Sun’s coming up, watching it slowly set

There’s something about watching a sunrise or sunset that brings inner peace and serenity. For the past ten years, I have been fortunate to live on Santa Monica Bay, a gorgeous swath of Pacific coastline which essentially runs in an east-west direction instead of the north-south path that most of the California coast follows. This affords us the rare opportunity, at certain times of the year, to watch both the sunrise and the sunset over the ocean.

Early morning surfers in Pacific Palisades pause to watch the sun rising behind them in the east

As an amateur photographer, I’ve taken hundreds of photos of sunsets (and a few sunrises) I’ve witnessed while living here, two of which I share with you.

Beachcombers take in a gorgeous sunset at the Pacific Palisades coast

Both events can be spiritual experiences, offering inspiration and a comforting sense of life’s cyclical nature. Sunrises and sunsets have certainly energized songwriters through the years, which sent me on a search for songs about sunrises and sunsets. I came up with a diverse set of tunes, mostly from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s but also a few from more recent years. I hope you find them appealing.

************************

“Sunrise,” Eric Carmen, 1975

Carmen attended a suburban Cleveland high school not too far from where I grew up, and led the marvelous power pop band The Raspberries through the 1970-1974 period. From his 1975 solo debut, the single “All By Myself” may have gotten most of the attention (along with the follow-up, “Never Gonna Fall in Love Again”), but the album’s opening track, “Sunrise,” is by far the better song. It’s big and glorious and dramatic, with lyrics that offer hope for a new beginning: “Sunrise, come wrap me in the warmth of your crimson sky, /I spent a long time believing in a dream that had passed me by, /But the moon and stars have gone, and I can see the light of dawn, /Like a golden smile, brightening up the morning sky…”

“Tequila Sunrise,” The Eagles, 1973

In late 1972, when Glenn Frey and Don Henley decided they wanted to try writing their own songs, this was the first one they attempted. Frey came up with the opening guitar strum and basic melody while Henley tweaked it and added the lyrics. Frey was reluctant to use the title, which was a popular drink at the time, but Henley pointed out it could also refer to a guy drinking tequila all night and staying up to watch the sun come up. In the bridge, when Frey sings, “Take another shot of courage,” he was referring to tequila, which helped him work up the nerve to approach a pretty girl. Oh, and in case you were wondering — it’s made of tequila and orange juice over ice with a drop or two of grenadine and a maraschino cherry.

“Watch the Sunrise,” Big Star, 1972

This band should have been one of the biggest sensations of the ’70s and beyond. Lead singer Alex Chilton was the guy from The Box Tops who, at only 17, sang like a man twice his age on the definitive version of “The Letter.” With his new collaborator Chris Bell, he formed Big Star in 1972, writing original music in the same vein as The Beatles, The Stones and The Byrds. Despite rave reviews and a loyal cult audience, poor promotion and distribution plagued their short career. On their debut LP “#1 Record,” you’ll find an acoustic pieced called “Watching the Sunrise” that’ll have you scratching your head wondering why you haven’t heard of them: “Open your eyes, fears be gone, it won’t be long, /There’s a light in the sky, it’s okay to look outside, /The day it will abide, and watch the sunrise…”

“Sunrise,” Uriah Heep, 1972

Uriah Heep is regarded as one of the pioneers of hard rock and heavy metal, and maybe purveyors of prog rock as well. Between 1972 and 1974, they put four consecutive albums in the US Top 30 album charts. On “The Magician’s Birthday,” the band showcased their hard rock side with singles like “Sweet Lorraine” and “Spider Woman.” Opening the album was “Sunrise,” which featured keyboardist/guitarist Ken Hensley using hard/soft musical passages while focusing lyrically on how the soothing power of the sunrise can ease the pain of a romantic breakup: “Sunrise, and the new day’s breakin’ through, /The morning of another day without you, /And as the hours roll by, no one’s there to see me cry except the sunrise, /The sunrise and you… /Sunrise, bless my eyes, catch my soul, make me whole again…”

“At the Sunrise,” Chicago, 1971

Chicago burst on the scene with the innovative, creative “Chicago Transit Authority” album in 1969, followed by a second album that included “Make Me Smile,” “Color My World” and “25 or 6 to 4.” By their third album, they struggled to come up with much in the way of memorable music, but one worthy track is Robert Lamm’s melodic “At the Sunrise,” featuring Lamm and bassist Peter Cetera sharing lead vocals, and that solid, sublime horn section adding their magic. These lyrics center on a couple who must separate for a spell, but he’s coming back to enjoy another sunrise: “How could I be happy without her by my side? /Without her smiling face at the sunrise?…/I know she understands me, she knows I’m feelin’ bad, /Until I’m back beside her at the sunrise…”

“Sunrise,” Simply Red, 2003

To me, Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall has one of the best voices of the past thirty-plus years. He belts out R&B, rock, dance pop, ballads, you name it, all with skill and grace. In the UK, all 12 Simply Red albums from 1985-2019 charted in the Top Five, with multiple hit singles as well, but in the US their success was mostly limited to two hit singles, “Holding Back the Years” and a cover of “If You Don’t Know Me By Now.” What a shame — so much great music on their LPs. Consider “Sunrise,” a huge international hit in 2003 from their “Home” album, but virtually ignored here. It samples liberally (and with permission) from the arrangement of Hall and Oates’ “I Can’t Go For That,” and that’s fine with me.

“Heart of the Sunrise,” Yes, 1971

Most of the lyrics in Yes’s catalog are cosmic and vague at best, and nearly indecipherable at worst, but so much of the progressive rock music they made is so engrossing that it doesn’t much matter. The words sound good even if their meaning is lost on me in many cases. In “Heart of the Sunrise” from Yes’s biggest-selling album, “Fragile,” Jon Anderson doesn’t seem to be talking about sunrises in the traditional sense but, well, I guess everyone is free to make their own interpretation: “Love comes to you, and you follow, /Lose one, on to the heart of the sunrise, /SHARP! /DISTANCE! /How can the wind with its arms all around me, /Lost on a wave, and then after, /Dream on, on to the heart of the sunrise, /SHARP! /DISTANCE! /How can the wind with so many around me, lost in the city…”

“(Reach Up for the) Sunrise,” Duran Duran, 2004

With more than 100 million albums sold internationally, Duran Duran ranks among the most commercially successful bands ever, although I wouldn’t consider myself a fan. As agents of the New Romantic scene that emerged in the UK in the early ’80s, they benefited greatly from the MTV era, with splashy videos getting heavy airplay. Their popularity continued well into the ’90s, and then again in the 2000s. “Astronaut,” their 2004 release which reached #5 in England and #17 here, included “(Reach Up for the) Sunrise,” a surefire Duran Duran hit in many countries that never caught on in the US, for some reason. Its oft-repeated chorus shouts with great hope and promise: “Reach up for the sunrise, put your hands into the big sky, /You can touch the sunrise, feel the new day enter your life…”

**************************

“Waterloo Sunset,” The Kinks, 1967

One of the major crimes in the history of rock music is that “Waterloo Sunset” wasn’t the major success in the U.S. that it was in the U.K., Europe and Australia. Ray Davies, whose songs made The Kinks tick, wrote it in 1967 as “Liverpool Sunset,” as he was enamored with the Merseybeat sound that produced The Beatles and others. It recalls The Fab Four’s “Penny Lane” in some ways, perhaps too closely, so he changed its imagery to London, specifically the Thames River and Waterloo Station. Its delightfully complex musical arrangement belied its simple lyrics about a couple looking for peace amidst chaos: “Millions of people swarming like flies ’round Waterloo underground, but Terry and Julie cross over the river, where they feel safe and sound, /And they don’t need no friends, as long as they gaze on Waterloo sunset, they are in paradise…”

“English Sunset,” The Moody Blues, 1999

I’ll bet you didn’t know The Moodies were still releasing great new music as recently as 1999. They were arguably the true trailblazers of progressive rock, beginning with 1968’s “In Search of the Lost Chord,” and although they leaned more toward commercial pop later on, they did it with style and grace. This is due in large part to the fine songwriting and singing of guitarist Justin Hayward, who wrote most of the group’s hit singles (“Question,” “Story in Your Eyes,” “The Voice,” “Your Wildest Dreams”). From their 1999 album “Strange Times,” it seems as if “English Sunset” should’ve made that list, but it went nowhere on the charts here nor, strangely enough, in England. “I want to ride the range across those skies of black, I want to see for myself, and see me coming back, /And when I’ve gone the distance, I’ll be making tracks for an English sunset…”

“Sunset Drivers,” Lee Ritenour, 1984

Ritenour is an accomplished jazz guitarist who came out of L.A. in the late ’70s as a disciple of the great Wes Montgomery. Beginning in the ’80s, he began integrating elements of pop into his music, which brought him into the light jazz camp of George Benson. With Eric Tagg on vocals, Ritenour reached #15 on the pop charts in 1981 with the single “Is It You?” from his album “Rit.” His 1984 album “Banded Together” was a curious mix of drum machines and synthesizers but also the esoteric jazz fusion he was known for. Somewhere in the middle was “Sunset Drivers,” again with Tagg on vocals, describing the quasi-reckless drivers who populate Sunset Boulevard in west L.A.: “Comes a West Coast sundown, shadows on this million-dollar playground, /Sunset drivers, time to hit the street… /You gotta take it across the wire, they’re right behind you like a house on fire…”

“Red Sails in the Sunset,” Fats Domino, 1964

The famed Irish lyricist Jimmy Kennedy teamed up with Wilhelm Grosz back in 1935 to write the love song “Red Sails in the Sunset,” inspired by his view of a boat with red sails that often went for sunset cruises off the Northern coast of Ireland where he lived. It became a popular standard beginning in the late 1930s, recorded by such luminaries as Bing Crosby, Guy Lombardo and Louis Armstrong. In the ’50s came Nat King Cole and Paul Anka, and The Platters’ version in 1960 reached #36 on the pop charts. The late great Fats Domino added it to his repertoire, reaching #35 on the charts in 1963: “Red sails in the sunset, way out on the sea, oh, carry my loved one home safely to me, /She sailed in the morning, all day I’ve been blue, /Red sails in the sunset, I’m trusting you…”

“Sunset Grill,” Don Henley, 1984

When The Eagles first broke up in 1981, songwriters Henley and Frey each mounted solo careers with multiple chart successes. From his “Building the Perfect Beast” LP, Henley scored a Top Five hit in 1984 with “The Boys of Summer,” which offered indelible imagery about the L.A. beaches as summer wound down. Another big single for Henley that captured the edgy mood of the Hollywood scene was “Sunset Grill,” reaching #22 in 1985. It was based on a real burger joint on Sunset Boulevard that attracted all types. It lasted another decade until 1997, when it was torn down and replaced with a new Sunset Grill that’s still there: “Let’s go down to the Sunset Grill, watch the working girls go by, /Watch the ‘basket people’ walk around and mumble, and gaze out at the auburn sky…”

“Wasted Sunsets,” Deep Purple, 1984

Deep Purple was among the British bands who spearheaded the hard rock later perfected by Led Zeppelin. Emerging in 1968 with their “Shades of Deep Purple” and the #5 hit “Hush,” they became darlings of the U.S. rock press throughout the early and mid-’70s. Albums like “Machine Head” and the live “Made in Japan” helped the band sell out many of their performances here during that period. After a few years off, the core group reunited in 1984 with “Perfect Strangers,” which included guitar hero Ritchie Blackmore as well as vocalist Ian Gillan. The track “Wasted Sunsets” featured lyrics that, following a romantic breakup, bemoaned sunsets experienced alone: “One too many wasted sunsets, one too many for the road, /And after dark, the door is always open, hoping someone else will show…”

“California Sunset,” Neil Young, 1985

From his early days with Buffalo Springfield all the way up to current days, Young has marched to his own drummer, offering radically different styles on successive albums: hard rock, country, pop, proto-grunge, rockabilly, electronica, folk rock… In the mid-’80s, following the unlistenable dissonance of “Trans,” he did a 180-degree turn and offered “Old Ways,” perhaps his deepest dive into country music. One track, “California Sunset,” used fiddles to help paint a down-home tribute to the West Coast, a far cry from the bitter cold of his Canadian prairie homeland: “Land of beauty, space and light, /Land of promise, land of might, /You’re my home now, and it’s true, /California, here’s to you… California sunset going down in the West, /All the colors in the sky kiss another day goodbye…”

“Two Suns in the Sunset,” Pink Floyd, 1983

After a spectacular run of #1 albums and sold-out arenas in the 1970s, the members of Pink Floyd were at each other’s throats by the time they began recording what became “The Final Cut” in 1983. Leader Roger Waters had assumed dictatorial control of the group, alienating guitarist/singer David Gilmour and the others. Most of “The Final Cut” were leftovers from “The Wall” sessions, and it shows. An exception is “Two Suns in the Sunset,” Waters’ stark vision of nuclear apocalypse, in which the second sun is the glowing fireball of an atomic bomb: “In my rear-view mirror, the sun is going down, sinking behind bridges in the road, /I think of all the good things that we have left undone, /The sun is in the east even though the day is done, /Two suns in the sunset, could be the human race is run…”

***************************

I found two songs that cover both sunrise and sunset:

“Sunrise, Sunburn, Sunset,” Ryan Hurd, 2020

Ryan Hurd is an acclaimed Nashville songwriter who has not only written #1 hits for Blake Shelton, Lady A and Luke Bryan but has established himself as a fine performing artist in his own right. In 2018, he married superstar Maren Morris, and the couple had a big hit together this year with “Chasing After You.” Bryan went to #4 in 2018 with “Sunrise, Sunburn, Sunset,” a happy love song whose title now adorns t-shirts and lake-house kitchen walls. Co-written by Hurd, Zach Crowell and Chas McGill, the song was recorded by Hurd last year for his “EOM” EP, and I think his rockified version beats Bryan’s by, um, a country mile: “Moonlight, all night, crashing into me, nothing will ever be easy as you and me, /Tangled up and nowhere to be, just sunrise, sunburn, sunset, repeat…”

“Sunrise, Sunset,” Zero Mostel and Maria Karnilova, 1964

“Fiddler on the Roof” was the longest running Broadway play of all time until it was topped by “Grease” in the ’70s. Based on the Joseph Stein book, the production featured music by Jerry Bock with lyrics by Sheldon Harnick, and many of the songs are among the most popular show tunes ever: “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” “To Life,” “If I Were a Rich Man” and especially “Sunrise, Sunset,” with lyrics that make use of the daily rising and setting sun to lament the inexorable passing of time. On the soundtrack album, actors Zero Mostel and Maria Karnilova mourn the fact that their children have grown up: “When did she get to be a beauty? When did he grow to be so tall? Wasn’t it yesterday when they were small? /Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset, /Swiftly flow the days…”

****************************

All the friends I ever had are gone

Pete Townshend, who just turned 76 last week, wrote the iconic lyric “Hope I die before I get old” back in 1965 at age 20. It was the most important line in The Who’s signature song of youthful angst and rebellion, “My Generation.”

Townshend has been asked in many interviews over the years just what he meant. One response: “I hope I die while I still feel this alive, this young, this healthy, this happy, and this fulfilled.” Most recently, he said, “The line ‘I hope I die before I get old’ is more about a state of mind than actual age.”

So there you have it. The consummate rocker wasn’t hoping to literally die, as in a fiery car crash or an overdose. He meant he would rather die than to live in an “old” state of mind — cranky, stubborn, set in your ways, unwilling to embrace new ideas.

I bring this up because, this week, Bob Dylan — the Nobel Prize-winning lyricist and one of the most prolific songwriters of the past half-century — marked his 80th birthday.

If young, rebellious rock ‘n’ rollers are supposed to “live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse,” as the saying goes, then Dylan has turned out to be the ultimate rebel, rebelling against following that advice.

I’ve written more than once in this blog about the well-known list of rock stars who DID die young. They left us way too early, robbing themselves of many more years, more accomplishments, more expressions of the talents that made them famous in the first place. By extension, we too were robbed of the enjoyment we would surely have experienced from listening to the music they likely would have continued to create.

In June 2020, Dylan released his 39th studio album, “Rough and Rowdy Ways.” Now, let’s face facts: Dylan has released some really lame albums over the course of his six-decade career, which shouldn’t really be that surprising. Nobody, no matter how high a pedestal we’ve put them on, can be expected to maintain a consistently excellent track record for so long. But what’s important to note in Dylan’s case is that he has kept at it, and more often than not, he has gifted us with some extraordinary music and lyrics, and/or strong recorded performances.

This most recent album is a case in point. After biding his time through the 2010s by recording four albums of cover versions of Sinatra torch songs, standards and Christmas music, he surprised us all when he dropped another amazing batch of original tunes on us in the middle of the coronavirus lockdown. Critics were mightily impressed, and so was I. “Academics who can’t dance will fill unread books dissecting the library of historical reference engrained in these grooves,” wrote Pat Carty in his review for Hot Press. “The rest of us can just be thankful that the greatest song and dance man of them all is still rolling.”

True, that. Dylan himself acknowledges that fact in the new album’s song “Mother of Muses”: “I’ve already outlived my life by far.”

Truth be told, Dylan’s ability to write captivating songs went through a mostly fallow period in the ’80s and ’90s when it seemed to me he had grown stale, even irrelevant. But damned if he didn’t come roaring back around 1997 with his “Time Out of Mind” LP, followed by consecutive successes: “Love and Theft” (2001), “Modern Times” (2006), “Together Through Life” (2009) and “Tempest” (2012). These five albums, plus the newest one, offer many exceptional new lyrics and melodies from a man in his 60s and 70s. Where most of his contemporaries have either passed away or retired from the business, Dylan has found the strength and the creative muse to produce quality compositions even at age 79. God bless this man for that.

I’ve had at least a dozen different friends tell me they have seen Dylan in concert and were severely disappointed. I saw him once, in 1997, and I’d give it a C+ at best. He doesn’t seem to give a damn about what the audience might want, which can only be described as self-indulgent, especially when he radically reworks his classics to the point where they’re unrecognizable. That’s why I’ll always prefer his albums. And yet, he says he loves performing. “I like to tour. I like to sing to the people. I don’t like to sing into microphones in a studio. If you look for me when I’m 90, I’ll be on a stage somewhere.”

Dylan is a prickly guy who happens to have a marvelous way with words and musical phrasings, as the people who award the Nobel Prize for Literature recognized in 2016. I’ve remained grateful that I get to revel in his songs even if his recordings of them can be, well, rough around the edges. Again, I say, he doesn’t have to do this anymore, but he has chosen to make the effort, and he deserves our applause (particularly in this instance) for the results.

Like all people who reach the age of 80 or even 90 or 100, Dylan has paid a price for his longevity. As this essay’s title forlornly states, “All the friends I ever had are gone.” That’s a recurring line of resignation from a 1993 song he wrote called “Delia,” in which he bemoans the passing of a woman he loved. Was she real, or a fictional character? I’m not sure…but does it matter? The sentiment is the same. (My mother and my aunt and uncle all lived well into their 90s, and their chief regret, besides deteriorating health and all the challenges it brings, was, “All of my friends are gone.” It’s a lonely business, old age…)

Dylan has lost so many of his close associates: childhood friends; former manager Jerry Weintraub; musical colleagues like Roy Orbison, George Harrison and Tom Petty from his Traveling Wilburys days; songwriting rivals like Leonard Cohen; fellow iconic travelers as varied as David Bowie and Muhammad Ali. In almost every instance, the press has insisted on getting Dylan’s reaction, asking insensitively if these deaths touched him. “Sure, they all did,” he’d say. “We were like brothers. We lived on the same street, and they all left empty spaces where they used to stand. It’s lonesome without them.”

Advanced age may be lonesome, but age also brings wisdom and perspective. There’s a bounty of each in the lyrics of nearly every track on “Rough and Rowdy Ways.” At one time, he flatly refused the moniker of “prophet for the ages” when he was held up as the de facto spokesman of the Sixties Generation. Here, in the aptly named “False Prophet,” he drives that point home with sagacity and verve:

“Well, I’m the enemy of treason, enemy of strife, I’m the enemy of the unlived meaningless life, /I ain’t no false prophet, I just know what I know, I go where only the lonely can go…” “You don’t know me darlin’, you never would guess, I’m nothing like my ghostly appearance would suggest, /I ain’t no false prophet, I just said what I said, I’m just here to bring vengeance on somebody’s head…”

I’m among those who were not fazed by the 16-minute length of “Murder Most Foul,” Dylan’s wordiest song ever and the centerpiece of the new album. It’s an astonishing piece of rhymed reportage about the Kennedy Assassination and much much more, full of cultural references about that day and that period in time, often mentioning specific rock song titles and lyrics, and the artists who sang them. Rolling Stone referred to this epic piece as “a long fever-dream ramble through cultural memory.” Playing it again this morning, I felt its relentless message wash over me gently, “with a violin floating in and out of the arrangement like a haunt in a mansion with no windows,” as Esquire‘s Charles F. Pierce put it, and I wept at its impact. As you listen to this song, I strongly urge you to have the lyrics in front of you just so you don’t miss anything. I’ve printed out the words to “Murder Most Foul” at the end of this essay. It’s well worth your time to absorb this one.

There have been many Dylans for us to consider since his arrival in 1962, when Robert Zimmerman first became Dylan: Average folkie, fiery songwriter, electric pop star, convalescing family man, project actor, Jesus convert, Dead collaborator, comeback icon, crooner, elder statesman. When asked by the press about himself and the meaning of his songs, the younger Dylan remained cryptic in public statements because, as he put it, “If you have to explain ’em, then they weren’t any good in the first place.” These days, he’s far more candid and forthcoming about himself and his different personas. Consider these lines from “I Contain Multitudes,” another new one:

“Got a tell-tale heart like Mr. Poe, got skeletons in the walls of people you know, /I’ll drink to the truth and the things we said, I’ll drink to the man that shares your bed, /I paint landscapes, and I paint nudes, /I contain multitudes…” “A red Cadillac and a black mustache, rings on my fingers that sparkle and flash, /Tell me, what’s next? What shall we do? /Half my soul, baby, belongs to you, /I rollick and I frolic with all the young dudes, /I contain multitudes…”

There are those for whom Dylan’s voice is a dealbreaker. They can’t get past his gruff, guttural delivery, particularly on tracks from more recent albums. For those folks, all I can say is “I get it,” but I can’t help but feel sorry for them if they’ve tuned out Dylan’s lyrics and music in the process. I can only offer this suggestion: Turn your attention to the many dozens of cover versions of his songs out there, performed by men and women with superb singing voices. The Byrds won their fame singing Dylan songs. The Hollies did an entire album of Dylan covers. There’s a fantastic 4-CD collection called “Chimes of Freedom,” released in 2012 to commemorate Amnesty International’s 50th anniversary. It contains 72 Dylan tunes recorded by 72 different artists, from Johnny Cash and Pete Seeger to Diana Krall and Adele, a treasure trove of fine interpretations of some of Dylan’s greatest work.

But remember this. These pleasing performances by all these artists wouldn’t have been possible without the unparalleled songwriting of this uncommon man who just turned 80. For his continuing efforts to create astonishing new songs to add to his iconic library — All Hail Dylan!

*************************

It’s only fair to point out that Dylan is not alone among rock and pop stars from the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s who have made it to their 80th birthday. Many of these folks listed below continue to contribute to their legacies, while some have retired from making music. Most of these titans are worthy of more focused attention in Hack’s Back Pages, and I intend to write about them in future posts.

Willie Nelson, 88

Jerry Lee Lewis, 85

Ringo Starr, 80

Neil Diamond, 80

Mike Love, 80

Tom Jones, 80

Eric Burdon, 80

Joan Baez, 80

Dionne Warwick, 80

David Gates, 80

Ronald Isley, 80

Aaron Neville, 80

Tom Rush, 80

Dave Brigati, 80

**************************

“Murder Most Foul”

It was a dark day in Dallas, November ’63
A day that will live on in infamy
President Kennedy was a-ridin’ high
Good day to be livin’ and a good day to die
Being led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb
He said, “Wait a minute, boys, you know who I am?”
“Of course we do, we know who you are!”
Then they blew off his head while he was still in the car
Shot down like a dog in broad daylight
Was a matter of timing and the timing was right
You got unpaid debts, we’ve come to collect
We’re gonna kill you with hatred, without any respect
We’ll mock you and shock you and we’ll put it in your face
We’ve already got someone here to take your place
The day they blew out the brains of the king
Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing
It happened so quickly, so quick, by surprise
Right there in front of everyone’s eyes
Greatest magic trick ever under the sun
Perfectly executed, skillfully done
Wolfman, oh Wolfman, oh Wolfman, howl
Rub-a-dub-dub, it’s a murder most foul

Hush, little children, you’ll understand
The Beatles are comin’, they’re gonna hold your hand
Slide down the banister, go get your coat
Ferry ‘cross the Mersey and go for the throat
There’s three bums comin’ all dressed in rags
Pick up the pieces and lower the flags
I’m goin’ to Woodstock, it’s the Aquarian Age
Then I’ll go over to Altamont and sit near the stage
Put your head out the window, let the good times roll
There’s a party going on behind the Grassy Knoll
Stack up the bricks, pour the cement
Don’t say Dallas don’t love you, Mr. President
Put your foot in the tank and let’s step on the gas
Try to make it to the triple underpass
Blackface singer, whiteface clown
Better not show your faces after the sun goes down
Up in the red-light district, they got cop on the beat
Living in a nightmare on Elm Street
When you’re down on Deep Ellum, put your money in your shoe
Don’t ask what your country can do for you
Cash on the barrelhead, money to burn
Dealey Plaza, make a left-hand turn
I’m going down to the crossroads, gonna flag a ride
The place where faith, hope, and charity died
Shoot him while he runs, boy, shoot him while you can
See if you can shoot the invisible man
Goodbye, Charlie! Goodbye, Uncle Sam
Frankly, Miss Scarlett, I don’t give a damn
What is the truth, and where did it go?
Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know
“Shut your mouth,” said a wise old owl
Business is business, and it’s a murder most foul

Tommy, can you hear me? I’m the Acid Queen
I’m riding in a long, black Lincoln limousine
Ridin’ in the back seat next to my wife
Headed straight on in to the afterlife
I’m leaning to the left, I got my head in her lap
Hold on, I’ve been led into some kind of a trap
Where we ask no quarter, and no quarter do we give
We’re right down the street, from the street where you live
They mutilated his body and they took out his brain
What more could they do? They piled on the pain
But his soul was not there where was supposed to be at
For the last fifty years they’ve been searchin’ for that
Freedom, oh freedom, freedom over me
I hate to tell you, mister, but only dead men are free
Send me some lovin’, then tell me no lie
Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by
Wake up, little Susie, let’s go for a drive
Cross the Trinity River, let’s keep hope alive
Turn the radio on, don’t touch the dials
Parkland Hospital, only six more miles
You got me dizzy, Miss Lizzy, you filled me with lead
That magic bullet of yours has gone on my head
I’m just a patsy like Patsy Cline
Never shot anyone from in front or behind
I’ve blood in my eye, got blood in my ear
I’m never gonna make it to the new frontier
Zapruder’s film I’ve seen night before
Seen it thirty-three times, maybe more
It’s vile and deceitful, it’s cruel and it’s mean
Ugliest thing that you ever have seen
They killed him once and they killed him twice
Killed him like a human sacrifice
The day that they killed him, someone said to me, “Son
The age of the Antichrist has just only begun”
Air Force One comin’ in through the gate
Johnson sworn in at 2:38
Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel
It is what it is, and it’s murder most foul

What’s new, pussycat? What’d I say?
I said that soul of a nation been torn away
And it’s beginning to go into a slow decay
And that it’s thirty-six hours past Judgment Day
Wolfman Jack, he’s speaking in tongues
He’s going on and on at the top of his lungs
Play me a song, Mr. Wolfman Jack
Play it for me in my long Cadillac
Play me that “Only the Good Die Young”
Take me to that place Tom Dooley was hung
Play “St. James Infirmary” and the Court of King James
If you wanna remember, you better write down the names
Play Etta James, too, play “I’d Rather Go Blind”
Play it for the man with the telepathic mind
Play John Lee Hooker, play “Scratch My Back”
Play it for that strip club owner named Jack
Guitar Slim going down slow
Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe

Play “Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”
Play it for the First Lady, she ain’t feeling any good
Play Don Henley, play Glenn Frey
Take it to the limit and let it go by
Play it for Carl Wilson, too
Looking far, far away down Gower Avenue
Play “Tragedy”, play “Twilight Time”
Take me back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime
Play another one and “Another One Bites the Dust”
Play “The Old Rugged Cross” and “In God We Trust”
Ride the pink horse down that long, lonesome road
Stand there and wait for his head to explode
Play “Mystery Train” for Mr. Mystery
The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree
Play it for the reverend, play it for the pastor
Play it for the dog that got no master
Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz
Play “Blue Sky,” play Dickey Betts
Play Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk
Charlie Parker and all that junk
All that junk and “All That Jazz”
Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz
Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd
Play Bugsy Siegel, play Pretty Boy Floyd
Play the numbers, play the odds
Play “Cry Me a River” for the Lord of the gods
Play Number nine, play Number six
Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks
Play Nat King Cole, play “Nature Boy”
Play “Down in the Boondocks” for Terry Malloy
Play “It Happened One Night” and “One Night of Sin”
There’s twelve million souls that are listening in
Play “Merchant of Venice”, play “Merchants of Death”
Play “Stella by Starlight” for Lady Macbeth

Don’t worry, Mr. President, help’s on the way
Your brothers are comin’, there’ll be hell to pay
Brothers? What brothers? What’s this about hell?
Tell them, “We’re waiting, keep coming,” we’ll get them as well
Love Field is where his plane touched down
But it never did get back up off the ground
Was a hard act to follow, second to none
They killed him on the altar of the rising sun
Play “Misty” for me and “That Old Devil Moon”
Play “Anything Goes” and “Memphis in June”
Play “Lonely at the Top” and “Lonely Are the Brave”
Play it for Houdini spinning around in his grave
Play Jelly Roll Morton, play “Lucille”
Play “Deep in a Dream”, and play “Driving Wheel”
Play “Moonlight Sonata” in F-sharp
And “A Key to the Highway” for the king of the harp
Play “Marching Through Georgia” and “Dumbarton’s Drums”
Play darkness and death will come when it comes
Play “Love Me or Leave Me” by the great Bud Powell
Play “The Blood-Stained Banner”, play “Murder Most Foul”