Ryan Kelly Returns to the Theme of Romantic Regret in Messages

Last year saw the release of In Time, the debut solo album of Celtic Thunder's Ryan Kelly. Two of its tracks, In Too Deep and I Wish That I Could Get Over You, deal with the heartache of realizing that a relationship that seemed so perfect simply isn't going to work out. Kelly returns to that theme in the song Messages, which he recorded for the musical project Five Leaves Left - a song which, incidentally, includes the words "in time" in its lyrics.

This song is an interesting collaboration of artists, of whom I confess only Ryan was familiar to me. Brian McAteer wrote the song, while production is by Donal O'Connor and mastering by Cormac O'Kane. Paul McSherry plays the guitar, and Stephen Beggs and Siobhan O'Kelly add some snippets of dialogue toward the end.

This is a song about connection and miscommunication. Ryan's vocals are gently wistful as he sings about his certainty that he and the object of his affections shared a powerful bond and the gradual realization that either he misunderstood or she changed. The central idea of getting messages is one that will resonate with anyone who has struggled to understand exactly what another person is trying to convey.

The most poignant part of the song for me is the earnestly delivered lead-in to the first chorus: "You laughed at the right time, at the punch line. I thought that at this time, there was still time..." The verses proceed in a curious, almost staccato fashion with very short phrases strung together, emblematic of the stilted communication between the two. "And so, I liked this game and loved what it became, this sort-of love."

The song grows rather experimental toward the end with the spoken word interjections, which seem as though they're supposed to sound like answering machine messages, though they feel more like snippets of a fervently delivered speech. They seem disjointed and a bit unsettling, rather like the dialogue in Simon and Garfunkel's Fakin' It; I'm not entirely sure I like the device, but I think it's an interesting way to explore the overall theme of confusion in communication.

While the liner notes single out the guitarist, it's the keyboard that seems most prominent here, along with some light percussion. It's a fairly mellow tune that builds in intensity a bit as vocal harmonies back up Ryan's forlorn lead toward the end. Generally, I like the lyrics and delivery a lot, though a couple of lines have very odd phrasing where it feels like the end of a sentence but is actually part of a preparation for a complete thought. Namely, McAveety keeps splitting up the phrase "kind of" so that "kind" is followed by a noticeable break. It seems he simply wanted to emphasize "kind" for the sake of rhyme, and it just comes off as strange.

For the most part, though, this is a great stand-alone track. When December comes along, no song can ever compete with Dan Fogelberg's Same Old Lang Syne in my mind when it comes to reflections on regret in relationships, but Messages has more of a year-round appeal for someone in the mood for something a little melancholy. Meanwhile, this marks Ryan Kelly's return to recording several months after announcing his retreat from the music business, so downer of a theme aside, this song's very existence is music to fans' ears. Here's hoping there will be plenty more to come!

The Maccabeats Call For Introspection and Outward Action in Book of Good Life

Shana tova! Tomorrow evening, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, starts. In preparation for this time of reflection and renewal, the Maccabeats, the Jewish a cappella group from Yeshiva University, have put together a third video. Like their videos for Hanukkah and Purim, they based it on a popular contemporary song that I’d never heard of before (though since the release of the Purim song, it seems like I’m encountering Pink’s Raise Your Glass everywhere).

This time, the source is OneRepublic’s Good Life, an ode to youthful wanderlust. Once again, the lyricists are Immanuel Shalev and David Block, and the video director is Uri Westrich, and further continuity with previous videos is found in little visual nods such as the appearance of the orange NASA suit in one young man’s closet and the bumbling confusion of the toga-clad frat boys – the Greek bullies from the recounting of the tale of the Maccabees in Candlelight – as they struggle to read Hebrew songbooks. As before, the song by itself is wonderful, but the video adds another dimension of fun and, at the same time, reverence.

Released on September 22, Book of Good Life finds several contemporary young Jews feeling a bit uninspired by the idea of having to spend several hours in a synagogue. Gradually, however, their enthusiasm builds as the holiday helps them to do some real soul searching and look at the world with a fresh perspective. While this video celebrates a Jewish holiday just as exuberantly as the previous videos do, there is a fairly significant difference here in that the first two are fairly insular, while the third focuses largely on engagement with the world outside the Jewish community.

Although several scenes take place in shul or a synagogue, several others occur out on the city streets, where the apathy of the song’s beginning gives way to the activism of the second half. Hence, despite the presence of numerous Jewish images and terms such as yarmulkes, the traditional apples and honey eaten during this time, the “book of life” mentioned in Psalm 69 and the phrase “Days of Awe,” the song feels more ecumenical. What’s more, the focus on caring for one’s neighbors and being good stewards of one’s habitat make it widely applicable. Being less familiar with Rosh Hashanah than Hanukkah, I missed several specific references the first time I listened to it, and at first, I wasn’t sure if this was a holiday video or simply a general call to engagement with society at large – sort of a Jewish We Are the World. It does have that epic scope.

Another thing that’s interesting about this is where it stands in relation to the song that inspired it. With the first two videos, the originals are pretty much just party songs, and the new videos retain that celebratory focus but put a sacred spin on it. In this case, however, Book of Good Life feels like a direct counterpoint to Good Life. Whereas the original song is one of rugged individualism and getting all the kicks you can while you can, the Maccabeats present a different model – a life lived in community, where helping others is both a duty and a joy. The tension reminds me very much of the fundamental debate driving The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim, the 33rd book in the Trixie Belden series. Early in that book, conscientious Brian, my favorite of the Bob-White boys, stalwartly declares, “We happen to believe that getting involved with other people is what life is all about.”

Clearly, so do the Maccabeats. The later portion of the video is filled with short vignettes of the group’s members acting in ways that benefit others, from giving up a seat on the subway to another rider and tossing a tip to a street corner musician to throwing trash in the bin instead of leaving it on the sidewalk and helping a man carry his daughter’s stroller up a flight of stairs. It also extends to showing simple respect in ordinary interactions.  One young man takes the time to have a real conversation with his housemate instead of tuning her out; another, previously slumped over his desk in shul, offers an enthusiastic answer, or perhaps a question, to his rabbi.

As with the previous videos, the biggest lyrical similarities come in on the chorus. Instead of “I say, oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight, like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life” we’ve got “Say oh, we've got feelings that we should fight. Make sure that we're choosing right. Gotta earn my own place in the book of good life.” Meanwhile, the contrast is most striking on the bridge. Instead of repeating the word “hopelessly” and pairing it with rather hedonistic expressions, the key word here is “hopefully,” and each phrase addresses a desire to be a more thoughtful, considerate person this year than last.

Of course, an a cappella group is ideal to express such a sentiment, since the power of their vocals lies in their ability to harmonize with each other. The harmonies on the bridge are richest, but I found myself moved by them throughout the song, particularly at points in the video when we see them singing as a group in their coordinated white shirts and black ties. Meanwhile, perhaps the single most striking image in the video is the one of four Maccabeats, each in very different garb, converging upon a vibrantly colored sidewalk drawing reading “Open Your Eyes” – then scattering again as they realize missteps they made earlier in the day and move to correct them.

That’s not to say that there’s no room for silliness in the video. One guy – the same one with the NASA suit – has an autographed Justin Bieber poster hanging on his wall. Another – who has a Maccabeats poster over his dresser – wears a bright red Trix t-shirt throughout much of the video. The lyrics to the original song reference Abbey Road, and in this video, four of the guys cross the street in imitation of that famous Beatles album cover. Then, of course, there are the earnest but clumsy Greeks, who have become increasingly more sympathetic with each video.

Silly or somber, Good Life is a wonderful celebration of an important Jewish holiday and an invitation for people from all backgrounds to reflect upon their lives and how they might have a more positive impact upon the world. At this point, the song is not for sale, but anyone can download it free of charge by following the link under the YouTube video. Meanwhile, those who want to help support future releases from this talented group can do so through a donation box on that same page. I’ve been a fan of the Maccabeats since I discovered them last December, and this is my favorite video yet. I hope that they will celebrate their heritage with many more videos showcasing their distinctively infectious style.

Explore the History of Hanukkah with the Maccabeats' Candlelight

Late last year, I started seeing a video by the name of Candlelight popping up around Facebook. After it turned up on several friends’ pages, I decided I had to check it out for myself. This upbeat song, just over three minutes in length, is a reworking of Mike Tompkins’ a cappella cover of Taio Cruz’s Dynamite, a dance party hit I’d never heard of at the time. The video, created by Uri Westrich, and the lyrics, written by Emmanuel Shalev and David Block, commemorate Hanukkah, telling the ancient story of the Maccabees and their defeat of a mighty Greek army and of the light that continued burning despite insufficient oil. The verses recount the tale, while the chorus focuses on contemporary celebrations of this event and the bridge incorporates Hebrew that fits seamlessly with the melody.

Having written hundreds of filksongs myself, I find it fascinating when a song using new lyrics to an established tune makes a big splash. When I finally got around to listening to Dynamite, it was fun to see where Shalev and Block made great departures and where they scarcely changed anything at all. Instead of “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes,” we get “I flip my latkes in the air sometimes;” instead of “Just wanna celebrate and live my life,” it’s “Just wanna celebrate for all eight nights.” Of course, the verses are very different, but they still work extremely well in the preset format.

The video adds to the charm of the song with the Brady Bunch-style head boxes, each containing a young man in a pristine white shirt and black tie or, inexplicably, one guy in an orange astronaut suit, interspersed with such sights as the cheesy re-enactments of epic battles and the gorgeous shot of dozens of colorful dreidels spinning merrily. The song is funnier when you watch it because of all the goofy little visual cues, but the song on its own is great as well. Sung by the Maccabeats, a Jewish a cappella group from Yeshiva University, Candlelight is vivacious, harmonious and educational.

I’m not aware of too many Hanukkah songs. The two that always spring to mind first for me are Adam Sandler’s ditty, which is really just a list of famous Jews, and Peter Yarrow’s Light One Candle, which merely uses Hanukkah as a jumping-off point for a broader message about social justice. Candlelight’s lyrics never lose their specific focus on Hanukkah, making it a wonderful cursory introduction to the holiday. The inclusion of Hebrew phrases like “maoz tzur” and “nes gadol hayah sham” prompts further study to learn the significance of those words, while the exuberant tone makes the whole thing irresistibly festive.

As a Christian, I have always felt a sense of kinship with the Jewish people and have tried to familiarize myself with their holidays and traditions. This song didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know, then, but I think it would be very handy for anyone who doesn’t have any idea what Hanukkah is all about. It’s a great overview, and it’s just plain fun, not to mention harmonious, a trait that makes a cappella music so inherently powerful. It’s about people coming together to create something above and beyond what any of them could do alone. It’s about community, which makes it such an ideal vehicle for this song about a plucky band of brothers with unshakable faith and the modern people bound together by their commitment to remembrance.

Michael Buble Brightens Up the Radio With the Exuberant Haven't Met You Yet

I’m not someone who often gets swept away by new music. Aside from the occasional new album by a beloved artist, usually there will only be a handful of new songs per year that really capture my imagination. Last year, three isolated songs stood head and shoulders above the rest. The first was I’ll Never Be Lost Again, the epic hip-hop ode to my favorite television series incorporating Michael Giacchino’s Of Mice and Ben from the season four soundtrack. The third was I See the Light, the Mandy Moore / Zachary Levi duet from Tangled that accompanied one of the most gorgeous animated sequences that Disney has ever produced. And then there was Haven’t Met You Yet, the chipper Michael Buble song that stopped me in my tracks the first time I heard it playing on the mall radio during an evening shift in the calendar kiosk.

Unlike the other two songs, Haven’t Met You Yet actually came out the year before, but I rarely listen to contemporary music on the radio and had never come across it. When I heard it for the first time, I was struck by a few things. I noticed the insistent pounding of the piano; so many of my favorite songs feature prominent piano backing, and in this case, you really can’t miss it. That piano was a part of the overall feeling of peppiness that emanated from the song, which was extremely refreshing among the bleak radio landscape in which most of the dreary ballads made me feel down in the dumps – when I could make out the words. What made the biggest impression on me that first time around, though, was a guy who looked to be 17 or so strutting along with that too-cool-for-school look that so many teenage boys at the mall seem to have, only to break out into a sort of prance when this song hit the chorus and sing along with jubilant abandon: “I promise you, kid, to give so much more than I get; I just haven’t met you yet.”

The song just has that sort of effect on people, so when I saw the video a couple of months later, I smiled at the sense of authenticity. It takes place in a grocery store, nondescript aside from the name: Killarney Market. Those words, accompanied by a shamrock on the big green storefront, lend the feeling that some manner of enchantment resides inside, where a lonely man imagines meeting the love of his life in the frozen foods while the blase employees and customers around him explode with exuberance. The joy and whimsy of the song are magnified forever after once you’ve seen the music video; it’s hard to get those images out of your mind, and every time I’m in a grocery store, I hope that this song will come on the radio so I can see a real-life reenactment.

Buble has a distinctive voice that’s a throwback to 1940s crooners like Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. He’s one of just a handful of contemporary artists whose voice I can instantly identify in a song I’ve never heard before. Of course, it feels a little funny to call him “contemporary” when the very thing that makes him stand out is his old-fashioned sound. In any case, though, most of his music has a refreshing innocence to it, and that’s certainly the case here. It’s a song of relentless optimism.

The speaker is a man who has been through his share of heartaches, but he’s determined not to let it get him down for long. He’s convinced that his soulmate is out there somewhere, and one of these days when he least suspects it, when he’s doing some mundane task (like grocery shopping), she will appear. “I might have to wait; I’ll never give up. I guess it’s half timing, and the other half’s luck. Wherever you are, whenever it’s right, you’ll come out of nowhere and into my life.” He won’t necessarily recognize her instantly – an idea alluded to more overtly in the video – but he has no doubt that their paths will cross and she will bring out the very best in him. This is his pre-emptive love song to her.

Buble wrote the song with Alan Chang and Amy Foster-Gillis, who previously collaborated with him on the hits Home and Everything. If you jot the lyrics down on the page and look at them there, they’re not really all that impressive. Most of the rhymes are imprecise, and one line includes the word “work” three times. But boy, when he sings them, they just pop. The upbeat music has a lot to do with that. The piano drives the melody, but other instruments join in, and by the end, it feels like you’re standing in the middle of a Main Street parade. Part of the fun of the song is pointing out the Beatles references, including the big brass band and the repetition of the words “love, love, love” toward the end.

Every time I hear the song, I can’t help grinning and singing along. While it’s specifically about being patient and waiting for love to take you by surprise, it can more generally be taken as an ode to the possibility of remarkable things happening even amidst the most run-of-the-mill circumstances. It reminds me of Dr. Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street; this guy’s imagination is running away with him, but the fact remains that he might just see something out of the ordinary today. It’s the kind of song that makes you eager to go out your front door and face the world. Maybe most of all, it makes me think of friends I treasure but haven’t met yet; whenever I hear this song, it gives me hope that it will happen one of these days, and there will be much rejoicing.

The single for Haven’t Met You Yet comes paired with Buble’s live cover of the old standard Crazy Little Thing Called Love, which is similarly peppy, though I won’t say it’s my favorite version of the song. I think Buble tries a little too hard to put his own stamp on it, which results in some rather skewed enunciation. It does complement the main song well, but it’s more of an afterthought. Still, together, they convey the impression that life and love alike are crazy and unpredictable, and that can be a very good thing.

Rob Thomas Encourages Compassion in A New York Christmas

I really love the radio this time of year. Usually, I don’t listen to it much, except at work, where I don’t have much of a choice. In December, instead of merely tolerating the music – aside from those rare gems that make me burst out in an exuberant smile and, given a sufficiently empty hallway, sing along – I feed off of it. I’m completely energized by hearing all those marvelously familiar songs on a subject so near and dear to my heart. Another plus: every once in a while, something comes along that I’ve never heard before. And once in a great while, it’s a song that grabs me and refuses to release me, sending me scrambling for YouTube videos to keep my fixation in check. This year, the main song in question is Rob Thomas’s A New York Christmas. It took me a couple of times through it for me to realize just how m much I loved it, but there’s no mistaking it now, and whenever it comes on the mall radio, I can’t help but smile.

This is a Christmas song that is totally contemporary but with a timeless message. It is specifically rooted in New York City, which is very much associated with Christmas. You have all the morning shows that broadcast from New York, showing the city in all its decorated glory; Christmas traditions like the Rockettes and the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting; movies like Miracle on 34th Street, Home Alone 2 and Elf. New York is gorgeous indeed this time of year, but there are many who are cold, hungry and otherwise in great need during this season of celebration, and this song asks us to think of them. The tone is not accusatory, but it is a rallying cry as well as a prayer. God help us, and let us help those around us.

I discovered that Thomas wrote this song in the aftermath of 9/11, when the suffering in New York City was especially acute, and that the song is tied in with his Sidewalk Angels Foundation, which supports a number of charitable causes. Its mission is stated as follows: “The world can move so fast that those in need are often passed by. From animals that have been abandoned and abused to those who are destitute, homeless, or cannot afford proper medical care - these are universal problems that Sidewalk Angels Foundation, through its efforts, encourages people to address locally.” On 9/11, we saw the worst of humanity, but we saw the best of it as so many people banded together to help each other. For all too brief a time, the sense of community was palpable. This song makes that come rushing back and serves as a reminder that it shouldn’t take a horrific tragedy to get us to pay attention to each other.

A New York Christmas has a rock edge to it, but it also has a powerful driving melody that’s hard to get out of your head. There’s a swift undercurrent of percussion that sets an energetic tone for the verses. The electric guitar puts me in mind of traditional folkie grassroots movements, while the hints of the organ tie in nicely with the generally reverent feeling of the song. The whole thing feels bustling and energetic like the New York itself; it’s easy to imagine you’re hearing the heartbeat of the city. While Thomas’ voice is wonderfully melodic, it also has a rough edge to it that encourages everyone to sit up and take notice.

I don’t think I heard this song before this year, when it joined the regular Christmas music rotation in the mall. I don’t recall ever having heard it on the regular radio or on television, though that seems surprising to me. Thomas is a fairly big-name guy, having been in the band Matchbox 20, and this is an outstanding song that strikes me as a modern classic. When I first heard it this year, what initially caught my attention was the word “compassion”. That’s one of my favorite words, and it’s not one you hear in too many songs, though you should. The first song that comes to mind for me in association with that word, especially this time of year, is God Bless Us Every One, from the 2004 musical version of A Christmas Carol: “Let the stars in the sky remind us of man’s compassion. Let us love till we die and God bless us everyone.”

In this song, it’s, “Bring your compassion, your understanding (or, in the later verse, forgiveness). Lord, how we need it on this New York City Christmas.” The song is loaded with religious imagery, particularly angels. I especially love the line, “Hear the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah.” In this context, “angels” makes me think of Hebrews 13:2, which reads, “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” This song is all about caring for those who could use a little extra help, whether that’s in the form of warm clothing, food or just a kind word. It’s a refreshingly unmaterialistic message. “So call on your angels, your beaten and broken. It’s time that we mend them so they don’t fade with the season. Let our mercy be the gifts we lay from Brooklyn to Broadway…”

I just discovered this song a couple of weeks ago, but it has quickly become one of my favorite Christmas songs. It’s a stirring anthem that reminds me how good I have it and how many people don’t have it so easy. You don’t have to go to New York City to find people in need. This is a song for New York, but it’s also a song for America and beyond. Now, to act on it…

My Favorite Song of Summer 2010: The Injustice League's I'll Never Be LOST Again

It’s once again the time of year when I start reading a lot of lists of Best Songs of the Summer, which causes me to feel incredibly out-of-touch, since without fail I’ve heard few, if any, of them. That hasn’t changed this year as I gaze upon song titles by artists ranging from Katy Perry and Lady Gaga to Eminem and even Erie’s own hometown band Train. Clearly I don’t listen to the radio very much, and when I do, it’s never tuned into the Top 40. I’d be at a loss to come up with any kind of list, but if you asked me for one song that defined the summer of 2010 for me, I’d be able to give you an answer immediately.

I first caught wind of The Injustice League’s I’ll Never Be LOST Again when Jo Garfein, one of my favorite LOST bloggers, mentioned it on her blog (jopinionated.blogspot.com) the week of the finale. Just a couple days later, it turned up in Doc Jensen’s official LOST column on Entertainment Weekly’s website, and I decided I really ought to check it out.

Though I had my doubts as to how well I would like it when I read the words “epic hip-hop / R&B anthem,” as those aren’t two musical styles I tend to connect with very much, I can honestly say that the music video hooked me even before the first verse started. I’ve never heard this song on the radio, and I never expect to. But it was just what this LOST addict needed, and I listened to it many times over the course of the summer, memorizing the lyrics and admiring the artistry and unapologetic geekdom of the men introduced in the video’s credits as Mc Don and The Reverend Oldbed.

I’m no stranger to the notion of using songs to delve more deeply into a beloved show. By the time I watched I’ll Never Be LOST Again, I had written the lyrics to more than 200 filksongs about LOST (lostwithoutcharlie.blogspot.com), trying to get into the heads of just about every major character on the show, and a whole lot of minor ones as well. I wrote my own rambling farewell to the show to the tune of American Pie, incorporating as many specific references as possible. But I heard this song, and it stopped me dead in my tracks, summing up in six succinct minutes my precise feelings for the series with the professional polish of seasoned recording artists.

Some of the song’s appeal is visual, as the video is expertly edited to seamlessly incorporate dozens of clips from LOST, each of which is synched up perfectly with the lyrics, sometimes enhancing the emotion, sometimes eliciting a chuckle. This is especially true of the chorus, which twice includes a clip of a haggard Jack shouting, “We have to go back!” While the lyrics remain the same, the accompanying scenes change, adding depth to the experience.

But as powerful as it is for the longtime LOST fan to take that trip through memory lane via this epic clip show, the song stands on its own perfectly well without the visual element. It begins and ends with some somber commentary, and a bridge of sorts before the third verse reflects upon the deeper meaning of the show in a manner that feels spontaneous but also vaguely rhythmic.

These spoken portions add to the impression that this was a true labor of love for its creators, a pair of LOST fans who are also a part of the folk group Wasted Wine. There’s an aura of sincerity about the song that some might call overblown, but I think most folks who invested 120 hours of initial viewing time and countless hours rewatching and hashing each episode out with fellow LOSTies understand what they mean when they say, “It’s just a show, but it feels like losin’ a friend.”

There’s very little actual singing in this song; it’s almost all rapping, with the exception of some repetition of the title phrase and a bit of back-up singing of the names of certain characters during extensions of the chorus. Nonetheless, the whole thing feels extremely melodic thanks to the stirring backing track, which turns the song largely into a love letter to Michael Giacchino, the brilliant composer whose music has accompanied so many of the most moving moments in the series. With a heavily percussive version of Giacchino’s Of Mice and Ben from the season four finale rippling underneath the rap, it really feels like the song is diving straight into the heart of LOST.

The two rappers switch off on verses and take much of the chorus together, occasionally overlapping their voices, which adds to the communal sense of the song. As one comes to the end of a string of reflections, the other starts in on his, which makes it seem like both of them are just bursting with things to say about the series that is about to come to an end. They posted it on YouTube just five days before the finale; by the time The End aired, tens of thousands of people had popped by to see what the buzz was about, many of them leaving posts echoing the song’s lyrics as they discussed the impact the series had made upon them.

Each of the song’s three lengthy verses is filled with clever references to show. Not counting folks who appear solely in the video clips, the song specifically mentions more than 30 different characters, from original castaways like Claire and Sawyer to later additions like Keamy and Ilana. Lines like “I wanna Faraday back to September 22” and “They got me trapped like I stole Rousseau’s baby” manage to cover a lot of ground in a very short time, combining key tidbits in a witty way that expounds upon the character in question and creates a possible new LOST catchphrase in the process.

Along with the characters, there are references to many of the Island’s peculiarities, from the hieroglyphs in the Swan hatch to the slave ship in the middle of the jungle. They work in important concepts like a Constant, that person or thing which tethers someone to reality and saves him or her from the deadly side effects of temporal displacement, and key off-Island elements like Mr. Cluck’s Chicken Shack, the fried chicken franchise that is so much a part of Hurley’s backstory, and MacCutcheon whiskey, so critical to Desmond‘s.

Then, of course, there are references to phrases that turn up again and again in LOST: “The Island isn’t done with me.” “What lies in the shadow of the statue?” “Don’t tell me what I can’t do!” Anybody who loves analyzing the show would delight in going through the song and pinpointing the inspiration for each line.

“So just as God loved Jacob and Hurley loved Libby, / Like Kate only loved herself, yeah, and Desmond loved Penny, / Just like Sawyer loved Juliet but had to let her go, / See, that's sorta how I feel when I think about this show...” Yes indeed. It’s a little melodramatic - and a bit unfair to Kate, who I think managed to prove that she wasn’t quite as self-absorbed as she often seemed - but guys, that’s sorta how I feel too, even though it’s been three months now. I hope that the finale of LOST brought these two some degree of satisfaction, because they clearly invested a lot of themselves into the series, and they managed to give back to the fan community in a big way.

The video remains available on YouTube and the band’s very basic site for the song, www.injusticeleaguemusic.com, which includes links to download both the full song and the instrumental version for free. There are also a couple of blurbs from press the song has gotten, along with a link to the Wasted Wine webpage and a donation box. While this may be the only LOST song these two will create, they’ve convinced me of their musical prowess, and I intend to thoroughly peruse the music of their other band. In the meantime, if anybody asks me what my favorite song of the summer was, I’ll have my answer ready.

Paul Byrom Is a Prince of a Guy in If I Could Cry

On February 9, Celtic Thunder’s It’s Entertainment! will land in stores. I’m gearing up for it by listening to the songs I already have from these talented musicians, both as a group and as individuals. On the solo front, I’ve been paying quite a few visits to Ryan Kelly’s MySpace page, particularly to listen to his cover of Julie Miller’s Broken Things and his original The Village That They Call the Moy, both of which have had a secure spot in my list of favorite songs since I first heard them last summer. But Ryan, like groupmates George Donaldson, Damian McGinty and Keith Harkin, has no official recordings for sale. The only member of Celtic Thunder who does is Paul Byrom, who’s got quite an impressive headstart in the form of two albums - Velvet and I’ll Be Home for Christmas - and an MP3 track released late in 2009.

If I Could Cry is one of several songs recorded by various singers to help spread awareness of the new musical Sleeping Beauty, written by Trisha Ward. A fresh take on the beloved story, it involves Rosie, a cowed young librarian who escapes into the pages of the classic fairy tale and finds real life and fantasy entwining in unforeseeable ways. Because information on the play thus far is limited (available at www.sleepingbeautythemusical.com), we have to guess a bit at context, but it seems safe to say that Paul Byrom is portraying Rosie’s love interest, the prince whose kiss will charm her into wakefulness. And my, is he a sensitive soul!

While this recording and its accompanying music video are not directly related to Celtic Thunder, the poetic persona Paul adopts in the group remains. Here, he comes across as a man hopelessly smitten, longing to earn the regard of the woman he has come to love. The song starts off fairly quiet, with Paul softly singing of his desire to take on his ladylove’s pain. There’s a definite sense of vulnerability in the beginning, which is probably my favorite part, though it’s always a bit of a thrill to hear him finally reach those glory notes at the song’s most triumphant point.

Backed by heavy orchestration, Paul’s operatic background is evident, and there are several opportunities for him to really show of the power his voice is capable of. At the same time, he’s very emotive, and as a particular fan of musicals and songs that reveal character, I commend him for putting so much personality into his performance, allowing us to fall in love with this princely fellow all at once even though this song presumably comes toward the end of the play.

In addition to listening to the song, I recommend watching the video, which is readily available on YouTube. Directed by John Stephenson, it’s the first honest-to-goodness music video I’ve seen from anyone in Celtic Thunder; the group videos, thus far, are beautifully filmed but simply concert performances. The closest thing to a real music video is Christmas 1915, which is separate from the concert DVDs and features thematically appropriate props and costumes, along with a gentle snowfall.

All the same, this feels much more like a music video in the MTV sense of the word, with frequently intercutting scenes and a definite storyline that we’re being shown. I haven’t been able to find out the name of the actress who portrays Sleeping Beauty in the video, but she’s as much as part of it as Paul is. We alternate between scenes of her upstairs in her bed, sometimes with him nearby, and one or both of them out in the stylized gardens in the courtyard. Paul sometimes wears a contemporary-looking black suit, while at other times he dresses in a manner befitting a fairy tale pauper and, still others, a prince. She, too, has different costumes. The video also alternates between the relative darkness of her room with the shadows representative of her apparently troubled state of mind and the exuberantly sunny outdoors, which matches the enormous smiles Paul flashes toward the end.

I’ll be curious to see where this musical goes and whether there might be a place for Paul in the cast in the future. From this one song, along with what I’ve already seen and heard from him in his recordings on his own and with Celtic Thunder, I have no doubt he would make a charming prince indeed.

The Beatles Go Out on a High Note With Let It Be

If you were to ask me to name my favorite band, I’d quickly answer Simon and Garfunkel, the legendary folk duo recorded together during the 60s. From individual songs to their rise to fame and subsequent break-up, their story has many parallels with another quintessential 60s group: the Beatles.

They lamented lonely lives poorly memorialized (A Most Peculiar Man / Eleanor Rigby). They sang about the anguish caused by the communication gap between parents and children (Save the Life of My Child / She’s Leaving Home) and about companionship in one’s later years (Old Friends / When I’m 64). They presented vivid tributes to roads of personal significance (Bleecker Street / Penny Lane) and used birds as metaphors for people relegated to the fringes of society (Sparrow / Blackbird).

But perhaps the most striking song parallel is between Bridge Over Troubled Water and Let It Be, the title tracks to both bands‘ final albums. Released the same year, both are lengthy, sweeping, piano-driven inspirational songs that draw people together, yet they accompanied the division of the duo and the quartet. They speak of finding comfort in difficult times; both include the gloomy “darkness” and “trouble”, but also the more optimistic “see“ and “shine”.

On most days, if you asked me what my favorite Simon and Garfunkel is, I would probably reply that it’s Bridge. I fluctuate more with the Beatles, but Let It Be is always in the favorites rotation. Paul’s gentle lead vocals grow stronger with each verse, and by the final repetitions of the chorus, it’s hard to resist jubilantly joining in.

It’s a wonderful song for groups of people; my cousin played it on the guitar at my family reunion over the summer as we fumbled our way through the lyrics, and I’ll never forget the spectacle of thousands of people singing along in the dark while holding cell phones at glow sticks aloft at the Super Bowl. There have been many lovely covers of it, and Brooke White’s classy performance of the song during the first American Idol Beatles night was probably my favorite of the season. Of course, nothing can quite compare to the original.

Up until a few years ago, I, like many fans of the song, assumed that “Mother Mary” referred to the Virgin Mary. It was more personal than that, with the song stemming from a dream Paul had about his own deceased mother, who just happened to have the name Mary. I can’t help but suspect the song wouldn’t have carried quite the same power if she’d had any other name. But whichever mother you’re thinking of when you listen to the song, it’s an uplifting ode, a song of faith and fortitude that is most sustaining in trying times. I’m sorry that the song heralded the Beatles’ breakup. But I sure am glad they recorded it.

Ringo Leads a Party Beneath the Waves in Yellow Submarine

When I was growing up, I was aware of the Beatles in a general sense, but my familiarity with their catalog was limited. One of the few Beatles songs I could sing along with pretty well was Yellow Submarine, written by Paul McCartney but a showcase for Ringo Starr, who I knew as the congenial conductor on Thomas the Tank Engine, as well as a participant in several fun commercials. I was an adult before I finally saw the film Yellow Submarine, and I found it much too trippy for my tastes. But it didn't lessen my appreciation for the theme song, which is as relentlessly cheerful as the bright shade of yellow adorning the outside of the submarine.

My younger brother Nathan became obsessed with the Beatles in the fall of 2001, following George Harrison's death. At the time, my favorite radio station, Froggy, which played all oldies, had not yet been banished from the Erie airwaves, so we found ourselves listening to it a lot in search of Beatles tunes, with Nathan often calling in requests. He had a particular fondness for When I'm 64, which is the only number from the movie Yellow Submarine besides the title song that stands out vividly in my memory. Though Beatlemania didn't really hit him until that fall, when I went to Liverpool in the summer of 2001, I brought him a Yellow Submarine pin and a Yellow Submarine pen from the Beatles Museum, and later, when McFarlane Toys came out with Yellow Submarine figures, I bought him one of those as well. Though he soon discovered how rich the variety of the Beatles' music was, he paid homage to his early fondness for the song by creating a ceramic Yellow Submarine wall hanging with a mirror in the center.

Of all the Beatles songs, Yellow Submarine has perhaps the most striking image associated with it. Other songs are deeper, more lyrically complex, more musically inventive. But with the possible exception of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there is no other Beatles hit that I think of in such visual terms. Ringo's bouncy vocals and all that underwater imagery make it a good companion for Octopus's Garden, another jaunty Ringo-led tune about the fun to be had "beneath the waves". I always have a tendency to think of the two together.

The chorus of Yellow Submarine is almost absurdly simple, which is part of what makes the song so easy to recite. "We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine..." isn't much of a challenge to the memory. According to Songfacts.com, McCartney wrote it specifically with children in mind and hoped that they would sing it. We were encouraged to belt out the song at a rally day during my high school's Freshman Welcome Week, and I didn't see a closed mouth in that gym. The verses are a bit more demanding, but not much. I am a bit puzzled by the line "And our friends are all aboard; / Many more of them live next door"; if they're living under the sea, how do they have next-door neighbors? Are all of their friends fish? Or have they come up to the surface and parked their sub in a residential area? But who am I to question such camaraderie?

And camaraderie is the chief feeling that comes through in this song, along with most of Ringo’s starring numbers. It gives off the impression that Ringo is a very friendly guy, and that the Beatles were a very chummy group. Thoughts of submarines usually make me feel claustrophobic, but I don’t think I could object to an afternoon out for a pleasure cruise with those Liverpool lads. As so often happens with Beatles songs, the ending drags on a bit, but they all sound like they’re having such fun goofing around together that I never really find myself thinking, “All right, boys, knock it off already!”

I love the aquatic sound effects, the tinny-sounding echoes throughout one of the choruses, which Peter Paul and Mary spoof in I Dig Rock and Roll Music, and the chipper trumpet music that follows “And the band begins to play.” I love the iconic picture that pops into my head whenever I hear the song and the words that spring to my mouth. Yellow Submarine is peppy and happy, guaranteed to put a smile on my face, and all these years later, it remains one of my favorite Beatles songs.

Michael Jackson Encourages Everyone to "Heal the World, Make It a Better Place"

There are many things I will remember about Michael Jackson, but first and foremost, I will recall his humanitarianism. He always struck me a man who was profoundly concerned about the welfare of the disenfranchised, especially children. Throughout the '80s and '90s, this focus was especially evident in songs like Man in the Mirror, Earth Song and, of course, We Are the World, a massive effort uniting many of the biggest musical superstars of the day for the sake of raising money for famine relief in Africa. Similar in tone and message to the latter is 1991's Heal the World, one of Jackson's quietest but ultimately most impressive hits.

Like several of his inspirational-style songs, it has a chorus that, at one point, grows mightier with each repetition as the accompanying choir swells. By the end of the song, you're left with the impression that everybody in the world truly is pitching in to help, while the child at the end drives home the point that each one of us ought to make an individual, personal effort. It's a child who starts and ends the song, one by speaking, the other by singing, and while it's a Jackson solo until about two-thirds of the way through the song, the children are the stars of the video, with the King of Pop completely absent. Of all his videos, at least the ones I've seen, I would say that this one is the least egocentric. I also discovered that, according to a 2001 chat session with fans, it's the song of which he's proudest.

Heal the World seems to me to have a very '70s vibe to it. It's mellow in the extreme, with the first half, anyway, sounding more like John Denver's style than Michael Jackson's - and I suspect that Denver approved of this song heartily. I'm not aware of their ever having worked together, but when it came to issues like the ones explored in this song, I think they were very much on the same page. What a collaboration that would have been! The video's whole theme of children (toting flowers, no less) convincing soldiers to lay down their guns feels very hippie-ish and reminds me specifically of Rhymes and Reasons, in which Denver sings, "For the children and the flowers are my sisters and my brothers" and "It is written, 'From the desert to the mountains they shall lead us...'"

I don't know that I'd ever actually watched the video before this week. If I did, it was a long time ago, and as I never had MTV, I don't know when the occasion would have arisen. I'm not a huge fan of music videos in general, but I generally like Jackson's, and I love this one. It feels so cinematic, so simple but powerful. It cuts between scenes of peace and destruction, of children playing and of bombs going off. It soon becomes the story of an ever-growing group of children from all walks of life drawing near to a group of heavily armed soldiers, who begin to take note of their approach and ultimately are moved, in the face of such innocence, to trade their guns for flowers. At that point, the rest of the video involves a candlelight vigil whose attendance grows with each increase in volume in the repeated chorus. There's a certain naivety to the video, but then Jackson was never known for being 100 percent in tune with reality. And who knows? If everyone took the sentiments in this song to heart, maybe wars could end this painlessly.

Jackson's voice always was on the high side, but this song showcases his upper register even more than most. It's so soft and flutey, and especially in the verses, it sounds like he's going into a falsetto. While the opening line of the song doesn't quite work for me ("There's a place in your heart, and I know that it is love" seems as grammatically suspect as "I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free"), I love the lyrics in general. "We stop existing and start living" is a great line, and lines like "See the nations turn their swords into ploughshares" give the song a biblical resonance. The chorus works best of all; it's powerful and easy to remember, especially since it's repeated so many times. By the time the song ends, the message has really been driven home.

Michael Jackson was right to be proud of this song. It's one of his finest, especially when the video is factored into the equation. In fact, the video is on the verge of displacing my long-held favorite, Will You Be There. Unlike that exuberant number, Heal the World isn't the sort of song that makes you want to get up and dance. But it does make you want to get up and make a difference.

If Bad Is Good, Michael Jackson Was the Baddest

I grew up in the 1980s, when Michael Jackson was king, though I never paid much attention to the contemporary music scene, and it wasn't until the early '90s that I got to be really familiar with some of Jackson's biggest solo pop hits. I have to give credit to Weird Al Yankovic - and in turn my brother Benjamin, who force-fed me the master spoofer's parodies until I developed a taste for them - for deepening my appreciation of Michael Jackson. I think the first song I ever heard of his was Eat It, which came on during a ride at an amusement park; the song was halfway over before we realized something was amiss with the words. Eat It, such a hilarious send-up of nagging mothers everywhere, remains one of my favorite Al tunes.

When Benjamin's Al-mania was in full swing, we watched a television special putting His Weirdness's parodies back-to-back with the original videos that inspired them. I'm pretty sure that's the first time I saw the video for Bad, which led to Fat, a song whose lyrics might be considered the natural consequence of too much Eat It-style forced eating. I'm not sure why food and Michael Jackson seem to go together in Yankovic's mind, but then he seems to have an excessive fondness for that subject in general. While I'm not a big fan of fat jokes, as a frame-for-frame parody of the Bad video, Fat, with the Incredibly Expanding Al and the zany sound effects, is brilliant.

From the first snap of his wrist in that dark subway station to the final defiant close-up, this is a visually arresting video. I can see why Al chose to parody both Beat It and Bad, as they are two of the most impressive testaments to Michael's talent, and both involve this gentle soul trying to come off like a total punk. He looks pretty convincing in his black, silver-spangled get-up, strutting around with a flock of equally tough-looking followers, but just as it's hard to be too intimidated by graceful gang members crooning "When you're a Jet, you're a jet all the way" in West Side Story, these perfectly coordinated dancers are a little too sprightly to appear genuinely menacing. I imagine that's part of the point; they're a bunch of posers who want us all to think they're bad. And then they all go home and have tea with their grandmothers.

The choreography in the video is exceptional, and so much of Jackson's genius at this point in his career was about his moves that it's difficult to separate the video from the song itself. This isn't a single you want to listen to only; you want the video on your television so you can play it on repeat, trying all afternoon to replicate the dance steps. There's nothing all that brilliant about the lyrics in and of themselves. It starts off with that classically odd opener, "Your butt is mine," and continues with the trash talk and the repeated assertions of "I'm bad". If you have to say it so many times, something tells me it's probably not true. Still, if "bad is good", as asserted by Zack, the ridiculously 80s-ish visitor to the fairy world in 1992's animated tree-hugging flick FernGully, then at the time this video was made in the late '80s, it's fairly safe to say that Michael Jackson was the baddest guy around.

My appreciation for Michael Jackson runs deepest when I think of him as a humanitarian. Bad doesn't showcase that side of him. But it does display what an exceptional dancer he was, and I get the sense that he had a lot of fun making this video. I hope he did. It sure is fun to watch.

Michael Jackson's You Are Not Alone - A Plea For and Promise of Companionship

By the time 1995 rolled around, Michael Jackson was on the verge of being less triumphant King of Pop than defeated king of tabloid fodder. Amid the turmoil and scandal surrounding him that year, he released You Are Not Alone, a song of love and friendship specifically about his marriage with Lisa Marie Presley. More generically, it made a perfect bookend to 1993 mega-hit Will You Be There. The first was a plea; though the second begins that way, it evolves into a promise.

I've been listening to a lot of Michael Jackson's songs since the news of his death hit yesterday, and I'm coming to realize that the theme of yearning for a genuine connection with another runs deep in his work, going all the way back to I'll Be There and Ben. The Stand By Me / Lean On Me category of music is one that almost always yields songs I love, from Bridge Over Troubled Water and You've Got a Friend to Candle on the Water and You've Got a Friend in Me, so Michael Jackson is in good company here.

In general, I find that Jackson's songs are best enjoyed as audio-visual experiences. He was a true pioneer of the music video, and it's generally a joy to watch him. In this case, however, I'd tend to opt for the purely audio version. The video feels uncomfortably intimate, filled with close-ups on Michael's soulful eyes and semi-bare chest, which by this point in his career was eerily pale. He's not doing any dancing, really, and the shots of him and Lisa Marie together seem oddly voyeuristic, as though he wanted to allow the world a peek into his life to assure everyone he was a part of a happy, healthy marriage.

I was never quite convinced. I remember watching an interview with Jackson and Presley around this time; he seemed embarrassed, she seemed hostile, and the whole thing was very awkward. That same strange tension seems to run through the video despite the outward appearances of happiness - though part of that could just be me reading into things in retrospect, knowing a divorce soon followed.

I don't get any of that when I simply listen to the song, however. At that point, it becomes just another worthy ode to friendship. The accompaniment is pretty simple, with keyboards and mellow adult-contemporary-appropriate percussion. The song has a lovely melody that Michael sings in a pretty straightforward, low-key manner, up until the last two minutes or so of the song, which resembles the conclusion of Will You Be There in that a choir takes over the main melody line, with Michael interjecting with earnest outbursts. As often is the case, the chorus gets quite a workout; over and over, especially toward the end, we hear the basic refrain: "You are not alone, for I am here with you. Though you're far away, I am here to stay. But you are not alone, for I am here with you. Though we're far apart, you're always in my heart. But you are not alone."

It's certainly not one of his more innovative songs. Of all his hits, I'd say this is probably the most generic. But it's a sweet song nonetheless, the kind of thing I would be happy to stumble upon while tuning into Delilah on a relaxing evening. It's not my favorite ballad of its kind, but as glimpse into Michael's soul at one of the most difficult times in his life, You Are Not Alone is especially moving.

Remembering Michael Jackson With the Aching, Inspiring Will You Be There?

I went to the movies with my friend Libbie today, and on our way out of the theater, we overhead a woman remark to her friend that she'd heard Michael Jackson had died. I was startled, but as I'd heard a rumor to that effect last week, I thought perhaps it was just idle gossip generated by a photo of him looking ill. Nonetheless, we tuned into the news on the radio, and when the hour opened with the news of Jackson's death, I was stunned. He was only 50 years old, with a massive run of concerts coming up in London and occasional rumors of a new album in the making.

Of course, the man once dubbed the King of Pop has been quite reclusive of late, keeping out of the spotlight as much as possible in the wake of painful accusations and litigations. While I'm in no position to say whether his recent reputation as a child molester had any merit, I look at his troubled life and his commitment to humanitarian efforts, and all I can see is an extremely talented man with a great deal of love in his heart who felt he'd missed out on childhood and who never learned how to interact normally with the rest of society. I think Michael Jackson was a sad and beautiful man, and I'm sorry that it seemed he was rarely able to find true peace in his life.

While Jackson tore up the Billboard charts with innovative pop numbers whose videos illustrated his impressive dancing skills, my favorite songs of his, going all the way back to his early days with the Jackson 5, have always tended toward the reflective. I'll Be There and Ben always tug at my heartstrings, and though I admit to being amused by parodies poking fun at his grandiose awareness-raising anthems, that doesn't make me any less moved by the likes of We Are the World and Heal the World. When I think of Michael Jackson, I think first and foremost I will remember a man who made a genuine effort to better humanity. He knew the power he wielded as a pop star, and for the most part, he used it well.

If I had to choose a favorite among all of his songs, I would almost certainly have to go with Will You Be There?, the theme song from the 1993 movie Free Willy, about a hard-on-his-luck street kid who befriends an imperiled orca. It was my favorite movie of the year, and whenever I heard the swelling chorus of the accompanying song, I felt inspired. In fact, I had a hard time thinking of it as a pop song; it sounded more like gospel music to me, a plea for friendship and understanding from such a deep place in the soul, it felt more like an impassioned prayer, with an addressee far more transcendent than even the most magnificent whale. That jubilant choir and Biblical imagery did nothing to dissuade me from that notion. I still find listening to it a spiritually stimulating experience. Just as Ben is about more than just a rat, Will You Be There? is about more than just a whale, or at least it can be.

This is a song that fits in well with Jackson's other epic efforts. Though the spotlight remains on him, it's the choir that brings such majestic depth to the song, making clapping, dancing and singing along hard to resist. And as an encapsulation of the movie, the official video is so perfect that it almost renders watching the film itself unnecessary. I love the transitions between his free-spirited twirling and Willy's exuberant splashing, his synchronized hand motions and Jesse's nonverbal signals to his enormous friend.

Meanwhile, the angst-ridden outbursts as the choir moves into the foreground gel perfectly with the frustrations of boy and whale alike. I remember pounding out the chords to this one in my living room; the piano-laden introduction is one of my all-time favorite song openings. I also love the driving percussion, in the presence of which I simply can't sit still. And the vulnerability in Jackson's voice as he recites the concluding poem over the fading music is indicative of a man who, despite the adulation of millions, was filled with loneliness himself. This song has always struck me as very autobiographical, which makes it all the more poignant.

I suspect I'll be listening to this song quite a bit over the next few days. Though we didn't see much of him in the last few years, I had hoped for the possibility of a comeback; I'm certain that he still had brilliant music to share, but even if he never would have written another song, his sudden, early death was a tragedy. Thankfully, he left an extensive legacy. Thanks for the music, Michael, and the inspiration. You will be missed.

Paul Simon Speaks For All Devoted Dads in Father and Daughter

Father's Day is right around the corner, and it's a good time to think about some of the great songs out their dealing with father-child relationships. I can name a few right off the top of my head: Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses, Mike and the Mechanics' The Living Years, Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Cradle, Luther Vandross's Dance With My Father, Rod Stewart's Forever Young, Brad Paisley's He Didn't Have to Be... to say nothing of several of the songs on Michael Card's Sleep Sound in Jesus and Art Garfunkel's Songs From a Parent to a Child. It's to Art's former partner, Paul Simon, that I turn my attention here, with one of the most recent additions to the group: Father and Daughter. Now if the title alone doesn't just scream "Father's Day" - at least for all us gals - I don't know what does.

It was written for 2002's The Wild Thornberries Movie, which I've never seen; though I tend to be a bit suspicious of a cartoon that looks so much like Rugrats, from the little snippets I've seen of the television show, I like the emphasis on conservation and on geeky Animal Whisperer Eliza's relationship with her eccentric, enthusiastic dad, and from what I gather, this is what the song celebrates in the context of the film. I presume that it's also autobiographical, as Paul's daughter Lucia was about six at the time it was written. While the movie itself didn't seem like the sort likely to win any awards, Simon picked up an Oscar nomination for Best Song, losing out to Eminem with Lose Yourself.

Father and Daughter is written as a love letter from a father to his little girl, so the lyrics are fairly simple, especially in the chorus, which includes the expansive statement "As long as one and one is two, / there could never be a father who loves his daughter more than I love you." Isn't that just the way most devoted dads feel? The mix of percussion and rambling guitar gives the film a slightly African flavor; it's easy to imagine the instrumentals as a cascading waterfall or a chorus of nocturnal creatures in the background. It feels like a bedtime song; Paul's tone is soft and comforting, and there are references to dreams, falling stars and monsters under the bed.

There is one line that strikes me as peculiar every time I hear it, and I wonder if it would make more sense if I saw the movie, or if it's some kind of inside reference meant as a nod to Lucia. "I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever." My first thought was that Paul wrote the lyric that way just for the sake of a rhyme, which doesn't seem like his style, especially since that particular internal rhyme pattern is unique in the song. But if it were me, I think I would feel a lot better about having an actual Golden Retriever standing there; what good, precisely, is a postcard going to do? I guess it could be a comforting image, but it still seems a little odd. (Incidentally, that same year, James Taylor, who once recorded What a Wonderful World with Paul and Art, released the album October Road, which also includes a positive reference to a Golden Retriever. It was a good year for the Goldens!)

This isn't my favorite Father's Day song out there - that would be Dan Fogelberg's Leader of the Band, a tribute to a much-loved father from a son just beginning to understand his powerful influence on his life - but it's certainly a keeper. (I’m always keeping an ear out for songs along these lines, so if you have any favorites, I’d love to find a few more!) One of Paul Simon’s most tender tunes, Father and Daughter is a beautiful celebration of one of life’s most precious relationships. Eliza and Lucia are lucky girls. So am I.

Weird Al Mines Comic Gold Out of Forrest Gump

I've seen quite a few movies in my life, so compiling a definitive list of favorites would be an awfully tall order for me. However, I can safely say that one of the movies that would appear on that list would be Forrest Gump. When it first came out, I didn't pay too much attention, since I thought of it as an adult movie, and I was barely old enough to get in to see it without my parents. Nearly a year later, I'd heard enough about it that I finally went to see it; that it stayed in theaters that long is evidence in itself of its staying power. I saw it. I loved it. We bought it as soon as it came out on video. And shortly thereafter, I was introduced to Weird Al Yankovic and heard his take on this brilliant film.

Before I watched a special comparing the video for this song with the original, I had never heard of Lump, a song by the Presidents of the United States of America, perhaps best known for their catchy ditty Peaches. I wasn't missing out on much. This is one case in which Al's parody makes a great deal more sense than the original, which comes across as pure hard-rocking gibberish.

By comparison, Weird Al's take on the song isn't very weird at all. It's basically a straightforward synopsis of the movie, a song that could be easily turned into a trailer when paired with clips from the film. It touches on several key events and characters without giving too much away. His encouraging mother; "shrimp-lovin'" buddy Bubba; "friend with no legs," Lieutenant Dan; promiscuous childhood sweetheart Jenny and two U.S. presidents all rate a mention. Prominent quotes from the film include "My name is Forrest," "Life is like a box of chocolates," "Stupid is as stupid does" and "Run, Forrest, run" and, the perfect song-stopper, "That's all I have to say about that."

Once you've seen the video of a Weird Al parody, you can't help seeing flashes of it in your head whenever you hear the song. In this video, Al is part of a three-person band jammin’ with percussion and electric guitars, banging their heads to the beat and leaping up, down and every which way in front of a series of Forrest Gump-appropriate backdrops in a frenzy of energy. Sometimes they’re on screen with the confused Forrest look-alike, and sometimes the video intercuts between them. There are brief recreations of some of Forrest’s climactic meetings with historical figures and a deliciously cheesy sequence of him running across a series of landscapes, including the moon. Mostly, though, we see Forrest on the park bench, offering his chocolates to various strangers, each time with disastrous results.

Familiarity with Lump isn’t at all essential to enjoyment of this song, though you’re much more likely to get the most out of it if you’ve seen Forrest Gump. It’s a very fast-paced, hard-rocking song, and generally it wouldn’t be too much to my taste, but it’s far too much fun for me to be turned off by a little cacophony. Anyone who loves the movie as much as I do will probably get a few laughs out of this somewhat skewered ode to one of the sweetest film protagonists the world has ever seen.

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown Most Certainly Qualifies as a Favorite

Years ago, my family and I went to a performance by Christian performer Paul Hill, who performed a number of famous songs that he claimed to have written, at least in part. One of these was Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. He spoke of hanging a gold record on his wall and raking in the money for the hit song but said when his mother heard it, she was aghast at the violent lyrics and insisted he write new words, something nice that she could share with the ladies in her church quilting circle. So he did, and he sang us the result, which as I recall was a song about Noah.

I liked it, and I've tried to track it down since then, but there's virtually no reference to Hill online - and most of the references seem to indicate that he never had a hand in any of those songs he claimed he did. I find it hard to believe someone, especially a gospel singer, would be so dishonest and audacious as to take credit for songs he had nothing to do with, but I've scoured the credits of this song and several others and have never seen his name there, so I'm starting to think he made it up. I imagine he did write the Noah lyrics himself, but if the allegations against him are true, he has no more right to pen such words than I do to twist Jim Croce's tune into a song about curmudgeonly Dr. House.

That was a great concert, so it was disillusioning to find out that so much of it was most likely based on false pretenses. But it makes a lot more sense that Croce would have written this on his own. He was a master singer-songwriter who crafted most of the songs he performed, usually after being inspired by his own life or his keen observation of others. Leroy Brown was a devil-may-care fellow soldier around whom Croce created a scintillating scenario. The fictional Leroy is one mean dude, and he's used to getting his way all the time, but he gets knocked down a peg when he puts the moves on a woman who is spoken for by a pretty aggressive husband.

Croce had a really odd way of enunciating at times, and nowhere is it more pronounced than in this energetic number. The jazzy piano instrumentals fit well with his staccato delivery; he's always dropping articles or the first or last letter in words, which adds to the song's edge. I'm guessing he sang in this way to accentuate Leroy's tough-guy 'tude, and it's one of the song's most distinctive attributes.

It's probably just as well that he truncates his words, making the one dubious phrase in the chorus sound very much like "downtown" instead of the two words it actually is. "Baddest man in the whole downtown" isn't going to set off many alarms - though a tiny bit of bad language shouldn't really rankle that much in a song whose lyrics seem to almost revel in Leroy's bad deeds.

He carries around a gun and razor wherever he goes. He gambles excessively, and, to quote a rather naught John Denver song, he "likes to deal with the ladies." But Croce and his whooping back-up singers are having such a great time singing about him, he seems more hero than villain, and it's a little sad to think of this towering man as "a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone."

In his sadly short career, Croce wrote and sang some of the most tender, sensitive songs ever recorded. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown isn't one of them. But it's absolutely one of the most fun.

*****

I could have sworn up and down that I found this as a single in the database, but when I went to post it, all I could find was Bad, Bad Leroy Brown and Other Favorites, a solid album containing several of Croce's best-known songs. I'm not sure I would quite agree they're all "favorites," but certainly that term applies to the bittersweet Time in a Bottle; the forlorn Operator (That's Not the Way It Feels); the tender I'll Have to Say I Love You in a Song; the nostalgic Photographs and Memories and the rollicking Roller Derby Queen, the only track that comes close to matching the pep of the title song.

Also included on the album are the socially conscious, Dylan-esque Which Way Are You Goin'? and Railroad and Riverboats; the self-examining, country-flavored Age and the pleading The Way We Used To Be. Considering the overall tone of the album, it might have made more sense to name it after one of the more introspective tunes, but you can't dispute Leroy's popularity. As a single song or the masthead of a great collection, Bad, Bad Leroy Brown is fantastic.

Weird Al Produces a Twisted Tribute to the Simple Life With Amish Paradise

When my brother Benjamin was in middle school, he discovered Weird Al Yankovic, and he was eager to introduce the rest of the family to this wacky producer of novelty songs. I wasn't convinced. At the time, it was my policy to disapprove of whatever new music Benjamin brought into the house, but gradually he wore me down, getting me to embrace the man who has since become a major inspiration to me in my own parody-penning efforts. Amish Paradise is probably the song that really sold me on him.

That's a bit odd, since I've never had much time for rap, though Gangsta's Paradise is a song I always felt had merit. What really drew me to Al's parody was his subject matter, as I have always had a fascination with all things Amish. My grandparents live near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, so I've seen my share of the long beards, plain clothes, intricate quilts and horse and buggies that are common to these deeply religious, agriculturally-minded people. But I always welcome to opportunity to read a new story or watch a new movie about them, so why not a song?

Granted, Al pokes fun. But he never comes across as mean-spirited, and he packs his song with all sorts of references to the Amish lifestyle. The vast majority of the words are rapped, but he sings the chorus, which, with the exception of a deviation that makes entertaining use of the Gilligan's Island theme song, consists of "livin' in an Amish Paradise" and as many phrases as he can think of that legitimately rhyme with it. There's also a severe-sounding choir that "ah-ah-ah"s at the beginning and end of the song, giving it an appropriate feeling of antiquity.

As with so many of his songs, the video adds a whole layer of amusement. A friend of Benjamin's taped a special that played several Weird Al videos right after the original videos on which they were based, making for easy comparisons. Al incorporates several clever spoofs of Gangsta's Paradise, while still making it entirely accessible to those who aren't familiar with Coolio's video.

Al's ability to manipulate his voice and appearance to suit his songs has always impressed me, and in this video he looks perfectly natural with his long beard, little glasses and black ensemble, complete with hat. I love the little visual details like the man checking his sundial watch and the "How Am I Driving?" bumper sticker on a horse and buggy. Still, it's the cleverness of Al's lyrics that pack the biggest punch. Stuff like "We ain't really quaint, / so please don't point and stare; / We're just technologically impaired" and "So don't be vain, and don't be whiny, / or else, my brother, I might have to get medieval on your hiney!"

The response of the stricken Amish community to the tragic Nickel Mines incident goes to show that retribution probably isn't high on the priority list of most of these people, but other details, such as all the references to raising barns, churning butter, plowing, feeding livestock, creating quilts and studying the Bible, ring pretty true. If you want a respectful, realistic portrayal of the Amish, look to Beverly Lewis or Witness. If you just want a silly reminder of some of the things that make this culture unique, Weird Al is the way to go.

Lennon's Christmas Message Worth Hearing All Year Long

I've returned from my Christmas travels, and now it's time for me to wind down, basking in the glow of the tree lights for a few more days, listening to festive tunes on CD. I have to stick with my own albums since, sadly, the glorious month of Christmas music on one of our local radio stations has ended. While the play list was in yuletide mode, I enjoyed most of the offerings, but there were a few that made me sit up straight, turn up the music and stop whatever I was doing to sing along. One of these was John Lennon's Happy Xmas.

I was first introduced to this song several years ago when we bought Neil Diamond's live Christmas album, which featured a faithful cover of the fallen Beatle's hit. I didn't hear the original until quite a bit later, and Diamond's version was so similar that at first I didn't notice that Lennon was the one doing the singing. I suppose that's why a Wikipedia list of significant covers of the song doesn't mention Neil Diamond; it's not distinct enough. But it sure is nice.

Still, it can't quite beat the original, in which John plaintively spreads a simple message of goodwill and optimism, backed by a soaring anti-war chorus delivered by a choir of children from Harlem. "War is over if you want it," they insist, and though it never seems to turn out quite that way, a little positive thinking isn't a bad start. This was John and Yoko's Christmas card to the world in the midst of the Vietnam war, and sadly it still is relevant today. But the tone is hopeful, so although listening to the song sparks thoughts of foreign conflicts and slain idealists, it also leaves one with a feeling of resolve.

I think of the Whos in How the Grinch Stole Christmas with this tune that "started in low, but it started to grow". I could just as easily see them all standing together singing this song, hands clasped, perhaps with the reformed Grinch taking John's part while the rest of the Whos back him up. Sometimes there is great power to be found in few words, and that's the case here. My only slight beef with the lyrics is "another year over, a new one's just begun." If, indeed, "this is Christmas," then the new year has not yet begun - unless, as my dad postulated, Lennon was going by the church calendar, which given his history of beefs with Christianity strikes me as highly unlikely.

Nonetheless, he managed to write an incredibly moving Christmas song, one which blows fellow Beatle Paul McCartney's fluffy Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime out of the water. Next year, I'll look forward to hearing on the radio again, but I might not wait until then to give it another listen. His message is one that rings true any time of the year.

Will This Be the Last Christmas I Must Put Up With This Song?

If Christmas music were considered a genre unto itself, defined not by a particular style but by a common theme, I probably would have to count it as my favorite even though I only listen to it for about a month out of every year. I sometimes claim that I never met a Christmas song I didn't like. But this is a sugary lie. Oh, I've encountered them all right, and there are several I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley, or in a well-lit shopping aisle for that matter. There are some that make me cringe with the dawning of those first distinctive notes. And then I go ahead and sing along anyway. When it comes to music, sometimes hate is almost as good as love.

I hate Last Christmas. Okay, that's too strong a word. Heartily dislike. It induces reverse peristalsis more surely than a month-old fruitcake. Honestly, who thought this was a good idea? No, no, I mustn't say that, because Last Christmas was a smash, so the catchy tune obviously raked in a lot of money for WHAM!, who were gloriously spoofed in this year's Music and Lyrics, particularly in the song Pop! Goes My Heart, which I really hope gets a little love come Oscar time. But a spoof is one thing. Last Christmas certainly seems earnest to me, even if it originally was intended to be entitled Last Easter, which just strikes me as completely jarring, but I think I'd prefer it because you never hear Easter music on the radio and this song probably would have gotten lost in the shuffle.

I was listening to Delilah earlier this month, and a guy called in requesting this song as a dedication to his newfound girlfriend, citing the line "This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special." Bah.

First off, it seems like a really dumb dedication song since the addressee is the old girlfriend. Secondly, I despise that line because obviously the narrator thought that girl was "special" at the time. Moreover, it's clear that he still does, since his only purpose in having a new girlfriend seems to be to rub it in the face of girl number one, who judging by her reaction to his heartfelt confession last year probably couldn't care less. In fact, the more I listen to the song, the more I wonder if she ever was his girlfriend at all; maybe she was just some hottie he hit on in a bar unsuccessfully.

At any rate, I don't believe any of his claims that he's over her. "You'll never fool me again," he says at one point in the song, but earlier he indicates that he'd fall for her all over again if she just kissed him. New girl, watch out. If, in fact, you actually exist, which I seriously doubt. I hate to be so cynical, but Last Christmas is just about the whiniest song I've ever heard. This guy's more pathetic than the dishrag in Build Me Up, Buttercup who seems masochistically addicted to being manipulated, and that one's bounciness is much more tolerable than this one's yowling.

And then there's the little matter of the absent long "a" in "gave" and "save". I don't suppose George Michael can help his accent, but I sure find it irritating. And what, pray tell, is this "man undercover" stuff all about? Does this guy think he's James Bond or something? Because he most assuredly isn't, though maybe a lesson or two from Roger Moore could do him a bit of good.

I hope he isn't reading this review. I wouldn't want to send him into an emotional crisis. Ah, George... Maybe I'll have a change of heart next year.

Don't hold your breath.

Snoopy and His Rival Bury the Hatchet for Christmas

When it comes to cartoon characters, no group of two-dimensional pals holds a dearer place in my heart than Winnie-the-Pooh and his fellow Hundred Acre Woodlanders. But the Peanuts gang comes close. This time of year, I'm especially fond of Snoopy and the gang as I put out Hallmark decorations and plush Snoopys and Woodstocks in Santa hats, watch A Charlie Brown Christmas and go to work sporting a wide variety of festive shirts featuring the Browns, the Van Pelts and all their friends. It's certainly no surprise that I would embrace Schulz-inspired Christmas music; the only surprise is that it took me so long to discover Snoopy's Christmas, a heartening ballad by the Royal Guardsmen, who seem to have developed a bit of a corner on the Snoopy music market.

Snoopy's Christmas is not the first of their songs to draw upon the daydreaming beagle's fabled rivalry with the "bloody" Red Baron, a ruthless World War I-era German aviator. He breaks out of character in this peppy narrative, which seems to be a throwback to the remarkable Christmas Truce of 1914, in which German and British troops celebrated the holiday together, singing carols, giving gifts and playing games with their previous and future enemies. It's so strange to think that those soldiers could continue to kill one another after sharing such an experience; sometimes, I suppose, one must settle for a temporary miracle...

The feud between Snoopy and the Red Baron doesn't end with this song. But there is most definitely an aura of respect about their relationship now that they have taken a moment to toast one another, refusing to destroy each other on such a holy night. The chorus doesn't mention either of the main characters. Rather, it focuses on the Christmas bells ringing throughout the land, encouraging peace and goodwill. These bells seem to serve as the inspiration for the Red Baron's surprising gesture of friendship and Snoopy's acceptance, though their reaction may be subconscious.

I love the gusto-filled vocals and the instrumentals, which are strewn with sound effects. The bells, of course, have a starring role, and there's some fantastic percussion and several instances of zooming aircraft. The bounciness of the bulk of the song is enhanced by the somber opening, which features a chorus singing O Tanenbaum as bombs explode in the background. I suppose this is generally classified as a novelty song, but its message of peace and forgiveness puts it right up there with altruistic favorites like Happy XMas and Someday at Christmas.

It's hard to go wrong with Snoopy. The Royal Guardsmen realized that, and I salute them for it. Merry Christmas to all, from musicians to flying aces. May the goodwill that strikes the heart with the pealing of those bells remain throughout the year.