995-96 served to remind him of the high standards The Beatles set for themselves. As a solo artist, McCartney had been guilty of releasing some frankly half-assed material that didn’t measure up, but in 1997, he seemed to have been prodded into upping his game, because his “Flaming Pie” LP that year was his best in 15 years. Lots of great tunes there, including the opener, “The Song We Were Singing,” with lyrics that make me smile: “For a while, we could sit, smoke a pipe and discuss all the vast intricacies of life, /We could jaw through the night, talk about a range of subjects, anything you like, /But we always came back to the songs we were singing at any particular time…”

“Singin’ in the Rain,” John Martyn, 1971

Martyn was a British singer-songwriter who received critical praise but not much commercial success. Artists like James Taylor and America recorded his songs (“Someone” and “Head and Heart,” respectively), but his albums and singles failed to chart. Too bad, because an LP like 1971’s “Bless the Weather” is worthy of our attention. In keeping with the album’s theme, Martin chose to include a brief cover of the title song from the 1951 Gene Kelly/Debbie Reynolds classic film “Singing in the Rain.” It’s a tender treatment of the fine “make the best of it” lyrics and happy-go-lucky melody.

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Honorable mention:

“All the Children Sing,” Todd Rundgren, 1978; “Let Me Sing Your Blues Away,” The Grateful Dead, 1973; “And the Singer Sings His Song,” Neil Diamond, 1969; “To Sing For You,” Donovan, 1965; “Sing For the Day,” Styx, 1976; “Gonna Sing You My Love Song,” ABBA, 1973; “Sing Another Song, Boys,” Leonard Cohen, 1971; “Lady Sings the Blues,” Billie Holiday, 1956; “Sing Your Life,” Morrissey, 1991; “Sing a Song for You,” Tim Buckley, 1969; “Sing Our Own Song,” UB40, 1986; “And the Angels Sing,” Barry Manilow, 1994; “Every Time I Sing the Blues,” Buddy Guy with Eric Clapton, 2008.

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I feel I have to mention two tunes that are essentially children’s singalongs that I find annoying, but they sold a gazillion copies and became part of early ’70s culture, so I grudgingly list them here:

“Sing,” The Carpenters, 1973; “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing,” The New Seekers, 1971

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I love coffee, I love tea

Posted on by brucehhackett

Dolly Parton got it right regarding what I do the moment my feet hit the floor each morning when she sang, “Well, I tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition…”

The drink that got its start in Eastern Africa before migrating to the equatorial countries of the Americas is a crucial elixir many of us sip each day to get our personal engines running. For more than a century now, half of all coffee produced worldwide each year is consumed in the US. From the 10-cent cup of coffee of the 1950s to the $5+ concoctions at Starbucks today, we are happy to pay the price for that morning jolt.

In England, tea is the preferred beverage, due in part to its history of importation from India (a British colony for many decades) and its affordability. Tea is an integral part of the culture, a fact not lost on the songwriters of Great Britain.

Musicians from both countries have been writing and recording songs about coffee and tea since The Jazz Age. I have assembled 15 of the best ones, with another ten honorable mentions, and all are included on my Spotify playlist at the end. The styles and tempos are all over the map, so they might not be “your cup of tea” if you are like me and “take your coffee with a dash of silence.” But it’s a fun set I hope you enjoy at some point in your day.

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“Black Coffee,” k.d. lang, 1988

In 1948, lyricist Paul Francis Webster (who went on win Oscars for “Love is a Many Splendored Thing” and “The Shadow of Your Smile”) collaborated with jazz composer/arranger Joe “Sonny” Burke to write this bluesy torch song that finds salvation in a steaming cup of coffee when you’re up all night waiting to hear from your loved one. “Black Coffee” was recorded by some big names of that era, notably Sarah Vaughan, Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald, and many more artists in the years since. I’m partial to k.d. lang’s 1988 recording from her “Shadowland” LP. “I’m feeling mighty lonesome, I haven’t slept a wink, /I walk the floor and watch the door, and in between I drink black coffee, /Love’s a hand-me-down brew…”

“Second Cup of Coffee,” Gordon Lightfoot, 1972

Lightfoot is a national hero in his native Canada, still performing occasionally at age 83. In the U.S., he first hit the charts with “If You Could Read My Mind” in 1970, followed a few years later with the #1 song and album “Sundown.” In between, a couple of fine LPs curiously didn’t attract much attention, one being “Don Quixote” with its stunning love song “Beautiful.” Also on that album was “Second Cup of Coffee,” in which he hopes the caffeine he’s drinking to soothe his broken heart will stave off any impulse for harder stuff later on: “I’m on my second cup of coffee, and I still can’t face the day, /I’m thinking of the lady who got lost along the way, /And if I don’t stop this trembling hand from reaching for the phone, /I’ll be reachin’ for the bottle, Lord, before this day is done…”

“Afternoons and Coffeespoons,” Crash Test Dummies, 1993

The Dummies, led by the instantly identifiable bass/baritone vocals of Brad Roberts, was one of the biggest Canadian bands of the 1990s, and had some substantial success in the U.S. with the #3 single “Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm.” Another fan favorite from the same album was “Afternoons and Coffeespoons,” inspired by T.S. Eliot’s landmark 1915 poem, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Roberts calls it “a song about being afraid of getting old, which is a reflection of my very neurotic character”: “Woah, afternoons will be measured out, measured out, measured with coffeespoons and T.S. Eliot…”

“Black Coffee in Bed,” Squeeze, 1982

British band Squeeze were one of the best to emerge from the New Wave era, with several hit singles and albums in England. U.S. audiences were more selective but did embrace some of their work, notably the 1981 hit “Tempted,” which reached #8, and the sublime 1982 follow-up “Black Coffee in Bed,” which peaked at #26, and includes backing vocals by Elvis Costello and Paul Young. Another look at lost love, but this time seen as more of a relief: “Oh, from lips without passion to the lips with a kiss, there’s nothing of your love that I’ll ever miss, /The stain on my notebook remains all that’s left, of the memory of late nights and coffee in bed…”

“One More Cup of Coffee,” Bob Dylan, 1976

Dylan wrote some of the best kiss-off songs of all time — “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” and “Positively 4th Street” come immediately to mind — but he has many other lesser-known breakup songs throughout his voluminous catalog. Buried on his #1 LP “Desire” in 1976 (highlighted by the hit “Hurricane”) is “One More Cup of Coffee,” on which he croaks out a duet with Emmylou Harris: “I don’t sense affection, no gratitude or love, /Your loyalty is not to me but to the stars above, /One more cup of coffee for the road, one more cup of coffee ‘fore I go…”

“Coffee and TV,” Blur, 1999

British rock band Blur found only modest chart success in the U.S., but in their native UK, they were, along with Oasis, the chief purveyors of “Britpop,” scoring five consecutive #1 albums and a dozen Top Ten singles in the late 1990s. From their LP “13” in 1999, there’s a song with lyrics by guitarist Graham Coxon in which he describes his battles with alcoholism, using television and many pots of coffee to stave off his cravings and darker impulses: “So give me coffee and TV, easily, /I’ve seen so much, I’m goin’ blind, and I’m brain-dead virtually, /Sociability is hard enough for me, take me away from this big bad world…”

“You’re the Cream in My Coffee,” Nat King Cole Trio, 1950

The team of Ray Henderson (music) and Buddy DeSylva (lyrics) wrote this infectious little tune back in 1928 for their Broadway musical, “Hold Everything!” Early recordings included those by Annette Hanshaw and Ruth Etting, and later The Ray Conniff Singers and the Les Brown Orchestra put it on vinyl as well, but the best version, to my ears, was by the incomparable Nat King Cole and his King Cole Trio. The lyrics praise the woman he loves as crucial to his well being: “You’re the cream in my coffee, you’re the salt in my stew, /you’ll always be my necessity, I’d be lost without you…”

“Black Coffee,” Ike and Tina Turner, 1972

In 1972 Ike & Tina Turner, still a functioning duo riding high on their scorching cover of “Proud Mary” from the previous year, released the funk rock classic “Feel Good,” comprised almost entirely of Tina Turner originals, including a stomper called “Black Coffee.” In her song, SHE is the Black Coffee — “My skin is brown, but my mind is black” — and she spits it out with sass and fire, with Ike’s raging guitar behind her. Brit rockers Humble Pie put out a fine cover version on their “Eat It” double album the following year. “Black coffee is my name, black coffee is not a thing, /Black coffee, freshly ground and fully packed, /Hot black coffee, is where it’s at…”

“Cigarettes and Coffee,” Otis Redding, 1966

Steve Cropper, guitarist with Stax Records’ house band Booker T and the MGs, considers this “a hidden gem” in the Redding portfolio. Written by singer Jerry Butler in 1961, “Cigarettes and Coffee” went nowhere at first, but when Redding used Cropper and the rest of the MGs in Stax Records’ Memphis studio to record his version in 1966, it became a featured track on his LP “The Soul Album” that year. The narrator is simply thrilled to be with his love at 3 am: “I would love to have another drink of coffee now, and please, darling, help me smoke this one more cigarette now, /I don’t want no cream and sugar, ’cause I’ve got you, now darling…”

“Starfish and Coffee,” Prince, 1987

As a wildly eccentric, boldly artistic guy, Prince could certainly relate to a story about another wildly eccentric, boldly artistic person. Prince’s occasional collaborator Susanne Melvoin told him about a real girl she knew from 6th grade named Cynthia Rose who did quirky things like draw hearts on walls and happily shout out what she had for breakfast. Naturally, Prince turned it into a funky pop song, found on his “Sign ‘o the Times” album in 1987: “If you asked her what she had for breakfast, this is what she’d say, /’Starfish and coffee, maple syrup and jam, /Butterscotch clouds, a tangerine, and a side order of ham…”

“Coffee Song,” Osisiba, 1976

Flying under the radio of most American listeners was the music of Osisiba, a lively, inventive band of West African and Caribbean musicians who came together in England in 1970 and made more than a dozen albums of what became known as “world music,” blending rock, Latin, jazz, soul, reggae, calypso and pop. On their 1976 LP “Ojah Awake,” you’ll find their take on a 1946 novelty tune called “The Coffee Song.” First recorded by Frank Sinatra and later by The Andrews Sisters, Sam Cooke and Stan Ridgway, the tune adopts a humorous stance on Brazil’s abundant surplus of coffee: “Way down among Brazilians, coffee beans grow by the billions, /So they’ve got to find those extra cups to fill, they’ve got an awful lot of coffee in Brazil…”

“Espresso (All Jacked Up),” Todd Rundgren, 1995

From the beginning, Rundgren has been a non-conformist, often choosing experimental directions and methods of recording and releasing new music. In the ’90s, he pioneered the concept of interactive CDs, giving listeners the freedom to play producer with his tracks. From his 1995 release, “The Individualist,” he came up with this ode to coffee drinks and how they keep him going when out on tour: “Gimme one more hot espresso, have another cappuccino, /Fire me up a caffè latte, make it one with lots of chocolate in the middle of it, /Hot espresso, I’m all jacked up!…”

A couple of mugs from our kitchen collection

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“English Tea,” Paul McCartney, 2005

McCartney has proudly defended his love for “that whole fruity way of talking that the English do, very endearing, I love it.” For this slight little song from his “Chaos and Creation in the Back Yard” album in 2006, he was amused to observe how people in England used to talk about merely “a cuppa tea,” always the same, but now there are different types, and you must be more specific and ask for English tea, with formal mannerisms like in a drawing room stage play: “Would you care to sit with me for a cup of English tea, very twee, very me, /What a pleasure it would be, chatting so delightfully, any Sunday morning…”

“Tea in the Sahara,” The Police, 1983

From their spectacular fifth and final album, “Synchronicity,” The Police recorded a marvelous, moody treatment of this song Sting wrote, based on a poetic novel by Paul Bowles called “The Sheltering Sky.” In the book, three women wait for a prince who vowed to return to have tea in the desert with them, but he never comes back. In his song, Sting has the women waiting year after year, withering in the heat “with their cups full of sand”: “My sisters and I have one wish before we die, /And it may sound strange, as if our minds are deranged, /Please don’t ask us why, beneath the sheltering sky, /We have this strange obsession, you have the means in your possession, /We want our tea in the Sahara with you…”

“Have a Cuppa Tea,” The Kinks, 1971

There are few British rock bands more decidedly English than The Kinks, thanks to songwriter Ray Davies and his penchant for lyrics that describe English people, places and practices. Think “Waterloo Sunset” or “Victoria.” On their commercially unsuccessful but critically praised “Muswell Hillbillies” album in 1971, one of the best tracks is “Have a Cuppa Tea,” with lyrics that humorously celebrate the British custom of drinking tea and the civility that comes with it, delivered in a tongue-in-cheek fashion:  “Tea in the morning, tea in the evening, tea at supper time, /You get tea when it’s raining, tea when it’s snowing, tea when the weather’s fine, /You get tea as a mid-day stimulant, you get tea with your afternoon tea, /For any old ailment or disease, for Christ sake, have a cuppa tea…”

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Honorable mention:

“Cup of Coffee,” Johnny Cash, 1966; “Coffee Blues,” Mississippi John Hurt, 1963; “One Cup of Coffee,” Bob Marley, 1976; “Coffee Club,” Spandau Ballet, 1982; “Tea for One,” Led Zeppelin, 1976; “Another Pot o’ Tea,” Anne Murray, 1974; “Afternoon Tea,” The Kinks, 1967; “Everything Stops for Tea,” Long John Baldry, 1972; “Tea for the Tillerman,” Cat Stevens, 1970.

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