Both the Mamas and the Papas are her pictured
Regular readers (I’m looking at you Philo Von Blitzen of Thermopolis, Wyoming) may recall that in a recent post I took a few singers to task for from some of their song lyrics. Well today I’m dedicating an entire post to the subject and by god if you don’t like it you can do what everyone else does and ignore it. That said, I hope you don’t.
I was listening to the Mama and the Papa’s song Monday, Monday which reached number seven on the year-end charts for 1967. Talk about emo. Dig this line:
Every other day (every other day)
Every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes (but whenever Monday comes)
But whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin′ all of the time
Seriously pal? You cry all day Monday? You’re in need of a therapist. Imagine spending all of one day of the week crying. Get a grip. And you're what, a successful singer? What the hell does Monday mean to you? You're not getting up and going to a factory or pouring concrete. You singers can sleep in.
Speaking of silly lyrics. What about the song, Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? From the group Chicago which hit number five in 1971.
As I was walking down the street one day
A man came up to me and asked me
What the time was that was on my watch
Yeah, and I said
does anybody really know what time it is?
(Care) does anybody really care?
(About time) you know, I can't imagine why
(Oh no, no) we've all got time enough to cry
First of all the man asked, “what is the time that is on your watch?” Not, “say, buddy, you got the time?” What a weird way to ask a question. But more importantly rather than tell him you went into this whole philosophical tirade about time concluding with, “we’ve all got time enough to cry.” Maybe the guy had a doctor’s appointment and was worried about being late, or had to pick up his kid from daycare or had a meeting at work and you lay this heavy number on him. Next in the song a “pretty lady” says her diamond watch had “stopped cold dead” so she wondered if he had the time. Again he goes into his riff about who cares about time. The lesson: whatever you do don’t ask this guy for the time.
But let’s go back further in time to a song written in 1932 by Victor Young and popularized by Frank Sinatra. Street of Dreams is lovely song but check this section of the song out:
Gold, silver and gold
All you can hold's up there on a moonbeam
Poor, there ain't nobody poor
Long as love is sure on the street of dreams
Okay so we’ve got gold, silver and what else? Gold again. I don’t get it. Why wasn’t there a third different element or why not just say “gold and silver” if there was no third item?
The rest of the song is beautiful. But that line has always bothered me. How about diamonds, sapphire even copper, anything but repeating gold.
Let’s go back to the Sixties for a song that Rolling Stone magazine once named the greatest rock song of all time. I refer to Bob Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone from 1965. One of the most revered songs in Dylan’ ouvré. There are no silly lyrics here. But what is the song about? Kikicking a woman while she’s down is what.Here’s the beginning of the song:
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
Threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People call say 'beware doll, you're bound to fall'
You thought they were all kidding you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hanging out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging your next meal
The song continues along this vein. Dude, give the woman a break. What are the circumstances of her fall? Why taunt her? These lyrics are borderline misogynistic. Maybe you could give her a hand instead of reminding her she's fallen on hard times. Downright cruel.
But let’s conclude with the really stupid. One of the dumbest popular songs of all times comes — not surprisingly — from the world of country and western music. I refer to a gentleman (I”m using the term loosely) named Charlie Rich who in 1973 had a song that topped both the C&W and Easy Listening charts. It was called, The Most Beautiful Girl and included these ridiculous lyrics:
Hey, did you happen to see
The most beautiful girl in the world?
And if you did, was she crying, crying?
Imagine the possible responses to that. Such as:
I saw a beautiful girl but I don’t know if she was the most beautiful in the world. Could that be her?
As a matter of fact I did a woman crying but she wasn’t anywhere near the most beautiful in the world.
Yeah I saw her but she wasn’t crying, she was glad to be shed of you.
Later in the song he asks that if one does see her to let her know he’s sorry and that he needs her. Find her yourself. Sheesh, some people.
Rich had another unintentional knee slapper called, Behind Closed Doors. It also hit number one on the C&W charts which tells you all you need to know about the people who listen to country and western music.
Here are a few lines:
Cause when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad I'm a man
Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors
Yeah we know exactly what goes on behind closed doors. You two get it on. Maybe we don’t know the details but here’s the thing: we don’t want to. Why? Because we don’t care. In fact, for all we know when you get behind closed doors maybe you can’t get it up and you both lay there frustrated. Also, she makes you glad that you’re a man? Don’t you make her glad that she’s a woman?
I’m sure Mr. Rich had many other popular songs with silly lyrics but these are the ones I was occasionally exposed to in my youth. Poor guy. More to the point, poor listeners.
Here’s a bonus one before I go (go where?). Also from 1973 (what a great year for bad music) and also a top charter. Written and performed by Tom T. Hall. It was called, I Love.
I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks
Slow movin' trains and rain
I love little country streams, sleep without dreams
Sunday school in May and hay
I’m with you on the ducks, trains, rain, country streams, not a big fan of hay, don’t like Sunday school and don’t care for pick-up trucks. But what bothers me here is liking sleep without dreams. What kind of mind doesn’t welcome dreams? They’re great fun and interesting to analyze. I’m quite frustrated if I wake up unable to remember any of my dreams and you don’t want ‘em? As if.
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